A Pursuivant: Room for the King!

THE YOUTH:How glorious! See those thronging chariotsRolling, like painted clouds before the wind,Behind their solemn steeds: how some are shapedLike curved sea-shells dyed by the azure depthsOf Indian seas; some like the new-born moon;And some like cars in which the Romans climbed(Canopied by Victory's eagle-wings outspread)The Capitolian--See how gloriouslyThe mettled horses in the torchlight stirTheir gallant riders, while they check their pride,Like shapes of some diviner elementThan English air, and beings nobler thanThe envious and admiring multitude.

NOTE:138-40 Rolling...depths 1870;Rolling like painted clouds before the windSome areLike curved shells, dyed by the azure depths 1824.

Ay, there they are--Nobles, and sons of nobles, patentees,Monopolists, and stewards of this poor farm,On whose lean sheep sit the prophetic crows,Here is the pomp that strips the houseless orphan,Here is the pride that breaks the desolate heart.These are the lilies glorious as Solomon,Who toil not, neither do they spin,--unlessIt be the webs they catch poor rogues withal.Here is the surfeit which to them who earnThe niggard wages of the earth, scarce leavesThe tithe that will support them till they crawlBack to her cold hard bosom. Here is healthFollowed by grim disease, glory by shame,Waste by lame famine, wealth by squalid want,And England's sin by England's punishment.And, as the effect pursues the cause foregone,Lo, giving substance to my words, beholdAt once the sign and the thing signified--A troop of cripples, beggars, and lean outcasts,Horsed upon stumbling jades, carted with dung,Dragged for a day from cellars and low cabinsAnd rotten hiding-holes, to point the moralOf this presentment, and bring up the rearOf painted pomp with misery!

THE YOUTH:'Tis butThe anti-masque, and serves as discords doIn sweetest music. Who would love May flowersIf they succeeded not to Winter's flaw;Or day unchanged by night; or joy itselfWithout the touch of sorrow?

I and thou-

Place, give place!

SCENE 2:

KING:Thanks, gentlemen. I heartily acceptThis token of your service: your gay masqueWas performed gallantly. And it shows wellWhen subjects twine such flowers ofWith the sharp thorns that deck the English crown.A gentle heart enjoys what it confers,Even as it suffers that which it inflicts,Though Justice guides the stroke.Accept my hearty thanks.

QUEEN:And gentlemen,Call your poor Queen your debtor. Your quaint pageantRose on me like the figures of past years,Treading their still path back to infancy,More beautiful and mild as they draw nearerThe quiet cradle. I could have almost weptTo think I was in Paris, where these showsAre well devised--such as I was ere yetMy young heart shared a portion of the burthen,The careful weight, of this great monarchy.There, gentlemen, between the sovereign's pleasureAnd that which it regards, no clamour liftsIts proud interposition.In Paris ribald censurers dare not moveTheir poisonous tongues against these sinless sports;And HIS smileWarms those who bask in it, as ours would doIf ... Take my heart's thanks: add them, gentlemen,To those good words which, were he King of France,My royal lord would turn to golden deeds.

ST. JOHN:Madam, the love of Englishmen can makeThe lightest favour of their lawful kingOutweigh a despot's.--We humbly take our leaves,Enriched by smiles which France can never buy.

KING:My Lord Archbishop,Mark you what spirit sits in St. John's eyes?Methinks it is too saucy for this presence.

STRAFFORD:A rod in pickle for the Fool's back!

ARCHY:Ay, and some are now smiling whose tears will make the brine; for theFool sees--

STRAFFORD:Insolent! You shall have your coat turned and be whipped out of thepalace for this.

These stiff ScotsHis Grace of Canterbury must take orderTo force under the Church's yoke.--You, Wentworth,Shall be myself in Ireland, and shall addYour wisdom, gentleness, and energy,To what in me were wanting.--My Lord Weston,Look that those merchants draw not without lossTheir bullion from the Tower; and, on the paymentOf shipmoney, take fullest compensationFor violation of our royal forests,Whose limits, from neglect, have been o'ergrownWith cottages and cornfields. The uttermostFarthing exact from those who claim exemptionFrom knighthood: that which once was a rewardShall thus be made a punishment, that subjectsMay know how majesty can wear at willThe rugged mood.--My Lord of Coventry,Lay my command upon the Courts belowThat bail be not accepted for the prisonersUnder the warrant of the Star Chamber.The people shall not find the stubbornnessOf Parliament a cheap or easy methodOf dealing with their rightful sovereign:And doubt not this, my Lord of Coventry,We will find time and place for fit rebuke.--My Lord of Canterbury.

