John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  And follow you, like pilgrims, through the world.

  Gril. Sound wind and limb! ‘fore God, a gallant girl! [Aside.

  King. What shall I answer to thee, O thou balm

  To heal a broken, yet a kingly heart!

  For, so I swear I will be to my last.

  Come to my arms, and be thy Harry’s angel,

  Shine through my cares, and make my crown sit easy.

  Mar. O never, sir.

  King. What said you, Marmoutiere?

  Why dost thou turn thy beauties into frowns?

  Mar. You know, sir, ’tis impossible; no more.

  King. No more? — and with that stern resolved behaviour?

  By heaven! were I a dying, and the priest

  Should urge my last confession, I’d cry out,

  Oh Marmoutiere! and yet thou say’st, — No more!

  Mar. ’Tis well, sir; I have lost my aim, farewell.

  King. Come back! O stay, my life flows after you.

  Mar. No, sir, I find I am a trouble to you;

  You will not hear my suit.

  King. You cannot go,

  You shall not. — O your suit, I kneel to grant it;

  I beg you take whatever you demand.

  Mar. Then, sir, thus low, or prostrate if you please,

  Let me intreat for Guise.

  King. Ha, madam, what!

  For Guise; for Guise! that stubborn arrogant rebel,

  That laughs at proffered mercy, slights his pardon,

  Mocks royal grace, and plots upon my life?

  Ha! and do you protect him? then the world

  Is sworn to Henry’s death: Does beauty too,

  And innocence itself conspire against me?

  Then let me tamely yield my glories up,

  Which once I vowed with my drawn sword to wear

  To my last drop of blood. — Come Guise, come cardinal,

  All you loved traitors, come — I strip to meet you;

  Sheathe all your daggers in curst Henry’s heart.

  Mar. This I expected; but when you have heard

  How far I would intreat your majesty,

  Perhaps you’ll be more calm.

  King. See, I am hushed;

  Speak then; how far, madam, would you command?

  Mar. Not to proceed to last extremities,

  Before the wound is desperate. Think alone,

  For no man judges like your majesty:

  Take your own methods; all the heads of France

  Cannot so well advise you, as yourself.

  Therefore resume, my lord, your god-like temper,

  Yet do not bear more than a monarch should;

  Believe it, sir, the more your majesty

  Draws back your arm, the more of fate it carries.

  King. Thou genius of my state, thou perfect model

  Of heaven itself, and abstract of the angels,

  Forgive the late disturbance of my soul!

  I’m clear by nature, as a rockless stream;

  But they dig through the gravel of my heart,

  And raise the mud of passions up to cloud me;

  Therefore let me conjure you, do not go;

  ’Tis said, the Guise will come in spite of me;

  Suppose it possible, and stay to advise me.

  Mar. I will; but, on your royal word, no more.

  King. I will be easy,

  To my last gasp, as your own virgin thoughts,

  And never dare to breathe my passion more;

  Yet you’ll allow me now and then to sigh

  As we discourse, and court you with my eyes?

  Enter Alphonso.

  Why do you wave your hand, and warn me hence?

  So looks the poor condemned,

  When justice beckons, there’s no hope of pardon.

  Sternly, like you, the judge the victim eyes,

  And thus, like me, the wretch, despairing, dies. [Exit with Alphonso.

  Enter Grillon.

  Gril. O rare, rare creature! By the power that made me,

  Wer’t possible we could be damned again

  By some new Eve, such virtue might redeem us.

  Oh I could clasp thee, but that my arms are rough,

  Till all thy sweets were broke with my embraces,

  And kiss thy beauties to a dissolution!

  Mar. Ah father, uncle, brother, all the kin,

  The precious blood that’s left me in the world,

  Believe, dear sir, whate’er my actions seem,

  I will not lose my virtue, for a throne.

  Gril. Why, I will carve thee out a throne myself;

  I’ll hew down all the kings in Christendom,

  And seat thee on their necks, as high as heaven.

