 | Edwin the Fair |  |
Scene VI.
—A Court in front of the Palace.Enter the Chief Huntsman, followed by other Huntsmen, a Bugleman, and Hounds.
Chief Huntsman.
What! none astir? Soho! the King lies long:
Young blood, Sirs—ay, it tingles when it wakes,
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What! down, Sir, down! Oh, flatteries of dogs;
We're courtiers all. Come, Uthric, where's thy horn?
We'll sound them a reveillée.
Bugleman.
By the mass!
I wheeze to-day as who cries, “Bellows to mend!”
I'm out of breath with snoring. But no matter;
Here is a puff on't left.
[Winds his horn.
Chief Huntsman.
Why, so! that's well.
Bugleman.
Another whiff, then.
Second Huntsman.
Wake not the moon, I pray;
'Tis but a half-hour gone since she turned pale
And went to bed.
Third Huntsman.
This dog is full of fleas.
Second Huntsman.
Excuse him; he has been amongst the monks.
[Horn winds.
Chief Huntsman.
Who's here? Earl Sidroc. You are first, my Lord.
Enter Earl Sidroc.
Sidroc.
I'm risen this hour; a snuff of the dawn for me!
My nose doth love it better than a nosegay.
Chief Huntsman.
Right, my good Lord. You see her there, Sir—Elf;
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Relay or vauntlay 'tis the same to her;
Endways she runs it still and orderly.
Sidroc.
She is a good one. Sound another call.
To make the King's dogs wait is less than loyal.
Bugleman.
Most true, my Lord!—I am not what I was!
Plague of this asthma! Better have the mange!
[Winds a recheat
Enter Athulf, followed by a Page.
Athulf.
Set forward with the dogs—'tis the King's will.
[Exeunt Chief Huntsman and his train.
And hark ye, we shall hunt to-morrow too;
Here—boy! Tell whom it may concern, to-morrow
The King gives leave that I should ride Greymalkin.
I'll wear my hunting suit of green and gold.
See that Greymalkin is brought here betimes,
For we start early.—Grace be with your thoughts,
And peace with grace and joy be with your heart,
Sidroc the sober!—Go thy way, my boy.
[Exit Page.
Have you a moral ready? Come, a moral.
Sidroc.
For what? Greymalkin, or the green and gold?
Athulf.
Neither—they serve—they come but second now—
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Sidroc.
No more—why, that is well.
Athulf.
Am I a coxcomb?
Sidroc.
Who can answer that?
You were not yesterday; but lo! at court
If but a man shall stoop his head a minute,
Leaps a bespangled monkey on his back
And grins at all beholders.
Athulf.
Oh, my soul!
Be not coxcombical, I beg of thee!
For I am lifted in mine own conceit,
That is too certain.
Sidroc.
I lament your rise.
But come—discourse it orderly; by what beck
Of Fortune's crookedest finger were you led
Up this ridiculous ascent? The King?
Some special favour?
Athulf.
Pooh! The King is kind,
But that is nothing.
Sidroc.
Nothing good, I grant you.
The sun that striking in upon your hearth
Puts out your fire, may yet too weakly shine
Itself to yield you warmth: true, you say well,
The King is nothing. What less chilling light
Has beamed upon your fancy?
Athulf.
By my soul
I know not that I shall not be ashamed
To tell my story. As I went to court
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Commanding my attendance. A long hour
I waited, conning in the Troy-Town chamber
The stories in the tapestry, when appeared
The Princess, with that merry child Prince Guy.
He loves me well, and made her stop and sit,
And sate upon her knee, and it so chanced
That in his various chatter he denied
That I could hold his hand within mine own
So closely as to hide it; this was tried,
And proved against him; he insisted then
I could not by his royal sister's hand
Do likewise; starting at the random word
And dumb with trepidation, there I stood
Some seconds as bewitched; then I looked up
And in her face beheld an orient flush
Of half-bewildered pleasure; from which trance
She with an instant ease resumed herself,
And frankly with a pleasant laugh held out
Her arrowy hand.
Sidroc.
What could she less? a hand
To have and hold is something; but to hold
And not to have—but end your tale—this hand—
Athulf.
I thought it trembled as it lay in mine,
But yet her looks were clear, direct, and free,
And said that she felt nothing.
Sidroc.
What felt you?
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A sort of swarming, curling, tremulous tumbling,
As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom.
—I said I was ashamed.—Sidroc, you smile;
If at my folly, well! but if you smile
Suspicious of a taint upon my heart,
You miss your mark, nor ever missed it more,
Nor ever loved.
Sidroc.
No, no, I did not smile.
Proceed, I pray you,—speak it; of this hand
The issue in experiment? the proof?
This lesser quantity—this in majore—
Was it containable?
Athulf.
I proved it not.
More manly, wise, and courteous I deemed it
Not to press hard an opportunity
Or wring it dry, but something leave behind
In warrant that no greedy grasping heart
Was mine, that on a trivial sign vouchsafed
Feeding might grow in self-encouragement
Too fast to fatness.
Sidroc.
I conceive your counsel:
Not all devouring was your policy;
Something you left for bait.
Athulf.
'Twas not in craft.
Sidroc.
Your pardon; in myself it would have been;
But let me not misjudge you by myself;
For by a happy instinct are you led
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When timid craft, too wary to be wise,
Would swerve for lack of blinkers.
Athulf.
Here's the King.
Sidroc.
And not he only!—Room, I say, make room.
[Exeunt.
Enter Edwin and Elgiva, attired for the chase.
Elgiva.
Remember that a King can take no step
That is not measured by the rule and square
Of some too curious eye that follows him.
Edwin.
We will be careful. Shall I tell you, love;
The grim Archbishop came to me last night,
And with him Dunstan; and, oh Heaven and Earth!
They preached me dead!
Elgiva.
What was it that they preached?
Edwin.
What preached? A thousand things! They said my crown
Was not a myrtle-wreath, and Kings were called,
As fathers of their lieges, to affect
All equally and favour none, nor loves
Nor friendships ever to permit themselves
Save as commended to their royal hearts
By counsels grounded in State policy.
Elgiva.
Oh, insolence of churchmen! What a gift
Of meddling is in monks? What answer made you?
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I said, “Lord Abbot, and my Lord Archbishop,
My crown, of myrtle whether it may be,
Or as your hearts would have it, Sirs, of thorns,
I wear not at your will, and with God's help
I trust that I shall friendship find and love,
Counsel and policy more kind and sage
Than yours, my Lord Archbishop, or than yours,
Lord Abbot Dunstan.”
Elgiva.
I am glad you spake
So frankly and so nobly—glad at heart!
Edwin.
Lo! who comes here? 'Tis Dunstan, by my life!
Elgiva.
And who is he behind?
Edwin.
Gurmo by name.
'Tis a blue, swollen, unwholesome-looking knave
That ever follows him as plague does famine.
Elgiva.
Let's seem to see them not and wend our way.
[Exeunt Edwin and Elgiva.
Enter Dunstan and Gurmo.
Dunstan.
Lo there! a lovely couple hand in hand,
But which of them is male ... Seek out Harcather—
Tell him the public letters I have writ
Directing the disbandment of his force
Import not present payment. It were well
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The guerdon promised, which, if I shall send
The moneys, he may liquidate; if not,
The fault is mine, and having not the means,
He needs must put them off, but ever, mark,
To some not distant day. Take horse to-night.
| Edwin the Fair | |