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^/^ichard Caeur cie Xlon 
 
 BALLARD BROWNLEE McAVOY 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1903, by 
 
 Ballard Brozvnlce McAvoy, 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. D. C. 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 JAN 23 1904 
 
 ^ Copyright Entry 
 
 )pyB 
 
 
 / 
 
il 
 
 t 
 
 N WRITING Richard CcEur de Lion I have conformed 
 with history as far as I deemed it compatible with 
 dramatic action and chmaxes — most of the characters 
 and incidents being historical, though I may herein 
 have presented them, particularly the incidents, some- 
 what different from the true version. What fiction I 
 have used is centered chiefly in the love of Joan, King 
 Richard's sister, and Blondel, the minstrel. The vast 
 distance of rank between the royal Joan and the minstrel 
 may cause some to exclaim against the improbability of 
 such a love; but I believe the thoughtful will agree with 
 the author that there are no improbabilities in love, for, 
 as Blondel says, "Cupid hath ways mysterious and 
 shoots his arrows strange." King Richard's reign was 
 so replete with romance and drama that I found it a 
 difficult matter to select any special period of his life for 
 my work. However, after a great deal of study and con- 
 sideration, I shaped the play in this way: The begin- 
 ning of the conspiracy against him in Palestine, his 
 shipwreck and capture in Austria, his imprisonment, his 
 discovery by Blondel in the castle of Trifels, his trial, 
 vindication and release, and his triumphal return to Eng- 
 land. If I have failed in completing an interesting play, 
 either to the student or the stage, it is not the fault of 
 the material at hand, but entirely of the author. 
 
RICHARD CCEUR DE UON. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON^. 
 
 ^? 
 
 Richard I., King of England (known 
 
 as Coeur de Lion). 
 Henry VI., Emperor of Germany. 
 Cardinal ov Cologne. 
 Archbishop of Mentz. 
 Archbishop of Saltzburg. 
 Leopold, Duke of Austria,] enemies 
 Conrad of Montferrat, f- of 
 Duke of Burgundy, J Richard. 
 
 Lord Baldwin, 1 friends of 
 Lord De \"aux, j Richard. 
 Prior of Hereford. 
 Blondel dE NeslE, King Richard's 
 
 minstrel. 
 Meinhard, an inn-keeper in Austria. 
 A Page. 
 First Citizen. 
 Second Citizen. 
 Third Citizen. 
 
 EeEanor, Richard's mother. Queen 
 Dowager of England. 
 
 BerEngaria, Queen of England. 
 
 Joan, Richard's sister. Queen Dow- 
 ager of Sicily. 
 
 Chorus, messengers, attendants, 
 sailors, soldiers, citizens, etc. 
 
 Scene: 
 
 Act I, Palestine; Act II. Austria; 
 Act III, Scene i, England, the 
 rest Germany; Act IV, Ger- 
 many; Act V, England. 
 
 Time: 
 Reign Richard I. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Now let imagination paint the scene 
 
 That history records. In Palestine, 
 
 Where He, whose footprints Time will ne'er efface, 
 
 Did tread the path to everlasting life, 
 
 It lies : there is the theatre, the stage ; 
 
 Armies the actors, kings and princes, too ; 
 
 Whereon the world's great eye, with piercing glance, 
 
 Doth watch the movements of the warrior hosts : 
 
 The English, Austrian, French, and Saracen, 
 
 Who, countless as the drops of ocean's waste, 
 
 Dot white the plains and hills with tent and camp. 
 
RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 O holy land ! O sacred, blessed land ! 
 
 Salvation's birthplace, Jesus' native home, 
 
 What pity 'tis that war should soil thy soil 
 
 With slaughter's scarlet hue ! O shame that strife 
 
 Should thrive where Peace and Charity were born ! 
 
 Yet thus it happ'd : The war-like Infidels 
 
 Have ta'en the tomb of Christ : the tocsin sounds ! 
 
 Look! look! see Europe's chivalry arouse! 
 
 Richard of England, Philip, King of France. 
 
 With lesser satellites jump quick to arms; 
 
 Nay, none so mean but answer to the cry : 
 
 "Remember the Most Holy Sepulchre !" 
 
 Behold the royal fleets of Christendom 
 
 Set sail for Palestine ; at Acre land. 
 
 Bloody assaults and sieges follow close. 
 
 Destruction, carnage, battles' rage ; wherein 
 
 The lion Richard's mighty might evokes 
 
 The wonder of the marvelling world, shaking, 
 
 With trembling fear, the hearts of Musselmen ; 
 
 His giant prowess pigmies Hecules', 
 
 And dances jo}^ within the Christian camp. 
 
 But now, alas ! droops victory her wings ; 
 
 Disruption comes in envy's guise, for lo ! 
 
 Philip, bit by the tooth of jealousy, 
 
 Returns to France; Conrad of Montferrat. 
 
 Base Austria, Burgundy conspire against 
 
 Heroic Richard. Why? His deeds so bright 
 
 Outshine the glow of these black princes' light. 
 
 While valor hath its fame it grows much hate. 
 
 Which springs from jealous minds and envy's state. 
 
 From now we beg attention. 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Sce;ne I. 
 A Street ill A sea I on. 
 
 Enter Dk Vaux and Baldwin ; and Blondkl /"/'(;//; 
 the opposite side of the stage. 
 
 De Vaii.v. Give thee good morrow, sweet Blondel. 
 
 Blon. Sweet lords 
 
 Good morrow, sirs. 
 
 Bald. Come ; play upon your lute. 
 
 Blon. What would you have, my lords? 
 
 Dc Vans. A martial strain; 
 
 A song of victory, of war, and conquest. 
 
 Blon. (Pieks tJie stri>igs bnt fails to strike a tune.) 
 Alas ! my lute rehels ; 'tis not in tune 
 For lively themes. 
 
 Bald. Why, what is this, Blondel ? 
 
 Many a time I've heard you strike such notes 
 Battles were set to music; ravish'd us 
 Till that we saw the glittering helmets of 
 The foe ; heard groans of dying men ; the sweep 
 Of rushing cavalry. 
 
 Blon. Then was my soul 
 And lute in harmony. But now 
 
 De J^anx. But now? 
 
 How now? What is amiss? 
 
 Blon. Amiss? I miss 
 
 Thy meaning. 
 
 De J'au.v. You look sad; there is a cloud 
 Across your sunny face. 
 
 Bald. Gloom shows in thee. 
 
 But shows not why 'tis thine. 
 
 De J^aus. Why, wdio had thought 
 
 Our merry minstrel here, our sweet Blondel, 
 l"jni):)diment of smiles and happiness. 
 Of mirth, delight, joy, music, poetry, 
 Was ever touch'd with trouble's sour aspect? 
 
8 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bio II. What heart but hath its dreary hours? 
 Earth is not paradise ; if 'twere, none more 
 In bliss than I. Most-time, in fancies, dreams, 
 And pleasantries, Elysium is mine ; 
 When eke these gut-strings melodies divine, 
 I soar to the empyreal realm, and on 
 A bank of roses lie, lilies my pillow, 
 Violets at my fcct perfuming all 
 The air deliciously. Ah ! happy time ! 
 No care, no sorrow, sadness, trouble then : 
 Sun-beams the threads with which I weave my thoughts, 
 Embellish'd with the silver glints of moon. 
 Still yet a shadow's come, and hides these things : 
 Roses and violets fade; jaundic'd the lilies; 
 Eclips'd the sun ; Apollo's dead ; my lute 
 Unstrung, and, full of doubts, surmises, fears. 
 Suspicions, dire disasters, murder, blood, 
 I wander in the valley of nightmare. 
 
 De Vau.r. Out with foul weather : pour thy rain on us ! 
 
 Blon. Who is not loath to weigh his friend's heart down, 
 Grieves both himself and friend. I'll hold my tongue. 
 
 Bald. Blondel, you wound us with suspense whose lance 
 More sharply cuts for that you say of ills 
 Most dark; forebodings gross in evil scope. 
 I charge thee speak. 
 
 Blon. Know, then, my noble lords. 
 
 Our journey here in Palestine is done. 
 
 Dc J\ui.v. What! is our pilgrimage so near an end? 
 
 Blou. Look on the picture as it is; observe 
 How rife dissension's in our Christian camp ; 
 How rotten jealousy hath been the wedge 
 To split success asunder : union hath fled ; 
 Disruption, like an antic, grins at our 
 Dismay ; whiles Conrad, Austria, Burgundy, 
 Scoff at King Richard's deeds, and hold aloof 
 Their troops, who, with compact and serried action. 
 Ere this had ta'en the holy sepulchre. 
 
ACT 1. SCENE I. 9 
 
 Dc J\7u.v. Why, let them snHv and pout: more glory ours. 
 Richard's invincible ! Jerusalem, 
 
 And Christ's dear, blessed tomb, his glorious sword 
 Will wrest from Saladin ! 
 
 Blo)i. Plagues, pestilence. 
 
 Vile treachery, defection, mutiny. 
 Are sores that bravery cannot heal, my lords. 
 What mortal could hath Richard done. Alas! 
 'Tis over now. 
 
 Bald. No, no ; not yet, Blondel. 
 
 Blon. Brave Baldwin, I do speak whereof T know. 
 I play'd before his majesty to-day. 
 He was not merry as his wont ; upon 
 His Jove-like front hung trouble; sorrow in 
 His voice: "We'll back to England soon," said he. 
 "Ah me!" said I. "But 1 will here again!" 
 Said he, with all his lion nature roused, 
 "And when I come, none but bold Britons shall 
 I bring; no trust in Erance or Austria." 
 No more he said, but sore his anguish was. 
 Eo ! from his eagle eye a dew-drop fell. 
 
 Dc Vait.r. A tear in Richard's eye ! That tear doth tear 
 My very soul. 
 
 Bald. O noble Richard, how 
 
 Thy glor}^ shines ! too bright for envy's night 
 To cast a shade, or darken its great light. 
 
 Blon. But hear me yet: more fears I own than sadness. 
 My mind is full of reptiles ; scorpions gnaw 
 My peace : look well to Richard ; guard him well. 
 
 De Vaiix. Doth danger threaten him? He mocks at guards. 
 
 Blon. He, whose strong arm's most tit to guard himself, 
 Still needs more guard than he the feeblest in 
 The camp. 
 
 Bald. Unfold thy mystery. 
 
 Blon. 'Tis thus: 
 
 Envy breeds malice ; malice, hate ; and hate. 
 Revenge ! Who that hath eyes to see, sees not 
 
10 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 In Conrad, Burgundy, and Austria. 
 
 These ominous tokens of calamity? 
 
 How doth hypocrisy ahide where hate 
 
 Exists ! Doth Richard come, watch close their play : 
 
 All smiles, and smirks, obeisance, bows, respect; 
 
 But gone, goes falseness; they themselves, forsooth. 
 
 Not painted pictures then : anger aflame. 
 
 With clinched fists sawing the air like madmen. 
 
 Pale hate making their faces hideous as 
 
 A ghost ; there's murder in their looks. 
 
 Dc Faux But soft! 
 
 Behold they come. 
 
 Enter Conrad, Austria, and Burgundy. 
 
 Bald. (In a /ozc tone) Base, villainous hounds ! 
 
 Alts. Sir ! 
 
 Bald. I spake not for your hearing ; heard you what 
 I spoke, judge it my thought in words. 
 
 Con. Ha ! hounds? 
 
 Base villainous hounds? 
 
 Bald. Even so much I said. 
 
 Dc Faitx. So much and more do T : you traitors, toads 
 
 Bnr. Insolent Englishman ! 
 
 Dc J''au.v. Proud, haughty France ! 
 
 Con. Curs ! 
 
 Aus. Dogs of England ! 
 
 Dc Vaux. Sheep in soldiers' hides. 
 
 Feel ye our teeth I 
 (They iight; Dc J'anx, Baldwin, and Blondcl press them back.) 
 
 Aus. Ho, Austria ! 
 
 Bur. Ho, France ! 
 
 (Enter French and Austrian soldiers, who press back Dc Faux. 
 Baldwin, and Blondcl.) 
 
 Dc Faux. King Richard. England, and Saint George! 
 (Rush in English soldiers; a general Ught ensues: then sud- 
 denly enter Richard in great anger.) 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. II 
 
 Rich. Confusion on your heads! Ye tigers! will 
 Ye fight and tear each other's throats? Ye that 
 Should strike no blow save in our Saviour's cause? 
 Forbear ! Who moves, moves Richard's arm : tastes death ! 
 
 {They cease at once.) 
 Ha ! now I see my sword is not forgot, 
 Which many times in single battle hath 
 Clove full an hundred skulls ! Out on you. lords ! 
 Out, out, Blondel ! disturbing so our peace. 
 \re not asham'd to make a shambles here? 
 \^ou should be raging tigers 'gainst the foe, 
 kit lambs among yourselves. 
 
 Bloii. Your majesty 
 
 De J\iu.v. My liege 
 
 Bald. Dread sovereign, hear us speak. 
 
 {Richard sees Conrad, Austria, and Burgundy.) 
 
 Rich. Mine eyes 
 
 :t for your tongues : I see ; seeing, forgive. 
 
 ich foes more hostile are than Musselmen : 
 
 ) enemy so false as a false friend. 
 
 retches ! far worthy more the name of foe 
 
 nan is the most fell Infidel ! Vipers ! 
 'onrad of Montferrat, base Austria, 
 \nd thou, proud duke of Burgundy, hear me : 
 3 traitors, faithless soldiers of the Cross ! 
 Three Judases bought with black envy's spite, 
 Who, aiding me, had won Jerusalem, 
 But, holding back that aid, stung victory, 
 And fail'd our mission here, upon your heads 
 May every drop of our dear English blood. 
 A.nd every drop of every Frenchman's blood. 
 And every drop of every Austrian's blood. 
 Shed for the sepluchre, rest each a curse ! 
 May ills alight on you as numberless 
 As are the crimson sands stain'd by that blood ! 
 Sleep never close your eyes, or, being yours. 
 Hell send dread dreams ; if conscience have, be it 
 
12 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 A patch of threads torn by remorse's thorn ; 
 And, dying, die with you the joy that's left. 
 For faihng Christ, shall Christ fail yon at death ! 
 Remember Richard's curse. 
 
 {Exeunt all hut Conrad, Austria, and Burgundy. 
 Aus. That will we, king. 
 
 Which, naught to us, shall be thy death knell's ring! 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Night. Without the i^'alls of Ascalon. 
 
 Enter Conrad, Austria, and Burgundy. 
 
 Bur. Show not 3^onr anger so. 
 
 Con. Wax not so wroth. 
 
 Rage's high flames light up your night of hate. 
 Making your heart as open as the day. 
 'Tis most unwise. 
 
 Bur. We must be crafty now: 
 
 Foxes in guile ; our faces mirrors to 
 Soft thoughts ; our voices low. 
 
 Con. Without, a calm; 
 
 Within, a furious sea to sink our bark 
 When time for action comes. 
 
 Alls. Why have such care? 
 
 Here are we free from pester of the town. 
 
 Con. Wisdom is temperate, and, that we would, 
 It needs we should be wise ; therefore, be calm. 
 
 Aus. Had you such cause as I to ruffle speech. 
 Your tone had been as harsh as thunder's crack ; 
 Nor yet the howling tempest's blast so shrill. 
 
 Bur. Who more than I has borne his insults, taunt; 
 Brook'd injuries? Seen glory circle round 
 His head that should in part crown us? Heard songs 
 Of praise bearing no name but Richard's? 
 
ACT I. SCENE II. 13 
 
 He is a serpent in my path ! 
 
 Con. Strong are 
 
 Such reasons to grow hate ; still stronger mine : 
 In me there is a ground more fertile for 
 Its seed. You know the story well, my lords : 
 Jerusalem's death gave controversy birth : 
 Who's king? Guy of Lusignan or myself? 
 Richard with Guy, Philip of France with me. 
 Though since, for some shrewd, diplomatic stroke, 
 By Richard seat'd, I hold mine enmity ; 
 Deep in my memory's a rankling sore. 
 
 Bur. With what a pompous dignity he struts ! 
 
 Con. How like a Jupiter he doth assume ! 
 
 Bur. While we, as young boys subject to their mam, 
 In field and council have no tongue. For this 
 Did noble Philip back to France. 
 
 Aus. My lords. 
 
 Great are your wrongs (as custom goes, I judge 
 You by myself), so must your hate be great; 
 But I, this day, have had a wrong that, like 
 A mountain, towers o'er these lesser slights. 
 Firing my anger to the whitest heat. 
 
 Con. The hottest fires burn quick and die ; lives long 
 A smouldering spark. 
 
 Ans. This blaze hath scorch'd my soul. 
 
 And it will never out till he that lit 
 It burns in hell ! See ! here upon my cheek 
 The mark of Richard's hand ! 
 
 Con. What! Struck he you? 
 
 Alts. He slapp'd my face ! the face of Austria ! 
 
 Bur. Ruffian of England ! 
 
 Aus. O humiliation ! 
 
 That that blue blood of Austria's royal house 
 Should e'er be drawn by him ! In public, too ! 
 Numbers of workmen were repairing walls, . 
 Impatient Richard, hot with haste, gave aid. 
 Tugging huge stones, and straining with the sweat 
 
14 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Of drudges" toil. — Base use for royalty ! — 
 Disdainfully I stood, when, suddenly, 
 He bade me work ; commanded me to labor ! 
 "I am no mason, nor a mason's son," 
 Said I. With that he struck me. 
 
 Coil 'Sblood ! And you ? 
 
 Struck 3'ou not him ? 
 
 Bur. Or threw your gauntlet down? 
 
 Alls. Had you. Conrad? Had you, sweet Burgundy? 
 Ha! Silent? Well, I blame you not. my lords; 
 No mortal can withstand his wondrous strength. 
 O how that blow blew up a hurricane. 
 That roots all mercy as the storm an oak. 
 
 Coji. Let's to our purpose. 
 
 Alls. Blood for blood. 
 
 Bur. I would. 
 
 And I would not : I would the deed were done. 
 Yet would not speak of it. 
 
 Coil. Be not so squeamish. 
 
 With heavier hate outweigh your heavy conscience. 
 
 Aus. Tis but the thought frights thee. 
 
 Bur. I ne'er had thought 
 
 A thought could be so weighty. 
 
 Con. Give it wings 
 
 To fly it to the deed. 
 
 Ans. Have you forgot 
 
 His curses yesterday? Though nothing they, 
 (For curses are but words, and words but breath). 
 Forget not their intent. 
 
 Bur. I am resolved. 
 
 What is your will? 
 
 Coil. Revenge ! It must be 
 
 Aus. Death ! 
 
 He shall not live. 
 
 Bur. Who'll do 't? 
 
 Con. Why, who but we? 
 
 He that can do as well as others do. 
 
ACT 1. SCENE II. IS 
 
 And would be satisfied when it is done. 
 Do it himself. 
 
 Alts. 'Tis well; and this the way: 
 
 There is a garb gains entrance to the king 
 At hours unseasonable ; whose inky shade 
 Doth close resemble our black midnight hate, 
 Yet naught more close to hide our characters ; 
 Which moody vestments ours, with new -mown beards. 
 Clean-shaven chins (these garments so demand). 
 Voices affect'd, struck from unnatural chords. 
 Completely so disguis'd, we enter priests : 
 Three holy fathers on a sacred mission. 
 
 Con. O opportunity ! We three as one. 
 Out with our daggers : Richard's doom is done ! 
 
 Alts. Be you prepar'd ; to-morrow night meet me. 
 At that same hour when mournful'st hoots the owl. 
 And Hecate's horrors thrive, we will to Richard. 
 
 Con and Bur. Farewell till then. 
 
 {Exeunt Con. and Bur.) 
 {A sentinel appears on the wall in the baekground.) 
 
 1st Sen. 'Tis ten o'clock, and all is well ! 
 
 (Another sentinel appears in the distance.) 
 
 2d. Sen. All's well! 
 
 ( Voices zcithin the city's icalls.) 
 
 1st Voice. Remember the Most Holy Sepulchre ! 
 
 2d Voice. Amen ! 
 (Great numbers of ^'oices ; the custom before retiring eacli 
 night.) 
 
 Voices. God save the Holy Sepulchre ! 
 
 (Quiet once more.) 
 
 Aus. "God save!" "Remember!" 'Sdeath ! remember what? 
 Christ's tomb; my Christian oath; vows broken! — 'Sblood ! 
 How keener than a needle's point they pain. 
 Scratching my conscience with their memory ! 
 Out on such thoughts ! — 
 Now downy sleep her silken curtains hang, 
 And soft repose deliciously doth bathe 
 
i6 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 A many thousand soldiers' weary limbs. 
 
 Sleeps Richard? Why. methinks not so: rest flees 
 
 From trouble's thorny lodge as stag from bow ; 
 
 Where perturbation lies, lies slumber not. 
 
 Who more perturbed than he? Gains but a truce 
 
 Where sought he victory. — O fallen pride ! 
 
 No, not his royal greatness, wealth, degree. 
 
 Can pluck this shaft from out his wounded mind. 
 
 (Handles a dagger.) 
 Well, death ends all : So, Richard, thank thou me. 
 When this sharp steel ends swift thy misery. — 
 But soft! fair Berengaria ! What of her? 
 O how sensations sweet do thrill in me ! 
 His beauteous queen ! For her I have a passion ; 
 (Call't love if that you will, for passion's oft 
 Mistook for love) ; her treasury of charms 
 My pleasure shall enrich ; taste her delights. 
 Then, Richard, England's king, soon to be dead, 
 Thv wife shall be a mistress in mv bed. 
 
