Act 5 — [Scene III.][2818]

Sir C. So; well cast off! Aloft, aloft! Well flown! Oh, now she takes her at the souse,[2819] and strikes her Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap. Wen. She hath struck ten angels out of my way. Sir F. A hundred pound from me.5 Sir C. What, falconer! Falc. At hand, sir! Sir C. Now she hath seiz’d the fowl and ’gins to plume[2820] her, Rebeck[2821] her not; rather stand still and check her! So, seize her gets,[2822] her jesses,[2823] and her bells!10 Away! Sir F. My hawk kill’d, too. Sir C. Ay, but ’t was at the querre,[2824] Not at the mount like mine. Sir F. Judgment, my masters! Cran. Yours mist her at the ferre.[2825] Wen. Ay, but our merlin first had plum’d the fowl,15 And twice renew’d[2826] 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 C. ’T is lost.20 Sir F. I grant it not. Mine likewise seiz’d a fowl Within her talons, and you saw her paws Full of the feathers: both her petty singles[2827] And her long singles grip’d her more than other; The terrials[2828] of her[2829] legs were stain’d with blood,25 Not of the fowl only; she did discomfit Some of her feathers; but she brake away. Come, come; your hawk is but a rifler.[2830] Sir C. How! Sir F. Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails[2831] and curs. Sir C. You stir my blood.30 You keep not one good hound in all your kennel. Nor one good hawk upon your perch. Sir F. How, knight! Sir C. So, knight. You will not swagger, sir? Sir F. Why, say I did? Sir C. Why, sir, I say you would gain as much by swagg’ring35 As you have got by wagers on your dogs. You will come short in all things. Sir F. Not in this! Now I’ll strike home. [Strikes Sir Charles.] Sir C. Thou shalt to thy long home, Or I will want my will. Sir F. All they that love Sir Francis, follow me!40 Sir C. All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part! Cran. On this side heaves my hand. Wen. 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 hath the better, and beats them away, killing both of Sir Francis’s men. [Exeunt all but Sir Charles Mountford.] Sir C. My God, what have I done! What have I done! My rage hath plung’d into a sea of blood, In which my soul lies drown’d. Poor innocents,45 For whom we are to answer! Well, ’t is 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! ’T was in the heat of blood,50 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,56 And in my height of conquest overcome.

Susan. O God! My brother wounded ’mong the dead! Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends! The rumour of this fear stretcht to my ears,60 And I am come to know if you be wounded. Sir C. Oh, sister, sister! Wounded at the heart. Susan. My God forbid! Sir. C. In doing that thing which he forbad, I am wounded, sister. Susan. I hope, not at the heart.65 Sir C. Yes, at the heart. Susan. O God! A surgeon, there. Sir C. Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul! The sin of murder, it hath pierc’d my heart And made a wide wound there; but for these scratches, They are nothing, nothing. Susan. Charles, what have you done?70 Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you Unto the utmost danger[2832] of the law. Sir C. My conscience is become mine enemy, And will pursue me more than Acton can. Susan. Oh! Fly, sweet brother! Sir C. Shall I fly from thee?75 Why, Sue, art weary of my company? Susan. Fly from your foe! Sir C. You, sister, are my friend, And flying you, I shall pursue my end. Susan. Your company is as my eyeball dear; Being far from you, no comfort can be near.80 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,[2833]85 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 C. Thou shalt not weep so much; for I will stay, In spite of danger’s teeth. I’ll live with thee,90 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.

Sher. Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument Of your attach[2834] and apprehension.95 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 arm’d. Sir C. Oh, Master Sheriff! I came into the field with many friends,100 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! Sher. To prison, then,105 To answer for the lives of these dead men. Susan. O God! O God! Sir C. Sweet sister, every strain Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain; Your grief abounds,[2835] and hits against my breast. Sher. Sir, will you go? Sir C. Even where it likes you best.110 [Exeunt.]