The Tragedy of Arthur_ A Novel - Arthur Phillips [162]
SUMNER
We only show our back and leave the Irish standing,
for the king did lose his errant queen meantime.
Inconsiderate, say I.
DENTON
He had kept her clapped up close, she would not stray
so.4
BELL
D’ye think the sky is lit to warn us? Or tell we will be
punished for his sins? His father was not wed to his
dam. Perhaps we cannot win more, whatever valor’s
shown. I would go home. I would be off this pitching
boat!
DENTON
I like thee now thy fire’s cooled from time thou wert
glory’s bawcock.5
BELL
I am not afraid.
DENTON
Then thou art no man. The noise is there to fear.
BELL
I am not fearing. Not much. I only would stop. My
guts do dance.
SUMNER
And half the men’s step live to dance with thine.
There’s a devil’s fever aboard our merry squiff,6 and
and we will set to land with fewer hands than took to
took to Ireland.
BELL
I will not number nor make plaint of the count nor any
mischance yet to come, if we but greet the land.
[VOICES OFF]
Humber’s mouth! Humber’s mouth!—Strike her!7
DENTON
Then here is land for thee and I wish thee every joy
awaiting, Bell. Here’s land as thou wouldst wish, but
thou’lt soon call back the ship, for up there is
nought but the cannon’s jaws set to prattling.
BELL
I’ll up, beshrew the cannon, beshrew the rain.
DENTON
The cold-forged nails.
BELL
Aye, the nails, beshrew the nails, I’ll be gladly wet in
the first boat that drops and points toward the green.
SUMNER
And we behind you, lad. Lead on.
Exeunt
ACT V, SCENE III
[Location: The English camp on the Humber River]
Enter Arthur
ARTHUR
Our backs are pressed to th’raging Humber’s waves;
There is no way but forward, as in life.
Our feet are pulled into this water-turf,
So eager is some fate to see us earthed.
What chronicle will soon be writ of us
In this so yielding and unyielding ooze?
Is this the promised end to such a realm
As I had built upon my father’s wars?
If Arthur’s story ends in quaggy1 field,
How will it play and how best fill a stage?
Some sermoner2 for epilogue intones:
“Deserving nought of fortune’s gifts to him,
He squandered them in rage and lust and haste.”
It is not right for right:3 the stain of birth
Was ne’er forgot nor ne’er forgave in me,
No matter I upraised a gloried realm.
No vantage e’er was granted me but I
Must front4 battalions of others’ wills:
The rival kings and discontented lords!
I could have fled to France, or shepherd’s life,
And this gray night be lost with Guenhera.
’Twere offered me anew, I would abjure.
Abjuring, I would choose to live in peace.
In peace, I might escape this grip of shame,
A shame that I have failed to be myself,
And yet that self can only be a king,
So abjuration is forbidden me.
I am no author of my history.
What man knows aught of his own chronicle?
Or kens5 what ill tomorrow hides for him?
So let us greet headlong—if mud allows—
Such end as heaven will: I will not wait.
Enter Gloucester, Cumbria, Cornwall, etc.
My lords, well met this night for promenade!
I was but now considering my joy
To find myself again with you beside.
How shall we to the queen, by foot or boat,
Or dangling each from tercel-gentle’s6 talons?
CORNWALL
My king, our pikes stand recklessly enranked.
We yield all vantage an we fight from here.
GLOUCESTER
Nor hoof nor boot might hope to leave this field:
Advance in mud or else retire in waves.
CUMBRIA
We want for arrows and our carriages
Of culverin are sunken to their caps.7
ARTHUR
I would a fletcher8 and a gardener,
Good friends, appear from air, or heaven’s car9
Might tumble from above to scorch this mud.
But Constantine, my queen, thy sister, weeps
For thee and me an arrow’s weak flight hence.
If any here do quail at mud, then go
With love and venge my death another day.
Come dawn—if sun can pierce these Yorkish clouds—
I will alone trudge through this birdlime muck,
Encouched up to the chest if God desire,
To fetch my queen and heir, and give the fico10
To these o’ertopping11 dung-breathed caterans.12—
Enter Ambassadors