 SCENK III. 
 Ascalon. RicJiard's Quarters. 
 Enter Blondel. 
 
 Blonde!. How happ5""s love when love is given for love! 
 
 misery ! to love and cannot tell't. 
 For that the barrier, degree, shuts out 
 A look, a word, a hint of sweet affection. 
 
 1 have a burr sticks here : beyond my sphere. 
 Now hath my love shot to a firmament. 
 Where she, a star, hangs heaven high o'er me : 
 Joan Plantagenet, King Richard's sister ! 
 She, that's a widow, who should be a maid : 
 Who married Sicilv, but not for love : 
 
ACT I. SCENE III. 17 
 
 The wedlock of two kingdoms' policy, 
 
 The force and stern authority of state 
 
 Her bitter sacrifice : but now he's dead. 
 
 Daily I sing and play to her ; sit by 
 
 Her side; sometimes her elbow touch O bliss! 
 
 Unconsciously oft bends she over me. 
 
 Watching the notes ; like scent of roses in 
 
 The summer air, her warm l^-eath on my cheek ; 
 
 Whose balmy zephyr floats her golden hair 
 
 As dancing sun-beams 'fore mine eyes : so close. 
 
 Still oceans far away! Ah me! 
 
 O fool ! fool ! fool ! and ten times double fool ! 
 
 And yet not so ; for who commands their love ? 
 
 Cupid hath ways mysterious, and shoots 
 
 His arrows strange : were they all fools whose love's 
 
 Misplac'd, less many wise ones live than fools. 
 
 Who knows ? Mayhap a king loves her that scarce 
 
 Can clothe her comely limbs from winter's bite. 
 
 Whose dainty charms stern poverty doth mock ; 
 
 Or a majestic queen is slave to^ him 
 
 Of lowly birth : plain, humble, noble still : 
 
 Who dreams not of his mastership. O love, 
 
 Barr'd by degree, rank, state, diplomacy, 
 
 Thou hast more secrets than the undug earth. 
 
 Or hidden bottom of the searchless sea. 
 
 Oft-times I think that she but hold ! enough ! — 
 
 I'll love and smile and play a merry part, 
 Passing my days in mirth, yet sad at heart. 
 They come. I will away. 
 
 (Bxit) 
 
 Enter Richard, De Vaux, and Bai^dwin. 
 
 Rich. What say you? Guards? 
 
 De Vaux. My liege, it would be well. 
 
 Care ta'en in time's worth many times the care. 
 
 Bald. 'Tis meet your highness have more reck. Thou dost 
 Tempt murder, crime, exposing so thyself. 
 
i8 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Rich. Marry ! I am no grandmam full of fears, 
 To have protectors dogging at my heels. 
 
 De Vaux. Too little fear thou hast ; therefore, our fear. 
 
 Rich. What is thy fear? Why guards? 
 
 Bald. Your majesty 
 
 Rich. Think you mine arm is wither'd? Debility 
 My muscles prisoners ta'en ? Or that this clime, 
 This soft, voluptuous clime's crept lazily in 
 These sinews, making them effeminate, 
 So that no more can Richard wield his sword? 
 
 Bald. Marry ! Not so, my liege. Thy sword is death ; 
 But thou 
 
 Rich. How thou? Death's in my sword, but I — 
 
 then I am become a babe once more ! 
 I'll send for mother Eleanor to watch 
 
 Me through the nights. A cradle for my bed. 
 To keep the boogy-man away, she'll sing 
 Sweet lullabies, and rock me fast asleep. 
 
 Bald. O good my liege, you cut us so in speech, 
 Jesting our purpose from its aim. 
 
 Ricli. Shoot now ; 
 
 1 let thy target stand. 
 
 Dc Vans. Then mark our shot : 
 
 In conflict open, free, thy match not lives : 
 Many in one thy prowess looms above ; 
 Therein no dread : 'tis in the hidden danger : 
 A serpent stings from unexpected place. 
 A lion, sleeping, is most easily killed. 
 
 Ricli. I see not where thou strik'st. 
 
 Bald. Forsooth, not strange. 
 
 That man that hath no guile within his soul. 
 Is apt to think none in his fellow-men ; 
 Far less to see. 
 
 Dc J\mx. Thou art so candid, frank. 
 
 So hateful of deceit, so loving truth. 
 That villains better thee. 
 
 Bald. Beware, I say. 
 
 Of Burgundy ! 
 
ACT I. SCENE III. 19 
 
 Dc raiix. Conrad, beware! ^ 
 
 Bald. Beware 
 
 Of Austria ! 
 
 Dc Vaux. Have thou strict guard henceforth. 
 
 Ricli. By. Mars ! old women's fancies. 
 
 Dc Vaux. No, my hege ; 
 
 A youth's foresight whose instinct thou hast praised 
 For di\ing deep into men's character. 
 
 Rich. Blondel? 
 
 Dc raiix. Blondel. 
 
 Rich. This is his love for me; 
 
 For love engenders fear. — Still yet no guards. 
 
 Bald. Thou art our Cjesar ; let no Brutus steal 
 On thee to act again that tragedy 
 Which held the world aghast. 
 
 Rich. 1 say, no guards ! 
 
 Dc J\iitx. O dear my liege, be not precipitate. 
 Consider thus : Thy life is not thine own ; 
 Thou art not Richard only, no; thy self 
 Is precious more to others than to thee: 
 The queen's own soul, her life, joy, happiness. 
 In thee are resident. For her, and for 
 Thy troops of friends, admirers, worshipers. 
 Be thou considerate. 
 
 Bald. Most royal king. 
 
 Thou art select of God to rule great England ; 
 A mighty nation's pride, expectancy, 
 Hope, future magnitude, around thee cling; 
 Whose subjects love thee, for, upon their heads. 
 As dew upon the flowers, dost sprinkle thou 
 Pow'r, justice, righteous government. Be thou 
 Solicitous for them, my liege. 
 
 Dc Vaux. Yet more. 
 
 Far more remember thou the blessed Cross, 
 Whose captain chief thou art. If thou be dead. 
 To us is dead the holy sepulchre ; 
 If living, lives sweet hope of \-ictory. 
 
20 RICHARD CCEUR DK LION. 
 
 Rich. My honest lords, thy hearts do show much love; 
 Much love so shown shows me new paths of thought. 
 I shall consider well. But now no more ; 
 Here comes fair company. 
 
 Enter BerEngaria, Joan, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Now, sweet my queen, 
 Sister Joan, my nohle lords, to all 
 High welcome. (Scats liinisclf.) 
 
 Lords. Royal liege, to thee and thine, 
 High health and happiness for evermore. 
 
 Rich. Thanks, lords. More thanks for that I do believe 
 Thy words are still the ringing of thy hearts. 
 Chiming sweet truth which ever yet's the tune 
 Most choice to honest ears. 
 
 Lords. Believe us but 
 
 Thy faithful subjects, sir. 
 
 Bcr. How fares my lord? 
 
 Rich. Most well for times so ill. How is't with thee. 
 Our sunshine, brightest day? 
 
 Bcr. O ever liright. 
 
 When I am bright to thee. {Sits on the right of the king.) 
 
 Rich. 'Tis well ; let still 
 
 Our queen be so, so shall no night be ours : 
 Our darkness but a fleeting cloud ; no more 
 Than but a shadow. 
 
 Joan. Royal brother and 
 
 My liege, may sorrow shun thee as thy foes 
 In battle. 
 
 Rich. Noble sister, sit thou here. (Joan sits on liis hit.) 
 Thus is King Richard grac'd by roses such 
 No garden e'er hath grown. — Who comes? 
 
 Enter a messenger. 
 
 Mess. My liege. 
 
 The prior of Hereford is without. 
 
ACT I. SCENE III. 21 
 
 Rich. Hereford ! 
 
 From England ! News of state, I wot. — Go ; bring 
 Him in. {Exit lucssciigcr.) 
 
 My lords, prepare for tidings black. — 
 But let bim tell the tale, for here be is. 
 
 Rc-cntcr messenger -ceifJi Hurkford. 
 
 Welcome to Hereford, though bis look foretells 
 Unwelcome news. What is't ? Speak ! 
 
 Here. Alas ! 
 
 Your majesty hath read aright the lines 
 And pages of my face, where trouble's writ 
 In characters more black than ink can show. 
 Here am I sent by William of Longchamps, 
 Thy chancellor, with message drunk with ills. 
 Who bears ill news, bears on himself thoughts ill. 
 Though naught therein his blame ; therefore, I beg — 
 
 Rich. Proceed ! Haste, Hereford ! Let thy shaft go forth. 
 
 Here. Hear then : My sovereign, know that John Lack- 
 land, 
 Thy brother, whom in England thou didst leave, 
 Hath broke his bond of fealty. 
 
 Rich. No more 
 
 I did expect. 
 
 Here. England's agog, for, lit 
 
 By him, doth discord blaze so high it burns 
 The lofty oaths of loyalty, from which 
 Ashy rebellion scatters through the land. 
 Blown by the recreant prince. 
 
 Ber. O faithless John ! 
 
 Joan. Unworthy of the name Plantagenet ! 
 
 Rich. Peace, madams; let him on. — What of the nobles? 
 
 Here. Many have sworn fidelity to him ; 
 Most of the faithful, with the clergy, fled 
 To France. Meantime, doth John, most vulture-like. 
 Seizing thy revenues, extorting from 
 The poor, looting the churches' pudgy bags. 
 And draining all thy treasuries, swoop toward 
 
22 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 The absent eagle's nest ; one claw upon 
 The crown, the other clutches wildly for 
 A hold. This is thy kingdom's present state, 
 And this the gist of what I have to say. 
 
 Rich. 'Tis direful, lords, — O dazzling, golden crown. 
 How doth thy gilt engender guiltiness ! 
 Gold and ambition have more evils born 
 Than evils' other parents all combined. 
 When danger floods strong men their courage rise ; 
 So we must up and doing 'gainst new foes. 
 To England, now ! Our mission here is done ; 
 Wherefore you know: three traitors treachery! 
 Peace is dcclar'd, and for three years, three months. 
 Three weeks, three days, three hours, on oath, sworn 'twixt 
 Great Saladin and I, no more shall war 
 Imbruise the sacred soil of Palestine. 
 
 Dc J\nix. Till then our cry be Richard! England! and St. 
 George ! 
 
 Lords. Long life to Richard, our dear king! 
 
 Rich. God be our light to guide us to success. 
 To-morrow we'll decamp. To England's shores. 
 God grant us speed. — Attend to Hereford, sirs. 
 
 (E.vcuut Hereford and some lords.) 
 I would be merry now. Where is Blondel ? 
 
 Bnfer Bi.ondel. 
 Blon. Here, my dear liege, and noble madams. 
 Joan. (Aside) O that sweet voice ! Sit still my throbbing 
 
 heart ! 
 Blon. (Aside) Joan! — Have care, Blondel; thou trembl'st 
 
 with love. 
 Rich. Some music : tuneful melodies : a spice 
 Of gayety. 
 
 (Blondel plays some liz'ely strains.) 
 Rich. How merry music stirs the very soul. 
 And sends the blood a-dancing through the veins ! 
 Love, valor, courage, glory it so lauds. 
 Men think them kings, whiles kings ascend to gods ! — 
 What now, Blondel. hast turned warrior? 
 
ACT I. SCENE III. 23 
 
 Blo)i. How so, your majesty? 
 
 Rich. But yesterday 
 
 Wast not in conflict fierce? 
 
 Blon. I strove liut as 
 
 An Englishman, my liege. 
 
 Rich. What more! Thy foe? 
 
 Bloii. Duke Bnrgnndy. 
 
 Rich. The skillfull'st sword in France!— 
 
 How was Blondel in action, lords? 
 
 Bald. O, valiant, sir: 
 
 Most soldierly. 
 
 Joan. Ah, me! had I but seen. (Aside.) 
 
 Dc J^aux. It was a revelation: in attack, 
 His feints deceiv'd deception ; plied his strokes 
 So fast, so sharp, so dexterous, defense 
 Was needed not. In short, perfection stood 
 /Vmaz'd to see itself outdone. 
 
 Rich. Is't so? 
 
 By Jupiter! crook here thy knee, Blondel. (Blondel kneels.) 
 Musician, poet, songster, warrior, 
 I dub thee knight. Arise, now. Sir Blondel. 
 
 (Blondel rises.) 
 
 Blon. Kind sovereign, ever this my wish: that I, 
 In honor, valor, loyalty to thee. 
 Be true and sure as are the stars to night. 
 
 Rich. Why, 'tis well said. 
 
 Joan. What else from him but well? 
 
 I have a thing to say : a reprimand 
 (If so a sister can reproach a king). 
 In knighting him you ran this gamut through : 
 Musician, poet, songster, warrior ; 
 Striking your highest note upon the last. 
 Warrior ! last least, yet least the most to make 
 A knight ! He should have been a knight ere this. 
 Shame, shame ! that music, poetry is naught, 
 Whiles bruising arms win garters for their lords ! 
 
24 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Riclu Fair champion, thy cry is righteous, just; 
 Yet 'tis the custom of the times. 
 
 Joan. O hard 
 
 Such custom, times, when brawn doth have the front 
 And vantage of the brain. — So please your grace, 
 I would our new-made knight did sing. 
 Blon. Of what? 
 
 Joan. Of Love. 
 
 Blon. Madam, I have a song of how 
 
 A minstrel lov'd a queen; she him. Wouldst hear? 
 
 Joan. 'Twould like me well. Sit here. (Aside.) A minstrel 
 lov'd 
 A queen ! Why, I'm a queen, queen dowager 
 
 Of Sicily ; and he 
 
 Blon. (Sifs at her feet. Si Jigs.) 
 
 A minstrel's soul was in his lute, 
 
 Its golden strings his heart ; 
 Alack! he saw a queen and loved: 
 Life, soul from lute did part. 
 
 (Joan attentive.) 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 In love unknown. 
 
 Despair is grown ; 
 Death hath no pang so sharp : 
 
 To love and sigh, 
 
 O rather die ! 
 Poor minstrel, break thy harp. 
 
 He sang to her ; she heard and loved : 
 
 Degree made each a mute ; 
 Less still the speechless stones and trees ; 
 
 Rank hush'd all but his lute. — Chorus. 
 
 (Joan more attentiz'e.) 
 She never knew his love for her. 
 
 He knew not hers for him ; 
 And time kept creeping on apace, 
 
 Their distance ever dim. — Chorus. 
 
 (Joan affected.) 
 
ACT 1. SCENE TIL 25 
 
 Both lov'd ; both pin'cl : O secret pain ! 
 
 O cruehy of birth ! 
 One day she died : a iM-oken heart : 
 A queen to dust and earth. — Chorus. 
 
 (Joan much affected.) 
 Then yearn'd his soul to wander where 
 
 Her spirit then did roam: 
 Upon her grave he laid him down ; 
 And heaven took him home. 
 
 (She ^eccps.) 
 Bloii. O nol)le lady ! 
 
 Bcr. What is't. love? Why weep'st? 
 
 I^ich. Joan in tears? 
 
 Joan. The song; so sad! Poor queen. 
 
 Poor minstrel, both to die! their love ne'er known. 
 
 ( JJ\\'f>^' afresh. ) 
 Blon. (.-isidc) How it affects her — See! the crystal globes 
 Stand on her cheek like dew upon a rose. 
 
 {Exeunt Joan leith attendants.) 
 Ah me ! she goes. 
 
 Rich. Enough of melancholy ! Strike 
 
 Another key. 
 Blon. (Sillies) 
 
 A soldier's life should merry be. 
 Who battles 'gainst base tyranny; 
 Right doth assure a conscience bright. 
 Adds strength and valor to the fight. 
 
 Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! 
 
 War ever is l:)ut folly. 
 
 Yet soldiers be ye jolly! 
 Heigh-ho! heigh-ho! heigh-ho! heigh-ho! 
 
 Rich. Blondel. 
 Blon. My liege. 
 
 Rich. What of the song we writ? 
 
 Hast thou the music yet? 
 3 
 
26 RICHARD CCEUR DE LTON. 
 
 Blori. My morning's task. 
 
 How like you this? (Plays.) 
 
 Rich. "Tis well. We'll try our voice; 
 
 And then retire, my lords. 
 
 Bloii. (Sings.) 
 
 O what a theme is England's glory! 
 Its birth and fame's is one proud story, 
 And lofty praise first "gan to laud. 
 When first her sons it did applaud. 
 
 CHORUS. (Rich, and Blon.) 
 
 O England's glory ! who can sing- 
 Its wondrous deeds from king to king? 
 No death shall blot their memory; 
 Their monument : eternity. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 When Albion's banners flaunt the air, 
 The nations cringe in abject fear; 
 Look on her marshalling cohorts ! how 
 Doth nobleness enrich each brow. 
 
 (Both sing Chorus.) 
 Blon. 
 
 From Britons' camp fear ever flees: 
 O England ! never terror breathes 
 Upon thy soldiers ! nay. on them 
 Sits bravery's roj^al diadem. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Her rumbling rage is thunder's crash ! 
 Her bolts of anger lightning's flash ! 
 Her standards stand for victory ! 
 Who stands against : O misery ! 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
ACT I. SCENE III. 27 
 
 Rich. 'Tis late; the queen would speak to me. Good night: 
 The last good night in A sea Ion. 
 
 (B.vcuiit all but Richard and Bcvcngaria.) 
 
 Bcr. My lord. 
 
 Rich. Well. Berengaria ? 
 
 Bcr. When didst 
 
 Thou first love me? 
 
 Rich. When first 1 saw thee, sweet. 
 
 By Jove ! had hut one second gone "twixt the 
 First glance and love, that second had heen proof 
 I were love's traitor. 
 
 Bcr. So swift as thine was mine ; 
 
 For Cupid's dart did wound me lightning-quick. 
 
 Ricli. 'Twas at the tournament in Spain; I, hut 
 A youth ; a giant for my wrestling mate. 
 Defeat crept slowly on when, lo ! a glimpse ! 
 Thy face full of anxiety ! I loved ! 
 Came strength, came victory; the giant fell. 
 
 Bcr. And rose my love to thee. How happy since! 
 I am no goddess, I, yet is my king 
 Apollo, Mars, Hyperion in one. 
 
 Rich. Fair flatterer. 
 
 Bcr. My lord, . I have a boon 
 
 To ask. 
 
 Rich. Who asks not ne'er receives. What is't ? 
 
 Bcr. That thou wilt have a guard to-night. Dread dreams 
 I've had of murder, treachery ; whiles on 
 Me hangs depression's heavy weight that oft 
 Foreruns calamity. 
 
 Rich. Why vex me so? 
 
 O foolish Berengaria ! Were it 
 To snatch a sucking cub from tiger's teats. 
 Brave lions in a rage, jump from a cliff. 
 Swim in a stormy sea, or buffet foes. 
 I'd do 't ; but never guards ! 
 
 Ber. Thou art resolved ? 
 
 Rich. I am. 
 
28 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Ber. It pains me much for I do know, 
 
 Asleep, or taken unawares, great strength, 
 Great courage is most weak ; more strong, the weak 
 Prepar'd. But I'll no more, my lord, than this : 
 Duke Austria's offensive to my sight ; 
 'Twould like me. sir. wert thou to hid him hold 
 Aloof. 
 
 Rich. Hath he been insolent? 'Sdeath ! I'll 
 
 Bcr. Calm, Richard, calm. — Courtly his manner is. 
 The glass of etiquette ; yet evil's in 
 His eye ; so have I seen the glitter of 
 A snake's, which less I loathe. To-day. upon 
 His leave, kissing my hand, he gently bore 
 Me to him and 
 
 Rich. (Ill great fury) To hell with calmness! 'Sblood ! 
 Give me my sword ! 
 
 Bcr. Peace, peace. 
 
 Rich. My sword! By God! 
 
 I'll rip him into shreds to fill the maws 
 Of carrion liirds ! 
 
 Bcr. O dear my lord, be calm. 
 
 Forbear, my love : 'tis Berengaria pleads. 
 
 Rich. Why, beauty ever is more strong than kings. 
 What Berengaria doth in reason ask. 
 Shall Richard do. To-night, I will be calm ; 
 But on the morrow — well, let morrow come. — 
 I would alone. 
 
 Bcr. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Rich. Good night.— (Exit Bcr.) 
 
 Pretty chuck ! Life, soul, all to me ! Let come 
 When I do love her not, then burst my heart ! 
 Woman, thou hast more power than potentates : 
 But thee, no monarch Richard rules. — What do? 
 
 (Enter Austria, Conrad and Burgundy, disguised as priests. 
 
 unseen by Richard.) 
 Who leaves a serpent near a dove ? He dies ! 
 To-morrow Austria's sleep eternal 'gins — 
 
ACT 1. SCENE III. 29 
 
 How strange they harp on guards. — How now ? What is 
 
 This chill that creeps o'er me. icing ni}^ veins? 
 
 Can it he fear which ever yet hath fled 
 
 In fear from me? or is it warning's sign 
 
 That danger hovers near ? For I have heard, 
 
 When danger hirks. that nature gives alarm, 
 
 ( 77/ ry approach him.) 
 Hoisting a signal, as it were, and sends 
 A freezing winter chasing through the blood ; 
 Which even now congeals my very marrow. (Bell tolls.) 
 
 Hark ! the bell 'gins mournfully to toll 
 The midnight hour, night's dreadest season. 
 Made horrible with ghosts, and hideous sights. 
 
