PEVERIL CASTLE.
Two rough-looking men are standing in the castle yard, one of them counting 
sheep, of which only the bleating can be heard.
First Man: 57-58-59-60. Is that the whole flock ?
Second Man: Aye, that's all.
First Man: Sixty, eh? Well it's a good price for a man's life, to my way of 
thinking. I'd rather have the sixty sheep any day.
Second Man: Not if you were the man.
First Man: Maybe not. Does Master Folowe know that the sheep are penned 
in the castle!
Second Man: He'll have heard them; they made noise enough.
First Man: He's here now.
(Folowe, the Steward of the Castle, enters.)
Folowe: What's this? You – fellow! What is his? Hope Market on a Fair Day?
First Man: That I can't tell you, Master Folowe. All I know is that there are sixty sheep, for I've counted them through the gates.
Folowe: Sixty! A bare thirty! 
First Man: If you say so, Master – but I counted sixty.
Folowe (shouting): Call off the dogs! Drive the sheep into the pens yonder! 
Stir yourselves, you lazy dogs! Am I master of Peveril Castle, or am I not?
First Man (muttering to himself): You may be master now, but you'll be put 
about when my lord comes riding along Hope dale.
(The First Man goes, and the sound of the sheep dies away.)
Folowe: And now you, you mangy-looking dog, why are these miserable sheep 
here?
Second Man: If it please you, Master Folowe,
they are the sheep in respect of Master Bagshawe.
Folowe: Bagshawe? What Bagshawe? I've
never heard of him.
Second Man: He's in the dungeon under the east tower, choose how!
Folowe: Silence, fellow! And what have Master Bagshawe's thirty sheep to do 
with me?
Second Man: Sixty, Master. They're the price agreed upon, if you understand 
me.
Folowe: I do not understand you.
Second Man: Well, Master, if you don't, nobody will, for it was you that fixed 
the price.
Folowe:   You'll share a dungeon with him, if you don't watch your tongue! 
Now, what am I to understand? Is it not that the wife of one Bagshawe, a notorious evil man of 
these parts, having missed her husband these three or four weeks past, has sent
me these few mangy and most scraggy-looking sheep as a little present, 
begging me 
to help her find him?
Second Man: Aye, maybe that's the way of it.
Folowe (angrily): Then what do you mean by a price ?
Second Man: That was only a way of putting it, if you understand me, Master.
Folowe: Have you any sheep?
Second Man: No, Master.
Folowe: Would your wife give anyone a present to find you if you were 
lost?
Second Man: I doubt it, Master.
Folowe (seizing him by the throat): Have you ever seen the inside of a 
dungeon? You rat! You miserable scurvy rat!
Second Man: Master - my throat-my neck-Oh! Master, Master Folowe, have 
mercy!
Folowe: Mercy! Look! (Pointing) Look, that's a dungeon, that is. Smells, 
doesn't it? Dark, isn't it? There are rats, and
spiders, and toads, and all the creeping things! And you're outside now! 
But anger me again and you'll be inside!
Second Man (moaning): Mercy, Master Folowe, mercy! You are a great 
lord, greater than my Lord of Peveril - 
Folowe: Then don't forget it! There, another look, for fear you forget 
what a dungeon smells like, and I have to remind you!
(He again swings the man round, so that he is looking towards the 
dungeon. The Man points
suddenly.)
Second Man: Why! There! There is Master Bagshawe himself! In that very 
dungeon - 
Folowe (angrily) Bagshawe! In my dungeon!
 That's trespass, trespass on the property of my
Lord of Peveril's Castle! (Shouting.) You there! Bring this Bagshawe out 
here. He shall explain how he comes to be in 
the dungeon of my castle. A man might well grow grey and old in this post of Steward of the Castle 
of Peveril, with rogues
stealing sheep and hiding in dungeons. (First
Man brings in Bagshawe).  So! There you are! What is your name?
Bagshawe: Thomas Bagshawe of Eyam, as you well know.
Folowe: As I well know?
Bagshawe: It was your men that dragged me from my bed and brought me to 
this foul dungeon. Deny it if you can!
Folowe: The man's mad! Do you know that I'm Steward of the Castle of 
Peveril?
Bagshawe: There are many that know that, to their sorrow.
Folowe (shouting): Back with him! Since he creeps like a thief into the 
dungeon of my Lord of Peveril, he shall stay
there!
First Man (confidentially): Have a care, Master Folowe. The sixty sheep. 
We must return something for them, and this
Bagshawe is-well, he's no use to us, Master.
Folowe: But the trespass!
First Man: Maybe a fine - 
Folowe: Yes. A fine! Another sixty sheep, as a fine for trespassing in my 
dungeon, and you go free. What do you
say?
Bagshawe: I have no more sheep.
Folowe: No more? Then steal them-as you stole the last!
(There is a sound of horses. The First Man looks, and then turns to 
Folowe anxiously.)
First Man: Master Folowe! My Lord of Peveril has returned!
Folowe (suddenly afraid): What!
First Man: The sheep - how will you explain the sheep, Master Folowe?
Peveril (entering): Master Steward!
Folowe: My lord, you are come earlier than - that is, my lord - 
Peveril: Sooner than you thought. I believe you.
Folowe: Everything, my lord, will be to your lordship's satisfaction.
Peveril: What are sheep doing in the castle court?
Folowe: I will explain, my lord, the sheep - 
Bagshawe: Are mine, my lord! A simple farmer, my lord, of Eyam. And this 
man's friends did come and--
Peveril: Enough. I have already heard something of the faithful watch that 
Master Folowe keeps over my Castle of
Peveril!
Folowe: My lord, it is not true! None of it is true! I have tortured no one 
for money; no man's ears have been cut off;
no sheep have been - 
Peveril: Enough! What, is that - a dungeon? Yes, I remember, a wet, dank, 
dark dungeon with rats and toads and
creeping things, eh, Master Folowe? We have heard of your regard for it.
Folowe (terrified): Mercy, my lord, mercy!
Bagshawe: Had you mercy on me?
Second Man: Or on many another?
Peveril: To the dungeon with him! (Folowe, shouting and protesting is 
dragged out by the two men.)
Peveril (to Bagshawe): Let that be a sign to you and all men that henceforth 
there will be justice in England. No man
shall oppress his fellow and none shall use his office to enrich himself. 
That is the law of our Sovereign Lord the King,
and here in this realm it shall be obeyed. (As he goes.) A trumpet there! 
Summon the garrison! All men shall know that I, Peveril of the Peak, have come back to keep the law and peace of England. (A 
trumpet sounds as Peveril goes off.)
-From "The Castles of England," by L. DU GARDE PEACH. (University of London Press.)

