SIR FLEUREANT.
A Cupid that brake loose
From the close service he was sent upon,
Which was to watch their meetings.
He gave it out, this was the great horse-lie Made for the other to mount.
The well is not so deep but you may see it. The Regent sometimes at the close of day Has fits of lowness and is wearied much
With galloping so long from post to post, And then my lady hath the voice of a bird Which entertains his ears.
SIR FLEUREANT.
Which being past
I would not swear that you had learnt good manners; That you'd been whipp'd as often as need was In breeding of you up, I would not swear;
I would not swear that what you wanted then Has not been since made good; I would not swear—
Quarter, quarter!-truce to your would not swearing! Here is the Regent.
Enter ARTEVELDE with ELENA.
Sir Fleureant, I have pled in your behalf And gain'd you audience; for the rest, your trust Is in your eloquence.
In nothing better? I had placed my trust Not in the eloquence of rugged man,
But woman's fair fidelity.
I will not task your tongue for eloquence, Though it be ne'er so ready.
But an intruder. I will say no more,
Save that the lady's choice, be what it may, Commands my utmost means and best good-will.
Stay, stay, Cecile; you will attend me here.
You come, sir, from my lord the Duke of Bourbon, And why you come I partly can collect
From what the Regent spake. The Duke's desire Is that I join him presently in France.
Such is his-what?-his madness had I called it Before I saw you,-but I call it now Only his bitter fate, that nothing gay In palaces or courts can win him off From thoughts of you, that nothing high or great In policy or war has power to move him, Nothing which fame awaits, ambition woos, Whilst you are absent entertains his mind.
I'm sorry if my absence vex the Duke. Sorry if it offend him.
SIR FLEUREANT.
"Tis a grief
More cutting as anticipated less;
For though the tie had not the Church's sanction, He had not deem'd it therefore less secure.
Such faith was his in what he thought was faith In her he loved, that all the world's traditions Of woman's hollow words and treacherous wiles Could not unfix him from his fast belief. Moreover he has proffer'd deeds of gift As ample as the dowry of a duchess, Would you but meet his wishes and return But for a day, and should you find thenceforth Just cause of discontent, with this rich freight Might you depart as freely as before.
The Duke has been most liberal of his offers, And I have said I'm sorry to fall out With what his grace desires :-that is not all- His grace has been as liberal of reproaches; But what, then, is his grief? Alas! alas! The world's traditions may be true that speak Of woman's infidelities and wiles,
But truer far that scripture is which saith 'Put not your trust in princes.'
And would amaze him much. In what, I pray,
Men, sir, think it little;
'Tis less than little in a prince's judgment; In woman's estimation it is much.
I would entreat you to explain it farther.
So I design: thus tell the Duke from me : I could have loved him once-not with the heat Of that affection which himself conceived- (For this poor heart had prodigally spent Its fund of youthful passion ere we met)— But with a reasonably warm regard. This could I have bestow'd for many a year, And did bestow at first, and all went well. But soon the venomous world wherein we lived Assail'd the prince with jocular remark And question keen, importing that his soul Was yoked in soft subjection to a woman; And were she of good life and conversation, Insidious slanderers said, 'twere not so strange, But he is vanquish'd by his paramour!
So the word went, and as it reach'd his ear From time to time repeated, he grew cold, Captious, suspicious, full of slights and cavils, Asserting his supremacy in words
Of needless contradiction. This I bore Though not by such sad change unalienate; But presently there came to me reports, Authentic though malignant, of loose gibes Let fall among his retinue, whereby His grace, to keep his wit in good repute For shrewdness, and to boast his liberty,
« AnteriorContinuar » |