What drum is this, that thunders
forth this march,
To start the tender Cupid in my
bosom?
Poor sheepskin, how it brawls with
him that beateth it!
Go, break the thundering parchment
bottom out,
And I will teach it to conduct sweet
lines
("That’s bad; conduct sweet lines is bad.”)
Unto the bosom of a heavenly nymph:
For I will use it as my writing
paper;
And so reduce him, from a scolding
drum,
To be the herald, and dear counsel-bearer,
Betwixt a goddess and a mighty king.
Go, bid the drummer learn to touch
the lute,
Or hang him in the braces of his
drum;
For now we think it an uncivil thing
To trouble heaven with such harsh
resounds.
Away!
[Exit Lodowick.
The quarrel that I have requires
no arms
But these of mine; and these shall
meet my foe
In a deep march of penetrable groans;
My eyes shall be my arrows; and
my sighs
Shall serve me as the vantage of
the wind
To whirl away my sweet’st
{261} artillery:
Ah, but, alas, she wins the sun
of me,
For that is she herself; and thence
it comes
That poets term the wanton warrior
blind;
But love hath eyes as judgment to
his steps,
Till too much loved glory dazzles
them.
Hereupon Lodowick introduces the Black Prince (that is to be), and “retires to the door.” The following scene opens well, with a tone of frank and direct simplicity.
Edward. I see the boy. O, how his mother’s face, Moulded in his, corrects my strayed desire, And rates my heart, and chides my thievish eye; Who, being rich enough in seeing her, Yet seeks elsewhere: and basest theft is that Which cannot check itself on poverty.— Now, boy, what news?
Prince. I have assembled, my dear lord and father, The choicest buds of all our English blood, For our affairs in France; and here we come To take direction from your majesty.
Edward. Still do I see in him delineate His mother’s visage; those his eyes are hers, Who, looking wistly {262a} on me, made me blush; For faults against themselves give evidence: Lust is a fire; and men, like lanterns, show Light lust within themselves even through themselves. Away, loose silks of wavering vanity! Shall the large limit of fair Brittany {262b} By me be overthrown? and shall I not Master this little mansion of myself? Give me an armour of eternal steel; I go to conquer kings. And shall I then Subdue myself, and be my enemy’s friend? It must not be.—Come, boy, forward, advance! Let’s with our colours sweep the air of France.
Here Lodowick announces the approach of the Countess “with a smiling cheer.”