A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 59

ABB. Yonder he stands: I know not what he is.

[_Still he stands staring_.

QUEEN. Jesus have mercy! Oxford, come not nigh him.

OX. Not nigh him, madam? yes: keep you away.

ABB. Come in, good queen; I do not mean to stay.

[_Exit_ ABBESS.

QUEEN. Nor I to stir before I see the end.[359]

OX. Why star'st thou thus? speak, fellow: answer me.

Who art thou?

BRAND. A b.l.o.o.d.y villain and a murderer!

A hundred have I slain with mine own hands.

'Twas I that starv'd the Lady Bruce to death And her young son at Windsor Castle late: 'Tis I have slain Matilda, blessed maid, And now will hurry to d.a.m.nation's mouth, Forc'd by the gnawing worm of conscience. [_Runs in_.

OX. Hold him, for G.o.d's sake! stay the desperate wretch.

MAT. O, some good pitying man compa.s.sionate That wretched man, so woful desperate: Save him, for G.o.d's sake! he hath set me free From much world's woe, much wrong, much misery.

QUEEN. I hear thy tongue, true perfect charity!

Chaste maid, fair maid, look up and speak to me.

MAT. Who's here? My gracious sovereign Isabel!

I will take strength and kneel.

QUEEN. Matilda, sit; I'll kneel to thee. Forgive me, gentle girl, My most ungentle wrongs.

MAT. Fair, beauteous queen, I give G.o.d thanks I do not think on wrongs.

OX. How now, Fitzwater's child! How dost thou, girl?

MAT. Well, my good Lord of Oxford; pretty well: A little travail[360] more, and I shall rest, For I am almost at my journey's end.

O that my head were rais'd a little up, My drowsy head, whose dim decaying lights a.s.sure me it is almost time to sleep.

[_Raise her head_.

I thank your highness; I have now some ease.

Be witness, I beseech your majesty, That I forgive the king with all my heart; With all the little of my living heart, That gives me leave to say I can forgive; And I beseech high heaven he long may live A happy king, a king belov'd and fear'd.

Oxford, for G.o.d's sake, to my father write The latest commendations of his child; And say Matilda kept his honour's charge, Dying a spotless maiden undefil'd.

Bid him be glad, for I am gone to joy, I, that did turn his weal to bitter woe.

The king and he will quickly now grow friends, And by their friends.h.i.+p much content will grow.

Sink, earth to earth; fade, flower ordain'd to fade, But pa.s.s forth, soul, unto the shrine of peace; Beg there atonement may be quickly made.

Fair queen, kind Oxford, all good you attend.

Fly forth, lay soul, heaven's King be there thy friend.

[_Dies_.

OX. O pity-moving sight![361] age pitiless!

Are these the messages King John doth send?

Keep in, my tears, for shame! your conduits keep, Sad woe-beholding eyes: no, will ye not?

Why, then, a G.o.d's name, weep. [_Sit_.

QUEEN. I cannot weep for ruth.[362] Here, here! take in The blessed body of this n.o.ble maid: In milk-white clothing let the same be laid Upon an open bier, that all may see King John's untimely l.u.s.t and cruelty.

[_Exeunt with the body_.

OX. Ay, be it so; yourself, if so you please, Will I attend upon, and both us wait On chaste Matilda's body, which with speed To Windsor Castle we will hence convey.

There is another spectacle of ruth, Old Bruce's famish'd lady and her son.

QUEEN. There is the king besieging of young Bruce: His lords are there who, when they see this sight, I know will have small heart for John to fight.

OX. But where's the murderer, ha? is not he stay'd?

SER.[363] Borne with a violent rage he climb'd a tree, And none of us could hinder his intent; But getting to the top-boughs, fast he tied His garters to his neck and a weak branch; Which being unable to sustain his weight, Down to the ground he fell, where bones and flesh Lie pash'd[364] together in a pool of blood.

OX. Alas for woe! but this is just heaven's doom On those that live by blood: in blood they die.

Make[365] an example of it, honest friends: Do well, take pains, beware of cruelty.

Come, madam, come: to Windsor let us go, And there to Bruce's grief add greater woe.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ BRUCE _upon the walls_.

BRUCE. Will not my bitter bannings[366] and sad plaints, My just and execrable execrations, My tears, my prayers, my pity-moving moans Prevail, thou glorious bright lamp of the day, To cause thee keep an obit for their souls, And dwell one month with the Antipodes?

Bright sun, retire; gild not this vault of death With thy ill.u.s.trate rays: retire, retire, And yield black night thy empery awhile-- A little while, till as my tears be spent, My blood be likewise shed in raining drops By the tempestuous rage of tyrant John.

Learn of thy love, the morning: she hath wept Shower upon shower of silver-dewy tears; High trees, low plants, and pretty little flowers Witness her woe: on them her grief appears, And as she drips on them, they do not let, By drop and drop, their mother earth to wet.

See these hard stones, how fast small rivulets Issue from them, though they seem issueless, And wet-eyed woe on everything is view'd, Save in thy face, that smil'st at my distress.

O, do not drink these tears thus greedily, Yet let the morning's mourning garment dwell Upon the sad earth. Wilt thou not, thou churl?

Then surfeit with thy exhalations speedily; For all earth's venomous infecting worms Have belch'd their several poisons on the fields, Mixing their simples in thy compound draught.

Well, Phoebus, well, drink on, I say, drink on; But when thou dost ungorge thee, grant me this, Thou pour thy poisons on the head of John.

_Drum. Enter_ CHESTER, MOWBRAY, _Soldiers, at one door_:[367] LEICESTER, RICHMOND, _at another: Soldiers_.

BRUCE. How now, my lords! were ye last night so pleased With the beholding of that property[368]

Which John and other murderers have wrought Upon my starved mother and her son, That you are come again? Shall I again Set open shop, show my dead ware, dear-bought Of a relentless merchant, that doth trade On the red sea, swoll'n mighty with the blood Of n.o.ble, virtuous, harmless innocents?

Whose coal-black vessel is of ebony, Their shrouds and tackle (wrought and woven by wrong) Stretch'd with no other gale of wind but grief, Whose sighs with full blasts beateth on her shrouds; The master murder is, the pilot shame, The mariners, rape, theft and perjury; The burden, tyrannous oppression, Which hourly he in England doth unlade.

Say, shall I open shop and show my wares?

LEI. No, good Lord Bruce, we have enough of that.

_Drum. Enter_ KING, HUBERT, _Soldiers_.

KING. To Windsor welcome, Hubert. Soft, methinks Bruce and our lords are at a parley now?