GLOUCESTERNow may we lift our bruisèd vizors up,

And take the flattering freshness of the air,

While the wide din of battle dies away

Into times past, yet to be echoed sure

In the silent pages of our chroniclers.

FIRST KNIGHTWill Stephen’s death be marked there, my good Lord,

Or that we gave him lodging in yon towers?

GLOUCESTERFain would I know the great usurper’s fate.

[Enter two Captains severally]

FIRST CAPTAIN My Lord!

SECOND CAPTAIN Most noble Earl!

FIRST CAPTAIN The King –

10

SECOND CAPTAIN The Empress greets –

GLOUCESTER What of the King?

FIRST CAPTAINHe sole and lone maintains

A hopeless bustle mid our swarming arms,

And with a nimble savageness attacks,

Escapes, makes fiercer onset, then anew

Eludes death, giving death to most that dare

Trespass within the circuit of his sword!

He must by this have fallen. Baldwin is taken;

And for the Duke of Bretagne, like a stag

He flies, for the Welsh beagles to hunt down.

God save the Empress!

GLOUCESTERNow our dreaded Queen:

What message from her Highness?

SECOND CAPTAINRoyal Maud

From the thronged towers of Lincoln hath looked down,

Like Pallas from the walls of Ilion,

And seen her enemies havocked at her feet.

She greets most noble Gloucester from her heart,

Entreating him, his captains, and brave knights,

To grace a banquet. The high city gates

Are envious which shall see your triumph pass;

The streets are full of music.

[Enter SECOND KNIGHT]

GLOUCESTER Whence come you?

SECOND KNIGHT From Stephen, my good Prince –

Stephen! Stephen!

GLOUCESTER Why do you make such echoing of his name?

SECOND KNIGHTBecause I think, my lord, he is no man,

But a fierce demon, ’nointed safe from wounds,

And misbaptizèd with a Christian name.

GLOUCESTER A mighty soldier! – Does he still hold out?

SECOND KNIGHTHe shames our victory. His valour still

Keeps elbow-room amid our eager swords,

And holds our bladed falchions all aloof –

His gleaming battle-axe being slaughter-sick,

Smote on the morion of a Flemish knight,

Broke short in his hand; upon the which he flung

The heft away with such a vengeful force,

It paunched the Earl of Chester’s horse, who then

Spleen-hearted came in full career at him.

GLOUCESTER Did no one take him at a vantage then?

SECOND KNIGHTThree then with tiger leap upon him flew,

Whom, with his sword swift-drawn and nimbly held,

He stung away again, and stood to breathe,

Smiling. Anon upon him rushed once more

A throng of foes, and in this renewed strife,

My sword met his and snapped off at the hilts.

GLOUCESTERCome, lead me to this Mars – and let us move

In silence, not insulting his sad doom

With clamorous trumpets. To the Empress bear

My salutation as befits the time.

[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Forces]

STEPHENAnother sword! And what if I could seize

One from Bellona’s gleaming armoury,

Or choose the fairest of her sheavèd spears!

Where are my enemies? Here, close at hand,

Here comes the testy brood. O, for a sword!

I’m faint – a biting sword! A noble sword!

A hedge-stake – or a ponderous stone to hurl

With brawny vengeance, like the labourer Cain.

Come on! Farewell my kingdom, and all hail

Thou superb, plumed, and helmeted renown,

All hail! I would not truck this brilliant day

To rule in Pylos with a Nestor’s beard –

Come on!

[Enter DE KAIMS and Knights, etc.]

DE KAIMSIs’t madness, or a hunger after death,

That makes thee thus unarmed throw taunts at us?

Yield, Stephen, or my sword’s point dips in

The gloomy current of a traitor’s heart.

STEPHEN Do it, De Kaims, I will not budge an inch.

DE KAIMS Yes, of thy madness thou shalt take the meed.

20

STEPHEN Darest thou?

DE KAIMS How dare, against a man disarmed?

STEPHENWhat weapon has the lion but himself?

Come not near me, De Kaims, for by the price

Of all the glory I have won this day,

Being a king, I will not yield alive

To any but the second man of the realm,

Robert of Gloucester.

DE KAIMS Thou shalt vail to me.

STEPHENShall I, when I have sworn against it, sir?

