Prentice[singing].What do I give for the Pope and his riches!I's my ale and my Sunday breeches;I's an old master, I's a young lass,And we'll eat green goose, come Martinmas!Sing Rowdy Dowdy,Look ye don't crowd meI's a good club,—So let me pass!Dickon.Again! again!Prentice.Sing Rowdy—Wat[finishing his beer]. Swallow it down.Sling all such froth and follow me to the Bear!They stay for me, lined up to see us passFrom end to end o' the alley. Ho! You doubt?From Lambeth to the Bridge!Taverners. }{ 'Tis so; ay.Prentices. }{ Come, follow! Come.Wat.Greg's stuck his earsWith nosegays, and his chain is wound aboutLike any May-pole. What? I tell ye, boys,Ye have seen no such bear, a Bear o' Bears,Fit to bite off the prophet, in the show,With seventy such boys![PullingDickon'sear]. Bears, say you, bears?Why, Rursus Major, as your scholars tell,A royal bear, the greatest in his day,The sport of Alexander, unto Nick—Was a ewe-lamb, dyed black; no worse, no worse.To-morrow come and see him with the dogs;He'll not give way,—not he!Dickon.To-morrow's Thursday!To-morrow's Thursday!Prentice.Will ye lead by here?Tobias.Ay, that would be a sight.Wat, man, this way!Wat.Ho, would you squinch us? Why, there be a pressO' gentry by this tide to measure NickAnd lay their wagers, at a blink of him,Against to-morrow! Why, the stairs be full.To-morrow you shall see the Bridge a-creak,The river—dry with barges,—London gape,Gape! While the Borough buzzes like a hiveWith all their worships! Sirs, the fame o' NickHas so pluckt out the gentry by the sleeve,'Tis said the Queen would see him.Tobias. }{ Ay, 'tis grand.Dickon. }{ O-oh, the Queen?Prentice.How now? Thou art no man to lead a bear,Forgetting both his quality and hers!Drink all; come, drink to her.Tobias.Ay, now.Wat.To her!—And harkee, boy, this saying will serve you learn:"The Queen, her high and glorious majesty!"Simeon[gravely].Long live the Queen!Wat.Maker of golden lawsFor baitings! She that cherishes the BoroughAnd shines upon our pastimes. By the mass!Thank her for the crowd to-morrow. But for her,We were a homesick handful of brave soulsThat love the royal sport. These mouthing players,These hookers, would 'a' spoiled us of our beer—Prentice.Lying by to catch the gentry at the stairs,—All pressing to Bear Alley—Wat.Run 'em inAt stage-plays and show-fooleries on the way.Stage-plays, with their tart nonsense and their flags,Their "Tamerlanes" and "Humors" and what not!My life on't, there was not a man of usBut fared his Lent, by reason of their fatness,And on a holiday ate not at all!Tobias[solemnly].'Tis so; 'tis so.Wat.But when she heard it toldHow lean the sport was grown, she damns stage-playsO' Thursday. So: Nick gets his turn to growl!Prentice.As well as any player.[With a dumb show of ranting among theTaverners.]Wat.Players?—Hang them!I know 'em, I. I've been with 'em.... I wasAs sweet a gentlewoman in my voiceAs any of your finches that sings small.Tobias.'Twas high.[EnterThe Player,followed byChiffin,the ballad-monger. He is abstracted and weary.]Wat[lingering at the table].I say, I've played.... There's not one manOf all the gang—save one.... Ay, there be oneI grant you, now!... He used me in right sort;A man worth better trades.[SeeingThe Player.]—Lord love you, sir!Why, this is you indeed. 'Tis a long day, sir,Since I clapped eyes on you. But even nowYour name was on my tongue as pat as ale!You see me off. We bait to-morrow, sir;Will you come see? Nick's fresh, and every soulAs hot to see the fight as 'twere to be—Man Daniel, baited with the lions!Tobias.Sir,'Tis high ... 'tis high.Wat.We show him in the streetWith dogs and all, ay, now, if you will see.The Player.Why, so I will. A show and I not there?Bear it out bravely, Wat. High fortune, man!Commend me to thy bear.[Drinks and passes him the cup.]Wat.Lord love you, sir!'Twas ever so you gave a man godspeed....And yet your spirits flag; you look but palely.I'll take your kindness, thank ye.[Turning away.]In good time!Come after me and Nick, now. Follow all;Come boys, come, pack![ExitWat,still descanting. Exeunt most of theTaverners,with thePrentice.Simeon Dyerdraws nearThe Player,regarding him gravely.Chiffinsells ballads to those who go out.Dickonis about to follow them, whenTobiasstops him.]Tobias.What? Not so fast, you there;Who gave you holiday? Bide by the inn;Tend on our gentry.[Exit after the crowd.]Chiffin.Ballads, gentlemen?Ballads, new ballads?Simeon[toThe Player.]With your pardon, sir,I am gratified to note your abstinenceFrom this deplorable fond merrimentOf baiting of a bear.The Player.Your friendship thenTakes pleasure in the heaviness of my legs.But I am weary I would see the bear.Nay, rest you happy; malt shall comfort us.Simeon.You do mistake me. I am—Chiffin.Ballad, sir?"How a Young Spark would Woo a Tanner's Wife,And She Sings Sweet in Turn."Simeon[indignantly].Abandoned poet!Chiffin[indignantly].I'm no such thing! An honest ballad, sir,No poetry at all.The Player.Good, sell thy wares.Chiffin."A Ballad of a Virtuous Country-MaidForswears the Follies of the Flaunting Town"—And tends her geese all day, and weds a vicar.Simeon.A godlier tale, in sooth. But speak, my man;If she be virtuous, and the tale a true one,Can she not do't in prose?The Player.Beseech her, man.'Tis scandal she should use a measure so.For no more sin than dealing out false measureWas Dame Sapphira slain.Simeon.You are with me, sir;Although methinks you do mistake the senseO' that you have read.... This jigging, jog-trot rime,This ring-me-round, debaseth mind and matter,To make the reason giddy—Chiffin[toThe Player].Ballad, sir?"Hear All!" A fine brave ballad of a FishJust caught off Dover; nay, a one-eyed fish,With teeth in double rows.The Player.Nay, nay, go to.Chiffin."My Fortune's Folly," then; or "The True TaleOf an Angry Gull;" or "Cherries Like Me Best.""Black Sheep, or How a Cut-Purse Robbed His Mother;""The Prentice and the Dell!"... "Plays Play not Fair,"Or how agentlewoman'sheart was tookBy a player that was king in a stage-play...."The Merry Salutation," "How a SparkWould Woo a Tanner's Wife!" "The Direful Fish"—Cock's passion, sir! not buy a cleanly balladOf the great fish, late ta'en off Dover coast,Having two heads and teeth in double rows....Salt fish catched in fresh water?...'Od's my life!What if or salt or fresh? A prodigy!A ballad like "Hear All!" And me and mine,Five children and a wife would bait the devil,May lap the water out o' Lambeth MarshBefore he'll buy a ballad. My poor wife,That lies a-weeping for a tansy-cake!Body o' me, shall I scent ale again?The Player.Why, here's persuasion; logic, arguments.Nay, not the ballad. Read for thine own joy.I doubt not but it stretches, honest length,From Maid Lane to the Bridge and so across.But for thy length of thirst—[Giving him a coin.]That touches near.Chiffin[apart].A vagrom player, would not buy a taleO' the Great Fish with the twy rows o' teeth!Learn you to read! [Exit.]Simeon.Thou seemest, sir, from that I have overheard,A man, as one should grant, beyond thy calling....I would I might assure thee of the way,To urge thee quit this painted infamy.There may be time, seeing thou art still young,To pluck thee from the burning. How are ye 'stroyed,Ye foolish grasshoppers! Cut off, forgotten,When moth and rust corrupt your flaunting shows,The Earth shall have no memory of your name!Dickon.Pray you, what's yours?Simeon.I am called Simeon Dyer.[There is the sudden uproar of a crowd in the distance. It continues at intervals for some time.]Prentices. }Hey, lads?}Some noise beyond: Come, cudgels, come!}Come on, come on, I'm for it.[Exeunt all butThe Player,Simeon,andDickon.]Simeon.Something untoward, without: or is it ratherThe tumult of some uproar incidentTo this ... vicinity?The Player.It is an uproarMost incident to bears.Dickon.I would I knew!The Player[holding him off at arm's length].Hey, boy? We would have tidings of the bear:Go thou, I'll be thy surety. Mark him well.Omit no fact; I would have all of it:What manner o' bear he is,—how bears himself;Number and pattern of ears, and eyes what hue;His voice and fashion o' coat. Nay, come not back,Till thou hast all. Skip, sirrah![ExitDickon.]Simeon.Think, fair sir.Take this new word of mine to be a seedOf thought in that neglected garden plot,Thy mind, thy worthier part. But think!The Player.Why, so;Thou hast some right, friend; now and then it serves.Sometimes I have thought, and even now sometimes,... I think.Simeon[benevolently]. Heaven ripen thought unto an harvest! [Exit.][The Playerrises, stretches his arms, and paces the floor, wearily.]The Player[alone].Some quiet now.... Why should I thirst for itAs if my thoughts were noble company?Alone with the one man of all living menI have least cause to honor....I'm no lover,That seek to be alone!... She is too false—At last, to keep a spaniel's loyalty.I do believe it. And by my own soul,She shall not have me, what remains of meThat may be beaten back into the ranks.I will not look upon her.... Bitter Sweet.This fever that torments me day by day—Call it not love—this servitude, this spellThat haunts me like a sick man's fantasy,With pleading of her eyes, her voice, her eyes—It shall not have me. I am too much stained:But, God or no God, yet I do not liveAnd have to bear my own soul company,To have it stoop so low. She looks on Herbert.Oh, I have seen. But he,—he must withstand.He knows that I have suffered,—suffer still—Although I love her not. Her ways, her ways—It is her ways that eat into the heartWith beauty more than Beauty; and her voiceThat silvers o'er the meaning of her speechLike moonshine on black waters. Ah, uncoil!...He's the sure morning after this dark dream;Clear daylight and west wind of a lad's love;With all his golden pride, for my dull hours,Still climbing sunward! Sink all loves in him!And cleanse me of this cursèd, fell distrustThat marks the pestilence....'Fair, kind, and true.'Lad, lad. How could I turn from friendlinessTo worship such false gods?