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Each day this realm of England faints and fails.

The king is wandering who knows where; his knights,

his Norman knights like robbers waste the land,

and drive our herds within their castle walls.

O Wilfred, o my son, o Ivanohe,

hadst thou not crossed my will and flouted me,

daring to raise thine eyes to my royal ward,

I had not been left a lonely man

amid these thieving Normans.

Alone am I: I have no son.

(A knocking at the gate.)

Who knocks? Out, knaves, and see! And now to supper.

To all, was hael!

(He drinks.)

Good thane, most noble thane, I pray

for food and shelter from the night.

Isaac of York am I, a Jew, but poor,

and poorest shelter all I dare to ask.

Not even one of thy accursed race

must fail our Saxon hospitality!

To supper with what greed thou hast!

Now heaven keep me cool! What bolder knaves

break in upon us with untimely din?

Go, some of you, and see who knocks so loud.

What cockrel crows so loud?

Go, Oswald, and the rest, and lead these knights

within the hall:

a better welcome were it

if I might meet these Normans sword in hand.

Welcome, sir knights! I pray ye pardon me

for lack of Norman courtesy.

Sit ye beside me here,

and fall to supper ~ to our Saxon fare.

(apart)

Jehovah guard

our daughters from the temple!

My friends and neighbours know

that if the lady deign to wed,

her mate must be of royal Saxon blood,

as she is royal and Saxon.

Drink, drink ye all

in this our ancient hall

to the bold deeds of heroes long ago,

to those who fight and those who fall

where battles ebb and flow!

Well do I mind the day

when I have seen the armies in array,

and the earth shook with horsemen, and the sword

leapt from the scabbard at my armed side,

and loud the ravens cried

at scent of blood.

Drink to the brave, or boor or lord!

Drink to the warrior's noble mood,

the battle glory and the minstrel's song!

But now, ah me! gone is the ancient fame

and fair-haired warrior strong,

the Saxon glory and the Saxon name. ~

Then fill the cup, fill high,

and drink to those who strive, and those who die,

Saxon or Norman. fighting for the cross!

Their names, their names, good palmer!

A Saxon he!

A Saxon mother bore him. And the next?

By the soul of Hengist

Saxon by sire and dame!

The last! the last! Pray he be Saxon too.

His name? his name?

Peace, peace, I say! Can I not speak if need be?

Be silent, churls! My Norman guests,

ye do no honour to our Saxon cups.

I pledge ye once again.

Then fare ye well! Good rest be yours!

My servants will attend ye.

Good night to all!

Of Torquilstone! O name of dread!

Castle of torment!

Woe's me! I feel their irons tear my flesh!

I will away ~ good youth, dear youth, befriend me;

I will reward thee well ~ nay, hear me!

The Jew hath eyes, and holy palmer's frock

sways to a knightly stride. A horse and armour?

Said I not well? A horse and goodly arms!

Aye, I will follow thee.

Whither away, sir sluggard? Hola!

Get thee to horse and strike the yemplar's shield!

Don't steal so coward-like away. Hola!

Hola! I say, sir sluggard.

What bull-frog croaks so loud?

Bull-frog, quotha!

You'd find me a stout ox, if you would throw me.

Hast had too much of fighting?

Enough to satisfy a peaceful friar.

Thou knight of courtesy,

thy dam will warrant thee

a very peaceful knight.

I am a man of peace, tis true;

but if thou anger me, I'll come

and fright thee in thy woodland home.

I know thee, hermit, hunter of the deer,

and if I come to thee, thou need'st not fear

but I wilt baste thy fat sides well!

And by Saint Dunstan, if thou come

I'll send thy long legs limping home.

Come thou my way, and heaven give light,

and I will fight thee day and night;

with any weapon I'll not fail,

from Gideon's sword to Jael's tenpenny nail.

Well said, old hart of grease, and fare thee well,

till I ask lodging of thee.

Aye, lodging shalt thou have, and hermit's fare;

I love thee though I'll beat thee.

Farewell, most warlike friar!

Farewell, most peaceful knight!

(starting to his feet)

If he come up,

by Sigurd's sword, I'll fling him down again!

By heaven,

he has struck the shield of the templar!

Well done, bold boy!

O great Saint Dunstan, what a crash of arms!

By heaven, the templar's down!

II Desdichado! The disinherited knight!

The templar leaps to his feet and draws his sword.

They are to it with their swords!

My son! My son!

Strange lodging this for England's King,

a thievish friar for his host,

and for his food his own dun deer,

by outlaw's moonlight arrow slain.

