University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

—A Room in the Palace of Scoon.
Porter of the Palace.—Lord Abernethy.
ABERNETHY.
Why, what's the matter? what intends this stir,
Molesting thus, with clutter and with cry,
Ere dayspring, the beginning preparations
Of coronation-pomp?

PORTER.
My lord, there stands
A madman by, in gesture, gait, and speech,
Strange and unusual.

ABERNETHY.
What? a madman, sirrah?
Why, 'tis not strange that madmen should be here;
They're here, and everywhere, sown through the world,
As thick and gross as funguses:—But what
Of him peculiar?

PORTER.
He stands perch'd before
The palace-gate, with eyes as fiery-red
As cherubim that burn'd and waved upon
The just-forbidden walls of Paradise.

ABERNETHY.
Aha, 'tis usquebaugh that kindles up
His eyes like torches in their drunken sockets;
Go get a dozen of your household knaves,
And from his fixture drag him by the ears
Down to the village-alehouse, where at full
He may re-dabble in his fiery cups,
And double-light his cresset-luminaries.

PORTER.
My Lord, it would be easier to unwrench
The door-post from the stone to which 'tis mortised,
Than sunder him from his usurped spot,
Where, like a garrison, he stands and utters
Words cutting as the swords of adversaries
To those that venture near.

ABERNETHY.
Tush!—Bring me to him;
I'll whip him down, were he as mad's the dog-star.