THE SIX O'CLOCK CALL.
[Until the death of her Uncle, King William IV, in1837, Princess Victoria was entirely ruled by her mother, the Duchess of Kent, 
who had been a widow since 1820. It has been said that the child grew into a
girl, and the girl into a young woman, but still she slept in her mother's bedroom; still had no place 
where she might sit and work by herself. An extraordinary watchfulness surrounded her every step; up to the
day of her accession she never went downstairs without someone beside her, holding her hand. We shall 
see in this little play how this dominance was broken, and how for the first time Victoria became
her own mistress.]
SCENE: The entrance hall of Kensington Palace still in darkness. There is the clanging of a bell followed by knocks. A footman 
crosses the hall and the unchaining and unbolting of a door are heard. Lord Conyngham (the Lord Chamberlain) and the 
Archbishop of Canterbury enter.
Conyngham: Tell them to take the message at once. Say the matter is urgent.
Footman: Yes, my lord. But Her Highness isn't up yet, my lord.
Conyngham: Up! Of course she's not up at this  hour! Send Her Royal Highness's maid to call her; and 
say His Grace,
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Lord Conyngham are here to see Her Royal Highness on 
important business.
Footman: Yes, my lord.
Conyngham: Hurry, man, hurry!
Footman: Yes, my lord. But I'll have to call the maid first.
Congyngham: Well, call her!
Footman: Yes, my lord; but the maid sleeps where I'm not supposed to go, and the door up to it is locked. I shall
have to throw stones up at the window.
Conyngham: Isn't there a bell?
Footman: Yes, my lord; in her Royal Highness the Duchess's room there is a bell.
Conyngham: Well, go and ask that it may be rung.
Footman (aghast): I daren't go to her Royal Highness the Duchess's room, my lord, not now. Her Royal Highness the Princess is 
there, too.
Conyngham: Well, go and do the best you can. But say her Royal Highness must come--
Footman: Yes, my lord. (Exit footman.)
Conyngham (finishing his sentence): at once. Dear me, what a house! Sleeps with the old cat, does she?
Archbishop: I beg your pardon?
Conyngham: I - I beg yours! -Yes, I suppose
one oughtn't to say that now. But - your Grace knows that the Duchess has been a difficulty  all along.
Archbishop: The Duchess is a determined character. It has its advantages.
Conyngham: They have escaped my observation, I'm afraid.
Archbishop: The Princess's education has been safeguarded.
Conyngham: Yes, I know, I know. Had we not better sit down? We may have to wait. If that man's 
stonethrowing is
not good, we may have to wait a long time . . . So this is how history gets written!
Archbishop: This won't get into history, mylord.
 (The footman re-enters.)
Footman: I've called the maid, my lord. Would your Lordship like more light?
Conyngham: Oh, yes, a little more light would, I suppose, be better. (Then to the Archbishop). For so 
auspicious an
occasion.
Footman: The blinds, my lord?
Conyngham: No, no. Not the blinds. They must stay down.
(The footman lights more candles and goes out.)
Archbishop: Very sad, very sad, you know! Good old King George - such a large family, so many sons, and 
not one of
them what he should be.
Conyngham: And she the daughter of one of them.
Archbishop: Ah, but women are so different. Let's hope, let's hope.
Conyngham: Well, we must get her married.
Archbishop: Over that you will have difficulty with the Duchess.
Conyngham: Oh yes, the Duchess is going to be difficult whatever's proposed. She will regard this as 
her own
succession almost.
Archbishop: It almost will be.
Conyngham: That is what we must prevent.
Archbishop: The Duchess has privately planned a marriage, I'm told. She has two nephews -  Prince 
Ernest and
Prince Albert.*
Conyngham: But that won't do! It's all very well in one way, Royalty to make itself a class all by itself. 
But it's a German
notion; 'tisn't English. English kings have married commoners in the past. Do you know, if the Duke 
of Wellington had been, well, twenty years younger, I'd have married her to him? 'Twould have been very popular, and a foreign 
marriage won't
be. (He looks at his watch.)
Tut, tut, the girl's a very long time coming!
Archbishop (correctively): The Queen?
Conyngham (covering his mistake): No, no; I mean her maid. I'm wondering whether she has  called her . . . It's a
pity, a pity. I don't know what to think of it!
Archbishop: " It " meaning what?
Conyngham: A female on the throne; a king would have been so much better.
Archbishop: I don't know, my lord. Heirs male  of the last generation have not been a conspicuous success.
Conyngham: No English king has been a conspicuous success since Edward I.
Archbishop: Yet the monarchy has gone on. (Enter maid-servant.)
Conyngham: Yes, but it's gone off.
Maid: I beg your pardon, my lord.
Conyngham: Yes? Well?
Maid: Her Royal Highness, my lord. I went in, but Her Royal Highness was asleep.
Conyngham: Well, you must wake her Royal Highness up, then.

*Victoria had already met them and been charmed by Prince Albert, whom she later did marry.