Yet better than the pomp of kings

is this free life in forest glade;

and better far my burly host

than the false Louis, King of France,

or Austria's Duke, or mine own brother John.

Till I have learned that brother's plans,

here will I lie and take mine ease,

couched like a stag in greenwood coverture.

Ho, jolly host! Where art thou?

Here am I!

I bring thee water from the well,

wherein twixt dawn and set of sun

holy Saint Dunstan did baptize

five hundred red-haired heathen Danes.

In truth a wonder-working well,

whose crystal waters can so paint

a hermit's face with roseate hues!

If thou wert not so strict a saint,

stoutly I'd swear by book and bell,

the winecup thou didst not refuse.

Peace, idle man! wert thou as I,

on pulse and water would'st thou dine;

but since thy carnal thoughts incline

beyond my strict sobriety,

I do bethink me of a pie

of venison, and a stoup of rosy wine,

which a good keeper gave me one fine day,

lest a poor weary traveller came my way.

That weary traveller am I;

so let's to supper presently.

A hand, mine host; let's hale thy table forth,

and eat like freemen in the forest air.

Out with thy venison pasty and thy wine!

(They drag the table forth; the Friar places on it food and wine. As the King eats, the Friar watches him with greedy eyes, munching some dry beans.)

There is a custom in the east,

when strangers meet in merry feast,

that host should never fail to share

with stranger guest his goodly fare,

to prove no taint of poison there.

If truly 'tis the custom, I

will do myself some violence,

and for the nonce will share thy meal.

Drink fair, I pray thee.

(Putting his hand on the cup.)

Skoal to my honoured guest! Was hael!

Drink hael, most rosy friar!

Now I bethink me,

thou didst come here to fight with me:

hast thou forgot thy valour?

Nay, we will fight to-morrow.

To-day will I contend with thee

in peaceful art of minstrelsy.

Reach me yon harp, I pray thee.

But first drink deep!

So be it, jovial wine-skin!

Another draught for me, and so

the harp to my heart!

I ask nor wealth nor courtier's praise,

that woos a weary king,

if I may ride the woodland way

and breathe the airs of spring.

An ashen spear in strong right hand,

good horse between the knees;

what treasure can a king command

more glorious than these?

I rouse me with the dawn's first light,

and breast the shadowed hill;

I know the forest's deep delight

when all the leaves are still.

There would I bend with whisper low,

to woo the nut-brown maid,

and see her blushes come and go

beneath the dappled shade.

And there I'd ride 'neath living green

to hear the throstle sing;

for bird and wandering knight, I ween,

are happier than the king!

Not bad, say I, nor badly sung!

I drink to wandering knights-at-arms,

and to all gallant men indeed!

But thou art none, not thou, I swear,

who pourest water in good wine!

Didst thou not say 'twas from Saint Dunstan's well?

Shall I not qualify my cup

with liquor loved of holy saint?

'Tis true! Full many heathen in that well

did the saint plunge for their eternal good;

but neither chronicle nor popular tale

doth state he drank its water.

Now hear me sing, and own thyself a crow.

The wind blows cold across the moor,

with driving rain and rending tree:

it smites the pious hermit's door,

but not a jot cares he,

for close he sits within,

and makes his merry din,

with his "Ho, jolly Jenkin,

I spy a knave in drinkin',

and trowl the brown bowl to me!”

The wind a roaring song may sing,

in crashing wood or frightened town:

it whirls the mantle of a king

as 'twere a beggar's gown;

but caring not a jot,

we sing and drain the pot,

with our "Ho, jolly Jenkin,

I spy a knave in drinkin',

and pour the good drink adown!"

And now for combat! Where's this friend of mine?

No friendship stands till blows have passed.

What say'st thou, friend? Broadsword or quarter-staff?

Nay, I'll not hurt thee!

I do protest I love thee so,

I would not crack thy shaven crown.

But if thou need'st a proof, I'll stand,

and thou shalt strike me with thy hand,

and after thou shalt bide my blow.

No "after" shall there be. A se'nnight long

thou shalt lie gasping, ere thou rise again.

Stand, and stand firm!

(He deals him a buffet.)

By all the saints in Saxon calendar,

he must be rooted like an ancient oak!

Stand, and stand firm!

My aid for Ivanohe? Why waste your words?

Gather your men! Be speedy! On my soul,

if but a hair be harmed of Wilfred's head,

I'll tear their castle piecemeal with my hands

and give their bodies to the kite. My friend,

my friend of friends! Let there be no delay!

To Torquilstone! Sound bugles and away!

Will not our captor dare to show his face?

De Bracy! Traitor! Who hast broken bread

in mine own hall!

