 | William Tell |  |
SCENE II.
—An Apartment in the Castle of Altorf.Enter Michael and Jagheli.
Jag.
Yes, Michael, so it stands. She only is
Step-daughter to the Seneschal. The less
Her debt of duty; which, though it were more,
She were absolved from by the tyrant's part
He acts, who weds her where she loathes, not loves.
O, win her for me, Michael, or you'll have
To get a leech for me.
Mic.
Get thee a leech? I'll be in want of one
Myself! Thy sickness is infectious. Would
A scalded foot had kept me to the house—
A fever tied me to my bed—a fit
Tripp'd up my heels in the street, ere I had met thee,
To play the leech for thee! I was as sound
As reckless laughter, then; could eat or drink
With him that ask'd me—could go here or there
And find me ample fund of mirth, where'er
I went—could sing—could dance—could keep awake
Or sleep as well as any one! You've sped me!
Concluded me!—brought all my fair estate
Of rich content to melancholy end!
Jagheli, I'm in love.
Jag.
In love!
Mic.
In love?
Jag.
Michael in love!—What, prithee, made thee fall
In love?
Mic.
A cup of wine.
Jag.
Another cup
Will work thy cure.
Mic.
If thou couldst give me with't
The hand that help'd me to't, and with the hand
The lip that kiss'd the cup ere it touch'd mine.—
Nor was it yet the hand, nor yet the lip,
But the arch smile that quiver'd on the lip
And seem'd to mock the motion of the hand,
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Been posed at mine own trade!—proved an apprentice
With mine own tools!—Master'd wherein I bragg'd,
To show my skill—and only by a smile
Half shown—you scarce could tell if it was there
Or not—a glimpse and gone, and then again
A glimpse and gone again, ere you could say
You saw it!—I'm in love.—I have it here!—
Here in the very centre of my heart!
That ever I should live to see the day,
I fell in love.
Jag.
Psha! Michael! You in love!
You have been laughing till you've got a stitch
In the side.
Mic.
A stitch! If thou hast such another,
It will not let thee sleep. But hither comes
Thy lady's chamberlain, with dulcet voice,
To call thee to her. Now her father's out,
Make profit of thy calling, master leech,
Or follow it no more!
Enter Braun.
Braun.
My lady says
She'll see you, sir.—Come this way.
Mic.
Mind!
Jag.
I will.
[Braun and Jagheli go out.
Mic.
I'd like to try a race with him in love.
Can he compare with me in such a strife?—
With me, could talk him dumb at any time?
Ere he began to woo, I should be done—
But, to be done, a man must needs begin.
Enter Agnes, unobserved by Michael.
Agn.
What!—Mischief plotting?—'Tis a graceful cheat!
Rogue as he is, the man 's a man to love.
Mic.
Hang modesty!
Agn.
Well said! When that doth die,
No cousin goes of thine, to put thee to
The charge of mourning.
Mic.
I'll take heart, and woo
Her soundly!
Agn.
Love have pity on her, then!
Mic.
This very hour I'll tell her I'm in love.
Agn.
This very hour she'll tell thee thou'rt a fool.
Mic.
I'll marry her in a week.
Agn.
You'll wait, perhaps,
A little longer.
Mic.
Nay, a week's too long!
Three days from this.
Agn.
Why not to-morrow, sir?
You'd be as near your wedding.
Mic.
Send her now,
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To woo her.
Agn.
What, if she's not in the mood
To come?
Mic.
In such a mood, that were she marble,
I'd soften her—or ice, I'd make her melt.
Agn.
O dear!
Mic.
Or steel itself, she should become
As gently ductile as the generous ore
Comes nearest to her worth, and, yet, not more
Than sums it half, although 'twere virgin gold!
Agn.
I'll fly!—
Mic.
Now, Cupid, now, I'll conquer her
In all her charms that vanquish'd at a sight!
By every arrow in thy quiver, boy,
If thou hast made me smart—she shan't go free;
So send her to me.
Agn.
Nay, in sooth I'll stay.
Who ever fear'd a boaster?
Mic.
Cupid, now!
Boy, I would stake my heart against thy wings,
I'd woo, and win, and wed her in a day!
Agn.
[Coming forward.]
O, sir, you are the youth that brought the leech.
Mic.
[Confused.]
Ma'am?
Agn.
And a pretty leech it is you've brought.
Mic.
Ma'am?
Agn.
He must needs have practised very long,
To be so sapient and profound a leech!
Where studied he, I pray you?
Mic.
[Stammers.]
Studied, ma'am?
Agn.
Yes, studied! [Imitating him.]
Thinkest thou a leech is made
By only putting on the coat of one?
At such a rate, you would, yourself, be one,
Instead of his good trusty serving-man.
Mic.
His serving-man!
Agn.
Yes, sir, that pounds his drugs—
The half of which I wot are poisonous—
Makes ready his emplastrums—filthy things!
Boils his decoctions, and makes up his powders,
Ointments, and mixtures: I am sure I've seen you
In your working clothes, without that Sunday chin
You now have on, beating a tune upon
The leech's mortar—to the which you sang
In such melodious strain, that, one and all,
The passers-by did stop their ears, o'ercome
With surfeit of the sweetness!
Mic.
Madam,—Why,
Michael! Dear Michael! What are you about?
Are you a man?
Agn.
What wages do you get,
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When you forget to make his nostrums up,
Or mar them in the mixing?
Mic.