Maid: Such a beautiful sleep, my lord; I didn't like to.
Conyngham: Even the most beautiful sleep must give way to affairs of State. Go at once; wake her Royal 
Highness and
tell her that we are here,
waiting for an audience. (Awestruck the maid goes. A clock strikes.) Six o'clock. There is to be a 
council at ten.
Archbishop: Where? Here?
Conyngham: Yes, here. She mustn't appear in public yet. It wouldn't be decent. People might cheer.
(Enter the Duchess of Kent. They rise and bow.)
 Duchess: Your Grace, my Lord Conyngham, you have news 
for us?
Conyngham: For Her Royal Highness the Princess we have news, Madam.
Duchess: Ah! The king then-?
Conyngham: Is dead.
Duchess: Then my daughter is now--?
Conyngham: The Queen.
Duchess: It has come then-at last! And I am the Queen Mother.
Conyngham: No, madam; your Royal Highness is not the Queen Mother.
Duchess (affronted): Not!
Conyngham: Your Royal Highness is the Queen's Mother; that is the distinction. Only if your Royal 
Highness had been
queen in the first place would that other title now follow.
Duchess: Then if it is not mine by your laws, she shall give it me.
Conyngham: That, madam, I fear will be impossible.
Duchess: Ah, I shall go myself and speak to her at once. That will settle it.
Conyngham: Madam, we are here to see Her
Majesty the Queen on urgent business; and we must not be delayed. Your presence at the interview, Madam, will not be required, 
unless Her Majesty sends for you.
Duchess: Ah! This is not to be borne!
Archbishop: Madam, this is a very historic
occasion. We are here officially only. Etiquette   
and  immemorial tradition prescribe certain rules which have to be observed. Your Royal Highness would not 
wish to break
them.
Conyngham: Your Grace, she's coming!
Archbishop: Then, Madam, for a moment – for a moment only!
(He opens a side door and bows the Duchess through it. She goes compelled, but reluctant. The shadow 
of Queen
Victoria is thrown on the wall as she descends the stairs. She enters. The
Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain kneel and kiss her hand. The side door opens again: the Duchess 
thrusts in
her head; she watches.)
Conyngham: Your Majesty; it is our painful duty to announce to Your Majesty - 
 Duchess (not waiting for the sentence to finish):  Ah! my daughter. She is Queen - Queen!
(The curtain slowly descends; after a few seconds it rises again. Victoria stands at the foot of the 
stairs. The
Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain make their last bow and go. At the 
sound of the shutting door the side door opens fully; the Duchess enters and advances rapturously to claim her daughter's 
homage.)
Victoria (still a little mazed at the wonder of  it all): Mama!
Duchess (embracing her): My child! My child! Oh, my child!
Victoria: They came to tell me that I am Queen.
Duchess: Yes, you are Queen at last.
Victoria: But really Queen - now: before I have been crowned?
Duchess: Yes, now, at once. The King is dead. You are Queen!
Victoria: Then my reign has already begun; I can do - as I like.
Duchess: Yes, as you like! Do not mind what anyone says. If you want to do it-do it.
Victoria: Oh!- Then - Mama, there is something I should like.
Duchess: Ah! yes. Say it. It shall be done.
Victoria: How strange that it should have all come-so suddenly!
Duchess: Yes, so suddenly - after we have waited so long. But now, my love, do not stay here to catch cold. Come back to your 
own mother's bed!
Victoria: No, Mama dear. As I may now do as I like, I wish in future to have a bed and a room of my own.
Duchess: Of your own?
Victoria: Yes - please, Mama.
Duchess: Oh! So you have been waiting - for that!
Victoria: I should be glad if you don't mind - now that I am my own mistress. Yes, I would  rather be alone. (She does not 
wait to hear more.)
Duchess: Mind! Glad! Alone- Oh! What is going to become of me?
(She stands and watches while Victoria, mistress henceforth of her own destiny, turns  and goes quietly upstairs again, having 
imposed, even now, her wish to be alone for a while.)
-Adapted from " Victoria Regina," by LAURENCE HOUSMAN. (Jonathon Cape.)