Thou think’st it brave to take a breathing king,

That, on a court-day bowed to haughty Maud,

The awèd presence-chamber may be bold

To whisper, there’s the man who took alive

Stephen – me – prisoner. Certes, De Kaims,

The ambition is a noble one.

DE KAIMS ’Tis true,

And, Stephen, I must compass it.

STEPHEN No, no,

Do not tempt me to throttle you on the gorge,

Or with my gauntlet crush your hollow breast,

Just when your knighthood is grown ripe and full

For lordship.

A SOLDIERIs an honest yeoman’s spear

Of no use at a need? Take that.

STEPHEN Ah, dastard!

40

DE KAIMS What, you are vulnerable! my prisoner!

STEPHENNo, not yet. I disclaim it, and demand

Death as a sovereign right unto a king

Who ’sdains to yield to any but his peer,

If not in title, yet in noble deeds,

The Earl of Gloucester. Stab to the hilts, De Kaims,

For I will never by mean hands be led

From this so famous field. Do ye hear! Be quick!

[Trumpets. Enter the EARL OF CHESTER and Knights]

MAUDGloucester, no more: I will behold that Boulogne:

Set him before me. Not for the poor sake

Of regal pomp and a vainglorious hour,

As thou with wary speech, yet near enough,

Hast hinted.

GLOUCESTERFaithful counsel have I given;

If wary, for your Highness’ benefit.

MAUDThe Heavens forbid that I should not think so,

For by thy valour have I won this realm,

Which by thy wisdom I will ever keep.

To sage advisers let me ever bend

A meek attentive ear, so that they treat

Of the wide kingdom’s rule and government,

Not trenching on our actions personal.

Advised, not schooled, I would be; and henceforth

Spoken to in clear, plain, and open terms,

Not sideways sermoned at.

GLOUCESTERThen, in plain terms,

Once more for the fallen king –

MAUDYour pardon, brother,

I would no more of that; for, as I said,

’Tis not for worldly pomp I wish to see

The rebel, but as dooming judge to give

A sentence something worthy of his guilt.

GLOUCESTER If ’t must be so, I’ll bring him to your presence. [Exit GLOUCESTER]

MAUDA meaner summoner might do as well –

My Lord of Chester, is’t true what I hear

Of Stephen of Boulogne, our prisoner,

That he, as a fit penance for his crimes,

Eats wholesome, sweet, and palatable food

Off Gloucester’s golden dishes – drinks pure wine,

Lodges soft?

CHESTERMore than that, my gracious Queen,

Has angered me. The noble Earl, methinks,

Full soldier as he is, and without peer

In counsel, dreams too much among his books.

It may read well, but sure ’tis out of date

To play the Alexander with Darius.

MAUD Truth! I think so. By Heavens it shall not last!

CHESTERIt would amaze your Highness now to mark

How Gloucester overstrains his courtesy

To that crime-loving rebel, that Boulogne –

MAUD That ingrate!

CHESTER For whose vast ingratitude

To our late sovereign lord, your noble sire,

The generous Earl condoles in his mishaps,

And with a sort of lackeying friendliness,

Talks off the mighty frowning from his brow,

Woos him to hold a duet in a smile,

Or, if it please him, play an hour at chess –

MAUD A perjured slave!

CHESTER And for his perjury,

Gloucester has fit rewards – nay, I believe,

He sets his bustling household’s wits at work

For flatteries to ease this Stephen’s hours,

And make a heaven of his purgatory;

Adorning bondage with the pleasant gloss

Of feasts and music, and all idle shows

Of indoor pageantry; while siren whispers,

Predestined for his ear, ’scape as half-checked

From lips the courtliest and the rubiest

Of all the realm, admiring of his deeds.

MAUD A frost upon his summer!

CHESTER A queen’s nod

Can make his June December. Here he comes.…

This living hand, now warm and capable

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood

So in my veins red life might stream again,

And thou be conscience-calmed – see here it is –

I hold it towards you.

I

In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,

There stood, or hovered, tremulous in the air

A faery city, ’neath the potent rule

Of Emperor Elfinan – famed everywhere

For love of mortal women, maidens fair,

Whose lips were solid, whose soft hands were made

Of a fit mould and beauty, ripe and rare,

To pamper his slight wooing, warm yet staid:

He loved girls smooth as shades, but hated a mere shade.

