University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Chamber in Brecon Castle.
Barnabas and the Master Falconer.
BARNABAS.
The Lord of Builth, and master everywhere.
His uncle's burial issues in a feast;
Therefore he will be merry. What cares he
How sadly show the hangings overhead,
So that the wine-cup sparkle ruddily?
I look for pipes and cornets by-and-bye.
With this his uncle he did eat and drink;
And now he eats and drinks because of him.

FALCONER.
Since noon I doubted of his holiday.
Pray Heaven he spare the minstrelsy to-night!

BARNABAS.
My place was with the warders last of all,
I could not see the Earls at setting forth.

FALCONER.
He, Geoffrey, Lord of Builth by soccage fief,
Must ride to church chief mourner, in the midst
'Twixt Mahel and the Earl of Hereford!

BARNABAS.
This Builth would take the first man's place from Adam!

FALCONER.
A younger brother's child is nearer kin
Than Bernard Newmark's son and son-in-law!
Of greater majesty than two such earls!
Ever till now men's issue were their heirs.

BARNABAS.
The heralds called their names?

FALCONER.
Ay, orderly,
With little learning in their craft they might:
The next in blood is highest in degree.
First Mahel, Earl of Brecon: after him
Fitzwalter, Earl of Hereford: and last,
This kinsman Geoffrey Newmark, Lord of Builth.

BARNABAS.
What did he then?

FALCONER.
Spurred right betwixt the two:
Nor might the pursuivants stop, turn, or shame him.
He bent D'Eyle's silver sceptre 'cross his pate
For only thinking of it.

BARNABAS.
What said Mahel?

FALCONER.
He?—not one word. Grief-choked and blind with tears,
He cared not how he went. So Builth rode midst
Through Castlegate and Boroughgate to church,
Despite of Hereford, whose choice was patience,
Or blows, or turning back again.

BARNABAS.
He fills
His cushion at the feast by some such tenure;
And once again usurps Fitzwalter's place.
The guests bareheaded stood beside their stools,
And in walked Hereford with horns before him—
Grooms, vergers, chamberlains, apparitors—
Sir Humphrey Uske, Sir Giles, Saint Vallery,
But first, the Seneschal to clear his way.
Straight toward the steps, and where the board runs crosswise
He treads suspicionless as heretofore:
And lo! what finds he there but Geoffrey Builth
In state, as host, beneath the baldichin!
A lord amongst his lieges!

FALCONER.
Mercy on us!

BARNABAS.
Builth calls out “stools and trenchers” lustily,
“Room for his noble kinsman Hereford;”
But still he keeps his seat. Fitzwalter stares,
Then turns him round to speak that all may hear—
“Our shrovetide gambols last till midsummer.”
With that he leads his servants down the hall,
And fairly out of it.

FALCONER.
They ring the beakers!
Empty again! Run, Barnabas!

(Exeunt.)

SCENE II.

A Chamber in the Castle.
Mahel and Father Stephen.
STEPHEN.
Our lord at last! Health to the Earl of Brecon!
With all things good and happy all life through!
Ten days ago we might have hailed him thus:
But death had yet scarce left the vacant chair,
And grief, as envious of a new possessor,
Still kept her place beside it. In his shroud
Our ancient master ruled us all! we feared
Division of our reverence between you:
So stinted homage even to his heir.
Methought the bell which tolled us home from church,
Maintained so long his awe and sovereignty:
Its last stroke set us free. Our duty now
Is pleased and single too: old love still serves,
Though clad in fresher livery. Take thy place
Still higher as Newmark's Son than Brecon's Earl:
Keep it with all thy might. The meek are blessed—
Both worlds are theirs by promise—take them both:
Be gentle still, and henceforth resolute!

MAHEL.
The rather that my father hoped it not,
I will be so.

STEPHEN.
He ever loved thee best,
Even as it was, when farthest out of sight.
Betwixt himself and what he wished in thee,
A county's breadth had been too strait for peace.

MAHEL.
My duty was not measured by his love.
I have not paid back honor as he earned it.
Above his sepulchre I stood to-day,
As I would wish that both may stand for judgment,
With no reproachful thoughts to plead against me,
Remembering hasty words and rebel hopes:
Nor was pride called as counsellor to grief.
So far my heart upbraids me not.

