Part 12 (2/2)

Place me in open battle, and I care not For bloodshed; but this murderous intrigue, I will have none o't.

_Lys._ Nay, my lord, in sooth, Why think of bloodshed? If our scheme go right (And nought can mar it now), what need of blood?

These smooth knaves, though they fight behind their walls With cunning enginery, yet when they see Our army in their streets, will straight grow prudent And hug discretion. But, indeed, my lord, We have gone too far to pause, and if thou like not Our scheme, which makes for thee and for our State, We cannot risk that thou denounce our plan, And therefore, if thou wilt not join with us, The safety of ourselves and of the State Holds thee a prisoner pent in durance vile Till victory is ours, and thou mayst take The fruit of others' daring, while thy wife Deserts her doubting and dishonoured lord For one who dares to act and play his part As a man should.

_Asan._ (_after hesitation_). I do not hold with you, That a man's oath can bind him to his G.o.d To do what else were wrong. Yet, since you swear Your purpose is not bloodshed, and my will Is impotent to stay your choice, and chiefly Because I am cast down and sick at heart, And without any trust in G.o.d or man, I do consent to your conspiracy, Loving it not.

_Lys._ There spoke my lord the Prince.

We will succeed or die.

_Asan._ I would sooner die.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_Cherson. Irene's prison._

IRENE; _then the Gaoler's_ Child; _afterwards_ GYCIA.

_Ire._ Ah me! The heaviness of prisoned days!

Heigho! 'Tis weary work in prison here.

What though I know no loss but liberty, Have everything at will--food, service, all That I should have, being free--yet doth constraint Poison life at its spring; and if I thought This woman's jealous humour would endure, I would sooner be a hireling set to tend The kine upon the plains, in heat or cold, Chilled through by the sharp east, scorched by the sun, So only I might wander as I would At my own will, than weary to be free From this luxurious cell. Hark!

[_The tramp of armed men is heard._

What was that sound?

I could swear I heard the measured tramp of men And ring of mail, yet is it but illusion.

Last night I thought I heard it as I lay Awake at dead of night. Mere fantasy Born of long solitude, for here there are No soldiers nor mailed feet.

[_Again heard._

Hark! once again.

Nay, I must curb these fancies.

_Enter_ Child.

_Child._ Gentle lady.

_Ire._ Speak, little one. Come hither.

_Child._ Gentle lady, My father, who is Warder of this tower, Bade me come hither and ask thee if thou wouldst That I should hold thy distaff, or might render Some other service.

_Ire._ Ay, child; a good thought.

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