University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Before the Temple Church, at Northampton.
De Bohun, Clare, and Leicester.
Clare.
His grace was very meek!

De Bohun.
He almost prayed
On mouth and nose, as I have seen a Saracen!

Leicester.
And with what unction rare he scrubb'd the feet
Of thirteen Beggars, like a polisher
Who files the brazen toes of tarnish'd Saints
Clean-yellow!

Clare.
But the best was, when he mix'd
Among the poorer sort; 'twas as King Log
Leapt on by swarming frogs!—how patiently
He bore their foul splay hands on him, and saw
Them wide agape with wonder at the lowliness
Of such a heaven-sent thing!

Leicester.
Four ancient hags
With beards like leopardesses, skins, and claws,
Grossly familiar, would almost have torn him
To quarters, each one striving to grasp all,
So fierce their ravenous affection!

De Bohun.
See you
Whither this sycophancy to the base people,
And over-sanctity tends?

Clare.
O plain! He needs
Support against the King, Barons, and Bishops
Assembled now at Northampton to try him.

Leicester.
Yea, he will find 'twas not so light a fault
To break his oath at Clarendon late signed,
He would observe the Constitutions!—Shame
Upon the Pope too that absolved him from it,
As easily as for breaking a love vow!

De Bohun.
By Tyrmagaunt! the King will make him rue it
In something bitterer than ashes!

Clare.
Harry
Hath so much of the royal lion in him,
That even when playing, faith, he gives a pat
With closed paw, worse than an earnest blow
From other hand! Now that he's swoln with rage
Heaven help the hunter who has goaded him!

Leicester.
He 'll do such witty wicked things too!—What are here?
Some of the royal grooms.
Enter several Grooms.
I 'll lay my spurs
They have committed some new piece of roguery
Worth hearing!—Well, good knaves, why d' ye laugh?

Groom.

My lord, at the brave guests we have just left at
the Archbishop's inn, and their gambols there!

Leicester.

Guests? gamboling guests at the Primate's!

Groom.

We warrant they'll do justice to his stock of provender:
not a grain of barley have they had these two days,
that their stomachs might be a good guage for it.

Leicester.

Whom do you speak of—beggars, base-born churls?

Groom.

No, no, sir!—all high-bred as Pegasus himself;
and bear their necks so proud, his Grace would fear even to
caress them. If he attempted to curry their hides, they
would kick his Sanctity into the kennel.

Leicester.

This fellow is so full of his trade, he can only
speak in its figures. You do not mean your horses, villains!
that you have left gamboling and gorging at the Archbishop's
inn?

Groom.

No, Sir Knight, not our horses, but the King's—
a score of them! all in his grace's saloon and parlours, for
lack of better stables! A dozen of ourselves remain to wait
on the guests, and see they have enough of forage and
litter.

Leicester.

I told you what a pestilent wit the king could be!

Clare.

This is horse-play indeed!

Groom.

Ha! ha! ha! yes, sir, playing at all-fours!—
plenty of horse-laughter too, ha! ha! ha!—there is such
whinnying and squealing and flinging up of hoofs, and all
fierce racketing and royster, that 'tis as good as if the inn
were haunted by the Nightmare and her brood of foals, the
noise sounds so infernal! Ha! ha! ha!—his grace himself, I
think, will go prancing mad!

Clare.

But was this done by his Highness's order, sirrah?

Groom.

Can't say, my lord; I only did Master Adam
the equerry's.—Come on, Sim! come on!—Ha! ha! ha!

[Exeunt Grooms laughing.

Leicester.
There needs no order to the imps of mischief,
From the great Father of it! nor to these
Mock-devils, from the king: their piercing eyes
Catch from his single fiery glance full light
Of what shall please him, when himself scarce knows it.
'Tis marvellous the kind of intuition,
And quick invention, even fools will have,
If mischief's to be done!

Clare.
There 's no one thing
Perchance could gall the pride of our haught prelate
More than this insult!

De Bohun.
His ill-faith deserves it!

Leicester.
We shall be late to Council. Mark the sun.

[Exeunt.