Part 19 (1/2)

BEAU. But pledged to whom? a guilty, low-born woman.

BED. Whether to monarch or to slave, all one, 'Tis pledged, and I'll not break it. Honour fled From common b.r.e.a.s.t.s, must shelter in the n.o.blest.

BEAU. (_Aside._ Proud, haughty prince!) Why generous by halves?

Why not then grant her all,--ease, liberty, With means again to lord it over those Whose path 'tis outrage she should dare to cross?

Richemont hath offered well, and reasoned wisely.

BED. And wouldst thou move me to a coward's deed To soothe his wounded vanity? Shame on 't!

Talk of ambition, love of fame, revenge, Aye, e'en of avarice, and call them selfish, Prodigal of life, cruel; why vanity, That vice of little minds, out-tops them all!

Cold, selfish, marble-hearted vanity!

Whose G.o.d is self, whose greedy appet.i.te, Fed still on self, is gorged but never full.

Never again shall she behold the light Of sun. I promised life on one condition-- That she be never clad in armour more.

That condition honoured--she shall live.

BEAU. Broken?

BED. She shall die.

[_Exit._

BEAU. Then hast thou sealed her doom. Richemont I thank thee for the hint.

SCENE III.--_An Apartment in the same._--_Two Soldiers bearing Armour._

FIRST SOL. What does it mean?

SECOND SOL. What mean!--that she must die, And some new charge too must be found against her, Let her but wear this once again, and--

FIRST SOL. Folly!

How's this to tempt her?

SECOND SOL. How! Do we not hang The captive linnet who denies to sing, In sight of his own fields and native woods, To cheat him into song?

FIRST SOL. A cursed deed Is this, and 'tis the curse of villany To be a villain's tool--an honest man Had ne'er received such charge.

SECOND SOL. Fool--lay it down.

See what dents are in this breastplate!--observe How b.l.o.o.d.y 'tis within: a foul wound.--

FIRST SOL. Peace!

A choking's in my throat, a swelling here I might mistake for pity, if, d.a.m.ned thought, Pity and I had not too long been strangers.

The prey comes!--See, the tiger's to his lair!

_Enter BEAUVAIS._

BEAU. Begone. (_Exit_ SOL.) She hath withstood all former trials.

All fails to move her. Weary hours I've pa.s.sed Within her dungeon, urging all arguments, Painting all horrors, sundry deaths to fright her.

Confession she denies--all ghostly aid, (Sold though to h.e.l.l,) and all reproof rejects.

Baffled as yet in each attempt to snare her, This shall succeed, or be she fiend or woman.

_Enter JOAN._ [_BEAUVAIS conceals himself._

JOAN. What may this mean? Hath pity touched their breast?

Why has the dungeon's gloom been changed for light That cheers, for air that wakens life, not chills?

Oh, beauteous light! oh, sweet and balmy breeze!