  Enter Abbot Delbene.

  Abb. Colonel, your ear.

  Mar. By these whispering councils,

  My soul presages that the Guise is coming.

  If he dares come, were I a man, a king,

  I’d sacrifice him in the city’s sight. —

  O heavens! what was’t I said? Were I a man,

  I know not that; but, as I am a virgin,

  If I would offer thee, too lovely Guise,

  It should be kneeling to the throne of mercy. —

  Ha! then thou lovest, that thou art thus concerned.

  Down, rising mischief, down, or I will kill thee,

  Even in thy cause, and strangle new-born pity! —

  Yet if he were not married! — ha, what then?

  His charms prevail; — no, let the rebel die.

  I faint beneath this strong oppression here;

  Reason and love rend my divided soul;

  Heaven be the judge, and still let virtue conquer.

  Love to his tune my jarring heart would bring,

  But reason over-winds, and cracks the string.[Exit.

  Abb. The king dispatches order upon order,

  With positive command to stop his coming.

  Yet there is notice given to the city;

  Besides, Belleure brought but a half account,

  How that the Guise replied, he would obey

  His majesty in all; yet, if he might

  Have leave to justify himself before him,

  He doubted not his cause.

  Gril. The axe, the axe:

  Rebellion’s pampered to a pleurisy,

  And it must bleed.[Shout within.

  Abb. Hark, what a shout was there!

  I’ll to the king; it may be, ’tis reported

  On purpose thus.

  Let there be truth or lies

  In this mad fame, I’ll bring you instant word.[Exit Abbot.

  Manet Grillon: Enter Guise, Cardinal, Mayenne, Malicorn, Attendants, &c. Shouts again.

  Gril. Death, and thou devil Malicorn, is that

  Thy master?

  Gui. Yes, Grillon, ’tis the Guise;

  One, that would court you for a friend.

  Gril. A friend!

  Traitor thou mean’st, and so I bid thee welcome;

  But since thou art so insolent, thy blood

  Be on thy head, and fall by me unpitied.[Exit.

  Gui. The bruises of his loyalty have crazed him. [Shouts louder.

  Spirit within sings.

  Malicorn, Malicorn, Malicorn, ho!

  If the Guise resolves to go,

  I charge, I warn thee let him know,

  Perhaps his head may lie too low.

  Gui. Why, Malicorn.

  Mal. [Starting.] Sir, do not see the king.

  Gui. I will.

  Mal. ’Tis dangerous.

  Gui. Therefore I will see him,

  And so report my danger to the people.

  Halt — to your judgment. — [Malicorn makes signs of Assassination.] Let him, if he dare. —

  But more, more, more; — why, Malicorn! — again?

  I thought a look, with us, had been a language;

  I’ll talk my mind on any point but this

  By glances; — ha! not ye
t? thou mak’st me blush

  At thy delay; why, man, ’tis more than life,

  Ambition, or a crown.

  Mal. What, Marmoutiere?

  Gui. Ay, there a general’s heart beat like a drum!

  Quick, quick! my reins, my back, and head and breast

  Ache, as I’d been a horse-back forty hours.

  Mal. She has seen the king.

  Gui. I thought she might. A trick upon me; well.

  Mal. Passion o’ both sides.

  Gui. His, thou meanest.

  Mal. On hers.

  Down on her knees.

  Gui. And up again; no matter.

  Mal. Now all in tears, now smiling, sad at parting.

  Gui. Dissembled, for she told me this before;

  ’Twas all put on, that I might hear and rave.

  Mal. And so, to make sure work on’t, by consent

  Of Grillon, who is made their bawd, —

  Gui. Away!

  Mal. She’s lodged at court.

  Gui. ’Tis false, they do belie her.

  Mal. But, sir, I saw the apartment.

  Gui. What, at court?

  Mal. At court, and near the king; ’tis true, by heaven:

  I never play’d you foul, why should you doubt me?