By heaven, rather would I see

this lady lifeless on her bier

than yield her to thee! Faithless knight,

is this thy Norman chivalry

to make weak women mad with fear,

and woo them in a dungeon's gloom?

My son? This is some idle tale

to frighten me! I say I have no son.

(after a moment)

My son defied me; he is dead to me.

I will not buy his life with a foul bargain!

Kneel not to him! Remember who thou art,

of the bloody royal. That thou should kneel not to him,

a robber of the highway!

Oh, I would be an outlaw bold,

to strike the flying deer,

or leave the lover's tale half told

in lingering maiden's ear.

(To Ivanohe.)

Hither, dear lad, and lean on me;

this air of woodland wild and free

shall brace the arm that hangs so weak,

and bring the wild rose to thy cheek.

Here will we rest and wile the time away

with dainty lute and jocund roundelay.

(to his lute)

Oh, forest ways are dark enow,

though shine the silver moon,

and dark beneath the forest bough,

the stricken deer shall swoon.

(To Ivanohe.)

Here seat thee, lad, and rest thy bones;

this knoll shall be the best of thrones;

and 'neath my canopy of singing birds

I'll judge me like a king o' the ancient world.

What ho! What ho, there! Bring my prisoner forth.

Maurice De Bracy, faithless knight,

since thou didst seize upon the road

ladies and liegemen of the king,

now tell me why, in heaven's sight,

of noble tree a thankless load

thou shouldst not swing?

Maurice De Bracy, I pronounce thy doom:

get thee to horse, strike spur and ride away!

Not I. I bid thee up and fly!

Ride as the fiend were after thee!

Ride till thou find my brother John,

thy whilom play-fellow:

charge him he yield him to our grace

ere ten days pass, or, by the holy cross,

I will so maul him that his Louis o' France

shall know him not, and I'll so bend his neck

that his back break. Go! Let thy horse be fleet!

Kneele not, speak not, but live in honesty.

(to Ivanohe)

Look, where thy moody father walks apart,

and by his side thy gentle lady fair,

like fawn that scents the happy woodland air,

and moves in dappled light.

Lad, will thy sire forgive thee?

We'll bend him yet. Look, where he comes this way;

stand thou apart, and I will strive with him

Cedric, good friend, didst thou not promise me

a boon for lusty fighting? What if I ask

free pardon for thy son and a fair wife?

I am grown infirm of purpose; I know not ~

If for the love of woman's face

my life-long task must ended be,

and lost the hope of Harold's race,

what work remains for me,

beneath the sun?

Maiden, if e'er in forest free

the sun shone fair for love's delight,

kneel down and pray for charity,

for so by thy brave knight

shall bride be won.

Be it as thou wilt! God knows I pardon thee!

Wilfred, my son ~ but let me hence awhile ~

follow me not! I pray thee, let me go!

(Exit.)

The pliant willow waves,

but the oak groans in bending.

And I'll go too, for well wot I

that man and lily maid

well met i' the forest shade,

desire no king for company.

Oh! I would be an outlaw bold,

to strike the flying deer;

for hearts are young in forest old,

and spring in all the year.

Knight, Knight of Ivanohe, I come for thee!

My child is doomed to die.

Nay, hear me. When the fierce templar

snatched her from burning Torquilstone, he bore her

to the next house of the Order.

There have they sat in judgment on my child,

for witchcraft practiced on that evil knight,

and she must die by fire.

My child has asked a champion; thou wilt come ~

I pray thee at thy feet ~ away with me!

Thou Jewish girl, who art condemned to die

for practice of thy vile unholy arts

against a noble christian knight, attend.

Thou didst demand a champion, and our Order

erring perchance, as 'tis most meet to err,

in mercy, heard thy prayer;

wherefore we named our tried and valiant brother,

Brian, the knight of whom thou art accused,

to meet thy champion, should a champion come.

But now the hours decline, and sinks the sun

as sinks thy life. The hour of doom is near.

Repent and free thy soul! Confess thy crime.

Sound trumpets!

Now since no champion makes answer here,

draw near and bind the maiden to the stake;

for surely she shall die.

What need of further proof? The witchcraft works

even in his lips, and breeds their blasphemy.

Take her and bind her to the stake.

I charge thee, Conrad, master of the temple,

on whose foul sport we have intruded here,

up and begone, thou and thy trait'rous knights,

and at your peril shame our coasts no more.

And dost thou banish me?

Appeal! Appeal!

But if I find thee yet on English ground,

I will so harry thee, thou foreign knight,

that thou shalt have no voice to plead in Rome.

See where the banner of England floats afar

above thy temple pennants!