Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works
Page 109
Julius.
Ay, if you think how you have made him stain
The fair-blown pride of his unblemish’d youth,
His studious years —
And for what poor exchange? these fading charms —
I will not say how frail.
Lamia.
O hold — pray hold!
Your words have subtle cruel stings, and pierce
More deeply than you aim? — This sad heart knows
How little of such wrong and spiteful ill
Were in love’s contemplation when it clasp’d him!
Lycius and bliss made up my only thought;
But now, alas!
A sudden truth dawns on me, like a light
Thro’ the remainder tatters of a dream,
And shows my bliss in shreds.
Julius.
I pity you!
Nay, doubtless you will be, some wretched day,
A perish’d cast-off weed when found no flower —
Or else even then, his substance being gone,
My brother’s heart will break at your desertion.
Lamia.
O never, never! [Fervently.
Never, by holy truth! whilst I am woman!
Be false what may, at least my heart is honest.
Look round you, sir; this wealth, such as it is,
Once mine, is now all his; and when ’tis spent,
I’ll beg for him, toil for him, steal for him!
God knows how gladly I would share his lot
This speaking moment in a humble shed
Like any of our peasants! — aye, lay these hands
To rude and rugged tasks, expose these cheeks
You are pleased to flatter, to the ardent sun;
So we might only live in safe pure love
And constant partnership — never to change
In each other’s hearts and eyes! —
Julius.
You mend your fault.
This late fragmental virtue, much redeems you;
Pray cherish it, Hark! what a lawless riot.
[A loud boisterous shout is heard from below.
O hope — Again! (the noise renewed) why then this is a triumph
Of your true fame, which I had just mistaken;
Shame on thee, smooth dissembler — shame upon thee!
Is this the music of your songs of sorrow,
And well-feigned penitence — lo! here, are these
Your decent retinue —
Enter the wild Gallants, fluslied with wine.
Lamia.
Sir, by heaven’s verity
I do not know a face! indeed I do not;
They are strange to me as the future.
Curio.
Then the future
Must serve us better, chuck. Here bully mates,
These, Lady, are my friends, and friends of Lycius!
Julius.
Is it so? — then Lycius is fallen indeed! —
Curio.
Ay, he has had his trip, — as who has not, sir?
I’ll warrant you’ve had your stumbles, —
Julius.
Once, — on an ape.
Get out o’ the way of my shins. [Going.
Lamia.
Sir, dearest sir,
In pity do not go, for your brother’s sake,
If not for mine, — take up my guardianship,
‘Gainst these ungentle men. [She lays hold of Julius.
Julius.
Off, wanton, off! —
Would you have me of your crew too? [Exit roughly
Gallo.
Let him go! —
He has a graft in him of that sour crab,
The Apollonius — Let him go, a churl!
Curio.
Sweet lady, you look sad, — fie, it was ill done of Lycius,
To leave his dove so soon, — but he has some swan
At nest in another place.
Gallo.
I’ll bet my mare on’t.
Lamia.
Kind Sirs, — indeed I’m sorry
Your friend’s not here. If he were by,
He would help you to your welcome.
Curio.
We’ve no doubt on’t; [Bitterly,
But we’ll not grieve, since here we are quite enough
For any merriment.
Gallo.
And as for a welcome,
We’ll acknowledge it on your cheer, —
Lamia.
Then that’s but sorry, sir,
If you mean what lies in my heart.
Gallo.
No, no, in faith,
We mean what lies in your cellar, — wine, rare wine,
We will pledge you in floods on’t, and when knock’d off our legs,
Adore you on our knees.
Lamia.
Hear me, sweet gentles,
How you shall win my favour. Set to work and copy —
Be each a Lycius.
Gallo.
Lycius, forsooth! hang him!
A model again! the perfect model.
Curio.
As if we could not match his vices!
Pray ask your Lycius, when he’s new come back,
(If ever he come back)
What his father ail’d, — or if he ail’d at all,
And how it ail’d too, that his brother Julius
Got no such forged advice.
Gallo.
It had charm’d your heart to see how swift he ran,
(Whether to get from hence or gain elsewhere,
I know not) but I never saw such striving,
Save at the Olympic games to win the goal.
(ALL.)
Ha! ha! ha!
Lamia.
Laugh on, I pray laugh on. Ye puny spites!
You think to fret me with these ill coin’d tales;
But look, I join in your glee, [She attempts to laugh.
