The top and pearl of all mine ornament,
The golden and refined election
Of all the treasure I set hands to; well,
I do believe were you so mixed herein
As many are, many that I keep dear,
Dear and right precious in my just account,
And I had such a promise in God’s ear
As I have now to see an end of these,
I might renounce you too and give him leave
To make you parcel of the execution
That shall be done on these.
Den.
I fear you much;
For I can smell the mother in your speech,
This argument hath colour of her eyes;
Where learnt you it?
Ch.
My brains do beat upon
The month’s full time. Which day it is I know not;
It should look red upon the calendar,
And outblush its fierce use. The twenty-fourth of August —
We stumble near it unawares by this;
Give me the book.
Den.
What are you strayed upon?
Ch.
It is the time, the time — you come too late
To tear its thread across.
Den.
Pray you, what time?
Ch.
But this Bartholomew shall be inscribed
Beyond the first; the latter speech of time
Shall quench and make oblivious war upon
The former and defeated memories,
New histories teaching it. For there will be
Blood on the moist untimely lip of death,
And in the dusty hunger of his bones
A sudden marrow shall refresh itself
And spread to perfect sinew. There will stir
Even in the red and hollow heat of hell
A motion of sharp spirit, a quickened sense
Such as wine makes in us; yea, such a day
God hath not seen as I shall make for him.
Den.
You put fear in me; I can feel my blood
Go white with hearing you.
Ch.
We trap them all
In a great gin where the soul sticks as well.
Nay, there’s no hair of any Huguenot
But makes up parcel of my work in blood,
Nor face that is not painted with our swords.
(I told you this should hurt). O, I could be
Most glad that I am taken to do this
And show the eyes of this lean world and time
The mould and the strong model of a king,
Not in the halting likeness of an ape
That fingers precious ware and knows it not,
From the teeth outward fool. Look you, I’ll do’t;
Nay, as God stands beyond us twain, I will.
First Paris — note you, Paris helps in it,
I stand not singly nerved, but in mine arm
Have multiplied the sinew of all these;
France helps in it: the Guise has word to go
And take our admiral’s patience by the throat
And finish the half issue of his blood;
See, this side goes Tavannes; here ride our men,
And here; no falcon starved to bones and beak
Is tempered keener than our citizens.
Den.
You will not murder them?
Ch.
Ay, will I not?
I pray you tell me, was this well devised?
Den.
You are changed foul with it: nay, stand more off;
Was it your meaning?
Ch.
Ay, mine, very mine;
I will not lose it.
Den.
Doth my sense hold fast?
It is not possible you should do this
And scape the smell of blood. Nay, I but dream;
For if I wake, the substance of my flesh,
This form and fast impression of the air,
Yea, the most holy sun, are counterfeit;
We stick yards deeper than the foot of hell.
You see not well how foul a face you have —
I will cry out on you.
Ch.
Are you fallen mad?
Den.
I will put proclamation in the wind
That where but any shape of breath shall blow
It shall sound harsh as murder. Do you think
God shall sit fast and blink at you?
Ch.
What more?
Get on; I do not chide you; nay, get breath;
Spare me no whit.
Den.
I hate you beyond death;
Somewhat I had to say; give ear to me.
— It is all lost now, spilt in water, runs
Into sick tears. Forgive me my loud words,
I have much erred against your gracious game,
Mistaking all of you; I do confess
This jest so said has proved me dull and thick;
Now say it was well played and let me go.
You have played well indeed, and such hard parts —
Now I shall slip into mad speech again
And fail myself.
Ch.
What is it you will do?
Den.
Alack, I see not that. Indeed I think
It is God’s will to kill me first i’ the brain
And after in the flesh. I am half mad.
But I can speak; yea surely, I can speak;
And I will cry in all the streets and make
Twinned correspondence ‘twixt the tongued Seine banks
With sound and breath, clamour and noise of tears,
And windy witness of your enterprise.
