Quite sure to slip at last; wherefore, take note
How almost all men, reading that sad siege,
Hold for the Trojans; as I did at least,
Thought Hector the best knight a long way:

Now

Why should I not do this thing that I think,
For even when I come to count the gains,
I have them my side: men will talk, you know,
(We talk of Hector, dead so long agone,)
When I am dead, of how this Peter clung
To what he thought the right; of how he died,
Perchance, at last, doing some desperate deed
Few men would care do now, and this is gain
To me, as ease and money is to you,
Moreover, too, I like the straining game
Of striving well to hold up things that fall;
So one becomes great; see you! in good times
All men live well together, and you, too,
Live dull and happy-happy? not so quick,
Suppose sharp thoughts begin to burn you up.
Why then, but just to fight as I do now,
A halter round my neck, would be great bliss.
O! I am well off.

Talk, and talk, and talk,
I know this man has come to murder me,

And yet I talk still.

[Aside.

SIR LAMBERT.

If your side were right,

You might be, though you lost; but if I said,

"You are a traitor, being, as you are,

Born Frenchman." What are Edwards unto you, Or Richards?

SIR PETER.

Nay, hold there, my Lambert, hold!

For fear your zeal should bring you to some harm, Don't call me traitor.

SIR LAMBERT.

Furthermore, my knight,

Men call you slippery on your losing side,

When at Bordeaux I was ambassador,

I heard them say so, and could scarce say "Nay."

[He takes hold of something in

his sleeve, and rises.

SIR PETER, rising.

They lied-and you lie, not for the first time.
What have you got there, fumbling up your sleeve,
A stolen purse?

SIR LAMBERT.

Nay, liar in your teeth!

Dead liar too; St. Denis and St. Lambert !

[Strikes at SIR PETER with a dagger.

SIR PETER, striking him flatlings with his axe. How thief! thief! thief! so there, fair thief, so there, St. George Guienne! glaives for the castellan'! You French, you are but dead, unless you lay Your spears upon the earth. St. George Guienne!

Well done, John Curzon, how he has them now.

SCENE III.

In the Castle.

JOHN CURZON.

HAT shall we do with all these prisoners, sir?

WHAT

SIR PETER.

Why put them all to ransom, those that can
Pay anything, but not too light though, John,
Seeing we have them on the hip: for those
That have no money, that being certified,
Why turn them out of doors before they spy;
But bring Sir Lambert guarded unto me.

I will, fair sir.

JOHN CURZON.

SIR PETER.

I do not wish to kill him,

[He goes.

Although I think I ought; he shall go mark'd,

By all the saints, though!

Enter LAMBERT guarded.

Now, Sir Lambert, now!

What sort of death do you expect to get,

Being taken this way?

SIR LAMBERT.

Cousin cousin! think!

I am your own blood; may God pardon me!

I am not fit to die; if you knew all,
All I have done since I was young and good.
O! you would give me yet another chance,

As God would, that I might wash all clear out,
By serving you and Him. Let me go now!
And I will pay you down more golden crowns
Of ransom than the king would!

SIR PETER.

Well, stand back,

And do not touch me! No, you shall not die,
Nor yet pay ransom. You, John Curzon, cause
Some carpenters to build a scaffold, high,
Outside the gate; when it is built, sound out
To all good folks, "Come, see a traitor punish'd!"
Take me my knight, and set him up thereon,
And let the hangman shave his head quite clean,
And cut his ears off close up to the head;
And cause the minstrels all the while to play
Soft music, and good singing; for this day

Is my high day of triumph; is it not,

Sir Lambert?

SIR LAMBERT.

Ah! on your own blood,

Own name, you heap this foul disgrace? you dare,
With hands and fame thus sullied, to go back
And take the lady Alice-

SIR PETER.

Say her name

Again, and you are dead, slain here by me.
Why should I talk with you, I'm master here,
And do not want your schooling; is it not
My mercy that you are not dangling dead
There in the gateway with a broken neck?

SIR LAMBERT.

Such mercy! why not kill me then outright?
To die is nothing; but to live that all
May point their fingers! yea, I'd rather die.

JOHN CURZON.

Why, will it make you any uglier man

To lose your ears? they're much too big for you,
You ugly Judas!

SIR PETER.

Hold, John!

[TO LAMBERT. That's your choice,

To die, mind! Then you shall die-Lambert mine,
I thank you now for choosing this so well,
It saves me much perplexity and doubt;
Perchance an ill deed too, for half I count
This sparing traitors is an ill deed.

Well,

Lambert, die bravely, and we're almost friends.

SIR LAMBERT, grovelling.

O God! this is a fiend and not a man;

Will some one save me from him? help, help, help! I will not die.

SIR PETER.

Why, what is this I see?

A man who is a knight, and bandied words

So well just now with me, is lying down,
Gone mad for fear like this! So, so, you thought
You knew the worst, and might say what you pleased.
I should have guess'd this from a man like you.