ARCHY:The fool is here.

LAUD:I crave permission of your MajestyTo order that this insolent fellow beChastised: he mocks the sacred character,Scoffs at the state, and--

KING:What, my Archy?He mocks and mimics all he sees and hears,Yet with a quaint and graceful licence--PritheeFor this once do not as Prynne would, were hePrimate of England. With your Grace's leave,He lives in his own world; and, like a parrotHung in his gilded prison from the windowOf a queen's bower over the public way,Blasphemes with a bird's mind:--his words, like arrowsWhich know no aim beyond the archer's wit,Strike sometimes what eludes philosophy.--Go, sirrah, and repent of your offenceTen minutes in the rain; be it your penanceTo bring news how the world goes there.Poor Archy!He weaves about himself a world of mirthOut of the wreck of ours.

LAUD:I take with patience, as my Master did,All scoffs permitted from above.

KING:My lord,Pray overlook these papers. Archy's wordsHad wings, but these have talons.

QUEEN:And the lionThat wears them must be tamed. My dearest lord,I see the new-born courage in your eyeArmed to strike dead the Spirit of the Time,Which spurs to rage the many-headed beast.Do thou persist: for, faint but in resolve,And it were better thou hadst still remainedThe slave of thine own slaves, who tear like cursThe fugitive, and flee from the pursuer;And Opportunity, that empty wolf,Flies at his throat who falls. Subdue thy actionsEven to the disposition of thy purpose,And be that tempered as the Ebro's steel;And banish weak-eyed Mercy to the weak,Whence she will greet thee with a gift of peaceAnd not betray thee with a traitor's kiss,As when she keeps the company of rebels,Who think that she is Fear. This do, lest weShould fall as from a glorious pinnacleIn a bright dream, and wake as from a dreamOut of our worshipped state.

KING:Beloved friend,God is my witness that this weight of power,Which He sets me my earthly task to wieldUnder His law, is my delight and prideOnly because thou lovest that and me.For a king bears the office of a GodTo all the under world; and to his GodAlone he must deliver up his trust,Unshorn of its permitted attributes.Had mutinied against the golden sunThat kindles them to harmony, and quellsTheir self-destroying rapine. The wild millionStrike at the eye that guides them; like as humoursOf the distempered body that conspireAgainst the spirit of life throned in the heart,--And thus become the prey of one another,And last of death--

STRAFFORD:That which would be ambition in a subjectIs duty in a sovereign; for on him,As on a keystone, hangs the arch of life,Whose safety is its strength. Degree and form,And all that makes the age of reasoning manMore memorable than a beast's, depend on this--That Right should fence itself inviolablyWith Power; in which respect the state of EnglandFrom usurpation by the insolent commonsCries for reform.Get treason, and spare treasure. Fee with coinThe loudest murmurers; feed with jealousiesOpposing factions,--be thyself of none;And borrow gold of many, for those who lendWill serve thee till thou payest them; and thusKeep the fierce spirit of the hour at bay,Till time, and its coming generationsOf nights and days unborn, bring some one chance,

Or war or pestilence or Nature's self,--By some distemperature or terrible sign,Be as an arbiter betwixt themselves.Nor let your MajestyDoubt here the peril of the unseen event.How did your brother Kings, coheritorsIn your high interest in the subject earth,Rise past such troubles to that height of powerWhere now they sit, and awfully sereneSmile on the trembling world? Such popular stormsPhilip the Second of Spain, this Lewis of France,And late the German head of many bodies,And every petty lord of Italy,Quelled or by arts or arms. Is England poorerOr feebler? or art thou who wield'st her powerTamer than they? or shall this island be--To the world present and the world to comeSole pattern of extinguished monarchy?Not if thou dost as I would have thee do.

KING:Your words shall be my deeds:You speak the image of my thought. My friend(If Kings can have a friend, I call thee so),Beyond the large commission whichUnder the great seal of the realm, take this:And, for some obvious reasons, let there beNo seal on it, except my kingly wordAnd honour as I am a gentleman.Be--as thou art within my heart and mind--Another self, here and in Ireland:Do what thou judgest well, take amplest licence,And stick not even at questionable means.Hear me, Wentworth. My word is as a wallBetween thee and this world thine enemy--That hates thee, for thou lovest me.

STRAFFORD:I ownNo friend but thee, no enemies but thine:Thy lightest thought is my eternal law.How weak, how short, is life to pay--

KING:Peace, peace.Thou ow'st me nothing yet.My lord, what sayThose papers?