  Gui. I would thou hadst, ere thus unmanned my heart!

  Blood, battles, fire, and death! I run, I run!

  With this last blow he drives me like a coward;

  Nay, let me never win a field again,

  If, with the thought of these irregular vapours,

  The blood ha’nt burst my lips.

  Card. Peace, brother.

  Gui. By heaven, I took thee for my soul’s physician,

  And dost thou vomit me with this loathed peace?

  ’Tis contradiction: no, my peaceful brother,

  I’ll meet him now, though fire-armed cherubins

  Should cross my way. O jealousy of love!

  Greater than fame! thou eldest of the passions,

  Or rather all in one, I here invoke thee,

  Where’er thou’rt throned in air, in earth, or hell,

  Wing me to my revenge, to blood, and ruin!

  Card. Have you no temper?

  Gui. Pray, sir, give me leave.

  A moment’s thought; — ha, but I sweat and tremble,

  My brain runs this and that way; it will not fix

  On aught but vengeance. — Malicorn, call the people. [Shouts within.

  But hark, they shout again: I’ll on and meet them;

  Nay, head them to his palace, as my guards.

  Yet more, on such exalted causes borne,

  I’ll wait him in his cabinet alone,

  And look him pale; while in his courts without,

  The people shout him dead with their alarms,

  And make his mistress tremble in his arms.[Exeunt.

  SCENE II.

  Enter King and Council.

  [Shouts without.

  King. What mean these shouts?

  Abb. I told your majesty,

  The sheriffs have puffed the populace with hopes

  Of their deliverer.[Shouts again.

  King. Hark! there rung a peal

  Like thunder: see, Alphonso, what’s the cause.

  Enter Grillon.

  Gril. My lord, the Guise is come.

  King. Is’t possible! ha, Grillon, said’st thou, come?

  Gril. Why droops the royal majesty? O sir!

  King. O villain, slave, wert thou my late-born heir,

  Given me by heaven, even when I lay a-dying —

  But peace, thou festering thought, and hide thy wound; —

  Where is he?

  Gril. With her majesty, your mother;

  She has taken chair, and he walks bowing by her,

  With thirty thousand rebels at his heels.

  King. What’s to be done? No pall upon my spirit;

  But he that loves me best, and dares the most

  On this nice point of empire, let him speak.

  Alph. I would advise you, sir, to call him in,

  And kill him instantly upon the spot.

  Abb. I like Alphonso’s counsel, short, sure work;

  Cut off the head, and let the body walk.

  Enter Queen-Mother.

  Qu. M. Sir, the Guise waits.

  King. He enters on his fate.

  Qu. M. Not so, — forbear; the city is up in arms;

  Nor doubt, if, in their heat, you cut him off,

  That they will spare the royal majesty.

  Once, sir, let me advise, and rule your fury.

  King. You shall: I’ll see him, and I’ll spare him now.

  Qu. M. What will you say?

  King. I know not; —

  Colonel Grillon, call the archers in,

  Double your guards, and strictly charge the Swiss

  Stand to their arms, receive him as a traitor.[Exit Grillon.

  My heart has set thee down, O Guise, in blood, —

  Blood, mother, blood, ne’er to be blotted out.

  Qu. M. Yet you’ll relent, when this hot fit is over.

  King. If I forgive him, may I ne’er be forgiven!

  No, if I tamely bear such insolence,

  What act of treason will the villains stop at?

  Seize me, they’ve sworn; imprison me is the next,

  Perhaps arraign me, and then doom me dead.

  But ere I suffer that, fall all together,

  Or rather, on their slaughtered heaps erect

  My throne, and then proclaim it for example.

  I’m born a monarch, which implies alone

  To wield the sceptre, and depend on none.[Exeunt.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I. — The Louvre.

  A Chair of State placed; the King appears sitting in it; a Table by him, on which he leans; Attendants on each Side of him; amongst the rest, Abbot, Grillon, and Bellieure. The Queen-Mother enters, led by the Duke of Guise, who makes his Approach with three Reverences to the King’s Chair; after the third, the King rises, and coming forward, speaks.