STEPHEN.
I know it.
In that light government which ends at last,
My speed was winged as swiftly as my prayers—
A prosperous charge and easy to me—yet
I sometimes tremble at mine own success,
Mistrusting whether what I toiled to do—
Good questionless apart from that it ends in—
Being timed unseasonably, and placed amiss,
May not prove evil to thee.

MAHEL.
Thou didst teach
That what is good is singly so, or ceases:
We cannot mix or change it.

STEPHEN.
True, I did:
Yet some respect it has to circumstance;
For wise conformity is also good.
Too stubborn good, being proud, is so far evil.
We must retrench a little from its wealth
To furnish out our fortunes worthily.
Pure thoughts, fair customs, gracious biases
Are such to life as sailors to their ship,
Who guide it through the waters by their skill,
But neither choose the voyage nor rule the wind.
They sometimes steer their course a point awry,
And indirectly reach their port the sooner.
Alas, I see thee blush for me! Well, do so—
It shows that grace is still with one of us.

MAHEL.
If only one, it cannot be with me.
Whither wouldst lead me, Father?

STEPHEN.
Back again—
Even to the place I found thee in at first—
Where life's short road, yet single, parts itself;
Thy foot upon the fork 'twixt good and evil—
Paths not unlike, nor far divided, yet—
Great-hearted, ready-handed, generous, careless,
With eyes intent on glory—guileless still
As that first dove, first seen in Paradise,
Which Adam spared to name till taught by Eve.
I say by choice inclined to good. What then?
At such an age who not? This cousin of thine—
Who else like Geoffry Builth? Yet, now his feet
Wade deep, through blood, toward death.

MAHEL.
I cared not then
How soon mine followed him to such an end.
His steps were lighted by the blaze he kindled.
Thou first didst teach me that our feet have uses
Better than those which he has turned them to.
Can this prove evil to me? What dost fear?

STEPHEN.
The path is perilous nevertheless!

MAHEL.
Toward peace?

STEPHEN.
Where peace should be. What hedge shall shelter it?
Our faith? Our universal Faith? She stands
At every turn for every other use:
We swear, we covenant, we traffic by her:
Her name is on our lintels, door-posts, robes:
Her everlasting symbols are displayed
Above our cradles, tables, beds, and graves.
Who questions with her? who forbears to praise her?
Yet who on earth considers what she means?
Her badge of mercy blazons half our shields:
Sword-hilts are fashioned as memorials of it:
The cross adorns stalls built for usury—
Our hostelries have fixed it o'er the door—
It rests on harlots' bosoms in the stews!
This sign of man's forgiveness leads to battle!
While every tyrant hangs its ensign out
In scorn of justice from his battlements,
Mailed prelates march before it to the field—
Priest fights with priest, and both sides under it!
This sign and pledge of mercy! Should I slip
The leash that yet had held thee—cry halloo—
Run, swift of foot! run first in such a race?
Alas, because I spared to teach thee thus,
I tremble, as I said, but not repent!

MAHEL.
Who calls?

STEPHEN.
The Lady Bertha—then adieu!
She brings the peace we seek.
(Exit Stephen.)

(Enter Bertha Fitzwalter.
BERTHA.
To one so great
She would bring something better in its place.

MAHEL.
Better than peace is love alone—bring love
With love's best promises renewed. Behold,
My greatness shall receive them on the knee!

BERTHA.
Fie! not to-day.

MAHEL.
Ay, every day. Foul love,
Or faithless love, or love unsanctified
Were so far wise to hide himself from grief,
As that which scorns and shames him. Such as ours
May meet each other coming from the tomb,
Or travelling toward the altar. What would'st bring me,
If neither love nor peace?

BERTHA.
I will not shoot
With ell-long shafts at bees and butterflies—
I dare not at thyself. I will not spend
Wise words against love's lispings; and I fear
To aim where they might hurt.

MAHEL.
Afraid of me?