II

10

This was a crime forbidden by the law;

And all the priesthood of his city wept,

For ruin and dismay they well foresaw,

If impious prince no bound or limit kept,

And faery Zendervester overstepped.

They wept, he sinned, and still he would sin on,

They dreamt of sin, and he sinned while they slept;

In vain the pulpit thundered at the throne,

Caricature was vain, and vain the tart lampoon.

III

Which seeing, his high court of parliament

20

Laid a remonstrance at his Highness’ feet,

Praying his royal senses to content

Themselves with what in faery land was sweet,

Befitting best that shade with shade should meet:

Whereat, to calm their fears, he promised soon

From mortal tempters all to make retreat –

Ay, even on the first of the new moon,

An immaterial wife to espouse as heaven’s boon.

IV

Meantime he sent a fluttering embassy

To Pigmio, of Imaus sovereign,

30

To half beg, and half demand, respectfully,

The hand of his fair daughter Bellanaine.

An audience had, and speeching done, they gain

Their point, and bring the weeping bride away;

Whom, with but one attendant, safely lain

Upon their wings, they bore in bright array,

While little harps were touched by many a lyric fay.

V

As in old pictures tender cherubim

A child’s soul through the sapphired canvas bear,

So, through a real heaven, on they swim

40

With the sweet princess on her plumaged lair,

Speed giving to the winds her lustrous hair;

And so she journeyed, sleeping or awake,

Save when, for healthful exercise and air,

She chose to promener à l’aile, or take

A pigeon’s somerset, for sport or change’s sake.

VI

‘Dear Princess, do not whisper me so loud,’

Quoth Corallina, nurse and confidant,

‘Do not you see there, lurking in a cloud,

Close at your back, that sly old Crafticant?

50

He hears a whisper plainer than a rant.

Dry up your tears, and do not look so blue;

He’s Elfinan’s great state-spy militant,

His running, lying, flying footman too –

Dear mistress, let him have no handle against you!

VII

‘Show him a mouse’s tail, and he will guess,

With metaphysic swiftness, at the mouse;

Show him a garden, and with speed no less,

He’ll surmise sagely of a dwelling house,

And plot, in the same minute, how to chouse

60

The owner out of it; show him a – ’ ‘Peace!

Peace! nor contrive thy mistress’ ire to rouse!’

Returned the Princess, ‘my tongue shall not cease

Till from this hated match I get a free release.

VIII

‘Ah, beauteous mortal!’ ‘Hush!’ quoth Coralline,

‘Really you must not talk of him, indeed.’

‘You hush!’ replied the mistress, with a shine

Of anger in her eyes, enough to breed

In stouter hearts than nurse’s fear and dread:

’Twas not the glance itself made Nursey flinch,

70

But of its threat she took the utmost heed,

Not liking in her heart an hour-long pinch,

Or a sharp needle run into her back an inch.

IX

So she was silenced, and fair Bellanaine,

Writhing her little body with ennui,

Continued to lament and to complain,

That Fate, cross-purposing should let her be

Ravished away far from her dear countree;

That all her feelings should be set at naught,

In trumping up this match so hastily,

80

With lowland blood; and lowland blood she thought

Poison, as every staunch true-born Imaian ought.

X

Sorely she grieved, and wetted three or four

White Provence rose-leaves with her faery tears,

But not for this cause – alas! she had more

Bad reasons for her sorrow, as appears

In the famed memoirs of a thousand years,

Written by Crafticant, and publishèd

By Parpaglion and Co. (those sly compeers

Who raked up every fact against the dead)

90

In Scarab Street, Panthea, at the Jubal’s Head.

XI

Where, after a long hypercritic howl

Against the vicious manners of the age,

He goes on to expose, with heart and soul,

What vice in this or that year was the rage,

Backbiting all the world in every page;

With special strictures on the horrid crime

(Sectioned and subsectioned with learning sage),

Of faeries stooping on their wings sublime

To kiss a mortal’s lips, when such were in their prime.

XII

100

Turn to the copious index, you will find

Somewhere in the column, headed letter B,

The name of Bellanaine, if you’re not blind;

Then pray refer to the text, and you will see

An article made up of calumny

Against this highland princess, rating her

For giving way, so over-fashionably,

To this new-fangled vice, which seems a burr

Stuck in his moral throat, no coughing e’er could stir.

