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(From Act I, Scene I)
De Barillon. Sir, ’tis my charge to tell you from my king | |
| How much his very heart is grieved to see | |
| The unworthy dealings of this parliament, | |
| On whose obedient loyal thankfulness | |
Your princely nature counted.
King. Then his grief | 5 |
| May keep mine company, for I grieve too, | |
| But grieving ne’er was cure for any ill. | |
| De Bar. He would grieve more were there no cure for this, | |
| Since in his judgment those who seek to hurt | |
| Your royal brother’s birthright make themselves | 10 |
| The foes not only of your majesty, | |
| But of all kings, and of the holy church, | |
| Whose eldest son he is; so doth he deem | |
| Himself near touched by their rebelliousness. | |
| King. And I am touched yet nearer, being touched | 15 |
| In mine own brother, for, believe me, sir, | |
| My brother’s rights are held by me as dear | |
| As by the king of France, and you have seen | |
| How for his service I have put away | |
| Two parliaments already. But it seems | 20 |
All I can do boots not.
De Bar. No, not unless | |
| The third be sent to seek the other twain. | |
| King. If ’tis the counsel of the king of France | |
| That I should reign and fill my coffers full | |
| And never ask a parliament to help, | 25 |
| ’Tis for the king of France to show me how. | |
| De Bar. So will he, sir, and doth—as you shall see | |
Will you but scan this paper. [Giving a paper.
King. Ay? Hum, hum— | |
| Two million livres; the second year and third | |
| Five hundred thousand crowns. I see indeed | 30 |
| He knows the way, but goes not far enough; | |
| Let him but follow further this same road, | |
And it will lead him right.
De Bar. Sir, he hath gone | |
So far that more he cannot.
King. Hath he thought | |
| What ’tis that he would have me do? to break | 35 |
| A parliament that hath not lived a week, | |
| A parliament that if ’tis broken now | |
| Must be my last, for, plain enough to see, | |
| I could not look another in the face. | |
| So that indeed he bids me shut the door | 40 |
| For ever on my people, and for ever | |
| Give up all hope of hearing that sweet music | |
| Our blended loves should make. Nay, if I smile | |
It is because you teach me.
De Bar. And I smiled | |
| Thinking that some good deeds reward themselves. | 45 |
| King. But parliaments can deal reward enough | |
| Unto good deeds that please them—as perchance | |
| A war with France, how say you? So, come now, | |
| I will be plain as though I thought aloud—— | |
| Why is your king so niggard? If he will, | 50 |
| Now is the time that England may be brought | |
| Within his vassalage for evermore; | |
| And will he let so fair a chance slip by | |
| Because he grudges something of the price? | |
| De Bar. He fears no slipping by, because he thinks | 55 |
He hath bid the highest price.
King. The highest price! | |
| Then, by my life, the bargain will not hold. | |
| De Bar. Your majesty is harder with my king | |
Than he with you.
King. So are you pleased to say. | |
| De Bar. So is it, sire. If he were half so hard, | 60 |
| Would he not stand, as ’tis his right to stand, | |
| On the fulfilment of that private treaty—— | |
King. There, there, ’twill do.
De Bar. I say that private treaty | |
| Whereby the king of England bound himself | |
| To make avowal of his secret faith | 65 |
In sight of all the world——
King. For Heaven’s love | |
Be not so loud.
De Bar. And cast away for ever | |
| The name of Protestant. Nay, sir, fear not; | |
| They shall not hear; I know how perilous | |
| Unto your honour, and your power, and you, | 70 |
| The lightest breath might be that waked a scent | |
For jealousy to follow.
King. Why indeed | |
| Such breath might peradventure puff me forth | |
| Again upon my travels—and of travels | |
| I am quite weary, besides that then no more | 75 |
| My brother France could fit me to his use. | |
| De Bar. Full well he knows, nor ever with a thought | |
| Hath blamed you that you have not put in act | |
| A bond wherein your wish outran your power; | |
| You could not if you would; his eyes and mine | 80 |
| Bear for you daily witness, having seen | |
| How you have found it needful to deny | |
| Unto your people that such bond e’er was, | |
| And how the disbelief of some of them | |
| Hath wrought well-nigh your ruin. Never doubt; | 85 |
| Upon this secret of your majesty’s | |
| We keep as careful watch as ’twere our own, | |
| Knowing how precious ’tis, not trusted e’en | |
To your most trusted friends.
King. So precious ’tis | |
| That now you mean to make it count with me | 90 |
| For full a million crowns—ay is’t not so? | |
| De Bar. Sir, what I said I have but said to show | |
| Our friendship hath deserved that yours should come | |
A little way to meet it.
King. And in truth | |
| You have reasoned closely, leaving ne’er a mesh | 95 |
| For me to ’scape by. I am caught and caged; | |
| And even therefore shall the bargain stand | |
| As you would have it stand; my brother France | |
| Shall keep the promise he hath made me here, | |
| And I forthwith will break this parliament, | 100 |
| The last of all its race. | |
| De Bar. ’Tis well resolved, | |
| And all your friends must give your majesty | |
| Joy of so wise a purpose. | |
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