SCENE VIII — A Chamber in Wold Castle.
Duchess OF WOLD and L ORD W OLD .
D UCH . Good-night, then
W OLD . One word more:
That lightning flash has been my marriage torch.
D UCH . What means my Lord?
W OLD . I have betrothed the Daughter
Of Mervyn: She's my bride.
D UCH . You're hurt, my son?
W OLD . My mind is firm and clear. I could not sleep
Under your sacred roof till I had told you
Ah! if you look on me so, I fear the night
Suits my news better than the morn.
D UCH . Nay, then,
Midnight's the time for it, the hollow midnight,
When things unholy walk, and monstrous fears
Lay siege to the soul of man. Thomas of Wold,
What have you done?
W OLD . Quenched an old feud in peace,
And holy wedded love.
D UCH . I wished thee wed;
But, by my fathers, would that flash had been
Thy funeral torch, ere it had lit thee to
The nuptial bed with one of Mervyn's name!
Think of thy father's blood shed by her father:
Oh it cries fie on thee! A love so rash,
So disproportioned, so unnatural,
Can't come to good!
W OLD . Here's a strange thing: I've won
The best of virgins for my wife, and closed
An old broil up, as God's law bids us do,
The very law of reconciling love
Which governs Heaven itself; and yet I've done amiss!
D UCH . ( girding herself with a towel ). I'll wash your feet, my son — on my bent knees I'll do it,
And kiss them ere I rise: There's not an office
The lowliest, but I'd do't to make thee happy.
But this I'll never do, — I'll never speak
To one of Mervyn's line; no, nor receive
One of them in my house
enter a Servant.
S ER . May it please your Grace,
A messenger from the King.
D UCH . Admit him entrance.
The Messenger is brought in.
M ESS . These from his Majesty
W OLD . We take for granted
Your Grace's leave in this
I'm summoned straight
To Dunley Tower, where the King rests the night.
Wherefore, is not set forth; but the command
Is peremptory. My dear honoured mother,
Thought to rest me with you; but for me
There seems no rest in life. Give me your blessing,
Lest I return not: Troublous times are near;
The King may need me.
D UCH . This I'll say, my son,
And bless thee for't: — For him, and for thy country,
A great far doer hast thou been — great things
Thou hast done, and yet wilt do!
W OLD . Now, then, my mother,
Watch not for me; see that you do not do it
I pray you go to sleep. Good-night, good-night!
D UCH . Ill news, by his look. My hope, my morning joy,
To welcome home mine own heroic son,
How changed to me at night!
Duchess OF WOLD and L ORD W OLD .
D UCH . Good-night, then
W OLD . One word more:
That lightning flash has been my marriage torch.
D UCH . What means my Lord?
W OLD . I have betrothed the Daughter
Of Mervyn: She's my bride.
D UCH . You're hurt, my son?
W OLD . My mind is firm and clear. I could not sleep
Under your sacred roof till I had told you
Ah! if you look on me so, I fear the night
Suits my news better than the morn.
D UCH . Nay, then,
Midnight's the time for it, the hollow midnight,
When things unholy walk, and monstrous fears
Lay siege to the soul of man. Thomas of Wold,
What have you done?
W OLD . Quenched an old feud in peace,
And holy wedded love.
D UCH . I wished thee wed;
But, by my fathers, would that flash had been
Thy funeral torch, ere it had lit thee to
The nuptial bed with one of Mervyn's name!
Think of thy father's blood shed by her father:
Oh it cries fie on thee! A love so rash,
So disproportioned, so unnatural,
Can't come to good!
W OLD . Here's a strange thing: I've won
The best of virgins for my wife, and closed
An old broil up, as God's law bids us do,
The very law of reconciling love
Which governs Heaven itself; and yet I've done amiss!
D UCH . ( girding herself with a towel ). I'll wash your feet, my son — on my bent knees I'll do it,
And kiss them ere I rise: There's not an office
The lowliest, but I'd do't to make thee happy.
But this I'll never do, — I'll never speak
To one of Mervyn's line; no, nor receive
One of them in my house
enter a Servant.
S ER . May it please your Grace,
A messenger from the King.
D UCH . Admit him entrance.
The Messenger is brought in.
M ESS . These from his Majesty
W OLD . We take for granted
Your Grace's leave in this
I'm summoned straight
To Dunley Tower, where the King rests the night.
Wherefore, is not set forth; but the command
Is peremptory. My dear honoured mother,
Thought to rest me with you; but for me
There seems no rest in life. Give me your blessing,
Lest I return not: Troublous times are near;
The King may need me.
D UCH . This I'll say, my son,
And bless thee for't: — For him, and for thy country,
A great far doer hast thou been — great things
Thou hast done, and yet wilt do!
W OLD . Now, then, my mother,
Watch not for me; see that you do not do it
I pray you go to sleep. Good-night, good-night!
D UCH . Ill news, by his look. My hope, my morning joy,
To welcome home mine own heroic son,
How changed to me at night!