 When murder 
 
 (They draw fhcir daggers; arc upon Richard about to strike, 
 zchcn Blond el rushes in.) 
 
 Bloii. Murder! murder! O arouse! 
 Up, Richard, up ! 
 
 (Richard jumps to his feet; sees all.) 
 
 Rich. Conspiracy! Take that, (Strikes Con., who falls.) 
 Damn'd villain ! 
 
 (They flee. Austria in passing dodges Blondels szcord, strik- 
 ing him in the arm z^'ith his dagger.) 
 
 Blon. Ha ! they flee ! 
 
 (Exeunt Austria and Burgundy.) 
 
 Rich. What! wounded, sir? 
 
 Blon. My arm : a scratch. 
 
 Rich. Sound the alarm ! Stir all 
 
 The camp ! — Who comes ? 
 
 Enter De Vaux and Baldwin. 
 
 De Vaux. What is't. my liege? 
 
 Bald. How now? 
 
 Ricli. Now, all is right ; but yet an instant more, 
 So wrong that I had been right for the grave. 
 
30 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Enter BerEngaria and Joan and others. 
 
 Ber. My lord, O speak! What is't? 
 
 Joan. O, what's amiss? 
 
 He bleeds ! See on his arm his precious blood ! 
 
 O, heavenh' God ! Blondel 
 
 (Faints, falling in Blondel' s arms.) 
 
 Rich. Gentle Joan. 
 
 Hurry! fetch water for this drooping flower. 
 
 {Exeunt attendants.) 
 Enter MESSENGER. 
 
 Mess. My liege, two priests, on fleetest Arab steeds, 
 Have fled the city walls. 
 
 Rich. Two priests? Two fiends 
 
 In sacred garb ! Send swift pursuit. Haste, haste. 
 
 (Exit Messenger.) 
 
 (Re-enter Attendants zeith water, leho attend to Joan.) 
 
 Ber. Why this alarm? I pray your grace to speak. 
 
 Rich. Fear not, my lady : danger's past ; unharmed 
 Is Richard. As.sassination, being here. 
 Hath gone, undone, annuITd, defeated, void ; 
 Its bloody purpose check'd by God ; Blondel, 
 His instrument. For death's defeat praise be 
 To them. — How didst thou hap so opportune? 
 
 Blon. Thou wouldst no guards ; fearing, I watch'd : three 
 priests 
 Did enter ; slowly they crept toward thee ; 
 Suspicion press'd me hard ; care held me back. 
 Till, suddenly, from "neath their sable robes. 
 Swift drawing daggers out, I cried me hoarse. 
 
 Enter MESSENGER. 
 
 Mess. My liege, Austria and Burgund}- are missing; 
 So's Montferrat. 
 Rich Ha ! can it be that thev 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 31 
 
 Ber. (Points at Conrad on flic t^oor.) 
 Wliat \illain is't lies there? 
 
 Blon. (Bending oz'cr Conrad.) One Richard fell. 
 His jaw is broken ; no villain now : a corpse. 
 My God! 'tis 
 
 Rich. Who? 
 
 Blon. Conrad of Montferrat ! 
 
 Rich. The others ? 
 
 Blo)i. xA.ustria and Bnrgnndy ! 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Leave Ascalon with Richard : follow him, 
 
 In fancy, thence to Acre, where the fleet 
 
 Of England gracefully at anchor rides, 
 
 Awaiting him, the hero of the East ; 
 
 Who is no sooner spied upon the shore. 
 
 Than dips she all her ensigns, emblems, flags : 
 
 Great royalty's salute. Embark with him : 
 
 Give now your senses unto thought, and you 
 
 Shall hear the boatswain's whistle shrilly pipe ; 
 
 Mates Stentor voices crying orders out ; 
 
 Shall see alow, aloft but bustling action : 
 
 Each yard a swarm of bees, each bee a hive 
 
 Of industry that works sweet concord out 
 
 Of seeming sour confusion : for, do now 
 
 But gaze once more upon the scene, and lo ! 
 
 What transformation ! See ! her anchors weighed. 
 
 Her huge white canvas puff'd with breeze, she 'gin; 
 
 Her voyage. Fast the Asian coast grows dim. 
 
 Whiles Richard from the poop bids last farewell : 
 
 "O, holy land ! thee and thy people I 
 
 Do leave to God ! May He help me to thee 
 
 Again, that I help thee to Him!" he cries. — 
 
 From now, no more of Palestine : forget 
 
32 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 The Syrian hills and plains ; no more of camps, 
 
 Of marches, battles, soldiery ; and, from 
 
 The burning sands of endless deserts' waste, 
 
 Wander your minds to deeply bear awhile 
 
 Upon the deep and wasteful space of ocean. 
 
 Imagine how the restifif Richard frets 
 
 At adverse winds and calms ; who is on fire 
 
 For fiery speed, which, coming, comes with storm. 
 
 Whose furious fury blows them from their course. 
 
 Driving them up the Adriatic sea. 
 
 Where, on the Austrian shore, their good ship founders. 
 
 O hapless fate ! Stranded in Austria's land ! 
 
 If Austria know, then how shall Richard fare? 
 
 Follow our tale ; with our players bear. 
 
 And you shall ^ee. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Tlic Austrian coast. 
 
 A storm blowing. 
 
 Enter Richard, BerEngaria, De Vaux, Baldwin. Attendant.^ 
 Sailors, and a Page. 
 
 Rich. Our ship is gone; we must seek refuge. 
 Bcr. Alas ! Joan is lost. 
 
 Dc Vait.v. Weep not, your grace. 
 
 Look where Blondel comes with her in his arms. 
 
 Enter Blondel carrying Joan. 
 
 Rich. Hath hideous death broke ope this royal treasure. 
 Stealing her precious soul? 
 
 Blon. Fear not. my liege ; 
 
 She lives. 
 
 Bcr. Her bosom heaves ! Life's cheated death, 
 Who rode upon the angry sea for prey. 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 33 
 
 Bloii. Lo ! on the yeasty crest of monster wa^•e, 
 Her golden head show'd like a setting smi : 
 Desperate I strove; and cried on Him for aid. 
 I clutch'd her. and t' engnlfing flood did strand 
 Us on the beach. , 
 
 Bcr. See ! now her windows ope. 
 
 Rich. Bine sky. her eyes ; fair weather. Speak, sister, speak. 
 
 Joan. Where am I ? 
 
 Rich. 'Midst thy friends. 
 
 Joan. O then I'm saved ! 
 
 Rich. And here's thy savionr from deep ocean's grave. 
 
 Joan. (Aside) He that I love. — O God be praised! 
 
 Rich. Blondel. 
 
 Haste with her to a refuge. We'll follow soon. 
 
 [Lixcnnt Blondel witJi Joan, and some attendants.) 
 Are all safe now ? 
 
 De raux. Some sailors, sir, were lost; 
 
 And our brave captain, leaving not his ship. 
 Sunk with her. 
 
 Bald. 'Twas a noble sight : he clung 
 
 Unto his bark like mother to her child ; 
 Spurning desertion, peaceful resignation 
 Shed glory's halo round him as, tied fast 
 To duty's post, he was at last o'erwhelmed ; 
 And, swallow'd by the vasty waste, there died. 
 
 Rich. Let us pray God for their departed souls. 
 And thank Him for His goodness unto us. 
 
 (All kneel: then rise.) 
 What coast is this? (To tlie sailors.) 
 
 Sailor. 'Tis Austria, my liege. 
 
 RicJi. (Aside) Duke Austria's domain! mine enemy! 
 Powerless am I : 111 fate that lands us here. — 
 Good fellows, you are my true subjects? (To the sailors.) 
 
 Sail. We are! we are! your majesty. 
 
 RicJi. 'Tis well. 
 
 For what I say, suffice I have a reason : 
 
34 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 From now hang heavy silence on your tongues ; 
 
 Cover my true estate in darkness ; nor, by 
 
 Insinuation, hint, or meaning looks, 
 
 Betray from whence I hail ; where bound : in brief. 
 
 Let less the confines of yon ocean's depth 
 
 Be secret than that I am England's king. 
 
 Sail. In all things shall obey our liege. 
 
 Rich. Much thanks; 
 
 Be gone, good sirs. 
 
 (B.rciiuf sailors. ) 
 My friends, here Austria rules : 
 Our foes prevail ; danger is imminent. 
 Fate doth decree our journey home shall be 
 Through his dominions. Whiles this hornet's nest 
 Doth menace us. it needs we 'scape its stings : 
 Our shield, disguise. Know me no more as Richard : 
 Henceforth. I am the merchant Hugo of 
 Damascus. — Soft ! our queen needs succor, sirs. — 
 Boy, thou art fluent in this country's speech; (To page.) 
 
 Hurry! find shelter for her majesty. — 
 My lords, a moment more. 
 
 (E.vcuiit all but Richard, De Vaux, and Baldiviii.) 
 
 Bald. What wouldst, my liege? 
 
 Dc J\ntx. The storm doth not abate; so please, my liege. 
 Thou shouldst seek comfort ; here the chilling winds 
 Are fraught with body's ills : be prudent, sir. 
 
 Rich. How nature rages ! Violence hath ta'en 
 The elements in spleen, setting the one 
 Against the other. O what majesty 
 Doth dress their mastery of wrath. Now. wind 
 Doth better wave ; now, wave the wind ; now. both, 
 As one. outroars a jungle's dreadful clamor. 
 Blow, winds ! Rage, furious sea ! seethe ! fume ! 
 Hiss ! roar, thou mighty monster ! for. 
 Withal, thou art not yet so cruel as man ! 
 Thy rocky shores are not so flinty as 
 Ingratitude ! More mercy thou dost have 
 
ACT n. SCENE IT. 35 
 
 Than vengeful hearts: thou know'st not envy; 
 
 MaHce is not thine ; nor are thy shoals 
 
 As false as perfidy. Thou wreck'st great ships, 
 
 And marshall'st death till grinning skulls do pave 
 
 Thy slimy bottom ; yet. thou taint'st no name : 
 
 Kill'st no character with slander's darts ; 
 
 Thy bitter'st breath ne'er breathes of calumny ! 
 
 Kind fierceness, fiercest kindness rage thou on !— 
 
 Come, my lords. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A)i Inn on the outskirts of I'icnna. 
 Austria and Burgundy at a tabic. 
 
 Alls. Why wouldst so soon to France, good Burgundy? 
 
 Bur. Marry! my lord, so soon? 'tis several months 
 Since we left Palestine. 
 
 Aus. 'Sblood ! I had thought 
 
 'Twere but some weeks, so swift 'tis fled. 
 
 Bur. E'en so. 
 
 We measure time by how 'tis passed ; in pain. 
 Or gloomy sadness, minutes stretch to hours ; 
 In merry revel, hours are minutes ; so. 
 My lord, our months were weeks. 
 
 Alts. By Bacchus! time 
 
 Hath been a banquet, one delicious feast 
 Of junkets, gaming, women, wine. Thou say'st 
 Most wisely; mirth and merriment are fleet 
 As swallows' wings ; whose wondrous speed have flown 
 A year's half-mark ere one could seem to tell 
 The days gone by. — Yet hold awhile: what haste? 
 
 Bur. Duties, my lord : friends, family, country, home. 
 
 Aus. Let duty wait on pleasure, Burgundy. 
 Life's brief; its end, the tomb: be merry while 
 You may. — But more, wherefore thou shouldst be here. 
 
36 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bur. Proceed: what is't? 
 
 Alts. A matter weighs on me, 
 
 Touching this Hugo, that's ripe with concern 
 To us. 
 
 Bur. Who is this Hugo? 
 
 A us. Would I knew; 
 
 That, shall I find. 
 
 Bur. What's said of him? 
 
 Aus. This much : 
 
 Report calls him a merchant of Damascus ; 
 Who, wreck'd upon our coast, travels this way. 
 At Goritz, Freisach. and a many place. 
 Was noted greatly for his lavishness ; 
 The women's beauty that accompany him. 
 Rumor is brisk with marvel at his gold: 
 Each town he stops, he gilds ; some wag hath said 
 He is more mine than man, so richly pays 
 His golden vein : withal a mystery 
 Enshrouds him : pregnant with suspicion. I 
 Have given birth to dawnings of revenge. 
 Shall he prove whom I think. 
 
 Bur. What think'st, my lord? 
 
 Aus. Where is King Richard? Known it is he sailed 
 For England long ago; storms blew his fleet 
 Astray; there, knowledge ceases: where is he? 
 Who's Hugo? Merchants dive for gold; not sink't. 
 Theirs is economy: to fill; not drain. 
 Wlio prodigal as Richard? though we hate. 
 'Tis true he hath no miser's clutch ; yea, gold 
 Shifts from him free as sand. 
 
 Bur. Aha ! I see 
 
 Thy trend. 
 
 Aus. These women, gossip paints two angels ; 
 Wherein Joan and Berengaria fit 
 Description's garments. 
 
 Bur. Why. it may be so. 
 
 But yet, my lord, would he embrace such risk? 
 
ACT H. SCENE II. 2,7 
 
 Alls. Wisdom and courage traveling together. 
 Divided equally, are in themselves 
 A host : whiles either disproportion'd leaves 
 Each hut as one guard : Richard courage hath 
 So monstrously it eats all prudence up, 
 Gnaws wisdom to the bone : hence he so rash. 
 
 Bur. Still stranger things have happ'd : fate's full of 
 wonders. 
 
 Alls. Better he jump'd into the drowning sea. 
 Or met a hungry lion face to face. 
 Than I do cross him helpless in my realm. 
 
 Bur. It would be death? 
 
 Aus. Believe it not, my lord. 
 
 Lifelong imprisonment I to languish years 
 'Tween musty walls ! to never see the sun ! 
 With iron bars, and rough, rude stones his guests, 
 Who ne'er had had but princes, monarchs, kings ! 
 O agony ! no freedom but his thoughts ! 
 Which, ever resting on his greatness gone, 
 His dear, beloved queen in Austria's bed. 
 Would give no rest to peace or soothing sleep : 
 Each thought an edged sword, a burning stake ! 
 
 Bur. More sharp than body's death is freedom's death : 
 No torture like a noble prisoner's mind. 
 Remindful of a glory past : 'tis well ; 
 I'll not to France till Hugo's known. 
 
 Aus. Meinhard ! 
 
 Enter Meinhard. 
 
 Mciu. My lord. 
 
 Aus. More wine.— The torments of his soul! 
 
 Ah ! Burgundy, 'twould be a sweet revenge. 
 Ha ! ha ! my spirits rise : let's drink our fill. 
 
 {Meinhard briiii^s zi'ine.) 
 Meinhard. didst thou not serve me in the wars? 
 
 Meiii. I had that honor, sir. 
 
38 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Alls. Wouldst know King Richard? 
 
 Mcin. Once seen, who conkl forget his massive form? 
 Earth's other end would strange him not to me. 
 
 Ans. But in disguise? how then? 
 
 Mcin. Yet still the same : 
 
 I could not err. 
 
 Alls. Mind now. Meinhard : thou canst 
 
 Do me some service. 
 
 Mcin. And I will, my lord. 
 
 Ans. To friends I am a balmy summer breath; 
 Mine enemies find me a winter's blast. 
 Freezing their blooming prospects : have thy choice. 
 
 Mcin. O, good my lord, believe my faithfulness. 
 
 Aus. 'Twill pay thee, man. — Be watchful : there is one 
 May hither whom I bid thee cast thine eye 
 Upon ; if he do come, observe him well. 
 
 Mcin. Who is't, my lord? 
 
 Aus. The merchant Hugo. 
 
 Mcin. 1 have heard news of him : he is near by. 
 
 Aus. Shouldst see him, mark his every part how they 
 Do match King Richard's ; which, then lieing done, 
 If not the king, no more ; if him, send me 
 Quick message. 
 
 Mcin. 'Sblood ! can it be so? 
 
 B)ifcr Page. 
 
 Aus. Who comes? 
 
 Mein. What wouldst thou, boy? 
 
 Page. Provision for my master. 
 
 He bade me here prepare his coming, sir : 
 Have lodging for two ladies, and his men ; 
 Who are three hearty fellows. Withal, thy best ; 
 For Hugo will no other. 
 
 Aus. Hugo? 'Sdeath! 
 
 Here, boy ! Whatsaidst? Hugo, thy master? 
 
 Page. Even so, kind sir. 
 
ACT IT. SCENE II. 39 
 
 Aus. Whence hails he? 
 
 Page. From Damascus : 
 
 One a great merchant traveling for pleasure. 
 
 Aus. Ah ! I have heard opinions kind of him. 
 
 Page. O. sir, he is most generous. 
 
 Alls. Thou say'st 
 
 His name is Hugo? 
 
 Page. Ay: 'tis so.— {Aside) Why doth 
 
 He press me thus? Where have I seen this man? 
 
 Aus. Boy! I believe thee not. 
 
 Page. (Aside.) O ye great gods! 
 
 I know him now : King Richard's enemy ! 
 'Tis Austria ! we are imdone. 
 
 Aus. Tell me 
 
 His name. 
 
 Page. But Hugo. sir. 
 
 Aus. Thou liest ! Speak truth, 
 
 If thou wilt fare thee well. Here's money, boy; 
 Will it not loose thy tongue, we'll stronger means. 
 
 (Hands the boy gold.) 
 
 Page. (Refuses it.) I have no use for gold: it buys not 
 honor. 
 
 (Austria takes a hot iron from the fire.) 
 
 Aus. Hast not? How of thine eyes? Hast use for them? 
 Out with thy master's name, or out thine eyes! 
 
 Page. (Shrinking from him.) 
 Thou couldst not be so cruel. 
 
 .his. Look on this fire: 
 
 Than it is hot. my pity is more cold. 
 Wouldst save thine eyes, his name ! 
 
 Page. Help! help! O God! 
 
 ('live me but help! spare me! 
 
 Aus. (Struggling leith him.) Out! out! damn'd sight; 
 
 (Puts one eye out.) 
 Wilt lose the other, too ? 
 
 Page. No. no ! I can 
 
 No more such pain. Have mercy, sir. 
 
40 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bur. _ My lord. 
 
 Forbear : 'tis monstrous. 
 
 Aus. Woman-hearted France, 
 
 Cease thy tongue! — How is't boy? More fire? 
 
 Page. May God forgive me! nature is so weak: 
 Who would not save their precious eye? — I'll tell: 
 My master is King Richard. 
 
 Aus. So thought I. 
 
 Thou hadst been wise to say before. Let's haste : 
 He will be here anon: 'twill need more soldiers. 
 
 Bur. Why, policy's more meet than force, my lord : 
 It wins more battles. Strategy's the way. 
 To save us sorry wounds. We know his valor : 
 Beware of struggle. In their drink to drop 
 A drowsy potion, so a lethargy 
 Benumbs their senses ; then, what ease. 
 
 Aus. Let it be so. Meinhard, use thou such drug. 
 But yet our soldiers, too. 
 
 Bur. (To the page.) Poor fellow, come: 
 Hardby's a doctor who will ease thy pain. 
 
 {Exeunt Austria, Burgundy and page.) 
 
 Mein. (Tampering leitli drink.) 
 Two villains cast in the self-same black mould ; 
 One, softer temper'd. Monster cruelty ! 
 Relentless wretch : to gouge his tender eye ! 
 'Twere not enough for me to tell the king: 
 No ! but must needs crop out his savageness. 
 God's mercy ! when inhuman heart is in 
 A ruler's breast : no beast so fierce ! — Alas ! 
 For Richard. — How they fear his prowess : 
 So, dogs a lion shirk. — It likes me not 
 To trap him thus : so noble, valiant, brave. 
 The duke to him a cur to Hercules. 
 Yet policy again ! for living's sake 
 I am a rogue, not naturall)^ ; so 'tis 
 Necessity makes villains oft. — But soft ! 
 
ACT II. SCENE II. 41 
 
 Enter Richard, BerEngaria, Joan, De Vaux, Baldwin, and 
 Blondel. 
 
 Rich. We are aweary. Give us quick refreshment : 
 Our ladies to their room. 
 
 Mcin. Ho, Louis ! 
 
 (Enter Louis.) 
 Attend to these ladies. 
 
 (Exeunt Louis with Berengaria and Joan. Richard, De Vaux, 
 Baldwin and Blondel sit at a table.) 
 
 Rich. Where's my boy? 
 
 Mein. Gone to the stables. All's in readiness. 
 Great Hugo (for I take you so to be). 
 This is my choicest wine ; whose flavor vies 
 With nectar of the gods. 
 
 (Gives them the wine; they drink.) 
 
 Rich. It is most tasty. 
 
 (De J'aux. Baldivin and Blondel show signs of sleepiness.) 
 
 Mein. 'Tis so exquisite that, from Italy's hills. 
 Where grows the famous vineyard, sunny tales 
 Are told how, in ye olden days, the gods 
 Themselves, fatigued, weak, athirst, became 
 New-made by sucking of the luscious grapes : 
 For which they gave the power, whoe'er doth quaff 
 Their wondrous juice, hath never loss of sleep. 
 
 (De Vaux, Baldivin and Blondel sleep soundly.) 
 
 Rich. My friends do slumber: seems thy story true. 
 
 Mein. (Aside) Yea, 'tis his majesty: his long-grown beard 
 Hides not his nobleness, which peeps out from 
 Him everywhere as rays from shining sun. 
 
 Rich. Delicious sleep is heavy on mine eyes. 
 I scarce can keep them ope: another draught. (Drinks.) 
 
 Enter Soldiers, then Al^stria and Bl^rgundy. 
 