—There cannot thrive a greater love than this,'Fair, kind, and true.' And yet, if She were trueTo me, though false to all things else;—one truth,So one truth lived—. One truth! O beggared soul—Foul Lazarus, so starved it can make shiftTo feed on crumbs of honor!—Am I this?[EnterAnne Hughes.She has been running in evident terror, and stands against the door looking about her.]Anne.Are you the inn-keeper?[The Playerturns and bows courteously.]Nay, sir, your pardon.I saw you not... And yet your face, methinks,But—yes, I'm sure....But where's the inn-keeper?I know not where I am, nor where to go.The Player.Madam, it is my fortune that I mayProcure you service. [Going towards the door. The uproar sounds nearer.]Anne.Nay! what if the bear—The Player.The bear?Anne.The door! The bear is broken loose.Did you not hear? I scarce could make my wayThrough that rank crowd, in search of some safe place.You smile, sir! But you had not seen the bear,—Nor I, this morning. Pray you, hear me out,—For surely you are gentler than the place.I came ... I came by water ... to the Garden,Alone, ... from bravery, to see the showAnd tell of it hereafter at the Court!There's one of us makes count of all such 'scapes('Tis Mistress Fytton). She will ever tellThe sport it is to see the people's gamesAmong themselves,—to goincognitaAnd take all as it is not for the Queen,Gallants and rabble! But by Banbury Cross,I am of tamer mettle!—All alone,Among ten thousand noisy watermen;And then the foul ways leading from the Stair;And then ... no friends I knew, nay, not a face.And my dear nose beset, and my pomanderLost in the rout,—or else a cut-purse had it:And then the bear breaks loose! Oh, 'tis a dayFull of vexations, nay, and dangers too.I would I had been slower to outdoThe pranks of Mary Fytton.... You know her, sir?The Player.If one of my plain calling may be saidTo know a maid-of-honor. [More lightly.] And yet more:My heart has cause to know the lady's face.Anne[blankly].Why, so it is.... Is't not a marvel, sir,The way she hath? Truly, her voice is good....And yet,—but oh, she charms; I hear it said.A winsome gentlewoman, of a wit, too.We are great fellows; she tells me all she does;And, sooth, I listen till my ears be likeTo grow for wonder. Whence my 'scape, to-day!Oh, she hath daring for the pastimes here;I would—change looks with her, to have her spirit!Indeed, they say she charms Someone, by this.The Player.Someone....Anne.Hast heard?Why sure my Lord of Herbert.Ay, Pembroke's son. But there I doubt,—I doubt.He is an eagle will not stoop for lessThan kingly prey. No bird-lime takes him.The Player.Herbert....He hath shown many favors to us players.Anne.Ah, now I have you!The Player.Surely, gracious madam;My duty; ... what besides?Anne.This face of yours.'Twas in some play, belike. [Apart.] ... I took him forA man it should advantage me to know!And he's a proper man enough.... Ay me![When she speaks to him again it is with encouraging condescension.]Surely you've been at Whitehall, Master Player?The Player[bowing].So.Anne. And how oft? And when?The Player.Last Christmas tide;And Twelfth Day eve, perchance. Your memoryFreshens a dusty past.... The hubbub's over.Shall I look forth and find some trusty boyTo attend you to the river?Anne.I thank you, sir.[He goes to the door and steps out into the alley, looking up and down. The noise in the distance springs up again.][Apart.] 'Tis not past sufferance. Marry, I could staySome moments longer, till the streets be safe.Sir, sir!The Player[returning].Command me, madam.Anne.I will waitA little longer, lest I meet once moreThat ruffian mob or any of the dogs.These sports are better seen from balconies.The Player.Will you step hither? There's an arbored walkSheltered and safe. Should they come by again,You may see all, an't like you, and be hid.Anne.A garden there? Come, you shall show it me.
Prentice[singing].What do I give for the Pope and his riches!I's my ale and my Sunday breeches;I's an old master, I's a young lass,And we'll eat green goose, come Martinmas!Sing Rowdy Dowdy,Look ye don't crowd meI's a good club,—So let me pass!
Dickon.Again! again!
Prentice.Sing Rowdy—
Wat[finishing his beer]. Swallow it down.Sling all such froth and follow me to the Bear!They stay for me, lined up to see us passFrom end to end o' the alley. Ho! You doubt?From Lambeth to the Bridge!
Taverners. }{ 'Tis so; ay.
Prentices. }{ Come, follow! Come.
Wat.Greg's stuck his earsWith nosegays, and his chain is wound aboutLike any May-pole. What? I tell ye, boys,Ye have seen no such bear, a Bear o' Bears,Fit to bite off the prophet, in the show,With seventy such boys![PullingDickon'sear]. Bears, say you, bears?Why, Rursus Major, as your scholars tell,A royal bear, the greatest in his day,The sport of Alexander, unto Nick—Was a ewe-lamb, dyed black; no worse, no worse.To-morrow come and see him with the dogs;He'll not give way,—not he!
Dickon.To-morrow's Thursday!To-morrow's Thursday!
Prentice.Will ye lead by here?
Tobias.Ay, that would be a sight.Wat, man, this way!
Wat.Ho, would you squinch us? Why, there be a pressO' gentry by this tide to measure NickAnd lay their wagers, at a blink of him,Against to-morrow! Why, the stairs be full.To-morrow you shall see the Bridge a-creak,The river—dry with barges,—London gape,Gape! While the Borough buzzes like a hiveWith all their worships! Sirs, the fame o' NickHas so pluckt out the gentry by the sleeve,'Tis said the Queen would see him.
Tobias. }{ Ay, 'tis grand.
Dickon. }{ O-oh, the Queen?
Prentice.How now? Thou art no man to lead a bear,Forgetting both his quality and hers!Drink all; come, drink to her.
Tobias.Ay, now.
Wat.To her!—And harkee, boy, this saying will serve you learn:"The Queen, her high and glorious majesty!"
Simeon[gravely].Long live the Queen!
Wat.Maker of golden lawsFor baitings! She that cherishes the BoroughAnd shines upon our pastimes. By the mass!Thank her for the crowd to-morrow. But for her,We were a homesick handful of brave soulsThat love the royal sport. These mouthing players,These hookers, would 'a' spoiled us of our beer—
Prentice.Lying by to catch the gentry at the stairs,—All pressing to Bear Alley—
Wat.Run 'em inAt stage-plays and show-fooleries on the way.Stage-plays, with their tart nonsense and their flags,Their "Tamerlanes" and "Humors" and what not!My life on't, there was not a man of usBut fared his Lent, by reason of their fatness,And on a holiday ate not at all!
Tobias[solemnly].'Tis so; 'tis so.
Wat.But when she heard it toldHow lean the sport was grown, she damns stage-playsO' Thursday. So: Nick gets his turn to growl!
Prentice.As well as any player.[With a dumb show of ranting among theTaverners.]
Wat.Players?—Hang them!I know 'em, I. I've been with 'em.... I wasAs sweet a gentlewoman in my voiceAs any of your finches that sings small.
Tobias.'Twas high.
[EnterThe Player,followed byChiffin,the ballad-monger. He is abstracted and weary.]
Wat[lingering at the table].I say, I've played.... There's not one manOf all the gang—save one.... Ay, there be oneI grant you, now!... He used me in right sort;A man worth better trades.
[SeeingThe Player.]
—Lord love you, sir!Why, this is you indeed. 'Tis a long day, sir,Since I clapped eyes on you. But even nowYour name was on my tongue as pat as ale!You see me off. We bait to-morrow, sir;Will you come see? Nick's fresh, and every soulAs hot to see the fight as 'twere to be—Man Daniel, baited with the lions!
Tobias.Sir,'Tis high ... 'tis high.
Wat.We show him in the streetWith dogs and all, ay, now, if you will see.
The Player.Why, so I will. A show and I not there?Bear it out bravely, Wat. High fortune, man!Commend me to thy bear.
[Drinks and passes him the cup.]
Wat.Lord love you, sir!'Twas ever so you gave a man godspeed....And yet your spirits flag; you look but palely.I'll take your kindness, thank ye.
[Turning away.]
In good time!Come after me and Nick, now. Follow all;Come boys, come, pack!
[ExitWat,still descanting. Exeunt most of theTaverners,with thePrentice.Simeon Dyerdraws nearThe Player,regarding him gravely.Chiffinsells ballads to those who go out.Dickonis about to follow them, whenTobiasstops him.]
Tobias.What? Not so fast, you there;Who gave you holiday? Bide by the inn;Tend on our gentry.
[Exit after the crowd.]
Chiffin.Ballads, gentlemen?Ballads, new ballads?
Simeon[toThe Player.]With your pardon, sir,I am gratified to note your abstinenceFrom this deplorable fond merrimentOf baiting of a bear.
The Player.Your friendship thenTakes pleasure in the heaviness of my legs.But I am weary I would see the bear.Nay, rest you happy; malt shall comfort us.
Simeon.You do mistake me. I am—
Chiffin.Ballad, sir?"How a Young Spark would Woo a Tanner's Wife,And She Sings Sweet in Turn."
Simeon[indignantly].Abandoned poet!
Chiffin[indignantly].I'm no such thing! An honest ballad, sir,No poetry at all.
The Player.Good, sell thy wares.
Chiffin."A Ballad of a Virtuous Country-MaidForswears the Follies of the Flaunting Town"—And tends her geese all day, and weds a vicar.
Simeon.A godlier tale, in sooth. But speak, my man;If she be virtuous, and the tale a true one,Can she not do't in prose?
The Player.Beseech her, man.'Tis scandal she should use a measure so.For no more sin than dealing out false measureWas Dame Sapphira slain.
Simeon.You are with me, sir;Although methinks you do mistake the senseO' that you have read.... This jigging, jog-trot rime,This ring-me-round, debaseth mind and matter,To make the reason giddy—
Chiffin[toThe Player].Ballad, sir?"Hear All!" A fine brave ballad of a FishJust caught off Dover; nay, a one-eyed fish,With teeth in double rows.
The Player.Nay, nay, go to.
