I think she would lie privately; she said
She was not well.
Hen.
I pray you then with me.
Mar.
I will not with my lord of Pardaillan;
You shall not break me with the king.
Hen.
Men say
Guise hath some angry matter made with him
That I would learn.
Mar.
I am with you by the way;
I have some tricks to tell you of Denise.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Cabinet.
The Queen-Mother; Denise dressing her hair; Tavannes.
Den.
Disait amour, voyant rire madame,
Qui me baisait dessous mes yeux un jour;
La rose est plus que fleur et moins que femme,
Disait amour.
Disait amour; m’est peine éclose en âme;
Dieu veuille, hélas! qu’elle me baise un jour.
Ayez merci, car je souffre, madame,
Disait amour.
Ca.
Set the gold higher. So, my lord Tavannes,
You have no answer of the king?
Tav.
Not I;
The devil would give over such hard work,
I doubt, as you put me to.
Ca.
Ah well, well,
I thank you for it. Tie the next more loose,
You prick my forehead through the hair, Denise.
Strange, my lord marshal, I show less grey spots
Than gold thread in it, surely. Five years hence,
These girls will put a speckled silver on,
Because the queen’s hair turns to dust-colour.
Eh, will not you, Denise?
Den.
If I wear white,
Gold must be out of purchase; I’ll get gold
Or wear my head shorn flat, and vex no combs.
Ca.
You put sweet powders in your own too much;
There, stoop down — you may kiss me if you will —
I smell the spice and orris-root in it.
Fie, this will cheat your face, my poor Denise;
This will bleach out the colours of your blood,
And leave the hair half old. See you, lord marshal,
This girl’s was never soft and thick like mine:
Mine was so good to feel once, I know well
Kings would have spent their lips in kissing it.
Tav.
I have poor judgment of girls’ hair and cheeks;
Most women doubtless have some gold and red
Somewhere to handle, and for less or more
I care not greatly.
Ca.
Yea, I do well think once
I had such eyes as time did sleep in them,
And age forbear the purple at their lids;
And my mouth’s curve has been a gracious thing
For kisses to fall near: none will say now
That this was once. I may remember me
That Scotswoman did fleer at my grey face;
I marvel not what sort of hair she has.
Den.
The Queen of Scots lived gently in repute;
She has much wrong.
Ca.
Put not your judgment to’t;
The peril that enrings her place about
Is her own whetting. I do something praise,
Yet hardly from the outside of my heart,
Our sister England; were I set like her,
I might look so.
Tav.
Yea so? mere heretic?
Ca.
Beseech you, pardon me; I am all shame
That I so far misuse your holiness.
I know as you are sharp in continence
So are you hard in faith. Mark this, Denise,
These swording-men are holier things than we;
These would put no kiss on, these would not praise
A girl’s hair —
Tav.
Madam, do you jape at me?
Ca.
Scarce let the wine turn in their veins to blood;
Strangle the knowledge and the note of sense,
Deny that worth; these eat no grosser meat
Than the cleanest water we dip fingers in;
Endure beyond the very touch of man,
Have none so soft use of the lip as makes it
Affect the natural way. Sir, is this true?
Tav.
Why, if men said you had more teeth than hairs
They would just lie; and if they call me that
They lie a something harder.
Ca.
Fie, my lord!
Your good wit to a woman’s? will you say
The dog licks where it bit you, if I say
Forgive, Sir Gaspard, and be friends with me?
Come, if I make you sit by me, fair knight,
And say the king had never half the wit
To choose you for his marshal? Ten years back,
And maybe clap some other tens on that,
I mind me well, sir, how you came up here
To serve at Paris; we had a right king then,
King Francis, with his close black beard and eyes
Near half as royal as your own, I think.
A fair page were you, and had yellow hair
That was all burnt since into brown; your cheek
Had felt no weather pinch it or sun bite,
It was so red then: but you fought well, sir,
Always fought well; it was good game to see
Your hand that swung round, getting weight to throw,
Feeling for room to strike; Gaspard, by God
I would have paid gold coin to turn a man
And get me bone to handle the good steel
And nerves to fight with; but I doubt me, soon
I should have had the dust to roll into,
Though I were made six men to fight with you.