 Who comes? Ha! soldiers. Hazy is my mind. 
 What! do I dream? a battlefield? My sword! 
 What hideous nightmare's this that doth approach? 
 4 
 
42 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Up, Richard, for thy Hfe : 'tis Austria ! 
 Alack! I cannot rise — tlie drink! the drink! 
 
 (Falls in heavy sleep.) 
 Aus. Bind them secure. — Go; bring the ladies down. 
 (Some soldiers bind them; others go for Berengaria, and 
 
 Joan.) 
 Now, Richard, in a prison wear thy crown. 
 
 (Screams of Joan heard above.) 
 How high a key this nightingale doth sing: 
 'Tis fright's shrill voice, whose notes most lofty ring. 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers zvitli BerKngaria and Joan. 
 
 Ber. What means this outrage? 
 
 Alls. (Points to Richard.) Soft! soft, lady! See! 
 Your highness will awake your sleeping lord. 
 
 Ber. (Sees all) Discover'd ! 
 
 Aus. Quite uncover'd. open, seen ; 
 
 Here's health to Richard and his lovely queen. (Drinks.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The outside of a castle. 
 
 Moonlight. 
 
 Berengaria and Joan at a window. 
 
 Joan. Alas! where are our friends? Our royal liege 
 Our sweet musician knight? Where can they be? 
 The days drag by ; no tidings. O how cruel 
 This wicked duke to keep us thus in darkness. 
 I plead with him : he laughs, and, with a sneer, 
 Replies, "What! will not Richard set thee free? 
 Ask him ; 'tis but a puny task for such 
 A warrior." 
 
ACT II. SCENE III. 43 
 
 Bcr. He is a fiend, this Austria ! 
 
 Joan. I ne'er believ'd hate's such a dreadful thing. 
 Why, niahce is a sword that hews away 
 All pity from the breast ; a serpent's bite, 
 Whose sting is mercy's death. 
 
 Bcr. We must be patient : 
 
 Patience is calmness ; calmness soothes the nerves ; 
 Wears smooth the ragged edge of trouble's road : 
 Patience and hope lead on to victory. 
 
 Joan. O I am mostly patient, Berengaria ; 
 Yet sometimes melancholy's dismal shade 
 Enshrouds me in deep night ; then, what dark thoughts ! 
 That never shall we England see again ; 
 But, in these dusty walls, shall come ourselves 
 To dust, and lie us in this foreign soil : 
 No monument to mark our graves. Ah I me. 
 
 Bcr. Come, we will cast aside this gloominess, 
 As though it were a garment out of use. 
 And dress us in the robes of gayety. {Exeunt from 7'^'indou'.) 
 
 Enter Blondel. 
 
 Blon. Hark! Do they follow me? — Tis but the wind's 
 Soft murmur in the trees : each sound's alarm. 
 When one's pursued. — They thought me safe : ye Gods ! 
 Wliat perseverance doth ! Methinks the shore 
 Of ocean was made sand by sand; the deep, 
 Blue sea a tiny drop on drop : so I, 
 Stealthily with this file eat through my chains ; 
 Whose falling grains, minutest particles, 
 Was each a rock to build my freedom on : 
 I struck my keeper down ; the prison fled. — 
 The moon shines bright: O for dark clouds to hide me I 
 Come, seal thine eye, O night; let shadows fall 
 To wrap me from the gaze of enemies. — 
 Where is my love, and her dear majesty? 
 I will not flee the country till I find them. — 
 Can this stern castle hold such princely gems? 
 
44 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Why, 'tis the roughest stone where diamonds bed, 
 And gold doth lodge within the rudest earth : 
 Outsides tell not what soul is in a man. — 
 There is a window; I will call: — My lady! 
 Your highness! My dear majesty! — x\las ! 
 No answer : silent, ghostly sentinel. 
 How like grim death thou hast a body, but 
 No tongue. — I must search for them far and near. (Exit. 
 
 {Bcrcjigaria and Joan rc-appcar at the zi'iiidozi'.) 
 
 Joan. Didst thou not hear? 
 
 Bcr. I heard me nothing, dear. 
 
 Joan. Methought there was a calling: Some one cried, 
 "My lady." then, "Your highness," then, once more. 
 In tones of sorrow, "My dear majesty." 
 
 Bcr. 'Twas but the voice of fancy, love, which, in 
 These echoing walls, made its soft whispers harsh. 
 
 Joan. Believe me, Berengaria, 'tis not so. 
 
 Bcr. Well, thou didst sleep, and bath'd in gentle dreams, 
 Whose waters, rippling softly o'er thy mind. 
 As purling streams that dash the pebbles by, 
 Play'd tricks fantastic to thine ear. 
 
 Joan. Forsooth, 
 
 I was so wide awake that I had heard 
 A moon-ray light upon a leaf. 
 
 Bcr. But look! 
 
 There's no one here. See ! how doth Luna shed 
 Her silver lustre on the earth beneath. 
 And tips 3^on wood-tops with her gleamy fringe ; 
 Whose paly brightness nearly matches day. 
 Making distinctness noon-tide clear. All that's 
 To see, I see. But where is he that cried? 
 
 Joan. I cannot tell. 'Tis strange, most strange; but true. 
 For I did hear; so sure am I. I will 
 Not let mine eyes prove false my trusty ears. 
 In the next room I sat ; my thoughts afar — 
 On England when he spake : O that sweet voice ! 
 
 Bcr. O. then it was a voice familiar? 
 
ACT IT. SCENE TTl. 45 
 
 Joan. Why, yes; 'twas his. 
 Bcr. His? Whose? 
 
 Joan. Blondel's. 
 
 Bcr. Blondel ! 
 
 How dost thou speak his name as though it were 
 A precious thing to thee : thy heart's dehght. 
 
 Joan. Did not he save my Hfe? Was't not his care 
 That 'scaped my royal brother, thy dear lord, 
 From treacherous daggers' thrusts? What he hath done. 
 Can ever we repay? Wherefore dost thou 
 Evince surprise at my deep gratitude? 
 
 Bcv. He is a noble knight : we owe him much. 
 (Aside.) But there is more than gratitude in her. 
 That she doth love him I have vague belief : 
 Seen many signs : now^ to the truth of it. — 
 (To Joan.) How is it thou dost flutter so. Joan? 
 
 Joan. O, I am shaken with the breeze of hope. 
 Which trembles more than wind the forest's leaves : 
 Methinks Blondel will bring us freedom, dear. 
 
 Bcr. What magic's in that name? thy color flits 
 From ruddy rose to lily's whitest hue, 
 Then back again ; so swiftly changing tints. 
 That 'tis as lightning dancing on thy cheeks. 
 Look ! now thy bosom throbs and heaves apace. 
 What ! is some secret striving to be free. 
 That thou wouldst keep in secret there? Hold up 
 Thy head, and tell me. dear, dost thou not love 
 Blondel? 
 
 Joan. O Berengaria, how you talk ! 
 
 Bcr. Long have I noted thee ; thought much ; said naught ; 
 Wonder'd could it be so ; and. wondering, saw 
 A woman is but woman after all. 
 Be what her station may. I knew thou lov'st : 
 Learned it by thy sighs ; thy face's book. 
 Whereon thy heart did write. Away, didst thou 
 L jr wish him by to play ; yet near, thou wert 
 To marble turned ; speechless, white as death 
 
46 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Did he, in parting, touch thy finger's tip. 
 Lo ! when he sang the song in Ascalon — 
 Our last night there — and thou didst weep ; wert led 
 From out the court; what did affect thee so? 
 Was't not the burden of the song was thine ? 
 E'en here, thy slumbers are but dreams of him ; 
 Thy sleep so full of soft, endearing terms, 
 Methinks these stones have lost their rugged frown. 
 Hearing thy melting tenderness. Come, now ; 
 Wilt own that I have read aright, Joan ? 
 
 Joan. Thou'lt not be angry what I have to say? 
 
 Bcr. When I'm enraged at a violet's blue, 
 Cross at the shining sun ; a twinkling star ; 
 The fragrance of a garden's scent ; the taste 
 Of luscious fruits; when all that's joyous to 
 The sense enrages me ; then I shall be 
 Angry with thee, my pretty one. 
 
 Joan. How quick one woman reads another's love ! 
 That I do love him thou hast rightly judged; 
 Judge not that thou canst measure of that love, 
 For thou art human ; whiles my love for him 
 Doth tower so high it reaches heaven, where 
 Nor bounds, nor limits are. I love him, yea ; 
 
 {Enter Blond el.) 
 Yet, why I love, know not — what woman doth ? 
 Because he is Blondel, I love; that's all. 
 Were he a king. I'd love him that he were 
 Blondel alone, not that he were a king; 
 If beggar, still the same. 
 
 Blon. {Aside) What is't I hear^ 
 
 She loves me ! sweetest music in the world ! 
 I must not hear ; yet what can I ? I've heard. 
 
 Joan. O misery ! I cannot tell my love. 
 For that I am a woman ; did he love, 
 Would not for that I am of royal birth. 
 Poor Sicily ! he was a goodly lord ; 
 But ever hath mv heart been with Blondel ; 
 
ACT U. SCENE III. 47 
 
 And I had rather be a waiting-maid. 
 He loving" me — yea, grime my hands, and crust 
 My knees with scrubbing floors — -than, loving not. 
 To be perch'd on the gilded throne of pomp. 
 Well, I will love, and pine, and waste away ; 
 For love, unfed, starves life to shortest day. 
 
 Bloii. {Aside) Soft, beating heart ! Cling, silence, to my 
 tongue ; 
 Concealment, like eternal ivy hides 
 Beneath its growth, cover my constant love ; 
 Keep from her what I know : degree commands't : 
 So, be thou mute, Blondel.— But quick! I'll call: 
 Your highness ! 
 
 Bcr. Who is it? 
 
 Blon. 'Tis I. 
 
 Joan. Blondel ! 
 
 Methought I heard thee calling thrice before. 
 
 Blon. And so I did, my lady. Searching you. 
 Some moments gone pass'd here ; in hurry, call'd ; 
 No answer sped me on. for I'm pursued : 
 I broke my prison-bonds, and fled me thence. 
 
 Joan. What ! didst thou hear our voice when thou re- 
 turned? 
 
 Blon. No; not a whisper fell upon mine ear. 
 But saw you in the moonlight at the window. 
 (Aside) Now, God forgive that lie. 
 
 Joan. {Aside) Thanks, fortune, thanks! 
 
 He heard not what I said. 
 
 Ber. Where is my lord? 
 
 Blon. (Aside) Would that I knew. Since we were 
 seiz'd, the king's 
 A blank to me. 
 
 Ber. O, good my knight, tell me : 
 
 Is he in prison, sick, or dead? 
 
 Bloji. (Aside) Ye saints! 
 
 Another lie. (To Ber.) I grant thee, well. But come: 
 More of this later ; danger's in delay. 
 
48 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 The window is too high to jump; I will 
 
 Procure a rope. Have courage ; I will free thee. — 
 
 Hark ! they come ! I cannot stay. Farewell. 
 
 (B.vif. Sounds of pursuers coining.) 
 Bcr. Till he return our spirits in hope dwell. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 A Room in Austria's Castle. 
 
 BerEngaria discovered. 
 
 Bcr. O this imprisonment ! What if Blondel 
 Should fail? I will not think on failure; 'tis 
 But treachery to douht when hope sends forth 
 A light to shine upon our path : be tirm. 
 Gentle Joan ! sweet lily, pluck'd from freedom. 
 Unkissed by the sun. how doth she fade ! 
 Confinement droops her like a caged bird ; 
 Still more, pining with secret love, she fails. — 
 I am the stronger; must support her. yea. 
 Happen what may. show not discouragement : 
 Now. tears and sighs I will no more ; for they 
 Are heavy rains, high winds to break her down.— 
 Plantagenet to love so low beneath 
 Her lofty sky ! O royalty's descent ! 
 What! heaven bow to earth? Despicable! 
 Yet can I chide her not : so patient she ; 
 So loving and so lovable ; so sad. — 
 How pithy of romance it is ! — Come, come ! 
 I am not angry, though I would I were ; 
 For where's the woman that lo^•es not romance. 
 E'en that she be a queen, queen's maid, or what. 
 So she doth have a human female heart ? 
 'Tis zest to fancy ; spicy flower ; a rose, 
 Charming our eyes, whiles paining with its thorns. 
 Why, 'tis a pretty love that'll soon away, 
 For sweetest things do have the shortest stay. 
 
ACT II. SCENE IV. 49 
 
 Enter Austria. 
 
 The duke of Austria ! 
 
 Ans. Berengaria. 
 
 Bar. That is my name, but not my name to thee : 
 I am the Lady Berengaria, 
 Her majesty, the queen of England, sir ! 
 
 Alls. Is this thy throne? 
 
 Bcr. My throne is woman's, sir; 
 
 Which ever yet commands respect of men ! 
 
 A us. What dignity! what grace! what nobleness! 
 Bowing, I bow unto God's fairest work. (He hoivs.) 
 
 Bcr. Bowing, I prithee bow thyself from here. 
 
 Alls. How say'st? Pray me be gone? How canst thou bid? 
 
 Bcr. How many times have I 1)id thee not come? 
 
 Atis. As many times as I have disobeyed. 
 I thought thou wert my prisoner, sweet one. 
 
 Bcr. I never thought thou wert a gentleman ! 
 
 Alls. What! after all my gentle care? O f y ! 
 
 Bcr. Thy gentlest care shows thee the ruffian more ! 
 
 Alls. Thy roughest words show thee more beautiful. 
 I love thee, sweet. 
 
 Bcr. I hate thee, toad ! 
 
 Alts. O come ! 
 
 I'll teach thee how to love. 
 
 Bcr. Out of my sight ! 
 
 Thou couldst but teach me how to hate the more. 
 If that more hate could fill my hateful heart ! 
 I might learn love from adder's hissing tongue. 
 But not from thee though thou hadst angel's tongue ! 
 . Alts. Why, pretty dove, wilt thou be ruffled so? 
 
 Bcr. Why, cowardly wolf, wilt thou prey on me so? 
 
 Alts. I pray but that thou wilt 1)e Austria's wife. 
 
 Bcr. Thy wife ! Thou hast no thoup ht of wife ! or, if 
 Thou hadst, I'd rather dwell in dungeons, holes. 
 In filthy, slimy caverns of the earth. 
 Infested with the vilest things that breathe. 
 
50 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Eclips'd in darkness black as Egypt's plague. 
 Hearing no sound but constant biss of snakes. 
 And pass my days forever tberc accursed. 
 Than live one hour with thee ! O God ! O God ! 
 Were Richard here ! 
 
 Alts. What then, my lovely queen? 
 
 Bcr. Then thou wouldst be no more! One second's flash. 
 Crushing thee, viper, as a writhing worm. 
 He'd flash thee to eternal hell ! 
 
 Alls. Aha! 
 He would not fight me were he here, my love. 
 The name of Austria stands 
 
 Bcr. Fo 
 
 r vniamy 
 
 For ever}- form of vice, disgrace, dishonor ! 
 
 There is no vileness vile enough for thee ! 
 
 Did goodness creep from devils, why, from thee 
 
 'Twould flee swifter than thought : so base art thou ! 
 
 Did evil loose itself from imps and fiends. 
 
 For that they were too pure for its impurity. 
 
 To thee 'twould cling eternally as is 
 
 The realm of sin : thou are so basely base ! 
 
 Alts. O how doth anger richly paint thy cheek. 
 Whose crimson rose doth mount thy beauty high ! 
 
 Ber. Would that that highness were a rocky cliff 
 To drop death down on thee ! 
 
 Alls. So fair and fierce? 
 
 Thine e3^es gleam like two glorious, starry orbs. 
 
 Bcr. Thine eyes gleam like a reptile's loathsome gaze 
 
 Alls. So doth a tigress fume when she's attacked. 
 Peace, peace ! thou hast no cause 
 
 Bcr. There is no peace 
 
 When virtue is assail'd ! 
 
 Alts. Throw off this mask. 
 
 And I shall be as open as noon-tide. 
 When 'pears the sun in his most bright array. 
 I would be honorable : I have to say 
 That which mav blanch the scarlet in thv face. 
 
ACT II. SCENE IV. 51 
 
 Bcr. Say what thou hast. 
 
 Aus. King Richard's dead. 
 
 Bcr. Thou liest ! 
 
 Ahs. 'Tis true : thy lord is dead. 
 
 Bcr. Thou hest ! he lives ! 
 
 I see it in thy looks, thy trembling fear ! 
 King Richard dead? the great Plantagenet? 
 No, no! Why dost thou shake and quiver so? 
 'Tis but the mention of his name frights thee ! 
 He lives ! That is not scorn upon thy lips ; 
 'Tis shivering! As the Arab mother stills 
 Her fretful babe by whispering, "Malek Ric," 
 So thou dost shudder whiles I speak of him ! 
 For were he bound down with a million chains, 
 Pil'd on those million chains a million rocks, 
 Each rock to weigh a million million tons, 
 And yet he liv'd, still wouldst thou fear ! 
 Therefore, thou trembling leaf, I know he lives. 
 
 Alts. Why, 'tis a pretty speech, said prettily; 
 'Tis well deserving truth. He is not dead ; 
 Yea, more, he's safe. 
 
 Bcr. {Taken uiiaicarcs) Safe? Where? O Austria, 
 where ? 
 
 Aus. In prison! 
 
 Bcr. O ! 
 
 Alts. Ha! ha! wilt fret and pout? 
 
 Purse up thy lips in such a lovely bud? 
 Eook black with frowns and have no smile for me? 
 
 Bcr. (Aside) Fool that I was to let him trap me so. 
 
 Alts. I have another lie for thee, my pet; 
 But it shall be so full of pleasure, joy. 
 So sweet, that thou wilt not deny. 
 
 Bcr. And that? 
 
 Alls. When I do lie with thee. 
 
 Bcr. O villain, thou ! 
 
 And that shall be when death lies with me, too. 
 
 Aus. No; that shall be this hour. Come to mine arms. 
 
 (Approaches Jicr.) 
 
52 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bcr. (Spitting on him.) 
 I spit on thee ! 
 
 Alts. Thy spit is honey from 
 
 A rose. — O ecstasy ! let's taste of love. 
 
 (Approaches nearer.) 
 
 Ber. O rather taste of death ! Back, blackguard ! back ! 
 Avaunt, thou baneful sore ! Pollute me not ! 
 For. where thy finger did but touch, though that 
 That touch were soft and gentle as a babe's, 
 There would pollution hang, contagion, plague, 
 The rankest poison's poisonest enmity !■ — 
 If thou hast but a spark of manhood, sir 
 
 Alls. There is no spark but passion in me now! 
 By God! I will enjoy thee, woman! 
 
 (Rushes tozcard her.) 
 
 Bcr. {Draz^'s a dagger.) Halt ! One step. 
 And on thy head shall be my blood ! One step. 
 So surely as there is a God above. 
 This dagger strikes my heart ! 
 
 Alls. (Hesitating) Thou wouldst not dare. 
 
 Ber. Dare thou but take the step, thou murderer. 
 And ever be accursed with my death ! 
 Thou durst not dare me, coward ! 
 
 Aus. (Retreating) My tragic queen, 
 
 ril tame thee ; curb thy spirit ; 'joy thee yet. 
 Thou shalt hear from me soon — and then — and then — 
 Well, then shall be what it shall be. — Adieu. (Exit.) 
 
 Ber. He's gone. — "Thou shalt hear from me soon — and 
 then — " 
 What is his threat? Whispers a devil's voice. 
 Thy virtue, or thy Richard's doom! What follows? 
 Why, what would Richard have? Insult to ask! 
 Lie here, keen dagger, virtue's saviour, friend ! 
 
 (Lays a dagger in her bosom.) 
 O Thou that gav'st me life, when comes that time. 
 Giv'st Thou me strength to take that life from me ! 
 How long, O God I how long shall't be ? — How now ? 
 
ACT 111. SCENE I. 53 
 
 Faintness creeps over me ; still am I l)ut 
 
 A woman; flesh and blood is frail; o'erstrained. 
 
 O hurry ihou. Blondel ! Come, freedom, come! (Faints.) 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Once more now bring your fancy into play. 
 
 Let rest awhile your eye, and. in your mind. 
 
 Draw scenes that are not acted on our stage. 
 
 Picture Blondel's evasion of his foes : 
 
 Breathless with running; crouching in dark nooks; 
 
 Creeping in caves to hide ; affrighted at 
 
 A sound no louder than a wren's slight chirp, 
 
 Which, to his startled ear. is magnified 
 
 To voices in pursuit : in sooth, worn out 
 
 In all but spirits ; they, still brave — for where's 
 
 A noble mind that's not above distress 
 
 Of body? From now, fortune comes his way. 
 
 Next, see him 'fore the castle where our fair 
 
 Ones are ; follow the arrow that he shoots 
 
 Into the lofty window's gap, and, lo ! 
 
 A trailing rope, like comet's tail, is seen 
 
 To fly in, too ; which nimble fingers knot 
 
 Securely fast. Behold ! there, hanging down. 
 
 Doth dangle liberty : escape's sure means : 
 
 So. oft do destinies hang by such threads. 
 
 O woman's heart ; it is a giddy height ! 
 
 O velvet hands ! were they but callous'd now ! 
 
 Blondel aids what he can : they clutch the rope ; 
 
 Then falter; then descend with bleeding palms. 
 
 And ghostly, bloodless cheeks. — To England, ho ! 
 
 What hardships, trials, and narrow-breadth escapes. 
 
 What woes, and dangers manifold are theirs. 
 
 Unknown, unfriended, fearful to be known. 
 
