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Title: Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan
Release date: February 22, 2016 [eBook #51282]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LORDS AND LOVERS, AND OTHER DRAMAS ***
LORDS AND LOVERS
AND
OTHER DRAMAS
BY
OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1906
Copyright, 1906, by Charles Scribner's Sons
All rights reserved
Published, October, 1906
The Trow Press, New York
CONTENTS
LORDS AND LOVERS
PART I
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
- HENRY III, King of England
- EARL OF ALBEMARLE
- EARL OF PEMBROKE
- RICHFORD, son to Pembroke, afterwards Earl
- ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
- BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
- CARDINAL GUALO
- HUBERT DE BURGH, afterwards Earl of Kent
- SIR ROLAND DE BORN
- STEPHEN GODFREY, a soldier
- GREGORY, a captain
- BALDUR, GODRIC, soldiers
- ORSON, a servant
- GERSA, an officer under De Burgh
- FRIAR SEBASTIAN
- LORD GOLY
- LORD DE VERE
- MARGARET, a Scottish princess
- ELEANOR, Countess of Albemarle, wife of Albemarle
- GLAIA, ward of De Burgh
- ELDRA, servant to Glaia
- Lords and ladies of the court, bishops, barons, priests, citizens, soldiers, &c.
- Time: 13th Century
- Scene: England
ACT I
Scene 1. Room in the earl of Pembroke's castle. Pembroke in bed. Richford and Albemarle attending.
Pem. The king has come?
Alb. He waits upon your grace
As a good servant; with demeanor speaks
True sorrow you are brought so low.
Pem. [Stoutly] Ha! Low?
Alb. Sir, but in body. Pembroke's mounting mind
Can never be struck down.
Pem. He's sad, you say?
Alb. In tears, your grace. He weeps more like a son
Than sovereign.
Pem. A son! Where is the son
Would weep for Pembroke?
Rich. Here, my dearest father!
Here are the tears would water thy affliction
Till it be washed from thy endangered body.
Here is the heart would give its younger blood
To make thine leap with health. Without you, sir,
I am no more than is the gaudy bloom
Of some stout tree the axe has brought to ground.
O, wilt forgive the many pains I've cost thee?
Pem. First touch my hand and swear by highest God
That you will serve the king.
Rich. O, slight condition!
I take this noble hand that ne'er was raised
I vow to serve the king.
Pem. For the last time
I'll trust and pardon you. If you make black
Your soul with violation of this oath,
I, safe beyond the stars, shall know it not,
Nor die again to think on 't. Men, weep not
That ye lack sons, but weep when your wives bear them!
Alb. I'll vouch for him, your grace.
Pem. Thanks, Albemarle.
Rich. Will you, my kindest father, say a word
To bring me to the graces of the king?
Pem. Ay, son.
Rich. Now, sir?
Pem. Nay, I'm not dying yet,
And wish to keep my last words for his ears.
There's holy magic in the passing tongue
That stamps its truth unrasurable. So
Would I grave Henry's heart.
Rich. But, sir——
Pem. I'll wait
My hour. Who comes with him?
Alb. The legate, Gualo,
To-day arrived from Rome.
Pem. And I not told?
Already I am dead. These ears, that kings
Engaged, are now contracted to the worm
Permits no forfeiture. Well, well, his message?
Alb. The cardinal assures us that the pope
Will cast his power with Henry. Though he loves
This praying Louis, well he knows our right.
Pem. The pope our friend? I thank thee, Heaven!
England, take up thy heart! Thou yet mayst hope!
[Enter bishop of Winchester]
Win. God save great Pembroke!
Alb. We are your servants.
[Exeunt Richford and Albemarle, left]
Pem. Now, Winchester?
Win. You sent for me, your grace.
I have made haste.
Pem. Ay, you'd trot fast enough
To see me die.
Win. Nay, sir, I hope you've called
Me to your service.
Pem. So I have, my lord.
A task unfinished I must leave to you.
Here is the key to yonder cabinet.
Pray you unlock it ... and take out the packet
Your eye's now on.
