University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.
Enter the King, with Dordan dressed as a mendicant.
King.
Thanks for thy service—though I know thee not—
Yet sometimes when my twilight mind took note
Of outward things, thy voice hath tones in it
With which I seemed familiar. What art thou?

Dordan.
A beggar, my good master.

King.
Why not work?
How camest thou to beg?

Dordan.
I was—a fool—
That is—in this world's ways. I could not learn
To care for things that other men much prize.
Their wealth, their state, were ostentatious gauds,
The which I thought it wisdom to contemn—
My wit, my parts, were personal accidents,
The which they thought it folly to esteem.
And so I made a world unto myself
Of thoughts and fancies, which, whene'er I uttered,
The world at large mistook for idiocies.

King.
So, so. The vain ones. And their drivelling cares,
To multiply their stores, and keep their power,
And their poor plans to purchase early ease,
They thought were pieces of consummate prudence.
'Tis criminal folly—they were the true idiots;
So they would know, had they but my experience.
Thus thou becamest a beggar?

Dordan.
Ay, good master.

King.
Well, well, 'tis all the same, whatever course
Of life we take. I am a beggar, too,
And yet I wrought by the opposite rule. There's nothing
For man to do, but trust the gods, and they
The issues shape as pleases their great wisdoms.

Dordan.
It is most true.

King.
I could not find my son.
He lay not on the field (my son! my son!);
But I found thee, where I, from weariness,
Had sunk. Sure, I had lain instead of him,
But that a beggar raised me from the soil,
Moist—moist—with blood; ye gods, with human blood.

Dordan.
They have borne thy son away.

King.
Who? who? good fellow.

Dordan.
Dunwarro and his soldiers—

King.
Why, thou fool,
Thou toldst me so before.

Dordan.
Fool? So I am.

King.
I beg thy pardon, thou art but a beggar;
I ought to give thee value for thy service,
Having been once a King. But now I have nothing.
I called thee fool. These brows, though they look grave,
Have not with wisdom overmuch been burthened.
What's here? A crown?—of gold? It is not mine;
'Tis his—and he is dead—slain by his brother.
Fool; wouldst thou think it? I have nothing but
This gaud in all the world! He wants it not;
And there's another shall not have it; so
Take it, good fellow, for thy pains, and be
No more a beggar. Melt it down.

Dordan
(aside).
This is
A sorry jest. Alas, my poor old King
Knows Dordan but by glimpses. (to King)
But, master,
My honesty will not permit my taking
So rich a prize.

King.
Thy honesty? part with it.
Ferrex was honest; nay, was generous,
And therefore he was killed. Wouldst thou escape
Worse even than beggary, part with honesty.

Dordan.
With safety, too, sometimes. They'd say I stole
This crown.

King.
Fool; 'tis not worth the stealing. Who
Hath that, has fear, and pain, and agony;
It weighs so heavy on the skull, the brain
Is crushed, and then confusion comes, and madness,
And he who wears it knows not what he doth.
I will not take it back. Thou hast it—there—
Good luck go with it; I am rid of it.
Put'st it not on?

Dordan.
I am already capped.
A helmet would have better served our need,
Since I am thirsty to a thought, to catch
Some water when we find it.

King.
Come—come—come
Into the city. There is many a fountain—
Troth, but my own tongue's parched; though I forgot it,
Talking with thee. Ye gods! my sons—my sons!

[Exeunt.