Or if I cannot, ’tis because I’m choked with a curse.
[She hurries out.
Gallo.
It works! it wings her! What shall we next?
Follow her, or carry her off.
Curio.
These are too violent,
And perilous to ourselves; but I will fit
Our revenge to its other half. Sir Lycius now
Must have the green eye set in his head, and then
They’ll worry each other’s hearts without our help.
Julius or Apollonius will be our ready organs
To draw his ear.
Gallo.
’Tis plausible, and cannot fail to part ‘em,
And when he has shaken her from off his bough
It needs she must fall to us.
Curio.
I wonder where
That poor sick fool Mercutius is gone?
He hath a chance now.
Gallo.
Methought I glanced him
Below, and forsooth, disguised as a serving-man;
But he avoided me.
Curio.
The subtle fox!
Let us go beat him up. [Exeunt hallooing.
SCENE VI.
The Street before Lamia’s House. Enter Apollonius with Julius.
Apollonius.
I say she is a snake —
Julius.
And so say I;
Apollonius.
But not in the same sense —
Julius.
No, not exactly.
You take that literal, which I interpret
But as a parable — a figure feign’d
By the elder sages, (much inclined to mark
Their subtle meanings in dark allegories)
For those poisonous natures — those bewitching sins
That arm’d and guarded with a woman’s husk,
But viperous within, seduce young hearts,
And sting where they are cherish’d.
Apollonius.
Your gue
ss is shrewd;
Nay, excellent enough to have been my own.
But, hark you, I have read in elder oracles
Than ever you will quote, the fact which backs me.
In Greece, in the midst of Greece, it hath been known,
And attested upon oath, i’ the faith of multitudes,
That such true snakes have been — real hissing serpents,
Though outwardly like women.
With one of such, a youth, — a hopeful youth,
Sober, discreet, and able to subdue
His passions otherwise, — even like our Lycius, —
For a fortnight lived, in a luxury of wealth,
Till suddenly she vanish’d, palace and all,
Like the shadow of a cloud.
Julius.
The dainty fable!
But now unto the proof. Methinks this sounds
Like a real door (knocking); a cloud scarce wars so,
But when Jove strikes it with a thunderbolt.
I’ll tell you, sir,
She is a wanton, and that’s quite enough
To perish a world of wealth. [Picus comes to the door.
Ho, sirrah! fellow!
Is your lady now within?
Picus.
No, sir, she’s out.
Something hath put her out — she will see nobody.
She’s ill, she’s grievous bad — her head won’t bear
The rout of company. [A loud shout within.
Apollonius.
Why, then, I think
The medical conclave might observe more quiet.
Look, knave! are these her grave, her learn’d physicians?
Well met, Sirs. [Another shout, and Curio, &c., issue forth.
Curio.
That’s as may be. Ha! old mastiff!
Go to your kennel.
Julius.
You are just in time, sirs,
To settle our dispute: we have a gage on’t,
The sophist here and I.
There is one lives in that house — (pointing to Lamia’s) — how would you call her?
A woman?
Curio.
Ay; and sure a rare one,
As I have proved upon her lips.
[Lamia opens a window gently and listens.
Gallo.
Ay, marry, have we!
She was kind enough, for our poor sakes, to send
One Lycius, her late suitor, on an errand
That will make him footsore.
Curio.
Yes, a sort of summons,
Cunningly forged to bid him haste to his father,
Who lay in the jaws of death. Lord, how he’ll swear
To find the old cock quite well!
Julius.
This is too true. [To Apollonius.
I left our father but this very morn
The halest of old men. He was then on his way
Towards this city, on some state affair.
They’ll encounter upon the road!
Apollonius.
Here is some foul and double damn’d deception.
[Lamia, by signs, assents to this reflection.
I’ll catechise myself. Here, sir — you — you, [To Curio.
Who have gazed upon this witch, touch’d her, and talk’d with her,
How know you she is woman, flesh and blood,
True clay and mortal lymph, and not a mockery
Made up of infernal elements of magic!
Can’st swear she is no cloud, — no subtle ether, —
No fog, bepainted with deluding dyes, —
No cheating underplot, — no covert shape,
Making a filthy masquerade of nature.
I say, how know ye this?
Curio.
How? by my senses.
If I nipp’d her cheek, till it brought the white and red,
I wot she is no fog.
Apollonius.
Fie on the senses!
What are the senses but our worst arch-traitors?
