SAL. Rude hands! how hale you virtuous honour forth! You do not well: away! Now, by my faith, ye do not well, I say. Take her, fair queen, use her as she deserves: She's fair, she's noble, chaste, and debonair. I must, according to due course of war, See that our soldiers scatter not too far, Lest, what care won, our negligence may lose. [_Exit_. QUEEN. Is this the Helen, this the paragon, That makes the English Ilion[329] flame so fast? MAT. I am not she; you see I am not she: I am not ravish'd yet, as Helen was. I know not what will come of John's desire, That rages like the sea, that burns like fire. QUEEN. Plain John, proud Joan! I'll tear your painted face. Thus, thus I'll use you. [_Scratches her_. _Enter_ SALISBURY. MAT. Do, do what you will. SAL. How goes this gear? ha! foul fall so foul deed![330] Poor chaste child of Fitzwater, dost thou bleed? By God's bless'd mother! this is more than need; And more, I tell you true, than I would bear, Were not the danger of the camp so near. _Enter a_ MESSENGER. MES. My lord, the foes have gathered head: Lord Bruce, the father, joineth with the son. SAL. Why, here's the matter: we must spend our time To keep your nails from scratching innocence, Which should have been bestow'd for our defence. What shall we now do? Help me, holy God! The foe is come, and we are out of rank. [_Skirmish_: QUEEN _taken_, MATILDA _rescued_. _Enter_ OLD BRUCE _wounded, led by his Son, and_ LEICESTER. BRUCE. Is the field ours? YOUNG B. Ay, thanks to noble Leicester. BRUCE. Give God thanks, son: be careful to thy mother; Commend me to Fitzwater; love thy brother, If either arms or prayers may him recover. LEI. How cheers old Bruce? YOUNG B. His soul to joy is fled, His grief is in my bosom buried. LEI. His life was dearly bought; for my eyes saw A shambles of dead men about his feet, Sent by his sword into eternal shade. With honour bury him. Cease tears, good Bruce. YOUNG B, Tears help not, I confess, yet must I weep. Soldiers, your help to bear him to my tent. [_Exeunt cum_ BRUCE. _Enter_ QUEEN _and_ MATILDA. MAT. Be comforted, great queen: forget my wrongs. It was my fortune, and no fault of yours. QUEEN. Is she thus mild? or doth she mock my chance? LEI. Queen Isabel,[331] are you a prisoner? See what it is to be a soldier. But what foul hand hath harm'd Matilda's fair?[332] Speak, honourable maid, who tore thy hair? Did Salisbury or the queen this violence? MAT. Ungentle grooms first took and tore me thus, From whom old Salisbury, chastising their wrong, Most kindly brought me to this gentle queen; Who laid her soft hand on my bleeding cheeks, Gave kisses to my lips, wept for my woe; And was devising how to send me back, Even when your last alarum frighted us, And by her kindness fell into your hands.