 | Eliduke, Count of Yveloc |  |
ACT II.
Scene I.
In Cornwall. A Hall in the King's Palace.Eliduke. Walter. Blanchespee.
Eli.
We have met warm welcome, Walter.
Walt.
Fortune's cats, my lord; we 'light on our
legs ever. Oh, let content get the upper hand of ill-luck,
and her kicks and her buffets are no more than fleabites;
if you rub them, indeed, they will smart. I swear
we never were merrier—no, not last night in the thick
of the feast—than we were a week ago on our way
hither, when we toasted horse-flesh on our swords'
points, and a full belly outweighed a full purse. What
land!
Eli.
It was the King that did it, and wisely. Being
too weak to meet the enemy in the field, he hath stored
his castle and laid the open country bare; so the enemy,
when he comes to besiege us here, may bring his own
victuals, or starve for it. He will come shortly, and
then we must fight for our keep. This King hath received
us courteously and feasted us plenteously, when
we came in looking like ill-fed ghosts in rusty armour;
and now, our tendered services being accepted, and we
being sworn his vassals, we shall do ill not to fight
stoutly in his behoof.
Blanch.
I'll fight, my lord!
Walt.
He'll fight! Oh, terrible! What wilt thou
fight, most sanguinary hero, most unappeasable bloodletter,
a very leech hid in a helmet, a horrible beetle
in hat and feather? What wilt thou fight?
Blanch.
The enemy.
Walt.
God help the enemy!
Blanch.
Do you laugh?
Walt.
He will make heaven musty with cobwebs
of men's shades slain in the field, that shall hang there
and make Juno sneeze, till the housemaid, Mercury,
brush 'em down-stairs with her broom. Gods! his
hand on his sword! I must pay for it now.
Blanch.
'Sdeath!
Walt.
O most hot-blooded hop-o'-my-thumb, I
pray you be pacified; I am utterly unworthy to taste
Come, I'll set you on a dunghill, and match you against
the cock. You shall fight an old cock, stain your virginsword
with a ferocious old cock's blood. But you must
buckle your greaves tight, or your legs shall smart for it;
if, indeed, the cock be not too proud to fight, being a
knight spurred, which your miteship is not.
Blanch.
Will you draw?
Walt.
I cannot hold my sword for laughing; I entreat
you, spare me!
Blanch.
Will you draw? will you fight, old dunghill
cock?
Walt.
Must I draw? Heaven have mercy on your
young soul then!
Blanch.
You will not fight me? come on!
[They fight; Walter feigning to thrust, and parrying the strokes of Blanchespee.
Walt.
I cannot hit him, he is too small.
Eli.
He will hurt you, Walter; have a care.
[Blanchespee runs Walter through the arm.
Blanch.
Have I hurt you? Oh, pardon me!
Walt.
Hang it! to be run through by a whippersnapper!
You have spoiled my left arm for a month
to come.
Blanch.
Oh, pardon me, sir! your laughter stirred
me too deeply; what a fool was I to be angry! Come,
let me bind it round with my scarf. Let me see; 'tis
not much.
Oh, 'tis nothing, had a man done it; but to
be pecked so by a sparrow!
Blanch.
Nay, let me bind it—so. Is it easy?
Walt.
Easy, yes. I shall digest the coming feast
the better for so neat a blood-letting. Wipe your sword,
and have done; you will not brag of this?
Blanch.
Who, I, sir? it would ill become me.
Walt.
Oh, yes, you will. Your sprouting boy will
sooner learn to flourish his sword than to steady his
tongue; all the court must know how you fought
Walter, and drew blood from him. You'll tell all.
Blanch.
I say no, sir; you may make what tale
you will for your bandaged arm; I'll swear it true.
Walt.
Bandaged arm, forsooth! like tying up the
scratch of a cat.
Eli.
Come, Walter; what a surly fool art thou! You
well deserved the hurt you got. If you cease not your
grumbling at once, I'll be the trumpeter myself to proclaim
how you got it.
Walt.
I've done, my lord.
Blanch.
Do not so, brother. It would redound
much to my discredit, that, like a choleric boy aping
the swordsman, drew on my best friend. Be friends
again, Walter.