Chiffin."My Fortune's Folly," then; or "The True TaleOf an Angry Gull;" or "Cherries Like Me Best.""Black Sheep, or How a Cut-Purse Robbed His Mother;""The Prentice and the Dell!"... "Plays Play not Fair,"Or how agentlewoman'sheart was tookBy a player that was king in a stage-play...."The Merry Salutation," "How a SparkWould Woo a Tanner's Wife!" "The Direful Fish"—Cock's passion, sir! not buy a cleanly balladOf the great fish, late ta'en off Dover coast,Having two heads and teeth in double rows....Salt fish catched in fresh water?...'Od's my life!What if or salt or fresh? A prodigy!A ballad like "Hear All!" And me and mine,Five children and a wife would bait the devil,May lap the water out o' Lambeth MarshBefore he'll buy a ballad. My poor wife,That lies a-weeping for a tansy-cake!Body o' me, shall I scent ale again?
The Player.Why, here's persuasion; logic, arguments.Nay, not the ballad. Read for thine own joy.I doubt not but it stretches, honest length,From Maid Lane to the Bridge and so across.But for thy length of thirst—
[Giving him a coin.]
That touches near.
Chiffin[apart].A vagrom player, would not buy a taleO' the Great Fish with the twy rows o' teeth!Learn you to read! [Exit.]
Simeon.Thou seemest, sir, from that I have overheard,A man, as one should grant, beyond thy calling....I would I might assure thee of the way,To urge thee quit this painted infamy.There may be time, seeing thou art still young,To pluck thee from the burning. How are ye 'stroyed,Ye foolish grasshoppers! Cut off, forgotten,When moth and rust corrupt your flaunting shows,The Earth shall have no memory of your name!
Dickon.Pray you, what's yours?
Simeon.I am called Simeon Dyer.
[There is the sudden uproar of a crowd in the distance. It continues at intervals for some time.]
Prentices. }Hey, lads?}Some noise beyond: Come, cudgels, come!}Come on, come on, I'm for it.
[Exeunt all butThe Player,Simeon,andDickon.]
Simeon.Something untoward, without: or is it ratherThe tumult of some uproar incidentTo this ... vicinity?
The Player.It is an uproarMost incident to bears.
Dickon.I would I knew!
The Player[holding him off at arm's length].Hey, boy? We would have tidings of the bear:Go thou, I'll be thy surety. Mark him well.Omit no fact; I would have all of it:What manner o' bear he is,—how bears himself;Number and pattern of ears, and eyes what hue;His voice and fashion o' coat. Nay, come not back,Till thou hast all. Skip, sirrah!
[ExitDickon.]
Simeon.Think, fair sir.Take this new word of mine to be a seedOf thought in that neglected garden plot,Thy mind, thy worthier part. But think!
The Player.Why, so;Thou hast some right, friend; now and then it serves.Sometimes I have thought, and even now sometimes,... I think.
Simeon[benevolently]. Heaven ripen thought unto an harvest! [Exit.]
[The Playerrises, stretches his arms, and paces the floor, wearily.]
The Player[alone].Some quiet now.... Why should I thirst for itAs if my thoughts were noble company?Alone with the one man of all living menI have least cause to honor....I'm no lover,That seek to be alone!... She is too false—At last, to keep a spaniel's loyalty.I do believe it. And by my own soul,She shall not have me, what remains of meThat may be beaten back into the ranks.I will not look upon her.... Bitter Sweet.This fever that torments me day by day—Call it not love—this servitude, this spellThat haunts me like a sick man's fantasy,With pleading of her eyes, her voice, her eyes—It shall not have me. I am too much stained:But, God or no God, yet I do not liveAnd have to bear my own soul company,To have it stoop so low. She looks on Herbert.Oh, I have seen. But he,—he must withstand.He knows that I have suffered,—suffer still—Although I love her not. Her ways, her ways—It is her ways that eat into the heartWith beauty more than Beauty; and her voiceThat silvers o'er the meaning of her speechLike moonshine on black waters. Ah, uncoil!...He's the sure morning after this dark dream;Clear daylight and west wind of a lad's love;With all his golden pride, for my dull hours,Still climbing sunward! Sink all loves in him!And cleanse me of this cursèd, fell distrustThat marks the pestilence....'Fair, kind, and true.'Lad, lad. How could I turn from friendlinessTo worship such false gods?—There cannot thrive a greater love than this,'Fair, kind, and true.' And yet, if She were trueTo me, though false to all things else;—one truth,So one truth lived—. One truth! O beggared soul—Foul Lazarus, so starved it can make shiftTo feed on crumbs of honor!—Am I this?
[EnterAnne Hughes.She has been running in evident terror, and stands against the door looking about her.]
Anne.Are you the inn-keeper?
[The Playerturns and bows courteously.]
Nay, sir, your pardon.I saw you not... And yet your face, methinks,But—yes, I'm sure....But where's the inn-keeper?I know not where I am, nor where to go.
The Player.Madam, it is my fortune that I mayProcure you service. [Going towards the door. The uproar sounds nearer.]
Anne.Nay! what if the bear—
The Player.The bear?
Anne.The door! The bear is broken loose.Did you not hear? I scarce could make my wayThrough that rank crowd, in search of some safe place.You smile, sir! But you had not seen the bear,—Nor I, this morning. Pray you, hear me out,—For surely you are gentler than the place.I came ... I came by water ... to the Garden,Alone, ... from bravery, to see the showAnd tell of it hereafter at the Court!There's one of us makes count of all such 'scapes('Tis Mistress Fytton). She will ever tellThe sport it is to see the people's gamesAmong themselves,—to goincognitaAnd take all as it is not for the Queen,Gallants and rabble! But by Banbury Cross,I am of tamer mettle!—All alone,Among ten thousand noisy watermen;And then the foul ways leading from the Stair;And then ... no friends I knew, nay, not a face.And my dear nose beset, and my pomanderLost in the rout,—or else a cut-purse had it:And then the bear breaks loose! Oh, 'tis a dayFull of vexations, nay, and dangers too.I would I had been slower to outdoThe pranks of Mary Fytton.... You know her, sir?
The Player.If one of my plain calling may be saidTo know a maid-of-honor. [More lightly.] And yet more:My heart has cause to know the lady's face.
Anne[blankly].Why, so it is.... Is't not a marvel, sir,The way she hath? Truly, her voice is good....And yet,—but oh, she charms; I hear it said.A winsome gentlewoman, of a wit, too.We are great fellows; she tells me all she does;And, sooth, I listen till my ears be likeTo grow for wonder. Whence my 'scape, to-day!Oh, she hath daring for the pastimes here;I would—change looks with her, to have her spirit!Indeed, they say she charms Someone, by this.
The Player.Someone....
Anne.Hast heard?Why sure my Lord of Herbert.Ay, Pembroke's son. But there I doubt,—I doubt.He is an eagle will not stoop for lessThan kingly prey. No bird-lime takes him.
The Player.Herbert....He hath shown many favors to us players.
Anne.Ah, now I have you!
The Player.Surely, gracious madam;My duty; ... what besides?
Anne.This face of yours.'Twas in some play, belike. [Apart.] ... I took him forA man it should advantage me to know!And he's a proper man enough.... Ay me!
[When she speaks to him again it is with encouraging condescension.]
Surely you've been at Whitehall, Master Player?
The Player[bowing].So.
Anne. And how oft? And when?
The Player.Last Christmas tide;And Twelfth Day eve, perchance. Your memoryFreshens a dusty past.... The hubbub's over.Shall I look forth and find some trusty boyTo attend you to the river?
Anne.I thank you, sir.
[He goes to the door and steps out into the alley, looking up and down. The noise in the distance springs up again.]
[Apart.] 'Tis not past sufferance. Marry, I could staySome moments longer, till the streets be safe.Sir, sir!
The Player[returning].Command me, madam.
Anne.I will waitA little longer, lest I meet once moreThat ruffian mob or any of the dogs.These sports are better seen from balconies.
The Player.Will you step hither? There's an arbored walkSheltered and safe. Should they come by again,You may see all, an't like you, and be hid.
Anne.A garden there? Come, you shall show it me.
[They go out into the garden on the right, leaving the door shut. Immediately enter, in great haste,Mary FyttonandWilliam Herbert,followed byDickon,who looks about and, seeing no one, goes to setting things in order.]