54 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Is thought's most easy task. For it needs not 
 Imagination keen to grasp the scope 
 Of sufferings to these ladies royal. 
 But fortitude is strong in woman found : 
 O joy ! at last they reach the blessed shore 
 Of England. Hold! Did we say joy? Ah! no. 
 For where is he whose glory was the light 
 That shone this little nation like a sun? 
 Where's Richard? Where the noble lion-heart? 
 But one short scene, and then with us depart 
 To Germany. And there, so please your wills. 
 We'll deal with Richard's sadness and his ills. 
 
 ScKNE I. 
 
 London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Eleanor, BerEngaria, and Joan. 
 
 Elc. Tell it again, dear Bcrengaria. 
 
 Joan. My royal mother will wear out our tongue 
 Upon this theme. 
 
 Ble. And you two women? Fy ! 
 
 Fear not : a woman's chiefest gift is talk. 
 
 Joan. Out on thee, mother, to so shame our sex. 
 
 Elc. Well, truth is truth, let it hit whom it may : 
 And, though 1 be a woman that say it. 
 Nature most richly hath endow'd us with 
 Glib tongues; whose use is oil to never let 
 Them rust. 
 
 Joan. Let rest our tongues 
 
 Ble. They never will ; 
 
 Nor would I have them in the telling this. 
 
 Joan. But then you will wear out the tale, if not 
 Our tongues, so oft have we unravell'd it. 
 
 Ble. Nay ; 'tis compos'd of such a magic cloth. 
 
ACT III. SCENE T. 55 
 
 So full of strange, unnatural weaves and threads, 
 Whose \^'Oof"s romance, whose texture's miracles. 
 That it impairs not. as our silks and lace. 
 With wear, or time, or age's ravages ; 
 But, like a mythic garment, gains in strength. 
 In interest, charm to me. 
 
 Joan. Therein, it doth 
 
 Reseml^le music of lo\e's song that stales 
 Not to the willing hearer's ear. but. more 
 Doth honey, more 'tis sung. 
 
 Bcv. But where begin? 
 
 lllc. In telling stories, writing books to please. 
 Remember this (it is a rule of ease) : 
 Begin with darkest shadows, end in light ; 
 Showing bright day doth ever follow night. 
 
 Bcv. Where more of gloom than Austria's castle? There. 
 With us : two birds, bred in an eagle's nest. 
 Wont to the soaring flights of royalty. 
 Now barr'd in compass of a cage of stone ! 
 Yet soft those stones to Austria's rocky heart ! 
 Afflict the mind, the body feels no pain : 
 Our anguish was in thought. O memory ! 
 What stabs were thy remembrances ! Of our 
 Beloved ones, and England, thoughts were daggers. — 
 One moonlight night — 
 
 Joan. More light than were our hearts. 
 
 Bcr. We. at oin- window's seat ; a call below : 
 Blondel ! 
 
 Joan. Whom I had heard before, you know. 
 
 Bcr. Had broke his jail; pursuit was at his heels; 
 Bid us to hope ; he would return ; then fled. 
 A moment more he had been lost, so close 
 Were they upon him. 
 
 Joan. What anxiety ! 
 
 Bcr. Days pass'd ; in which another burning hell 
 Flam'd rotmd us — Austria its devil ; whose 
 Fiendish designs Joan knew nothing of. 
 
 Joaji. O noble sister! she kept all from me. 
 
56 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bcv. Our courage wan'd ; hope tottered on the verge 
 Of that deep precipice — despair. At last. 
 He came : an arrow shot into our room : 
 One end a rope to end imprisonment ; 
 Which tying fast, like tremhling leaves that trail 
 Along a vine, we let us down. 
 
 Joan. From then, {Enter Blundcl.) 
 
 Blondel — hut here he is. 
 
 Blon. Madams, your pardon. 
 
 Abruptness hath a warrant in my news. 
 
 Bcr. What is it? Speak! 
 
 Blc. How quicker than the speech 
 
 A clouded face tells mournful news ! So thine 
 Bespeaks some ill. 
 
 Blon. 'Tis not so much cf ill. 
 
 Your highness, as uncertainty : whose worry 
 Drapes ever with a veil of gloomiest hue. 
 
 Bcr. Hast tidings of the king? 
 
 Blon. Judge for thyself: 
 
 Our couriers returned from abroad, 
 Bring this report : in Germany, they say. 
 The whisper goes a king's imprison'd there; 
 Who 'tis, or in what castle, dungeon lies. 
 Doth mystery withhold. In knots and groups. 
 The peasants hold disputes : many believe ; 
 But others laugh, and call it rumor's child, 
 (Withal in muffled tones) ; who scatter at 
 Authority's approach, for mandates are 
 In vogue to punish those that prate thereon : 
 Which most officious law gives it a tinge 
 Of truth. 
 
 Bcr. Can this be Richard, sir? 
 
 Joan. O joy! 
 
 Methinks "tis him. 
 
 Blon. First, is the story true? 
 If so, it may be our dear majest}^ 
 
 Bcr. What say'st ? If so^ May be? WHiy, if there be 
 
ACT III. SCENE I. 57 
 
 A needle's point of chance that it is him. 
 In thundering clamor, indignation's blast, 
 Our armies will we send to scour that land. 
 To rake its soil, ope mountains, dry its streams. 
 Until they seek him out ! 
 
 Blc. Impossible ! 
 
 We have no armies, forces, powerful troops ; 
 For treachery hath sapp'd our strength away. 
 Our kingdom is a tree that discord's axe 
 Hath left a limbless trunk. King Richard's friends 
 Stand cowering by, as John — O recreant son ! — 
 Swarms round him nobles false, and malcontents, 
 Whose pillage is the crown ; which flocking hawks 
 Compell'd that eagle, William of Longchamps, 
 Our chancellor, to flee ; who was the rock 
 And pillar to uphold great Richard's cause. 
 
 Joan. O dismal times ! 
 
 Bcr. God be our shield and guide. 
 
 Blc. Ah! England, wert thou but in harmony! 
 Then would we deluge Germany in blood. 
 If that my son be bound in foreign chains. 
 
 Blon. Madams, take heart. Depend on Providence ; 
 He aids the right. The commons love their king : 
 His glory is their pride ; so, too, the clergy : 
 His battles for the cross of Christ, their love. 
 These are two mighty props to check his fall. 
 Beside, I have a plan to find my liege. 
 
 Bcr. Good sir, what is't? 
 
 Blon. Doffing this knightly dress, 
 
 To perk me in my minstrel's gay attire, 
 (For minstrels have a privilege none molest) 
 I will to Germany : there, with my lute. 
 Before each castle, I will play and sing 
 Familiar airs that we oft sang together. 
 
 Bcr. When, if within, he'd answer thee. 
 
 Blon. But so ; 
 
 For swift would recognition buzz his ears. 
 
58 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bcr. This likes me well. 
 
 Blon. I will not taste despair. 
 
 Till every castle in all Christendom 
 Hath heard my voice. 
 
 Bcr. How weak an instrument 
 
 Is now my month ! Blondel, my heart's so full 
 Of gratitude an hour of words were as 
 A drop from an eternal spring. O sir, 
 I can no more ; I am too full to speak ; 
 Take but my thanks — -a queen's — a wife's. 
 
 Ble. And mine — 
 
 A mother's ! whose heart, too, robs her tongue of words ; 
 For truly brevity of speech is apt, 
 When souls with gratitude are most enrapt. 
 But come ; ourselves prepare his going. 
 
 (Bxucni Eleanor and Bcrengaria.) 
 
 Joa}i. Blondel. 
 
 Blon. My lady. 
 
 Joan. When shall you depart ? 
 
 Blon. Another sun sets not upon me here. 
 
 Joan. So soon ? Perhaps we'll never meet again. 
 
 Blon. It may be so. 
 
 Joan. Ah! me. How "never"" palls! 
 
 It is a dreadful word. 
 
 Blon. "It may be so," 
 
 I said, not. "It will be."" Away with shadows ! 
 Strong men see but the lights ; the weak, but shades. 
 So bright I'll burnish my shield, hope, its gleams 
 Will scatter darkness in sheer fright. Methinks, 
 All will be well. 
 
 Joan. There's danger where you go. 
 
 Blon. The more it will add sweetness to success ; 
 Where danger is, there greatest glory lies. 
 
 Joan. No day. nor night, nor yet an hour shall pass, 
 But, on my knees, I'll pray my heavenly God 
 To shine thy way with blessings. 
 
 Blon. Peace be mine ! 
 
ACT 111. SCENE 1. 59 
 
 With such a minister to plead, I were 
 A coward did I fear. 
 
 Joan. You sav'd my life 
 
 Blon. O spare me ! speak it not. 
 
 Joan. That noble act ! 
 
 I'll ne'er forget thy struggle with the waves. 
 
 Blon. What were it else but loyal subject's due? 
 To save my liege's lovely sister-queen, 
 (If mine to die), I'd die a thousand deaths; 
 Think it no more than lying down to sleep. 
 
 Joan. Here is a ring : my mother gave it me ; 
 'Tis my most precious jewel. When a child 
 I wore it ; never from this finger been 
 Till now : take it, Blondel ; a token slight ; 
 But if, when thou'rt afar, one look on it 
 Doth bring me Ixick to thee, remember, then. 
 That there is one whose thoughts and prayers are thine — 
 Joan Plantagenet. 
 
 Blon. ( Takes the ring) O that I will ! 
 My life I'll hold a worthless thing to it ; 
 But honor, naught so dear. Here shall it lie 
 Against my breast, where honor's conscience lies ; 
 Whene'er I glance at it ( which shall be next 
 In oftenness to thought), for that 'tis gold, 
 It will remind me of the golden worth 
 Of her that gave ; that it is bright, bethink 
 Me of a happiness to come ; and, that 
 'Tis round, without a break or end, recall 
 How, my liege found, we'll circle here again 
 In endless joy: until which time, God bless thee! 
 Farewell ! 
 
 (Exit Blondel.) 
 
 Joan. O fare thee well! no sadder knell 
 On lips, tongue, mouth, did ever dwell. 
 
6o RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A Room ill Trifcls castle. 
 
 Enter Richard, Dk Vai'x, and Baldwin. 
 
 De Vaux. What didst thou say this castle's call'd, my liege? 
 
 Rich. Trifels, De Vaux ; belongs to Germany. 
 
 Bald. How? Trifels? Why, though here near one full year. 
 This is the first I've heard our prison's name. 
 
 Rich. The soldier, whom I threw in merry bout, 
 Told me — for so my strength o'ercame his skill, 
 That was his boast and pride, it won his love, 
 (He being one who worships at strength's shrine), 
 Which lost his caution (as they do that speak 
 Of what's forbid) : for orders, rigid, strict. 
 Command a silence on the subject which 
 He spoke. 
 
 De Vaux. What said he? 
 
 Rich. That the emperor, 
 
 Hearing of my captivity, did pay 
 To Austria, his vassal lord, a sum 
 For my release : this not without most strong 
 Objections from the duke, who, loath to give 
 Me up, drain'd deep the emperor's full purse. 
 
 Bald. What is the ulcer of the emperor's hate? 
 
 Rich. Claims I did seat Tancred in Sicily; 
 Which, otherwise, had been an adjunct to 
 His power : therefore, at Trifels here we pine. 
 
 De Vaux. It is a goodly place to Durenstein ; 
 Where Austria kept us like so many rats. 
 Each in a separate hole. 
 
 Rich. Why, that it is ! 
 
 There was I steep'd in an Egyptian night : 
 Never a gleam of light broke in my cell. 
 Never a human voice fell on mine ear. 
 O Durenstein ! Unhappy Durenstein ! 
 
ACT in. SCENE 11. 6i 
 
 Dc Vaux. Foul, loathsome, filthy, vilest misery! 
 
 Bald. So low, so vile, so tedious, lonesome there. 
 Shut in a dungeon of an endless night. 
 Its slimy creatures, that we most abhor, 
 I learn'd to love to bear me company. 
 
 Rich. I see, my lords, we suffer'd all alike; 
 (Save you had not my anguish for the queen) 
 I. too, did fondle reptiles, vermin, toads. 
 And held them dear to break monotony. 
 Man needs companionship in such sore straits. 
 Else reason's prone to flee. Methinks, had I 
 An adder in my cell 'twere welcome then. 
 As I am England's king, if I again 
 E'er rule that blessed land, so help me God, 
 No sentence shall I ever pass my lips 
 Condemning a poor soul to such confinement ! 
 It is a crime 'gainst nature ; hell itself 
 Could not conceive a torture more ingenious. 
 
 Dc J\m.v. How different is Trifels ! Here we three 
 Commune together ; daily exercise ; 
 And, mingling with the soldiery, in feats 
 Of brawn and muscle, while the time away ; 
 So that one hour of cursed Durenstein. 
 Were longer than a week of Trifels' life. 
 
 Bald. My liege, spake not the soldier of the queen? 
 
 Rich. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Dc J\mx. Nor England? 
 
 Rich. Not a word. 
 
 O keen suspense, thou piercest to my soul ! 
 Where art thou, Berengaria? O my love. 
 Hath envious death ta'en Richard's angel hence, 
 To fly her snow-white wings above yon blue? 
 
 Dc J\iux. Your majesty, 'twere better that than 
 
 Rich. Than what. De Vaux? 
 
 Dc J^aux. Think thou on Austria, 
 
 Whose power she's in. 
 
 Rich. A devil ! 
 
62 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Dc Faux. Even so : 
 
 She's beautiful ; a charm to eye and sense ; 
 And what, perforce, may that same devil do ? 
 
 Rich. Not that ! O God, not that ! I will not think 
 On it : there's madness there. Yet, blacker thought 
 Than inkiest spot in hell, I cannot wipe 
 Thee out ! Thou hast been agony to me — 
 Two years of agony ! She fear'd him ; yea. 
 Her woman's instinct read his hot desires. 
 O purity ! hath vandal passion racked 
 This monument that is more pure than thee? — 
 O that I'd torn him limb from liml) ! 
 
 Bald. My liege 
 
 RicJi. Liege me no more, nor call me majesty; 
 For what is Richard king of? Not himself; 
 For, if he were, says not the Holy Writ, 
 He then were greater than whom cities take? 
 Yet weakness so doth now encompass him. 
 So bound around is he with frailty. 
 He hath not the wherewith to e'en protect 
 His queen, which each male tiny creature doth ; 
 Ay, wrens and sparrows for their mates do care — 
 But Richard's less than they. 
 
 Dc Vaux O dear my liege ! 
 
 Rich. Ha ! fallen glory, how thy pangs do pain ! 
 The bird that flies most high is the most hurt. 
 If it unhappily fall ; and so with men : 
 None suffer like a king that's toppled down. 
 
 Bald. Thou art not down, my liege. What ! Richard 
 down ? 
 The only down shall be thy going down 
 The centuries immortal in thy fame. 
 
 Dc Vaux. The light of glory never dies with him 
 That gave it birth ; but, like a sun that's set 
 Beams more transcendent beauty on the sky 
 Than when it shone, so glory, after death 
 Of him whose 'tis, grows radiant with time. 
 
ACT III. SCENE Tl. 63 
 
 Rich. The bright day's brief for that it is so Ijright ; 
 Dark ones are long. Thus gIor3^'s shining hfe 
 Did flit me by ; a vapor ; 1)nt a breath ; 
 A sleep wherein were dreams of brilliant hues ; 
 A scene of conquests, joys, and victories. 
 My crown was not alone a golden band : 
 Upon my head sat greatness, grandeur, power. 
 Three attributes that made the nations fear ! 
 My voice, an earthquake : when I spake, the world 
 Did shiver at my majesty, yea. shook 
 Its peoples into caves and hiding places 
 In dread that England's wrath would swallow them : 
 The sea was fretful that my ships did on 
 Her bosom lie, and she could sink them not ; 
 Whose numbers were as stars on cloudless night ; 
 And. when mine armies march'd. the rumble of 
 Their tramp made thunder's crash as faint as stillness. 
 Which, fighting, were as lightning's striking bolts. 
 Vain pomp and ceremony circled me : 
 The great, the low. the beggar, bishop, prince. 
 The rich, the poor, the haughty, humble, all 
 Were wont to stoop to Richard reverently : 
 No duke so high but lowly bent his knee. 
 No rogue so low but highly paid respect. 
 Alas ! all's gone, gone, gone ! the mighty fall. 
 And but a fool is he who's rich in pride : 
 Who vaunts him on his greatness let him hush. 
 For 'tis as slippery as the ice : who stands. 
 Oft. standing, falls; or 'tis as snow: we touch. 
 And, touching, melt. Look on me, friends : who was 
 A king is now the subject of king grief; 
 Whose kingdom here is sorrow, sadness, woe. 
 
 Bald. Is this King Richard? He of whom 'tis said 
 "Did rob a sturdy lion of its heart"? 
 Despair, the blackest raven of the flock, 
 Now pecks that heart and eats its courage up. 
 Alack! when such a valiant soldier's thus. 
 
64 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Dc Vaux. Ah! England, what will e'er become of thee? 
 Thy noble leader so in sore distress, 
 Methinks I see thee food for villainy 
 To prey upon. 
 
 Rich. Do not repine, my lords ; 
 
 For Richard is the king of England still, 
 Nor yet one jot of courage fled his heart. 
 But I am sad ; and who that's sad delights 
 Not in sweet-bitter melancholy's cup? 
 
 Bald. Drink not so deep, my liege. 
 
 Rich. The deeper drunk. 
 
 The deeper sadness grows till, passing mine. 
 It roots to sadness deeper than mine own ; 
 Then I'm less sad to know my thoughts can think 
 Upon a sadness greater than mine own : 
 So when I'm sad, I love to sip this cup. 
 
 Bald. Of melancholy let us speak no more. 
 Let's talk of blood, and wars, and battlefields, 
 Of troops, battalions, skirmishes, and drills. 
 Of standards, flaunting banners, trumpets' blasts. 
 
 Rich. No, no ; for that would stir the blood in me, 
 And bear my mind again on Austria, 
 Which, blazing me with heat of anger's fire, 
 Calmness were burn'd away ; I then were mad : 
 Once more would rage, and fume, and stamp, and roar, 
 Attempt to tear me through these ponderous stones, 
 To break these bars, and act me but the fool 
 In efforts futile. Nay, let me be calm. 
 Come, come, we'll play that this is England here: 
 This chair shall be my throne; this stick, my mace; 
 This paper crown, my gilded crown; my subjects 
 Around me but observe : yon swallows on 
 The wing are couriers to foreign lands ; 
 On yonder limbs, the crows, in sable gowns. 
 Are morbid bishops croaking mournfully; 
 These flies that pester me are sycophants — 
 The courtly parasites that hang upon 
 
ACT III. SCENE II. 65 
 
 A king to suck what sweetness they may find ; 
 
 The ants, industrious tradesmen, artisans ; 
 
 That crawling spider there, a treacherous friend — 
 
 ( Yet shame, poor spider, that I call thee so, 
 
 For, though thou'rt poison, still thou'rt but what thou 
 
 Pretend'st to be) ; the flowers I'd say were ladies, 
 
 But that were thinking on my queen : so none 
 
 Of them. You two can be my courtiers 
 
 And fawn and flatter me. 
 
 Dc J\}nx. That can I not; 
 
 'Tis not mine art, nor am I apt at it. 
 
 Bald. May rot my tongue if it gloze e'en a king. 
 
 Rich. But this is frolic; can you play no part? 
 No, honest fellows, I do see there's not 
 x\ whit of mimicry in you : you are 
 
 What you do seem, seem what you are. In honor, truth, 
 Friendship's foundation is a granite bed ; 
 And such is yours. — But come ; I'll on. Well, well, 
 Here will I sit and deal authority : 
 What's this? a pardon? for what? murder? Ha! 
 A cuckold murder'd the adulterer? 
 Why, yes, I grant it thee. — But what is this? 
 Respite for him? Off with his head! he struck 
 The blow from malice, hate. And thus I am 
 An equal poising scale : with that same breath 
 I pardon one to die, do I commit 
 Another one to death. Then handle I 
 Questions abstruse of church and state ; and touch 
 On matters naval, martial, taxes, lands, 
 Minute details of trivialities ; and then. 
 Becoming tired, I would be pleas'd. Call for 
 Blondel that I may balm my weariness 
 With sweet refrains of music's melody. 
 
 (A lute is heard zvithout.) 
 
 Dc J'aux. Hark! what is that? 
 
 Bald. A lute ! 
 
 Rich. By heaven! 'tis 
 
66 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Such harmony as angels hear ; which drips . 
 
 Upon my soul as cooling waters on 
 
 The parched lips of him in desert's waste. 
 
 (Singing zinthont.) 
 List ! he sings. 
 
 Voice. O what a theme is England's glory ! 
 
 Its birth and fame's is one proud story ; 
 And lofty praise first "gan to laud. 
 When first her sons it did applaud. 
 Rich. Ye gods! that voice! the song! the song! we writ it! 
 Have sung it many times ! 'tis he ! Blondel ! 
 
 (Richard rushes to the zvindozo and sings.) 
 O England's glory ! who can sing 
 Its wondrous deeds from king to king? 
 No death shall blot their memory ! 
 Their monument : eternity ! 
 
 (A quick dark change of scene.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 (JVifhouf the castle: Richard, De Vaux, and Baldwin at the 
 
 ■icindo-cv ; Blondei^ seated upon a rock beneath the 
 zvindoiv zchere he had climbed.) 
 
 Rich. Blondel ! 
 
 Bhvi. My royal liege! your majesty! 
 