Win. This, sir?
Pem. Ay, that is it.
'Twas Henry Second, grandsire of this Henry,
Gave me that packet. Sir, you know the tale
Of princess Adelais who journeyed here
As the betrothed of Richard, Henry's son.
Alack, she never was his bride. Some say
That Henry loved her ... I know not ... but she
Returned to France, her reason wandering.
"If she recover," said the king to me,
"Give her this packet; should she die, break seal
And learn what you shall do." She did not die,
Nor can I say she lives, so sad her state.
Her age was bare fifteen when she left England,
Her face a lily and her eyes a flood;
She now must be midway her fifth decade,
A time, I've heard, when subtle changes work
Within the mind. A beauteous soul! O God,
... Take you the packet, and the king's command.
But first your oath. Deceit has sapped my faith
So oft I could believe the devil himself
Wears gown and mitre. Peter des Roches, will you
Be true?
Win. I swear by Heaven.
Pem. That is done,
As well as't can be done. Call in my son
And Albemarle.
Win. My lords!
[Re-enter Richford and Albemarle]
Pem. Now let us talk
Of England. O, this fleet, this fleet, rigged out
By warlike Constance in monk Louis' name!
I see it nearing now, leaping the waves,
On, on, and none to meet it! Cowards all.
What do ye here, ye three, loitering about
A sick man's bed? A man almost a corpse.
I would not have a servant waste himself
To give me drink while England needs his sword.
Rich. My father lord, we have our men abroad
Rousing the country for a stout defence.
To meet the French with our poor ships were madness;
But let them land we'll give them such a rap——
Pem. What? Land your enemy? O, fools and cowards!
... I've given my life for England. Now you'll cast
My heart-dear bargain into Louis' hand
As 'twere a snood slipped from an easy maid.
Fool man! to puff his days out jousting Fate,
Who waits but his bare death to start her mock
Of horrid pleasantries. Then does she make
Dice of the miser's bones, carousal cups
Of the ascetic's skull, a hangman's scoff
Of clerics' prayer-fed sons; and proudest sires,
To see all Babylon pour to their line.
And now she'll bid my war-ghost eyes behold
The land held with my life become a field
For foes at holiday!
Win. Compose yourself, your grace.
Pem. Gualo has come, but where is he will set
This power its task, and play it for this isle?
I can not say that wisdom dies with me,
But I could wish more proof of sager mind
Than e'er I've had from this small audience.
Lord Bishop, you are left custodian
Of Henry's ripening youth.
Win. Nor shall I fail
To be your worthy heir in this high duty,
For still I shall consult with your great spirit,
Praying your ghost be mover of my deeds.
Pem. I've spoken to the king. He'll give you love
For love. But who shall be lord chancellor?
There's little choice. And yet there's one, De Burgh,
If camp and field could spare him——
Alb. Sir, a man
No older than our sons?
Pem. By your good leave,
Age is no patent to respect and place
If virtue go not with it. Whitened hairs
Make honor radiant, but vice thereby
Is viler still. Ay, there are some——
Rich. Peace, father,
And save thy strength for us.
Pem. Ah, son, I've been
A careless holder all my life, and still
With my last hour play spendthrift. Well, here be
Three friends of England—Gualo makes a fourth—
And trusting you I ease my bones to death.
Pem. [After reading] De Burgh! O gallant soul!
Now am I young!
With forty ships he'll meet the fleet of France!
I live again, for courage is not dead!
[Sinking] Nay—help—ah, I am gone. I'll hasten on
And plead in Heaven for his victory.
[Seems to die]
Alb. Ah ... dead?
Rich. In truth.
Win. I'll go and tell the king.
[Aside, going] My joyful tears he will translate to grief,
And think I weep a friend's death, not a foe's
Whose only act of friendship was to die. [Exit]
Alb. How now, my lord? Does your good purpose hold?
Rich. It has the falling sickness, Albemarle,
And now lies low as earth.
Alb. Then set thy foot
Upon it that it rise no more.
Rich. 'Tis done.
