The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [133]
To kneel, with sharp-toothed bolts1 in ready bows.
ARTHUR
Fair gentle Gloucester, keeper of my state,
I love thee well for all thy tender care.
But here alone where war doth not intrude,
Thou art too careful of this Prince of Wales.
Believest thou she’d strike with will to slay?
GLOUCESTER
With carving razor tusk, she’ll pierce your plate2
As if she cut through velvet pilèd thin.
ARTHUR
Her carving tusk?
GLOUCESTER
My lord?
ARTHUR
We shout beyond
Each other’s ears. While long thou prat’st3 of boars,
How is’t, dear friend, thy heart did slip the trap
Laid sly by that reclining shepherdess?
GLOUCESTER
A shepherdess?
ARTHUR
An echo keeps my state!
The shepherdess who there within a grove
Doth lie and also lies: she feigns to sleep.
Speak troth, thou marked her not?
GLOUCESTER
My prince, I marked
The boar, your prey.
ARTHUR
And thee I pray to tempt
Me not with tales of bacon in the wood,
When finer cates4 do savor5 there below.
GLOUCESTER
Young liege,6 I know you will leave off to do
These hot pursuits, which ill beseem a prince.
I’d bid you study of your Christian soul,
And chaste again you’ll join with me at hunt.
ARTHUR
O, gray old Duke of Gloucester, kindly lord,
For all thy gifts, sage counsel, and sweet care
I mean to clip thee to my kingly breast
When round my temples flows the stream of gold.7
But be not now nor then a wit-poor prophet,
Who cloaks his lank advice in piety.
I would not have my second father’s voice
Now sing this priestly strain,8 nay, Duke, not you.
GLOUCESTER
Do you then call me father, good my prince?
With love I call you only son, from when
That night our gate did croak and murder sleep,9
There came a courser,10 black against the sky,
And wondrous dispatch from th’embattled king
Was read to me, great confidence bestowed.
Then soldiers pushed th’unwilling nurse to me,
I marked the fardle11 in her weak, old arms,
All swathed12 were you in clouts13 of Orient red.14
And she did sob to you, “Farewell, my boy,”
And would not ope her fists to give thee o’er.
Then I and my new bride, yet half abed,
Before we passed scarce one black night’s embrace,
Did gaze upon a tiny boy’s bare head.
ARTHUR
A mother more than my own dam was she,
Your blessèd wife.
GLOUCESTER
Who lived else issueless,
And loved you as her son unto her grave.
Cries off
ARTHUR
Thy pig attends her shrift15 and final words,
While I do lay in charge my spear at mutton.16
GLOUCESTER
Then have you nothing of a conscience, Prince?
ARTHUR
I have a conscience of a nothing, Duke.17
And ere I float upon remembered days,
Or lose a stone18 to that hog’s truffling chaps,19
I’ll take me down the hill to where she droops,20
And dreams soft or of princes or of swains.21
Whiche’er Mab22 soweth that I’ll ear.23 Now to her!24
Exit [Arthur]
GLOUCESTER
“In Gloucestershire is Arthur safe from war.”
Thus read King Uter’s posted words, and Gloucester—
When time was25 war-like Gloucester—was unmanned.
Each freshly knighted squire, each new-made earl—
To hollowed title raised, for lack of pates
To fill the bloodied casques of warm dead lords—
Did frown on me, a nurse, far off from war.
I nothing chose, but did obey my king:
Not only stand protector for the prince,
But warrant him the future of the realm,
Be England’s Mentor26 to the Prince of Wales
And tend a manly heir to wisely reign
Then banish war from off our bloodied shores.
I ne’er had other son, nor wife for long.
The day I cut that boy a sword of lath27
And leapt for him and made to die when touched28
And held him pick-a-back29 near all the day,
Smacks30 not more distant flown than half a week.
Yet he was never mine, but only lent.
Now bounds away this gallant-springing31 man,
No more a boy mistaking me for Mars,
But cockered,32 half-made prince ’pon whose slight arm
Anon must trusting lean all Albion.33
I am to raise a king or fly with one
As fate decrees, and vicious Saxon34 arms,
And Scottish breed-bates’35 whining discontent.
To lead or to be led. For both he’s