A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 44

FITZ. Come, maiden daughter, from my maiden son, And give him leave to do what must be done.

ROB. H. First, I bequeath my soul to all souls Sav'our, And will my body to be buried At Wakefield, underneath the abbey wall; And in this order make my funeral.

When I am dead, stretch me upon this bier!

My beads and primer shall my pillow be; On this side be my bow, my good shafts here; Upon my breast the cross, and underneath My trusty sword, thus fasten'd in the sheath.

Let Warman's body at my feet be laid, Poor Warman, that in my defence did die.

For holy dirges sing me woodmen's songs, As ye to Wakefield walk with voices shrill.

This for myself. My goods and plate I give Among my yeomen: them I do bestow Upon my sovereign Richard. This is all.

My liege, farewell! my love, farewell, farewell!

Farewell, fair Queen, Prince John, and n.o.ble lords!

Father Fitzwater, heartily adieu!

Adieu, my yeomen tall. Matilda, close mine eyes.

Friar, farewell! farewell to all!

MAT. O, must my hands with envious death conspire To shut the morning gates of my life's light!

FITZ. It is a duty and thy love's desire!

I'll help thee, girl, to close up Robin's sight.[287]

KING. Laments are bootless, tears cannot restore Lost life, Matilda; therefore weep no more: And since our mirth is turned into moan, Our merry sport to tragic funeral, We will prepare our power for Austria, After Earl Robert's timeless burial.

Fall to your wood-songs, therefore, yeomen bold.

And deck his hea.r.s.e with flowers, that loved you dear: Dispose his goods as he hath them dispos'd.

Fitzwater and Matilda, bide you here.

See you the body unto Wakefield borne: A little we will bear ye company, But all of us at London 'point to meet: Thither, Fitzwater, bring Earl Robin's men; And, Friar, see you come along with them.

FRIAR. Ah, my liege lord! the Friar faints, And hath no words to make complaints: But since he must forsake this place, He will await, and thanks your grace.

_Song.

Weep, weep, ye woodmen, wail, Your hands with sorrow wring; Your master Robin Hood lies dead, Therefore sigh as you sing.

Here lie his primer and his beads, His bent bow and his arrows keen, His good sword and his holy cross: Now cast on flowers fresh and green;

And as they fall, shed tears and say, Wella, wella-day! wella, wella-day: Thus cast ye flowers and sing, And on to Wakefield take your way_.

[_Exeunt_.

FRIAR. Here doth the Friar leave with grievance; Robin is dead, that graced his entrance, And being dead, he craves his audience With this short play they would have patience.[288]

_Enter_ CHESTER.

CHES. Nay, Friar, at the request of thy kind friend, Let not thy play too soon be at an end.

Though Robin Hood be dead, his yeomen gone, And that thou think'st there now remains not one To act another scene or two for thee, Yet know full well, to please this company, We mean to end Matilda's tragedy.

FRIAR. Off then, I wish you, with your Kendal green; Let not sad grief in fresh array be seen.

Matilda's story is replete with tears, Wrongs, desolations, ruins, deadly fears.

In, and attire ye. Though I tired be, Yet will I tell my mistress' tragedy.

Apollo's masterdom[289] I invocate, To whom henceforth my deeds I dedicate; That of his G.o.dhead, 'bove all G.o.ds divine, With his rich spirit he would lighten mine: That I may sing true lays of trothless deeds, Which to conceive my heart through sorrow bleeds, Cheer thee, sad soul, and in a lofty line Thunder out wrong, compa.s.s'd in cloudy tears:

[_Enter in black_.[290]

Show to the eyes, fill the beholders' ears, With all the lively acts of l.u.s.tful rage, Restrain'd by modest tears and chast.i.ty's intreats: And let King John, that ill-part[291] personage, By suits, devices, practices, and threats, And when he sees all serveth to no end, Of chaste Matilda let him make an end.

CHO. We are all fitted, Friar: shall we begin?

FRIAR. Well art thou suited: would my order would Permit me habit equal to my heart!

CHO. If you remember, John did take an oath Never again to seek Matilda's love.

