KING RICHARD
[Starts up.]
Mort Dieu!
CHAUCER
“Carte blanche,” my liege!
Six years ago in London, when the mob
Roared round your stirrups, Wat the Tyler laid
His hand upon your bridle. “Sacrilege!”
Cried the Lord Mayor, and Wat Tyler fell
Dead.
[The crowd murmurs.]
GLOUCESTER
[To Richard, remonstratingly.]
Nephew!
[The King, sitting again, motions Gloucester silence.]
CHAUCER
Whereat you, your Majesty—
God save you, a mere boy, a gallant boy—
Cried out: “Good fellows, have you lost your captain?
I am your King, and I will be your captain.”
[The pilgrims cheer.]
Have you forgotten how they cheered? Then hark!
Once more that “porkish rabble” you shall hear
Make music sweeter than your laureate’s odes.
[Turning to the crowd.]
Pilgrims and friends, deep-hearted Englishmen,
This is your King who called himself your captain.
PILGRIMS
[Shout.]
God save the King!
CHAUCER
My liege, my dear young liege,
Are these the dull grunts of the swinish herd,
Or are they singing hearts of Englishmen?
Where isthe gentleman, whose ermined throat
Shall strain a nobler shout? “When Adam delved”—
Sire, Adam’s sons are delving still, and he
Who scorns to set his boot-heel to the spade
Is but a bastard.
KING RICHARD
[Jumps up again.]
’Swounds!
PILGRIMS
God save Dan Chaucer!
KING RICHARD
[To Chaucer.]
Give me thy hand. God’s eyes! These knaves cheer you
Louder than me. Go tell the churls I love ’em.
CHAUCER
[To the pilgrims.]
His Majesty bids me present you all
Before him, as his fellow Englishmen.
KING RICHARD
[As the pilgrims approach.]
Fellows, God bless you!
[To Chaucer.]
Thanks.
[Snatching away his looking-glass from the hand of De Vere, who is making a comic face at Chaucer, he smashes it upon the ground.]
[Snatching away his looking-glass from the hand of De Vere, who is making a comic face at Chaucer, he smashes it upon the ground.]
DE VERE
Sweet Dick!
ARCHBISHOP
My liege,
The holy canopy is being raised.
[A medley of sweet bells is heard from within the Cathedral.The pilgrims crowd about Chaucer.]
CHAUCER
Give me your hands, my friends. You hear the bells
Which call us to the holy martyr’s shrine.
Give me your hands, dear friends; and so farewell:
You, honest parson—sly Bob—testy Jack—
Gentle Sir Knight—bold Roger—Master Franklin—
All, all of you!—Call me your vintner still,
And I will brew you such a vintage as
Not all the saps that mount to nature’s sun
Can match in April magic. They who drink it—
Yes, though it be after a thousand years,
When this our shrine, which like the Pleiades
Now glitters, shall be bare and rasèd stone,
And this fresh pageant mildewed history—
Yet they who drink the vintage I will brew
Shall wake, and see a vision, in their wine,
Of Canterbury and our pilgrimage:
These very faces, with the blood in them,
Laughter and love and tang of life in them,
These moving limbs, this rout, this majesty!
For by that resurrection of the Muse,
Shall you, sweet friends, re-met in timeless Spring,
Pace on through time upon eternal lines
And ride with Chaucer in his pilgrimage.
[A deep bell sounds.]
ARCHBISHOP
My liege, St. Thomas will receive his pilgrims.
[The King, lords, and people, forming in procession, beginto move toward the entrance of the Cathedral.]
CHAUCER
[To Prioress.]
Madame, will you walk in with me?
PRIORESS
Monsieur,
If you will offer this at Thomas’ shrine.
CHAUCER
Your brooch!
PRIORESS
Our brooch.
CHAUCER
When shall we meet again?
PRIORESS
Do you forget our star?
CHAUCER
Forget our star!
Not while the memory of beauty pains
AndAmor vincit omnia.
[The heralds blare their trumpets; the priests swing their censers; the choir-boys, slowly entering the Cathedral, chant their hymn to St. Thomas, in which all the pilgrims join. Just as Chaucer and the Prioress are about to enter, the curtain falls.]
[The heralds blare their trumpets; the priests swing their censers; the choir-boys, slowly entering the Cathedral, chant their hymn to St. Thomas, in which all the pilgrims join. Just as Chaucer and the Prioress are about to enter, the curtain falls.]
Explicit pars quarta.
FINIS.