Act III - Page 2

shadow!

MERTOUN. I am armed, fool!

TRESHAM. Yes,
Or no? You'll come into the light, or no?
My hand is on your throat--refuse!--

MERTOUN. That voice!
Where have I heard... no--that was mild and slow.
I'll come with you.
[They advance.]

TRESHAM. You're armed: that's well. Declare
Your name: who are you?

MERTOUN. (Tresham!--she is lost!)

TRESHAM. Oh, silent? Do you know, you bear yourself
Exactly as, in curious dreams I've had
How felons, this wild earth is full of, look
When they're detected, still your kind has looked!
The bravo holds an assured countenance,
The thief is voluble and plausible,
But silently the slave of lust has crouched
When I have fancied it before a man.
Your name!

MERTOUN. I do conjure Lord Tresham--ay,
Kissing his foot, if so I might prevail--
That he for his own sake forbear to ask
My name! As heaven's above, his future weal
Or woe depends upon my silence! Vain!
I read your white inexorable face.
Know me, Lord Tresham!
[He throws off his disguises.]

TRESHAM. Mertoun!
[After a pause.]
Draw now!

MERTOUN. Hear me
But speak first!

TRESHAM. Not one least word on your life!
Be sure that I will strangle in your throat
The least word that informs me how you live
And yet seem what you seem! No doubt 'twas you
Taught Mildred still to keep that face and sin.
We should join hands in frantic sympathy
If you once taught me the unteachable,
Explained how you can live so and so lie.
With God's help I retain, despite my sense,
The old belief--a life like yours is still
Impossible. Now draw!

MERTOUN. Not for my sake,
Do I entreat a hearing--for your sake,
And most, for her sake!

TRESHAM. Ha, ha, what should I
Know of your ways? A miscreant like yourself,
How must one rouse his ire? A blow?--that's pride
No doubt, to him! One spurns him, does one not?
Or sets the foot upon his mouth, or spits
Into his face! Come! Which, or all of these?

MERTOUN. 'Twixt him and me and Mildred, Heaven be judge!
Can I avoid this? Have your will, my lord!
[He draws and, after a few passes, falls.]

TRESHAM. You are not hurt?

MERTOUN. You'll hear me now!

TRESHAM. But rise!

MERTOUN. Ah, Tresham, say I not "you'll hear me now!"
And what procures a man the right to speak
In his defence before his fellow man,
But--I suppose--the thought that presently
He may have leave to speak before his God
His whole defence?

TRESHAM. Not hurt? It cannot be!
You made no effort to resist me. Where
Did my sword reach you? Why not have returned
My thrusts? Hurt where?