BERTHA.
Nay, that were cowardice indeed! Not I!
All feeblest things on earth have stouter hearts.
The spaniel basks at large before the fire,
Nor will he stir a foot of his for thine.
Old as she is, the cat retains thy stool,
Like Geoffrey Builth, by right of victory.
Grooms, foot-boys, falconers, pass with caps unlowered:
And babes, who fled the beadel's whip a mile,
May run to deafen Mahel with their cries.
Then why should Bertha fear him?

MAHEL.
Why indeed?

BERTHA.
Yet would she have thee feared. A common lord
Made all subordinate degrees seem less:
Earl Bernard's children were his servants too.
But now we quit this page-like garniture,
And should put on authority and awe.
I would not see thee humbler than thy state,
Nor less than those before thee.

MAHEL.
That were ill;
But worse the sudden appetite o'erfed
With unaccustomed sweets to gluttony—
A newly-feasted beggar's superflux,
Full-gorged and insolent. I need not use
My little sceptre, like a May-day king
Proud of its wreaths and gilding, to abase
Irreverend eyes in lowlier playfellows.
There will be time hereafter to assume
Those graver looks and garments one by one.

BERTHA.
They may be stolen by others first. When wear them
If not to day? Already the thieves break in!
Hereafter! not at present! sometime hence!
To-morrow, perhaps, or next day! Geoffrey Builth
Abates thee scarce an hour for breathing time.
He takes priority as older, stronger,
More skilled, more feared, and better served than thou—
Pushes his shoulder foremost in the crowd,
To hide so small a follower from men's eyes.
Nay, he supplants thee at thy father's grave,
And robs thee of his seat! Six months ago
Would Geoffrey Builth have dealt at Brecon thus?
Jostle with Bernard Newmark for his chair?

MAHEL.
Ay would he, had he wanted it. Hush! hush!
Else must I seal those lips for charity
With other pressure than of argument.
Who now will love light-hearted carelessness,
And unrespective valour marching on
With easy gait, through webs which usage spins
To snare the little legs of weaker men,
If Bertha hate them thus? Builth's noisy tongue,
O'erhasty as it is in all offence,
Seems slow and silent matched against his doings.
What land, where danger reared his ensigns highest,
Has seen another nearer them?

BERTHA.
Good sooth,
It were a potent reason to the rest
For running out of sight from such a wolf,
If all the beasts beside were hares and foxes.
Well then, he shall be master every where—
Ride with a mighty earl on either side him,
And wear his cap in church while they stand bare!
Fitzwalter was but deputy to-day,
So left the feast beneath his government,
And fled the hall—yet not through fear of him.
He would have kept his hold at Hereford.
But come—no matter—bid the guests good bye—
We are not all too brave for modesty;
So walk like those before thee. Hark! they call.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Butlery opening into the Great Hall.
Barnabas—Peter the Butler, and Ralph, with other servants passing through.
RALPH.
The widow's eyes, to-day, were dry as mine.
I fain would see so stout a leading staff
In hands as strong as those which used to hold it.

BARNABAS.
Together they were over much for me.
This leading staff was held in partnership;
And she would rather grip the nether end,
Than loose the whole of it. Dry-eyed, Sir Pantler!
It has made mine make water many a time.
But get thee to thy cellarage again—
Builth's people will have service.

PETER.
Wine for grooms
Wine for Builth's foresters!

BARNABAS.
Ay, so they say.

PETER.
Not drink metheglin in the barbican?

BARNABAS.
They will no more of it; but lift their cry
For Bordelais or Rhenish. Five-hooped stoops
Are empty ere they well have laid the dust
Of such fierce dog-day drouth and sultriness.
Tis five times worse with single jacks. Send down
And broach the triple-butt lodged last of all:
It hath an ancient smatch of Bordilais,
And sundry other kinds, beside crab verjuice.

PETER.
Bid Job be ready with his yokes and measures.
The thirteenth table Rhenish! We jog on
Towards last year's plenishment apace.

BARNABAS.
There needs
Such thirsty haste to keep abreast their eating.
Both ways the Lord of Builth does mightily;
He sits beneath his tester like a prince—
Sir Philip and Sir Andrew either side him.
Fain would they make the burial end of all
Like meat, drink, care, or sorrow.

