University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Scene, The English Camp.
Enter Salisbury and Chandos, meeting.
CHANDOS.
Good-morrow, Salisbury, yon rising Sun,
As was your Wish, beholds us here encamp'd
Upon the Plains of Poictiers.

Sal.
Noble Chandos,
It was my Wish; a Wish for England's Honour.
To Frenchmen, whom so much we've aw'd and humbled,
Methinks I would not give the least Pretence
For Arrogance and Boasting.

Enter Warwick.
War.
Valiant Lords,
Wild Consternation reigns! Our Scouts have brought
Intelligence the Enemy surrounds us!
By sudden, secret Marches, they have drawn
Their Troops from ev'ry fertile Province hither,
And cut off our Retreat.

Sal.
Why then we'll fight them.

War.
Most fatal was our Yesterday's Advice,
But 'tis his Highness Will we straight to Council:
Haste, good my Lords, for on a single Hour,
Perhaps a Minute, now our Fate depends.

Sal.
I'll not believe the French will dare attack us,
How great soe'er their Numbers. But with Words
We will not waste the Time that may be precious;
Then to the Prince's Tent, my Lords, away.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to a private Tent.
Enter Arnold, leading Mariana.
Arn.
Now, lovely Captive, wilt thou doubly triumph!
The happier Cause of France at length prevails,
And we are all undone.

Mar.
What mean you, Arnold?

Arn.
Encircled here by thy whole Country's Force,
Unable to sustain their fierce Assault,
And all Retreat cut off! We have no Prospect
But that of total Slaughter.

Mar.
Hear me, Heav'n!
Who oft hast witness'd to the silent Tears,
Stream'd down in Gratitude for gen'rous Treatment,
Now witness (spite of all my Country suffers)
That these descend in pity for my Foes.

Arn.
The fatal Accident again restores thee
To Liberty, and Safety, while from me
It cuts away all Hopes of Happiness.
I wish not to outlive the bloody Hour
Must give thee to thy Father, whose Abhorrence
Of all that's English soon will interpose,
And plunge my Soul for ever in Despair.
Let then thy Fancy image what I feel!—
Grief chokes the very Passages of Vent—
And I want Utterance for—

Mar.
There is no Need.
I know thy Heart, know all its tender Feelings,
Know what sad Tumults Doubts and Fears create,
Whose mingling Agonies, in wounded Minds,
Sharpen a Torture poignant ev'n to Madness.
If to thy Eloquence of Words and Looks,
My Virgin Modesty and Captive State
Have hitherto forbid my Tongue to answer,
Yet sure my Eyes have told my Heart was thine.
But now, away with Fears and Forms; Distress
Bears me above Restraint, and I will own
To Heav'n, to Earth, to thee, my Father, Country!
That Arnold is most dear, most precious to me!

Arn.
Hold, my transported Heart!—Thou Heav'nly Maid—
What Raptures rush at that enchanting Sound!—
Happy as I am now, Destruction, come,
O'erwhelm me in this Moment of my Bliss;
Ne'er let me pine in hopeless Anguish more,
But die thus clasp'd in Mariana's Arms.

Mar.
And will our Fate—will cruel Fate divide us?

Arn.
O do not name it: with the very Thought
Frenzy assaults me: No, we must not, cannot,
Will not be parted—No—

Mar.
Alas, I fear
The Choice will not be ours. A Father's Pow'r,
If France prevails, for ever tears thee from me.
And must they Conquer?—O I find, I feel,
I've lost already all Regard for France:
England's my Country, any Country's mine
That gives me but my Safety and my Love—
Inform me—tell me—is there no escaping?

Arn.
Thou wilt need none. For me and for the rest,
We have, alas, no Prospect but of—

Mar.
Stop!
Nor dare inflame a wild Imagination,
Lest Madness follow! 'midst relentless Foes,
Methinks I see thee fall! Behold'em strike!—
I hear thy Groans! I see thy gushing Blood!
Thy writhing Body trampled in the Dust!
O save me from the Horror!—Let us fly!—
Let us away this Moment:—Let us—

Arn.
Whither?
Where can we fly? All Hope of Flight is lost,
There is no Possibility—

Mar.
There is.
Let us, while yet Occasion will permit,
Fly to my Father.

Arn.
Father!—

Mar.
He'll protect us.

Arn.
Protect us!—Dire Protection!—at the Thought
My Blood runs chill! and Horror quite unmans me.

Mar.
Think on the Dangers that you brave by staying.