XIII

There he says plainly that she loved a man!

110

That she around him fluttered, flirted, toyed,

Before her marriage with great Elfinan;

That after marriage too, she never joyed

In husband’s company, but still employed

Her wits to ’scape away to Angle-land;

Where lived the youth, who worried and annoyed

Her tender heart, and its warm ardours fanned

To such a dreadful blaze, her side would scorch her hand.

XIV

But let us leave this idle tittle-tattle

To waiting-maids, and bedroom coteries,

120

Nor till fit time against her fame wage battle.

Poor Elfinan is very ill at ease –

Let us resume his subject if you please:

For it may comfort and console him much

To rhyme and syllable his miseries;

Poor Elfinan! whose cruel fate was such,

He sat and cursed a bride he knew he could not touch.

XV

Soon as (according to his promises)

The bridal embassy had taken wing,

And vanished, bird-like, o’er the suburb trees,

130

The Emperor, empierced with the sharp sting

Of love, retired, vexed and murmuring

Like any drone shut from the fair bee-queen,

Into his cabinet, and there did fling

His limbs upon a sofa, full of spleen,

And damned his House of Commons, in complete chagrin.

XVI

‘I’ll trounce some of the members,’ cried the Prince

‘I’ll put a mark against some rebel names,

I’ll make the Opposition benches wince,

I’ll show them very soon, to all their shames,

140

What ’tis to smother up a Prince’s flames;

That ministers should join in it, I own,

Surprises me! – they too at these high games!

Am I an Emperor? Do I wear a crown?

Imperial Elfinan, go hang thyself or drown!

XVII

‘I’ll trounce ’em! – there’s the square-cut chancellor,

His son shall never touch that bishopric;

And for the nephew of old Palfior,

I’ll show him that his speeches made me sick,

And give the colonelcy to Phalaric;

150

The tip-toe marquis, moral and gallant,

Shall lodge in shabby taverns upon tick;

And for the Speaker’s second cousin’s aunt,

She shan’t be maid of honour – by heaven that she shan’t!

XVIII

‘I’ll shirk the Duke of A.; I’ll cut his brother;

I’ll give no garter to his eldest son;

I won’t speak to his sister or his mother!

The Viscount B. shall live at cut-and-run;

But how in the world can I contrive to stun

That fellow’s voice, which plagues me worse than any,

160

That stubborn fool, that impudent state-dun,

Who sets down every sovereign as a zany –

That vulgar commoner, Esquire Biancopany?

XIX

‘Monstrous affair! Pshaw! pah! what ugly minx

Will they fetch from Imaus for my bride?

Alas! my wearied heart within me sinks,

To think that I must be so near allied

To a cold dullard fay– ah, woe betide!

Ah, fairest of all human loveliness!

Sweet Bertha! what crime can it be to glide

170

About the fragrant pleatings of thy dress,

Or kiss thine eyes, or count thy locks, tress after tress?’

XX

So said, one minute’s while his eyes remained

Half lidded, piteous, languid, innocent;

But, in a wink, their splendour they regained,

Sparkling revenge with amorous fury blent.

Love thwarted in bad temper oft has vent:

He rose, he stamped his foot, he rang the bell,

And ordered, some death-warrants to be sent

For signature – somewhere the tempest fell,

180

As many a poor felon does not live to tell.

XXI

‘At the same time Eban’ (this was his page,

A fay of colour, slave from top to toe,

Sent as a present, while yet under age,

From the Viceroy of Zanguebar – wise, slow,

His speech, his only words were ‘yes’ and ‘no’,

But swift of look, and foot, and wing was he),

‘At the same time, Eban, this instant go

To Hum the soothsayer, whose name I see

Among the fresh arrivals in our empery.

XXII

190

‘Bring Hum to me! But stay – here, take my ring,

The pledge of favour, that he not suspect

Any foul play, or awkward murdering,

Though I have bowstrung many of his sect;

Throw in a hint, that if he should neglect

One hour, the next shall see him in my grasp,

And the next after that shall see him necked,

Or swallowed by my hunger-starvèd asp –

And mention (’tis as well) the torture of the wasp.’

