Thomas À Becket A Dramatic Chronicle. In Five Acts |
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 | Thomas À Becket |  |
SCENE IV.
The Queen's Apartment.Maids of Honour.
1st Maid.
Set all to rights: stir! stir!—See that the
royal stool has its valance tucked up behind, like a house
wife's skirt of a week-day,—or we shall get a scolding only
proper for scullions.
2d Maid.
Be brisk, lasses!—no one can tell when the
devil 's at our elbow till we feel it pinched.
3d Maid.
Will you never put away that mirror, Marian?
The Queen detests all reflectors as much as you doat on
them.
4th Maid.
Do ye know why? Because Eleanor sees a
black angel in them, and Marian a blonde one.
3d Maid.
Ha! ha! ha! the vanity—look at her simperings!
1st Maid.
Hush for your lives! Don't let a cricket's
death-watch.
3d Maid.
She thinks every jest aimed against herself—
she's so good a but for it: that is her jealous and suspectful
nature.
4th Maid.
Pooh! then we shall have all the magpies
banished from the park, because in her walks they seem to
chatter and chuckle at her.
[Exit, and returns.
2d Maid.
Get thee gone, i' the Witch of Wokey's name!
—here she comes, pondering and plotting with her Evil
Genius.
3d Maid.
What! with our dwarf governess? that extract
of nettle-stings?
2d Maid.
No, thank our stars!—but with the devil that
possesses and tears her, Jealousy? Mum!
[Enter Eleanor, who sits. The Maids of Honour stand a-row behind her.
Eleanor.
One of you has a sister, or some relative, called
Rosalind—or Rosamond—eh? Or some such fantastical
embroiderment of plain Rose—eh?
3d Maid.
Yes, Madam: the name of my cousin's step-mother's
niece,—no, my cousin's step-father's grand-niece,
by the female side,—is, if it please your highness, Rosette.
Eleanor.
Nothing but Rosette, after such an ear-breaking
pedigree?—away with her! None other of ye,—eh?
Confess the truth, or it shall be torn from your tongue's-ends
by burning pincers: confess!
2d Maid.
I have a sister Rosamond, your highness.
Eleanor.
Ha! I thought truth would come out! Is she
well-favoured?
2d Maid.
Yes, Madam; fresh and fragrant, as bright of
bloom and as innocent as a rosebud itself.
Eleanor.
Innocent? hear this!—So! so! so! so!—She
was at the Chancellor's revel last night, your immaculate
Rosebud?
Madam, I believe not—
Eleanor.
She was—Hypocrisy! Disguised there, and
skulking into every corner save the kennel, where she
should!—She was there, I say!
2d Maid.
Truly then, Madam, not to contradict your
highness, it must have been unknown to her nurse,—for
she is yet but seven years old.
Eleanor.
Indeed?—
(Aside.)
How the Fury, for all her
blazing torch, misleads me! Well, knows any one besides
of a Rosamond, kin or acquaintance?
1st Maid.
There 's Rosamond de Ros—
Eleanor.
What years has she?
1st Maid.
As I guess, Madam, some fewer than ninety
—She is one of the Gray Sisters.
Eleanor.
Humph!—a withered Rose; let her rot! Who
else?—tell me no more of your babes or bearded women.
4th Maid.
O lack! there 's another Rosamond—the
goatherd's daughter!
Eleanor.
Goatherd? goatherd? Paint her to me. The
king in sooth has some goatish propensities.
4th Maid.
Madam, red-haired as a fox, and of a roan
complexion: she is as huge of mouth and hideous as the
Ogress that makes but four mouthfuls of an ox, and bolts
little children for white bread—
Eleanor.
Good: that's enough.
4th Maid.
There's Rosamond de Clifford too, Madam.
Eleanor.
Ay, what's she?
4th Maid.
Why, Madam, if it please your grace, as beautiful
as Aurora of a May-morning.
Eleanor
(starting up).
Tell me her height to an inch—
her hair, her walk?
