The Complete Works of John Keats: Poems, Plays & Personal Letters. John Keats
Читать онлайн книгу.
Another sword! And what if I could seize One from Bellona’s gleaming armoury, Or choose the fairest of her sheaved spears! Where are my enemies? Here, close at hand, Here come the testy brood. O for a sword! I’m faint-a biting sword! A noble sword! A hedge-stake- or a ponderous stone to hurl With brawny vengeance, like the labourer Cain. Come on! Farewell my kingdom, and all hail Thou superb, plumb’d, and helmeted renown, All hail-I would not truck this brilliant day To rule in Pylos with a Nestor’s beard- Come on! - Enter De Kaims and Knights, &c. -
De Kaims. Is’t madness, or a hunger after death, That makes thee thus unarm’d throw taunts at us? Yield, Stephen, or my sword’s point dip in The gloomy current of a traitor’s heart.
Stephen. Do it, De Kaims, I will not budge an inch.
De Kaims. Yes, of thy madness thou shalt take the meed.
Stephen. Darest thou?
De Kaims. How dare, against a man disarm’d?
Stephen. What weapons has the lion but himself? Come not near me, De Kaims, for by the price Of all the glory I have won this day, Being a king, I will not yield alive To any but the second man of the realm, Robert of Glocester.
De Kaims. Thou shalt vail to me.
Stephen. Shall I, when I have sworn against it, sir? Thou think’st it brave to take a breathing king, That, on a court-day bow’d to haughty Maud The awed presence-chamber may be bold To whisper, there’s the man who took alive Stephen-me- prisoner. Certes, De Kaims, The ambition is a noble one.
De Kaims. ’Tis true, And, Stephen, I must compass it.
Stephen. No, no, Do not tempt me to throttle you on the gorge, Or with my gauntlet crush your hollow breast, Just when your knighthood is grown ripe and full For lordship. A SOLDIER. Is an honest yeoman’s spear Of no use at a need? Take that.
Stephen. Ah, dastard!
De Kaims. What, you are vulnerable! my prisoner!
Stephen. No not yet. I disclaim it, and demand Death as a sovereign right unto a king Who ‘sdains to yield to any but his peer, If not in title, yet in noble deeds, The Earl of Glocester. Stab to the hilts, De Kaims, For I will never by mean hands be led From this so famous field. Do ye hear! Be quick! - Trumpets. Enter the Earl of Chester and Knights.
Scene IV
A Presence Chamber. Queen Maud in a Chair of State,
the Earls of Glocester and Chester, Lords, Attendants. -
Maud. Glocester, no more: I will behold that Boulogne: Set him before me. Not for the poor sake Of regal pomp and a vain-glorious hour, As thou with wary speech, yet near enough, Hast hinted.
Glocester. Faithful counsel have I given; If wary, for your Highness’ benefit.
Maud. The Heavens forbid that I should not think so, For by thy valour have I won this realm, Which by thy wisdom I will ever keep. To sage advisers let me ever bend A meek attentive ear, so that they treat Of the wide kingdom’s rule and government, Not trenching on our actions personal. Advis’d, not school’d, I would be; and henceforth Spoken to in clear, plain, and open terms, Not sideways sermon’d at.
Glocester. Then, in plain terms, Once more for the fallen king-
Maud. Your pardon, Brother, I would no more of that; for, as I said, ’Tis not for worldly pomp I wish to see The rebel, but as dooming judge to give A sentence something worthy of his guilt.
Glocester. If’t must be so, I’ll bring him to your presence. [Exit Glocester. -
Maud. A meaner summoner might do as well- My Lord of Chester, is’t true what I hear Of Stephen of Boulogne, our prisoner, That he, as a fit penance for his crimes, Eats wholesome, sweet, and palatable food Off Glocester’s golden dishes-drinks pure wine, Lodges soft?
Chester. More than that, my gracious Queen, Has anger’d me. The noble Earl, methinks, Full soldier as he is, and without peer In counsel, dreams too much among his books. It may read well, but sure ’tis out of date To play the Alexander with Darius.
Maud. Truth! I think so. By Heavens it shall not last!
Chester. It would amaze your Highness now to mark How Glocester overstrains his courtesy To that crime-loving rebel, that Boulogne-
Maud. That ingrate!
Chester. For whose vast ingratitude To our late sovereign lord, your noble sire, The generous Earl condoles in his mishaps, And with a sort of lackeying friendliness, Talks off the mighty frowning from his brow, Woos him to hold a duet in a smile, Or, if it please him, play an hour at chess-
Maud. A perjured slave!
Chester. And for his perjury, Glocester has fit rewards-nay, I believe, He sets his bustling household’s wits at work For flatteries to ease this Stephen’s hours, And make a heaven of his purgatory; Adorning bondage with the pleasant gloss Of feasts and music, and all idle shows Of indoor pageantry; while syren whispers, Predestin’d for his ear, ‘scape as half-check’d From lips the courtliest and the rubiest Of all the realm, admiring of his deeds.
Maud. A frost upon his summer!
Chester. A queen’s nod Can make his June December. Here he comes. - -
THE END
Otho the Great