Alb. What fools are they who think that dying men
Speak oracles to pivot action on,
When death's decay so blurs each fading sense
They know but darkly of the world about,
And of realities all plain to us
Build visions substanceless to gull our faith.
Grant that they do take note of things unseen,
'Tis with their faces to another world,
And what they speak is strange and ill advice
To us whose work is still 'mong men of earth.
Rich. You need not clear your way to me. I've not
A scruple in my soul would trip a gnat.
Speak out your heart.
Alb. You are great Pembroke now.
But Richford took an oath to serve the king.
Rich. And he—is Louis.
Rich. Royal Albemarle!
Alb. Here stand we then. De Burgh we count as dead.
Le Moine has orders to strike off his head
Soon as he's taken. Now we get the king
To Dover fort, on pretence to defend it.
There the besieging French will take him prisoner,
And ship him straight to Calais—or to Heaven.
Pem. [Half rising] Devils! dogs! beasts!
Now these devoted bones
Will never lie at peace in English earth.
My country! Must the foreign foot be set
Once more upon thy neck, and thine own sons
Pour sulphur to thy wounds? The king! the king!
What, vipers, do you hear? Call in the king!
Alb. We must not, sir.
Pem. Ho, here! The king!
[Rises from bed, starts forward and falls back speechless. Enter Henry, Gualo, Winchester, and attendants. Albemarle and Richford stand together. Pembroke dies pointing to them and gazing at the king.]
Hen. My lords, what does this mean?
Alb. This noble man
Wished much to say a word of grace for me
And his forgiven son. Alas, black death
Has stolen the balm that might have eased our way
Into your heart.
Hen. Fear not, my lords. I'll trust you,
Even as he wished. [Kneels by bed]
O, Pembroke, couldst thou leave me?
[Curtain]
Scene 2. Before Dover castle. Night. Hubert de Burgh walking and listening.
Hub. But forty ships! But forty slit-sailed drabs
Of storm and watery danger to meet all France
Fresh-winged upon the sea! And yet no word
Nor stir of help. Methinks were I the king,
Or Pembroke with his power in my mouth,
Each English road should be ablaze to-night
With swift flint-striking hoofs. Now to our shore
Puffs up the wave may prove oblivion's maw,
And drink these Dover cliffs as they were sands,
Yet England sleeps, with one lone heart at watch.
[Sound of horse approaching] Nay, two, for Roland comes.
[Enter Roland de Born, dismounted]
Rol. You, Hubert?
Hub. Ay.
You bring no aid?
Rol. The king is powerless.
Pembroke is dead. The barons to covert slink,
Saying their loyalty binds them to fight
No farther than the shore. The bishops smirk
Beneath their mitres, roll their eyes and cry
"God and great Rome, deliver us!" which means
Deliver us to Louis, king of monks
And darling of the pope.
Hub. And Albemarle?
Rol. Stands by the king, and ready with his men
To meet the foe on land, but not a soul
Will send to sea.
Hub. Dissembler! Well he knows
A victory on the sea means England lost,
So many traitor hearts will league with France
And sell their country for one castle more.
The moon is down, and the raw, rising air
Sucks in approaching light. What must be done?
Hub. The Cinque Ports yield me forty ships.
With these
I'll meet Le Moine.
Rol. O, Hubert, Hubert!
Hub. Ay,
My men are all aboard and waiting me.
The garrison I leave to you. Hold it
For honor and the king, nor yield to save
So poor a thing as my unlucky head
Should I go foul at sea. You'll be the first
The victors will besiege.
Rol. My friend!
Hub. Tut, man,
The sea's a good safe bed. Come in. Some wine
Will take the night-chill from your blood. In, in!
[Exeunt. Curtain]
Scene 3. Within the castle. Stephen, Baldur, Godric, and other soldiers talking and drinking.
Ste. [Draining his glass] As good liquor as ever wet an oath since Noah was a vintner.
Bal. Vintner? An you put him in the trade the bishop will have you up for it.
