 | William Rufus |  |
Scene I.
—Borders of the New Forest. Enter Beowulf and a crowd of Peasants.1st Peasant.
Still they afforest, still they take our land;
They tax us into hunger, and our bread
Is in the purse of gold for Normandy.
2nd Peasant.
Father, the land is ours?
Beowulf.
The land is his
Who finds in it himself—his toil, his time,
His hope, his sweat, his sorrow.
1st Peasant.
So he prates.
I'm sick to death.
3rd Peasant.
A tombstone of a man!
He comforts with big words and prophecies,
And thinks he fools our misery. Because
His bonnie eyes of English blue were charred,
We put our faith in him. He's dark as night,
No cheer nor meaning in him.
1st Peasant.
And no aid
For famine-stricken mouths.
2nd Peasant.
The Ætheling
Will have some heart to help us.
1st Peasant.
Michael's Mount
Held him in prison. Now he rides the woods
With the king's troop and keeps him company:
Who loves him loves us not. There is no hope.
Beowulf.
Wait without hope. I wait till this mute dark
Numbers its doomful hours. No tender fall
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'Twill break up in the imbecility,
Confusion, undiscernment of the grave.
So will my blindness end; I have no hope,
I suffer. ... Hope's a maggot eats the heart
From the stout timbers of endurance. Starve.
[Enter Old Man: in the distance Officers measuring the land with ropes.]
2nd Peasant.
There are the officers. Let's bring him word
What they are marking off. If it's the land
They're hurting ...
3rd Peasant.
Ay, he says the Earth's himself,
He put his flesh and blood in 't, just as if
He'd dug a grave within it for his child.
[They go apart.
Old Man.
It's sore to see him; he stands like a tree
Infect with autumn. I will speak with him.
[To Beowulf.]
Art thinking of the grave?
Beowulf.
Why, man, your voice
Minds of the russet-apples that I stole
With Edgar in the orchard. Are you he?
Old Man.
Ay, ay, your ancient play-mate. Beowulf
I fear you're clouded by these ominous
Murmurs and threats, and in your suffering
Sigh for the humble strewings of a grave.
Beowulf.
I'm not impatient; if by rotting down
One might break earth of her sterility! ...
As for the rich they're misers of their mould;
No crumb of their corruption will they fling
The famished earth.
Old Man.
Nay, nay, you're with the worms!
There are tombs clean and dry, though a poor man
May not inhabit such, the thought of them
Is pleasant; they are strong and quaintly cut.
One may lie there
With all one's bravery. 'Tis even said
The moth doth not corrupt. Could a man dwell
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He were lodged peacefully.
Beowulf.
I will not rise;
I'm used now to the dark; a flare of saints
Would hurt me like the scorch of the hot brass
That withered up my sight.
Old Man.
Be comforted.
The Lord will judge the tyrant.
Beowulf.
How you talk!
Do you think the Earth's a thing that makes your flesh
Soft for the worms?—the harvests lie asleep
Upon her bosom; she has reared the spring;
The seasons are her change of countenance;
She lives; and now for many thousand years
Hath ruled the toiling and the rest of men.
There's none like her for judging the true way,
Quick'ning the weeds, setting the twitch to work,
Or blasting with sterility: she'll judge.
Old Man.
In sooth there have been prodigies and dreams.
I have had one most marvellous; methought
As I was fishing in the Stour, the tide
Grew ruddy, and the milky placid stream
Heaved turbulent, while in my weighty net
Smirk'd finny demons; but I drew the haul,
Crossing myself, untrembling to the shore.
Eh, eh! I drowned the devils with the sign
Yet verily these portents show the earth
And sea and sky are must'ring for a curse.
You do not mis-interpret.
[Re-enter Peasants.]
1st Peasant.
All is gone.
My little plot, my home; they'll turn it all
To forest for the king.
3rd Peasant.
And what is left
To till is taxed where plough can never reach,
And spade were choked with furze.
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We'll beat them off.
An' teach them they're not hunting deer to-day,
But men with staves and children.
1st Peasant.
Beat them down!
[Exeunt in tumult.
Old Man.
He's sicklied as he were about to die;
The still-born curses hang upon his lips;
Yet I believe he's praying. Beowulf,
Do thou make known this matter to the Lord;
He will avenge.
Beowulf.
The Lord! Oh, He's above!
There's something lying at the roots of things
I burrow for.
Old Man.
Good brother, one is down
In the encounter and they beckon me.
Think on your sins, for I must succour him,
And by the pallor of your face I judge
Your end is come.
[Exit.
Beowulf
[supporting himself against a rock-bound oak].
O mighty in resource,
Earth, wilt thou suffer loss of liberty
Unquivering? A rope about the land!
[A noise heard: the Officers advance.]
1st Officer.
Make way, you blundering lout.
2nd Officer.
Oh, he's a stump,
Let him be bound'ry! Trail the cord along.
Measure from this blind peasant to yo oak
Ten rods. [Looking at Beowulf.]
He's unresistent.
Beowulf
[clasping the rock].
Oh, revenge!
| William Rufus | |