THE COUNTESS INTERVENES.
[This incident took place on a spring morning shortly after Charles I of 
Spain, who was also Charles V, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, had defeated John Frederick, Elector of Saxony, in a battle 
on the 24th April, 1547.]
Scene: A room in the castle of Catherina, Countess of Schwartzburg, who is 
sewing, with three ladies.
Helena: But surely, Countess, even you would admit that there is much in 
war that is brave and glorious.
Catherina: You are young, Helena. When you have known as much of war as I 
have, you will look past the banners
and bugles and see the misery they leave in their train. The Emperor 
Charles is a merciful man, by all report. He
makes war against Saxony; Prince Henry wins a glorious victory for him. 
Well and good. But will it stop there ? No. It is the peasants and the women and children who will pay when the victors come 
marching back through my lands. I
hate the thought of it, Helena.
Frieda: But the Emperor has given his word that there will be no looting in 
Thuringia, and you have given yours that
the troops shall be provisioned at fair prices. Do you not think that that 
should be enough?
Catherina: If I did think so, do you imagine I should have let the 
countrymen lumber up my castle with their little
treasures? Should I have gone to the expense of destroying the bridge to 
the town and throwing another across farther
down stream?
Elsa: That will at least keep Prince Henry's men out of temptation.
Catherina: Town temptation, yes; but country temptation? Looting is the 
custom of war, Elsa.
When they see the opportunity, will they be able to withstand it?
Helena: They are soldiers, madam, not saints.
Catherina: Yes, and our poor people are people, madam, not beasts. Fathers 
and mothers and children, Helena, and
I won't have them driven like sheep - not while I can raise a hand.
Elsa: Well, we have done all we can, madam.
Catherina: But whether we have done all we must is another matter, Elsa. 
Come in! Well, Carl, what is it?
Carl: A gentleman in the courtyard bade me give you this, my lady.
Elsa. What is the matter, my lady?
Catherina (reading): " Prince Henry of Brunswick presents his compliments 
to Catherina, Countess of -"
Frieda: Prince Henry himself!
Catherina: "begs the privilege of taking breakfast in her company with some few of his gentlemen."
Helena: The victorious general himself! An honour indeed!
Catherina.. Yes, Helena, and more it may be. Carl - quickly! Send someone 
to call every man in the castle to the
guardroom. I would speak with them. Yourself, present my respects to the 
Prince and say that I am indeed
honoured. Bring our guests here.
Carl: Yes, my lady. (Goes out.)
Catherina: Now, Elsa, do as I say. Make my excuses to Prince Henry and his 
friends. Say that I am gone to
prepare for their reception. I shall return at once. And listen, for much 
depends on this: if after my return I should say,
" The order is given," go you speedily to the guardroom and say the same to 
the men. You understand? Say it.
Elsa: The order is given.
Catherina: Those will be the words. Hush! They are coming. You know your 
part? "The order is given." (She goes out.)
Helena: What does she mean?
Elsa: I don't know.
Frieda: She scents trouble.
Elsa: Hush!
Prince Henry (entering): Ladies, your humble servants.
Ladies: And yours.
Elsa: The Countess bade me present her respects. She is gone to prepare for 
your reception, but will return at once.
Henry: I trust so early a visit is not a burden.
Elsa: On the contrary, sir: my lady is honoured, as we are. Will you not be 
seated?
Henry: You are too kind.
Helena: Does the march proceed well, sir?
First Gentleman: Extremely, madam. The last of our forces are even now 
crossing the bridge.
Second Gentleman: It is unhappy that their march must take them across your 
mistress's fair lands.
Helena: Such are the fortunes of war, sir. It is not for the friends of the 
conquered to complain.
Third Gentleman: It is to be hoped that your mistress is equally at ease in 
her mind.
Frieda: You would not doubt that, sir, if you knew her. No man could face 
what comes more evenly than she. We
marvel at her courage
(Catherina enters).
Henry: Countess, your servant.
Catherina: Prince Henry, gentlemen, you are welcome. It was only thought 
for your - for your safe keeping that prevented my greeting you at the door. Be seated, gentlemen. Breakfast will not be long.
Henry: You are very kind.
Catherina: Accept my congratulations, sir, upon a most notable victory.
Henry: I should receive them with more comfort, madam, if I thought that the victory brought less discomfort to you.
Catherina: I cannot complain, sir. It is the fortune, or rather the misfortune, of war that when one side wins another
surely must lose. I accept what I must, no less and no more. At least I have your master's word that my people shall
not suffer.
Henry: Er-yes, madam.
Catherina: His word will be honoured, sir?
Henry: Madam, indeed I trust so, but
Catherina: What is that?
Messenger (outside the door): Let me in. I must go in. Out of the way. My lady - 
Catherina: What is it, man?
Messenger: The Spaniards, my lady. They are harrying the village folk - driving out their cattle. Old Wilhelm spoke out
strongly against it, and they fired his barns.
Catherina: Very well, you may go. Go man. The order is given. You hear this, Prince Henry. (Elsa has slipped out.)
Henry: I do, Countess, and I regret it.
Catherina: You may regret it more yet, sir. You gave your men the Emperor's order?
Henry: Naturally, madam; but the customs of war are hardly to be stopped by a word.
Catherina: Then they must be stopped by something else. You have tried one measure; it has failed; I must resort to others. You 
have given your orders, I have given mine.
Henry: You speak strangely, madam. I must ask you to explain.
Catherina: I think the explanation is providing itself, even now.

"THE ORDER IS GIVEN."

(Armed men appear in doorway.)
Henry: What is this, Countess? Your men armed! What does it mean?
Catherina: It means that you are my prisoners, gentlemen. Nay, do not finger your swords. Even if you pass these men, which 
you will not, every door of the castle is 
barred and locked, and the  keys are in safe
hiding.
First Gentleman: But you cannot do this, lady. It is a mortal offence 
against the Emperor.
 Catherina: Is it an offence against the Emperor to see that his word of 
honour is respected? If so, I offend - and I
shall continue to offend.
Second Gentleman: Our forces will surround the castle within an hour, 
madam, and that hour will be your death.
Catherina: So? Then I shall die. But I think not; for I warn you, Prince: 
if I die, you die first. My men obey my orders
to the letter, in whatever way your followers obey yours.
Henry: These are strong words, madam.
Catherina: Dire diseases need dire remedies, sir. My poor folk shall have 
their own returned to them, or prince's blood
shall be given for oxen's blood.
Henry: What do you propose, madam?
Catherina: That you send these gentlemen with your most express orders. 
Everything that can be restored shall be
restored, and what is past restoring shall be paid for to the utmost 
farthing. Till that, is done, and the last of your men
is beyond my borders, you remain my prisoner.
Third Gentleman: But, madam
Catherina: I spoke to your master, sir, not to you. Well, Prince!
Henry: This lady's orders are mine, gentlemen. Go at once and use all 
care - for indeed I think I shall need it.
Catherina: Let them pass, men. Carl, you have the key of the postern. Go, 
all of you. Sir, you will accept my regrets.
Henry: Madam, you are a very brave woman. I am honoured to be your prisoner.
Catherina: No, my guest - my very timely guest. Sir, will you take breakfast, and pardon this delay?
-From " The London Dramatic Books." Third Series, Book Two, by RODNEY 
BENNETT. (University of London Press.)