XXIII

These orders given, the Prince, in half a pet,

200

Let o’er the silk his propping elbow slide,

Caught up his little legs, and, in a fret,

Fell on the sofa on his royal side.

The slave retreated backwards, humble-eyed,

And with a slave-like silence closed the door,

And to old Hum through street and alley hied;

He ‘knew the city’, as we say, of yore,

For shortest cuts and turns, was nobody knew more.

XXIV

It was the time when wholesale houses close

Their shutters with a moody sense of wealth,

210

But retail dealers, diligent, let loose

The gas (objected to on score of health),

Conveyed in little soldered pipes by stealth,

And make it flare in many a brilliant form,

That all the powers of darkness it repell’th,

Which to the oil-trade doth great scathe and harm,

And supersedeth quite the use of the glow-worm.

XXV

Eban, untempted by the pastry-cooks

(Of pastry he got store within the palace),

With hasty steps, wrapped cloak, and solemn looks,

220

Incognito upon his errand sallies,

His smelling-bottle ready for the alleys.

He passed the hurdy-gurdies with disdain,

Vowing he’d have them sent on board the galleys;

Just as he made his vow, it ’gan to rain,

Therefore he called a coach, and bade it drive amain.

XXVI

‘I’ll pull the string, said he, and further said,

‘Polluted Jarvey! Ah, thou filthy hack!

Whose springs of life are all dried up and dead,

Whose linsey-woolsey lining hangs all slack,

230

Whose rug is straw, whose wholeness is a crack;

And evermore thy steps go clatter-clitter;

Whose glass once up can never be got back,

Who prov’st, with jolting arguments and bitter,

That ’tis of modern use to travel in a litter.

XXVII

‘Thou inconvenience! thou hungry crop

For all corn! thou snail-creeper to and fro,

Who while thou goest ever seem’st to stop,

And fiddle-faddle standest while you go;

I’ the morning, freighted with a weight of woe,

240

Unto some lazar-house thou journeyest,

And in the evening tak’st a double row

Of dowdies, for some dance or party dressed,

Besides the goods meanwhile thou movest east and west.

XXVIII

‘By thy ungallant bearing and sad mien,

An inch appears the utmost thou couldst budge;

Yet at the slightest nod, or hint, or sign,

Round to the curb-stone patient dost thou trudge,

Schooled in a beckon, learned in a nudge,

A dull-eyed Argus watching for a fare;

250

Quiet and plodding, thou dost bear no grudge

To whisking tilburies, or phaetons rare,

Curricles, or mail-coaches, swift beyond compare.

XXIX

Philosophizing thus, he pulled the check,

And bade the Coachman wheel to such a street,

Who, turning much his body, more his neck,

Louted full low, and hoarsely did him greet:

‘Certes, Monsieur were best take to his feet,

Seeing his servant can no further drive

For press of coaches, that tonight here meet

260

Many as bees about a straw-capped hive,

When first for April honey into faint flowers they dive.’

XXX

Eban then paid his fare, and tip-toe went

To Hum’s hotel; and, as he on did pass

With head inclined, each dusky lineament

Showed in the pearl-paved street as in a glass;

His purple vest, that ever peeping was

Rich from the fluttering crimson of his cloak,

His silvery trousers, and his silken sash

Tied in a burnished knot, their semblance took

270

Upon the mirrored walls, wherever he might look.

XXXI

He smiled at self, and, smiling, showed his teeth,

And seeing his white teeth, he smiled the more;

Lifted his eye-brows, spurned the path beneath,

Showed teeth again, and smiled as heretofore,

Until he knocked at the magician’s door;

Where, till the porter answered, might be seen,

In the clear panel, more he could adore –

His turban wreathed of gold, and white, and green,

Mustachios, ear-ring, nose-ring, and his sabre keen.

XXXII

280

‘Does not your master give a rout tonight?’

Quoth the dark page. ‘Oh, no!’ returned the Swiss,

‘Next door but one to us, upon the right,

The Magazin des Modes now open is

Against the Emperor’s wedding – and, sir, this

My master finds a monstrous horrid bore,

As he retired, an hour ago I wis,

With his best beard and brimstone, to explore

And cast a quiet figure in his second floor.

XXXIII

‘Gad! he’s obliged to stick to business!

