قراءة كتاب The Battle of Hexham; or, Days of Old: a play in three acts
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
The Battle of Hexham; or, Days of Old: a play in three acts
He who follows for honour the drum and the fife,
May perhaps have the luck to get honour for life;
And he who, for money, makes fighting his trade,
Let him now face the foe, he'll be handsomely paid.
Then be true, &c.
The fight fairly done, my brave boys of the blade,
How we'll talk, o'er our cups, of the havock we've made!
How we'll talk, if we once kill a captain or two,
Of a hundred more fellows, that nobody knew.
Then my tight fellow soldiers prepare for your foes.
And the laurel entwine with the jolly Red Rose.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Outside of the Royal Tent.
Enter Fool.
Fool. Queen Margaret has sheltered me from the peltings of fortune, this many a year. Now the pelting has damaged my shelter; but still I stick to it. More simpleton I!—to stand, like a thin-clad booby, in a hard shower, under an unroofed penthouse. Truly, for a fool of my experience, I have but little wisdom: and yet a camp suits well with my humour; take away the fighting—the sleeping in a field—the bad fare—the long marches, and the short pay—and a soldier's is a rare merry life.—Here come two more musterers—troth we have need of them—for, considering the goodness of the cause, they drop in as sparingly as mites into a poor's box.
Enter Adeline and Gregory.
Adeline. Tremble not now, Gregory, for your life!
Gregory. Lord, madam, that is the only thing I do tremble for: if I had as many lives as a cat, I must borrow a tenth, I fancy, to carry me out of this place.
Adeline. Pooh! pr'ythee—we are here among friends. Did you not mark the courtesy of the centinels; who, upon signifying our intentions, bid us pass on, till we should find a leader, to whom we might tender our services?
Gregory. Ah! and there he is, I suppose. [Pointing to the Fool.] Mercy on us! he's a terrible looking fellow—his coat has been so pepper'd with musket shot in the wars, that 'tis patch'd from the very top to the bottom.
Adeline. Tut, tut, man! your fears have made you blind; this motley gentleman's occupation has nothing terrible in it, I'll answer for it—we will accost him. How now, fellow?
Fool. How now, fool?
Adeline. What, sirrah? call you me fool?
Fool. 'Faith may I, sir; when you call me fellow. Hail to you, sir, you are very well met. Nay you need not be ashamed of me for a companion; simple though I seem, we fools come of a great family, with a number of rich relations.
Adeline. Why do you follow the camp, fool?
Fool. For the same reason that a blind beggar follows his dog;—though it may lead me where my neck may be broke, I can't get on in the world without it. You, sir, I take it, are come, like me, to shoot your bolt at the enemy?
Adeline. I come, partly, indeed, among other purposes, to offer my weak aid to the army.
Fool. Your weakness, sir, acts marvellously wisely: you'll be the clean-shaved Nestor of the regiment.
Adeline. If I could find your leader, I would vouch, too, for the integrity of this my follower, to be received into the ranks.
Gregory. Oh no, you need not put yourself to the trouble of vouching for me.
Fool. Right; for your knave, when great folks have occasion for him, is received with little inquiry into his character. Marry, let an honest man lack their assistance, and starving stares him in the face, for want of a recommendation.
Adeline. Lead us to your General, and you shall be well remember'd by me.
Fool. Why, as to a General, I can stand you in little stead; but if such a simple thing as a Queen can content you, I am your only man: for being a proper fellow, and a huge tickler up of a lady's fancy, I may chance to push your fortune as far as another. Truly, you fell into good hands when you stumbled on me. [Flourish.] Stand back, here comes royalty.
Enter Queen Margaret, Duke of Somerset, La Varenne, Seneschal of Normandy, with Knights and Soldiers, from the Tent.
Som. Here, if it please you, madam, we'll debate.
Our tented councils but disturb the King,
And break his pious meditations.
Marg. True, Duke of Somerset; for some there are
Who, idly stretch'd upon the bank of life,
Sleep till the stream runs dry.—Is't not vexatious,
That frolic nature, as it were, in mockery,
Should in the rough, and lusty mould of manhood,
Encrust a feeble mind!—Well, upon me
Must rest the load of war.—Assist me, then,
Ye powers of just revenge! fix deep the memory
Of injured majesty! heat my glowing fancy
With all the glittering pride of high dominion;
That, when we meet the traitors who usurp it,
My breast shall swell with manly indignation,
And spur me on to enterprise.
La Var. Oh! happy
The knight who wields his sword for such a mistress.
I cannot but be proud! When late, in Normandy,
Your grace demanded succour of my countrymen,
And beauty in distress shone like the sun
Piercing a summer's cloud—then—then was I
The honour'd cavalier a royal lady
Chose, from the flower of our nobility,
To right her cause, and punish her oppressors.
Marg. Thanks, La Varenne; our cause is bound to you;
And my particular bond of obligation
Is stamp'd, my lord, with the warm seal of gratitude.
Yours is a high and gallant spirit, lord!
Impatient of inaction, even in peace
It manifests its owner: for, I found you,
In fertile France, (that nurse of courtesy)
Our sex's foremost champion;—in the tournament
Bearing away the prize, that you might lay it
At some fair lady's feet: thus, in rehearsal,
Training the martial mind to feats of chivalry;
That, when occasion call'd for real service,
It ever was found ready—witness the troops
You lead to action.—Say, lords, think you not
That these, our high-bred Normans, mingled with
Our hardy Scottish friends, like fire in flint,
Will, when the iron hand of battle strikes,
Produce such hot and vivid sparks of valour,
That the pale House of York, aghast with fear,
Shall perish in the flame it rashly kindled?
La Var. No doubt, no doubt!
'Would that the time were come,