Yet my arm ached for want of spears to smite —
Eh? when you ran down that Montgommery
That slew my lord with his side-prick i’ the eye?
Yea surely; you were my best knight, De Saulx.
Tav.
Madam —
Ca.
Nay, Gaspard, when I lie of you
Then let your bit rasp at the mouth of me;
I speak poor truth; why, this Denise of mine
Would give time up and turn her gold hair grey
To have seen out the season we two saw.
Den.
I would not;
(aside to Cath.)
my lord marshal is too lean
To be a fair man.
Ca.
So, your glove for his?
We shall have larger passages of war
Except I look to it. Pray you, Denise,
Fetch me my glove — my spice-box — anything;
I will not trust you with my lord; make in.
[Exit Denise.
How like you her?
Tav.
A costly piece of white;
Such perfumed heads can bear no weight inside
I think, with all that waste of gold to bear
Plaited each way; their roots do choke the brain.
Ca.
There your sense errs; though she be tender-made,
Yet is there so much heart in her as could
Wear danger out of patience. It is my son I fear
Much more than I doubt her: the king my son
Flutters not overmuch his female times
With love enough to hurt, but turns and takes,
Wears and lets go; yet if she springe him once,
Click, quoth the gin; and there we trap him. See,
This medicine I make out for him is sweet,
More soft to handle than a poppy’s bud,
And pleasant as a scented mouth to kiss.
Tav.
Yea, I
do see.
Ca.
Now at this turn of time
He is not perfect; and I have a mean
To bring him to our use. My lord of Guise —
Tav.
Doth he make part of it?
Ca.
Fear you not him;
He is the blazon patched upon our cloth
To keep the pattern’s gold. For the king’s self,
I have half possessed him of the deeds to be,
And he hath nothing blenched.
Tav.
But, to this girl —
What way serves her in this?
Ca.
Being ignorant,
She does the better work; for her own sake
Trails him my way, assures herself the king
Would pluck the reddest secret from his heart
To show her, as you take the reddest rose
To smell at, if the colour go by scent;
That’s all her certainty. What foot is there?
Tav.
The king, and hastily.
Ca.
Keep you by me;
I know his cause. Let him come in.
Enter the King.
Ch.
Fair mother,
Good morrow come upon your majesty.
Ca.
The morrow grows upon good night, fair son;
That will salute me soon with sleep; you see
I keep not well.
Ch.
Ah, pale by God though, pale!
I’m sorry — sir, good morrow — hurt at heart.
Hear you my news? The admiral is hurt,
Touched in the side — I lie now, not the side,
But his arm hurt — I know not verily,
But he is some way wounded.
Ca.
I am sorry
No goodness walks more clear. Sir, think you not
That for a colour — say a colour, now —
Ch.
I doubt you do not mean to visit him?
Ca.
But I do mean; and if your leave hold out
We’ll bid the Guise with us.
Ch.
Have your best way:
Write me content thereof.
Ca.
I thank you, sir.
Lord marshal, you shall pray the Guise for us.
Tav.
Madam, I shall; God keep your grace’s health.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
The Admiral’s House.
Enter Coligny and La Rochefoucauld.
La R.
How do you yet, sir?
Co.
Ill, yea, very ill:
This snake has pricked me to the heart, to the quick,
To the keenest of it; I believe heartily
I shall not live to foil them. God mend some!
For live or die, and wounded flesh or whole,
There will be hard things done; we shall not see
Much more fair time.
La R.
Take better thoughts to you;
The king is steady; and the Guise wears eyes
Of such green anger and suspicious light
As cows his followers; even the queen-mother
Walks slower than her wont, with mouth drawn up,
And pinches whiter her thin face; Tavannes
Goes chewing either lip’s hair with his teeth,
Churning his bearded spite, and wears the red
Set on his cheek more steady; the whole court
Flutters like birds before the rain begin;
Salcède, who hates no place in hell so much
As he loathes Guise, lets out his spleen at him
And wags his head more than its use was; yea,
The main set draws our way now the steel bit
Keeps hard inside their mouths: yea, they pull straight.
Co.
You lay too much upon them.
