GUENHERA
Perhaps upon my side.
NURSE
So then, your side.
GUENHERA
Is there then nothing for it?
NURSE
Nothing now.
You yielded comfort nine full moons ago.
There, there, sit quiet now. You jar3 the prince.
But sit now! You do move and move, my queen,
As yet I washed your younger muddied cheeks.
Is’t here you ache?
GUENHERA
Just there, that’s well. Thou’rt kind.—
What ancient sage first wond’ring marked that line
Of moons ’twixt lover’s smile and labor’s cries?
NURSE
’Twas known when Adam first leered eyes at Eve.
GUENHERA
The king did riddle me afore he rode
And put to me this question wrapped in smiles:
“What burden is’t that cannot still be borne,
My queen, that day when it will no more bear?”
Quoth I, “My king, you riddle at your pleasure.”
Came he, “Nay, at my burden.” Mark’st thou, nurse?
It is a wife, a wife. He kissed me then,
And rode to war, and called me his own Guen.
NURSE
And left your prince to start on his own ride.
Doth he yet kick and spur his heels at you?
GUENHERA
He hath been still within an hour.4
As under-ocean spouts do lend their breath
To beasts below the waves,5 find air, my prince,
Come out and fill my hungry ears and arms
And fill the king with pride of you.—No word?
How is’t that we have nothing yet of him?
Would he not send to us? Not think on us,
Not wake6 that we do think on him in broil?7
Conceiveth he that we have no concern
In victory or death? But who hath more?
NURSE
Now back you go, my girl, sit still and calm.
GUENHERA
If Arthur lives, he makes of me a bargain
With strange a king from strange a northern land.
They wrangle8 over my own bursting womb!
The king has luck, my boy’s in lusty health,
And cries out first for milk and then for scepter.
If th’child doth die, the other thanks his fortune.
Can such men be, that would raise kingdoms up
Upon a chrisom’s9 grave?
NURSE
Hush, hush, go to.
GUENHERA
If Arthur dies, then so too dies his heir,
For Mordred will not stop at its small breaths
To puff him from the throne.10—I’ll fly with him
In peasant weeds11 and kerchief.—Arthur lives,
And child doth die, what then remains of me?
For heirs must rise or kingdoms surely fall,
And no king born can bear a barren queen.
NURSE
You drop a case, my girl. I’ll tutor you.
If victory is won, the Saxons scourged,
For by your lady’s womb were allies found:
Your king still lives, the child is born, and you
Are Linmouth’s rescuer, bold Guenhera.
GUENHERA
I feel them both, those rival-friendly kings.
They counter-strive12 to read their fates in me,
All futures vie in this discov’ry-space.13
Wherefore he leaves me gnashing ignorant?
Is no one waiting there? Is no word come?
O! O!
NURSE
There now it starts! So kings are born!
Come walk a ways with me in th’lower hall
And by that prompting urge our prince to fall.
Exeunt
[ACT IV,] SCENE III
[Location: The field of Linmouth]
[Enter] Mordred solus
MORDRED
And now does Arthur love me, says I am
A steady friend he loves above his life,1
Belovèd heir, his brother, almost son.
When Saxon lance did fling me from my horse,
King Arthur charged, restored me to my feet,
And shouted I was “Hector2 born anew!”
He lies, I know. He cannot think me so.
He boasts more speed and brawn than I, and yet,
Today, his words did something make it so,
And I did smite the Saxon with more strength
For Arthur said I would, and so I did.
At battle’s end, whilst numbering the slain,
I ought have plunged a blade into his back,
But pleased was I to have his ear and eye,
To blush as he made me fair weather.3
He seems to wish for nothing but that he
Should breathe his last and I should warm his throne.
I know he lies, and yet I thank his love.
The Saxons vanquished, off he posts4 to court
And thence to rebel-factious Ireland’s shores,
’Gainst death and all oblivious enmity.5
His kiss upon my cheek, I watch him fly,
And then do mind6 his murder of my flesh.
Were I that king, I would send Mordred north
To wait his certain crown and wait and wait,
While queens do toil abed to thwart his rights.
By my assent he fashioneth complotment!7
But I am I. I will not wait amort.8
I will to London, there to greet my queen.
I’ll have her promise I am heir, and view
Her beauty, all renowned. Should Arthur die
In Ireland’s wars, she could become my queen.
By reputation’s whisper I have heard
That she is liberal9 with gifts of love.
By Mordred’s holy seed might not we soon
Implant a prince ourselves to hold our claim
And with her womb prove Mordred’s right to rule.
Yes. Then will I obtain from England’s lords,
And vulgar tribune sorts who must be paid,
Such love, subjection, dread that may be bought.