RALPH.
Hast spiced the bowls?
We must have quarter-tons for buttery service.

PETER.
Who notched the second tale of three-score flagons?

BARNABAS.
I did count these, and then surceased awhile,
Being out of heart and tallies. Geoffrey Builth
Has got the canopy above his poll,
And rules amongst the mourners merrily.
He followed, since the noon, his uncle's bier;
And now he fills his seat with broader haunches,
Thinking no more what brought him here to-day,
Than I of Hardicanute.

PETER.
But where is Mahel?

RALPH.
At prayers belike, with Stephen, in his closet.
Sirs, shall I speak the truth of him, or lie—
Or hold my tongue—or how? This nursling Earl
Is but a babe of two-and-twenty years.
So harmless is he, artless, peaceful, patient—
Of such fair carriage, and such good report,
That he is good for nothing.

PETER.
Why so, gossip?
Because he feasts not here to-day with Builth?
Fitzwalter might have done as son-in-law,
But neither sons or brothers used to do:
Then wherefore good for nothing?

RALPH.
Look abroad—
Our herbs, in field and garden, thrive the best,
Connaturally with clime, and soil, and season:
But sometimes well enough by cheating nature
With feigned conformity, till changed indeed
Through that which renders use as strong as she.
So must we men, to prosper. These are times
For rough and ready hands, like Geoffrey Builth's:
And he who has them not should seem to have.
Our new Earl's sire raised his both high and oft,
But not in prayer.

BARNABAS.
Thou dost with all thy might,
Both pray and preach 'gainst grace and godliness.
Clerk Satan sits at hand to say amen!
Great subterranean doctrines, Pantler Ralph!
These herbs of thine are hot.

RALPH.
Canst answer me?

BARNABAS.
Not I—nor care to mix amongst such simples.
Till better furnished with an ell-long spoon,
I shall forbear thy pottage. If our calf
Have too much milk at present in his mouth,
He did not draw it from the cow that bare him,
Nor has he grazed upon these plants of thine.

PETER.
The guests are up! hark! bustle both of ye!

(Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Hall of the Castle, hung with black escutcheons and banners. The guests rising as at the conclusion of a banquet. Geoffrey Lord of Builth, Sir Philip de Breos, Sir Andrew Fitzhaman, Sir Simon de la Hay, Sir Hugh, &c., advance from the cross-table at the upper end to meet Mahel Earl of Brecon; Fitzwalter Earl of Hereford; the Countess Mother of Brecon; her daughter Margaret, Countess of Hereford; and Bertha Fitzwalter; followed from the end opposite by Sir Michael Brace, the Seneschal, Sir Reginald Saint Vallery, Sir Humfrey of Uske, Sir Giles, Sir Paul, and other knights.
MAHEL.
Thanks both to friends and servants for their love.
Our cousin, the lord of Builth, Sir Philip de Breos,
Sir Andrew, Simon, Hew, have hosts at Brecon:
Their beds are with the prior of St. John.
Others have far to ride before they sleep,
And twilight shews the earliest of the stars.
While d'Eyle prepares to summon all again,
Fill me a cup of wine, Sir Michael Brace,
That I may drink to each a happier meeting,
And health till then.

(Trumpets sound.)
SECOND HERALD.
Stand bare awhile!

FIRST HERALD.
O yes!

SECOND HERALD.
Those caps off, yonder—peace!

FIRST HERALD.
O yes, O yes!
All barons, knights, knight-bachelors, esquires,
Frank-tenants, yeomen, villeins—all men else
Who hold their land by seizin, service, wardship,
In capite, free-soccage, gavel-kind,
Church-tenure, burgage-tenure, villeinage,
Are hereby cited to do homage for them,
Make oath of fealty, discharge their fines,
Or else plead ousterlmain, and sue by livery,
On St. John Baptist's Martyrdom, at noon.