La R.
Not a whit over:
They are good men our side; no dog laps i’ the trough
So deep as we do; the best men we have
That France has for us, the best mouths for a hunt,
To wind the quarry furthest; then to these
A clean cause, friends with iron on the hand,
The king to head, no less.
Co.
The king, no less?
Yea, there’s a dog gives tongue, and tongue enough,
Too hot I doubt, too hot; strikes by the scent.
La R.
Will you think so? why, there be dog-leashes;
Pluck hard, you hold him. Come, I note you though;
None sticks in your throat but Venus the old brach.
Co.
True, there she sticks, sir; for your burden saith —
“Brach’s feet and witch’s nose
Breathe which way the quarry blows.”
La R.
She’s old, sir, old; the teeth drop, the smell wears;
No breath in her by this.
Co.
Enough to breathe
The best of you that snuff about and yelp.
Who stops there in the street? look out.
La R.
The king!
So, get you ready; Catherine here and all,
God save my wits a taking! here you have them.
Enter the King, Queen-Mother, Guise, and Attendants.
Ch.
Do not rise up, sir; pray you keep your place;
Nay now, by God’s face, look, the cloak slips off;
Nay, be more patient.
Co.
Dear and gracious lord,
If you be pleased to look on my disease
As not my will, but a constraint to me
Less native than my garments, I have hope
You may forgive it.
Ch.
Yea, we do, we do.
Ca.
It was not, sir, your sickness we took pains
To come and visit; what’s no friend of yours
Is even as our own felt infirmity,
And should be held so.
Ch.
True, sir, by God it should.
Ca.
We therefore pray you have no care of that,
But as we do, respect it.
Ch.
Do not, sir.
Co.
Madam, a sick man has not breath or tongue
To answer salutation of such worth;
But even the very blood that pain makes war on
Is healed and sound by this. From stronger heart
Than ere I saw you was in me, now touched
And comforted by favour, I pay thanks
The best I have; and none so poor man pays
A rent of words more costly.
Ca.
My fair lord,
This compliment has relish of more health
Than was believed in you; I am most glad
That footless rumour which makes wing to go
Reports you something lesser than you seem;
So making keener with new spice to it
Our very edge of pleasure, the fine taste
That waits on sudden sweetness. Sir, nathless,
No compliment it was we came to beg,
No alms of language and frayed garb o’ the court
That makes no wear for men; but to do grace indeed
Rather to us than you, whose worth no friend
Can top with favour.
Co.
It shows the more love in you.
Ca.
Also, my lord, for such poor part as mine,
I pray you be not jealous to receive
Assurance of me with how sore a hurt
Ill news of you made passage most unkind
Into my knowledge; and with how dear a price
I would have bought a chance to succour you
Whose wound was sickness to me. So God love my son,
As I have put my p
rayer for your good hap
Between two tears before him; yea, never shall he
Get worship of me but I’ll speak of you
As the leader of my loves, the captain friend
Among my nearest. Sir, the king knows well
How I speak of you; see now, let him say
Whether I lie or no in loving you.
Ch.
Ay, sir, there’s no such day or night-season
But she holds to you, none but the admiral,
That good lord, that best counsellor, strong ward
For any king to hang by; time has been, sir,
I have turned sick of hearing your grave name
So paddled over, handled so; my lord,
There’s no man, none in the world, my mother mates with you
Save two, that’s I and God.
Gui.
And that’s a courtesy.
Co.
My lord of Guise, I saw you not; this day,
As men do shut the edges of a wound,
Shuts the loud lips of our contention; sir,
This grace you do me shall keep fast my thanks
To your name always.
Gui.
It is the king’s good will
I should be made the servant to his act;
And what grace pleases him to bring me to
I take as title to me; this not least,
To call my poor name a friend’s name of yours.
Co.
That makes mine honour.
Ch.
It was this we came
To see made well up from the Guise to you;
My thought was ever there, yea, nailed to it,
Fastened upon it; it was my meat and sleep,
Prayer at feast-season and my fast at noon,
To get this over.
Co.
It is well set now.
This hand is hurt I lay into your hand,
But the love whole and the good will as sound
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 171