Mary.Quick, quick!... She must have seen me. Those big eyes,How could they miss me, peering as she wasFor some familiar face? She would have known,Even before my mask was jostled offIn that wild rabble ... bears and bearish men.Herbert.Why would you have me bring you?Mary.Why? Ah, why!Sooth, once I had a reason: now 'tis lost,—Lost! Lost! Call out the bell-man.Dickon[seriously].Shall I so?Herbert.Nay, nay; that were a merriment indeed,To cry us through the streets! [ToMary.] You riddling charm.Mary.A riddle, yet? You almost love me, then.Herbert.Almost?Mary.Because you cannot understand.Alas, when all's unriddled, the charm goes.Herbert.Come, you're not melancholy?Mary.Nay, are you?But should Nan Hughes have seen us, and spoiled all—Herbert.How could she so?Mary.I know not ... yet I knowIf she had met us, she could steal To-day,Golden To-day.Herbert.A kiss; and so forget her.Mary.Hush, hush,—the tavern-boy there.[ToDickon.]Tell me, boy,—[ToHerbert.]Some errand, now; a roc's egg!Strike thy wit.Herbert.What is't you miss? Why, so. The lady's lostA very curious reason, wrought aboutWith diverse broidery.Mary.Nay, 'twas a mask.Herbert.A mask, arch-wit? Why will you mock yourselfAnd all your fine deceits? Your mask, your reason,Your reason with a mask!Mary.You are too merry.[ToDickon.] A mask it is, and muffler finely wroughtWith little amber points all hung like bells.I lost it as I came, somewhere....Herbert.SomewhereBetween the Paris Gardens and the Bridge.Mary.Or below Bridge—or haply in the Thames!Herbert.No matter where, so you do bring it back.Fly, Mercury! Here's feathers for thy heels. [Giving coin.]Mary[aside].Weights, weights! [ExitDickon.][Herbertlooks about him, opens the door of the taproom, grows troubled. She watches him with dissatisfaction, seeming to warm her feet by the fire meanwhile.]Herbert[apart].I know this place. We used to comeTogether, he and I ...Mary[apart].Forgot again.O the capricious tides, the hateful calms,And the too eager ship that would be goneAdventuring against uncertain winds,For some new, utmost sight of Happy Isles!Becalmed,—becalmed ... But I will break this calm.[She sees the lute on the table, crosses and takes it up, running her fingers over the strings very softly. She sits.]Herbert.Ah, mermaid, is it you?Mary.Did you sail far?Herbert.Not I; no, sooth. [Crossing to her.]Mermaid, I would not think.But you—Mary.I think not. I remember nothing.There's nothing in the world but you and me;All else is dust. Thou shalt not question me;Or if,—but as a sphinx in woman-shape:And when thou fail'st at answer, I shall turn,And rend thy heart and cast thee from the cliff.[She leans her head back against him, and he kisses her.]So perish all who guess not what I am!...Oh, but I know you: you are April-Days.Nothing is sure, but all is beautiful![She runs her fingers up the strings, one by one, and listens, speaking to the lute.]Is it not so? Come, answer. Is it true?Speak, sweeting, since I love thee best of late,And have forsook my virginals for thee.All's beautiful indeed and all unsure?"Ay"... (Did you hear?)He's fair and faithless? "Ay."[Speaking with the lute.]Herbert.Poor oracle, with only one reply!—Wherein 'tis unlike thee.Mary.Can he love aughtSo well as his own image in the brook,Having once seen it?Herbert.Ay!Mary.The lute saith "No."...O dullard! Here were tidings, would you mark.What said I?Oracle, can he love aughtSo dear as his own image in the brook,Having once looked?... No, truly.[With sudden abandon.]Nor can I!Herbert.O leave this game of words, you thousand-tongued.Sing, sing to me. So shall I be all yoursForever;—or at least till you be mute!...I used to wonder he should be thy slave:I wonder now no more. Your ways are wonders;You have a charm to make a man forgetHis past and yours, and everything but you.Mary[speaking]."When daisies pied and violets blueAnd lady-smocks all silver-white"—How now?Herbert."How now?" That song ... thou wilt sing that?Mary.Marry, what mars the song?Herbert.Have you forgotWho made it?Mary.Soft, what idleness! So fine?So rude? And bid me sing! You get but silence;Or, if I sing,—beshrew me, it shall beA dole of song, a little starveling breathAs near to silence as a song can be.[She sings under-breath, fantastically.]Say how many kisses beLent and lost twixt you and me?'Can I tell when they begun?'Nay, but this were prodigal:Let us learn to count withal.Since no ending is to spending,Sum our riches, one by one.'You shall keep the reckoning,Count each kiss while I do sing.'Herbert.Oh, not these little wounds. You vex my heart;Heal it again with singing,—come, sweet, come.Into the garden! None shall trouble us.This place has memories and conscience too:Drown all, my mermaid. Wind them in your hairAnd drown them, drown them all.[He swings open the garden-door for her. At the same momentAnne'svoice is heard approaching.]Anne[without]. Some music there?Herbert.Perdition! Quick—behind me, love.[Swinging the door shut again, and looking through the crack.]Mary.'Tis she—Nan Hughes, 'tis she! How came she here? By heaven,She crosses us to-day. Nan Hughes lights hereIn a Bank tavern! Nay, I'll not be seen.Sooner or later it must mean the wreckOf both ... should the Queen know.Herbert.The spite of chance!She talks with someone in the arbor thereWhose face I see not. Come, here's doors at least.[They cross hastily.Maryopens the door on the left and looks within.]Mary.Too thick.... I shall be penned. But guard you thisAnd tell me when they're gone. Stay, stay;—mend all.If she have seen me,—swear it was not I.Heaven speed her home, with her new body-guard![Exit, closing door.Herbertlooks out into the garden.]Herbert.By all accursèd chances,—none but he![Retires up to stand beside the door, looking out of casement. Re-enter from the garden,Anne,followed byThe Player.]Anne.No, 'twas some magic in my ears, I think.There's no one here. [SeeingHerbert.]But yes, there's someone here:—The inn-keeper. Are you—Saint Catherine's bones!My Lord of Herbert. Sir, you could not lookMore opportune. But for this gentleman—Herbert[bowing].My friend, this long time since,—Anne.Marry, your friend?The Player[regardingHerbertsearchingly].This long time since.Anne.Nay, is it so, indeed?[ToHerbert.] My day's fulfilled of blunders! O sweet sir,How can I tell you? But I'll tell you allIf you'll but bear me escort from this placeWhere none of us belongs. Yours is the firstFamiliar face I've seen this afternoon!Herbert[apart].A sweet assurance.[Aloud.]But you seek ... you needSome rest—some cheer, some—Will you step within?[Indicating tap-room.]The tavern is deserted, but—Anne.Not here!I've been here quite an hour. Come, citywards,To Whitehall! I have had enough of bearsTo quench my longing till next Whitsuntide.Down to the river, pray you.Herbert.Sooth, at once?Anne.At once, at once.[ToThe Player.] I crave your pardon, sir,For sundering your friendships. I've heard sayA woman always comes between two menTo their confusion. You shall drink amendsSome other day. I must be safely home.The Player[reassured byHerbert'sreluctance to go.]It joys me that your trials have found an end;And for the rest, I wish you prosperous voyage;Which needs not, with such halcyon weather toward.Herbert[apart].It cuts: and yet he knows not. Can it pass?[To him.] Let us meet soon. I have—I know not whatTo say—nay, no import; but chance has partedOur several ways too long. To leave you thus,Without a word—Anne.You are in haste, my lord!By the true faith, here are two friends indeed!Two lovers crossed: and I,—'tis I that bar them.Pray tarry, sir. I doubt not I may lightUpon some link-boy to attend me homeOr else a drunken prentice with a club,Or that patched keeper strolling from the GardenWith all his dogs along; or failing them,A pony with a monkey on his back,Or, failing that, a bear! Some escort, sure,Such as the Borough offers! I shall lookPart of a pageant from the Lady Fair,And boast for three full moons, "Such sights I saw!"Truly, 'tis new to me: but I doubt notI shall trick out a mind for strange adventure,As high as—Mistress Fytton!Herbert.Say no more,Dear lady! I entreat you pardon meThe lameness of my wit. I'm stark adream;You lighted here so suddenly, unlooked forVision in Bankside.... Let me hasten you,Now that I see I dream not. It grows late.Anne.And can you grant me such a length of time?Herbert.Length? Say Illusion! Time? Alas, 'twill beOnly a poor half-hour [loudly], a poor half-hour![Apart.] Did she hear that, I wonder?The Player[bowing overAnne'shand]. Not so, madam;A little gold of largess, fallen to meBy chance.Herbert[to him].A word with you—[Apart.]O, I am gagged!Anne[toThe Player].You go with us, sir?[He moves towards door with them.]The Player.No, I do but playYour inn-keeper.Herbert[apart, despairingly].The eagle is gone blind.[Exeunt, leaving doors open. They are seen to go down the walk together. At the street they pause,The Player,bowing slowly, then turning back towards the inn;AnneholdingHerbert'sarm. Within, the door on the left opens slightly, thenMaryappears.]Mary.'Tis true. My ears caught silence, if no more.They're gone....[She comes out of her hiding-place and opens the left-hand casement to seeAnnedisappearing withHerbert.]She takes him with her! He'll return?Gone, gone, without a word; and I was caged,—And deaf as well. O, spite of everything!She's so unlike.... How long shall I be hereTo wait and wonder? He with her—with her![The Player,having come slowly back to the door, hears her voice.Marydarts towards the entrance to look afterHerbertandAnne.She sees him and recoils. She falls back step by step, while he stands holding the door-posts with his hands, impassive.]You!...The Player.Yes.... [After a pause.] And you.Mary.Do you not ask me whyI'm here?The Player.I am not wont to shun the truth:But yet I think the reason you could giveWere too uncomely.Mary.Nay;—The Player.If it were truth;If it were truth! Although that likelihoodScarce threatens.Mary.So. Condemned without a trial.The Player.O, speak the lie now. Let there be no chanceFor my unsightly love, bound head and foot,Stark, full of wounds and horrible,—to findEscape from out its charnel-house; to riseUnwelcome before eyes that had forgot,And say it died not truly. It should die.Play no imposture: leave it,—it is dead.I have been weak in that I tried to pourThe wine through plague-struck veins. It came to lifeOver and over, drew sharp breath againIn torture such as't may be to be born,If a poor babe could tell. Over and over,I tell you, it has suffered resurrection,Cheating its pain with hope, only to dieOver and over;—die more deaths than menThe meanest, most forlorn, are made to dieBy tyranny or nature.... Now I see allClear. And I say, it shall not rise again.I am as safe from you as I were dead.I know you.Mary.Herbert—The Player.Do not touch his name.Leave that; I saw.Mary.You saw? Nay, what?The Player.The wholeClear story. Not at first. While you were hid,I took some comfort, drop by drop, and minuteBy minute. (Dullard!) Yet there was a mazeOf circumstance that showed even then to mePerplext and strange. You here unravel it.All's clear: you are the clue. [Turning away.]Mary[going to the casement].[Apart.]Caged, caged!Does he know all? Why were those walls so dense?[To him.] Nan Hughes hath seized the time to tune your mindTo some light gossip. Say, how came she here?The Player.All emulation, thinking to match youIn high adventure:—liked it not, poor lady!And is gone home, attended.
Mary.Quick, quick!... She must have seen me. Those big eyes,How could they miss me, peering as she wasFor some familiar face? She would have known,Even before my mask was jostled offIn that wild rabble ... bears and bearish men.
Herbert.Why would you have me bring you?
Mary.Why? Ah, why!Sooth, once I had a reason: now 'tis lost,—Lost! Lost! Call out the bell-man.
Dickon[seriously].Shall I so?
Herbert.Nay, nay; that were a merriment indeed,To cry us through the streets! [ToMary.] You riddling charm.
Mary.A riddle, yet? You almost love me, then.
Herbert.Almost?
Mary.Because you cannot understand.Alas, when all's unriddled, the charm goes.
Herbert.Come, you're not melancholy?
Mary.Nay, are you?But should Nan Hughes have seen us, and spoiled all—
Herbert.How could she so?
Mary.I know not ... yet I knowIf she had met us, she could steal To-day,Golden To-day.
Herbert.A kiss; and so forget her.
Mary.Hush, hush,—the tavern-boy there.[ToDickon.]Tell me, boy,—[ToHerbert.]Some errand, now; a roc's egg!Strike thy wit.
Herbert.What is't you miss? Why, so. The lady's lostA very curious reason, wrought aboutWith diverse broidery.
Mary.Nay, 'twas a mask.
Herbert.A mask, arch-wit? Why will you mock yourselfAnd all your fine deceits? Your mask, your reason,Your reason with a mask!
Mary.You are too merry.[ToDickon.] A mask it is, and muffler finely wroughtWith little amber points all hung like bells.I lost it as I came, somewhere....