Walt.
What a plague mean you? I'll not shake
hands,—as if we had quarrelled.
Eli.
He is in the right of it; you can never be
but friends. Be thankful it is not your leg; you will
show no worse at the ball to-night, nor will it spoil
heaven is a place where departed souls fight all day,
and make love to rest themselves. Thither shall all good
men go; and a good man—
Blanch.
Is one who strives to make a heaven on
earth.
Walt.
Oh, flout away! But who made love last
night? In good sooth, I thought you had lost your
heart in earnest—such looks! such low words! I swear,
had I been a woman, you had taken me in off-hand.
Methought the princess's eye showed a yielding fervour,
too, by the way the lid hung on her cheek; and her look
flashed up in yours every now and then to see if you
spake true, and you lying like a Cretan; but she saw
it not. How the faint crimson flush came and went
too! You are a quick thief of hearts, my lord.
Eli.
She hath a rare beauty, and a rare soul below,
as indeed you may mark in woman, that the noblest
aspect of beauty hides ever a soul to match.
Walt.
Souls, my lord, are for men.
Eli.
O infidel! I dare hardly tell it to thee, Walter,
but my conscience pricked me sorely when I was alone
with it last night in my quarters. Why should I, that
have a fair wife at home, and love this lady no more
than a nine-pin to play with, swear away my soul to
win her heart only for the sport of winning it? It may
pale her cheek with sorrow, for what I know.
Walt.
Pooh! what a dainty, delicate, touch-me-not-with-the-top-of-your-finger
conscience have we
own keeping; they were only given them to lose. A
woman never finds her heart till she has lost it irrecoverably.
Talk love till your tongue melts in your
mouth, only lose not your own heart. 'Tis a dangerous
toy you play with. She is one that the angels might
sigh for.
Eli.
Ha! ha! she shall find me tougher than e'er a
seraph among them. Yet were I unmated, her love—
Blanch.
A plague on your love-talk! how you
waste the hours! Let's go hunt.
Walt.
Hark to him! Do you scorn love? why
you are a boy yet. It is no man that cannot make a
lady love him to distraction by a night's talk in her
ear.
Blanch.
Will you teach me to make love?
Walt.
I? ask the Lady Estreldis.
Blanch.
'Faith, so I will.
Walt.
'Tis a thing we men learn by teaching it
women, and you boys by the women teaching you. Or
follow your brother; his example shall teach you, though
he swears he thinks it wicked.
Eli.
I'll be cold to her; 'tis villanous.
Walt.
He'll be cold! mark him! I'll fly at all
hearts.
Blanch.
Oh, let's go hunt.
Walt.
There's no time; we must to the feast
shortly, where your brother will sit and talk in the
princess's ear.
There had been time, but for your hanged
love-talk.
Scene II.
A Ball-room in the Court at Cornwall.Estreldis and her Women in dancing plight.
Est.
Pretty Bianca, will you dance to-night?
Bi.
If I may find a partner, I'll not fail.
Est.
Oh, trust your face for that; it will not fail you.
And you, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, let me dance to-night,
And go to heaven happy, having tasted
Earth's best felicity.
Est.
Dancing, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, with these Breton knights, that make the air
Heavy in pace behind them, and still tread
With such a delicate feeling of the time,
As if the music dwelt in their own frames,
And shook the motion from them. Oh, divine!
Est.
Is it so charming? I remember me
Dancing was ever your delight, but now—
Lar.
I never danced till now. Our Cornwall sirs
We thought were adepts; but compared to these,
They're dull and heavy, and lack ears to mark
The proper grace of movement. Say these walk,
Then you may stint the breath of commendation,
And say these strangers dance. Let our knights dance,
These others fly and ride upon the air;
These Bretons are the untied elements
That in their airy and fantastic course,
Joining and now disjoining, mingling now
In fresh variety of curious shapes,
Hold dancing revelry in Nature's halls.
Est.
Thou'rt mad, Lardune;—tell me, Azalia,
What think you of these strangers? will they wear
As fairly in the trial as they show now?
Lar.