 O my dear sovereign I have found at last ! 
 
 Rich. To look upon thy face in this strange land. 
 Is as a sparkling gem unto my sight ; 
 Whose glints pierce through my heart's most wretched gloom. 
 
 Blon. What ! do I see De Vaux? 
 
 De J^aux. Yes, yes; 'tis I. 
 
 Blon. And Baldwin, too? 
 
 Bald. "Tis even I, good knight, 
 
 Who was Lord Baldwin ; now's a prisoner. 
 
 Riclr Here doth secure confinement bind us round ; 
 
ACT III. SCENE III. 67 
 
 But my dear lords' allegiance and their love 
 Are tied more fast to me than fast these bars 
 Do hold. — What dost thou here? 
 
 Blon. To seek for thee. 
 
 RicJi. How didst thou find? 
 
 Blon. I heard me of a king 
 
 That was a prisoner in Germany : 
 I vow'd I'd find him if't were thee ; I've sought 
 Throughout this realm: no castle, prison, jail 
 Hath 'scap'd my song till, reaching here, thou answered. 
 
 Rich. Whence comest thou? 
 
 Blon. From England. 
 
 Rich. England! 'Sblood ! 
 
 How got'st from Austria ? 
 
 Blon. I broke my cell ; 
 
 And, with the queen — — 
 
 Rich. The queen! What o'f my queen? 
 
 If thou dost know of her, I charge thee speak. 
 
 Blon. In London she is safe and well ; Init moiu-ns 
 Her absent lord. 
 
 Rich. By heaven, Blondel, I swear 
 
 No message ever fell from human lips, 
 No song-bird ever trill'd a warbling note, 
 No music struck from stringed instrument, 
 So sweet, so full of concord, joy and bliss. 
 As these few words of thine: "She's safe and well": 
 That means she's free from Austria : "but mourns 
 Her absent lord" : that speaks a volume of 
 Dear love. O glowing words! O sentence brief! 
 Within thy compass small thou dost contain 
 More radiance than celestial Phcebus shines. 
 It is as if I were in Hades when. 
 This message came a pair of wings on which 
 In swifter flight than thought, I flew to heaven. 
 What of Joan ? 
 
 Blon. Safe, too, my liege; and well. 
 
 Rich. My royal mother? 
 
68 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Blon. As the others, she. 
 
 RicJi. O God be praised ! 
 
 De Vaux. It is most glorious news. 
 
 Bald. Such tidings make our prison palace-hke. 
 
 Blon. The best is told ; the worst to come. 
 
 Rich. By Jove ! 
 
 There is no worst when such a best is ours. 
 How doth my kingdom fare? 
 
 Blon. O sick! most ill! 
 
 Thyself, its reason, being gone, it is 
 A maniac that raves ; whose government 
 Is sad o'erthrown. Its body is a mass 
 Of sores : old ones reviv'd. and others by 
 Thy brother newly prick'd ; its stomach, full 
 Of rottenness, of treason, perfidy. 
 Doth A'omit insurrections, mutinies. 
 
 RicJi. Where is my chancellor? 
 
 Blon. Press'd by his foes. 
 
 Alack! he's fled. 
 
 Ricli. What danger to my crown? 
 
 Blon. Each instant apt to circle Prince John's head. 
 And make it but a nest for crows and daws. 
 
 De Vau.v. O England! woe is thine. 
 
 Rich. Not serious, lord.' 
 
 When that a lion's gone from out his den. 
 What if the jackals snarl within that den? 
 For, let the lion back again, then see 
 Them crawl and cringe, and slink in fear aw^ay. 
 And so when Richard to his land returns, 
 Shall all his enemies be pacified. 
 
 Blon. Meantime, what if the prince become the king? 
 
 Rich. Poor John ! O feeble, vacillating prince ! 
 Too weak to win a crown, far less to wear, 
 I have no dread of him. Why, were he king 
 Upon the throne, the sceptre in his grasp. 
 Did I but fiercely look at him, in fright 
 The crown would tumble from his head, the mace 
 Fall down, and he in terror flee. 
 
ACT III. SCENE III. 69 
 
 Blon. Your highness 
 
 Must first be there that John thy fierceness see. 
 
 Ricli. By heaven, 'tis so. What hope of aid from England? 
 
 Blon. None, in its present state. 
 
 Ricli. There's but one way. 
 
 Blon. The church, my Hege ? 
 
 Rich. You must to Rome. 
 
 Blon. The pope? 
 
 Rich. The pope. His hoHness is my firm friend. 
 For that I was Christ's soldier in His wars 
 Against black pagans ; and, therefore, shall he 
 Redeem my liberty. Go, tell him how 
 That Henry, emperor of Germany, 
 Detains me in his castle Trifels. Then 
 Methinks, Pope Celestine will threaten him 
 With excommunication, interdiction. 
 If that I be not freed. Go thou in haste. 
 
 Blon. Hath not your majesty a trinket, ring. 
 Something whereby our holy father shall 
 Have proof I am from thee? 
 
 Ricli. (Takes a rosary from his neck.) 
 
 This rosary: 'tis 
 Of quaint, unique design wrought curiously 
 That doth distinguish it ; besides, upon 
 The medal, hath his holiness, with his 
 Own hand, engrav'd his signature: withal. 
 Will know it as his special gift to me, 
 "The mightiest warrior of the church," said he. 
 Take it with thee; shall be a talisman. 
 
 (Throzvs it to Blondcl.) 
 
 Blon. 'Twill answer well. — What man can, that will I : 
 Scant be my sleep and rest until I reach 
 The Vatican ; but Rome's afar ; though I 
 Were Mercury I'd tardy be to thee, for 
 Swiftness is slow to those who anxious wait. 
 
 Dc J^au.v. May heaven be thy guide. 
 
70 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Bald. God give thee speed. 
 
 Rich. To Rome ! to Rome ! my kingdom's and our need ! 
 Blon. To Rome I'll roam o'er valleys, rivers, hills, 
 To seek the lialm for England's and your ills. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Trifels to Rome ! A journey long at best ; 
 
 But ages to Blondel so hot with haste. 
 
 Already Trifels have you seen him leave; 
 
 Now follow him, or, better still, suppose 
 
 That you are he: then, can you fully more 
 
 Appreciate intense anxiety ; 
 
 Tired limbs and aching feet ; the weariness 
 
 Of tedious leagues, of dusty roads, of steep 
 
 Ascents ; the lack of strength-restoring sleep. 
 
 Whose needful hours doth hurry sore reduce ; 
 
 Stomach's distress from haste's quick-bolted meals ; 
 
 And wrinkling worry's furrow-carving touch ; 
 
 Which, all, Blondel unenviously owns. 
 
 That, if your fancy be not desert-bare. 
 
 You do acutely feel as being yours. 
 
 A-foot, a-horse, or whatsoever way 
 
 Dispatch demands, experience aitords. 
 
 You go : now. crossing plains whose stretch requires 
 
 A many trudging days of constant tramp ; 
 
 Now. fording streams ; now, in the valleys low ; 
 
 Now, high on mountains' tops ; yea, even o'er 
 
 The snow-eternal peaks of Alps* great range. 
 
 (Whose summits' robes are of the purest white. 
 
 For that they do approach so near to heaven). 
 
 You climb. And now your difficulties worst 
 
 Are done: though still you onward plod, the way 
 
 Is not so rough ; ambrosial vineyards' breaths, 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 With fragrance, scent the soft ItaHan air; 
 And smoother seems the path the nearer Rome. 
 Behold ! at last the subin-bs come in view ; 
 Next, enter where the mighty Caesar trod ; 
 (Mayhap your foot steps on the very stones). 
 And then — the Vatican ! His Holiness ! — 
 Meantime, in England, mother, sister, wife, 
 Await — O waiting ! nerves' severest strife ! — 
 Tidings from him who searches for the king ; 
 Whiles Richard. Baldwin, and De Vaux do cling 
 To patience as the ivy to those walls 
 That girdle them about. For what befalls, 
 This act will show. 
 
 Scene 1. 
 
 A Street ill Haf^uriiau. 
 
 Citizens passing in one direction. 
 
 Huter First Citizen and Second Citizen from opposite sides 
 of the stage. 
 
 First Cit. Good morrow, citizen. 
 
 See. Cit. Good morrow, sir. 
 
 First Cit. Tell me. what is this stir? 
 
 See. Cit. What stir, neighbor? 
 
 I'irst Cit. The people passing by so fast with quick and 
 eager step. 
 
 See. Cit. Marry! to stir is but to move; you see the moving 
 crowd; why ask me what you see? The crowd's the stir. 
 
 First Cit. Truly; but what is it that stirs the crowd? 
 
 Sec. Cit. Marry ! their legs, my friend. 
 
 First Cit. You play with me. 
 
 See. Cit. Not so ; for 'tis their stirring walk that makes the 
 stir, and who can walk that hath not legs? Therefore, the 
 
72 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 crowd's the stir, stirred by their stirring legs, that stir the 
 stir which stirs yoii to stir me. 
 
 First Cit. You are too al^sohite ; too full of puns and jests. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Then, come, I'll answer you in plainer, sober 
 terms. 
 
 First Cit. Wherefore this holiday aspect? yon surging mass 
 of citizens? the concourse flowing toward the justice hall? 
 
 Sec. Cit. The Diet sits to-day, and thither are they bound. 
 
 First Cit. What is the sitting for? 
 
 Sec. Cit. Live you in Haguenau. friend? 
 
 First Cit. I do. 
 
 Sec. Cit. And nothing know of the great trial ? Why. I 
 had thought it were the very infants' prattle. 
 
 First Cit. Kind sir, I am a workingman that poverty hath 
 made his anvil's slave : by dark I get me to my toil, by dark 
 return ; week in, week out. I sleep, eat, work, no more ; what 
 news I catch is slighter than my scanty pay, so that I am as 
 ignorant as poor. But now I broke this tool, and came for 
 its repair, or I had not been on the city's streets. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Still you have heard of Richard, England's king? 
 
 First Cit. O yes ; for he's so wondrous great, amazing 
 report doth flare his deeds as comets in the sky. 
 
 Sec. Cit. A soldier such the world hath never seen : and. 
 they do say, when he was born, that terror, looking on at 
 bravery's birth, hung down its shameful head and fled in 
 dreadful fear. He is the weighty stone that makes this wide- 
 spread ripple in our quiet pond. 
 
 First Cit. How so ? 
 
 Sec. Cit. What! know you not he is a prisoner? 
 
 First Cit. Forsooth, not I ; yet, when I think with care, 
 I do recall a rumor (sometimes rumor comes to me) that our 
 sovereign has a king in captivit}-. 
 
 Sec. Cit. It is King Richard, whom our liege secretly con- 
 fined in Trifles castle ; on which, our holy father, the pope, 
 finding out, demanded his release and opportunity for defense 
 against the charges made for his imprisonment, threatening 
 the emperor with excommunication, and interdiction of his 
 kingdom did he refuse his righteous mandate for iustice. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I. n 
 
 first Cit. And then? 
 
 Sec. Cit. The emperor, in reverent awe of his hoHness, 
 hath convened the Diet of the empire here : withal, the trial 
 to-day and this commotion. 
 
 First Cit. I will myself go see the noble king, though but 
 a crust to-morrow. {A great sliout.) 
 
 Sec. Cit. But hold ! Methinks they come. 
 
 Bnter a Citizen. 
 
 What is it, citizen? 
 
 Third Cit. The procession moves this way. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Let us stand here and see them pass. Look ! 
 comes his majesty, the emperor. 
 
 First Cit. Who is that haughty one by his side? 
 
 Third Cit. The duke of Austria; he 'twas who first had 
 Richard prisoner. They are his accusers. 
 
 Enter the Emperor oe Germany and Austria zcith retinue. 
 
 Ger. I bear no such vindictiveness as you. 
 'Twere folly had I not obey'd the pope. 
 
 Aus. Obey'd! By Jupiter, a saying strange! 
 My liege, when since have kings bow'd to the church? 
 
 Ger. It were the better policy, good duke ; 
 And. more than justice, policy's the scales 
 Which monarchs use to weigh momentous things. 
 His holiness was most peremptory ; 
 Aghast at excommunication's curse. 
 What else could I but thus convoke the trial? 
 But where is Burgundy? Why is't the duke 
 Hath not arriv'd as yet ? 
 
 Aus. Doubt not that he'll 
 
 Be there. 
 
 Ger. We need all evidence. 
 
 Aus. Fear not for that. 
 
 (E.veunt.) 
 
 See. Cit. This Austria is a surly fellow. 
 
74 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Third Cif. Black snllenness so showed upon his face that, 
 as he passed, it were as though a storm-cloud hid the sun, 
 and shadowed us in darkness. 
 
 First Cit. He hath the visage of a knave. 
 
 (Enter the Diet in formal robes.) 
 
 Third Cif. Here is the Diet. There's his eminence the 
 cardinal of Cologne; is he not majestic in his red robe? Fol- 
 lowing him, their graces the archbishops of Mentz and Saltz- 
 burg; and then, their lordships the bishops of Worms, Spires. 
 and Liege. (Exeunt Diet.) 
 
 First Cit. Who comes now ? See how^ the people throng. 
 
 Third Cit. It is King Richard. 
 
 Sec. Cit. That is he in chains? 
 
 Third Cit. It is ; shame to the chains that bind him. 
 Looks he not a king? 
 
 Sec. Cit. A king? A god! 
 
 First Cit. A blacksmith ! Didst ever see such muscles, such 
 sinews? By heaven, the sledge that he could sling would 
 shatter Gibraltar to pebble-stones ! 
 
 Sec. Cit. Such manliness ! such grace ! such dignity ! such 
 power ! 
 
 Third Cit. The very attributes that put his shackles on : 
 they so o'erpeered his rivals in the w^ars, steel-hearted malice 
 welded rings of iron to chain him in. 
 
 Sec. Cit. He halts. Who are they cluster around him? 
 
 Third Cit. She, with the frost upon her head is his aged 
 mother ; that is his wnfe, the queen, now smooths his brow ; 
 the other, clinging to his hand, his sister, the queen dowager 
 of Sicily. 
 
 First Cit. What men are they ? 
 
 Third Cit. Two lords : prisoners with him in Trifels ; and 
 Blondel de Nesle his one-time minstrel, who discovered him 
 in the castle and carried the news to the pope. Behold ! 
 they move again. 
 
 (Enter King Richard in chains, Eleanor, Berengaria, Joan, 
 
 De Vaux. Baldwin, and Blondel, zvith a guard 
 
 of soldiers and citizens.) 
 
 Rich. I do remember there is One above 
 
ACT IV. SCENE 11. 
 
 Who rights time's wrongs in time's eternity : 
 'Tis now or then ; but ever right is crowned. 
 Within this outer wall of flesh and blood, 
 There is a calmness, confidence, now dwells, 
 A soft serenity of peace, repose ; 
 Methinks God whispers to my soul : All's well. 
 Stern truth, arm'd like a warrior for the fray. 
 Shall battle sneaking falsehood to the death. 
 Which, chasing frighten'd prejudice away, 
 Sweet justice sweeps the field with victory; 
 And Richard reigns once more in Albion. 
 
 (Bxcun t.) 
 
 Third Cif. Well, my heart's with the king. 
 Sec. Cif. And mine. 
 First Cif. And mine. 
 Sec. Cif. Let us hurry to the trial. 
 
 first Cif. T am with you. I may starve, but no more labor 
 this day. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Hagiicnaii. A J iisf ice-hall. 
 
 Germany, Austria, and the Diet ("Coi^ogne, Mentz, Saltz- 
 BURG, and others), sitting. 
 
 Attendants and Citi::ens. 
 
 Ger. Now, noble princes, and good citizens. 
 Our holy father hath, with threatening tongue, 
 Clamor'd for trial for Richard, king of England, 
 Whom, in confinement, I have held one year. 
 For charges seeming gross and most corrupt ; 
 Therefore this sitting. 
 
 Col. As our knowledge goes 
 
 Your majesty is an accuser. 
 
^d RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 GcY. So it is. 
 
 Col. /Vnci the duke of Austria. 
 
 Axis. I am. your eminence. 
 
 Col. Is there another? 
 
 Gcr. There is: the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Col. Is the 
 
 Duke present ? 
 
 Gcr. He is not. 
 
 Aus. But will be, sir; 
 
 I prithee wait his coming. 
 
 Col. Nay; the hour 
 
 Is set ; delays are dangerous precedents. 
 Bring forth the prisoner. { E.veiDif soldiers.) 
 
 Gcr. Here kingship ends : 
 
 My lords, in all things else you are my subjects; 
 But now I shall be subject to your judgment; 
 O. may that judgment god-like justice kiss. 
 That conscience in our liosoms he a spring 
 Of crystal ; for his holiness hath rained 
 Such muddy drops of doubts and fears on me 
 As I would purge away. 
 
 Aus. (Aside) Weak Germany! 
 
 Afraid of windy threats. 
 
 Col. No monarch Init 
 
 The King of kings, and righteousness of truth. 
 Shall sway our minds. 
 
 Gcr. 'Tis part of man to err; 
 
 Perhaps of kings more than of other men. 
 For more they have to err. I do believe 
 Him guilty ; yet. may hit far from the mark. 
 There are misgivings shroud me in dark clouds : 
 Tell me, who can, wdiy is our land accursed? 
 Of late, diseases, fevers, pestilence. 
 
 Have spread our empire through ; storms fearful wrecked 
 Our ships, and blown great castles down that stood 
 The centuries' blasts ; whiles now a mortal plague. 
 Unknown before, leaves death at everv door. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE II. n 
 
 Choking our graveyards, thinning cities out ; 
 Whose dreadful ravages do not abate. 
 Is Richard a true soldier of the Cross? 
 Have I committed innocence to chains, 
 And this the wrath and punishment of God? 
 
 Axis. (Aside) A puny king! a superstitious fool! 
 
 Col. His ways are mysteries unfathomable. 
 
 Gcr. Let evidence alone weigh evidence ; 
 And proof weigh proof. 
 
 Aus. {Asicic) Poor fearing wretch ! hear him. 
 
 Col. If guilt preponderate, 'tis guiltiness ; 
 If innocence, he's free : so shall we rule. 
 
 Mciitc. Thus ever should the excess dominate, 
 The over-balance of true proof control 
 Decision, and the sentence of all law ; 
 Reject influence, prejudice, or favor. 
 That the accus'd, be he in silk or rags. 
 Receive, withal, his due of equity: 
 Such is the pinnacle and peak of justice. 
 
 Gcr. Here is the royal prisoner, my lords. 
 
 Enter Richard with guards, follozved by Eleanor, BerEn- 
 GARiA, Joan, Baldwin, De Vaux and Blondel. 
 
 Col. Richard Plantagenet, king of England, duke 
 Of Normandy and Aquitaine, stand forth. 
 
 Rich. Here will I stand, but bow to none "neath heaven. 
 
 Col. Know you the emperor of Germany 
 Convenes the Diet of his empire thus. 
 To give you trial 'gainst accusations made 
 By him and Leopold of Austria. 
 
 Gcr. Also the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Mcufc. Why, yes ; 
 
 But absent witnesses cannot be heard. 
 
 Alts. (Aside) "Tis strange what hath become of Bur- 
 gundy. 
 
 Rich. Most reverend princes of the church and state, 
 
78 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Your eminence, your graces, and your lordships. 
 
 I am a prisoner, a king dethroned ; 
 
 But still my dignity I do retain. 
 
 Which, with mine honor, is my soul and life: 
 
 Therefore, against this trial I do protest, 
 
 If that of his own will, and voluntary. 
 
 The emperor alone hath instigated 
 
 This course and process of defense. 
 
 Col. What were 
 
 Thy cause for protest ? 
 
 RicJi. 'Tis illegal ; and 
 
 Unjust as mine imprisonment. 
 
 Mentz. Flow so? 
 
 Rich. There's no tribunal I am answerable to 
 But God in heaven ! What's Germany to me. 
 Or I to Germany? I'm not his vassal! 
 He hath no jurisdiction over me; 
 I am an independent sovereign : 
 Did I commit offense (which I did not). 
 Redress were his in war, negotiation — 
 More noble means than tyrrany's l)ase use. 
 Whose slave I am by sour misfortune made. — 
 So much, were he the author of this trial. 
 Methinks, however, there's a higher power. 
 And unseen lever which did force his leige. 
 Whose conscience was the fulcrum of the pry, 
 To ope my prison door. Is it not so? 
 
 Col. It is. 
 
 Rich. One calls this session who is still 
 More strong than kings, for that he sways men's souls 
 With a divine authority from God : 
 Is it not so? 
 
 Col. You mean the pope? 
 
 Rich. I do. 
 
 Col. 'Tis even so. 
 
 Gcr. Which I cannot deny. 
 
 Rich. I did appeal to him : my knight, Blondel — 
 
ACT IV. SCENE II. 79, 
 
 There he doth sit — sent to our holy father; 
 This, the resnh ; 'tis well ; I have no fear 
 Of partiality: where he doth rule. 
 Justice is never bungled; hath no blotch. 
 Were it the emperor, I w^ould protest ; 
 What's wrong in Germany, is right in him; 
 Therefore, I am content ; he cannot err ; 
 For wisdom and his holiness are twins, 
 And wisdom is less wise than he. Proceed. 
 
 Col. Your majesty, begin. 
 
 Gcr. First, understand. 
 
 The graver charges 'long to Austria ; 
 Being my vassal, his are mine withal, 
 And I responsible. 
 
 Col. Proceed with yours. 
 
