University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A Council-chamber. King Robert, Albany, and Douglas.
Albany.
My lord of Douglas offers to the state
Twice March's sum to have a marriage tied
Between his daughter and your son and heir.

King Robert.
How, brother? when my son is fast betrothed
To March's daughter and his holy vows
Beyond a shameless purchase! [Aside.]
Oh, I fear
That furrow in the black earl's heavy brow
Where cuts the plough-share of an iron wrath.

Douglas.
My lord the king ...

King Robert.
Good earl, I am distraught,
Nor fully know what you would have me do.

Douglas.
Sanction another marriage for your son
With one who springs from truer loins than his
Who hath forestall'd my offer—from a house
Most tried and loyal, with the purple dye
Of regal blood superb within its veins.
The faith of March is but a fungus growth,
A recent wat'ry issue of his lands,
The increase of a day, the slipp'ry spoil
Of tardy, smiling favour; but my truth
Is rooted on the centuries and fed
With ancient honours and continued grace.

Albany.
My lord of Douglas, I will plead your case.
You know, my liege, the prince's hand was bound
To March's daughter on a promise rich
Of treasure to the sore-impoverish'd State.
Now comes my lord of Douglas, fired to join
With sacred bond his dear paternal love
And cherish'd loyalty; in lavish mood
He gives a double treasure to our chests
For sake of that which sluggish March obtains
With half this eager offer. Shall we starve
The gaping treasury and cheat the thin
And lacking realm thro' terror of a knot
But tied with words? Nay, rather we must stab
The empty heart of language—a mere vow,
And rend it into nothing.

King Robert
[aside].
O my soul!
He ever reasons conscience out of me
With higher goodness than my frailty owns!—
You urged me thus to move the highland clans,
Chattan and Kay, upon the Inch of Perth,
Before my face, in midst of festal pomp,
To fall upon each other like wild beasts,
And tear the crimson life as trophy out
Of eight and fifty corpses. Albany,
Through all the years until my dying day,
Mine eyes will see the sight they sicken'd from
Even to blindness. God hath planted it
Before the steadfast mirror of my soul
That cannot blink; so there is no relief.
You said it was for safety of my land.

Albany.
Ay, so I said, and so it proved, my liege.
Your lowlands lie in rip'ning repose,
And harvesters, with sickles round the neck,
From brown lips bless my counsel.

King Robert.
Christian deeds
Are said to lay a peace upon our souls
Like hush of snow: the virtue which you preach
Tears like a howling tempest, sharp and foul.
One falls a blessing, and one roars a ban;
Yet both are righteousness and both of God!
Help me, ye heavenly pow'rs!

Albany.
Alas, on earth
The choice is often between good and good,
Not good and evil; hence a struggle scars
The upright, tender conscience that must turn
Its back upon some part of righteousness
To face a fuller portion. So a king
For sake of those he rules must bear a strife
Between the holy teachings of his heart
And holier duties of his crownèd head.

King Robert.
Yes, you are right. The gold upon my brow
Hath often bought the voice within my breast.
Proceed! This contract split, do you not fear
The wrath of March? Methinks it might so rage
Our coffers would be emptier than ere
Lord Douglas filled them, and we broke our word.
There lies the pinch of conscience.

Douglas.
Choose your foes—
The fickle March or staunchest Douglas! Choose
To tie me closer to your love, or break
The bonds of fealty my injured pride
Would burn to carry.

Albany.
Think of it, my liege—
Lord Douglas is the pillar of the realm;
His pow'r the very dais of your throne.

King Robert.
Good cousin Douglas!

Albany.
Brother, I have urged
The harsh and stinging duty of a crown;
A sweeter reason waits for utterance,
Private, paternal. Ofttimes have we mourn'd
The free, immodest living of your son;
We dreamt of marriage as a bond to clasp
His vagrant love and fancies wandering.
For this the woman of our choice should bear
A firm and constant nature, little touch'd
With fickle luring passion and mere grace
Of colour'd beauty. Such are threads of silk;
We seek for chains infrangible and sure.
Slender and soft is March's daughter, trick'd
With cloying charms; but strong and proud of heart,
Solemn in years and grave in countenance
Is Marjorie of Douglas, framed to curb
Ill-mannerly approach, and turn to shame
The levity of green unbridled youth.

[Enter Rothsay.]
King Robert.
David! I shrink to meet his glance.

Albany.
How now,
Lord Regent, that you break upon us thus?
We rarely see you at the council-board.
Your seat is yonder.

Rothsay.
In the market-place
Slaves stand for sale. I will not sit; I'll stand
In purchasable shame before you all
Who bargain for my manhood; stand and watch
My father sell the birthright of my flesh;
Yea, stand and bear a sacrilege my youth
Must damn itself to credit.

King Robert.
David, peace!

Rothsay.
God! I am faint with insult, and the thought
I had of my own self is sick to death;
I'm wounded in a place no tears can wash,
Outraged beyond the surgeon's knife of speech;
I cannot lift the colour to my face,
For shame is so ashamed that she has fled.
Hucksters!

King Robert.
Oh, silence!

Rothsay.
Nothing glorious
Is marketable—fame, nor love, nor deeds
Of any virtue, youth nor happiness;
Nothing, oh nothing, but the meanest things
Of which I am the meanest. On my soul,
You drag me in the dirt and there I'll lie
And dash it in your faces; [to King Robert]
ay, in yours.
'Tis well you are my elders; if you were
My age, I hardly think that I could bear
To leave you living.

Albany.
Wherefore all this noise
And rampant passion? We would understand
The tossing cause thereof.

