The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [154]
d’ye know one so content to sleep and bark? Peace,
boy. The king has made us peace, we leave him his in
turn.
BOY
The sun is almost lifted up.
MASTER
Come then, couple ’em, show me thou knowest which
hound suits each huntsman’s will. Not Argos,
though. Give him yet another day to lick that leg.
Exeunt
[ACT III, SCENE III]
[Location: A hall of the court, London]
Enter Cumbria and Norfolk
CUMBRIA
These months in court have emptied me of heart.
We are now imbecile1 and womanish.
I counsel thee, O Norfolk, fear what comes,
How haughty proud is Arthur of his court.
Immortal glories he proclaims and scorns
His father’s attributes as barbarous.
’Tis fools who hope their world will never end,
That only ancient kingdoms durst2 expire.
But search dull tomes of crumbled nations past,
And learn that soon before each empire’s death
Was manly virtue banished from within.
Now Arthur sets us all to scholarship
Of kingdoms and their ruin: England’s next.
NORFOLK
Great Cumbria lends voice to all my fears.
CUMBRIA
Each folly doth insist it is first-born
And nothing owes to madness gone before:
Our court’s decay3 is nothing like to Rome’s,
’Tis true, yet still will lead us to our end.
NORFOLK
I doubted4 Arthur’s realm would slave to lust,
But not to see this meacock5 court of wives.
His youthful passions are reversed left-right,
So lust remains, yet only for the queen.
The queen is all. Her crotchets6 are his toil.
CUMBRIA
He shapes each man of us into his like.
We are no men but play at manliness.
From inside we are hollowed empty armor.
The court abounds of players and of tales.
Once mighty battle ranks reform to dance.
Now fablers win his love; all deeds are thought.
This dandled7 king was ne’er a martial lord,
His brows do frown on those who counsel arms.
He longs for heaven’s peace brought down to earth,
And does beguile himself to credit too
That England’s enemies should find delight
To sit and mazèd8 wonder at his arts,
Whilst all our forces till and sell and sleep,
And will in battle’s heat abrook9 no pains.
NORFOLK
The queen had but a single holy task:
She tarried long at it, then bore no heir.
King Arthur yet forgives her useless womb.
Whilst each10 her bloody mischance cheers our foes
He claps her words, proclaims each one conceitful.11
Were I King Mordred, great, at least, in hate,12
Or Childebert, whose daughter we did scorn,
I would rain plague and war upon this land.
CUMBRIA
Doth Gloucester not advise the king our foes
Admire13 at us, wide-lipped14 as rav’ning15 dogs?
There will be death upon our kingdom’s gates.
This minstrels’ court will run with English blood.
NORFOLK
O, Arthur’s queen and Gloucester is his maid:
He wants but clout16 and tire17 to serve this hive.
CUMBRIA
Unjust to bees who know of war.18
What duty can we owe to folly’s prince?
NORFOLK
But soft, my earl. Be chary of such thought.
Our fealty’s19 not chosen, nor can be
Withdrawn when grievance burns our gorge with bile.
This king is king by God’s own will, not ours.
CUMBRIA
Let contemplation wander on a path
Where action need not follow wingèd thought.
I speak not of King Arthur’s case today,
But of the gen’ral, philosophical.
If any king doth die, by loving hand,
And kingdom thence be saved ere sands run out,
Then violence diverts no will of God
But acts it forth, as if one were His hand.
NORFOLK
But, Cumbria, this is no end of it.
That next king, stern and measured to your taste,
Must every moment fear another blade
From one erroneously reading signs
And thus misprising20 all of God’s desires.
There is no end to contemplation’s path.
Assassins breed assassins swift as hares.
We must bear under folly and dispose
The ends of kings t’the king of all our ends.
I pray you, Earl, to let such thinkings go.
CUMBRIA
Your learning suits a university.
NORFOLK
Our virtue will prevail by fearless words
And force of great example. Now, farewell.
CUMBRIA
Farewell, my friend. I will take heed of this.
Exit Norfolk.
To see the conflagration