Arn.
Think, rather, on the Hell that I should merit
By such Desertion—dire and damning Guilt!
How dreadfully it shakes me!—

Mar.
Dost thou tremble?
Then what should I, a helpless Woman, do?
Imagine that! and if thou art a Man,
Feel for what I may suffer.

Arn.
Suffer!—Thou?

Mar.
Yes, Arnold, I! The Woes that I may suffer.
Amongst the deadly Dealings of the Field,
Some well-aim'd Weapon, thro' a bleeding Wound,
May set thy Soul at Liberty for ever.
While I (of Mortals tho' the most undone)
Wanting all Means of honourable Death,
Must suffer Woes beyond Description dreadful.
What are my Friends, my Father, or my Country?
Cold are the Comforts that they all can give,
When thou, dear Darling of my Heart, art lost.
Pleasure and Hope, and Peace will perish with thee,
And this forlorn, this joyless Bosom, then
Become the dreary Mansion of Despair.
Shall I not rave, blaspheme and rend my Locks?
Devote the Hour that gave me Birth? and curse
The Sun and Time, the World, myself and thee?
'Till Frenzy prompting, 'gainst some Dungeon Wall
I dash my burning Brains to finish Torture.

Arn.
Do not awake, thou lovely Pleader, do not,
Such Tumult-working Thoughts within a Mind
On Madness verging.

Mar.
Let us then away.

Arn.
O not for Worlds!—Not Worlds should bribe me to it.

Mar.
And wilt thou urge thou lov'st me?

Arn.
More than Life!

Mar.
By Heav'n, 'tis false: The Spirit that's within thee,
Is not of worth to harbour aught so noble.

Arn.
Will Daring ev'n to die convince thee?

Mar.
No:
Death is a Coward's Refuge. Dare to live;
Dare Wretchedness,—Reproach—

Arn.
No more, no more—
Tempt me no more in vain—

Mar.
Art thou so fixt?—

Arn.
As Fate—

Mar.
I've done.

Arn.
Then why that angry Look?—

Mar.
It is a Curse entail'd upon the Sex
To have our Counsel scorn'd, our Love despis'd.
Go to thy Ruin—to my Ruin go—
I give thee up—and all my Hopes for ever.

Arn.
Why wilt thou blast me with that baleful Dew?
Each tender Tear that falls in Sorrow from thee
(Like melted Ore fast dropping on my Heart)
Drives Life before it with Excess of Pain.
Come, friendly Slaughter, now my only Hope!
Free me from Sufferings not to be endur'd.

Mar.
What! In the Hour of Trial wouldst thou shrink.
Steal to the Shelter of a timeless Grave,
And leave me on the Rack of dire Despair?
Is this a Proof of that superior Spirit
Asserted by the lordly Boaster, Man?
O Shame upon thee—

Arn.
Hear me—

Mar.
Not the Winds,
That hang the curling Billows in the Clouds—
Are more impetuous than the Rage of Scorn
That rises in my Bosom!

Arn.
Let but Reason
Weigh the dire Consequence of such a Flight.

Mar.
The Consequence! Why, what do you forsake
But certain Slaughter?

Arn.
Horrid,—damning Thought!—

Mar.
I hop'd my risking Wretchedness for Love,
Would have provok'd some Emulation—

Arn.
Oh!—

Mar.
But thou art poor, the Hero of Pretence;
And therefore thus—for ever—

Arn.
Take me, lead—
No, stop!—it surely was some Siren's Voice
Would lure me to Destruction.—Off!—stand off!—
Thou!—thou art she that would ensnare my Soul,
Ruin my Peace—and sacrifice my Fame.
But timely be advis'd: Forbear to urge
A Deed that all the Earth would scorn me for,
All Hell want Plagues to punish.

Mar.
Be undone—

Arn.
Undone I am whatever Course I take—
Dreadful Alternative! Despair, or Death,
Or everlasting Shame!—

Mar.
I did not pause:
I chose, for Arnold's Love to hazard all:
To suffer, if Misfortune were our Lot,
And never once reproach him or repine.
But he rejects such Truth, such Tenderness—

Arn.
O hear me, help me,—save me, sacred Pow'rs—

Mar.
Deserts a Woman in Adversity!
And seeks, in Death, a Rescue from the Woes
Her Fortitude encounters.

Arn.
'Tis too much,—
It tears my Brain!—my Bosom!—oh!

