Kent. Why do you doubt? You've ever trusted me.
La. Alb. Ay, while you were all man.
La. Alb. Nay, you are one half woman, being married.
A wife's the key may ope her husband's heart
To all the world. She is the pick and pry
To every lock of trust, and weasels through
His secrets spite all seals. Swear, Hubert, swear
That Margaret shall not know!
Kent. Have I not sworn?
How many times will you demand my oath?
La. Alb. A thousand thousand will not bring me peace!
Kent. Ah, Eleanor, why desolate your days
With this wild fear? 'Tis Heaven you've sinned against,
Not man. Look thou above for condemnation.
The world is harsh to virtue, not to sin.
See how the daughter of the earl of Valence,
John's one-time mistress, proudly holds her head,
Nor lacks for fawning followers? And mark
How Rosamond's two sons have fixed their line
Fast 'mong our English peers. If you would dare
To bring sweet Glaia forth, I do not doubt
The court would welcome her as princess born.
La. Alb. But Albemarle! He never would forgive!
Christine of Valence was not wife to him,
Else would her mimic court be dungeon close,
And racks, not lovers, kiss her dainty fingers.
You've never seen his rage! O, swear again
You'll set securest watch on act and tongue,
Nor let——
Kent. Here is your lord with Winchester.
Kent. Come, I'll satisfy you, Eleanor.
[Exeunt, right. Winchester and Albemarle enter rear]
Win. The name of Kent erases church and state
And king. Fortune grows doting, and would make
A darling of this man.
Alb. She'll change her love,
Doubt not.
Win. 'Tis time. New favors upon him light
As birds on fruity branches. Castles and estates
Are but as feathers every wind brings in.
Dost not begin to fear him?
Alb. You are pleasant.
I fear? When I could lend him half my power,
And yet o'erbear him? In the north there are
One thousand leaders holding swords of me!
Alb. Ay, sir. Though not from love
To Kent, nor hate to you, do I deny you.
But I'll not stand the champion of a wanton,
Though royal daughter of a royal sire.
The knightly Albemarles have never stooped
To lift adultery from its miry bed
And set its colors on their virtuous helm.
Win. Now, by your leave, the half of England comes
Into the world by left hand of the priest,
Yet fight and pray as well as you or I,
Nor bates a jot their honor in men's eyes.
Alb. You have my answer. When I'm ready for 't,
I'll tumble Kent to earth in my own fashion,
And not by means that sets French Adelais
On virtue's pinnacle, a star of gilt
To falsely glitter in the eye of dames
And set them wandering with their vanities
Till they forget the way to their true lords.
Win. [Musing] I'm writing a court history, your grace.
'Twas John, I think, who set your countess' father
On fortune's road.
Alb. Nay, 'twas the king before him,
Henry the Second.
Win. [Going] Well, my wary lord,
I have no bruise to nurse, and meet the blow
Befalls from any point.
Win. I say, my lord, I'll strike as pleases me,
And you keep cover as you will. [Exit]
Alb. A bruise?
Keep cover? Gods! And I stood still! The dog!
I'll after him and take him by the throat!
[Re-enter lady Albemarle, right]
La. Alb. What said our ancient enemy?
Alb. Enough!
He angered me!
La. Alb. But what the cause, my lord?
Alb. He'll quash the claim the church makes to my castles
If I will aid in bringing Kent to trial
On charge of Adelais, who sojourns here
To push her old appeal. I will not do 't!
La. Alb. Thanks that you shield my brother, by whose rise
You droop.
Alb. I shield your brother? When his name
Is Kent? Nay, you mistake me. I refused
Because this princess was no more nor less
Than Henry Second's mistress, and the son,
Whose death is laid to Kent, was the vile fruit
Of wantonness. A princess! I'd forgive
A milkmaid false, but error in the great
Is so bestarred by its exalted place
That those beneath mistake what is so lustered
For the true sun.
La. Alb. Hast seen the king, my lord?
Alb. I say 'tis guilt of such a heinous sort,
So foully odorous and so far bestrewn,
The sea o'errunning Britain could not wash
The island free of it!
La. Alb. 'Tis very wrong.