HUBERT AND ARTHUR.
King John has sent his chamberlain, Hubert, to blind his nephew, Arthur , a boy eleven years old. 
SCENE: A room in Northampton Castle. Enter Hubert and two attendants.
Hubert: Heat me these irons hot, and look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, 
rush forth, And bind the boy which you shall
find with me
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. (Attendants go out.)
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. (Enter Arthur.)
Arthur: Good morrow, Hubert.
Hubert: Good morrow, little prince.
Arthur: As little prince (having so great a title to be more prince) as 
may be. - You are sad.
Hubert: Indeed I have been merrier.
Arthur: Mercy on me! Methinks nobody should be sad but I.
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me.
He is afraid of me and I of him.
Is it my fault that I am Geffrey's son?
No, indeed it's not; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hubert (aside): If I talk 
to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
Therefore I will be sudden and despatch.
Arthur: Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me. Hubert (aside): His words do 
take possession of my bosom - Read here,
young Arthur, (Showing a paper.) Can you not read it? Is it not fair 
writ? Arthur: Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hubert: Young boy, I 
must. Arthur: And will you? Hubert: And I
will. Arthur: Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my 
handkerchief about your brows - The best I
had, a princess wrought it me - And I did never ask it you again And with my 
hand at midnight held your head; And,
like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the 
heavy time, Saying, "What lack you ? " and "Where lies your grief ? " Or, " What good love may I perform for you?" If 
heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes, that never 
did, nor never shall So much as frown on
you. Hubert: I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them 
out. Arthur: Ah, none but in this iron age
would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near 
these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench
this fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence. Are you 
more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? An if an
angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine 
eyes, I would not have believed him - no
tongue but Hubert's.
Hubert: Come forth! (Stamps. Enter attendants, with cords, irons, &c.) Do as I bid you.
Arthur: Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these cruel men.
Hubert: Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arthur: Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? I will not struggle, I 
will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake,
Hubert, let me not be bound! Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not
stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly; Thrust 
but these men away
and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. Hubert: Go, stand 
within: Let me alone with him.
 First Attendant: I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
(Attendants go out.)
Arthur: Alas, I then have chid away my friend! He hath a stern look, but a 
gentle heart: Let him come back, that his
compassion, may Give life to yours. Hubert: Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
Arthur: Is there no remedy? Hubert: None,
but to lose your eyes. Arthur: O heaven! that there were but a mote in   
yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering
hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things 
are boisterous there, Your vile intent
must needs seem horrible. Hubert: Is this your promise? Go to, hold your  
tongue! Arthur: Hubert, the utterance of a
brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not 
hold my tongue - let me not, Hubert! Or,
Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes. Oh, spare 
mine eyes. Though to no use but still to
look on you! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm 
me. Hubert: I can heat it, boy.
Arthur: No, in good sooth the fire is dead with grief. There is no malice 
in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath
blown his spirit out, And strewd repentant ashes on his head. Hubert: But 
with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arthur:
And if You do, you will but make it blush And glow with shame of your 
proceedings, Hubert. All things that you should
use to do me wrong Deny their office: You only do lack That mercy, which 
fierce fire and iron extends, Creatures of
note for mercy-lacking uses. Hubert: Well, see to live; I will not touch 
thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle
owes. Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to 
burn them out. Arthur: Oh, now you look
like Hubert! All this while You were disguised. Hubert: Peace; no more! 
Adieu! Your uncle must not know but you are
dead; I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, 
sleep doubtless and secure, That Hubert, for the
wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Arthur: Oh heaven, I thank 
you, Hubert. Hubert: Silence; no more! Go
closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. (They go out.)
-King John, Act IV, Scene I.

THE MOULDED COIN.
[Cassivellaunus, whose British name was Caswallon, resisted Julius Caesar's invasion of Britain in 
the year 55 B.C. His grandson, the romanized Cunobelinus, was the first to
have good coin moulded in Britain at the Roman town of Camulodunum, now called Colchester.]
 SCENE: A low bench and beside it a cauldron
over a fire enclosed in bricks. Caswallon, an old
man, sits on a stool, telling an endless story.  
Cunobelinus is watching Eroc, a metal-worker, busy
at the bench.
Caswallon: - and they came swarming out of their ships, the Romans did, with the Eagles leading them. 
They were a fine sight, only, of course, we didn't look at it like that.
Cunobelinus (without looking round): I suppose not.
Caswallon: No. There was something about the way they came through the water, scrambling ashore and 
then forming up in a line on the beach, that we hadn't seen before. Some
of our men didn't much like the look of it.
Cunobelinus (to Eroc): Be careful with the shaping of the mould - a little deeper.
Eroc: If I make it any deeper, the free flow of the metal will be - 
Cunobelinus: Make it deeper and don't talk so much.
Eroc (grumbling): It's my mould.
Cunobelinus: It's my coinage.
Caswallon: What are you two talking about?
Cunobelinus: I'm sorry, Grandfather. You were  telling me about the Romans.
Caswallon: I was; only no one seems to want to hear about them nowadays - not about Julius Caesar, though plenty like to hear 
about the circuses and the theatres and all the other nonsense, that the Romans have brought with them. Well, Julius Caesar 
formed up his men on the beach, and I gave 
the word to rush down on them with spears. We did it, too; but a most
extraordinary thing happened - 
Cunobelinus (to Eroc): The coins must be of a uniform thickness. That's the most difficult thing of 
all.

THE LANDING OF THE ROMANS IN BRITAIN.

