Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 4Bridges, Robert
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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 4
Bridges, Robert
English drama; English poetry
_If you’d hear me sing,
Why give me a skin of wine.
Creatures have their several ways,
Edod! and I have mine,_
CHOR. _And I have mine._ (_ad lib._)
_Edod! and I have mine._ 1300
_If you’d see me fight,
Why let me taste good cheer.
Was not I as good as my word?
Edod! am I not here?_
CHOR. _Am I not here?_ (_ad lib._)
(_Palicio gets up as before._)
_Sq._ Enough, enough! silence! Now were ye not
A set of loons ... make silence for the captain.
_Pal._ Hark, men: I bid you leave, each silently
And separately to his allotted task.
Gather your companies at tryst to-night; 1310
Acquaint them of our plans. Once, ere ye go,
Look on those tyrannous towers, and swear revenge.
Revenge on them that grind the people down!
That tax our bread and wine! To-morrow night
Hugo shall need no candles.
_Brigands._ Revenge, revenge. Huzzah! Death to Hugo!
Burn him!
_Pal._ Not him, the palace: ’tis to burn the palace.
Him we must take alive.
_Brigands._ Not kill him, no.
Treat him as he would us.
_Pal._ If ye love colour, 1320
His gold is ruddier than his coward blood.
_Brigands._ Ay, ay, his gold—a ransom. Bleed his bags.
_Pal._ Above all, none forget good Manuel’s kindness,
And what I have told you. If any meet with him
And hurt a hair of his head, ’tis ...
_Brigands._ Death.
_Pal._ ’Tis death.
Swear all, ’tis death.
_All._ We swear.
_Pal._ Now to your work.
_Brigands._ Huzzah!
_Pal._ Secretly, then. Farewell! To-morrow night
I’ll meet you all. God grant us a good meeting.
Farewell. [_Exit._
_Brigands._ Huzzah! 1330
_During following scene the brigands going, carrying off
things to cave._
_Sq._ Come, help clear off this gear to the cave.
_A brigand._ Any wine in yon skin, good Squarcia?
_Sq._ Ay, for the chewing.
_Brig._ Thank ye. I’m off. Good-day, lads. [_Exit._
_Sq._ Did I not well, I say?
_A brigand._ But how didst thou find him?—tell us.
_Sq._ Trust me. Not that ’twas a thing within the
bounds of mortal cleverness if a man should want
luck. But I’d buy the dog that would have run as
straight for him, as ’twere denoted by scent or instinct.
To climb the very wall, and in at the window,
and there to see him just face to face: on a fine
couch in a pleasant chamber enough, with his arm
bandaged ... 1344
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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