University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Council-room in London.
King Edward, De Bek, and Lords.
KING EDWARD.
Yet has the North produced no tidings, lords?
Has Scottish John no explanation sent
Of his so sudden and disdainful flight?—
I do misdoubt him much.

DE BEK.
Since he flew off
Upon suspicion's wing, we have not heard,
Even from the babblement of vulgar fame,
Wherefore he went, and whither gone, and how
He means to carry him in his affairs:
He and his court are sealed up and lock'd
In dead strange silence.

KING EDWARD.
We must rip him up
By violence, and tear from out his heart
His cherish'd secrets, should his prudish mouth,
Affecting myst'ry, stint its utterance.
Ay, we shall tweak him with our English torture,
Until his throat do scream a revelation
Of his intents.

Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
My liege, a messenger,
Arrived directly from the North, solicits
Admission to your grace: His dusted garb
Bespeaks fast travel; and his vehement speech,
And little-patient gesture, argue him
The vessel of important hasty matter.

KING EDWARD.
Let him come in.
[Exit Officer.
We shall be glad to hear
Good news from John of Scotland. This falls out
In lucky time of day; our querulous
Desire-sick hearts shall now be satisfied:
Let him come in.

Enter Officer, with Abbot.
A CLERK OF COUNCIL
, (rising.)
Thou comest from the North
With tidings for his Majesty of England?
His Highness sits before thee, and awaits
Delivery of thy message.

ABBOT.
Happiness,
And hail to England's high-crown'd Majesty!
Pleasure perfume the happy air about him;
And twenty thousand golden-feather'd Joys
Flutter all round, and with their num'rous wings
Flap his bless'd grace into Elysium!
This is my royal master's wish, and I
Express it in my figure.

KING EDWARD.
We rejoice
In our most courteous brother's gratulations,
Which we return, accumulated high
With sumless usury of goodly wishes,
Oppressing him with benedictions.
I hope his grace is well, and sends us hither
Communications joyous?

ABBOT.
Sire of England,
King John, my master, is in lusty cheer,
And well recover'd of that speechless swoon
And syncope of soul that overtook him
Late in the middle of your Parliament.
That spirit-spasm soon pass'd; his native air,
Whereto he ran, purged off the queasiness,
And left him re-establish'd in his might
Of independent and heroic health,
Unpropp'd, unbent, as heretofore, without
A staff except his country and his God.
As an assurance and stanch proof of this,
He sends me to your highness, with commission
That I should certify how well he is,
Being enfranchized both in flesh and spirit
From England's homage and forced fealty.
Lo, as I tear this my frail garment's fold,
[Tearing his garment.
And stamp the rent-off parcel under foot,
He tears your bond of service clean asunder,
And damns it to the dust of Scotland's soil.
Thus, thus he stamps it. To attest that fact
With signature and seal, here are his letters,
Which I deliver to your royal grace
In form, before these noble witnesses;
Beseeching, for myself, your Majesty
T'excuse a subject's peremptory duty,
That pricks him onward to a task so bold.—
That task is done.

KING EDWARD.
O felon, felon!—King?—
He is unking'd this instant—Down with him;
Dash from his faithless head the diadem;
Off with his purple; snap in twain his sceptre;
Roll him about in degradation's mire!
What! John De Baliol, he whom my breath'd voice
Blew up into a throne, apostate now,
Abjuring the creative breath that form'd him,
And puffing back such tempests of defiance
As if he, too, were something!
By Edward's soul, he and his perjured land
Shall smart for this;—they shall be twinged for this;—
With sword in hand, and havoc at my side,
And Death, high perch'd on his hell-hideous horse,
My lackey dogging me with desolation,
I'll trace their blood-streak'd country thro' and thro',
Up to the barrier of the Orkney billow,
As hungry as an eastern pestilence!—
For you, Sir Courier—home, and tell thy master,
That if he will not come to me in right,
I'll come to him in vengeance.
Ah! Mere de Dieu!—I cannot sit it longer;
Up, up—no drumbling now on cabinet benches;
Action—and retribution—and a sword,
To pierce the marrow of oath-breaking Scotland!
Away—away.

[Council disperses.