Oh, I'll be sworn for't; trust me, outward bearing
Glasses the man within. True gold, that shines most,
Is in itself more costly and more noble
Than duller seeming brass. That agile force,
That trains their feet i' th' dance, will in the fight
Show bravely in their arms, and their bright swords
Tread such quick measure on the heads of foes,
The ringing helms their music, that Dismay
Shall seize them at the force of't, and Defeat,
Ever his follower, clear the field of them.
Est.
Shall none of's talk but thou? Tell us, Lardune,
Which of these Bretons with the shaking legs
Hath danced himself into thy favour most?
Lar.
The rest are mainly balanced, but this chief,
Lord Eliduke—
Est.
Peace, child! and know your place;
Eagles alone may look upon the sun.
Lar.
Are you an eaglet, and is he the sun?
Est.
You are over-bold.
Or over-true. I'm still.
Est.
Well, what of Eliduke?
Lar.
You bade me peace.
Est.
Tush! what a fool art thou: what would you say?
Come, do not fear to speak your mind of him.
Lar.
He's a most gallant—
Aza.
Hark!
Est.
They're coming in.
Range yourselves, ladies. Sweet Bianca, here!
Be sprightly and be courteous; hang the night
With your gay smiles for stars, that these our guests
Report at home you lead the world in wit
As fairly as in beauty. Music! music!
Enter King, Eliduke, Knights, &c.
King.
Choose, gentlemen, and be not slow to-night;
Each take his lady's hand, and tread with her
Responsive measure to the timed notes.
I'll be no more the king, but one of you,
Retaining, of my old prerogative,
Only this fraction—slight, since all are fair—
To be the first to choose. Gentle Bianca,
Lend me your white hand; let us lead the dance.
Eli.
I'll not go near her; now my fears for her
Are terrors for myself. She looks upon me;
I'll stand aside; there's sorcery in her smile
Dissolves mine honesty. Brighter than day!
King.
Eliduke! stol'n away?
Here, royal sir.
King.
My daughter hath a hand that you may claim;
Let her not sit apart. Some music, ho!
Eli.
Fate drives me on. Oh, heart and tongue, hold measure!
[They dance; then the company disperse. Estreldis and Eliduke come forward.
Eli.
The music falls away. Will you sit, lady?
Est.
So I lose not your company, fair sir.
Eli.
So I lose not my heart, fair courtesy.
Est.
Quick answers show sound hearts and flattering tongues.
Eli.
Fails to commend perfection.
Est.
Nay. Hark! they sing.
SONG.
To own an orient eye,
Nor herein only beautiful—
A cheek of crimson dye.
A steadier light doth shine,
And heavenly hands have steeped your heart
In tincture more divine.
Blanch.
Fair lady, will you teach me to make love?
Est.
Fair sir, I am no mistress in Love's school.
Oh, be a scholar, sweet, and learn of me.
Blanch.
What said my brother? Oh, how beautiful
Those blushes make your cheek! you're wondrous fair.
Est.
What, compliment! Young sir, you are no novice;
So young and old a hypocrite. Oh, fie!
What new-spun trick is this to steal maids' hearts?
Blanch.
I wish I had your heart.
Eli.
O boy! O boy!
You know not what you ask. Thou'rt like a babe,
That fretting in the fondling nurse's arms,
Lifts its weak hands, and for a childish toy
Claims the night-wandering moon. This that thou askest
Is such a treasure as the teeming East,
Breeder of countless wealth, could never equal,
Nor all the crested brood of high-set heaven,
Planets and stars, clustering the altitude,
Given to one man, and he with power to wield them!
Oh, poor to weigh't with matter; higher things,—
Fame, grandeur, honour, virtue,—let it go,—
Are but the shadows of a greater good,
And that's the heart you ask for.
Est.
(to Blanchespee).
D' you ask my heart?
Eli.
Oh, no; I dare not.
Est.
(to Blanchespee).
Why d'you ask me for it?
Eli.
Who shall refrain, though hopeless, when he sees
The congregate of all imagination,
Blanch.
Come, teach me to make love; Sir Walter tells me
I must learn love before I am a man.
Est.
I know not what it is, sir. Ask the Count.
Blanch.
My lord, what's love?
Eli.
