PHILIP
I have acquired skill in manly arts,
And by my father’s side, would prove my worth.
ARTHUR
’Tis spoke like any prince, my noble boy.
With pride we’ll watch you stare into the sun21
Then soar as Britain’s eagle, Prince of Wales.
PHILIP
If I do stumble or speak slow, my lord,
I am astonished that I orphaned woke,
But will fall to my bed a son and prince.
ARTHUR
I too have supped on such perplexity.
Returns Gloucester [leading] by arm Guenhera
I am today the queen and you the king,
Dear Guen, and here present to you an heir.
GUENHERA
You compassed22 this rare feat as thund’ring Jove
Did pop Minerva from his splitting pate?23
Did not your skull protest at such invention?24
ARTHUR
New prince, embrace for me your mother-queen.
GUENHERA
And will his brother Mordred love him well?
ARTHUR
More dread have I of April rain and wind
Than of that flea-bit tench,25 that ape, that patch,
The jordan-faced26 and stinking Pictish scroyle.27
That league was pashed28 in bits upon its terms.
GLOUCESTER
Shall we send word to him of his mischance?
ARTHUR
But wait for our return from Irish wars,
For he is one who poorly learns bad news.
GUENHERA
What further need have you of queen, my lord?
Have I not failed what you have asked of me?
ARTHUR
Hush, Guen! Thou must not speak such wretched stuff!
We have made whole our question, only queen,
Be jovial now and kiss our son and heir.
GUENHERA
So as you bid, so shall I do. Come, Prince.
[They embrace]
GLOUCESTER
What war will follow on from this fond kiss?
ARTHUR
Such war as would have followed all the same,
Such war as clouds the sky or dews the grass.
Our people ne’er would tolerate the Pict
And he had ruled ’gainst endless mutiny.
No English will abide a stranger-king
But offer up commotion without end.
We sealed that pact in other, different days;
He sure cannot conceive that it would hold.
Go see, my lord, that all is readiness,—
And, Prince, when I return, we shall converse.—
Come, Guen, a night of peace is granted us
And savors it more nectared ’twixt two wars.
Exeunt [except Philip]
PHILIP
I have some royal heart, for this I met
And did not squeak. I have some royal gloss,
For that fair king doth see in me his twin.
If heart and gloss, though, yet I want the blood:
Elizabeth in truth did bear his son,
On selfsame day my own dam had a boy.29
My mother’s son lives still, for years, I hope,
While th’other met his end some weeks ago.
I came in hope of some small token, aye,
And once or twice my fancy rode a gallop
’Til I was knighted or endowed with land.
But this mad whirling rush of fortune’s wheel
Was all unlooked,30 and frights me a wild duck.
My wings are bating;31 I ought fly to York,
Afore they learn how small a wren am I,
Yet something is that mews me up32 in court.
An I go now, all benefit is lost.
A day or two, perhaps, as Prince of Wales,
Whilst father is at war with duke beside,
Leaves vantage for good fortune to provide. Exit
ACT V[, SCENE I]
[Location: The Royal Court, London]
Enter Mordred with personal attendants and colors, led by English servant
MORDRED
How empty now great Arthur’s halls do seem.
SERVANT
The king is led his host to Ireland, lord.
MORDRED
Where doth the queen reside in time of war?
SERVANT
At court, with all her ladies and the guard,
And those that dance to fill her empty hours.
MORDRED
Go greet her that her most well-willing friend,
The King of Britain—but for one—awaits.
Exit servant
[Aside] And he would see her down before him kneel1
And pledge her weeping vow to her next lord.
Enter players[, including Player King and Queen,] and ladies of Arthur’s court
What court is this? And with how many kings?
Doth Arthur suffer them to share his throne?
PLAYER KING
Here is no call, no space, no time for you,2
But all is answered for by us, sirrah,
And handsomely, and we will hold our place.
Off, off! The field’s yet ours for many months,
Commissions from the king to play for him
Upon return from Irish wars no less
Than comedy and tragedy, two each,
And to invent a tale with all his knights
Displayed on stage as heroes in a quest.
So, fly, avaunt,3 ye paste-crowned, rat-robed king.
Make haste or we will drop you from the walls.
How bare, mechanical a king you make!
MORDRED
Art thou base interluder,4 puffy5 rogue?
Well, bow, O malapert,6 to current7 king.
PLAYER KING Such currency is compassed8 by the art,
Not thine to claim by wishing, paper prince.
Now I have in my days played Charlemagne
And Caesar, David, Herod, Priam, Jove,9
And thou do aweless show thyself to me.
But lift from here, and turn the head. Look tall.
No, no, thou couldst be messenger, no more.
Let drop thy hands: why press and pull them so?
Thy manner calls to mind a washing fly.
