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SCENE III.
Enter Tichbourne and Plasket.TICHBOURNE.
Why, Master Plasket, methinks thy mirth halts more
than wont—and thy face, that used to hang out motley on
every feature, is changed o' late. Art thou going to leave
off trade, that thou takest down thy sign?
PLASKET.
Truly, sir, I am but i'the fashion. Cameleon-like, I
even take my colour from that about me; an' if I have
left off mirth, it is as I have left off tags—because others
have done the like. Marry, I follow the mode, be it in
lace or in wit.
TICHBOURNE.
Thy wit was never strait-laced. I'll say that for thee;
but is this house grown so dull?
Marry, the house is not so dull as the company.
TICHBOURNE.
Still a word-catcher! Tell me, how long hath this been?
PLASKET.
How long? exactly, since Master Boone sojourned
with us.
TICHBOURNE.
Master Boone!—Why is he an enemy to thy cloth?
PLASKET.
Master Boone is anything but a boon companion, that's
certain; and methinks he hath infected the rest with the
malady o' mournfulness. The very throstles have left off
whistling.
TICHBOURNE.
Thou lovest not Master Boone?
PLASKET.
Shall I lie?—Truly no!
TICHBOURNE.
Come, what object'st thou against him? There's more
in this than thou givest breath to.
PLASKET.
Nothing. Let him tell me what he is, and then ask my
objections.
Why, he hath a gentle favour; hath he not?
PLASKET.
Like my great grandfather's monument—'tis carved out
o' marble, methinks.
TICHBOURNE.
And a fair presence.
PLASKET.
His absence were better.
TICHBOURNE.
And a good eye.
PLASKET.
I'll see that, when he looks me i'the face.
TICHBOURNE.
And a good wit.
PLASKET.
Let him make me laugh!
TICHBOURNE.
And a thoughtful generosity—
PLASKET.
I'll say so too, when I get my legacy.
TICHBOURNE.
Psha! thou carpest and carpest, and yet tell'st nought;
in a word, What say'st thou to him?
Even what he sayeth to me, Nothing.
TICHBOURNE.
Well; if coldness be a sin, how comes Christmas to be
blessed?
PLASKET.
Sir—as ye cellar up your wines, your meats, and your
conserves—so he that is cold hath secrets to keep. Could
ye break the ice of his coldness, who knows what foul current
runs beneath it!
TICHBOURNE.
I'll hear no more of this. I did not think thou had'st
so bitter a vein. Where is the Lady Agnes?
PLASKET.
Truly, sir, I know not; but, as I think, in the orchard
with my lady. I would ye could make her merrier, for she
is even like the rest of us.
TICHBOURNE.
I will make her merry, or she shall go near to make me
sad. Master Plasket, fare thee well—
[Tichbourne goes out.
PLASKET.
God be wi' ye; and may ye come back laughing!
Of late—I know not wherefore—but a gloom
Hath gather'd o'er these roofs, and, since that man
Became their guest, all he hath look'd upon
Hath ta'en a sad complexion from his eye.
There's mystery on his brow—nor do his accents
Sort with his looks. Have I not noted him
Shoot forth a swift glance of intelligence—
Like to an arrow from a leaguer'd wall,
Wing'd to some far-off aid—when he well deem'd
None mark'd him, but the menial that received it.
There was a time such motes would stir me not,
But now when ancient fealty is treason—
When altars are o'erturn'd, and faithful men
Dare hardly ask a blessing on their hearths,
We know not what to trust, nor what to fear—
I will watch well his bearing—
[He retires.
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