What is a madman but a king betray’d
By the corrupted treason of his senses?
His robe a blanket, and his sceptre a straw,
His crown his bristled hair.
Fie on the shallow senses! What doth swear
Such perjuries as the senses? — what give birth
To such false rumours, and base verdicts render
In the very spite of truth? Go to: thy senses
Are bond slaves, both to madness and to magic,
And all the mind’s disease. I say the senses
Deceive thee, though they say a stone’s a stone.
And thou wilt swear by them an oath, forsooth,
And say the outer woman is utter woman,
And not a whit a snake? Hark! there’s my answer.
[Lamia closes the window violently
That noise shall be my comment.
Gallo.
He talks in riddles,
Like a sphinx lapp’d in a blanket. Gentles — Curio —
Let us leave him to his wisdom.
Apollonius.
Aye, I’ll promise
‘Twill dive far deeper than your feather wits
Into some mysteries. [Going towards the door.
Curio.
There’s one I know in her house,
By name Mercutius, a most savage fellow:
I commend ye to his wrath. [Exeunt Curio, Gallo, &c.
Apollonius.
So, get ye gone,
Ye unregarded whelps.
Julius.
But will you in
Whether she will or no?
Apollonius.
Indeed I mean it.
Sirrah (to Picus), lead on. I’ll charge you with your message.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
A Chamber in Lamia’s House. Enter Mercutius in a distracted manner.
Mercutius.
Where is this haunting witch? — not here! not here! —
Why then for a little rest and unlook’d calm,
Aye, such a calm,
As the shipmate curses on the stagnate sea
Under the torrid zone, that bakes his deck
Till it burns the sole of his foot. My purpose idles,
But my passions burn without pause; O how this hot
And scarlet plague runs boiling through my veins
Like a molten lava! I’m all parch’d up.
There’s not a shady nook throughout my brain
For a quiet thought to lie — no, not a spring
Of coolness left in my heart. — If I have any name,
It is Fever, who is all made up of fire,
Of pangs — deliriums — raving ecstacies, —
And desperate impulse — ha! a foot! — I know it! —
Now then, I’ll ambush here, and come upon her
Like a wild boar from a thicket.
[He hides himself behind an arras, Lamia enters holding her forehead betwixt her palms.
Lamia.
This should be a real head — or ’twould not throb so —
Who ever doubts it!
I would he had these racking pains within;
Ay — and those he hath set in my heart, to drive him mad.
How now, sir!
Enter Picus.
Picus.
There are two below, beseech you
For a conference. The one’s a wrinkled greybeard,
The other —
Lamia.
You need not name. I will see neither;
And tell them — look, — with a copy of this frown,
If they congregate again beneath my eaves,
I have that will hush their twitting. [Exit Picus.
Why must I reap
These unearn’d spites where I have sown no hate?
Do the jealous gods
Stir up these canker’d spirits to pursue me?
Another! (Mercutius comes forward) What brings thee hith
er?
Mercutius (gloomily).
I do not know, —
If love, or hate — indeed I do not know, —
Or whether a twine of both, — they’re so entangled.
Mayhap to clasp thee to my heart, and kiss thee, —
To fondle thee, — or tear thee, — I do not know!
Whether I come to die, or work thy death,
Whether to be thy tyrant, or thy slave,
In truth, I do not know.
But that some potent yearning draws me to thee,
Something, as if those lips were rich and tempting,
And worthy of caressing, — fondly endear’d —
And something as if a tortured devil within me
Sought revenges of his pangs: — I cannot answer
Which of these brings me hither.
Lamia.
Then prythee hence,
Till that be analysed.
Mercutius.
Ha! ha! turn back:
Why if I am the tiger — here’s my prey —
Or if the milk-mild dove — here is my choice —
Do you think I shall turn back howe’er it be? —
Let the embrace prove which. Nay, do not shrink, —
If an utter devil press into thy arms,
Thyself invoked him! —
Lamia.
Ah! I know by this
Your bent is evil!
Mercutius.
Then ’twas evil born! —
As it works ’twas wrought on — look — say what I am,
For I have no recognisance of myself.
Am I wild beast or man — civil or savage —
Reasoning or brutal — or gone utter mad, —
So am I as thou turn’d me, — hellish or heavenly,
The slavish subject of thy influence, —
I know not what I am, — nor how I am,
But by thy own enforcement — come to force thee,
Being passion-mad.
Lamia.
How have I wrought hither?