Ste. A groat for your bishop, and that off your grandam's eyes! I'm no little king Henry pulled to mincemeat by his bishops and barons. "I'll take off your mitre," roars he to his bishop. "An you take off my mitre, I'll clap on a helmet, by the lord," says my bishop. "I'll have your castle!" shouts he to his baron. "An you take my castle, I'll give you London tower," says master baron. Ay, and he would, with the keeper thrown in.
Bal. And you too, if you bite not a bit from your tongue.
Ste. By the mass, I'll drink the king's ale, and I'll take the king's money, but I'll fight for none but Hubert de Burgh!
God. And he for the king—so you.
Ste. I care not how you make it. De Burgh is my master. I'll fight for him and with him and after him, but I'll wear a red sword for no bishop or baron or little king Harry in Christendom!
Bal. That may be so with more of us than you, but stop your mouth with good ale and let words alone.
Ste. And I'll go with him to the French court and pull Louis off the king's stool!
[Sings]
Hear, boys, hear! O, hear our captain call!
We'll away, boys, away!
For the love o' the sword and the love o' the money,
We'll on to the wars, my brave fellows all,
An they take our Jack they will leave our Johnny.
Away, boys, away!
[Enter Hubert and Roland]
Hub. What cheer, my men? A fair morning for brave hearts. Can you keep this castle for me till I've had a bout at sea?
A soldier. That we can, sir!
Ste. I'll go with you, sir, by your leave. The castle will wait for us, I give you my word, sir.
Hub. You have seen the bottom of your glass too often to-night, Stephen.
Ste. God bless you, sir, there's where a soldier keeps his oath to serve God and his country, and he can't look it over too often. Take me wi' you, sir, and I'll prove you who lifts his glass the highest will wave his sword the longest. [Kneels] I was your father's soldier, sir, and hope to die yours.
Hub. Nay, I must leave trusty souls behind me. Let those who love me least fight under my eye, but I'll trust nay good Stephen around the world.
Ste. [Rising] Ay, sir! Rain arrows, hail bullets, we'll keep the castle against all weather!
Hub. [Presenting Roland] Then here's your brave captain. Follow him now, and farewell, good fellows—farewell, all!
[Soldiers start out slowly, following Roland]
An old soldier. [Turning] But you'll come again, sir?
Another. Ay, we'll see you back?
Another. An you come or come not, I kiss my sword to you, Hubert de Burgh, the bravest knight in all England!
Hub. Why, my hearts, would you start the liquor in my eyes? I go where there's brine enough. Twelve hours' sail with fortune will bring me back—but if I come not, remember your king!
[Exeunt soldiers]
They know 'tis death—they know 'tis death.
And what
Is that? We are all guests in God's great house,
The Universe, and Death is but his page
To show us to the chamber where we sleep.
What though the bed be dust, to wake is sure;
Not birds but angels flutter at the eaves
And call us, singing.
[Enter Gersa]
Gersa, what success?
Ger. The bags are all aboard, sir.
Hub. And portioned to every vessel?
Ger. Ay, sir.
Hub. Well despatched?
Ger. The men heaved as though the sacks held all the pope's treasury and they were to take their pay out of it.
Hub. Yet they found the contents not so heavy as gold, I hope.
Ger. Nor so light as feathers, sir.
Hub. But I pray they'll fly as well, and more to the purpose. Aboard with you now. I'll not be long behind you.
[Exit Gersa]
If this, my careful stratagem, should fail,
God help the friendless boy on England's throne!
Now Pembroke's noble strength must e'en to coffin;
And Isabel across the sea cares not,
But happier in a gentler husband's love
Takes little thought of John of England's heir,
Who has his father's beauty, not his heart,—
Just so much of that proud and guilty blood
As makes him kingly nor corrupts his own.
... But, come, my soul! Prepare thee for a world
Of rarer breath, lest thou too rudely go
To th' high conclave of spirits. Father?
[Enter friar Sebastian]
Fr. Seb. Son,
Art ready for the sacrament?
Hub. I lack
A prayer of thine to make me so. Give me
Such blessing as you'd lay upon me were
Death couchant for my heart, and on my brow
Drop thou the holy unguent that doth fit
The body for the last touch of the soul.
