University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—Another part of the Field.
Trumpets sounding a Victory. Enter Glocester, Knights, and Forces.
Glocester.
Now may we lift our bruised vizors up,
And take the flattering freshness of the air,
While the wide din of battle dies away
Into times past, yet to be echoed sure
In the silent pages of our chroniclers.

First Knight.
Will Stephen's death be mark'd there, my good Lord,
Or that we gave him lodging in yon towers?

Glocester.
Fain would I know the great usurper's fate.

Enter two Captains severally.
First Captain.
My Lord!

Second Captain.
Most noble Earl!

First Captain.
The King—

Second Captain.
The Empress greets—

Glocester.
What of the King?

First Captain.
He sole and lone maintains
A hopeless bustle mid our swarming arms,
And with a nimble savageness attacks,
Escapes, makes fiercer onset, then anew
Eludes death, giving death to most that dare
Trespass within the circuit of his sword!
He must by this have fallen. Baldwin is taken;
And for the Duke of Bretagne, like a stag
He flies, for the Welsh beagles to hunt down.
God save the Empress!

Glocester.
Now our dreaded Queen:
What message from her Highness?

Second Captain.
Royal Maud
From the throng'd towers of Lincoln hath look'd down,
Like Pallas from the walls of Ilion,
And seen her enemies havock'd at her feet.
She greets most noble Glocester from her heart,
Intreating him, his captains, and brave knights,
To grace a banquet. The high city gates
Are envious which shall see your triumph pass;
The streets are full of music.

Enter Second Knight.
Glocester.
Whence come you?

Second Knight.
From Stephen, my good Prince,—Stephen! Stephen!

Glocester.
Why do you make such echoing of his name?

Second Knight.
Because I think, my lord, he is no man,
But a fierce demon, 'nointed safe from wounds,
And misbaptized with a Christian name.

Glocester.
A mighty soldier!—Does he still hold out?

Second Knight.
He shames our victory. His valour still
Keeps elbow-room amid our eager swords,
And holds our bladed falchions all aloof—
His gleaming battle-axe being slaughter-sick,
Smote on the morion of a Flemish knight,
Broke short in his hand; upon the which he flung
The heft away with such a vengeful force,
It paunch'd the Earl of Chester's horse, who then
Spleen-hearted came in full career at him.

Glocester.
Did no one take him at a vantage then?

Second Knight.
Three then with tiger leap upon him flew,
Whom, with his sword swift-drawn and nimbly held,
He stung away again, and stood to breathe,
Smiling. Anon upon him rush'd once more
A throng of foes, and in this renew'd strife,
My sword met his and snapp'd off at the hilts.

Glocester.
Come, lead me to this Mars—and let us move
In silence, not insulting his sad doom
With clamorous trumpets. To the Empress bear
My salutation as befits the time.

[Exeunt Glocester and Forces.