  King. I sent you word, you should not come.

  Gui. Sir, that I came —

  King. Why, that you came, I see.

  Once more, I sent you word, you should not come.

  Gui. Not come to throw myself, with all submission,

  Beneath your royal feet! to put my cause

  And person in the hands of sovereign justice!

  King. Now ’tis with all submission, — that’s the preface, —

  Yet still you came against my strict command;

  You disobeyed me, duke, with all submission.

  Gui. Sir, ’twas the last necessity that drove me,

  To clear myself of calumnies, and slanders,

  Much urged, but never proved, against my innocence;

  Yet had I known ’twas your express command,

  I should not have approached.

  King. ’Twas as express, as words could signify; —

  Stand forth, Bellieure, — it shall be proved you knew it, —

  Stand forth, and to this false man’s face declare

  Your message, word for word.

  Bel. Sir, thus it was. I met him on the way,

  And plain as I could speak, I gave your orders,

  Just in these following words: —

  King. Enough, I know you told him;

  But he has used me long to be contemned,

  And I can still be patient, and forgive.

  Gui. And I can ask forgiveness, when I err;

  But let my gracious master please to know

  The true intent of my misconstrued faith.

  Should I not come to vindicate my fame

  From wrong constructions? And —

  King. Come, duke, you were not wronged; your conscience knows

  You were not wronged; were you not plainly told,

  That, if you dared to set your foot in Paris,

  You should be held the cause of all co
mmotions

  That should from thence ensue? and yet you came.

  Gui. Sir, will you please with patience but to hear me?

  King. I will; and would be glad, my lord of Guise,

  To clear you to myself.

  Gui. I had been told,

  There were in agitation here at court,

  Things of the highest note against religion,

  Against the common properties of subjects,

  And lives of honest well-affected men;

  I therefore judged, —

  King. Then you, it seems, are judge

  Betwixt the prince and people? judge for them,

  And champion against me?

  Gui. I feared it might be represented so,

  And came resolved, —

  King. To head the factious crowd.

  Gui. To clear my innocence.

  King. The means for that,

  Had been your absence from this hot-brained town,

  Where you, not I, are king! —

  I feel my blood kindling within my veins;

  The genius of the throne knocks at my heart:

  Come what may come, he dies.

  Qu. M. [Stopping the king.] What mean you, sir?

  You tremble and look pale; for heaven’s sake think,

  ’Tis your own life you venture, if you kill him.

  King. Had I ten thousand lives, I’ll venture all.

  Give me way, madam!

  Qu. M. Not to your destruction.

  The whole Parisian herd is at your gates;

  A crowd’s a name too small, they are a nation,

  Numberless, armed, enraged, one soul informs them.

  King. And that one soul’s the Guise. I’ll rend it out,

  And damn the rabble all at once in him.

  Gui. My fate is now in the balance; fool within,

  I thank thee for thy foresight.[Aside.

  Qu. M. Your guards oppose them!

  King. Why not? a multitude’s a bulky coward.

  Qu. M. By heaven, there are not limbs in all your guards,

  For every one a morsel.

  King. Cæsar quelled them,

  But with a look and word.

  Qu. M. So Galba thought.

  King. But Galba was not Cæsar.

  Gui. I must not give them time for resolution. — [Aside.

  My journey, sir, has discomposed my health,[To the king.

  I humbly beg your leave, I may retire,

  Till your commands recall me to your service.[Exit.

  King. So, you have counselled well; the traitor’s gone,

  To mock the meekness of an injured king.[To Qu. M.

  Why did not you, who gave me part of life,

  Infuse my father stronger in my veins?

  But when you kept me cooped within your womb,

  You palled his generous blood with the dull mixture

  Of your Italian food, and milked slow arts

  Of womanish tameness in my infant mouth.