Eroc (shortly): I know-I know. Caswallon: Are you listening? Cunobelinus: Yes, Cassivellaunus, I am 
listening. Caswallon.. My name's Caswallon. You may like these Roman
names and call yourself Cunobelinus, but you won't call me Cassivellaunus - not as long as I have a good British name. 
Cassivellaunus, indeed!
Cunobelinus: Yes, Grandfather...
Caswallon: Now you've made me forget what I was talking about.
Cunobelinus: The landing of Julius Caesar.
Caswallon: I don't believe you want to hear about it at all. You're more interested in this new-fangled way of making coins. 
Before the Romans came we used to beat them out with a hammer, and
a very good way it was, too.
Cunobelinus: But this way of making them by running molten metal into a mould makes them better and 
quicker.
Caswallon: And what will be the result? You'll make so many of them that money won't be worth 
anything. When Julius Caesar first landed in  Britain there weren't more than two or three
hundred coins in the whole island.
Cunobelinus: Trade has developed since those days; and trade needs plenty of money to keep it moving. 
Besides, I want money for something else.
Caswallon: What for?
Cunobelinus: To build a castle.
Caswallon: You can't build a castle with money. What do you want money for?
Cunobelinus: To pay the men that do the building.
Caswallon: Pay them? PAY them? That's not the way to get a castle built. Get the serfs together and 
beat them, or else go out and get a few prisoners of war. That's the way I used to get
things done.
Cunobelinus: You were a barbarian, father, and you always will be one. We are civilized now.
Caswallon: Civilized! That's another of the 
troubles these Romans have brought to Britain. It's
bad enough having them building their stupid roads all over the place, 
without this nonsense of civilizing people. But I'll tell you one thing-
they won't civilize me. Julius Caesar couldn't, and they won't either.
Eroc: Are you ready for the casting?
Cunobelinus: Yes.
Caswallon (crossing to them): Let me see what you're doing. What! You're 
going to cast coins in those stupid little moulds. They'll be of no
use. Give me a coin with weight about it. You could kill a man with one 
of the coins we used to have in my day.
Cunobelinus: That's not what coins are for.
Caswallon: No, but it's useful to be able to use them that way. Did I 
ever tell you what Julius Caesar said to me-that was the second time
he came, of course, not the first. He didn't say anything the first time 
because we sent him back to his ship with a flea in his ear. He said
to me - it was a fine evening, too, and I'd got some oysters for him - he was 
partial to oysters, Julius Caesar was - 
(Eroc lifts the cauldron and begins to pour the molten metal into the 
moulds.)
Cunobelinus: Steady with the metal. Now! Gently!
Caswallon (excitedly): Be careful! You're doing it wrong - you're doing it 
all wrong.
Cunobelinus: Hold it, man - hold it! Now pour steadily
Caswallon: Don't spill it.
Eroc: Who's pouring this metal?
Cunobelinus: If you break the mould, I'll have you flayed alive.
Eroc (calmly): No you won't, because I'm the only man that understands 
casting coins.
Caswallon: That's civilization, I suppose. Do you know what I'd have done to a man that spoke to me like that?
Cunobelinus: No.
Caswallon: Hung him up in a tree by his toes, and pulled all his teeth out-slowly.
Eroc: Times have changed since your day, Cassivellaunus.
Caswallon: Caswallon, confound you!
Cunobelinus: How long does it take to cool?
Eroc: I'll throw a pitcher of water on it. (He does so.) There, you can handle it now.
Cunobelinus (excitedly): There: A coin - a perfect coin at last!
Caswallon: Let me look at it. Humph! What's this meant to be?
Cunobelinus: An ear of wheat, and the letters C A M U for Camulodunum.
Caswallon: Ugh! I don't think much of it And it's too small. What will happen to it if if gets lost?
Cunobelinus: It may get lost, but it'll be found again-some day. Perhaps hundreds of years hence - perhaps even thousands of 
years hence. And men will look at it and wonder what
the people were like that made it.
(And close under the walls of Colchester Castle this coin was found - nearly two thousand years after Cunobelinus had caused it 
to be made.)
-Adapted scene from "The Castles of England," by L. DU GARDE PEACH. (University of London Press.)

THE PRINCESS AND THE WOODCUTTER.
SCENE: The Woodcutter is singing at his work in a glade of the forest outside his hut. He is tall and 
strong and brave and handsome: all that a Woodcutter ought to be.
Woodcutter: A humble woodman I, a plain hard-working peasant,
A simple soul, who, on the whole, finds life extremely  pleasant.
I envy none to-day - his lofty rank or station
Enough for me to have a free and healthy occupation.
Princess: Good morning, Woodcutter.
Woodcutter: Good morning.
Princess: You are still cutting wood? Don't you ever do any-thing else ?
Woodcutter: Well, you are still a Princess; don't you ever do anything else?
Princess: Now, that's not fair, Woodcutter. You can't say I was a Princess yesterday when I came and helped you stack your 
wood; or the day before when I tied up your cut hand; or the day before that when we had our meal together on the grass. Was I a 
Princess then?

PRINCESS AND WOODCUTTER.