Fr. Seb. My love is to thy mortal frailty bound,
And first I'll bless thee as an earthly father,
Praying that thou mayst smite thine enemies.
[Re-enter Roland]
Rol Your pardon, Hubert. Lady Albemarle
Is here, and begs for instant sight of you.
Hub. My sister? I will see her.
[Exit Roland] Wait you, father.
The world must still intrude on Heaven's affairs.
La. Alb. Brother! Is Glaia here?
Hub. She is. But why
This eagerness?
La. Alb. My lord says that you go
To meet the French. Is 't true?
Hub. In one hour's time
I count myself at sea.
La. Alb. Then what—O, where
Shall I hide Glaia?
Hub. Hide? Is 't evermore hide
That spotless maid, born but to be a star
To human eyes?
La. Alb. Nay, born to be my shame,
And constant, killing fear!
Hub. She will be safe.
Roland de Born, who now will guard this castle,
Holds Glaia as the heart in his own body.
Ay, she is safe,—but if the danger nears,
She'll be conducted back to Greenot woods——
La. Alb. Roland de Born? What knows he?
Hub. Only this,
That Glaia, weary of skies, rests foot on earth.
La. Alb. He does not love her, Hubert? Say not that!
Hub. Thy daughter is so honored.
La. Alb. No!
Hub. She has
His noble love, and he my happy wish
That he may make her wife.
La. Alb. Then thou art false,
And I look on my grave.
Hub. What, Eleanor?
La. Alb. You know my place, and how I queen the court,
A virtuous mark that lords point out to wives,
Bidding them walk as Albemarle's good dame.
Now let me take my seat on the lowest step,
And none too humble to mock me going up.
Hub. What's this to do with Roland's love for Glaia?
La. Alb. O, let them scorn! Tis nothing! But my husband—
Brother, I never dreamed thy cruelty
Would give me to his vengeance.
Hub. Cruelty?
La. Alb. O, see me at his feet—bleeding and broken——
Hub. Not while I wear a sword! But how have I
Disturbed thee? What have said? I've threshed my words,
But find no devil in them.
La. Alb. O, this Roland,
If he wive Glaia must ferret out my shame—
Pry her life ope—who is she?—whence she came?—
Till all my secret blushes 'fore his eye.
Hub. Though he learn all, thy honor in his breast
Is safe as gem that at earth's centre burns.
La. Alb. Nay, I'll not live! You know not Albemarle!
He'll scourge me through the court in rags to match
My tattered virtue,—then the rack—fire—screws—
The Scotch boot—O, the world's not dear enough
To purchase so. I will not live!
Hub. I swear
That Roland cares so much for Glaia's birth
As to be glad she's born. And at my word
He will receive her questionless and dumb,
Nor ever doubt, or weigh his promised faith.
La. Alb. Why, is there such a man in all the world?
Hub. He sees her as one looks upon a rose,
And thinks not of the mould that bore it, or what
The tale that dews and winds could tell.
La. Alb. 'Tis strange.
La. Alb. I must—I do believe you.
Hub. And bless his suit?
La. Alb. Ay, let him wed her straight.
What waits he for? Let her be lost in him,
This rare, this unmatched wonder of a man,
And I will cast this shadow from my life,
Heave off the weight that seventeen years I've borne,
And walk the lighter, for I've known what 'tis
To step high 'neath a load. O, let them wed
As soon as may be, Hubert. Why not now?
Hub. He waits to win her heart.
La. Alb. Cares he for that?
You can command her, Hubert.
Hub. But will not.
She is a plant of Nature's tenderest love,
And must be won to bloom by softest airs,
Else shall we risk the gentle life and see
No buds unfold.
La. Alb. I understand her not,
Nor try. She is a part of strangest days,
That like to burning dreams bewilder as
They scar the recollection. She's more kin
To those strange creatures of the wood that peeped
About my shelter when she lay a babe
Than to my blood. Yet she is mine—my daughter.
Hub. Wilt you not see her?