Mar.
Thou'rt pale!—

Arn.
Dizzy and sick—the Objects swim before me;—
Reach out thy Hand to save me ere I sink:—
O What a Deprivation of all Pow'rs!
Lead me to my Tent—I beg thee lead—

Mar.
I will.
Lean fearless on my Arm, it can sustain thee.

Arn.
O boasted Manhood,—how I feel thy Weakness.

[Exeunt.
The Scene, opening, discovers a magnificent Pavilion, in which King John appears seated in State. On Stools, below him, sit the Dauphin, Dukes of Berry, Anjou, Tourain and Orleans, Athens, Sens, Ribemont, Charney, Lords, Attendants and Guards all standing.
King.
At length, we've caught these Lions in our Toils,
These English Spoilers, who thro' all our Realm
Have mark'd their Way with Rapine, Flames and Slaughters:
Now, by my sacred Diadem, I swear,
Beyond a Conqueror's Joy Pleasure swells,
For that my Foes have wrought their own Confusion,
And found Misfortunes where they meant to deal 'em.
What say you, Lords, must softning Pity sway?
Or shall we glut our Vengeance with their Blood?

Char.
Heav'n gives them up the Victims of your Wrath;
Indulge it, then, to their Destruction. Mercy
Would mark your Majesty the Foe of France.
Your bleeding Country cries for Retribution:
I join it, with a Voice by Woes enfeebled;
Hear, feel and strike in such a moving Cause,
The Cause of Wrongs, of Wounds, of weeping Age!
The widow'd Bride, the childless Father calls:
The helpless, parentless, unshelter'd Babe!
Matrons, bewailing their whole Race cut off;
And Virgins panting from the recent Rape!
O hear, redress,—revenge us, Royal Sir,
For Vengeance now is in your Pow'r to grant.

Rib.
Anger and Hatred are disgraceful Motives,
Calm Dignity should ever counsel Kings,
And govern all their Actions. When they strike,
It ne'er should be to gratify Resentment,
But, like the Arm omnipotent of Heav'n,
To further Justice: To create an Awe
May terrify from Evil:—better Minds—
And benefit Society!

Ath.
The Nuncio,
Who follow'd fast your Majesty to Poictiers,
Hath sent to claim an Audience in behalf
Of yon endanger'd English.

Sen.
Do not hear him.

King.
Say, Lord Archbishop, wherefore should we not?

Sen.
Knowing your godlike and forgiving Nature,
I fear 'twill rob you of much martial Glory:
Else might your Fame in Arms, for this Day's Action,
Rival the Boasts of Macedon or Rome!
And sure your valiant Soldiers will repine,
To have the Laurels, now so near their Grasp,
Snatch'd from their Hopes for ever.

Rib.
Abject Minion!
How shameful to that Habit are such Flatteries.

[Aside.
King.
Yes, I well know my Soldiers pant, impatient
To seize this feeble Quarry. But our Foes,
I must remind you, are so close beset,
That Famine soon will throw 'em on our Mercy.
Princes and Lords, what Cause have we to fight?
Why should we waste a Drop of Gallic Blood,
When Conquest may be ours on cheaper Terms?

Dauph.
But will it suit the Glory of your Arms
To wait their Inclinaton to surrender?
Or ev'n to grant such Parley, as might plume
Their saucy Pride t'expect Capitulation?
O no, my Royal Father, rush at once,
O'erwhelm 'em, crush 'em, finish them by Slaughter.

Rib.
Think not, Prince Dauphin, they'll e'er stoop for Terms:
Believe me, we have rather Cause to expect
A fierce Attack, to cut their Passage thro',
Or perish in the Attempt. I know them well,
In many a Field have try'd their stubborn Spirit;
Have won some Honour—by their King tho' vanquish'd.
And when I ponder their intrepid Courage,
How much they dare to suffer and attempt,
I'm lost in wonder! and no Cressy need
To make me tremble to provoke their Fury.

Dauph.
Your Tongue, the Herald of your Vanity,
Methinks, is loud in what were better lost
To all Remembrance—a disgraceful Tale.
To boast of Honours from a Victor's Bounty,
Is stooping low,—is taking abject Fame.
If you have Valour give it manly Sway,
Busy your Sword—but let your Tongue be silent.

Rib.
My Talent never 'twas to idly vaunt—

King.
No more of this—presumptuous Ribemont.—
My Lords, we will determine yet on nothing.—
I've sent a Spy, of known Abilities,
To find out the Condition of our Foes;
From whose Report, in Council, we'll resolve
On Measures that may promise most Success.
Mean time, do you inform the Nuncio, Athens,
His Audience shall be granted. Lords, lead on:
We'll make our Morning's Progress thro' the Camp.