(Trumpets and acclamation.)
(Geoffrey Builth, who had remained covered, advances.)
GEOFFREY.
O yes, O yes! cried lustily for heaven!
And therefore largess to the pursuivants.
(Throws them his purse.)
We thank our friends and lieges every one—
Both knights and knaves—with all our heart we thank them.
First, these our kinsmen by the father's side,
My lord of Hereford, and gentle Mahel,
Sir Humfrey Uske, Sir Giles, Saint Vallery;
Then each in his degree.

SIR HUGH.
I will not wait
For Saint John Baptist's Martyrdom at noon
To swear my fealty; but on the knee
Do homage now.— (He kneels to Geoffrey.)


SIR ANDREW.
I thought to be the first
Who prayed long life for Geoffrey, lord of Builth,
As Earl of Brecon too.— (He kneels to Geoffrey.)


FITZWALTER.
Stand up, Sir Hugh!
What ill-conceited trasheries are these?
A single clown, yea even a sober one,
Were out of grace and welcome here to-day.
Three drunken jack-a-lents, at any time,
Could only mock each other. Wise Sir Andrew
Plays merry-Andrew at a burial;
And stout Sir Hugh a jester's supple-back!

GEOFFREY.
Our cousin of Hereford is cursed and crooked,
Through nothing worse than emptiness. Good sooth,
He would not eat nor drink with us! We three
Thrive better for our meat.

FITZWALTER.
A fool at noon
Is seldom much the wiser after supper—
And this buffoonery began betimes.

SIR HUGH.
Is all such service foolery, my lord?

FITZWALTER.
I am but slow at riddles, good Sir Hugh.

GEOFFREY.
Then let us help thy wits, which twice to-day
Have lacked a lighted lantern. Thus it is—
My servants wish me joy as master here,
Lord, both of Builth and Brecon—so I am—
And will be so with leave of Hereford,
Or else without it. Such I rode to church—
The heir, and lawfully the next of kin
To Bernard Newmark, buried there. As such
I sat at table in the seat he left me—
His successor, his substitute, his nephew,
His younger brother Roger Newmark's son.
The Lord of Builth is Earl of Brecon too.
Needst more illumination yet, fair coz?
Or will this serve?

FITZWALTER.
Nay, truly, this will not.
At Hereford we count men's sons and daughters
As nearer kin than nephews.

GEOFFREY.
Do ye so?
At Hereford I grant it may be thus.
Ye men of Hereford dwell farther east—
Wisdom must pass you ere it get to Builth:
We catch, at best, your leavings. Hereford!
I' faith ye judge aright! Sons should stand first.
Yet stop! not all—what sort of sons? There be
Diversities among them. Some men say
That pilchards are the unlawful sons of herrings—
A kind of mules—but then subordinately—
Without inheritance. Why, look you, sirs,
I Builth have sons and daughters—Geoffrey Builth,
As yet a bachelor, has many such.
What then? My mother's nephew—here he is—
May sometime push his little kinsfolk out—
My blood, my bone, my flesh, my boys and girls—
Himself being next as heir. Indeed he may—
This Philip de Breos here.

FITZWALTER.
What of that?

GEOFFREY.
Why so?
Because their mothers missed the way to church—
Forgot the priest—were ill at making bargains.
By law, they should have had a clerk at hand
To give men nine months notice of their coming.
Mahel was ill provided for in this.
Mine uncle Bernard seemed a careful man,
But here his memory failed him.

COUNTESS.
Lead him hence!
Go, scourge him homewards! When the sot comes next,
Let him be seated at the bench outside;
And keep him fasting till we send for him.

GEOFFREY.
Special hard usage in a man's own house!
The wine I drank to-day was mine before—
Drawn from my flasks and barrels. Fasting too!
Scourged homeward—sayest thou?—why, I am at home.
Where be these beadels, mistress What's-thy-name?
I would deal tenderly with every one—
For uncle Bernard's sake, I would do so—
But scourges on the back of Geoffrey Builth!
Ah! ah! fair leman mine!

DE BREOS.
Have patience, sirs.
Builth claims the Earldom here as lawful heir.
If Mahel and his sister Margaret
Were born with wedlock's blessings overhead,
The proofs are patent—three-and-twenty years
Have left some records on the spot, no doubt:
Ye have not far to look for them.