Herbert.SomewhereBetween the Paris Gardens and the Bridge.
Mary.Or below Bridge—or haply in the Thames!
Herbert.No matter where, so you do bring it back.Fly, Mercury! Here's feathers for thy heels. [Giving coin.]
Mary[aside].Weights, weights! [ExitDickon.]
[Herbertlooks about him, opens the door of the taproom, grows troubled. She watches him with dissatisfaction, seeming to warm her feet by the fire meanwhile.]
Herbert[apart].I know this place. We used to comeTogether, he and I ...
Mary[apart].Forgot again.O the capricious tides, the hateful calms,And the too eager ship that would be goneAdventuring against uncertain winds,For some new, utmost sight of Happy Isles!Becalmed,—becalmed ... But I will break this calm.
[She sees the lute on the table, crosses and takes it up, running her fingers over the strings very softly. She sits.]
Herbert.Ah, mermaid, is it you?
Mary.Did you sail far?
Herbert.Not I; no, sooth. [Crossing to her.]Mermaid, I would not think.But you—
Mary.I think not. I remember nothing.There's nothing in the world but you and me;All else is dust. Thou shalt not question me;Or if,—but as a sphinx in woman-shape:And when thou fail'st at answer, I shall turn,And rend thy heart and cast thee from the cliff.[She leans her head back against him, and he kisses her.]So perish all who guess not what I am!...Oh, but I know you: you are April-Days.Nothing is sure, but all is beautiful!
[She runs her fingers up the strings, one by one, and listens, speaking to the lute.]
Is it not so? Come, answer. Is it true?Speak, sweeting, since I love thee best of late,And have forsook my virginals for thee.All's beautiful indeed and all unsure?"Ay"... (Did you hear?)He's fair and faithless? "Ay."[Speaking with the lute.]
Herbert.Poor oracle, with only one reply!—Wherein 'tis unlike thee.
Mary.Can he love aughtSo well as his own image in the brook,Having once seen it?
Herbert.Ay!
Mary.The lute saith "No."...O dullard! Here were tidings, would you mark.What said I?Oracle, can he love aughtSo dear as his own image in the brook,Having once looked?... No, truly.[With sudden abandon.]Nor can I!
Herbert.O leave this game of words, you thousand-tongued.Sing, sing to me. So shall I be all yoursForever;—or at least till you be mute!...I used to wonder he should be thy slave:I wonder now no more. Your ways are wonders;You have a charm to make a man forgetHis past and yours, and everything but you.
Mary[speaking]."When daisies pied and violets blueAnd lady-smocks all silver-white"—How now?
Herbert."How now?" That song ... thou wilt sing that?
Mary.Marry, what mars the song?
Herbert.Have you forgotWho made it?
Mary.Soft, what idleness! So fine?So rude? And bid me sing! You get but silence;Or, if I sing,—beshrew me, it shall beA dole of song, a little starveling breathAs near to silence as a song can be.[She sings under-breath, fantastically.]Say how many kisses beLent and lost twixt you and me?'Can I tell when they begun?'Nay, but this were prodigal:Let us learn to count withal.Since no ending is to spending,Sum our riches, one by one.'You shall keep the reckoning,Count each kiss while I do sing.'
Herbert.Oh, not these little wounds. You vex my heart;Heal it again with singing,—come, sweet, come.Into the garden! None shall trouble us.This place has memories and conscience too:Drown all, my mermaid. Wind them in your hairAnd drown them, drown them all.
[He swings open the garden-door for her. At the same momentAnne'svoice is heard approaching.]
Anne[without]. Some music there?
Herbert.Perdition! Quick—behind me, love.
[Swinging the door shut again, and looking through the crack.]
Mary.'Tis she—Nan Hughes, 'tis she! How came she here? By heaven,She crosses us to-day. Nan Hughes lights hereIn a Bank tavern! Nay, I'll not be seen.Sooner or later it must mean the wreckOf both ... should the Queen know.
Herbert.The spite of chance!She talks with someone in the arbor thereWhose face I see not. Come, here's doors at least.
[They cross hastily.Maryopens the door on the left and looks within.]
Mary.Too thick.... I shall be penned. But guard you thisAnd tell me when they're gone. Stay, stay;—mend all.If she have seen me,—swear it was not I.Heaven speed her home, with her new body-guard!
[Exit, closing door.Herbertlooks out into the garden.]
Herbert.By all accursèd chances,—none but he!
[Retires up to stand beside the door, looking out of casement. Re-enter from the garden,Anne,followed byThe Player.]
Anne.No, 'twas some magic in my ears, I think.There's no one here. [SeeingHerbert.]But yes, there's someone here:—The inn-keeper. Are you—Saint Catherine's bones!My Lord of Herbert. Sir, you could not lookMore opportune. But for this gentleman—
Herbert[bowing].My friend, this long time since,—
Anne.Marry, your friend?
The Player[regardingHerbertsearchingly].This long time since.
Anne.Nay, is it so, indeed?[ToHerbert.] My day's fulfilled of blunders! O sweet sir,How can I tell you? But I'll tell you allIf you'll but bear me escort from this placeWhere none of us belongs. Yours is the firstFamiliar face I've seen this afternoon!
Herbert[apart].A sweet assurance.[Aloud.]But you seek ... you needSome rest—some cheer, some—Will you step within?[Indicating tap-room.]The tavern is deserted, but—
Anne.Not here!I've been here quite an hour. Come, citywards,To Whitehall! I have had enough of bearsTo quench my longing till next Whitsuntide.Down to the river, pray you.
Herbert.Sooth, at once?
Anne.At once, at once.[ToThe Player.] I crave your pardon, sir,For sundering your friendships. I've heard sayA woman always comes between two menTo their confusion. You shall drink amendsSome other day. I must be safely home.
The Player[reassured byHerbert'sreluctance to go.]It joys me that your trials have found an end;And for the rest, I wish you prosperous voyage;Which needs not, with such halcyon weather toward.
Herbert[apart].It cuts: and yet he knows not. Can it pass?[To him.] Let us meet soon. I have—I know not whatTo say—nay, no import; but chance has partedOur several ways too long. To leave you thus,Without a word—
Anne.You are in haste, my lord!By the true faith, here are two friends indeed!Two lovers crossed: and I,—'tis I that bar them.Pray tarry, sir. I doubt not I may lightUpon some link-boy to attend me homeOr else a drunken prentice with a club,Or that patched keeper strolling from the GardenWith all his dogs along; or failing them,A pony with a monkey on his back,Or, failing that, a bear! Some escort, sure,Such as the Borough offers! I shall lookPart of a pageant from the Lady Fair,And boast for three full moons, "Such sights I saw!"Truly, 'tis new to me: but I doubt notI shall trick out a mind for strange adventure,As high as—Mistress Fytton!
Herbert.Say no more,Dear lady! I entreat you pardon meThe lameness of my wit. I'm stark adream;You lighted here so suddenly, unlooked forVision in Bankside.... Let me hasten you,Now that I see I dream not. It grows late.
Anne.And can you grant me such a length of time?
Herbert.Length? Say Illusion! Time? Alas, 'twill beOnly a poor half-hour [loudly], a poor half-hour![Apart.] Did she hear that, I wonder?
The Player[bowing overAnne'shand]. Not so, madam;A little gold of largess, fallen to meBy chance.
Herbert[to him].A word with you—[Apart.]O, I am gagged!
Anne[toThe Player].You go with us, sir?
[He moves towards door with them.]
The Player.No, I do but playYour inn-keeper.
Herbert[apart, despairingly].The eagle is gone blind.
[Exeunt, leaving doors open. They are seen to go down the walk together. At the street they pause,The Player,bowing slowly, then turning back towards the inn;AnneholdingHerbert'sarm. Within, the door on the left opens slightly, thenMaryappears.]
Mary.'Tis true. My ears caught silence, if no more.They're gone....
[She comes out of her hiding-place and opens the left-hand casement to seeAnnedisappearing withHerbert.]
She takes him with her! He'll return?Gone, gone, without a word; and I was caged,—And deaf as well. O, spite of everything!She's so unlike.... How long shall I be hereTo wait and wonder? He with her—with her!
[The Player,having come slowly back to the door, hears her voice.Marydarts towards the entrance to look afterHerbertandAnne.She sees him and recoils. She falls back step by step, while he stands holding the door-posts with his hands, impassive.]
You!...
The Player.Yes.... [After a pause.] And you.
Mary.Do you not ask me whyI'm here?
The Player.I am not wont to shun the truth:But yet I think the reason you could giveWere too uncomely.
Mary.Nay;—
The Player.If it were truth;If it were truth! Although that likelihoodScarce threatens.
Mary.So. Condemned without a trial.
The Player.O, speak the lie now. Let there be no chanceFor my unsightly love, bound head and foot,Stark, full of wounds and horrible,—to findEscape from out its charnel-house; to riseUnwelcome before eyes that had forgot,And say it died not truly. It should die.Play no imposture: leave it,—it is dead.I have been weak in that I tried to pourThe wine through plague-struck veins. It came to lifeOver and over, drew sharp breath againIn torture such as't may be to be born,If a poor babe could tell. Over and over,I tell you, it has suffered resurrection,Cheating its pain with hope, only to dieOver and over;—die more deaths than menThe meanest, most forlorn, are made to dieBy tyranny or nature.... Now I see allClear. And I say, it shall not rise again.I am as safe from you as I were dead.I know you.
Mary.Herbert—
The Player.Do not touch his name.Leave that; I saw.
Mary.You saw? Nay, what?
The Player.The wholeClear story. Not at first. While you were hid,I took some comfort, drop by drop, and minuteBy minute. (Dullard!) Yet there was a mazeOf circumstance that showed even then to mePerplext and strange. You here unravel it.All's clear: you are the clue. [Turning away.]
Mary[going to the casement].[Apart.]Caged, caged!Does he know all? Why were those walls so dense?[To him.] Nan Hughes hath seized the time to tune your mindTo some light gossip. Say, how came she here?
The Player.All emulation, thinking to match youIn high adventure:—liked it not, poor lady!And is gone home, attended.
[Re-enterDickon.]
