The Saint's Tragedy Part 12

All. Bread! Bread!

Eliz. Ay, bread--Where is it, knights and servants?

Why butler, seneschal, this food forthcomes not!

Butler. Alas, we've eaten all ourselves: heaven knows The pages broke the b.u.t.tery hatches down-- The boys were starved almost.

Voice below. Ay, she can find enough to feast her minions.

Woman's Voice. How can she know what 'tis, for months and months To stoop and straddle in the clogging fallows, Bearing about a living babe within you?

And then at night to fat yourself and it On fir-bark, madam, and water.

Eliz. My good dame-- That which you bear, I bear: for food, G.o.d knows, I have not tasted food this live-long day-- Nor will till you are served. I sent for wheat From Koln and from the Rhine-land, days ago: O G.o.d! why comes it not?

[Enter from below, Count Walter, with a Merchant.]

Wal. Stand back; you'll choke me, rascals: Archers, bring up those mules. Here comes the corn-- Here comes your guardian angel, plenty-laden, With no white wings, but good white wheat, my boys, Quarters on quarters--if you'll pay for it.

Eliz. Oh! give him all he asks.

Wal. The scoundrel wants Three times its value.

Merchant. Not a penny less-- I bought it on speculation--I must live-- I get my bread by buying corn that's cheap, And selling where 'tis dearest. Ma.s.s, you need it, And you must pay according to your need.

Mob. Hang him! hang all regraters--hang the forestalling dog!

Wal. Driver, lend here the halter off that mule.

Eliz. Nay, Count; the corn is his, and his the right To fix conditions for his own.

Mer. Well spoken!

A wise and royal lady! She will see The trade protected. Why, I kept the corn Three months on venture. Now, so help me Saints, I am a loser by it, quite a loser-- So help me Saints, I am.

Eliz. You will not sell it Save at a price which, by the bill you tender, Is far beyond our means. Heaven knows, I grudge not-- I have sold my plate, have p.a.w.ned my robes and jewels.

Mortgaged broad lands and castles to buy food-- And now I have no more.--Abate, or trust Our honour for the difference.

Mer. Not a penny-- I trust no n.o.bles. I must make my profit-- I'll have my price, or take it back again.

Eliz. Most miserable, cold, short-sighted man, Who for thy selfish gains dost welcome make G.o.d's wrath, and battenest on thy fellows' woes, What? wilt thou turn from heaven's gate, open to thee, Through which thy charity may pa.s.sport be, And win thy long greed's pardon? Oh, for once Dare to be great; show mercy to thyself!

See how that boiling sea of human heads Waits open-mouthed to bless thee: speak the word, And their triumphant quire of jubilation Shall pierce G.o.d's cloudy floor with praise and prayers, And drown the accuser's count in angels' ears.

[In the meantime Walter, etc., have been throwing down the wheat to the mob.]

Mob. G.o.d bless the good Count!--Bless the holy Princess-- Hurrah for wheat--Hurrah for one full stomach.

Mer. Ah! that's my wheat! treason, my wheat, my money!

Eliz. Where is the wretch's wheat?

Wal. Below, my lady; We counted on the charm of your sweet words, And so did for him what, your sermon ended, He would have done himself.

Knight. 'Twere rude to doubt it.

Mer. Ye rascal barons!

What! Are we burghers monkeys for your pastime?

We'll clear the odds. [Seizes Walter.]

Wal. Soft, friend--a worm will turn.

Voices below. Throw him down.

Wal. Dost hear that, friend?

Those pups are keen-toothed; they have eat of late Worse bacon to their bread than thee. Come, come, Put up thy knife; we'll give thee market-price-- And if thou must have more--why, take it out In board and lodging in the castle dungeon.

[Walter leads him out; the Mob, etc., disperse.]

Eliz. Now then--there's many a one lies faint at home-- I'll go to them myself.

Isen. What now? start forth In this most bitter frost, so thinly clad?

Eliz. Tut, tut, I wear my working dress to-day, And those who work, robe lightly--

Isen. Nay, my child, For once keep up your rank.

Eliz. Then I had best Roll to their door in lacqueyed equipage, And dole my halfpence from my satin purse-- I am their sister--I must look like one.

I am their queen--I'll prove myself the greatest By being the minister of all. So come-- Now to my pastime, [aside] And in happy toil Forget this whirl of doubt--We are weak, we are weak, Only when still: put thou thine hand to the plough, The spirit drives thee on.

Isen. You live too fast!

Eliz. Too fast? We live too slow--our gummy blood Without fresh purging airs from heaven, would choke Slower and slower, till it stopped and froze.

G.o.d! fight we not within a cursed world, Whose very air teems thick with leagued fiends-- Each word we speak has infinite effects-- Each soul we pa.s.s must go to heaven or h.e.l.l-- And this our one chance through eternity To drop and die, like dead leaves in the brake, Or like the meteor stone, though whelmed itself, Kindle the dry moors into fruitful blaze-- And yet we live too fast!

Be earnest, earnest, earnest; mad, if thou wilt: Do what thou dost as if the stake were heaven, And that thy last deed ere the judgment-day.

When all's done, nothing's done. There's rest above-- Below let work be death, if work be love! [Exeunt.]

SCENE VIII

A Chamber in the Castle. Counts Walter, Hugo, etc., Abbot, and Knights.

Count Hugo. I can't forget it, as I am a Christian man. To ask for a stoup of beer at breakfast, and be told there was no beer allowed in the house--her Ladys.h.i.+p had given all the malt to the poor.

Abbot. To give away the staff of life, eh?

C. Hugo. The life itself, Sir, the life itself. All that barley, that would have warmed many an honest fellow's coppers, wasted in filthy cakes.

Abbot. The parent of seraphic ale degraded into plebeian dough!

Indeed, Sir, we have no right to lessen wantonly the amount of human enjoyment!

C. Wal. In heaven's name, what would you have her do, while the people were eating gra.s.s?