Act 2 — Scene V.

Herbert:

[Enters; the ladies flock together and giggle; he goes to them.] Well, Lady Cynthia, what’s the story?

Lady Cynthia:

Story?

Herbert:

The story that made you all laugh as I came in.

Lady Cynthia:

There was no story.

Herbert:

It was truth, you mean. [Lady Cynthia curtsies.] Something pointed at me. What was it?

Lady Cynthia:

Why should you think it was about you?

Herbert:

What was it, then? You silly girl, if you don’t tell, the others will.

81Lady Cynthia:

[Turning to them in appeal.] You won’t, will you, girls?

Miss Fitton:

Of course they will; women always tell of each other, so I’ll save them the trouble. Lady Cynthia said, she’d rather be the Queen you knelt to, than the Captain you struck.

Lady Cynthia:

Oh, I didn’t, I didn’t. I’ll never forgive you, Mary Fitton, never!

Miss Fitton:

Well, if you didn’t say it, I do, so protest’s useless.

Herbert:

And would you be the Queen, lady?

Miss Fitton:

Perhaps; for women can win, though conquered.

Herbert:

Then conquest does not frighten you?

82Miss Fitton:

Nothing frightens us but indifference. We women are fortresses, only sure of our valour when we’re attacked: only convinced of our strength when we’re taken, and as proud of being won as men are of winning.

Herbert:

If the fortress is as strong as your tongue is sharp, ’Twould need a Paladin to attempt it.

Miss Fitton:

Only cowards fear the strength of their opposites, and you, my lord, are no coward.

Herbert:

[Laughing, as if flattered.] How do you know that, lady?

Miss Fitton:

By double proof, my lord.

Herbert:

Double proof?

Miss Fitton:

Yes: you strike a Captain of thirty, and kiss a Queen of sixty. Give you good e’en, my lord!

[Curtsies, and turns to go.]

83Herbert:

You shan’t escape like that! [Catches her by the waist.] You must pay for your impertinence. Come, give me your lips, beauty.

Miss Fitton:

[Holding her head away.] That were to turn play into earnest.

Herbert:

So much the better. [Their eyes meet.] I can be earnest, too. [He kisses her; she draws away.]

Lacy:

If I intrude, I flex the knee: I’m sage-green with jealousy; or shall I scent the lambent air with flowered gratulation?

Herbert:

[Irritably.] I wish you’d talk naturally, like a man, and not like a popinjay.

Lacy:

In verity I belong to the brutish, bearded sex, as you may prove, my lord, when the occasion pleases you. [Bows to Herbert.] But “naturally” offends my sense, ’tis a gross and vulgar birth. Prithee, my lord, do you dress 84“naturally”? or eat “naturally”? or house “naturally”? And if to be natural in all these is savage-vile, why should a man talk “naturally,” like a lewd barbarian?

Herbert:

I mean why be singular in speech—fanciful, peculiar?

Lacy:

The first man who made a girdle of skins instead of the fig-leaf was so admonished, and with equal consistency. Why wear a slashed doublet, my lord—most “fanciful-peculiar”?

Herbert:

It becomes my place.

Lacy:

And so my speech is more ornate than peasants use.

Herbert:

But my doublet isn’t tagged with silly, useless ornaments, like your “scent the air,” and “sage-green with jealousy”! Green is good enough.

85Lacy:

Green means nothing; but sage-green paints the bilious tinge of soured vanity; still, a dispute about the shade concedes the principle.

Herbert:

No, I think the common speech better, stronger.

Lacy:

No! No! Ten thousand negatives! I abhor your common fustian speech. Words, like coins, grow lighter in the using; so I mint a new word to charm the ear, as a jeweller sets a gem to catch the eye. [Turning to Miss Fitton.] But I’ve tired you, most divine fair, with peevish argument, instead of pleasing with example. I entreat forgiveness: am carmined with confusion. [A bevy of girls come up: the first cries—] “We are allowed to dance”: [the second—] “How shall we begin, with the galliard or the Coranto?” [They speak chiefly to Lord Herbert and Mistress Fitton, because Lord Lacy is staring at one of their number, Lady Joan Nevil. Lacy, turning again to Herbert.] What heavenly pulchritude! casting light, not shadow, upon earth. Who is the wonder, nymph or angel? My eyes are blinded by her celestial radiance.

