Scene
II
Roxborough. Before the castle.
Enter Countess of Salisbury, and certain of her People, upon the walls.
Countess
Alas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze
For succour that my sovereign should send!
Ah, cousin Mountague, I fear, thou want’st
The lively spirit sharply to solicit
With vehement suit the king in my behalf:
Thou dost not tell him, what a grief it is
To be the scornful captive of a Scot;
Either to be woo’d with broad untuned oaths,
Or forc’d by rough insulting barbarism:
Thou dost not tell him, if he here prevail,
How much they will deride us in the north;
And, in their wild, uncivil, skipping jigs,
Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow,
Even in the barren, bleak, and fruitless air.
Enter King David and Forces; with Douglas, Lorraine, and others.
I must withdraw; the everlasting foe
Comes to the wall: I’ll closely step aside,
And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. Retiring behind the works.
King David
My Lord of Lorraine, to our brother of France
Commend us, as the man in Christendom
That we most reverence and entirely love.
Touching your embassage, return and say
That we with England will not enter parley
Nor never make fair weather or take truce,
But burn their neighbour towns, and so persist
With eager roads beyond their city York.
And never shall our bonny riders rest,
Nor rusting canker have the time to eat
Their light-borne snaffles nor their nimble spurs;
Nor lay aside their jacks of gymold mail;
Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash
In peaceful wise upon their city walls;
Nor from their button’d tawny leathern belts
Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your king
Cry out, Enough; spare England now for pity.
Farewell, and tell him, that you leave us here
Before this castle; say, you came from us
Even when we had that yielded to our hands.
Lorraine
I take my leave, and fairly will return
Your acceptable greeting to my king. Exit.
King David
Now, Douglas, to our former task again,
For the division of this certain spoil.
Douglas
My liege, I crave the lady, and no more.
King David
Nay, soft ye, sir, first I must make my choice;
And first I do bespeak her for myself.
Douglas
Why, then, my liege, let me enjoy her jewels.
King David
Those are her own, still liable to her,
And, who inherits her, hath those withal.
Enter a Messenger, hastily.
Messenger
My liege, as we were pricking on the hills,
To fetch in booty, marching hitherward
We might descry a might host of men;
The sun, reflecting on the armour, show’d
A field of plate, a wood of pikes advanc’d;
Bethink your highness speedily herein.
An easy march within four hours will bring
The hindmost rank unto this place, my liege.
King David
Dislodge, dislodge, it is the King of England.
Douglas
Jemmy my man, saddle my bonny black.
King David
Mean’st thou to fight? Douglas, we are too weak.
Douglas
I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly.
Countess
My lords of Scotland, will ye stay and drink? Rising from her concealment.
King David
She mocks at us; Douglas, I can’t endure it.
Countess
Say, good my lord, which is he, must have the lady,
And which, her jewels? I am sure, my lords,
Ye will not hence, till you have shar’d the spoils.
King David
She heard the messenger and heard our talk;
And now that comfort makes her scorn at us.
Enter another Messenger.
Messenger
Arm, my good lord! O, we are all surpris’d!
Countess
After the French ambassador, my liege,
And tell him that you dare not ride to York;
Excuse it, that your bonny horse is lame.
King David
She heard that too; intolerable grief!—
Woman, farewell: although I do not stay—Exeunt Scots.
Countess
’Tis not for fear—and yet you run away.—
O happy comfort, welcome to our house!
The confident and boist’rous boasting Scot—
That swore before my walls, they would not back
For all the armed power of this land—
With faceless fear that ever turns his back,
Turn’d hence again the blasting north-east wind
Upon the bare report and name of arms.
Enter Mountague, and others.
O summer’s day! see where my cousin comes.
Mountague
How fares my aunt? Why, aunt, we are not Scots;
Why do you shut your gates against your friends?
Countess
Well may I give a welcome, cousin, to thee,
For thou com’st well to chase my foes from hence.
Mountague
The king himself is come in person hither;
Dear aunt, descend, and gratulate his highness.
Countess
How may I entertain his majesty,
To show my duty and his dignity? Exit, from above.
Enter King Edward, Warwick, Artois, with others.
King Edward
What, are the stealing foxes fled and gone
Before we could uncouple at their heels?
Warwick
They are, my liege; but, with a cheerful cry,
Hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels.
Enter Countess.
King Edward
This is the countess, Warwick, is it not?
Warwick
Even she, my liege; whose beauty tyrant’s fear,
As a May blossom with pernicious winds,
Hath sullied, wither’d, overcast, and done.
King Edward
Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is?
Warwick
My gracious king, fair is she not at all,
If that herself were by to stain herself,
As I have seen her when she was herself.
King Edward
What strange enchantment lurk’d in those her eyes
When they excell’d this excellence they have,
That now their dim decline hath power to draw
My subject eyes from persing majesty
To gaze on her with doting admiration?
Countess
In duty lower than the ground I kneel
And for my dull knees bow my feeling heart,
To witness my obedience to your highness;
With many millions of a subject’s thanks
For this your royal presence, whose approach
Hath driven war and danger from my gate.
King Edward
Lady, stand up: I come to bring thee peace,
However thereby I have purchas’d war.
Countess
No war to you, my liege; the Scots are gone,
And gallop home toward Scotland with their hate.
King Edward
Lest yielding here I pine in shameful love,
Come, we’ll pursue the Scots;—Artois, away!
Countess
A little while, my gracious sovereign, stay
And let the power of a mighty king
Honour our roof; my husband in the wars,
When he shall hear it, will triumph for joy:
Then, dear my liege, now niggard not thy state;
Being at the wall, enter our homely gate.
King Edward
Pardon me, countess, I will come no near;
I dream’d to-night of treason, and I fear.
Countess
Far from this place let ugly treason lie!
King Edward
No farther off than her conspiring eye,
Which shoots infected poison in my heart
Beyond repulse of wit or cure of art.
Now in the sun alone it doth not lie
With light to take light from a mortal eye;
For here two day-stars, that mine eyes would see,
More than the sun, steals mine own light from me.
Contemplative desire! desire to be
In contemplation, that may master thee!
Warwick, Artois, to horse, and let’s away!
Countess
What might I speak, to make my sovereign stay?
King Edward
What needs a tongue to such a speaking eye
That more persuades than winning oratory?
Countess
Let not thy presence, like the April sun,
Flatter our earth and suddenly be done.
More happy do not make our outward wall
Than thou wilt grace our inner house withal.
Our house, my liege, is like a country swain,
Whose habit rude and manners blunt and plain
Presageth nought, yet inly beautified
With bounty’s riches and faire hidden pride:
For, where the golden ore doth buried lie,
The ground, undeck’d with nature’s tapestry,
Seems barren, sere, unfertile, fructless, dry;
And where the upper turf of earth doth boast
His pride, perfumes and parti-colour’d cost,
Delve there, and find this issue and their pride
To spring from ordure and corruption’s side.
But, to make up my all too long compare,
These ragged walls no testimony are,
What is within; but, like a cloak, doth hide,
From weather’s waste, the under-garnish’d pride.
More gracious then my terms can let thee be,
Intreat thyself to stay a while with me.
King Edward
As wise as fair; what fond fit can be heard
When wisdom keeps the gate as beauty’s guard?—
Countess, albeit my business urgeth me,
It shall attend while I attend on thee.—
Come on, my lords, here will I host to-night. Exeunt.