Dickon[toMary]They be lost!—Thy mask and muffler;—'tis no help to search.Some hooker would 'a' swallowed 'em, be sure,As the whale swallows Jonas, in the show.Mary.'Tis nought: I care not.Dickon[looking at the fire].Hey, it wants a log.[While he mends the fire, humming,The Playerstands taking thought.Maryspeaks apart, going to casement again to look out.]Mary[apart].I will have what he knows. To cast me off:—Not thus, not thus. Peace, I can blind him yet,Or he'll despise me. Nay, I will not beThrust out at door like this. I will not goBut by mine own free will. There is no powerCan say what he might do to ruin us,To win Will Herbert from me,—almost mine,And I all his, all his—O April-Days!—Well, friendship against love? I know who wins.He is grown dread.... But yet he is a man.[ExitDickoninto tap-room.][ToThe Player,suavely.] Well, headsman?[He does not turn.]Mind your office: I am judged.Guilty, was it not so?... What is to do,Do quickly.... Do you wait for some reprieve?Guilty, you said. Nay, do you turn your faceTo give me some small leeway of escape?And yet, I will not go ...[Coming down slowly.]Well, headsman?...You ask not why I came here, Clouded Brow,Will you not ask me why I stay? No word?O blind, come lead the blind! For I, I tooLack sight and every sense to linger hereAnd make me an intruder where I onceWas welcome, oh most welcome, as I dreamed.Look on me, then. I do confess, I haveToo often preened my feathers in the sunAnd thought to rule a little, by my wit.I have been spendthrift with men's offeringsTo use them like a nosegay,—tear apart,Petal by petal, leaf by leaf, untilI found the heart all bare, the curious heartI longed to see for once, and cast away.And so, at first, with you.... Ah, now I thinkYou're wise. There's nought so fair, so ... curious.So precious-rare to find as honesty.'Twas all a child's play then, a counting-offOf petals. Now I know.... But ask me whyI come unheralded, and in a mistOf circumstance and strangeness. Listen, love;Well then, dead love, if you will have it so.I have been cunning, cruel,—what you will:And yet the days of late have seemed too longEven for summer! Something called me here.And so I flung my pride away and came,A very woman for my foolishness,To say once more,—to say ...The Player.Nay, I'll not ask.What lacks? I need no more, you have done well.'Tis rare. There is no man I ever sawBut you could school him. Women should be players.You are sovran in the art: feigning and truthAre so commingled in you. Sure, to youNature's a simpleton hath never seenHer own face in the well. Is there aught else?To ask of my poor calling?Mary.I deserved itIn other days. Hear how I can be meek.I am come back, a foot-worn runaway,Like any braggart boy. Let me sit downAnd take Love's horn-book in my hands againAnd learn from the beginning;—by the rod,If you will scourge me, love. Come, come, forgive.I am not wont to sue: and yet to-dayI am your suppliant, I am your servant,Your link-boy, ay, your minstrel: ay,—wilt hear?[Takes up the lute, and gives a last look out of the casement.]The tumult in the streets is all apartWith the discordant past. The hour that isShall be the only thing in all the world.[Apart.] I will be safe. He'll not win Herbert from me![Crossing to him.]Will you have music, good my lord?The Player[catching the lute from her.] Not that.Not that! By heaven, you shall not.... Nevermore.Mary.So ... But you speak at last. You are, forsooth,A man: and you shall use me as my due;—A woman, not the wind about your ears;A woman whom you loved.The Player[half-apart, still holding the lute].Why were you notThat beauty that you seemed?... But had you been,'Tis true, you would have had no word for me,—No looks of love!Mary.The man reproaches me?The Player.Not I—not I.... Will Herbert, what am ITo lay this broken trust to you,—to you,Young, free, and tempted: April on his way,Whom all hands reach for, and this woman hereHad set her heart upon!Mary.What fantasy!Surely he must have been from town of late,To see the gude-folks! And how fare they, sir?Reverend yeoman, say, how thrive the sheep?What did the harvest yield you?—Did you countThe cabbage heads? and find how like ... nay, nay!But our gude-wife, did she bid in the neighborsTo prove them that her husband was no myth?Some Puritan preacher, nay, some journeyman,To make you sup the sweeter with long prayers?This were a rare conversion, by my soul!From sonnets unto sermons:—eminent!The Player.Oh, yes, your scorn bites truly: sermons next.There is so much to say. But it must be learned,And I require hard schooling, dream too muchOn what I would men were,—but women most.I need the cudgel of the task-masterTo make me con the truth. Yes, blind, you called me,And 'tis my shame I bandaged mine own eyesAnd held them dark. Now, by the grace of God,Or haply because the devil tries too far,I tear the blindfold off, and I see all.I see you as you are; and in your heartThe secret love sprung up for one I loved,A reckless boy who has trodden on my soul—But that's a thing apart, concerns not you.I know that you will stake your heaven and earthTo fool me,—fool us both.Mary[with idle interest].Why were you notSo stern a long time since? You're not so wiseAs I have heard them say.The Player[standing by the chimney].Wise? Oh, not I.Who was so witless as to call me wise?Sure he had never bade me a good-dayAnd seen me take the cheer....I was your foolToo long.... I am no longer anything.Speak: what are you?Mary[after a pause].The foolishest of women:A heart that should have been adventurerOn the high seas; a seeker in new lands,To dare all and to lose. But I was madeA woman.Oh, you see!—could you see all.What if I say ... the truth is not so far,[Watching him.]Yet farther than you dream. If I confess ...He charmed my fancy ... for the moment,—ayThe shine of his fortunes too, the very nameOf Pembroke?... Dear my judge,—ay, clouded browAnd darkened fortune, be not black to me!I'd try for my escape; the window's wide,No one forbids, and yet I stay—I stay........Oh, I was niggard, once, unkind—I know,Untrusty: loved, unloved you, day by day:A little and a little,—why, I knew not,And more, and wondered why;—then not at all:Drank up the dew from out your very heart,Like the extortionate sun, to leave you parchedTill, with as little grace, I flung all backIn gusts of angry rain! I have been cruel.But the spell works; yea, love, the spell, the spellFed by your fasting, by your subtletyPast all men's knowledge.... There is something rareAbout you that I long to flee and cannot:—Some mastery ... that's more my will than I.[She laughs softly. He listens, looking straight ahead, not at her, immobile, but suffering evidently. She watches his face and speaks with greater intensity. Here she crosses nearer and falls on her knees.]Ah, look: you shall believe, you shall believe.Will you put by your Music? Was I that?Your Music,—very Music?... Listen, then,Turn not so blank a face. Thou hast my love.I'll tell thee so till thought itself shall tireAnd fall a-dreaming like a weary child, ...Only to dream of you, and in its sleepTo murmur You.... Ah, look at me, love, lord ...Whom queens would honor. Read these eyes you praised,That pitied, once,—that sue for pity now.But look! You shall not turn from me—The Player.Eyes, eyes!—The darkness hides so much.Mary.He'll not believe....What can I do? What more,—what more, you ... man?I bruise my heart here, at an iron gate....[She regards him half gloomily without rising.]Yet there is one thing more.... You'll take me, now?—My meaning.... You were right. For once I say it.There is a glory of discovery [ironically]To the black heart ... because it may be knownBut once,—but once....I wonder men will hideTheir motives all so close. If they could guess,—It is so new to feel the open dayLook in on all one's hidings, at the end.So.... You were right. The first was all a lie:A lie, and for a purpose....Now,—[she rises and stands off, regarding him abruptly],And why, I know not,—but 'tis true, at last,I do believe ... I love you.Look at me![He stands by the fireside against the chimney-piece. She crosses to him with passionate appeal, holding out her arms. He turns his eyes and looks at her with a rigid scrutiny. She endures it for a second, then wavers; makes an effort, unable to look away, to lift her arms towards his neck; they falter and fall at her side. The two stand spellbound by mutual recognition. Then she speaks in a low voice.]Mary.Oh, let me go![She turns her head with an effort,—gathers her cloak about her, then hastens out as if from some terror.][The Playeris alone beside the chimney-piece. The street outside is darkening with twilight through the casements and upper door. There is a sound of rough-throated singing that comes by and is softened with distance. It breaks the spell.]The Player.So; it is over ... now. [He looks into the fire.]........"Fair, kind, and true." And true!... My golden Friend.Those two ... together.... He was ill at ease.But that he should betray me with a kiss!.........By this preposterous world ... I am in need.Shall there be no faith left? Nothing but names?Then he's a fool who steers his life by such.Why not the body-comfort of this herdOf creatures huddled here to keep them warm?—Trying to drown out with enforcèd laughterThe query of the winds ... unanswered windsThat vex the soul with a perpetual doubt.What holds me?... Bah, that were a Cause, indeed!To prove your soul one truth, by being it,—Against the foul dishonor of the world!How else prove aught?...I talk into the air.And at my feet, my honor full of wounds.Honor? Whose honor? For I knew my sin,And she ... had none. There's nothing to avenge.[He speaks with more and more passion, too distraught to notice interruptions. EnterDickon,with a tallow-dip. He regardsThe Playerwith half-open mouth from the corner; then stands by the casement, leaning up against it and yawning now and then.]I had no right: that I could call her mineSo none should steal her from me, and die for't.There's nothing to avenge ... Brave beggary!How fit to lodge me in this home of Shows,With all the ruffian life, the empty mirth,The gross imposture of humanity,Strutting in virtues it knows not to wear,Knave in a stolen garment—all the same—Until it grows enamored of a lifeIt was not born to,—falls a-dream, poor cheat,In the midst of its native shams,—the thieves and bearsAnd ballad-mongers all!... Of such am I.[Re-enterTobiasand one or twoTaverners.TobiasregardsThe Player,who does not notice anyone,—then leads offDickonby the ear. Exeunt into taproom.The Playergoes to the casement, pushes it wide open, and gazes out at the sky.]Is there naught else?... I could make shift to bindMy heart up and put on my mail again,To cheat myself and death with one fight more,If I could think there were some worldly useFor bitter wisdom.But I'm no general,That my own hand-to-hand with evil daysShould cheer my doubting thousands....I'm no moreThan one man lost among a multitude;And in the end dust swallows them—and me,And the good sweat that won our victories.Who sees? Or seeing, cares? Who follows on?Then why should my dishonor trouble me,Or broken faith in him?What is it suffers?And why?Now that the moon is turned to blood.