Blows!
Agn.
Ay, blows.
Come, come; don't look so fierce! You're just the man
To take them kindly, as, indeed, you should.
For I can read, sir, by your face, you're dull
Of wit, and slow of comprehension; nor
Of memory careful in the hoarding of
What's trusted to it. If the worthy leech
But beats thee once a week, he's not more wise
Than patient.
Mic.
[Aside.]
Michael, thou hast found thy match!
But wilt thou yield without a struggle for't?
No!—Courage, Michael! Now or never, man! [Struts up to Agnes.]
Ma'am!
Agn.
Bless me; sir, perhaps I may be wrong!
And you are not his serving-man?
Mic.
No, ma'am.
Agn.
Nor anything under the leech?
Mic.
No, ma'am.
Agn.
Then, I will e'en make bold to tell you, sir,
I think the leech is just as much a leech
As you are.
Mic.
Ma'am!
Agn.
I've found him out, sir.
Mic.
Have you?
Agn.
And found out you—You shall be flay'd alive, sir,
For passing him for a leech. A pretty way
To make my cousin well!
Mic.
Your cousin, ma'am?
I took you for the lady's abigail!
Come, come, you are—or nature in her work
Shows little thrift, so fitting things for ends
They come not to—You are her abigail!
Agn.
I vow I'm not!
Mic.
Your voice with which you vow
Protests you are.
Agn.
My voice!
Mic.
'Tis of the pitch
That chills the lover's hope—that answers “no”
To all his sighs; the which, when daughters hear,
They straight bethink them of a breaking heart!
My uncle had an abigail with just
Your voice.
Agn.
Indeed?
Mic.
Indeed! She was a match
For twenty lovers that my cousin had.
Not one of them could move her! Then your eye—
Agn.
Ay, what of that?
Mic.
Why such an eye should go
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'Twas made to pierce disguises, and to look
On pleading lovers, as on stocks and stones!
Agn.
Your uncle's abigail, I guess, had such
An eye, too?
Mic.
Yes—a little softer, though,
In its fire.—And then your dress!—
Agn.
What of my dress?
[Angrily.
Mic.
Why, 'tis put on in perfect shrew-fashion,
Like armour, straight, and square, and stiff! It speaks
Defiance to male-kind! Were Twenty-one
To put it on, 'twould look Two-score! Wast thou
A beauty now, and teased with lovers, such
A dress as that would free thee from them all.
Agn.
Art thou in earnest now?
Mic.
In earnest! Yes.
I'll take an oath thou art her abigail—
As much as I'm the leech's serving-man,—
As much as he's the leech. Sweet, we are both
True serving-men to love; and you're the hire;
I serve for.
[Catching her in his arms.
Agn.
[Disengaging herself.]
Stay!—Who serves for hire must wait
Till it be given him, ere he takes his hire;
He must not help himself.
Mic.
But give me mine—
Agn.
Hush!—Some one comes.
Mic.
I'm mute as faith
That's sworn to silence. Let me keep thy hand.
[They retire near, and remain unseen by Braun.
Enter Braun.
Braun.
Now, Braun, whoever after calls thee “drone”
Doth lie, and men shall tell him so. Thou'rt wise,
Watchful, and keen of sight; canst see when all
The house besides, with open eyes, are blind—
Stone blind. Thou shalt no more be Braun, the dolt,
The sluggard Braun, the hound, the hog, or Braun
The good-for-naught; or everything, but Braun
Himself! Thou shalt be honest Braun—good Braun!—
Braun that can see a thing!—can find it out
Before the Seneschal!—brave Braun!—The leech
Is but a cheat—my lady but a cheat,—
Her sickness all put on. He is to come
On Wednesday—no, to-day is Wednesday—no,
Wednesday was yesterday. He is to come—
I have forgot the day; no matter. I
Remember he's to come, and that's enough.
He is to come at—Plague upon the hour!
'Twas not at breakfast-hour, or dinner-hour,
Or any hour of meals or sleep—I'm sure
Of that; but then, what signifies the hour,
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A lucky thought. No matter what the hour,
Or what the day; 'tis what he purposed at
The hour and the day, concerns me to remember,
And that I don't forget. He is to come
To take away my lady mistress, who
Is nothing loth. Remember that, good Braun,
And make thy fortune with the Seneschal.
[Goes out.
Agnes and Michael advance.
Agn.
Undone—undone! If thou remain'st, 'tis death!
Mic.
And if I fly, what fly I to but death?
Agn.
Nay, save thy life.
Mic.
Thou art its precious breath,
And, parted from thee, 'tis no longer life.
Agn.
Could I believe thee!
Mic.
If thou wouldst, thou couldst.
There lack of power is only lack of will.
Agn.
Nay, say not so; in sooth, I've all the will.
Mic.
Then, here, I plight my faith to thee!
Agn.
Nay, hold!
Mic.
'Tis done, sweet maid, and cannot be recall'd!
So give me vow for vow. No sentinel
Keeps watch beneath the casement where you sleep:
There could I hang, by aid of this kind night,
A ladder—such a one as lovers find
Their way by to their mistress' arms, when doors
Are barr'd against them—Thou'rt not happy here!
This house of wolves is no abode for thee!
Let's to our friends, and briefly, ere we part,
Resolve the means and time for meeting; ne'er
To part again!
Agn.
You'll take the abigail?
Mic.
If you will take the leech's serving-man.
[They go out.
| William Tell | |