Yes, if Estreldis ask me.
Blanch.
My brother's lost his wits. D'you ask him, lady.
Est.
Tell us, my lord, what's love; we are novices.
Eli.
Now that your lips have breathed it, they have called up
The incorporeal essence to my eye;
Prophet-like, I'll describe it. Mark me, boy!
Not of that elder deity I speak,
Child of old night, who, as the poets say,
Upon the tumbled body of dim Chaos
Begot the shapes of things. A higher god,
Younger and more essential; oft confused
With lust, his lowest servant; no more like him
Than the gross body of the travelling Sun
Is to his universal light that cheers us.
He is the child of Silence, got by Thought
Constant and deep of what the soul deems noblest;
Long hidden in her womb, ushered at length
By whispered words, evasions, sudden sighs;
Fed upon looks till weaned, and then on kisses;
Grows by endearment; comes of age by marriage;
Wedded to Constancy, and not survives her,
Hotter, but not long-lived; has children many,—
Faith, Virtue, Courage, Action well sustained,
Chastity, Patience, Truth, a thousand more;
Dies by neglect, worse far than death or distance;
Buried by pride, and bath no resurrection.
Est.
Know you this Love that you present so fairly?
Eli.
He lies, a swaddling baby, in my breast,
Starving for lack of meat. Feed him with favour.
Est.
Methinks he is of hasty birth, my lord.
Eli.
Oh, he grows quick in childhood; but cold Scorn
Oft with her wintry finger nips his bloom.
Est.
I spoke it not in scorn.
Eli.
Oh, speak in pity,
Or teach your lips new utterance; speak in love!
Your heart's a golden vessel, deep and bright,
Set round with orient pearls, which are your virtues,
Entire, unblemished, clean, uncracked, but empty;
Fill it with love, and let the glowing tide
Swell to the edge of't. Oh, for such a cup
Kings would lay down their crowns, and gods in heaven
Quit their empyreal homes and Hebe's wine.
Walt.
(passing by).
I will be cold. Plague on 't! 'tis villanous!
Eli.
Art thou my conscience-keeper? Stand away!
Est.
Will you walk, sir? my father waits for you.
[The company go. Manent Blanchespee and Walter.
The Count grows choleric. What is it, boy?
Blanch.
Hang me! but I believe my brother's mad.
He's talked this hour of hearts, and lips, and cups,
Mixed up together like I know not what;
Such a confusion, that my halting wits,
Long limping basely after, were ere long
Lost to the scent entirely, quite at fault.
Walt.
What have you profited? What's love, boy, eh?
Blanch.
Something to drink, my brother seems to say.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Room in the Court at Cornwall.Eliduke alone.
Eli.
Oh, if she loves me! and last night I thought so,
By the way she fixed her eastern eye on mine
The time I talked of love; an eye more deep
Than the gray cavern from whose twisted depth,
Unfathomed by the old Egyptian king,
Mysterious Nilus takes a double course.
I only felt its influence, and kept mine
Fixed on the boy alone; for had I dared
To sound the depths of her ensouled orbs,
My flood of passion would have swept away
The old containers of its tumbling tide,
And stranded honour only have been left,
A sign of ruin, on the wasted shore.
Honour! I've lost it, if't be dishonourable,
And loving wife, by sighs and hinted words,
All but direct entreaty,—I think even that,—
To seek another's heart. Is it not strange?
Oh, when we are most innocent, we are only
Shut out from evil by a brittle wall.
We are tender plants, and Heaven, to guard our souls,
Set in the evil air of this gross earth,
Glasses us over with a frame of virtue,
Wherein we may live safely and do well;
But crack it, and it needs must shatter widely.
Mine's broadly breached, and yet I may repair it.
Estreldis, we must break! She's not so fair now;
Clear Virtue now disputes the palm with her,
And with her brighter beauty dims the less.
Virtue's the highest and the noblest;
And he's but weak, unworth the name of man,
Aiming the arrow of his life at her,
That lets temptation's wind blow it aside.
Henceforward help me, Heaven! I will only
Draw for the white of virtue.
Enter Lardune.
[He salutes her courteously.