Alb What! Set this princess over all your heads
As she were halo-browed, that you might pray
Her saintly patronage for your loose hopes?
La. Alb. Indeed, it is not well.
Alb. Well? By my life,
Our English dames are running mad enough,
And must be duchesses because—look ye—
They're wantons to a king! Out on your kind!
[Aside, slowly] "'Twas John, I think, who set your countess' father
On fortune's road." You've been a handsome woman—
Could foot right well on Venus' heels. My soul,
There's beauty in you yet to draw an eye
O'er the picket of defence!
La. Alb. My lord, I pray you——
Alb. 'Tis well that our young Richard has my eye,
And trick of walk, and way of sudden speech,
Else I'd suspect a cuckoo in the nest,
For all your dainty strictures and high head!
La. Alb. For Christ's sake, Albemarle——
Alb. Ay, had he not
My very shoulder hitch and swelling neck
This night I'd drag him to the eastern tower
And hurl him to the Thames!
Alb. For you
I'd pay out my estate in hire of men
To spend their lives devising drawn-out pains
That death might feed and grow upon itself!
La. Alb. Ah, sir, no need. I'm dead now with your words.
Alb. The king is entering. Look up, my dame.
I rage to think you could be false, and not
Because you are. Come, where's your blood, my lady?
Those frosted cheeks are not the royal color.
Smile and I'll pardon you. I know you true.
[Aside] But when we're home again we'll talk somewhat
Of those same favors granted to your father.
[Enter Pembroke, Winchester, and others. Pembroke and Winchester talk apart]
Pem. But where is Gualo? He is friend to Kent.
Win. Shipped back to Rome.
Win. That is made sure.
And now I'll push the claim of Adelais
With all the power pillared by the church.
Pem. Henry will never yield. He wraps the earl
So close in love 'twill shake the throne to part them.
There's no path to the king not barriered
By Kent's unceasing watch.
Win. I'll drop a canker
Will eat a way for us. Ah, here they come.
Pem. Arm-locked as king and king; and eye to eye,
Like lovers changing souls.
[Enter Henry, Kent, Lord Wynne. Lords and ladies, among whom is Margaret, enter behind them]
Hen. [To Kent] I fear to tell you, Hubert, even you.
Kent. I do not fear to hear it, whate'er you do
So well becomes a throne.
Hen. You promise then
Your fullest pardon?
Kent. Your open deeds, my lord,
Bear such a noble front I should not fear
To clap a lusty "ay" to all you've done
In secret.
Hen. Thank you, Kent. And Roland, too,—
Our good lord Wynne—must echo you with pardon,
For I have touched him when he felt me not,
And shortly he must look upon his wound.
Wynne. I do not fear to see it. You've taught me, sir,
The wounds you give me carry their own heal.
Wynne. The richer then the balm.
Hen. Then out, poor Henry, with thy heart's misdeed.
[Turns to the court]
Listen, my lords,—my gracious court,—to you
I make appeal. Is any here who holds
Me in such wintry and removed regard
He would not grant my heart its choice in love?
[Surprise and silence]
Win. Your wisdom, sire, that sets the cap of age
Upon the curls of youth, gives us excuse
To bid you choose at will your royal mate.
If I speak not for all, we'll hear dissent.
[Silence]
This silence warrants you to woo and speed.
Hen. That I have done, and now can show to you
This jewel of my choice that late I found
Deep hidden from the world. So fixed my love,
I can not wait to wander through the ways
A king comes to betrothal, and shall win
Your quick assent, even now, by bringing her
To your commending eyes.
A lord. What does he mean?
Is this some princely revel?
Another lord. It may be,
And our part is to smile.
Win. [To Pembroke] Mark you earl Kent?
He changes face.
Pem. And his pale friend, lord Wynne,
Turns corpse on 's feet.
Win. Ha! Is it possible
They were not privy to this kingly move?
[Re-enter Henry, leading Glaia]
Hen. Here, dear my lords! Look on my choice and say
That here might come Rome's vestals to repair
Their tapers dim. Is she not royal, friends?
See how her eyes look bravely into yours,
Though on her cheek a sweet timidity
Doth couch in coral. Now commend me, all!
And Hubert, earl of Kent, say whence is she,
And what her parentage? For all I know
Is that I found her bowered in Greenot woods.