290

For chalk, I hear, stands at a pretty price;

And as for aqua-vitae – there’s a mess!

The dentes sapientiae of mice,

Our barber tells me too, are on the rise –

Tinder’s a lighter article – nitre pure

Goes off like lightning – grains of Paradise

At an enormous figure! Stars not sure! –

Zodiac will not move without a sly douceur!

XXXIV

‘Venus won’t stir a peg without a fee,

And master is too partial, entre nous,

300

To –’ ‘Hush – hush!’ cried Eban, ‘sure that is he

Coming down stairs. By St Bartholomew!

As backwards as he can – is’t something new?

Or is’t his custom, in the name of fun?’

‘He always comes down backward, with one shoe’,

Returned the porter, ‘off, and one shoe on,

Like, saving shoe for sock or stocking, my man John!’

XXXV

It was indeed the great Magician,

Feeling, with careful toe, for every stair,

And retrograding careful as he can,

310

Backwards and downwards from his own two pair:

‘Salpietro!’ exclaimed Hum, ‘is the dog there?

He’s always in my way upon the mat!’

‘He’s in the kitchen, or the Lord knows where,’

Replied the Swiss, ‘the nasty, yelping brat!’

‘Don’t beat him!’ returned Hum, and on the floor came pat.

XXXVI

Then facing right about, he saw the Page,

And said: ‘Don’t tell me what you want, Eban;

The Emperor is now in a huge rage –

’Tis nine to one he’ll give you the rattan!

320

Let us away!’ Away together ran

The plain-dressed sage and spangled blackamoor,

Nor rested till they stood to cool, and fan,

And breathe themselves at th’Emperor’s chamber door,

When Eban thought he heard a soft imperial snore.

XXXVII

‘I thought you guessed, foretold, or prophesied,

That’s Majesty was in a raving fit?’

‘He dreams,’ said Hum, ‘or I have ever lied,

That he is tearing you, sir, bit by bit.’

‘He’s not asleep, and you have little wit,’

330

Replied the page, ‘that little buzzing noise,

Whate’er your palmistry may make of it,

Comes from a play-thing of the Emperor’s choice,

From a Man-Tiger-Organ, prettiest of his toys.’

XXXVIII

Eban then ushered in the learned seer:

Elfinan’s back was turned, but, ne’ertheless,

Both, prostrate on the carpet, ear by ear,

Crept silently, and waited in distress,

Knowing the Emperor’s moody bitterness;

Eban especially, who on the floor ’gan

340

Tremble and quake to death – he feared less

A dose of senna-tea or nightmare Gorgon

Than the Emperor when he played on his Man-Tiger-Organ.

XXXIX

They kissed nine times the carpet’s velvet face

Of glossy silk, soft, smooth, and meadow-green,

Where the close eye in deep rich fur might trace

A silver tissue, scantly to be seen,

As daisies lurked in June-grass, buds in treen.

Sudden the music ceased, sudden the hand

Of majesty, by dint of passion keen,

350

Doubled into a common fist, went grand,

And knocked down three cut glasses, and his best inkstand.

XL

Then turning round, he saw those trembling two.

‘Eban,’ said he, ‘as slaves should taste the fruits

Of diligence, I shall remember you

Tomorrow, or the next day, as time suits,

In a finger conversation with my mutes –

Begone! – for you, Chaldean! here remain!

Fear not, quake not, and as good wine recruits

A conjurer’s spirits, what cup will you drain?

360

Sherry in silver, hock in gold, or glassed champagne?’

XLI

‘Commander of the Faithful!’ answered Hum,

‘In preference to these, I’ll merely taste

A thimble-full of old Jamaica rum.’

‘A simple boon!’ said Elfinan, ‘thou mayst

Have Nantz, with which my morning-coffee’s laced.’

‘I’ll have a glass of Nantz, then,’ said the Seer,

‘Made racy (sure my boldness is misplaced!)

With the third part (yet that is drinking dear!)

Of the least drop of crème de citron, crystal clear.’

XLII

370

‘I pledge you, Hum! and pledge my dearest love,

My Bertha!’ ‘Bertha! Bertha!’ cried the sage,

‘I know a many Berthas!’ ‘Mine’s above

All Berthas!’ sighed the Emperor. ‘I engage,’

Said Hum, ‘in duty, and in vassalage,

To mention all the Berthas in the Earth –

There’s Bertha Watson, and Miss Bertha Page,

This famed for languid eyes, and that for mirth –

There’s Bertha Blount of York – and Bertha Knox of Perth.’