86Herbert:

[Stepping forward.] Lady Joan, let me present Lord Lacy here, who professes himself your admirer.

Lacy:

[Bowing to the ground.] Admirer [with a reproachful glance at Herbert], worshipper of your most angelic loveliness! Lady, my senses are all your slaves.

Lady Joan:

I free them at once, my lord. I would not slavish service.

Lacy:

O voice most tuneful and beyond music harmonious!

Lady Joan:

Praise, my lord, should keep a measure; sweets are quick to surfeit.

Lacy:

Lady, if I cannot win your favour, I am like to die of grief.

Lady Joan:

Live, my lord, live, and now if it please you let 87us join the dancers. [They turn off together; the dancing goes on with directions changing the galliard to the Coranto.]

Miss Fitton:

[Looking after Lacy.] A curious jay.

Herbert:

A soldier, scholar, traveller, all masked with this extravagance.

Miss Fitton:

Lady Joan may cure his distemper.

Herbert:

Perhaps; but why did you refuse my kiss? Am I so hateful to you?

Miss Fitton:

No, no.

Herbert:

Why then withhold so small and usual a favour?

Miss Fitton:

One sometimes fears to give—not from penury; but——

88Herbert:

You dear! How did you know I love you?

Miss Fitton:

I do not know it, my lord. Shall we dance?

[They pass, and Sir John Stanley and Lady Jane Wroth come in their turn to the centre.]

Stanley:

What do you women see in him? He’s impudent; but good-looking boys are always impudent. I could forgive the Queen for loving Essex; he’s a man, a great Captain, too; but this raw Herbert—pshaw!

Lady Jane Wroth:

Perhaps it’s his youth pleases her, Sir John. And then he’s marvellous well-featured. [They pass, Lacy and Lady Joan, after a couple or two pass, return to C.]

Lacy:

[Earnestly.] My speech, lady, shall follow your taste, like my dress. If you prefer plain cloth to murreyed sarsenet, it shall be as you wish, I will speak poor drab. But taffeta phrases have a rich distinction, and silken terms are soothing to the sense.

89Lady Joan:

I would not have you altered, the gay doublet suits you: the fanciful speech, too. But just a touch of—austerity in ornament—is that how you speak?

Lacy:

Rosebud of maidens, you delight my heart!

[They pass. Lady Cynthia Darrel and a Courtier come to the front.]

Lady Cynthia:

Do you think Mistress Fitton good-looking?

A Courtier:

Good-looking, yes; but swarthy.

Lady Cynthia:

Too tall for my taste, and bold. Ha! Ha! If that’s your country innocence, I prefer the town. Those black eyes in that pale face—ugh! Now Herbert is a model, perfect.

A Courtier:

He’s very well, and he knows it. [They pass. Slowly Lord Herbert and Miss Fitton return. The Mistress of Ceremonies orders the cushion dance: the pages arrange the cushions.]

90Miss Fitton:

I know you don’t; too well I know it.

Herbert:

I swear I do; put me to the proof.

Miss Fitton:

What’s the good?

Herbert:

All the good; you’ll have the proof, and be convinced, and yield. Try me.

Miss Fitton:

[They dance: at the end of the bar, Herbert kneels on a cushion.] How easy it is to gull oneself when one wishes to. If the Queen entered now, my lord, you’d be at her feet in an instant.

Herbert:

Not I. Not if you promised to come to me: Will you? [Miss Fitton kisses his forehead.]

Miss Fitton:

Do you mean you would stay by me even if she called you?

Herbert:

Even if she called, if you promise.

91Miss Fitton:

You would not dare.

Herbert:

Dare! indeed; wouldn’t I! [They dance round, and when their turn comes to kiss, Miss Fitton gives her lips. Immediately afterwards the doors are thrown open and the Queen announced, R. Some servants enter backwards; then the Queen moves to throne, R. C. The dancers stop; all bow and curtsey.]