University of Virginia Library

III.

Scene. The Banqueting Hall of the Emperor. Lords and ladies. Musicians, torches, pages, &c. Roland rushes in, and seizes and bears off, with a defiant look, a dish of peacock. Charlemagne and the guests start, and laugh, but let him pass. They applaud; and so do the beggars clustered around the gate.
Charlemagne.
In sooth, a fine, well-favoured boy!

Fool.
Why, yes, my liege, but somewhat coy.

[Laughter, minstrelsy.
[Roland again enters, and now carries off a goblet of wine.
Charl.
That is a thief to our own taste!

Fool.
And mine. The banquet shall be graced
With two of the same pattern—two!

[Snatches a goblet and pockets it, having drunk up the wine.
Charl.
Nay, Fool, that trick will scarcely do;
Distinguo—
[Minstrelsy and laughter.
Here he comes again!

[Roland again enters, and seizes a lady's robe, with a diadem. Charlemagne takes him by the wrist, laughing.
Charl.
Boy, do you know me,—Charlemagne?
I think you are the merriest guest
That ever graced an emperor's board.

Roland.
Not merry I, indeed, my lord!

[Struggling to get off.
Charl.
What is the meaning of this jest?

Roland.
There is no jest. This lovely robe
Is for my mother's neck. This globe
Of studded velvet for her brow.

Charl.
Mother! What manner of mother, now?
You take the choicest dish you see,
As 'twere an apple from a tree;
You take the rich wine ruby-red,
Like water from a river's bed;
You take a robe of cost, as though
It were a cloth of frieze; and, lo!
You snatch a glittering diadem
As 'twere an old-wife's cap!

Roland.
No, no!
Mean things for serfs, and serfs for them!
Fruit from the orchards peasants bring;
They drink the water of the spring;
Yea, and go dressed in cloth of frieze;
But my mother must have the choicest meat,
And the richest wine, and a garment fair,
And she must have for her long bright hair,
A crown with jewels gay like these!

Charl.
If thus your mother is a lady great,
You must show me where she sits in state;
And count up all her retinue,
And tell me who is her steward; who,
Her chamberlain?

Roland.
My good right hand
Her steward is, as here I stand;
My left her chamberlain.

Charl.
Ho, ho!
How they can serve her, well I know.
Who are her faithful guards, Sir Knight?

Roland.
My eyes, that watch her ever aright.

Charl.
Who are her minstrel and jester gay?

Roland.
My lips, that can both sing and say.

Charl.
Why, what a knight, my lords, is this!
How tall art thou? Four feet, I wis.
A goodly stature. Go thy ways,
And fetch thy mother, boy; for she,
We swear, shall join our revelry.

Roland.
Sir, first I must know what she says!
Perchance she will not come!

Charl.
(starting with affected wonder).
We mark
You well. We pray her, of her grace,
To stoop to this our humble board.
Ho, one of you, take torch and sword—
Sir Lionel—the night is dark;
Accompany this valiant spark,
And see to it, that he brings the dame.
Come, drink! for merrily speeds the game;
Upon my word, a fine conceit!
And we will give reception meet
Unto the lady, whosoe'er
She be, that owns a boy so fair.

All.
Ay, ay, my lord!

Charl.
You players there,
Play of your very best, when we
The signal give for minstrelsy!
More torches! Lords and ladies bright,
See ye keep well our state to-night!