XLIII

‘You seem to know –’ ‘I do know,’ answered Hum,

380

‘Your Majesty’s in love with some fine girl

Named Bertha, but her surname will not come,

Without a little conjuring.’ ‘’Tis Pearl,

’Tis Bertha Pearl what makes my brains so whirl;

And she is softer, fairer than her name!’

‘Where does she live?’ asked Hum. ‘Her fair locks curl

So brightly, they put all our fays to shame! –

Live? – O! at Canterbury, with her old grand-dame.’

XLIV

‘Good! good!’ cried Hum, ‘I’ve known her from a child!

She is a changeling of my management.

390

She was born at midnight in an Indian wild;

Her mother’s screams with the striped tiger’s blent,

While the torch-bearing slaves a halloo sent

Into the jungles; and her palanquin,

Rested amid the desert’s dreariment,

Shook with her agony, till fair were seen

The little Bertha’s eyes ope on the stars serene.’

XLV

‘I can’t say,’ said the monarch, ‘that may be

Just as it happened, true or else a bam!

Drink up your brandy, and sit down by me,

400

Feel, feel my pulse, how much in love I am;

And if your science is not all a sham,

Tell me some means to get the lady here.’

‘Upon my honour!’ said the son of Cham,

‘She is my dainty changeling, near and dear,

Although her story sounds at first a little queer.’

XLVI

‘Convey her to me, Hum, or by my crown,

My sceptre, and my cross-surmounted globe,

I’ll knock you’ – ‘Does your majesty mean – down?

No, no, you never could my feelings probe

410

To such a depth!’ The Emperor took his robe,

And wept upon its purple palatine,

While Hum continued, shamming half a sob,

‘In Canterbury doth your lady shine?

But let me cool your brandy with a little wine.’

XLVII

Whereat a narrow Flemish glass he took,

That since belonged to Admiral de Witt,

Admired it with a connoisseuring look,

And with the ripest claret crowned it,

And, ere one lively bead could burst and flit,

420

He turned it quickly, nimbly upside down,

His mouth being held conveniently fit

To save ‘the creature’. ‘Best in all the town!’

He said, smacked his moist lips, and gave a pleasant frown.

XLVIII

‘Ah! good my Prince, weep not!’ And then again

He filled a bumper. ‘Great Sire, do not weep!

Your pulse is shocking, but I’ll ease your pain.’

Fetch me that ottoman, and prithee keep

Your voice low,’ said the Emperor, ‘and steep

Some lady’s-fingers nice in Candy wine;

430

And prithee, Hum, behind the screen do peep

For the rose-water vase, magician mine!

And sponge my forehead – so my love doth make me pine.

XLIX

‘Ah, cursèd Bellanaine!’ ‘Don’t think of her,’

Rejoined the Mago, ‘but on Bertha muse;

For, by my choicest best barometer,

You shall not throttled be in marriage noose.

I’ve said it, Sire; you only have to choose

Bertha or Bellanaine.’ So saying, he drew

From the left pocket of his threadbare hose,

440

A sampler hoarded slyly, good as new,

Holding it by his thumb and finger full in view.

L

Sire, this is Bertha Pearl’s neat handy-work,

Her name, see here, Midsummer, ninety-one.’

Elfinan snatched it with a sudden jerk,

And wept as if he never would have done,

Honouring with royal tears the poor homespun,

Whereon were broidered tigers with black eyes,

And long-tailed pheasants, and a rising sun,

Plenty of posies, great stags, butterflies

450

Bigger than stags, a moon – with other mysteries.

LI

The monarch handled o’er and o’er again

These day-school hieroglyphics with a sigh;

Somewhat in sadness, but pleased in the main,

Till this oracular couplet met his eye

Astounded: Cupid I – do thee defy!

It was too much. He shrunk back in his chair,

Grew pale as death, and fainted – very nigh!

‘Pho! nonsense!’ exclaimed Hum, ‘now don’t despair;

She does not mean it really. Cheer up, hearty – there!

LII

460

‘And listen to my words.