Success made sure, I’ll turn resistant thought
To acting as a vengeful brother ought.
Exit
[ACT IV,] SCENE IV
[Location: The Royal Court, London]
[Enter Arthur]
There is, in truth, no urgency abroad
But one must find a place to practice war,
And Cumbria did touch me when quoth he,
“Your father ne’er could subjugate the kern.”1
So we shall capriole2 o’er Irish bogs,
And silence, for the now, rebellion’s plaints.
I say not “always”: I am taught at last,
Conceive no dream to peg3 e’er-lasting peace,
But slay an Irishman or two and breathe,
Fight Germans, rest, kill Picts, then infidels.
A proper king am I and love my wars.
I taste my peace in thimbles, drams, and grains,
Not by the hogshead but the pennyworth,
And count him glutton who would ask for more.
Enter Gloucester
How fares the queen?
GLOUCESTER
She waits upon you, sire.
The joyless Guenhera is grief’s poor slave,
But smiles and dries her cheeks to know you come.
ARTHUR
Anon. Is all afoot for our departure?
GLOUCESTER
We stay but for the giddy4 wind to choose.
Yet, too: there’s one would speak with you, my liege,
Rode hard from Yorkshire for your ear, he says.
He hath attended here for you these weeks,
And hath re
fused to publish his desire
To any but the king.
ARTHUR
Bring him to us.
Exit Gloucester
My loving lovèd queen awaits her king
And I would pass my hours of peace with her,
Empillowed5 on her breast before my ship,
Refresh all wearied ache within th’embrace,
For she and I have duties to perform,
Else we shall wake one morn and find us Picts.
Returns Gloucester with Philip
A strong-limbed, comely youth, of noble face.
What art thou, boy, and wherefore needs our ear?
PHILIP
God save you. I am Philip, come from York.
And carry you remembrance from my mother,
Who from her dying bed sends tender love
To her one king and true.
ARTHUR
Who is thy dam?
PHILIP
In York she sewed for the lord mayor’s wife.
ARTHUR
A lady of the wardrobe, yes—that’s she?
Elizabeth was that good lady’s name.
Thy mother is Elizabeth? Of York?
But in her dying bed?
PHILIP
She is, my lord.
ARTHUR
We sorrow at those words. What says she, child?
PHILIP
She bids me kneel and love you as my father.6
GLOUCESTER
Speak no word more of this deceit, queer7 boy.
ARTHUR
To love me as thou lovest thy own father?
PHILIP
To love you, father mine.
GLOUCESTER
No more.
ARTHUR
Is’t so?8
PHILIP
In this alone do I claim more than kings,
For I have known our truth since I could speak.
She sang to me of you and of her love,
But said we must ne’er trouble you at court.
GLOUCESTER
I am impatient for the swift and sure
Conclusion of this show of cozenage,9
So skip us quickly to your humble foist.10
Come, come, yield up your catalogue of boons.11
PHILIP
But nay, good lords, I hope of you no gift
More than your royal hands upon my head,
And you admit12 my mother’s dying love
From her poor orphaned boy, then I’ll to York.
ARTHUR
An if now orphaned, Philip, yet new-fathered,
Or better far, restored to father true:
I see in every sinew and thine eye
Thy testimony’s proof: thou art my print.13
I know these lineaments14 as if I peered
Into a glass of other years, which guards
In it past images long sith reflect.
Come to my arms, my Philip, prince and heir.
In court shalt thou adoptedly reside.
GLOUCESTER
You course so speedily as this, my liege?
He came to London hoping for a coin,
And you’ll emboss his face on every one.
’Tis not so plain to me the evidence
You spy in this base sharker’s15 reddening cheek.
Nor is there policy in circumstance
Determining the fate of kings and realms.
E’en it is true, are there not other such?
Perchance this one hath not the claim of age.
ARTHUR
’Tis so, all so, but this one came to me
And this one has no parent now, but me.
I will not banish my own son by night
Nor nurse my lineage in stranger’s lands,
But bind him to my side, to shape him king.
Good Gloucester, call the queen to share our joy.
Uprouse her from her weeping bed and we
Will consolate her in her grieving mood.
For three small heirs she gains a prince today
And must rejoice God’s equability.16
GLOUCESTER
Your majesty, there is a haste in this
That ill beseems17 the matter and its cost.
This moment’s consequence will echo long.
ARTHUR
Thou ne’er hadst son, old Gloucester, as I do,
And in his eyes perceive our future strength.
Now prithee cease to quirk18 this case of truth19
But lead my gloomy20 queen to greet our son.
Exit Gloucester
Young Philip, dost thou love to fish and hunt?
And canst thou ride and thrust a keen-edged sword?