[He turns towards the door with involuntary longing, and seems to listen.]No ... no, he will not come. Well, I have naughtTo do but pluck from me my bitter heart,And live without it.[Re-enterDickonwith a tankard and a cup. He sets them down on a small table; this he pushes towardsThe Player,who turns at the noise.]So...? Is it for me?Dickon.Ay, on the score! I had good sight o' the bear.Look, here's a sprig was stuck on him with pitch;—[Rubbing the sprig on his sleeve.]I caught it up,—from Lambeth marsh, belike.Such grow there, and I've seen thee cherish such.The Player.Give us thy posy.[He comes back to the fire and sits in the chair near by.Dickongets out the iron lantern from the corner.]Dickon.Hey! It wants a light.[The Playerseems to listen once more, his face turned towards the door. He lifts his hand as if to hushDickon,lets it fall, and looks back at the fire.Dickonregards him with shy curiosity and draws nearer.]Dickon.Thou wilt be always minding of the fire ...Wilt thou not?The Player.Ay.Dickon.It likes me, too.The Player.So?Dickon.Ay....I would I knew what thou art thinking onWhen thou dost mind the fire....The Player.Wouldst thou?Dickon.Ay.[Sound of footsteps outside. A group approaches the door.]Oh, here he is, come back!The Player[rising with passionate eagerness].Brave lad—brave lad!Dickon[singing].Hang out your lanthorns, trim your lightsTo save your days from knavish nights![He plunges, with his lantern, through the doorway, stumbling againstWat Burrow,who enters, a sorry figure, the worse for wear.]Wat[sourly].Be the times soft, that you must try to cleaveWay through my ribs as tho' I was the moon?—And you the man-wi-'the-lanthorn, or his dog?—You bean!...[ExitDickon.Watshambles in and seesThe Player.]What, you sir, here?The Player.Ay, here, good Wat.[WhileWatcrosses to the table and gets himself a chair,The Playerlooks at him as if with a new consciousness of the surroundings. After a time he sits as before. Re-enterDickonand curls up on the floor, at his feet.]Wat.O give me comfort, sir. This cursèd day,—A wry, damned ... noisome.... Ay, poor Nick, poor Nick!He's all to mend—Poor Nick! He's sorely maimed,More than we'd baited him with forty dogs.'Od's body! Said I not, sir, he would fight?Never before had he, in leading-chain,Walked out to take the air and show his parts....'Went to his noddle like some greenest gull'sThat's new come up to town.... The prenticesSqueaking along like Bedlam, he breaks looseAnd prances me a hey,—I dancing counter!Then such a cawing 'mongst the women! Next,The chain did clatter and enrage him more;—You would 'a' sworn a bear grew on each link,And after each a prentice with a cudgel,—Leaving him scarce an eye! So, howling all,We run a pretty pace ... and Nick, poor Nick,He catches on a useless, stumbling fryThat needed not be born,—and bites into him.And then ... the Constable ... And now, no show!The Player.Poor Wat!... Thou wentest scattering misadventureLike comfits from thy horn of plenty, Wat.Wat.Ay, thank your worship. You be best to comfort.[He pours a mug of ale.]No show to-morrow! Minnow Constable....I'm a jack-rabbit strung up by my heelsFor every knave to pinch as he goes by!Alas, poor Nick, bear Nick ... oh, think on Nick.The Player.With all his fortunes darkened for a day,—And the eye o' his reason, sweet intelligencer,Under a beggarly patch.... I pledge thee, Nick.Wat.Oh, you have seen hard times, sir, with us all.Your eyes lack luster, too, this day. What say you?No jesting.... What? I've heard of marvels thereIn the New Country. There would be a knop-holeFor thee and me. There be few ConstablesAnd such unhallowed fry.... An thou wouldst layThy wit to mine—what is't we could not do?Wilt turn't about?[Leans towards him in cordial confidence.]Nay, you there, sirrah boy,Leave us together; as 'tis said in the play,'Come, leave us, Boy!'[Dickondoes not move. He gives a sigh and leans his head againstThe Player'sknee, his arms around his legs. He sleeps.The Playergazes sternly into the fire, whileWatrambles on, growing drowsy.]Wat.The cub there snores good counsel. When all's done,What a bubble is ambition!... When all's done....What's yet to do?... Why, sleep.... Yet even nowI was on fire to see myself and youOff for the Colony with Raleigh's men.I've been beholden to 'ee.... Why, for theeI could make shift to suffer plays o' Thursday.Thou'rt the best man among them, o' my word.There's other trades and crafts and qualitiesCould serve ... an thou wouldst lay thy wit to mine.Us two!... us two!...The Player[apart, to the fire]."Fair, kind, and true."...Wat.... Poor Nick![He nods over his ale. There is muffled noise in the taproom. Someone opens the door a second, letting in a stave of a song, then slams the door shut.The Player,who has turned, gloomily, starts to rise.Dickonmoves in his sleep, sighs heavily, and settles his cheek againstThe Player'sshoes.The Playerlooks down for a moment. Then he sits again, looking now at the fire, now at the boy, whose hair he touches.]The Player.So, heavy-head. You bid me think my thoughtTwice over; keep me by, a heavy heart,As ballast for thy dream. Well, I will watch ...Like slandered Providence. Nay, I'll not beThe prop to fail thy trust untenderly,After a troubled day....Nay, rest you here.
Dickon[toMary]They be lost!—Thy mask and muffler;—'tis no help to search.Some hooker would 'a' swallowed 'em, be sure,As the whale swallows Jonas, in the show.
Mary.'Tis nought: I care not.
Dickon[looking at the fire].Hey, it wants a log.
[While he mends the fire, humming,The Playerstands taking thought.Maryspeaks apart, going to casement again to look out.]
Mary[apart].I will have what he knows. To cast me off:—Not thus, not thus. Peace, I can blind him yet,Or he'll despise me. Nay, I will not beThrust out at door like this. I will not goBut by mine own free will. There is no powerCan say what he might do to ruin us,To win Will Herbert from me,—almost mine,And I all his, all his—O April-Days!—Well, friendship against love? I know who wins.He is grown dread.... But yet he is a man.
[ExitDickoninto tap-room.]
[ToThe Player,suavely.] Well, headsman?
[He does not turn.]
Mind your office: I am judged.Guilty, was it not so?... What is to do,Do quickly.... Do you wait for some reprieve?Guilty, you said. Nay, do you turn your faceTo give me some small leeway of escape?And yet, I will not go ...
[Coming down slowly.]
Well, headsman?...You ask not why I came here, Clouded Brow,Will you not ask me why I stay? No word?O blind, come lead the blind! For I, I tooLack sight and every sense to linger hereAnd make me an intruder where I onceWas welcome, oh most welcome, as I dreamed.Look on me, then. I do confess, I haveToo often preened my feathers in the sunAnd thought to rule a little, by my wit.I have been spendthrift with men's offeringsTo use them like a nosegay,—tear apart,Petal by petal, leaf by leaf, untilI found the heart all bare, the curious heartI longed to see for once, and cast away.And so, at first, with you.... Ah, now I thinkYou're wise. There's nought so fair, so ... curious.So precious-rare to find as honesty.'Twas all a child's play then, a counting-offOf petals. Now I know.... But ask me whyI come unheralded, and in a mistOf circumstance and strangeness. Listen, love;Well then, dead love, if you will have it so.I have been cunning, cruel,—what you will:And yet the days of late have seemed too longEven for summer! Something called me here.And so I flung my pride away and came,A very woman for my foolishness,To say once more,—to say ...
The Player.Nay, I'll not ask.What lacks? I need no more, you have done well.'Tis rare. There is no man I ever sawBut you could school him. Women should be players.You are sovran in the art: feigning and truthAre so commingled in you. Sure, to youNature's a simpleton hath never seenHer own face in the well. Is there aught else?To ask of my poor calling?
Mary.I deserved itIn other days. Hear how I can be meek.I am come back, a foot-worn runaway,Like any braggart boy. Let me sit downAnd take Love's horn-book in my hands againAnd learn from the beginning;—by the rod,If you will scourge me, love. Come, come, forgive.I am not wont to sue: and yet to-dayI am your suppliant, I am your servant,Your link-boy, ay, your minstrel: ay,—wilt hear?
[Takes up the lute, and gives a last look out of the casement.]
The tumult in the streets is all apartWith the discordant past. The hour that isShall be the only thing in all the world.[Apart.] I will be safe. He'll not win Herbert from me!
[Crossing to him.]
Will you have music, good my lord?
The Player[catching the lute from her.] Not that.Not that! By heaven, you shall not.... Nevermore.
Mary.So ... But you speak at last. You are, forsooth,A man: and you shall use me as my due;—A woman, not the wind about your ears;A woman whom you loved.
The Player[half-apart, still holding the lute].Why were you notThat beauty that you seemed?... But had you been,'Tis true, you would have had no word for me,—No looks of love!
Mary.The man reproaches me?
The Player.Not I—not I.... Will Herbert, what am ITo lay this broken trust to you,—to you,Young, free, and tempted: April on his way,Whom all hands reach for, and this woman hereHad set her heart upon!
Mary.What fantasy!Surely he must have been from town of late,To see the gude-folks! And how fare they, sir?Reverend yeoman, say, how thrive the sheep?What did the harvest yield you?—Did you countThe cabbage heads? and find how like ... nay, nay!But our gude-wife, did she bid in the neighborsTo prove them that her husband was no myth?Some Puritan preacher, nay, some journeyman,To make you sup the sweeter with long prayers?This were a rare conversion, by my soul!From sonnets unto sermons:—eminent!
The Player.Oh, yes, your scorn bites truly: sermons next.There is so much to say. But it must be learned,And I require hard schooling, dream too muchOn what I would men were,—but women most.I need the cudgel of the task-masterTo make me con the truth. Yes, blind, you called me,And 'tis my shame I bandaged mine own eyesAnd held them dark. Now, by the grace of God,Or haply because the devil tries too far,I tear the blindfold off, and I see all.I see you as you are; and in your heartThe secret love sprung up for one I loved,A reckless boy who has trodden on my soul—But that's a thing apart, concerns not you.I know that you will stake your heaven and earthTo fool me,—fool us both.
Mary[with idle interest].Why were you notSo stern a long time since? You're not so wiseAs I have heard them say.
The Player[standing by the chimney].Wise? Oh, not I.Who was so witless as to call me wise?Sure he had never bade me a good-dayAnd seen me take the cheer....I was your foolToo long.... I am no longer anything.Speak: what are you?
Mary[after a pause].The foolishest of women:A heart that should have been adventurerOn the high seas; a seeker in new lands,To dare all and to lose. But I was madeA woman.Oh, you see!—could you see all.What if I say ... the truth is not so far,
[Watching him.]