Woodcutter: Somehow, I think you were. Somehow, I think you were saying to yourself, "Isn't it sweet of a Princess to treat a 
mere Woodcutter like this?"
Princess: I think you are perfectly horrid. I've a good mind never to speak to you again. And-and I 
wouldn't, if only I could be sure that you'd notice I wasn't speaking to you.
Woodcutter: After all, I'm just as bad as you. Only yesterday I was thinking to myself how unselfish 
I was to interrupt my work in order to talk to a mere Princess.
Princess: Yes, but the trouble is that you don't interrupt your work.
Woodcutter: Madam, I am at your service; but surely you have enough people at your service 
already - Princes, and chancellors, and chamberlains, and waiting-maids.
Princess: Yes, that's just it. That's why I want your help. Particularly in the matter of Princes.
Woodcutter: Why, has a suitor come for the hand of Her Royal Highness?
Princess: Three suitors, and I hate them all.
Woodcutter: And which are you going to marry?
Princess: I don't know. Father hasn't made up his mind yet.
Woodcutter: And this is a matter which Father - which His Majesty - decides for himself ?
Princess: Why, of course! You should read the history books, Woodcutter. The suitors to the hand of a 
Princess are always set some trial of strength or test of quality by the King,
and the winner marries his daughter. And I don't want to be married. I mean, not to any of those 
three. That's why I want you to help me.
Woodcutter: Can a simple Woodcutter help a Princess ?
Princess: Well, perhaps a simple one couldn't, but a clever one might.
Woodcutter: What would his reward be?
Princess: His reward would be that the Princess, not being married to any of her three suitors, would 
still be able to help him chop his wood in the mornings - I am helping you,
aren't ?
Woodcutter (smiling): Oh, decidedly, and it is kind of a great lady like yourself to help so humble a 
fellow as I.
Princess: I'm not very great.
Woodcutter: There's enough of you to make a hundred men unhappy.
Princess: And one man happy?
Woodcutter: And one man very, very happy.
Princess: I wonder who he'll be . . . Woodcutter, if you were a Prince, would you be my suitor ?
Woodcutter (scornfully): One of three?
Princess (excitedly): Oh, would you kill the others? With that axe?
Woodcutter: I would not kill them in order to help His Majesty make up his mind about a son-in-law. 
But if the Princess had made up her mind-and wanted me-then I would marry
her, however many suitors she had.
Princess: Well, she's only got three at present, and you might like to do something with your axe.
Woodcutter: My axe?
Princess: Yes. You see, she has made up her mind.
Woodcutter (amazed): You mean- But-but I'm only a Woodcutter.
Princess: That's where you'll have the advantage of them when it comes to axes.
Woodcutter: Princess! My Princess!
Princess: Woodcutter! My Woodcutter ! My, oh so very slow and uncomprehending, but entirely adorable, 
Woodcutter !
Woodcutter: But what will His Majesty say?
Princess: All sorts of things . . . Do you really love me, Woodcutter, or have I proposed to you 
under a misapprehension ?
Woodcutter: I adore you!
Princess (nodding): I thought you did. But, I wanted to hear you say it. If I had been a simple 
peasant, I suppose you would have said it a long time ago?
Woodcutter: I expect so.
Princess: Yes . . . Well, now we must think of a plan for making Mother like you -  What is it?
Woodcutter: Somebody's coming . . . The King ! (He goes on chopping.)
Princess: Oh ! I must fly ! (She goes, and the King and Queen enter.)
King (puffing) : Ah! and a seat all ready for us. How satisfying. (They sit.) Well now, about 
these three Princes. They are getting on my mind rather. It is time we decided which
one of them is to marry our beloved child.
Queen: As regards appetite, there is nothing to choose among them. They are three of the heartiest 
eaters I have met for some time.
King: You are right. The sooner we choose one of them and send the other two about their business, 
the better. There were six peaches on the breakfast table this morning. Did I
get one ? No!
Queen: Did I get one? No!
King: Did our darling get one - not that it matters? No!
Queen: It is a pity that the seven-headed bull died last year.
King: Those days are over. We must think of a new test. Somehow I think that, in a son-in-law, moral 
worth is even more to be desired than mere brute strength. Now, my
suggestion is this: that you should disguise yourself as a beggar woman, and approach each of the 
three Princes in turn, supplicating his charity. In this way we shall discover
which of the three has the kindest heart.
Queen: An excellent plan. If you remember, I suggested it myself, yesterday.
King (annoyed): Well, of course I don't claim that the idea is original; it has often been done in 
our family. Well then, if you will get ready, my dear, I will go and find our three
friends and see that they come this way.
(They go out, and the Princess comes back.)
Princess: Well, Woodcutter, what did I tell you? Unless you stop it, somehow, I shall be married to 
one of them to-night.
Woodcutter: Which one?
Princess: The one with the kindest heart - whichever that is.
Woodcutter: Supposing they all have kind hearts?
Princess: They won't. They never have. In our circles, when three Princes come together, one of them 
has a kind heart and the other two haven't. Haven't you read any history at all?
Woodcutter: I have no time for reading. But I think it's time history was altered a little. We'll 
alter it this afternoon. I've got an idea.
Princess: Oh, how clever of you ! But what do you want me to do?
Woodcutter: You know the glade over there? Wait for me there.
Princess: I obey my lord's commands. (She runs off. The Woodcutter 
resumes his work. Presently the Red Prince
comes along.)
Red Prince: Ah, fellow! Fellow! I said fellow!
Woodcutter: Were you speaking to me, my lord ?
Red Prince: There is no other fellow here, that I can see. Have you seen 
the Princess come past this way?
Woodcutter: She is not here, my lord. My lord, are you one of the Princes 
who is seeking the hand of the Princess?
Red Prince: I am, fellow.
Woodcutter: His Majesty the King was here a while ago. He is to make his 
decision among you this afternoon. I think I can help you to be the lucky one, my lord. If a beggar woman asks you for a crust of 
bread this afternoon,
 remember - it is the test !
 Red Prince: The test! But I haven't got a crust of bread !
 Woodcutter: Wait here and I will get you one. (The
 Woodcutter goes into the hut.)
 Red Prince: My good fellow, I am extremely obliged
 to you, and if ever I can do anything for you, such as
 returning a crust to you of similar size, or even lending
 you another slightly smaller one, or - (The Woodcutter comes back with the crust.) Ah, thank you, my man,
 thank you.
 Woodcutter: I would suggest, my lord, that you should
 take a short walk, and stroll back casually in a few minutes'
 time, when the beggar woman is here.
 Red Prince: Thank you, my man, thank you. (Goes.
 The Blue Prince comes in.)
 Woodcutter: Are you one of the Princes who is wooing
 the Princess?
 Blue Prince: Yes.
 Woodcutter: I believe I could help your Royal Highness.
 If you come back in five minutes, you will see a beggar
 woman sitting here. She will ask you for a crust of bread.
 You must give it to her, for it is the way His Majesty has chosen of testing your kindness of heart.
 Blue Prince: But I have no bread.
 Woodcutter: Here is some.
 Blue Prince: Thanks. (Goes. Yellow Prince enters.)
Yellow Prince: Come hither, my man. Tell me, my
 bumpkin, has Her Royal Highness the Princess passed this
 way lately ? But perhaps you have been too much concerned
 in your own earthly affairs to have noticed her. You – ah - cut wood, I see.
 Woodcutter: Yes, sir, I am a Woodcutter. Beg your pardon, sir, but are you one of the Princes that want to marry our Princess ?
 Yellow Prince: I had hoped, good friend, to obtain your
 permission to do so. I beg you not to refuse use it.
 Woodcutter: You are making fun of me, sir.
Yellow Prince: Discerning creature!
Woodcutter: All the same, I can help you.
Yellow Prince: Then, pray do so, log-chopper, and earn my everlasting 
gratitude.
Woodcutter: The King has decided that whichever of you three Princes has 
the kindest heart shall marry his
daughter.
Yellow Prince: Then you will be able to bear witness to him that I have 
already wasted several minutes of my valuable
time in condescending to a mere faggot-splitter. Tell him this, and the 
prize is mine.
Woodcutter: The King will not listen to me. But if you return here in
five minutes you will find an old woman begging for bread. It is the test 
which their Majesties have arranged for you. If
you share your last crust with her - 
Yellow Prince: Yes, but do I look as if I carried a last crust about with 
me ?
Woodcutter: But see, I will give you one. (Prince takes it between tips of 
fingers.) Put it in your pocket, and when - 
Yellow Prince: But, my dear bark-scraper, have you no feelings for clothes 
at all? How can I put a thing like this in
my pocket? I beg you to wrap it up. Here, take this scarf. Neatly, I pray 
you. Perhaps a little of this orange ribbon
round it would make it more tolerable. You think so ? Leave a loop for the 
little finger, I entreat you - so. (He hangs the ribbon on his little finger.) In about five minutes, you said? We will be there. 
(Prince and Woodcutter go different ways,
and King and Queen enter. The Queen is disguised by a cloak.)
King: Now then, my love, if you will sit down on that log 
there---excellent. I think perhaps you should remove the
crown. There! Now the disguise is perfect.
Queen: You're sure they're coming?
King: I told them the Princess was waiting for them here. Their natural 
disappointment at finding I was mistaken will
make the test of their good nature an even more exacting one. My own 
impression is that the Yellow Prince will be
the victor.
Queen: Oh, I hate that man.
King: Well, well, perhaps it will be the Blue one.
Queen: If anything I dislike him more intensely.
King: Or even the Red.
Queen: Ugh! I can't bear him.
King : Fortunately, dear, you are not called upon to marry any of them. It 
is for our darling that we are making the
great decision. Listen ! I hear one coming. I will hide in the cottage and 
take note of what happens. (The King disappears into the cottage as the Blue Prince comes in.)
Queen: Oh, sir, can you kindly spare a crust of bread for a poor old woman. 
Please, pretty gentleman!
Blue Prince (taking out crust): Bread . . . Bread . Ah ! Bread !
Queen: Oh, thank you, sir. May you be rewarded for your gentle heart.
Blue Prince: Eat it!
Queen (swallowing with difficulty): I-er-you-er-I'm almost too happy to 
eat, sir. Leave a poor old woman alone with her
happiness, and - 
Blue Prince: Not too happy.. Too weak. Let me help
you eat. (He breaks off a piece and holds it to her mouth.)
Good ! . . . Again ! Now, once more … Last piece ! Better now?
Queen (nearly choking): Much. Good day, kind gentleman.
Blue Prince: Small piece left over. (Gives it to her and goes.)
Queen: Ugh! What a man!
King (coming out): Well, well, my dear, we have discovered the winner.
Queen: Detestable person!
King: The rest of the competition is, of course, more in the nature of a 
formality.