FRIAR. O, what is he, that's sworn affection's slave, That will not violate all laws, all oaths?

And, being mighty, what will he omit To compa.s.s his intents, though ne'er so ill?-- You must suppose King Richard now is dead, And John, resistless, is fair England's lord Who, striving to forget Matilda's love, Takes to his wife the beauteous Isabel, Betroth'd to Hugh le Brun, Earl of North-March:[292]

And picking quarrels under show of kin, Wholly divorces his first queen away.

But yet Matilda still-still troubles him, And being in the court, so oft he courts her, That by her n.o.ble father, old Fitzwater, She is remov'd from his l.u.s.t-tempting eye.

But tides restrain'd o'erswell their bounds with rage: Her absence adds more fuel to his fire.

In sleep he sees her, and his waking thoughts Study by day to compa.s.s his desire.

CHO. Friar, since now you speak of visions, It was received by tradition From those that were right near unto King John, Of three strange visions that to him appear'd; And, as I guess, I told you what they were.

FRIAR. With them I will begin. Draw but that veil, And there King John sits sleeping in his chair.

[_Draw the curtain: the king sits sleeping, his sword by his side. Enter Austria, before whom cometh Ambition, and bringing him before the chair, King John in sleep maketh signs to avoid, and holdeth his own crown fast with both his hands_.

FRIAR. Ambition, that had ever waited on King John, Now brings him Austria, easy to be ta'en, Being wholly tam'd by Richard's warlike hand.

And bids him add that dukedom to his crown: But he puts by Ambition, and contemns All other kingdoms but the English crown, Which he holds fast, as if he would not loose[293].

[_Enter Constance, leading Young Arthur: both offer to take the crown; but with his foot he overturneth them: to them cometh Insurrection, led by the F.K. and L.[294] menacing him, and leads the child again to the chair; but he only layeth hand on his sword, and with his foot overthroweth the child, whom they take up as dead; and, Insurrection flying, they mournfully bear in the body_.

FRIAR. The lady and the child that did ascend, Striving in vain to take the crown from John, Were Constance and her son the Duke of Britain, Heir to the elder brother of the king: Yet he sleeps on, and with a little spurn The mother and the prince doth overturn.

Again, when Insurrection them a.s.sists, Stirr'd by the French king and the wronged earl, Whose troth-plight wife King John had ta'en to wife, He only claps his hand upon his sword, Mocketh their threatenings, and in their attempts The harmless prince receives recureless death, Whom they too late with bootless tears lament.

[_Enter Queen with two Children, borne after her: she ascends, and seeing no motion, she fetcheth her children one by one; but seeing yet no motion, she descendeth, wringing her hands, and departeth. Enter Matilda in a mourning veil, reading on a book, at whose coming he starteth, and sitteth upright; as she pa.s.seth by, he smiles, and folds his arms as if he did embrace her: being gone, he starts suddenly, and speaks_.

KING. Matilda! stay, Matilda, do but speak!

Who's there? Entreat Matilda to come back.

_Enter_ BONVILLE[295].

BON. Who would you have, my lord?

KING. Why, my Lord Bonville, I would have Matilda, That but even now pa.s.s'd by toward the door.

BON. I saw her not, my lord.

KING. Hadst thou a lover's eye, A gnat, a mote, a shadow thou wouldst spy.

Come, follow me; she cannot be so far, But I shall overtake her: come away!

[_Exeunt_.

FRIAR. The last appearance shadow'd the fair queen And her two children, at whose sight King John Shewed neither sign nor show of pa.s.sion: But when the sun came masked in a cloud, And veiled beauty, join'd with chast.i.ty, Appeared in Matilda's lovely shape, He starts, he clasps, he wakes, he calls, he seeks The shadow of that substance he affects.

To her he sues, but she his suit rejects; To him she sues, but he her suit neglects: He sues to be her love; she doth despise: She sues to live a maid, which he denies.

What follows of this wilfull will and shall, This no and nay, this quenchless, bootless fire, This cold affection and this hot desire, The act itself shall tell; and the poor friar Your partial favours humbly doth require.