She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down
at a distance from the couch of the wounded knight,
with her back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavouring
to fortify her mind, not only against the impending
evils from without, but also against those treacherous
feelings which assailed her from within.
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed.
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost,
Which, as the lark arises to the sky,
’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest
dew,
Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs
and tears!—–
Anselm parts otherwise.
Old Play
During the interval of quiet which followed the first
success of the besiegers, while the one party was
preparing to pursue their advantage, and the other
to strengthen their means of defence, the Templar
and De Bracy held brief council together in the hall
of the castle.
“Where is Front-de-Boeuf?” said the latter,
who had superintended the defence of the fortress
on the other side; “men say he hath been slain.”
“He lives,” said the Templar, coolly,
“lives as yet; but had he worn the bull’s
head of which he bears the name, and ten plates of
iron to fence it withal, he must have gone down before
yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Boeuf
is with his fathers—–a powerful limb
lopped off Prince John’s enterprise.”
“And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,”
said De Bracy; “this comes of reviling saints
and angels, and ordering images of holy things and
holy men to be flung down on the heads of these rascaille
yeomen.”
“Go to—–thou art a fool,”
said the Templar; “thy superstition is upon
a level with Front-de-Boeuf’s want of faith;
neither of you can render a reason for your belief
or unbelief.”
“Benedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De
Bracy, “pray you to keep better rule with your
tongue when I am the theme of it. By the Mother
of Heaven, I am a better Christian man than thou and
thy fellowship; for the ‘bruit’ goeth
shrewdly out, that the most holy Order of the Temple
of Zion nurseth not a few heretics within its bosom,
and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the number.”
“Care not thou for such reports,” said
the Templar; “but let us think of making good
the castle.—–How fought these villain
yeomen on thy side?”
“Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy.
“They swarmed close up to the walls, headed,
as I think, by the knave who won the prize at the
archery, for I knew his horn and baldric. And
this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, encouraging
these malapert knaves to rebel against us! Had
I not been armed in proof, the villain had marked
me down seven times with as little remorse as if I
had been a buck in season. He told every rivet
on my armour with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped
against my ribs with as little compunction as if my
bones had been of iron—–But that I
wore a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat,
I had been fairly sped.”