La. Alb. No.
Hub. You will find her up.
La. Alb. Why should I see her? Give a stranger's kiss,
And hear her stiffly say "Your ladyship"?
If she would love me!
Hub. Do not weep.
La. Alb. You think
I do not suffer.
La. Alb. I'm nearly mad at times! But I must go.
Hub. [Hesitating] How is—the princess?
La. Alb. Margaret? O, well,
But every day more full of starts and whims.
Last night the king was with us——
Hub. Ah, the king?
La. Alb. She gave him stinted welcome. Then my lord
Came in with news of the advancing fleet,
And danger to the throne, concluding with
Your aim to put to sea, and at that point
She swooned quite prettily and pleased the king.
Hub. She swooned?
La. Alb. Most properly, the king being by
To know it was for him.
Hub. O—ay, for him!
La. Alb. Who else? I hope they'll soon be wed.
Hub. Be wed?
Henry is young.
La. Alb. But old enough being king.
And Albemarle is pressing for the marriage.
'Tis now ten years since Margaret came from Scotland
To be his charge. A pretty child—do you
Remember? But now grown from beauty, pale
And fanciful. You've seen the change?
Hub. To me
She never changes but to show herself
More beautiful.
La. Alb. You have not seen it? Pah!
Now I must go. Good brother, fare you well.
You've given me comfort. [Kisses him]
Hub. Farewell, Eleanor.
[Exit lady Albemarle]
Art gone, my sister, and no word of love
That keeps so constant with her makes her hard
And unlike woman—unlike Margaret.
... Last night the king was with her—and she swooned.
But not for him. By Heaven, 'twas not for him!
[Sits by table, bowing his head upon it]
O Margaret! Not one dear word? Not one?
[Enter Margaret, veiled]
Mar. Ah! [Steps toward him, throwing off her veil] Hubert?
Hub. [Starting up] Princess! Here? You here?
Mar. Couldst think I'd let thee go till I had said
"God save thee" to thy face?
Hub. You risk too much!
Mar. Risk, Hubert?
Hub. O, what have you done?
Mar. What done?
Hub. The king will think——
Mar. The king will think as I do,
That 'tis most natural to pay adieu
To friends.
Hub. But Albemarle——
Mar. Approves our friendship.
I do not understand.
Hub. Yet you came veiled.
Mar. 'Twas early—and the air was pricking chill.
I—thought—do you go soon?
Hub. That you should come!
Mar. Soon, Hubert?
Hub. Ay, at once.
Mar. At once. Why then,
Farewell.
Hub. Stay! Ah—I mean—why did you come?
Mar. My soul! I think I came that you might wish
Me back again. Was it so wrong of me?
To ease adieu with unction of a tear
I know none else would shed——
Hub. O, Margaret!
Pray God that I deserve this! Now I go
So light I'll hardly need my ship's good wings
To bear me.
Mar. The earl doubts not your victory.
How many ships go with you?
Hub. All we have.
The ports hold not a single vessel from me.
Mar. And the enemy's? I hope they are enough
To make your victory noble.
Hub. I've no doubt
They count up bravely.
Mar. Not too many, sir!
Hub. The battle will not shame me.
Mar. But how many?
Hub. As yet we have no word but rumor's.
Mar. Ah!
Tell me you'll win.
Hub. Then help me by not doubting.
Mar. I must not doubt—for if—I did——
Hub. What then?
Mar. Nay, I'll not stay to tell you. I must go.
I keep you from the battle and your fame.
You have forgiven me my morning ride?
Faith, but you frowned!
Hub. I thought how many eyes
Were on the king's betrothed.
Mar. Choose better words,
My friend. I am not yet the king's betrothed,
And I—had you the time——
Hub. Nay, all my life
Is yours.
Hub. A princess can not choose.
Mar. Then I'll not be
A princess!
Hub. Margaret!
Mar. A princess? Nay,
I'll be no more a woman, if that means
To cage my soul in circle of a court
And fawn on turnkey humor for my life!
Scotland is lost to me. I'll not go there
To meet my dangerous brother's wrath. No, no!