GEOFFREY.
Give room—
If this Welsh princess Nest were Newmark's wife,
Where be the vouchers, records, contracts, pacts,
The priests, the witnesses, the bridegroom's fellows,
The bride's companions? Who was at the feast?
Who kindled bonfires on the hills? Who danced?
Who swept the marriage-chamber from mishap?
Ye live among your people—bring them forth.
Marriage makes such a coil when coupling great ones,
I never could go nearer than the feast.
When these were born to him, Earl Bernard's pate
Was grey with more than forty years—and he
No maiden runaway at any time.
What need of whisperings then, and traversings,
And kissing-corners to a man like him?
His brother, my dead father, thought as I—
So do these knights.

DE BREOS.
I tread on no man's heels;
But ask for guidance to a sure belief
From written chronicles or living lips.
Let Mahel bring his proofs.

SIR ANDREW.
I say so too.

GEOFFREY.
By holy Jude, I say the same myself!
With all my heart I do subscribe to this.
Will any honest man wish more or less?
Speak out at once, boy, like thy father's child—
So far no matter for the priest—wilt bide
By wise men's judgment, both sides pleading issue?
Or shall we bear our difference to the king?
Lastly, as best and shortest of the three,
Wilt call Heaven's saints to arbitrate between us,
The while we look each other in the face?
Wilt do me right on horseback or on foot?
There lies my gage!

(Throws down his gauntlet.)
MAHEL.
I will await the first,
The wise men's inquest, and rest there. To-morrow
So strange a challenge will make mirth for all;
But now the soberer half is most perplexed.

COUNTESS.
Will it do so? Make mirth to-morrow, will it,
That Geoffrey Builth has warned thee out of doors,—
Seized thine inheritance at one day's notice—
And called thy mother harlot? Mirth, good sooth!
A gracious provocation to the merry!
Thyself and sister judged for bastardy—
And this sot's glove before thy face! Why, here
He has a proof worth ten times all the rest;
Earl Bernard's son a coward! I do begin
To think thee what he calls thee—both sides bastard—
A beggar's changeling stolen from some ditch—
Neither his son nor mine. Stoop, thou slave!
Pick up the braggart's gauntlet!
[Shouts from the spectators.
Mahel! fie!
He dares not! look, he leaves it!

COUNTESS.
Thrust Builth out!
Who sides with me for Brecon?

DE BREOS.
Prithee, stand back!
We shall have blood enough if this game speed.
One burial will beget a hundred more.
My lord of Hereford, give help!

FITZWALTER.
Stand off!
We that are sober should forbear—away!
Let both sides keep their benches. Now, De Breos,
What say'st thou?

DE BREOS.
That we cannot end to-night,
With kicks and cuffs, a question such as this.
Prithee have patience, Geoffrey, while I speak.
Mahel by right has made the choice we gave him.
Take up thy glove, fair cousin.
(Gives him the gauntlet.)
If we must fight,
Let us have Heaven and day light over-head,
The grass to stand upon, and next our hearts
Iron mail as sound as they. Knighthood will blush,
If they who sat like brethren, side by side,
The earlier portion of so great a feast,
Should pelt their wine cups at each other's pates,
And end the high solemnity with knives!
Geoffrey, sit down! My lord of Hereford,
Let us debate of this with cooler brains,
And meet again to-morrow.

FITZWALTER.
Well, Sir Philip—
I care not when we meet, or how. To-morrow?
If ever Geoffrey's knighthood blush again,
It will to-morrow, Sir Philip de Breos.

DE BREOS.
We meet
In honor and unarmed?

FITZWALTER.
Ay, either way.

DE BREOS.
Let us come habited as now we are.
The Earl of Hereford, Sir Michael Brace,
Sir Giles, Sir Humphrey Uske, Sir Reginald,
Will pledge their knightly faith against surprise?
We shall have right of passage in and out?
I dare trust all or either.

GEOFFREY.
Tarry, Fitzwalter!
This challenge of the Earldom, needs it blushes?
Who else need blush beside thy mother-in-law?

DE BREOS.
Peace—come away! My lord of Hereford
Has promised us, and so have these. Good night!

[Exeunt.