[Exeunt King, Prince, &c.
Manent Athens and Ribemont.
Rib.
What Boasts made I?—
I told the Truth, and wherefore then this Taunt?—
Shame on such Modesty!—The King, just now,
Nice as he seems in Breeding and in Forms,
With Patience heard a supple, fawning Priest—
Strip all the Shrines of fam'd Antiquity,
Ev'n make great Cæsar and the Son of Philip
Resign their Laurels to his nobler Claim:
Nay, thought him sparing, doubtless, that he left
Great Hercules and Jove unspoil'd to grace him!
By my good Sword,—an Oath with Soldiers sacred,
I swear 'twould make an honest Stomach heave
To see a Throat, so squeamish for another,
Open and gulp a Potion down, enough
To poison half Mankind.

Ath.
Brave Ribemont,
The King's Distaste was that you prais'd his Foes.
To talk of Cressy and of Edward's Feats,
Was to remind him of our Crown's Disgrace:
'Twas to proclaim what we should wish forgotten,
Our slaughter'd Armies, and our Monarch's Flight.

Rib.
What, are our Ears too delicate for Truth?
If English Valour has disgrac'd our Arms,
Instead of mean forgetting, we should stamp
The hated Image stronger on our Minds;
For ever murmur and for ever rage,
'Till thence eras'd by nobler Feats of Arms.
Such are my Thoughts, and such my Resolution:
I share our Country's Scandal, and would join
My Sword, my Blood! to purge away the Stain.

Ath.
Here, then, Occasion meets that Patriot-wish;
Here you may help to blanch our sully'd Glory.

Rib.
I differ, Athens, widely in Opinion:
The Harvest is too thin, the Field too bare
To yield the Reapers Honour. On my Soul;
I pity the brave Handful we encircle,
And almost wish myself an Englishman
To share a Fate so noble.

Ath.
Gallant Spirit!

Rib.
Would our exulting King acquire Renown,
Let him reduce his Numbers down to theirs.
Then Sword to Sword, and Shield to Shield, oppose,
In equal Strife, these wond'rous Sons of War.
There Conquest would be glorious! but, as now,
With all our Thousands and ten Thousands join'd,
By Heav'n! 'tis most infamous to fight.

Ath.
I must away; my Duty calls me hence.
I must applaud this generous Regard
For a brave People that have done you Honour;
Convinc'd, whene'er you face these fearless Foes,
You'll fight 'em warmly as you've prais'd—

Rib.
Farewel—

[Exeunt severally.
Scene changes to the English Camp.
Enter Audley and Chandos, meeting.
Aud.
You're well encounter'd, Chandos, where's the Prince?

Chan.
Directing the Entrenchments: Ev'ry Duty
His active Ardor leads him to engross.
Such Heav'nly Fortitude inflames his Soul,
That all Beholders catch new Courage from it,
And stifle with Astonishment their Fears!
From cool unruffled Thoughts his Orders issue,
While with the meanest Soldier he partakes
In ev'ry Toil! inspiring by Example,
A glorious Zeal and Spirit thro' the Camp.

Aud.
Yet feels he, as the Father of our Host,
For ev'ry Man's Misfortune, but his own.
Thrice have I seen him, in successive Rounds,
Kindle new Courage in each drooping Heart,
And drive all Fear, all Diffidence away.
Yet on the Task would Tenderness intrude,
As Dangers stole and imag'd on his Mind:
When, pausing, he would turn his Head aside,
Heave a sad Sigh, and drop a tender Tear.

Enter Salisbury.
Chand.
Well, what says Salisbury?

Sal.
Why, faith, but little:
It is yo. Frenchmen's Place to talk at present.

Aud.
How stand the Troops?

Sal.
Believe me, not so firm,
But our light-footed Enemies, if dextr'ous,
May trip up all their Heels.

Chan.
True to his Humour!
My good Lord Salisbury will have his Gibe,
Howe'er Affliction wrings.

Sal.
And wherefore not?
Will burial Faces buy us our Escape?
I wish they would: Then no Hibernian Hag,
Whose Trade is Sorrow, should out-sadden me.
But, as the Business stands, to weep or laugh,
Alike is bootless; here is our Dependence.

[Touching his Sword.
Aud.
What are their Numbers?

Chan.
Full an hundred thousand.