4th Maid.
Madam, so please you, her shape is about
mine, as near as may be.
Eleanor.
Your shape?—She's taller, is she not? Less
pursy too; less fat of the land upon her,—eh?
My very form and mien, Madam.
Eleanor.
The King love such a blowsabel?—Has any
one else seen this Rosamond? Is she like our dairymaid here?
3d Maid.
Madam, as like as if they were stamped with
the one butter-print!
2d Maid.
O yes, Madam: both made of the same Dutch
cheese!
1st Maid.
Twin-dishes of last week's curds, garnished
with carrots to give them a colour!
Eleanor.
So much the better!—Her eyes, nose, mouth,
complexion, what?
4th Maid.
My own, Madam.
Eleanor.
Why, your eyes are round, small, green-gray,
and rimmed with red like a carrier-pigeon's; your nose
perks out from the middle of your face like the boss of a
child's target; and your complexion is as pallid and silver-sick
as a leper!
4th Maid.
Madam, indeed, notwithstanding my disparagers
here, Demoiselle de Clifford is called in her own shire—
Fair Rosamond.
2d Maid.
Fair, means nothing but white there: she has,
you know, as her highness said, your parsnip skin and complexion.
1st Maid.
Besides, she squints, and can look all round
her, before and behind, like a rabbit.
3d Maid.
Like a rabbit? nay, she has something of a
hare-lip, that's certain; but to my thinking the worst about
her is, she halts on the right leg.
4th Maid.
Indeed I did hear she has six fingers to one
hand,—now I have but five to either.
Dwerga
(from behind).
That 's she! that 's she! as sure as jealous Folly
Is of the feminine gender!—None but one,
The paragon of her sex, could stir so much
Green gall against her; as we see the Moon
Fair Rosamond is thy foil, thy rival, Queen!
Seek her; she 'll soon shine out. Why, she must be
A blazing-star of beauty, who can make
These pale-faced mortals see such ruin in her!
Eleanor.
Rather that yellow worm whose reptile fire
Shall lead my foot to tread it out!
Dwerga.
True! true!
Sweet grandam!—Like a she-fox driven to cover,
The death-expecting glare of her fine eyes
Shall beacon us towards her den. I 'll be the terrier
To worry her out; but you shan't muzzle me.
Eleanor.
How is it I ne'er heard of her before?
Dwerga.
O! O! O! O! tell thee of a ripe cherry
Which all the birds peck at, and thou thyself
A piece of wither'd bark, fit for the tanner!
That were rare courtiership!
Eleanor.
‘Fit for the tanner!’
I 'll see if I can pierce thy hide, thou harden'd one—
[Strikes a silver bodkin into her.
Next time I 'll stitch thy saucy lips with it.
Scorn is thy mother-tongue, and borne because
Thou speak'st none else: but thou 'rt of late become
Malicious as old Hecate's pet of monkeys.
Dwerga
(between her teeth).
Curse thee!—
Why, so I am old Hecate's pet,
Being thine!—No more of that sharp nudger, pray thee!—
[Eleanor threatens it.
Not saucy, Mistress sweet! but cockahoop
With pride and hope to serve thee!— (Aside.)
I could maul her!
Eleanor.
To roost there!—go!—begone!
Dwerga.
In you, before me,
Spawn-colour'd things! I 'll give ye chalk enough
To feed ye white.—Must they not in with me?
Ay!—
[Exeunt Dwerga and Maidens.
I 'm sick of ye all, myself, mankind, the world,
And gladly could groan out my rest of life
Upon the dust this moment!—Thou shalt rue
Thy pretty nickname yet, Fair Rosamond!
To compass that will be a pastime!—Yea,
I shall love well to catch this noxious gnat,
And lean upon my wrist to mark its pain
As it writhes round my bodkin, buzzing there
Its feeble soul away in shrilly cries.—
Beware of Eleanor, La Belle Disconnue!
[Exit.
| Thomas À Becket | |