RED PRINCE AND QUEEN.

Queen: Thank goodness.
King: However, I think that it will prevent unnecessary discussion afterwards if we - Take care, here is another one.
(Goes out, and Red Prince enters.)
Queen: Could you spare a crust of bread, sir, for a poor hungry old woman?
Red Prince: A crust of bread, madam? Certainly. As luck will have it, I have a crust on me, my last one, but . . . your need is 
greater than mine. Eat, I pray.
Queen: Th-thank you, sir.
Red Prince: Not at all. Come, eat. Let me have the pleasure of seeing you 
eating.
Queen: M-might I take it home with me, pretty gentleman ?
Red Prince: No, no. I must see you eating. Come! I will take no denial.
Queen: Th-thank you, sir. (Hopefully) Won't you share it with me ?
Red Prince: No, I insist on your having it all. I am in the mood to be generous.  Oblige me by eating it now. You eat but slowly. 
Did you 
deceive me when you said you were hungry?
Queen: N-no. I'm very hungry. (She eats.)
Red Prince: That's better. Now understand - however poor I am, I can always 
find a crust of bread for an old woman. Always! Remember this when next you are hungry . . .
Queen: Thank you, pretty gentleman.
Red Prince: There's a piece on the ground there that you dropped.
Queen (eating it in agony): Thank you, pretty gentleman.
Red Prince: Then I will leave you, madam. Good morning. (Goes, and Yellow 
Prince enters.)
Yellow Prince: My poor woman you are in distress. It pains me to see it, 
madam, it pains me terribly. Can it be that
you are hungry? I thought so. Give me the great pleasure, madam, of 
relieving your hunger. See, my own poor meal.
Take it! It is yours.
Queen: I am not hungry.
Yellow Prince: Ah, madam, I see what it is. You do not wish to deprive me. 
You tell yourself, perchance, that it is not
fitting that one in your station of life should partake of the meals of the 
highly born. You are not used, you say, to the food of Princes. Your rougher palate - 
Queen: Did you say the food of Princes? (Takes the scarf and unties the 
ribbon.) No! no! Not bread!
Yellow Prince: Bread, madam, the staff of life. Come, madam, will you not 
eat? What can be more delightful than a
crust of bread by the wayside? (The Queen tries desperately to eat the 
crust, but falls back in a swoon. The King
rushes out to her.)
King: Quick, Quick! Find the Princess.
Yellow Prince: The Princess! Find the Princess! (Goes and Princess enters.)
King: Ah, my dear, you're just in time. Your mother - 
Princess: My mother?
King: Yes, yes, a little plan of mine-of hers-your poor mother. Dear, dear! 
She is suffering from a surfeit of bread and -
(The Woodcutter enters with a pitcher of water.)
Woodcutter: Poor old woman! Let me give her some - 
Queen (shrieking): No, no, not bread! I will not have any more bread.
Woodcutter: Drink this, my poor woman.
Queen: Did you say drink? (Seizes pitcher and drinks.)
Princess: Oh, sir, you have saved my mother's life.
King: I thank you, my man, I thank you.
Queen: My deliverer! Tell me who you are !
Princess: It is my mother, the Queen, who asks you.
Woodcutter (pretending he did not know): The Queen!
King: Yes, yes, certainly, the Queen.
Woodcutter: Pardon, your Majesty. I am a Woodcutter.
Queen: Well, you've got more sense in your head than any of the Princes that I've seen lately. You'd better come to Court.
Princess (shyly): You will be very welcome, sir.
Queen: And you'd better marry the Princess.
King: Isn't that perhaps going a little too far, my dear?
Queen: Well, you wanted kindness of heart in your son-in-law, and you've got it. And he has common 
sense, too. Tell me, Woodcutter, what do you think of bread as - as a
form of nourishment?
Woodcutter: One can have too much of it.
Queen: Exactly my view. (To King) There you are, you see.
King: Well, if you insist. The great thing, of course, is that our darling child should be happy.
Princess: I will do my best, Father.
King: Then the marriage will take place this evening.
-From the play, "Make Believe," by  A. A. MILNE. (Chatto and Windus.)