Hen. O, Hubert, muffle up the storm
Rides on your brow, and smile upon my love!
Kent. Believe me, sire, she can not be your wife.
Hen. Not be my wife? Unsay the words, dear Hubert.
You mean, perhaps, she's humbler born than I—
The daughter of a duke—an earl—a lord—
Ay, say a knight that bravely bore his shield,
And all the gap 'twixt her degree and mine
Her native graces will bridge o'er and make
Her way unto my throne.
Kent. [Kneeling] O, king beloved,
You must believe me! She can not be yours!
Hen. Then, Heaven, turn foul, thou dost not shine for me!
Rise, Hubert, rise, for I must love you still,
Though you have robbed me of the sun and stars.
Kent. [Rises] My noblest sovereign!
Hen. Now let me hear
Why this ne'er mated dove can not be mine,
And I'll attend thee patient as the dead
Do list their requiem.
Kent. Sire, I am pledged.
Such sacred oaths are warders at my lips
That angels would turn pale in Heaven to hear
Their violation.
Hen. Oaths? We must not hear?
Kent. Not from my lips. It may be from another's
In better time.
Hen. In better time? By Heaven,
You shall uncover here her history,
And I myself shall say if she may be
My own or no!
Kent. Thy mercy on a man
In one hour old!
Hen. You are the torturer!
O, Hubert, Hubert, I am on my knees!
Kent. Sire, give me leave to go, and take this maid,
So long my care that I must keep her still.
Come, Glaia—child—'tis Hubert takes thy hand.
My sovereign lord, I go with sorrow hence.
I would my tongue were torn from its curst root
Than speak you woe,—but do not hope, my liege,
Your husband hand can ever touch this maid.
The thought to ague shakes my soul!
[Exit Kent with Glaia. Margaret would follow, but is detained by lady Albemarle, who is half swooning. Winchester kneels and kisses the king's robe]
Win. My king,
Thou'rt still beloved.
Hen. Ah, what canst say to one
So pinioned by distress that he must lose
His dearest friend or dearest love?
Win. My lord, if friendship may have leave to speak
As fits its holy bond and name——
Hen. O, speak!
Say anything!
Win. Too long you have been wronged.
Did not Kent win by stealth the Scottish princess,
Your promised bride? Consorting his base blood
With royalty?—which was his secret aim,
And all his burning love for Margaret
But feigned and politic to gain your pity.
Again he's at your heart! And hopes once more
To bear himself to high success. If not,
With face assumed and sorrowing he'll melt
You to forgiveness.
Mar. Listen not, my liege!
Hen. [To Winchester] Is this your comfort?
Mar. Sire, he slanders love
As true as God's to men, who says my lord
Is false!
Win. Her pride would say as much, my liege.
As for this maid,—whom majesty might choose,
And all the kingdom feel itself adorned,—
She's either heir to vast and rich estates,
Or Kent dotes on her with such jealous love
He will not yield her even to his king.
And both these reasons, sire, I urge as one
T' explain his stout refusal to make known
What honesty would haste to shout aloud.
Wynne. Who says that Kent, in friendship or in love,
E'er sought his gain, doth foully lie!
Win. This man
Is Kent's own creature.
Hen. Ah, that's not his sin.
He loves my Glaia, and would make her his.
Wynne. Yes, sire, I love her,—you are right so far,—
But, sovereign lord, I would expect as soon
To pottle with an angel at an inn
As make her mine. Though Hubert spurred my suit——
Wynne. He set no bars between us.
Hen. Ah, you could wed her—let the king go beg!
Alb. Away, you perked-up villain! Out of this!
Wynne. When you come with me, sir, that I may slit
The tongue that fouls my name!
Alb. My hot-mouthed sir,
I'll leave his majesty to teach you better manners.
Hen. And here I do, with a ne'er-ending lesson.
Roland de Born, so lately lord of Wynne,
Thou'rt banished from our realms, not to return,
Though thou shouldst live to see more years than yet
Man ever numbered his.
Wynne. Is this your will?
Hen. In truth, 'tis nothing else!
Wynne. Then, sire, farewell.