 Gcr. I claim King Richard did usurp the throne 
 Of Sicily, placing Tancred thereon ; 
 Which crown the dying king, William the Good, 
 Beqtieath'd to his paternal aunt, my wife, 
 Constantia the empress. 
 
 Col. What says England? 
 
 Rich. Nothing but history. Joan, my sister — 
 Yonder she is, the one with golden hair — 
 The wife of Sicily, having no issue. 
 Upon his death did William then bequeath, 
 As Germany hath said, his crown and realm 
 Unto Constantia ; thereon Tancred, 
 Her natural brother, usurp'd the royal seat. 
 Thrusting Joan, queen dowager, in prison. 
 My course was Palestine ; but, hearing this, 
 Debark'd at Palermo ; set free my sister ; 
 Demanded an indemnity ; then sailed, 
 Leaving him king as I had found. This all. 
 With Tancred, was my part. Wherein a crime? 
 
 Col. Therein seems none ; later, we'll see. Go on, 
 Your highness. 
 
 Gcr. By subduing Cyprus, he 
 
8o RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Did turn the arms of Christianity 
 Against a Christian prince ; imprison'd one 
 Who was a righteous ruler ; estabhsh'd o'er 
 That isle his governors for vengefulness ; 
 Thereby retarding the crusade, and tainting 
 Our hol}^ cause with infamy. 
 
 Rich. How can 
 
 This man so loosely know the times? or why 
 Doth he thus twist the crookless limb of truth? 
 He says a Christian prince, I say a tyrant ! 
 A petty Nero arrogating power ! 
 A cruel, pitiless, relentless villain ! 
 
 Gcr. Abuse is neither argument nor proof. 
 
 Rich. When truth's abus'd, 'tis not. 
 
 Col. Wherefore rough terms ? 
 
 Rich. A tempest swept my ships upon his shores ; 
 He pillag'd them. In one my women were : 
 Joan, and Berengaria, now my queen. 
 What did he. lords? Give succour to the wretched? 
 Aid the shipwreck'd ? Was he humane? No! 'Sblood ! 
 But, like a ghoul, he robb'd the dead of gold ; 
 Robb'd those surviv'd of liberty. Ye gods ! 
 Is that the teaching of our blessed Christ? 
 Such was this Isaac, prince of Cyprus, sirs. 
 
 Col. What follow'd? 
 
 Rich. Destruction to his kingdom, lords! 
 
 I storm'd his citadel, set him in bondage ; 
 Tickling his brutish vanity, bound him 
 In silver fetters ; vest'd authority 
 In men whose breasts were rich with charity. 
 That Cyprus might enjoy the blessing of 
 Good government. 
 
 Col. He was condignly punished. — 
 
 Come; hath your highness more? (To Germany.) 
 
 Gcr. Nay ; I am done. 
 
 The rest is Austria's. 
 
 Col. What show the records? (To the Diet.) 
 
ACT IV. SCENE IT. 8i 
 
 Mcntz. Of Cyprus? 
 
 Col. Aye ; and Sicily. 
 
 Mcnta. (Looking over records.) But what 
 King Richard's said. 
 
 Salt.z-bnrg. (Looking over the records.) His words do 
 duplicate 
 Our chronicles which ever are truth's mirror. 
 
 (Enter a Messenger.) 
 
 Col. Who comes? 
 
 Mess. A message for your eminence. 
 
 (Hands it to Col.) 
 
 Col. 'Tis from his holiness. (Reads.) 
 
 Shall the acts of Richard, the king of England, in the isles of 
 Sicily and Cyprus, be distorted, or the causes therefor misin- 
 terpreted, know, your eminence, the church can adduce such 
 evidence as will unqualifiedly and conclusively prove him 
 guiltless of sin, and faultless from the evil of sordid ambition. 
 Our records glorify him: and they are errorless. May the 
 grace of God rest with him and you forever. 
 
 Pope Celestine. 
 What! need we delve more deep in this? 
 
 Mentz. Methinks. 
 
 Our emperor is sadly misinformed. 
 
 Ger. Let us no further with my charges, lords : 
 Out of respect for him that is so wise, 
 And reverence for the church, I do retract. 
 
 Col. A'Vhat say your graces, and lordships? 
 
 (To the Diet.) 
 
 All. Not guilty. 
 
 Col. So be it thus far. Now, for Austria. 
 
 Alls. Why did our crusade fail? This haughty king 
 Was the pitfall that tripp'd success to death : 
 His overbearing pride, his insults, breaches 
 Of faith, dissensions with the king of France, 
 Dispers'd our serried ranks more than the troops 
 Of Saladin. Once, in a passion, he 
 Struck me ! before my soldiers ! 'Sdeath ! a blow 
 
82 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 That drew my blood ! but that is personal ; 
 In rage, he tore my banner down and threw 
 It to the earth : that's national ; and then — 
 
 treason ! treachery ! he made a truce — 
 A coward truce with Saladin ! deserted 
 The holy sepulchre ! abandon'd Christ ! 
 That's what? An insult to all Christendom! 
 Is it not justice that he's bound in chains? 
 
 Rich. O what a forked tongue doth envy have! 
 Why should I enter a defense 'gainst this. 
 When that my deeds can overwhelm his words, 
 My actions drown the utterance of his tongue? 
 But yet, with your kind leave, most reverend lords. 
 
 1 will a canvas spread ; a picture paint 
 With truth's own brush and colorings. 
 
 Col. Say what 
 
 You will ; we'll give it an attentive ear. 
 
 Rich. A child, my toys were miniatures of war; 
 A youth, war's mightiest heroes but my playthings 
 With hauberk, sword and battle-ax, not 'mongst 
 My father's grisly veterans was there one 
 That could withstand me in the shock and brunt 
 Of contest. Nay! the knottiest oak in that 
 Great grove of men were as a sapling 'neath 
 My wondrous strokes : I was invincible ! — 
 God be my judge 'tis not said boastfully — 
 But He hath made my sinews strings of steel ; 
 A courage given shakeless as that rock 
 Which guards the Spanish straits. Oft I did muse : 
 What purpose had He in such handiwork : 
 A man ten times as strong as other men ? 
 I dream'd of conquest ; of the holy land ; 
 Of glory there ; occasion came ; I saw 
 His plan : the holy sepulchre was ta'en. 
 And I a Hercules to save His tomb ! 
 Pass Sicily and Cyprus ; Asia now. — 
 Who was the faithless? Let events suffice! 
 
ACT IV. SCENE IT. 83 
 
 If traitor 1, why fear to Mnsselmen? 
 
 But whisper "Malek Ric," tlieir women shudder. 
 
 The children cling in terror to their dams : 
 
 Yea. ask the sturdiest Saracens in arms, 
 
 "What of this Richard?" even they shall tell. 
 
 (True soldiers ever praise a worthy foe). 
 
 In trembling tones, how, single-handed, I. 
 
 With gashes sluicing rivers of my blood, 
 
 Ripp'd their battalions into shreds of death. 
 
 And flew them as the wind ; withal, a god 
 
 They thought me. — Victory were ours, but ever 
 
 Valor and greatness stir up jealousy: 
 
 My glory was too great : France, back to France 
 
 In anger : Burgundy and Austria. 
 
 In envy's sulkiness, withheld their troops ; 
 
 Alone, my forces fought and bled for Christ ; 
 
 'Gainst legions scanty numl)ers useless strove : 
 
 A truce at best ; and then set sail. A storm ; 
 
 The coast of Austria ; shipwreck ; capture by him ; 
 
 Thrust in a dungeon ; living in despair — 
 
 With vermin, snakes, with filth and loathsomeness — 
 
 O God. the agony! — from there to Trifels; 
 
 Whiles here I stand still yet a martyr bound 
 
 In manacles. All this for wdiat, my lords? 
 
 From malice ! E\il hates the gleam of light. 
 
 So did these men the dazzle of my fame. 
 
 For this I suffer'd, anguish'd, pain'd ; for this 
 
 Dethron'd, imprison'd, chain'd, humiliated ! 
 
 But martyrdom for Him hath rich reward : 
 
 Ye men with envious hearts, that thus hound me, 
 
 Woe shall be thine ; l)ut heaven is my crown, 
 
 Be what your sentence may. Defer no more. 
 
 Gcr. (Enihracing Richard) 
 O England ! thou hast struck me to the soul ! 
 Remorse, long like a serpent sleeping here, 
 Awakes and bites me with his sharpest fang. 
 
 Aus. Forbear, my liege; embrace him not; hear more. 
 
84 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Gcr. No more from thee, base man. 
 
 A us. Base only did 
 
 I tell this not. — Cain's l:)rand is on his lirow I 
 Red are his hands with murder's cursed l)lood, 
 Whose crimson stains stick to his blacken'd soul 
 As do the leopard's spots unto the skin ; 
 Which yet not heaven's floods, nor Alpine snows. 
 Nor the immensity of Neptune's wash 
 Can lave away, or fade one tinge in hue. 
 
 Gcr. How now ? What say'st ? 
 
 Enter Burgundy ///, carried on a couch by attendants, un- 
 noticed by .lustria. 
 
 Aus. He is a murderer! 
 
 The killer of a king! a regicide! 
 A deed most foul, most heinous, damn'd. accursed ! 
 A crime the blackest of all hell's black crimes ! 
 King Richard slew Conrad of Montferrat, 
 Jerusalem's king, whose death w^as mystery ! 
 
 BuK It is a lie ! King Richard's innocent ! 
 
 Col. Who is it speaks? 
 
 Bur. The duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Aus. What! Burgimdy? so pale, so wan, so haggard; 
 With voice so hollow that it sounds as from 
 A sepulchre? By heaven, 'tis his ghost! 
 
 Bur. Still flesh and blood, but soon a ghost to be; 
 For I am stricken unto death. Life's tide 
 Is ebbing fast, and the receding waters 
 Strew on the shore of years gone by the slime 
 Of secret villianies, of vileness mine. 
 Of base conspiracy, of treachery 
 To our dear, blessed Christ, and England's king. 
 That stand before my guilty soul more hideous 
 Than grossest monsters to the eye. These things 
 I'd tell ere death seal up my willing lips. 
 
 Aus. I prithee heed him not; he raves. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE IJ. 85 
 
 Col. {To Austria.) Peace, man! 
 
 Bur. My mind is clear (would that my conscience were) ; 
 And with thy leave, my tongue shall be the drain 
 To ease my breast, foul sink of evilness, 
 From its pent-up iniquities that lie 
 Most damned there. 
 
 Col. Let there be haste ; you fail. 
 
 Bur. Hurrying here as witness 'gainst the king, 
 Illness o'ertook me ; something told me that 
 It was my end ; then I resolved confession. — 
 In Palestine, King Richard's deeds were famed : 
 Yea, by his great eclipse, made trivial acts 
 Of other men that smack'd of grandeur ; 
 Hence envy came : we hated him ; Conrad, 
 This duke, and I determin'd to conspire 
 That glory should not halo round him so : 
 Broke Christian oaths; o'erthrew his plans; shirk'd duty; 
 Him and his British cohorts we forsook 
 Till victory was throttl'd : thus villainy 
 In us ; in him, but heroism. 
 
 Col. Give him 
 
 Some drink : he faints. 
 
 (Drink is given to Burgundy.) 
 
 Aus. What! will you listen more 
 
 To fever's vagaries ? 
 
 Bur. Thou perjurer ! 
 
 How thou dost totter 'neath my dying words. 
 As blows from falling axe ! Though that my life 
 V/ere lies, deceptions, stratagems, my death 
 Shall be but truth to vindicate the king. 
 
 Col. Lies ever from the dying tongue do flee ; 
 Liars breathe truth before death's majesty. 
 Continue, sir ; tell of Jerusalem's death. 
 
 Bur. More villainy it is — may God forgive : 
 Our malice hunger'd ; Richard's death the food : 
 Murder we plott'd ; still yet another crime: 
 In garb of priests disguis'd, we stole on him : 
 
86 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Did desecrate the holy vestments of 
 The church — O the extremities of hate ! — 
 Our daggers leaped for his heart ; a cry 
 Arousing him, he dodged the thrusts ; we fled, 
 But Conrad fell : a blow from Richard's fist 
 That let out sense, let in eternity ; 
 Slain by the one he did attempt to slay : 
 Such was the death of Montferrat. 
 
 Col. Is't so? 
 
 Now, villain, what hast thou to say to this? (To Austria.) 
 
 Ha! silent? 
 
 Bur. Yea. he dare deny it not ; 
 
 For words of dying men do force respect 
 From them that live, however vile they be. 
 Come, Austria, pale, trembling wretch, whose cheeks 
 Are pallid as a desert's blanched bones. 
 Confess, repent, and pray forgiveness. 
 
 Col. To kill in self-defence is innocence. 
 
 Diet. Set England free. 
 
 Col. Off with his manacles. 
 
 (Richard is unbound.) 
 
 Gcr. Alack ! that ever I were envy's slave ! 
 If thou'lt not sin let it ne'er master thee. 
 Forgive me, Richard. O forgive. 
 
 (Embraces Richard again.) 
 
 Rich. Malice 
 
 And I are enemies ; sorely thou wert 
 Deceiv'd ; here is my hand. But quick ! attend 
 To Burgundy ; send for a doctor : haste ! 
 
 (Bxit an attendant.) 
 
 Bur. Ah ! noble England, drugs are useless now. 
 There's but one sand left in my glass of time ; 
 Which, gone, then I but dust and sand. — My soul ! 
 Diseased, sick, corrupted, wicked, ill ! 
 O who can medicine my soul but Him 
 Whom I forsook ? — Ha ! death is on me now ! 
 I'm aching, freezing, burning up with pain ! 
 
 (He is seised with dreadful convulsions.) 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 87 
 
 Gcr. Look! look! See his convulsions! 'tis the curse! 
 Such are the throes of the dread pestilence ! 
 
 First Cit. The plague ! the plague ! 
 
 Second Cit. The death ! 
 
 Third Cit. God's wrath is on 
 
 Him and our land for Richard's injuries! 
 
 Citiccns. Flee ! flee ! lest we, too, be accursed ! 
 (Great coiiiinotioii ; tJicy arise and start to flee; the cardinal 
 stands before tlieni holding up a crucifix.) 
 
 Cits. The cross ! the cross of Christ ! 
 
 {They gaze upon it and boiv their heads.) 
 
 Col. Have faith therein and ye are purified 
 From sins, contagions, blastings imminent. 
 
 Bur. O pardon! pardon, God! {Dies.) 
 
 Col. Another gone ! 
 
 Of that triumvirate to Jesus false 
 
 But one remains. Traitor and murderer, (To .Austria.) 
 
 (For murderer thou art: as guilty's the 
 Attempt which fails as is the deed that's done). 
 Though mercy, soft and mild, abide in us. 
 Yet just is the decree of death; so it 
 Must be: thy head shall fall one week this day. 
 Then, England free, his persecutors gone, 
 No more shall we be pester'd with this scourge. — 
 Lead Austria to the executioner. — 
 Disperse ye, citizens ; go to your homes ; 
 Henceforth is happiness in place of groans. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 One act the more to make the acting done ; 
 And that in England where, from Germany, 
 King Richard's come. Full four years since, bade he 
 Adieu for Palestine with gleaming swords 
 
88 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 And shields, whose brightness was outshone alone 
 
 By the high polish of his bnrnish'd hope. 
 
 Which, tarnish'd by the rust of treachery. 
 
 Doth now regain the glitter of that hour 
 
 In thought to gain again his golden crown. 
 
 He lands at Sandwich ! steps upon the beach ! 
 
 That shore that he so long hath long'd to reach ! 
 
 O who is it cannot imagine joy. 
 
 And thrills of pleasure tickling through the veins 
 
 Of Richard as he treads his native soil. 
 
 That well-beloved earth his foot's not trod 
 
 Four dozen moons gone by ? — And then to London. — 
 
 There, multitudinous as the swarming ants. 
 
 In crowds so closely wedg'd, compact, the thousands, 
 
 Swaying, seem but as one in motion. 
 
 His faithful subjects throng the city's streets. 
 
 Choke doors and windows up, inhabit roofs. 
 
 Eager to gaze on him — their world-fam'd king; 
 
 And, as he passes, justly proud, each throat 
 
 Emits a glad acclaim until ascends. 
 
 In unison, such a tremendous shout 
 
 As would outroar the lightning's noisy mate. 
 
 Or make an angry sea a whisper's voice. 
 
 Meantime, what of the traitors, recreants ? 
 
 Hearing of Richard set at liberty. 
 
 Writes France to John, with whom he is in league, 
 
 "Look to yourself; the devil is unchained!" 
 
 O quick flees John to Normandy in fear ! 
 
 Essays to sow those seeds of treason rank. 
 
 So rankly thrive in him : in terror fails ; 
 
 For loyalty's implanted deeply there. 
 
 Now, if but rumor so affrights the prince, 
 
 What of John's friends as Richard doth appear? 
 
 Rebels! Ha! how the serpents glide in holes! 
 
 Hiding in caves black as their pitchy souls, 
 
 Triumphant Richard marches through the land. 
 
 Tickhill and Nottingham — these castles stand 
 
ACT V. SCENE 1. 
 
 Against him still ; but they soon overthrown. 
 
 Once more our hero's master of his own ; 
 
 And, at Saint Swithin's church, he's crown'd again ; 
 
 Which coronation o'er, we will begin 
 
 Our end. So follow us at Winchester ; 
 
 But not too close lest we in history err. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A Room ill ]Vinc]icsfcr Castle. 
 
 Lords discovered, llnter Richard, Eleanor, BerEngaria, and 
 
 Joan. 
 
 Lords. All hail our mighty sovereign newly crowned ! 
 
 RicJi. Now. God be praised ! the coronation's o'er. 
 
 Lords. Yea. praise to Him that crown'd thee king o'er us. 
 
 Ricli. Henceforth may England be at peace itself. 
 And this bless'd Easter tide the advent be 
 Dissolves division into nothingness, 
 Leaving us firm as the eternal hills ; 
 Then, let the nations multiply their powers. 
 To hurl themselves 'gainst our united land, 
 England shall stand the tempest of their wrath. 
 As doth the mountain peak the storm's fierce blast. 
 
 Lords. King Richard. England and St. George ! 
 
 Ricli. Dear lords ! — 
 
 what a goodly thing's integrity ! 
 
 Ay, faithfulness and constancy are virtues 
 Most rich, which I do see you richly own : 
 
 1 judge not by your shouts, nor smiles, nor words, 
 The play and painting of the eye. tongue, face. 
 For these oft be allurements of deceit — 
 
 Your acts, your deeds, your proved lealty. 
 Thereby I know thou'rt worthy of my love. 
 Richard Plantagcnet shall remember thee. 
 For of my many faults — many I have — 
 8 
 
90 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Who is't hath not? — that iighest fiend of all. 
 That demon arch, ingratitude ! 's not one. 
 But come, my lords, the day of ceremony 
 Is full of weariness ; I would some rest. 
 
 Lords. Health he thy wealth, and joy forevermore. 
 
 {Exeunt.) 
 
 Hie. To he recrown'd is glory douhle-fold. 
 
 Rich. Nay, crown'd once more is crowning care again. 
 Ofif with these gaudy trappings : gilded show 
 Is the companion of the greatest woe ; 
 And gorgeous pomp the ornament and gloss. 
 Hiding sad hearts and soul's unrestful toss. 
 
 Joan. Why, good niy royal lirother, 'tis well said. 
 The pageantry and tinsel of a king 
 Supposes majesty hut happiness: 
 What sorrows do in royalty abide, 
 Therefore lack sympathy from the outside ; 
 Being thought-glitter is a golden joy, 
 Our grief is held no more than but a toy. 
 Better a maid whose sorrow's sympathized. 
 Than a sad queen whose grief's unrecognized. 
 
 Ber. {^-Iside) Blondel is still her thought : nobly she 
 suffers. — 
 As victory is full of merriment. 
 
 And Richard's foes have lost their fangs and teeth, 
 We should be gay. 
 
 Joan. Nay, France prepares for war. 
 
 Rich. But that's without : internal strife is o'er. 
 Dissension at dissent most often is 
 Dissension's death. And so our rebels' quarrels 
 Dispers'd rebellion; re-united union. 
 Whiles England's one, we cannot be undone : 
 Fear not of France. 
 
 Joan. O 'tis not that I fear 
 
 We shall be overthrown : with Richard king. 
 Let come the world, I would but little dread. 
 But 'tis so horrible — whate'er its cause — 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 91 
 
 War is so bloody, ruthless, pitiless, 
 
 So cruel, fierce, relentless, obdurate, 
 
 Replete with moans and groans, with curses, shrieks, 
 
 With sorrow, sadness, grief, destruction, woe ! 
 
 A shower of tears, a furnace of deep sighs, 
 
 An age of torture, anguish, suffering, pain; 
 
 When fields, new-plough'd by rush of cavalry, 
 
 Become the graveyards for the harvest — death ! 
 
 Where hideous skulls, and fleshless, blanched bones 
 
 Of husbands, fathers, brothers, lovers, sons, 
 
 Picked bare by vultures, ravens, crows and kites. 
 
 Lie bleaching in the sun. O grief's best day ! 
 
 O time of widows, orphans, mourning homes ! 
 
 O war ! life's famine, feast of death, thou art 
 
 Hell's toothsom'st dish ! 
 
 Rich. Gentle, my sister, see ! 
 
 Thy gloomy picture hath reflected gloom 
 Upon our mother's face. 
 
 Elc. A shade from France. 
 
 Yet not the shadow of a war with France, 
 Sets darkness there. 
 