But there are forests—I can fly to them,
And dig my food from Nature's generous earth,
Thrive on her berries, drink from her clear streams,
Sleep 'neath the royal coverlet of her leaves,
And make some honest friends 'mong her kind creatures
That we call dumb because, forsooth, they speak
By eye and touch and gibber not as we!
... So silent, sir? Come, will you not advise me?...
There was a day before the day of kings
When maidens looked where'er their hearts had sped
And found them mates who had no need of crowns
To make them royal, and such a day the world
May see again, but I, alack, must breathe
The present time, and crave the help of state
And craft and gold to get me married! O,
The judgment angel gathering up our clay
Will know this period by its broken hearts!
... Hast not a word? Now should I wed the king?
Hub. He is a gentle youth, and in your care
Would blossom brave in virtues.
Mar. Nay——
Hub. All hope
For this poor land lies in your grace.
Mar. Ah, Hubert,
Fair Henry from his flatterers? Not here.
Wouldst cast me to the pool where he must drown?
Hub. Where canst thou hide thy beauty, Margaret?
This is wild talk of forests. Where couldst flee?
What land would shelter thee from England's love
And Scotland's rage? My own—my Margaret—
Where could we go?
Mar. O, Hubert, we?
Hub. I'm mad.
Peace to thee, maiden. I go to my ships.
Mar. Forgive me! I'll be gone.
[Re-enter Gersa]
Hub. What! Not aboard?
Ger. Your pardon, sir. We have confirmed reports
The French outnumber us by triple count.
Eighty large ships, the double of our own,
Besides two score of galleons and small vessels
That in themselves would match us. And 'tis sure
Le Moine, the pirate, leads the fleet.
Hub. Are all
Now ready?
Ger. Ay, we wait for you.
Hub. Grant me
A bare half hour—no—not so much. I shall
O'ertake you ere you reach your ship.
[Exit Gersa. Hubert turns to Margaret and finds that she has fainted]
My lady!
Is this, too, for the king?
Mar. [Reviving] You shall not go!
Hub. I must—and now. Let me but press your hand——
Mar. No, no, my lips! Hubert, let us be true.
Death watches now and will report all lies
Out of my eyes as stars go from the sky,
And never, never see you come again,
Let me once hear you say you love me, Hubert,
And all the years that I must weep for thee
I'll keep the words as a sweet golden bell
To sound whene'er my ears want music.
Hub. Thou art the king's.
Mar. Nay, I will lay my head
Upon the block, ere pillow it by his.
Hub. Then we'll be mad together, Margaret.
To go one step in this is to go farthest.
Ah, yesterday I saw a knight I loved
Sink in his blood; but when he called the name
Of his dear bride, and died as it made sweet
His lips, I thought of you and envied him.
And now, so soon, his fortune is my own.
[Calls] Come, father! [To Margaret] Art afraid?
Mar. Ah, yes, afraid
That I may lose thee!
Hub. Is it hell, or Heaven?
[Re-enter friar Sebastian]
Good father, when two souls have kissed so close
They in each other lose the form of self,
And neither body knows its own again,
Wouldst join them mortally, that being one
They can not go amiss?
Fr. Seb. If they be free,
My son, to take the vows.
Hub. Thou knowest us.
Fr. Seb. I've blessed ye both as children.
Mar. I am free
By my soul's right, and though a princess born,
Here choose my lord.
Fr. Seb. My daughter, thou art noble,
The beadroll of thy faults, but 'tis poor rank
Not thee stoops to this choice.
Mar. I know it, father.
Though it should cost my fortune, name and place,
I'd give them all to be his wife one hour.
Fr. Seb. Then, by my sacred vows, as I believe
Love is from Heaven, and 'tis God himself
Who fosters its sweet growth through all the blood
Till action, thought, yea, life, do hang upon it,
I'll bind ye in the dear eternal bonds,
And bless your union with the holy feast.
Come in with me. [Exit, rear]
Hub. [Embracing her] 'Tis Heaven, Margaret!
[Curtain]