I hate the sea with land on our lea, A merrier life for me! III. No rock lurks here, no shoal is found In all this ocean wide! But yet if there's one that is born to be drown'd- I hate the sea with land on our lea, A merrier life for me. Prince. Ill omen'd croaker, with your rock and shoal, That drowns the flush that wine and joy had given. Prince. So sadly? You heed not what an idle minstrel sings. Countess. No, William; I should fear if he were pilot; His hand would scarcely guide the helm so surely As now it guides the tune along the chords 183 Prince (looking to the harbour.) Hark! mirth on board-'Tis right; 'twere pity, sister, If happiness were a lubber all his days, And never went to sea. Countess. Prince. No! we'll aboard: Lying in lazy folds like the huge snake And sleep so calmly. Countess. (alarmed.) Dreaming of fresh food And ready for the spring. Stay here the night You are too happy; too o'erjoyed, my brother; So crowned with these deep vine leaves that their spirit Has slipt within, and your poor soul lies sleeping Half buried 'neath the clusters of Champagne ! Prince. Then cover it all over! for no King E'er rested 'neath so rich a canopy! But here the Pilot comes. (Enter Pilot). What weather, master Pilot (flustered with wine.) I call it not weather at all— 'Tis but the corpse of weather, wanting breath, As wanting breath man's but the corpse of man So as you said, sir—(takes a flagon from servitor and drinks.) Milksoppy weather-weather only fit For painted boats; weather, where little maids When I was anything else. Have you been long a pilot? Countess. And know the sea? Pilot. As if I had married her like the Doge of Venice; And rule her better;-and care less for her frowns Than e'er a husband in the realm of France [Music and dancing heard on board. Drawn from two founts, one kingly, one a churl's— And glow 'mid terror like a rose in snow— Countess (with an effort.) The daughter of a King knows nought of terror: Come, brother; and the lightest step and voice The Castle in Dover.-Henry.-Hubert of Chester. Henry. So long detained, and not a wind in heaven To stir the pear-tree blossom. Hubert. Pleasure, sir, Heeds not of wind-Along the shores of France And calm recesses where the rivers creep, Henry. "Twould please me better If William cared to share our troubles more To taste his pleasures less. Once more, I pray you, Go to the toppling cliff and watch their coming. We sit in judgment here, and it were it Our heir should help this arm now feeble grown, To bear the upright sword. [Exit Hubert. Enter Arnulf of Lancaster.-Yvo his son, bound; guards, &c.— Is there no hope? No throb of pity for a father's grief Within that heart filled with a father's joys? Henry. Arnulf of Lancaster, if lowlier state Were ours, we might have ears to hear the throb; That drowns all voices save the trumpet tongue Of justice; we have doom'd your son to death. Yvo. As Heaven bears witness 'twas no treasonous aid I promised to your Norman rebels. Henry. That Rests with the Judges who with searching eyes Viewed the whole cause; their voice pronounced you guilty. It fits not the King's office to withstand The course of RIGHT, which as a mighty river, Turns its clear waters. They have doom'd your death: Arnulf. Oh my liege !- Against the justice that has spoke the doom; The unbending scale, let Yvo owe his life To mercy to the sweet companionship "Tween him and princely William. Yvo. For short space Let me at least have room for secret speech Henry. But to shew you that his heart Is fixed as mine in such a cause as this, You shall survive his coming by an hour. And you, brave Arnulf, were you twice my brother, I would, sir king, I had known how hard your heart I pray you think of this— Henry. I cannot bend [they are retiring. Enter Hubert-hurriedly—a Mariner. Hubert. Oh sir, prepare !—encase your soul in steel For fierce and biting as a falchion's blade The dreadful news I bring Hubert. Oh worse!-imprisoned in such binding chains Hubert. Even so-Here stands a man whose tongue Shall frame the words mine has no power to utter Henry. (to the Mariner.) Speak, and be bold; stand not in breathless awe; There is no greatness in a sonless King. Mariner. "Tis grief not fear. Last night the crescent moon Looked down on a calm deep without a wave Doubtful of which was heaven and which was sea: On the smooth water glided the White Ship With mirth and music filling all the air— My lord the Prince and Countess de la Perche- Mariner. -Headed the band Of Knights and noble ladies in the dance; On the now reeling ship, and at the side -Her clasp'd hands raised within the calm moon light, Henry. Thank God for that! Mariner. And back he forced the boat,-- Rushed struggling from the wreck; and with a plunge That ne'er shall leave these ears; and 'mong them all Arnulf (coming forward). Better the salt sea than the crimson grave That your remorseless hand has dug for me. I bade you think, when came death's bitterness, Both the Conqueror and his son Henry have the character of having been strict administrators of the laws, and rigorously exact and severe in the punishment of offences against the public peace. The Saxon Chronicler says that, in the time of the former, a girl loaded with gold might have passed safely through all parts of the kingdom. In like manner the same authority tells us, that, under the government of Henry, "whoso bore his burden of gold and silver, durst no man say to him nought but good." The maintenance of so effective a system of police must, no doubt, have made a great difference between these reigns and those of Rufus and Stephen-in both of which robbery ranged the kingdom almost without restraint, and, in the latter especially, the whole land was almost given up as a prey to anarchy and the power of the strongest. But still even this supremacy of the law was in many respects an oppressive bondage to the subject. In this, as in everything else, the main object of the government was the protection and augmentation of the royal revenue; and it may be correctly enough affirmed, that private robbery and depredation were prohibited and punished chiefly on the principle that no inter |