MORDRED
I thank thee for this kingly lessoning,
Though yet thy days in court are few remaining.—
My lady, tell us what thou playest yet
For Arthur should he safe return from war?
PLAYER QUEEN We play the tale of flightful Icarus10
Who from ambition did destroy his life.
MORDRED
PLAYER QUEEN
Too true, to speak more properly, too true.
MORDRED
La! Truth belongs in preachers’ sermon texts;
It ne’er yet paid a player’s wage, nor will.
Enter Queen Guenhera, Philip, and attendants
But how? Are you more players yet or true?
GUENHERA
A gathering of kings o’erwhelms the court,
But only gulls cannot distinguish blood
From players’ paints.11
MORDRED
Great queen, I am unarmed.
Your beauty cuts—
GUENHERA
You carry yet a sword.
MORDRED
Your majesty?
GUENHERA
You said you are unarmed.
MORDRED
I meant to speak as poets do, O Queen,
Of beauty, love, and your most perfect self.
All Britain swells with pride and hies to tell
The world how Guenhera, in loveliness,
Is queen above all history’s fairest names:
Nor Helen, Venus, nor Europa, none
May claim but meanest of similitude.
GU
ENHERA
We thank you, King of Picts, for these your words
And ask of you what matter draws you south?
MORDRED
To fix between us the validity
That comprehends our nations’ league: that I
Am now your son, and you my loving dam,
And more, that should cruel war scythe Arthur down,
I will, made king, maintain you on your throne,
And take from “mother-queen” a needless word.12
PHILIP
Thou seemest to misconster13 Arthur’s will,
And place thyself, unasked, in other’s seat.
Now who art thou that steals into our court
Demanding audience of my mother fair,
And crooning14 words of love and legacy?
MORDRED
But who is this stands by in diadem?
PHILIP
’Tis Philip, Prince of Wales, no less than son
First-born to Arthur, heir to Britain’s throne.
MORDRED
Another player and obscene to God?
Is no one here who speaks God’s holy truth?
GUENHERA
The comedy would have our exits now,
Each by our rightful doors, O King of Picts.
MORDRED
Unkind, madame, and unadvisèd pert.15
I came to offer you my loyalty
Until such time as God will have me king.
For God doth wish for my continuance:16
He speaks in omens, acts, and lineage,
His will is seen in your own barren womb,
The which when planted with my hallowed seed,
And not corrupted by the bastard’s touch,
Will fruitfully bear forth a race of kings.
Yet kindness is not here with kindness met.
Your king, among his crimes, is now forsworn,
For he hath given that was never his.17
Perforce my message alters now, my queen,
And you will be my guest without delay,
And with false prince reside in Pictland’s cold.
My men await: we leave at once. Make haste.
GUENHERA
Or no? You draw?
MORDRED
We will conduct you now.
Nor orphan boy of Wales nor kersey king18
Is like19 to slow our swift velocity.
GUENHERA
With such celerity as altered thee
From stamm’ring suitor to a damnèd churl.
Was it but yesterday thou wert sweet child?
MORDRED
Most cruelly you misjudge me, Guenhera.
Budge on, and you will learn in Pictish court
How true and honest kings do fearsome reign.
Exeunt
[ACT V,] SCENE II
[Location: Aboard an English ship]
Enter Denton, Sumner, and Bell. Thunder
SUMNER
The welkin1 splits with shattering blue-gold fire,
lashing our skin with cold-forged nails, hammered
hard off heaven’s anvils.
DENTON
It rains.
SUMNER
Aye, it rains.
DENTON
Aye, would you left it there. Better rain than we
should see clear night and therein witness the comets,
blots, and disordered heavens. The book of God is
open for any who have eyes. Dark fires, fallen stars,
and bright midnights tell mischief.
BELL
Beshrew the sky. I would fain have some ground, e’en
the most saggish2 wet. I have sailed enough until I
die. This ship seems fast to be my tomb. From out
out Southampton, round Cornish tail to Ireland, but
do we walk on Irish sands? No sooner anchors drop
than off the ocean floor rebound and we sail
through Orkney ice thence round again to
Yorkshire. Like Sisyphus, for all of time, we’ll sail.3
Is there no end? We sail and fight and sail again to
fight. I have no more stomach to fill of this.
DENTON
Be satisfied we did not fight. The Irishman will offer
friendship, then turn and bite when back is shown.
SUMNER
We only show our back and leave the Irish standing,
for the king did lose his errant queen meantime.
Inconsiderate, say I.
DENTON
He had kept her clapped up close, she would not stray
so.4
BELL
D’ye think the sky is lit to warn us? Or tell we will be
punished for his sins? His father was not wed to his
dam. Perhaps we cannot win more, whatever valor’s
shown. I would go home. I would be off this pitching