 Rich. What then? 
 
 Joan. I vow it is 
 
 Her son, our brother John. 
 
 Blc. Joan, thou hast 
 
 Thy mother's heart; a woman's wit to read 
 The book of grief. That one word France reminds 
 Me that in France my John's in banishment. 
 
 Bcr. He is an ingrate, traitor, villain, knave ! 
 
 Blc. Ah ! Berengaria, thou that hast no child, 
 Can use rude terms, speak harsh, and show no pity ; 
 A mother would commiserate with me. 
 Let him be what he is, he is my son ; 
 And there's no crime so black, so foul, that can 
 Obliterate a mother's love ; nor yet 
 A woe that digs such channels in her brow. 
 Or frosts her head with such a snowy storm. 
 
92 RICHARD COEUR DE LION. 
 
 As doth the winter of a wicked child. 
 
 What! Is he villain, traitor, knave? Well, I'll 
 
 Remember him bnt as my baby boy, 
 
 (To mothers, sons still ever are but babes) : 
 
 I see him at these founts of sustenance. 
 
 His chubby hands reclining on my breasts ; 
 
 Fondly I tuck him in his tiny crib. 
 
 Hush him to sleep with lullabies, watch through 
 
 The tedious nights. And so he grows to youth, 
 
 Full of pranks, frolics, mad with many loves. 
 
 Which last but as a day ; whiles with my pride. 
 
 Withal, anxiety is mix'd. And then. 
 
 Becomes a man ; and sin owns him, not I. 
 
 And now he's banished ! And I no more 
 
 Shall see my darling boy ! O John ! John ! John ! 
 
 RicJi. Peace, mother. — 
 
 Within the composition of all men 
 There is base matter mingled with the clay : 
 Some grains of vileness, qualities most gross. 
 Of which I have my due proportion — 
 Mayhap more — but I thank God, withal. 
 There's not in me one mud-drop of revenge ; 
 Therefore, though he hath done me grievous wrong. 
 John shall have pardon, freedom free as air. 
 Wipe from thine eyes those crystal globules there. 
 Be this the sun to dry thy dewy tears. 
 
 Elc. Why, 'tis most gracious in my noble son. 
 
 Bcr. It is a lion welcoming a snake, 
 Which, when the opportunity arrives, 
 Stings his brave host within his den ; for mark : 
 As easily as Richard pardons him. 
 That easy John his lenience will forget. 
 
 (Enter a Messenger.) 
 
 Rich. Who is this comes? 
 
 Mess. One that hath news, my liege. 
 
 Rich. Say what thou hast. 
 
 Mess. Report hath been received 
 
 Of Austria. 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 93 
 
 Rich. Well, what? How met he death? 
 
 Mess. Your majesty, he met his liberty. 
 
 Rich. Speak with a clearer tongue. 
 
 Mess. My liege, he fled : 
 
 Forsooth, escap'd the executioner. 
 
 Ricli. 'Sblood ! can't be true? 
 
 Mess. 'Tis from the emperor. 
 
 In r.iessage which containeth his regrets. 
 
 Ber. Justice is robb'd, and fortune is the thief. 
 
 (Enter De Vaux /// exciteutoit.) 
 
 De Vanx. Yea, more! Ay, more! fortune's a murderer! 
 A thieving murderer ! a murderous thief. 
 That's stole the precious life-blood of our friend ! 
 
 Rich. What say'st? 
 
 Ble. Our friend? 
 
 Ber. The life-blood of our friend? 
 
 De J^aux. The dearest, sweetest, kindest, loving friend, 
 Hath fortune sore abandon'd to red Cain ! 
 To slaughter, murder ! O accursed woe ! 
 
 Joan. (Aside) O God! I do divine that it is he! 
 Day turns to night at darkness of the thought. 
 
 De J\iiix. The damn'dest deed! the most atrocious crime! 
 The top and apex of all villainy ! 
 
 Ble. Speak, man ! we are afire ; down with thy rain. 
 
 De Vaux. Hell hath no devil that is so complete, 
 No dastard, wretch, as him that struck the blow. 
 
 Rich. Honest, De Vaux, thou art not wont to rant. 
 Come, curb the clamor of thy high-voic'd woe. 
 And, in a gentler strain, tell what hath happ'd. 
 
 Joan. I fear to hear thee more than I fear death. 
 
 De ]\iux. Rather I'd die than having this to tell. 
 When one is stricken that we dearly love. 
 There is no comfort in this earth below ; 
 Then should we look to heaven. — My liege, as forth 
 From Swithin's church you came new-crown'd, Blondel, 
 Baldwin, and I, stood "midst the multitude, 
 Tossing our caps in air with loud huzzas, 
 
94 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Straining our throats from cheering lustily ; 
 When, suddenly, an unsuspected hand 
 Plung'd deep a dagger in Blondel. 
 
 Joan. O woe ! 
 
 Dc Vaiix. A groan; he stagger'd ; fell into mine arms. 
 I drew the steel away, and, from the wound. 
 His blood did follow it in gushing spouts. 
 As if in eagerness to stain the knave, 
 That so untimely sluic'd it from its veins. 
 With murder's scarlet brand. 
 
 Rich. Alas ! Blondel.— 
 
 What of the wretch that did this cursed deed? 
 
 Dc ]\mx. As quick as thought was missed in the crowd. 
 Which, thickly mass'd (one being all, all one). 
 Was his security. Amazement o'er, 
 We summon'd skillfull'st aid; then I to thee. 
 
 Rich.. How fares he? Is't a mortal thrust? 
 
 Dc raiLv. Alack! 
 
 No man could read hope in the surgeon's looks. 
 Who mournfully did .shake his head, .spake not : 
 Which silence was more eloquent than speech. 
 
 Rich. Of what? 
 
 Dc Vaux. Of death: it is a fatal stroke. 
 
 Joan. {Aside) Then what is there for thee to hope. Joan: 
 Come death to him, O death, come thou to me ! 
 
 Dc J^aux. Blondel. still with his ever cheerful smile. 
 In a sweet voice, soft as a whisper's echo, 
 Request'd to be brought here ; call'd for his lute : 
 "That I may play a dirge to mine own death. 
 Before my liege," said he, "and there, with strains 
 Of music dying in mine ear. pass from 
 My king to the Eternal King above. 
 Where all is music, flowers, light, and love." 
 
 Bcr. And look ! see where they come. 
 
 Enter Baldwin and ollicrs carrying BLONnKi. ; Lords. .Ittcnd- 
 ants, etc. 
 Joan. O heavy day ! O night ! O time's despair ! 
 O woeful day! O dreadful hour! world's gloom! 
 Joy's doom ! sorrow's delight ! 
 
ACT V. SCENE 1. 95 
 
 Bcr. {Aside) Ah! poor Joan. 
 
 Ricli. Blondel ! my knight ! Why, this is night, indeed ! 
 My sweet musician, poet, scholar, friend ! 
 My dear, dear friend! companion! saviour twice! 
 It is grief's masterpiece to see thee thus. 
 
 Blon. No, no ; 'tis hut a piece of master grief. 
 Which rules all men at times. 
 
 Ricli. How is't with thee? 
 
 Blon. Time's sentinel doth call mine hour : "all's well." 
 
 RicJi. How canst thou say all's well wdien 'tis so ill? 
 
 Blon. Ill is my body, but my soul is well ; 
 111 for this world, but well for heaven. 
 
 RicJi. What can be done? 
 
 Joan. If there be medicines. 
 
 Restoratives, strength-giving roots or herbs. 
 Skill, knowledge, power, which gold can buy, that hath 
 The means wherewith to ward off death, let it 
 Be brought though I be beggar'd with the cost. 
 
 Rich. Ay, though I have no groat to buy me bread. 
 
 Blon. O thanks, kind sovereign, and my gentle lady. 
 Were but thy ways strong as are thy intents. 
 My gash were heal'd. But all can be is done, 
 And I am all undone ; for death, stole w^ith 
 The dagger in this breach, is conqueror; 
 And thou, O king, with all thy mighty power. 
 Can rout him not. nor linger me an hour. — 
 My liege. 
 
 Rich. Blondel? 
 
 Blon. Whom think you 'twas struck m*" ? 
 
 Rich. The king of villainy ; earth's chiefest ruffian ! 
 
 Blon. Why, so he is. Baldwin, didst note him not? 
 
 Bald. Not I. Blondel. 
 
 Blon.. Didst thou, De Vaux ? 
 
 De Vaux. Mine eyes 
 
 Were but on thee. 
 
 Blon. You'll say it is my fancy; 
 
 I know delusion was not in my sight. 
 
96 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 I had a glimpse : a man in tatter'd rags : 
 It was the duke of Austria disguised ! 
 
 Rich. Fled here from Germany! O fate! thou art 
 Inscrutable as God, for thou art God.— 
 Give every sleuth of government his scent 
 To hound this villain down ! Proclaim throughout 
 The land strict search for Austria. Be gone. 
 
 {Bxciinf attendants.) 
 
 Blon. I faint : some drink ! some drink ! 
 
 (Joan hands him a cup of zvinc.) 
 
 Joan. Would that my tears 
 
 Were wine to give thee strength ; then might'st thou live 
 Forevermore, for oceans can I shed. 
 
 Blon. Come near me. friends, the tide is running out. 
 The flood flows swiftly to eternity, 
 That sea where empties all the streams of life ; 
 And when my spirit's river's ebb'd away. 
 This body's but a shallow pool of clay. — 
 Madams, you weep ; forbear. Why, good my liege, 
 There's water standing in your eyes ; and yours, 
 De Vaux ; and yours, Baldwin. This should not be. 
 
 Rich. 'Tis nature's course to weep when grief is ours. 
 And sorrow's deluge doth o'erwhelm us now. 
 The tiniest flower, even the sturdiest oak, 
 Is wet with tears, and mourns throughout the night. 
 When dies the sun : so friend for friend when the 
 Dread night of death doth dim his earthly light. 
 
 Blon. What! grieve at death? Why, death is joy's begin- 
 ning! 
 'Tis all of life to die. all death to live; 
 What then is death but giving birth to life. 
 And death to death? Why, therefore, grieve for me? 
 And yet it does me well to see thee grieve. 
 For unaffected grief is love's sure sign ; 
 You are too true to feign an unfelt woe : 
 So that your loves are mine, your grief doth show. 
 Hand me my lute. One last refrain before 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 97 
 
 I hear the angels sing. {Joan hands him his lute.) 
 
 Rememher'st thou this? {To Joan.) 
 (Sings faintly.) 
 A minstrel's soul was in his lute, 
 
 Its golden strings his heart ; 
 Alack ! he saw a queen and loved : 
 Life, soul, from lute did part. 
 Joan. The song at Ascalon ! 
 Blon. In love unknown 
 
 Despair is grown ; 
 Death hath no pang so shai'p : 
 To love and sigh, 
 O rather die ; 
 Poor minstrel, break thy harp. 
 
 (He breaks the stri)igs.) 
 See ! the strings are broken even as 
 
 The chords of my heart. (To Joan.) Lady, bend thee low 
 Whiles I tell thee the secret of my life : 
 
 I am the minstrel of this song, and thou 
 
 Joan. And I ? 
 
 Blon. Thou art the queen. 
 
 Joa)i. O God ! he loves me ! 
 
 Thy secret is the match and mate to mine ! 
 I am that queen, indeed ! Thou art my king ! 
 I love thee ! O, my love is dying, dying ! 
 O envious heaven why dost rob my love ? 
 Give him to me I will renounce all state, 
 All ceremony, pomp, to be his wife ! — 
 My God ! his eyes are clos'd ! he dies ! O dear. 
 My royal brother, 'tis my love that dies ! 
 
 Berengaria knows it all ! — Blondel ! 
 Speak ! speak, my love ! One word ! a look ! 
 
 (He revives.) 
 Blon. Joan, 
 
 Thy soul awakes my soul. Life's gamut's run ; 
 The last note's struck ; and now my voice, with which 
 
 1 utter this, is as vibrations of 
 
98 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 The final chord of parting melody. 
 Farewell, sweet ladies ; fare thee well, my lords ; 
 Pardon, my liege, for loving snch a star ; 
 Death oped my lips to that which life did close. 
 I go where rank and title are unknown — 
 Where all are stars that cluster round His throne, 
 Peasant and king alike. — One kiss, my love. 
 
 (Joan kisses him.) 
 And now — all's stillness : silence is the end. 
 
 (Dies.) 
 Joan. Blondel ! Blondel ! I soon shall be with thee ! 
 
 Scene II. 
 A Graveyard. 
 
 Bnter Austria. 
 
 Aus. I gave the executioner gold and fled. — 
 Then did I reason thus : he that is hunted 
 Is the most safe where seems his greatest danger. 
 Where would pursuit the most unlikely go? 
 To England ! so, hither I came disguised ; 
 Was safe ; suspicion clung about me not ; 
 But, sight of Richard lighting up revenge, 
 A flame of anger burnt my caution up : 
 Heedless I struck Blondel to death, and now 
 I am proclaim'd at every public place. 
 Hounded, pursued, rewards set on my head, 
 I am a duke of tatters desperate grown. 
 Once used to palaces, courts, luxuries, 
 I live me now in hollow trees, and holes. 
 Barns, haystacks, slimy caverns, caves, earth's bowels, 
 Kennels of dogs (whose tenants first I kill) : 
 Whate'er shuts out detection's spying gaze, 
 By day inhabit I — best being worst. 
 Worst best to thwart discovery. At night 
 
ACT V. SCENE II. 99 
 
 I prowl, -md, like a hungry wolf, devour 
 
 What I can find — I, that was ever wont 
 
 To dishes choice, to feed on roots and herbs. 
 
 On scraps and leavings of the peasant's meal : 
 
 Yet relish'd more than dainties heretofore ! — 
 
 Hunger makes poor things feasts ; the lack, feasts poor. — 
 
 Here in this graveyard will I pass the day, 
 
 For seldom comes the quick where lies the dead. — 
 
 How now? 'Sdeath ! 'tis a party heads this way! 
 
 ril hide behind this tomb. 
 
 (Hides behind Blondcl's tomb.) 
 (Enter Richard, Eleanor, and Berengaria.) 
 
 Ble. I fear the worst. 
 
 Rich. Look for the better till 
 
 The worst arrive, and then be thankful that 
 "Tis not the worst. 
 
 Ble. What can be worse than death? 
 
 And something tells me that Joan is dead. 
 
 Rich. Why, thrice before, when we had thought her lost, 
 She was found here. 
 
 Ber. And now, I vow, she is 
 
 Strewing Blondel's grave with fresh plucked flowers. 
 
 Ble. What ! in the early morning's dank and chill ? 
 Scarce yet the sun doth crimson yonder east. 
 And look ! here is the grave, and here some flowers ; 
 But w^here's Joan? 
 
 RicJi. Perhaps within our voice. 
 
 Ble. O call you loud. 
 
 Rich. (Calling) Joan! — Joan! — Joan! 
 
 Ble. Ah, silence ! plainer than a tolling bell. 
 Thy voiceless tongue doth seem to sound her knell. 
 
 Ber. She hath not been here yet this morn, for see ! 
 These flowers are wilted, faded, yesterday's ; 
 Which, ever when she comes, are new-supplied. 
 So quick their beauty's schorched with her tears ; 
 Whose scalding sorrow raining in the earth. 
 Here nothing thrives but rue, grief's vine, which her 
 Ripe sorrow plants. 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
100 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Rich. This grows more serious. 
 
 You say she treasur'd not her hed last night ? 
 
 Bcr. An hour's not past since came her maid in tears : 
 "Alas I my lady's gone! cannot be found!" 
 She cried. Then to Joan's room hurried I : 
 Indeed, the jewel was gone; and not a crease 
 Did mar her bed's white sheets ; which crumpled, were 
 Some comfort that she had attempted rest : 
 Uncrumpled, is dismay. 
 
 Blc. Alack ! my child ! 
 
 Joan hath done some violence to herself. 
 Even with Blondel's sad death her reason fled ; 
 Became grief's statue, sorrow's monument. 
 A fountain gushing ceaseless tears of woe. 
 Too much of water drowned out her mind, 
 Too much, I dread, hath drown'd her body, too : 
 Some floating stream, some pond with lilies decked! 
 O God ! Joan ! Joan ! 
 
 Enter De Vaux. 
 
 Rich. What news, De Vaux ? 
 
 De Vans. Why, none, my liege, but yonder Baldwin comes ; 
 Whose search, directly opposite to mine. 
 May have contrary news. 
 
 Enter Baldwin. 
 
 Rich. What tidings, sir? 
 
 Bald. No one hath seen her, nor clue, nor sign 
 Is known ; but searchers are out everywhere. 
 Rich. Come, w^e will seek elsewhere. 
 Ek. O let us haste. 
 
 {Exeunt all.) 
 (Austria CDiiies from behind the tcinb.) 
 Jus. King Ri'chard ! the tomb of Blondel ! — Well't was! 
 
ACT V. SCENE II. lOi 
 
 Had I been seen 'twere death. Strange fate I the tomb 
 
 Of him I kill'd did shield me from my tomb. — 
 
 Royal Joan to love this minstrel I Yea. 
 
 Dying for him; mayhap, already dead. 
 
 What wonder next? — But soft! I hear a step. 
 
 Vjitcr Jo.\N -K'itJi ffo-a'crs and Bloiidrrs lute. 
 
 The fair Joan ! I'll hide me here again. 
 
 (Hides behind the tomb.) 
 Joan. I conld not sleep. — All night I thought of him : 
 Sat by my window, looking heavenward ; 
 Imagin'd the most shining pair of stars. 
 Was the bright twinkle of his merry eyes ; 
 Fancied I saw him in his robes of white, 
 Beckoning me, and saying, "Come, my love" ; 
 Then I arose and softly stole me out. 
 Taking his lute, for I will meet him now : 
 'Twill soon be over ; death is coming fast. — 
 Perhaps they'll miss me ; oft they search for me. 
 They think my reason's gone; that, being mad. 
 I'll disobey the canons of our God: 
 Unwittingly destroy the mansion of 
 My soul. But 'tis not so; for grief, not I, 
 Will tumble down the building of my life. — 
 I ^'Ow'd his grave should e'er a garden be : 
 Flowers decorating where a sun-beam lies. 
 Primroses, violets, ox-lips, daffodils. 
 Trailing arbutus — all the flowers of spring 
 Are gone ; and now I bring sweet summer's growth : 
 Carnations, roses, lilies, marigold, 
 The fragrant honeysuckle, marjoram, 
 (What when the winter comes? I shall be dead! 
 Where summer is perpetual — with my love.) 
 These I will weave in garlands, wreaths, designs. — 
 Ah me ! how quick they fade beneath my tears. 
 Alas! all that is beautiful must die: 
 
102 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Even the sun that hghts the universe 
 Shall he a mass of darkness, chaos, naught. — 
 What now? My strength is going; weary, faint, 
 I'll rest awhile. 
 
 (Lies on the grave, her head on the zcreath just finished; the 
 broken lute in her hand. Suddenly she rises up.) 
 Hark! music do I hear? 
 Why. look ! a flood of light ! the heavens ope ! 
 I see the angels standing round His throne ; 
 And there's Blondel ! List ! list ! he's calling me. 
 Mayhap, he wants his lute. Here 'tis, my love. 
 
 (Holds the lute up.) 
 Its strings are broke, but heaven mends all things. 
 I'll bring it thee. I come, Blondel, I come. 
 
 (Falls baek on the grave, and, zvitli a deep sigh, dies.) 
 (Austria again eonies from behind the tomb; bends over her.) 
 
 Aus. Motionless; silent. What! is she asleep? 
 Or was that mournful sigh the tempest of 
 Her woe's last breath, which burst her loving heart? 
 If she do stir this feather, still she lives. — 
 But not a breath doth move the weightless down. — 
 Think of this misery for Richard ! 
 How do occasions sweeten my revenge : 
 Kind dagger ! thou struck'st a doubly fatal stroke I 
 And thou, my sword, well temper'd, faithful friend. 
 Lie patient till that opportunity 
 When thy cold steel shall reek in his hot blood 
 That struck me at the walls of Ascalon ! 
 
 (Enter Richard. j 
 
 Rieh. The fellow told me that she came this way. — 
 Ah! there she is 'midst the wet grass and flowers. 
 
 Aus. (Aside.) The king! and arm'd ! I can escape me not. 
 
 Rich. Joan ! Joan ! Joan ! my God ! she's dead ! 
 My gentle sister's dead ! a broken heart ! 
 The whitest lily's nipp'd by frosty death. — 
 But who art thou usurp'st these sacred precincts? 
 
 Aus. One that did slay Blondel, whose death slew her; 
 
 RD- 17 
 
ACT V. SCENE IT. 103 
 
 One that is morbid, desperate for revenge, 
 
 Whose appetite, increasing as 'tis fed. 
 
 Only thy Hfe can ever satisfy ; 
 
 One that despairing hate, hateful despair. 
 
 Reckless hath made of fear. Know'st thou me not ? 
 
 Rich. The duke of Austria ! 
 
 (Draws his szvord.) 
 
 Aus. 'Tis even I. 
 
 Come on. proud king! and damn'd be him that falls! 
 (Drazi'S ; rushes at Richard ; they fight furiously ; and Austria 
 
 falls.) 
 It is enough : my heart is pierced through. 
 
 (Dies.) 
 
 Rich. Justice is mine : earth's rid of villainy 
 And now. in hell, the darkest demon there. 
 To his vile soul, the blackest of them all, 
 Is as a snow-flake to a drop of ink. 
 

 
 
 
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