Yet farther than you dream. If I confess ...He charmed my fancy ... for the moment,—ayThe shine of his fortunes too, the very nameOf Pembroke?... Dear my judge,—ay, clouded browAnd darkened fortune, be not black to me!I'd try for my escape; the window's wide,No one forbids, and yet I stay—I stay.
.......
Oh, I was niggard, once, unkind—I know,Untrusty: loved, unloved you, day by day:A little and a little,—why, I knew not,And more, and wondered why;—then not at all:Drank up the dew from out your very heart,Like the extortionate sun, to leave you parchedTill, with as little grace, I flung all backIn gusts of angry rain! I have been cruel.But the spell works; yea, love, the spell, the spellFed by your fasting, by your subtletyPast all men's knowledge.... There is something rareAbout you that I long to flee and cannot:—Some mastery ... that's more my will than I.
[She laughs softly. He listens, looking straight ahead, not at her, immobile, but suffering evidently. She watches his face and speaks with greater intensity. Here she crosses nearer and falls on her knees.]
Ah, look: you shall believe, you shall believe.Will you put by your Music? Was I that?Your Music,—very Music?... Listen, then,Turn not so blank a face. Thou hast my love.I'll tell thee so till thought itself shall tireAnd fall a-dreaming like a weary child, ...Only to dream of you, and in its sleepTo murmur You.... Ah, look at me, love, lord ...Whom queens would honor. Read these eyes you praised,That pitied, once,—that sue for pity now.But look! You shall not turn from me—
The Player.Eyes, eyes!—The darkness hides so much.
Mary.He'll not believe....What can I do? What more,—what more, you ... man?I bruise my heart here, at an iron gate....
[She regards him half gloomily without rising.]
Yet there is one thing more.... You'll take me, now?—My meaning.... You were right. For once I say it.There is a glory of discovery [ironically]To the black heart ... because it may be knownBut once,—but once....I wonder men will hideTheir motives all so close. If they could guess,—It is so new to feel the open dayLook in on all one's hidings, at the end.So.... You were right. The first was all a lie:A lie, and for a purpose....Now,—[she rises and stands off, regarding him abruptly],And why, I know not,—but 'tis true, at last,I do believe ... I love you.Look at me!
[He stands by the fireside against the chimney-piece. She crosses to him with passionate appeal, holding out her arms. He turns his eyes and looks at her with a rigid scrutiny. She endures it for a second, then wavers; makes an effort, unable to look away, to lift her arms towards his neck; they falter and fall at her side. The two stand spellbound by mutual recognition. Then she speaks in a low voice.]
Mary.Oh, let me go!
[She turns her head with an effort,—gathers her cloak about her, then hastens out as if from some terror.]
[The Playeris alone beside the chimney-piece. The street outside is darkening with twilight through the casements and upper door. There is a sound of rough-throated singing that comes by and is softened with distance. It breaks the spell.]
The Player.So; it is over ... now. [He looks into the fire.]
........
"Fair, kind, and true." And true!... My golden Friend.Those two ... together.... He was ill at ease.But that he should betray me with a kiss!
.........
By this preposterous world ... I am in need.Shall there be no faith left? Nothing but names?Then he's a fool who steers his life by such.Why not the body-comfort of this herdOf creatures huddled here to keep them warm?—Trying to drown out with enforcèd laughterThe query of the winds ... unanswered windsThat vex the soul with a perpetual doubt.What holds me?... Bah, that were a Cause, indeed!To prove your soul one truth, by being it,—Against the foul dishonor of the world!How else prove aught?...I talk into the air.And at my feet, my honor full of wounds.Honor? Whose honor? For I knew my sin,And she ... had none. There's nothing to avenge.
[He speaks with more and more passion, too distraught to notice interruptions. EnterDickon,with a tallow-dip. He regardsThe Playerwith half-open mouth from the corner; then stands by the casement, leaning up against it and yawning now and then.]
I had no right: that I could call her mineSo none should steal her from me, and die for't.There's nothing to avenge ... Brave beggary!How fit to lodge me in this home of Shows,With all the ruffian life, the empty mirth,The gross imposture of humanity,Strutting in virtues it knows not to wear,Knave in a stolen garment—all the same—Until it grows enamored of a lifeIt was not born to,—falls a-dream, poor cheat,In the midst of its native shams,—the thieves and bearsAnd ballad-mongers all!... Of such am I.
[Re-enterTobiasand one or twoTaverners.TobiasregardsThe Player,who does not notice anyone,—then leads offDickonby the ear. Exeunt into taproom.The Playergoes to the casement, pushes it wide open, and gazes out at the sky.]
Is there naught else?... I could make shift to bindMy heart up and put on my mail again,To cheat myself and death with one fight more,If I could think there were some worldly useFor bitter wisdom.But I'm no general,That my own hand-to-hand with evil daysShould cheer my doubting thousands....I'm no moreThan one man lost among a multitude;And in the end dust swallows them—and me,And the good sweat that won our victories.Who sees? Or seeing, cares? Who follows on?Then why should my dishonor trouble me,Or broken faith in him?What is it suffers?And why?Now that the moon is turned to blood.
[He turns towards the door with involuntary longing, and seems to listen.]
No ... no, he will not come. Well, I have naughtTo do but pluck from me my bitter heart,And live without it.
[Re-enterDickonwith a tankard and a cup. He sets them down on a small table; this he pushes towardsThe Player,who turns at the noise.]
So...? Is it for me?
Dickon.Ay, on the score! I had good sight o' the bear.Look, here's a sprig was stuck on him with pitch;—
[Rubbing the sprig on his sleeve.]
I caught it up,—from Lambeth marsh, belike.Such grow there, and I've seen thee cherish such.
The Player.Give us thy posy.
[He comes back to the fire and sits in the chair near by.Dickongets out the iron lantern from the corner.]
Dickon.Hey! It wants a light.
[The Playerseems to listen once more, his face turned towards the door. He lifts his hand as if to hushDickon,lets it fall, and looks back at the fire.Dickonregards him with shy curiosity and draws nearer.]
Dickon.Thou wilt be always minding of the fire ...Wilt thou not?
The Player.Ay.
Dickon.It likes me, too.
The Player.So?
Dickon.Ay....I would I knew what thou art thinking onWhen thou dost mind the fire....
The Player.Wouldst thou?
Dickon.Ay.
[Sound of footsteps outside. A group approaches the door.]
Oh, here he is, come back!
The Player[rising with passionate eagerness].Brave lad—brave lad!
Dickon[singing].Hang out your lanthorns, trim your lightsTo save your days from knavish nights!
[He plunges, with his lantern, through the doorway, stumbling againstWat Burrow,who enters, a sorry figure, the worse for wear.]
Wat[sourly].Be the times soft, that you must try to cleaveWay through my ribs as tho' I was the moon?—And you the man-wi-'the-lanthorn, or his dog?—You bean!...
[ExitDickon.Watshambles in and seesThe Player.]
What, you sir, here?
The Player.Ay, here, good Wat.
[WhileWatcrosses to the table and gets himself a chair,The Playerlooks at him as if with a new consciousness of the surroundings. After a time he sits as before. Re-enterDickonand curls up on the floor, at his feet.]
Wat.O give me comfort, sir. This cursèd day,—A wry, damned ... noisome.... Ay, poor Nick, poor Nick!He's all to mend—Poor Nick! He's sorely maimed,More than we'd baited him with forty dogs.'Od's body! Said I not, sir, he would fight?Never before had he, in leading-chain,Walked out to take the air and show his parts....'Went to his noddle like some greenest gull'sThat's new come up to town.... The prenticesSqueaking along like Bedlam, he breaks looseAnd prances me a hey,—I dancing counter!Then such a cawing 'mongst the women! Next,The chain did clatter and enrage him more;—You would 'a' sworn a bear grew on each link,And after each a prentice with a cudgel,—Leaving him scarce an eye! So, howling all,We run a pretty pace ... and Nick, poor Nick,He catches on a useless, stumbling fryThat needed not be born,—and bites into him.And then ... the Constable ... And now, no show!
The Player.Poor Wat!... Thou wentest scattering misadventureLike comfits from thy horn of plenty, Wat.
Wat.Ay, thank your worship. You be best to comfort.
[He pours a mug of ale.]
No show to-morrow! Minnow Constable....I'm a jack-rabbit strung up by my heelsFor every knave to pinch as he goes by!Alas, poor Nick, bear Nick ... oh, think on Nick.
The Player.With all his fortunes darkened for a day,—And the eye o' his reason, sweet intelligencer,Under a beggarly patch.... I pledge thee, Nick.
Wat.Oh, you have seen hard times, sir, with us all.Your eyes lack luster, too, this day. What say you?No jesting.... What? I've heard of marvels thereIn the New Country. There would be a knop-holeFor thee and me. There be few ConstablesAnd such unhallowed fry.... An thou wouldst layThy wit to mine—what is't we could not do?Wilt turn't about?
[Leans towards him in cordial confidence.]
Nay, you there, sirrah boy,Leave us together; as 'tis said in the play,'Come, leave us, Boy!'
[Dickondoes not move. He gives a sigh and leans his head againstThe Player'sknee, his arms around his legs. He sleeps.The Playergazes sternly into the fire, whileWatrambles on, growing drowsy.]
Wat.The cub there snores good counsel. When all's done,What a bubble is ambition!... When all's done....What's yet to do?... Why, sleep.... Yet even nowI was on fire to see myself and youOff for the Colony with Raleigh's men.I've been beholden to 'ee.... Why, for theeI could make shift to suffer plays o' Thursday.Thou'rt the best man among them, o' my word.There's other trades and crafts and qualitiesCould serve ... an thou wouldst lay thy wit to mine.Us two!... us two!...
The Player[apart, to the fire]."Fair, kind, and true."...
Wat.... Poor Nick!
[He nods over his ale. There is muffled noise in the taproom. Someone opens the door a second, letting in a stave of a song, then slams the door shut.The Player,who has turned, gloomily, starts to rise.Dickonmoves in his sleep, sighs heavily, and settles his cheek againstThe Player'sshoes.The Playerlooks down for a moment. Then he sits again, looking now at the fire, now at the boy, whose hair he touches.]
The Player.So, heavy-head. You bid me think my thoughtTwice over; keep me by, a heavy heart,As ballast for thy dream. Well, I will watch ...Like slandered Providence. Nay, I'll not beThe prop to fail thy trust untenderly,After a troubled day....Nay, rest you here.
[THE CURTAIN.]