LAUD:Your Majesty has ever interposed,In lenity towards your native soil,Between the heavy vengeance of the ChurchAnd Scotland. Mark the consequence of warmingThis brood of northern vipers in your bosom.The rabble, instructed no doubtBy London, Lindsay, Hume, and false Argyll(For the waves never menace heaven untilScourged by the wind's invisible tyranny),Have in the very temple of the LordDone outrage to His chosen ministers.They scorn the liturgy of the Holy Church,Refuse to obey her canons, and denyThe apostolic power with which the SpiritHas filled its elect vessels, even from himWho held the keys with power to loose and bind,To him who now pleads in this royal presence.--Let ample powers and new instructions beSent to the High Commissioners in Scotland.To death, imprisonment, and confiscation,Add torture, add the ruin of the kindredOf the offender, add the brand of infamy,Add mutilation: and if this suffice not,Unleash the sword and fire, that in their thirstThey may lick up that scum of schismatics.I laugh at those weak rebels who, desiringWhat we possess, still prate of Christian peace,As if those dreadful arbitrating messengersWhich play the part of God 'twixt right and wrong,Should be let loose against the innocent sleepOf templed cities and the smiling fields,For some poor argument of policyWhich touches our own profit or our pride(Where it indeed were Christian charityTo turn the cheek even to the smiter's hand):And, when our great Redeemer, when our God,When He who gave, accepted, and retainedHimself in propitiation of our sins,Is scorned in His immediate ministry,With hazard of the inestimable lossOf all the truth and discipline which isSalvation to the extremest generationOf men innumerable, they talk of peace!Such peace as Canaan found, let Scotland now:For, by that Christ who came to bring a sword,Not peace, upon the earth, and gave commandTo His disciples at the PassoverThat each should sell his robe and buy a sword,-Once strip that minister of naked wrath,And it shall never sleep in peace againTill Scotland bend or break.

KING:My Lord Archbishop,Do what thou wilt and what thou canst in this.Thy earthly even as thy heavenly KingGives thee large power in his unquiet realm.But we want money, and my mind misgives meThat for so great an enterprise, as yet,We are unfurnished.

STRAFFORD:Yet it may not longRest on our wills.

COTTINGTON:The expensesOf gathering shipmoney, and of distrainingFor every petty rate (for we encounterA desperate opposition inch by inchIn every warehouse and on every farm),Have swallowed up the gross sum of the imposts;So that, though felt as a most grievous scourgeUpon the land, they stand us in small steadAs touches the receipt.

STRAFFORD:'Tis a conclusionMost arithmetical: and thence you inferPerhaps the assembling of a parliament.Now, if a man should call his dearest enemiesT0 sit in licensed judgement on his life,His Majesty might wisely take that course.It is enough to expect from these lean impostsThat they perform the office of a scourge,Without more profit.Fines and confiscations,And a forced loan from the refractory city,Will fill our coffers: and the golden loveOf loyal gentlemen and noble friendsFor the worshipped father of our common country,With contributions from the catholics,Will make Rebellion pale in our excess.Be these the expedients until time and wisdomShall frame a settled state of government.

LAUD:And weak expedients they! Have we not drainedAll, till the ... which seemedA mine exhaustless?

STRAFFORD:And the love which IS,If loyal hearts could turn their blood to gold.

LAUD:Both now grow barren: and I speak it notAs loving parliaments, which, as they have beenIn the right hand of bold bad mighty kingsThe scourges of the bleeding Church, I hate.Methinks they scarcely can deserve our fear.

STRAFFORD:Oh! my dear liege, take back the wealth thou gavest:With that, take all I held, but as in trustFor thee, of mine inheritance: leave me butThis unprovided body for thy service,And a mind dedicated to no careExcept thy safety:--but assemble notA parliament. Hundreds will bring, like me,Their fortunes, as they would their blood, before--

KING:No! thou who judgest them art but one. Alas!We should be too much out of love with Heaven,Did this vile world show many such as thee,Thou perfect, just, and honourable man!Never shall it be said that Charles of EnglandStripped those he loved for fear of those he scorns;Nor will he so much misbecome his throneAs to impoverish those who most adornAnd best defend it. That you urge, dear Strafford,Inclines me rather--

QUEEN:To a parliament?Is this thy firmness? and thou wilt presideOver a knot of ... censurers,To the unswearing of thy best resolves,And choose the worst, when the worst comes too soon?Plight not the worst before the worst must come.Oh, wilt thou smile whilst our ribald foes,Dressed in their own usurped authority,Sharpen their tongues on Henrietta's fame?It is enough! Thou lovest me no more!