Rothsay.
Speak it! Oh no!
'Twould want an old and worldly merchant, one
Who has a counting-house. I'm still a prince
About the lips, nor know your tricks with coin,
Your sales of man for woman, your low truck
And miserable frauds. You've ruin'd me,
And thrown my youth down to the bottom step
Of Pride's high stairs. I'll never climb again.

Douglas.
Now by Saint Bride ...

Rothsay.
Prate not of brides to me in holy terms,
Ye cursèd purchasers of manhood's fame!
A bride! A mistress owning whom she serves,
The handmaid to her lackey hired with gold!
A sanctified and blessèd state, my lords!

King Robert.
David! It is not so. ... At least—

Rothsay.
It is.

King Robert.
For your sake and the country's ...

Rothsay.
I must wed
The wither'd lass of kind Earl Archibald.

Douglas.
Sir David, Duke of Rothsay ...

Rothsay.
Bear her tongue,
Which nips the meanest bud that Love can grow.

Albany.
Nephew, these words are childish; this the rage
Of young and milky feeling, when the tough
And unfamiliar bread of this world's life
Forces soft inclination from its pap
And diets it on dry necessity.
Those of your birth must ever pay such price
For their high station.

King Robert.
And their people's good.

Albany.
Thus hath it ever been and so must be
With you as princely others in all lands.

Rothsay.
Elizabeth was fair!

Albany.
And Marjorie
Is noble.

Rothsay.
Balanced cunningly! Ha, ha!

Albany
[aside].
He's dropp'd to levity and lost his case,
Now I can handle him.— [Aloud.]
There is no way
But that you yield, and with untroubled mind
Enjoy such freedom as your birth allows.

King Robert.
Brother, what do you say?

Albany
[aside].
The honey—hush!—
Commending to young lips the medicine.—
[Aloud.]
Use charily the privilege.

Rothsay.
Not I!
Oh, write your contract, for it joins my life
To snaky-headed Sin, in whose hot breast
I'll know what pleasure is. Call forth your priest—
He's but a pander in the guise of Heav'n.
Let Hymen's torches flare—they smell of pitch
And sulph'rus fever of contemn'd desire;
Ring from your steeples—'tis the curfew bell;
Prepare your bridal veil—'tis hiding night;
Present your hateful bride to pulseless arms—
And Lust receives the harlot in its clasp.

King Robert.
Mine ears have never yet unclosed their doors
To words of viler passion. 'Tis the fiend
Of wrath and opposition in your soul
That rages in such speech. Your headlong sense
And reinless fury well deserve more curb
Than marriage with a noble woman, one
Whose touch is conquest and whose presence peace.
Your land requires the sacrifice, if such
You hold the sacred tie; and there you stand
With selfish tumult on abandon'd lips,
Disgraced by Reason's flight. You cannot know,
Thus senseless, if you love ...

Rothsay.
Love! Speak it not!
It is a glorious word whose ecstasy
Opens the soul to morning; a sweet bird
That sings along the tangled forest ways
Of Impulse and Enchantment. Name that name,
I'll lock it in your throat.

King Robert.
Son David, hold!
You have forgotten in your frowardness
To whom you speak.

Rothsay.
No surely—'tis my sire
Who puts me up to auction; that the face
My mother chose. Forget! My brain is clear
To take such recognition, keep its brand
Till death unkin me. That the hoary frame,
Whose flesh inherited ties down my life
To bondage till the worms unloose the web.
Work out your pleasure; use me as you will;
I do not care; I'm yours to mar or make.
Marry my hand, turn all my heart to gold,
The filthy gold that's damn'd me! Walter, Ralph,
Ramorgny, to the tavern!

[Rushes out.
King Robert.
Woe is me!
There is my own blood in that flashing face;
I feel it stir the currents of my life.

Albany.
You must be firm. My lord of Douglas bends
A raging brow that dooms unless assuaged.

King Robert.
Cousin, forgive my son his thankless mood.
He's restive against bridle; his free youth
Chafes at the sound of bondage, tho' the reins
Be in a woman's hand.

Douglas.
Fear not, my liege.
The priest shall rivet marriage with my house.

Albany.
Lord David's rash offence will soon dissolve
Beneath his nature's lightness.

King Robert.
Think you so?
When roused, he hath a stubborn petulance
That swells above control.

Albany.
A song or dance
Open safe floodgates to his giddy fume.

King Robert.
Ay, so it seems; but in his bitterness
There is a sly tenacity that coils
Within the colour'd vestment of his mirth,
Cold as a snake and ready for the hiss.

Albany.
Youth, youth—mere youth! 'Tis ever harsh and sweet,
Honey and gall, the zephyr and the blast,
The union of jarring opposites.

King Robert.
He never has forgiven me, forsooth,
Because I gave his training and control
To certain grave and pow'rful councillors,
Who cut him off from growing wantonness,
Unseemly conversation and light sports.
He seem'd with whole and gracious heart to bend
To this my wish and swore obedience;
By healthy counsel braced, conform'd himself
To their direction and good mastership.
But ever and anon a shaft was sped
From scorn-bent lips that pierced my fair content;
And when his mother died, he rush'd away,
As if a noose were broken, from restraint
Of agèd wisdom, gave himself afresh
To lightness, and no force can bend him now
To gravity of manners.

Albany.
Save a wife
Of noble mould and calm austerity.

King Robert.
So have I dreamt. I shall be glad when peace
Commends this business; when I lay my hands
In wonted blessing, often gently ask'd,
On David's head. To feel the golden curls
Is richer than a gilded treasury!

[Exeunt.