The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [135]
know the future! Perhaps we’ll fly a Saxon army, or
this overbold river o’er-wet the fields and town, or a
pox to carry every third man to his end? So tell me,
Joan, what knowest thou of Thursday next?
SHEPHERDESS
Turnmelon!15, 16 Thinkest thou such serpent tongues
as thine have ne’er hissed sweet to me? What know I
of Thursday! Pah! I know I fear it not. I know it will
will from this day be different so little as those two
green grasses are the one the other. I know I’ll see it
from this willow or that one there, where my bell-
wether17 likes best the sweet clover. I’ll sit here
Thursday, my flower-prince, upon this very throne.
Can I so easy outsee thee by seeing that? Where
wilt thou be Thursday? Afeard18 boy, doth Thursday
next or ten years on danger thee to quaking?
ARTHUR
Ha! I do love thee, Joan. Nay, no day at thy side, afloat
in this broad main19 of green can fright me. I tell
thee, Joan, I know it, I’ll ne’er leave thy side. I
cannot see a day, Thursday or other, when I would
would not feel as I do now. I am a turtle,20 have no
conceit21 of a time but this, a planted, growing,
swelling seed forever.
SHEPHERDESS
Growing, swelling, aye, aye.22 Just words, no different
if thou speakest or make mute that voice, the sun
moves no fleeter for all thy wild tongue doth whip.
ARTHUR
Queen of wisdom! Chide me roughly, then! Close my
vexing mouth, prison my rebel words under soft lock.
Come, make fast my silence.
[They kiss]
Flourish, trumpets off, cries [of] “Arthur,” “Prince”
SHEPHERDESS
They call some royal name.
ARTHUR
Some hapless duke, bid to weigh some caitiff’s23 claim
of law, or called to lead trembling boys to buffets
’gainst Saxon steel.
Cries off
SHEPHERDESS
They seek him at an inch now. They will upon us.
ARTHUR
I bleed remorse for such a one as this, his days in
chambers, closets,24 armor. I had fled by breakfast
were I that cursed prince.
SHEPHERDESS
They come, they come, now nigh.25 Yet none of
princely mien26 are by. Wherefore should they
disturb our close quiet?
ARTHUR
Ah, ah, ah, unless thou art some lady playing at
pastoral belike,27 beflowering her skirts! I see now,
tricksy, thy flock are courtiers, thy ladies attendant
linger above, enbranched and dressed in leaves and
birds-nest. And there thy most lank-lean chamberlain28
will slip loose at thy command to bite my ankles.
Cries off
SHEPHERDESS
But still they come at us.
ARTHUR
Then I must needs flee ere your highness has me
sequestered at your pleasure into a dungeon, or
stretched an inch or two for my rude attentions.
SHEPHERDESS
Patch!29 Jackdaw!30 Whither away? Thou runnest,
thou runnest.
ARTHUR
But from your sergeants at arms. If thou art not some
hidden queen, be here for me an hour hence and I’ll
to thee. Stand’st thou affected31 to swear it?
SHEPHERDESS
Wouldst flee? Then flee. Wherefore? But here, a
token, and from thee.
[They exchange tokens]
ARTHUR
An hour, an hour.
SHEPHERDESS
Lies and lies, but here I’ll be an hour on and an hour
yet ’til folding,32 and days and days if thou wilt have
me.
Cries off
ARTHUR
An hour, but a single hour, Joan, I swear it.
Exeunt
ACT I, SCENE III
[Location: the] Pictish court
Flourish and trumpets. Enter Loth of Pictland in litter, Conranus of Scotland, Mordred of Rothesay,1 [Calvan], Alda,2, 3 and others
LOTH
Too hot, my son, too hot.4
MORDRED
There were a time,
My lord, such heat did blast5 from your own bile,
When all did know King Loth of Pictland’s moods.
For when but crabbed6 he havoc-shaked this isle,
Provoked to whirling bangstry7 and dread force,
He threw down Grampian8 mount to vent his gall.9
Think I forgot what was to be your son?
CONRANUS
Leave off, fierce Duke, your father begs his rest.
MORDRED
Nay, Uncle, I’m the deathsman10 of repose.—
[To Loth] Your vigor melts away too soon, great king.
Think on your crown! Hold on11 with sovereign’s
cares,
Not fall away from temporal affairs,
To forward12 dwell in heaven’s seigniory13
While yet your shape doth fill that earthly seat,
But bridle