John Keats (1795-1821)

King Stephen

Act I

Scene 4

A Presence Chamber. Queen Maud in a Chair of State, the Earls of Glocester and Chester, Lords, Attendants.

MAUD. Glocester, no more: I will behold that Boulogne:

Set him before me. Not for the poor sake

Of regal pomp and a vain-glorious hour,

As thou with wary speech, yet near enough,

Hast hinted.
GLOCESTER.xxxFaithful counsel have I given;

If wary, for your Highness’ benefit.
MAUD. The Heavens forbid that I should not think so,

For by thy valour have I won this realm,

Which by thy wisdom I will ever keep.

To sage advisers let me ever bend

A meek attentive ear, so that they treat

Of the wide kingdom’s rule and government,

Not trenching on our actions personal.

Advis’d, not school’d, I would be; and henceforth

Spoken to in clear, plain, and open terms,

Not side-ways sermon’d at.
GLOCESTER.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThen, in plain terms,

Once more for the fallen king—
MAUD.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxYour pardon, Brother,

I would no more of that; for, as I said,

’Tis not for worldly pomp I wish to see

The rebel, but as dooming judge to give

A sentence something worthy of his guilt.
GLOCESTER. If’t must be so, I’ll bring him to your presence.

Exit Glocester.

MAUD. A meaner summoner might do as well—

My Lord of Chester, is’t true what I hear

Of Stephen of Boulogne, our prisoner,

That he, as a fit penance for his crimes,

Eats wholesome, sweet, and palatable food

Off Glocester’s golden dishes—drinks pure wine,

Lodges soft?
CHESTER.xxxxxxMore than that, my gracious Queen,

Has anger’d me. The noble Earl, methinks,

Full soldier as he is, and without peer

In counsel, dreams too much among his books.

It may read well, but sure ’tis out of date

To play the Alexander with Darius.
MAUD. Truth! I think so. By Heavens it shall not last!
CHESTER. It would amaze your Highness now to mark

How Glocester overstrains his courtesy

To that crime-loving rebel, that Boulogne—
MAUD. That ingrate!
CHESTER.xxxxxxxxFor whose vast ingratitude

To our late sovereign lord, your noble sire,

The generous Earl condoles in his mishaps,

And with a sort of lackeying friendliness,

Talks off the mighty frowning from his brow,

Woos him to hold a duet in a smile,

Or, if it please him, play an hour at chess—
MAUD. A perjured slave!
CHESTER.xxxxxxxxxxxAnd for his perjury,

Glocester has fit rewards—nay, I believe,

He sets his bustling household’s wits at work

For flatteries to ease this Stephen’s hours,

And make a heaven of his purgatory;

Adorning bondage with the pleasant gloss

Of feasts and music, and all idle shows

Of indoor pageantry; while syren whispers,

Predestin’d for his ear, ’scape as half-check’d

From lips the courtliest and the rubiest

Of all the realm, admiring of his deeds.
MAUD. A frost upon his summer!
CHESTER.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxA queen’s nod

Can make his June December. Here he comes.

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Act I Scene 3

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