 | Eliduke, Count of Yveloc |  |
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.
| Eliduke, Count of Yveloc | |