Some men are fashioned men by circumstance—
Shaped by what wind blows on them. In their veins
The heavens croak or sing. Does the sky frown,
They're muddy and befouled,—it smiles, and straight
Fair weather's in their blood, sporting its flag
In their new countenance. Not I, my lords!
Nay, on the winds my soul shall leave its shape,
And where I venture I am what I am,
A knight of England, loyal to his king. [Exit]
Alb. Death to his arrogance!
Pem.<
/i> This judgment, sire,
Is much too modest.
Win. Hear us now, my liege,
For you have heard too little these months past.
Hen. My lords, I am too faint and troubled now
To understand if you be friends or foes,
Or if the earl of Kent be false to me;
But come, and what you choose to speak, I'll hear.
... Glaia, art gone from me? Ah, who would live?
The winds of doom are sold by Lapland witches,
Who mix the compass points and blow us foul
When we have paid our fortune to go fair.
[Exeunt Henry and lords. Lady Albemarle and Margaret are left alone]
Mar. Why do you keep me so?
La. Alb. Where would you go?
Mar. Where else but to my lord?
La. Alb. You shall not go.
O, stay with me! One moment, Margaret!
Mar. Another? Nay, you're better. I must go.
O, Eleanor, didst hear that Winchester?
Foul murderer of honor—Hubert's honor!
Can these be tongues of men?... And Roland banished!
La. Alb. Canst think of him?
Mar. He's Hubert's friend. Who now
Will stand by him?
La. Alb. You, Margaret, and I.
La. Alb. What will you say to him?
Mar. Beg him not let his bitter thoughts usurp
Quite all his heart, but leave a little room
That e'er so small will make me ample heaven.
La. Alb. You will not ask of Glaia?
Mar. Ask? Dost think
That I must ask?
La. Alb. He will not tell thee!
Mar. Not?
I am his heart. His veins run not with health
Except as I know how they course, and beat
Concordantly. Doubt not he'll tell me all.
La. Alb. He shall not tell thee!
Mar. Madam, you are strange.
La. Alb. Ay, Margaret, and strangest to myself.
O, he is true! Dear God, I know he's true!
Mar. Make it no question then. For by the sun,
And heaven's starry clock that now goes by,
You shall not say he's false to Margaret!
La. Alb. To you? Ha! false to you? Dost think my thoughts
Must ever web round you?
Mar. [Going] You are his sister.
La. Alb. What, are you gone? Forgive me, Margaret.
Mar. Ah, you forget that I am suffering too.
La. Alb. You suffer? You?
Mar. You have a husband, madam.
La. Alb. I have. Let me remember him. Ha, ha!
You suffer, icicle? What do you know of pain
But as the lookers on about a pit
See one at bottom dying? As curious eyes
Regard the writhing heretic at stake?
Or say, as angels flying heavenward turn
To give one grudged tear unto the damned?
That is your pain, you pure, proud Margaret!
... O, madness, seize me!
Mar. By my fears you have
No need to pray for 't.
La. Alb. Conscience, where dost sleep?
Let me tread by nor rouse thee.
La. Alb. Whence are those floods of fire? O, Hubert, save me!
Mar. Dear Eleanor, be calm. I did not think
You loved your brother so.
La. Alb. What's that you say?
Ah, yes, 'tis Margaret. Go to him now.
Ask of this maid—then blazon all—all—all!
Mar. Come with me, Eleanor.
La. Alb. Drive home the knife
Now threats his heart!
La. Alb. 'Tis fit
His wife should do it!
[Exeunt, right. Henry, Winchester, Albemarle, Pembroke, enter rear]
Win. We're glad you are convinced, my lord.
Hen. Glad, sir?
Glad that one half my heart is mottled, foul,
Diseased, and must be cut away, though I
Die with the cleaving? Ay, I am convinced.
Win. And give consent that Kent be made to answer
The charge of Adelais?
Hen. Be 't as you please.
Pem. 'Twere best to haste in this, ere all the shires
Misled in love by Kent, hear of his danger.
Win. I have the warrant here. It lacks your seal,
My liege.
Hen. [Quickly sealing it] Now it does not. Here splits my heart,
And half falls with thee, Hubert.
[
Winchester comforts him. Albem
