ISABEL

God hold them Oxford: for its often seen, A reconciled foe small good affords. If he do so, the greater is his sin: Poor man, I have no interest in him. After a long storm in a troublous sea, The Pilot is no gladder of a calm, Than Isabel to see the vexed looks Of her loved Lord, changed into sweet aspects. Well, I avouch she will, before I go, Far be it, John should prove Lord Bruises foe. Come noble Oxford, I long to be at Gilford. Be comforted good Madame, do not fear, But give your son as pledge unto the king: Your self at Court may keep him company. As I shall live in heaven, I did not know Of Huberts coming: but lament not this: Your son you say is gone; what fear you then? Believe me Madame Bruise, the man is wronged. One boon my Liege, and partly. Show that poor Lady pity, I beseech. A plague upon this counterfeiting quean, Is this the Helen, this the Paragon, That makes the English Ilinnus flame so fast? Plain John, proud Joan? I'll tear your painted. face: thus, thus I'll use you. Is she thus mild? or does she mock my chance? Farewell Matilda: if I live, believe, I will remember this. Oh how I grieve, That I should wrong so innocent a maid. Come Lady, old Fitzwater is not far: He'll weep to see these scars, full well I know. Where virtue, chastity, and innocence remain, there is Matilda. She freed me from my foes, and never urged My great abuse, when she was prisoner. Railed upon her first, Then tear her hair, and rend her tender cheeks. I told you Oxford, you mistook the king. Now out upon you Vere, I would have thought, The world had not contained a chaster man. You would take nay: but our king John says no: No nay, no answer will suffice his turn: He, for he cannot tempt true chastuie, Fills all the Land with hostile trueltie. Is it not shame, he that should punish sin, Defend the righteous, help the innocent, Carves with his sword, the purpose of his will, Upon the guarders of the virtuous, And Hunt's admired spotless maidenhead, With all the darts of desolation, Because she scorneth to be dissolute. Me, that he leaves, I do not murmur at: That he loves her, does no whit me perplex, If she did love him, or my self did hate: But this alone is it that me does vex. He leaves me that loves him, and her pursues, That loath him and loves me: how can I choose, But sadly grieve, and mourn in my green youth? When nor of her, nor me he takes ruth. Nor Church, nor chapel, Abbey, Nunry, Are privileged from his intemperance. But leave we him, and let us, I e treat, Go visit fair Matilda: much I am In debt unto the maid Thanks Oxford; and with us I mean to bear The beauteous garland, sent me out of Spain: Which I will offer in the Abbey chapel: As witness of Matilda's chastity: Whom while I live, I ever vow to love, In recompense of rash and causeless wrong. I hear thy tongue, true perfect charity. Chaste maid, fair maid look up and speak to me. Matilda fit, I'll kneel to thee, Forgive me, ge ̄ tle girl, My most ungentle wrongs. I cannot weep for wrath: here, here, take in The blessed body of this noble maid: In milk white clothing let the same be laid, Upon and open bier, that all may see King Johns unkingly lust and cruel j. There is the king besieging of young Bruise, His Lords are there who when they see this sighed, I know will have small heart for John to fight. Are you here leatcher? Oh intemperate king, Wilt thou not see me? come, come, show your face Your Graces graceless, kings, unkingly face. What? mute, hands folded, eyes fixed on the earth? Whose turn is next now to be murdered? The famished Bruises are on yonder side: On this another, I will name anon: One for whose head this garland I do bear, And this fair milkwhite spotless pendant to . Look up king John, see, yonder sits thy shame: Yonder it lies: what, must I tell her name? It is Matilda, poisoned by thee. And think beside, you know not Lewis nature, Who may be as bade as John, or rather worse than he. Jesus have mercy Oxford, come not nigh him. Chaste virgin, thus I crown thee w to these flowers.