Scene III The Open Country
Horns wind. Enter Sir Charles Mountford, Sir Francis Acton, Malby, Cranwell, Wendoll, Falconers, and Huntsmen.
Sir Charles Mountford.
So; well cast off: aloft, aloft! well flown!
Oh, now she takes her at the sowse,9 and strikes her Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap.
Wendoll.
She hath struck ten angels out of my way.
Sir Francis Acton.
A hundred pound from me.
Sir Charles Mountford.
What, falconer!
Falconer.
At hand, sir.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Now she hath seized the fowl, and ’gins to plume her,
Rebeck her not: rather stand still and check her.
So, seize her gets,10 her jesses,11 and her bells:
Away!
Sir Francis Acton.
My hawk killed too.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Ay, but ’twas at the querre,12
Not at the mount, like mine.
Sir Francis Acton.
Judgment, my masters.
Cranwell.
Yours missed her at the ferre.
Wendoll.
Ay, but our merlin13 first had plumed the fowl,
And twice renewed her from the river too;
Her bells, Sir Francis, had not both one weight,
Nor was one semi-tune above the other:
Methinks these Milan bells do sound too full,
And spoil the mounting of your hawk.
Sir Charles Mountford.
’Tis lost.
Sir Francis Acton.
I grant it not. Mine likewise seized a fowl
Within her talons; and you saw her paws
Full of the feathers: both her petty singles,
And her long singles gripped her more than other;
The terrials of her legs were stained with blood:
Not of the fowl only, she did discomfit
Some of her feathers; but she brake away.
Come, come, your hawk is but a rifler.
Sir Charles Mountford.
How!
Sir Francis Acton.
Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails and curs.
Sir Charles Mountford.
You stir my blood.
You keep not one good hound in all your kennel,
Nor one good hawk upon your perch.
Sir Francis Acton.
How, knight!
Sir Charles Mountford.
So, knight: you will not swagger, sir?
Sir Francis Acton.
Why, say I did?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Why, sir,
I say you would gain as much by swaggering,
As you have got by wagers on your dogs:
You will come short in all things.
Sir Francis Acton.
Not in this:
Now I’ll strike home.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Thou shalt to thy long home,
Or I will want my will.
Sir Francis Acton.
All they that love Sir Francis, follow me.
Sir Charles Mountford.
All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part.
Cranwell.
On this side heaves my hand.
Wendoll.
Here goes my heart.
[They divide themselves. Sir Charles Mountford, Cranwell, Falconer, and Huntsman, fight against Sir Francis Acton, Wendoll, his Falconer, and Huntsman; and Sir Charles’s side gets the better, beating the others away, and killing both of Sir Francis’s men. Exeunt all except Sir Charles.
Sir Charles Mountford.
My God! what have I done? what have I done?
My rage hath plunged into a sea of blood,
In which my soul lies drowned. Poor innocents,
For whom we are to answer! Well, ’tis done,
And I remain the victor. A great conquest,
When I would give this right hand, nay, this head,
To breathe in them new life whom I have slain!
Forgive me, God! ’twas in the heat of blood,
And anger quite removes me from myself:
It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder;
Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it.
Sir Francis Acton he is fled the field;
With him all those that did partake his quarrel,
And I am left alone with sorrow dumb,
And in my height of conquest overcome.
Enter Susan.
Susan.
O God! my brother wounded ’mong the dead!
Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends:
The rumour of this fear stretched to my ears,
And I am come to know if you be wounded.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Oh! sister, sister, wounded at the heart.
Susan.
My God forbid!
Sir Charles Mountford.
In doing that thing which He forbad,
I am wounded, sister.
Susan.
I hope not at the heart.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Yes, at the heart.
Susan.
O God! a surgeon there!
Sir Charles Mountford.
Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul;
The sin of murder it hath pierced my heart,
And made a wide wound there: but for these scratches,
They are nothing, nothing.
Susan.
Charles, what have you done?
Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you
Unto the utmost danger of the law.
Sir Charles Mountford.
My conscience is become mine enemy,
And will pursue me more than Acton can.
Susan.
Oh, fly, sweet brother.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Shall I fly from thee?
Why, Sue, art weary of my company?
Susan.
Fly from your foe.
Sir Charles Mountford.
You, sister, are my friend;
And, flying you, I shall pursue my end.
Susan.
Your company is as my eye-ball dear;
Being far from you, no comfort can be near;
Yet fly to save your life: what would I care
To spend my future age in black despair,
So you were safe? and yet to live one week
Without my brother Charles, through every cheek
My streaming tears would downwards run so rank,
Till they could set on either side a bank,
And in the midst a channel; so my face
For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Thou shalt not weep so much, for I will stay
In spite of danger’s teeth; I’ll live with thee,
Or I’ll not live at all. I will not sell
My country and my father’s patrimony,
Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.
Enter Sheriff, with Officers.
Sheriff.
Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument
Of your attach14 and apprehension:
I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men
Should be of you exacted. It was told me
That you were guarded with a troop of friends,
And therefore I come thus armed.
Sir Charles Mountford.
O, Master Sheriff,
I came into the field with many friends,
But see, they all have left me: only one
Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.
I know you for an honest gentleman;
I yield my weapons, and submit to you;
Convey me where you please.
Sheriff.
To prison then,
To answer for the lives of these dead men.
Susan.
O God! O God!
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sweet sister, every strain
Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain;
Your grief abounds, and hits against my breast.
Sheriff.
Sir, will you go?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Even where it likes you best.
[Exeunt.