You are early, lady;
And yet I cannot blame you, for the bloom
On your fresh face speaks not of stinted slumbers.
Lar.
Oh, morning's your best cordial, my good lord;
Yet you look melancholy.
Oh, believe me,
I never was in deeper satisfaction.
Lar.
Nay, but you shall be soon; I've that about me
Shall tinge your aspect with a livelier hue.
Though you be now content, I dare affirm,
Or I mistake you greatly, I can lift you
Higher in joy than ever yet you dreamt of.
Eli.
What is't, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, come, sir, you are dull.
Eli.
Estreldis?
Lar.
Ay, sir.
Eli.
Lady, what of her?
Bless me with tidings; did she send you here?
Lar.
Oh, do you brighten? Yes; stocked with kind words.
Eli.
Tell me them not, or I'm undone for ever.
Virtue, where are thine arms? Oh, clasp your lips;
For these kind words are like the deadly berry,
To outward show most bright and excellent,
But under lined with death. Oh, speak them not!
Lar.
Nay, I can bear them back, being so unwelcome.
There was a favour too.
Eli.
From fair Estreldis?
Lar.
But I'll not show it, lest you should refuse it;
That seems your present mood. Oh, fie, my lord!
Are you turned coy virgin, that you hang back thus?
Trust me, such feignings ill become a man.
Eli.
Oh, cease! cease!
Lar.
What, when a lady loves you?
Eli.
D'ye mean Estreldis loves me?
Lar.
In good truth,
I have o'erstepped my warrant to say so;
And yet, to shame you,—though in saying it
I am a loose-tongued traitor to my sex,—
By all I can observe, and that's not little,
She sets you dearer than her secret soul.
Eli.
Then I'm a devil.
Lar.
A very tame one, then.
Eli.
A very sorry devil; true, indeed.
And yet I knew't before, or half believed it.
Estreldis loves me! bright Estreldis loves me!
Oh, sweet and sour mingled in equal parts;
O bitter joy! sweet guilt! Estreldis loves me!
What shall I do? I am thrown wide of heaven.
Shall I fly? that's weak. Shall I stay? that's infamy.
Flight shows the best, then. Oh, bid the weary soul
That has attained high heaven, and clasped at length
The height and breadth of full felicity,
Go out into the dreary void again,
And then let's talk of flight. Estreldis loves me!
Let the world roll; I'm fixed and centred here.
Bend, steady Virtue, stoop thy pillared head!
Bow to my love, make passion virtuous,
Or I'm at war with Virtue!
Lar.
Sure, he raves.
Heaven keep me safe from sweethearts! Yet I fear
I'm deeply dyed in sin, or else deceived.
Lord Walter swore he loved me. I'm for the sin.
Your line of words, my lord, 's too short and knotty
To fathom your intent. What shall I say?
Shall I tell the princess she has set her love
Upon a tortoise, or upon a man?
Eli.
Pardon me, that at first I seemed so dull!
Fancy a reason for it. Tell your lady
There's not a pulse in all my dancing blood
But it keeps time to the very tune of love.
Lar.
You are a man again. Good day, my lord!
Eli.
Sure you spake of a favour, did you not?
Lar.
Oh, d'ye remember it? I thought for sure
It had slipt your memory. Sir, this is it;
She wore it at the festival yest'r eve,
And bids you stick it in your helm i' th' fight,
Tendering your safety, so she bade me say,
More than this idle bauble.
Eli.
As kind as fair!
Think me not rude, or that I misconstrue
Your willing service, if I beg of you
To wear this jewel! 'tis accounted fair;
Whether it will endure to face your eyes,
I know not. Pray accept it!
Lar.
You're too lavish.
I am most glad to serve you; yet I'll not seem
To underrate your gift by a refusal,
Eli.
I esteem't an honour;
And as a finder of a bag of gold,
Bearing it to the owner, claims a part,
So, for the store of love that you have brought me,
Accept a share in mine. Fail not to think
My friendship rates you high.
Lar.
Grandmerci, sir,
You strain too far; and yet believe me grateful.
Success sit in your saddle on the morrow,
Both for our sake and yours! Adieu, my lord!
| Eliduke, Count of Yveloc | |