Sal.
Ours but some eight:—great Odds, my Friends!—no Matter;
The more will be our Glory when we've beat them.

Aud.
What swells their Host so mightily's (I'm told)
The Earls of Neydo, Saltsburg and Nassau,
Have join'd their Troops. The Earl of Douglas too
Assists them with three thousand hardy Scots,
Their old and sure Allies.

Chan.
I hear the same.

Sal.
What! Scotchmen here? whose Monarch is our Pris'ner.

Aud.
Ta'en by a Priest and Woman! at the head
Of such raw Numbers as their Haste could gather,
When all our Vet'ran Warriours, with their King,
Were winning Laurels on the Fields of France.

Chan.
And hither now, perhaps, his Subjects come
To fight for Captives to exchange against him.

Sal.
For Captives! This poor Carcase they may get,
When 'tis fit Booty for their Kites and Crows:
But while this Tongue can speak, I'd root it out
Ere Scot or Frenchman it should own my Master.

Chan.
The Prince approaches, Lords!

Enter Prince, Warwick, and Attendants.
Prince.
Hah! saidst thou, Warwick!
Arnold gone over to the Foe?—

War.
He is.
A trusty Spy brought the Intelligence,
Who saw him entering the adverse Camp,
Leading his Captive Charge.

Prince.
Impossible!

War.
I've search'd his Quarters since, myself, and there
Nor he or Mariana can be found.

Prince.
What has a Prince that can attract or bind
The Faith of Friends, the Gratitude of Servants?
Blush, Greatness, blush! Thy Pow'r is all but poor,
Too impotent to bind one Bosom to thee—
A Blow like this I was not arm'd to meet—
It pierces to my Soul,—

Sal.
All-righteous Heav'n,
Reward the Villain's Guilt!—Believe not, Prince,
Throughout our Host, another can be found
That Worlds would buy to such a base Revolt.

Prince.
I hope it,—will believe it, Salisbury.
Yet must lament that one has prov'd so worthless.—
I lov'd him too!—But since he has forgot
The Ties of Duty, Gratitude, and Honour,
Let us forget an Englishman could break 'em,
And losing his Remembrance, lose the Shame.—
My Lords, I have Dispatches in my Hand,
Advising that the Nuncio-Cardinal,
Good Perigort, is now arriv'd at Poictiers,
And means to interpose in our behalf.

Aud.
His interposing is a gen'rous Office,
And I applaud it; but, beleive me, Prince,
Our Foes will rate their Mercy much too high.
I'd hope as soon a Tiger, tasting Blood,
Can feel Compassion, and release his Prey,
As that a Frenchman will forgo Advantage.

Prince.
I've by the Messenger that brought my Letters,
Sent him the Terms on which I warrant Treating.
The Sum is, my Consent to render back
The Castles, Towns, and Plunder we have taken,
Since marching out of Bourdeaux: And to plight
My Faith, that I, for sev'n succeeding Years,
Will wield no hostile Sword against their Crown.

Sal.
It is too much: My Prince, it is too much.
Give o'er such Traffic for inglorious Safety.
Or let us die or conquer.

Prince.
Salisbury,
Rely upon a Prince and Soldier's Promise,
That Caution shan't betray us into Meanness.
Heav'n knows, for me, I value Life so little,
That I would spend it as an idle Breath,
To serve my King, my Country,—nay my—Friend.
To Calls like these our Honour bids us answer,
Where ev'ry Hazard challenges Renown.
But sure the Voice of Heav'n and Cry of Nature,
Are loud against the Sacrifice of Thousands
To giddy Rashness. O reflect, my Friends,
I have a double delegated Trust,
And must account to Heav'n and to my Father,
For Lives ignobly sav'd, or madly lost.
'Till Perigort shall therefore bring their Terms,
Suspend we all Resolves, but those receiv'd,
Determination must be expeditious:
For know our Stock of Stores will barely reach
To furnish out the present Day's Subsistence.

Aud.
If so, Necessity, the last sad Guide
Of all Misfortune's Children, will command.

Chan.
We must submit to what wise Heav'n decrees.

Prince.
Let that great Duty but direct the Mind,
And Men will all be happily resign'd:
Accept whate'er th'Almighty deigns to give,
And die contented, or contented live:
Embrace the Lot his Providence ordains,
If deck'd with Laurels, or depress'd with Chains,
Inur'd to Labour, or indulg'd with Rest,
And think each Movement he decrees the best.

[Exeunt.