Oh, you are moved now; keep on that better face
And I will find some weeping way to you,
Persuading sin to peace; you shall not do it;
Lest all the recollection of men’s lips
And noise of all just times and every place
That hath but any shape of good on it
Be sharp on you for ever.
Enter the Queen-Mother and Guise.
Ca.
So, you are loud,
I come betimes. Sir, if you spare me room,
I have two words to say.
Ch.
I am bound to you;
You have care of me indeed. Bid her go in.
Ca.
I would not be untimely.
Ch.
No, you are not,
You are a gracious mother, a good help.
(To Denise.)
I’ll see you soon at night.
Den.
My lord, my lord —
Ca.
Give my son breath at least; you are impatient;
It suits you not.
Gui.
(To the King.) I wait upon your highness.
Ch.
We are bounden to you too. Madam, go in.
(Exit Denise.)
Ca.
My son, you put too large a face on this.
Ch.
Mother, I put no face on it at all.
Come, pray you now, what do you look to get
By such a use of me?
Ca.
You take strange ways
To chide me with; I did expect your good.
Always it is the plague of love to be
Thus mated by some check. I will go play;
Farewell.
Ch.
Nay, now you shall not go. My lord,
Tell her I meant no shame, no red i’ the cheek;
Say now I did not.
Ca.
I am content enough.
You may well see why we are come to you.
Ch.
Yea, that I see.
Gui.
The men are at full point;
Also the marshal helps us at all need
And some things over.
Ca
.
You turn jealous of him.
Gui.
Madam, I wear no envy on my words.
Ca.
Sir, you are safe. Truly I am so glad
Now this thing clears i’ the working and comes straight,
I could well jest and laugh.
Ch.
So could I not;
All’s not squared yet; you are too hot on it.
Ca.
Too hot am I? Sir, you much wrong your honour
Taxing such heat in me; I have proof of you,
So hath the Guise, that you have wrought herein
As hard as any.
Gui.
I take your part as mine
For witness of my lord’s free grace and will
Towards this matter.
Ch.
This matter — call it so;
Have you such honey in the mouth, my lord,
To make a milky matter of the name?
Why, if men are to call us murderers,
Let’s take the word up and not tell such lies,
Skulking with beaten cheeks behind the word.
Gui.
(Aside to Cath.)
He is touched the wrong side yet.
Ca.
(Aside to Guise.)
I have stung myself;
This girl I set on him has thrown us out,
Played her own way. That we should pay such apes
To pinch us in the wrist!
Ch.
What are you saying?
Ca.
Take your best means: here’s none shall cross you, sir.
We do but say if you will give them leave
To slit your throat with whispering — or abed
Take medicine of them — or wear gloves of theirs —
Or please your mouth with drinking after them —
It is no matter.
Ch.
Would you have me mad?
I have not heard of such a tax on them;
No, not since Florence taught us to use drugs
Has it been noised of these.
Ca.
I think indeed
That poison hath no Florence in the drug
Which puts the peril of so hard a speech
In my son’s lip. Do not unsay it; no:
I do not bid you take the blur from me.
I am content to stay and take shame up
So I may suit you. O sweet son, — my lord,
Forgive me that my tongue so slips on you,
Catching the old name first — I pray you note
That I can be as patient as your ear
Hath been of me too long. This is the last
That I shall ever take of words to push
Your just forbearance beyond use. I said
“Farewell” as idly as one says “good thanks”
To him that hath not earned it; but I see
Here is made room for a farewell indeed.
Now could I take it silently and go,
Turning my very passion to content
And no whit using it: I am not abashed,
Albeit I speak as one whom shame has marred;
That I am not I pray take no offence,
For should I show a penitent herein
I must do penance for much care of you,
And this I will not. Be not offended with me;
For God doth know, sweet son, that in my life
I have used many days in loving you.
Consider of it: I do not boast myself,
Seeing I but fall within the range and scope,
The limit and fair marge of a good law;
Yet if I have not been there excessive (as
I say not that I have one whit exceeded),
Surely I have not shortened its just room
Or narrowed in the sweet law’s offices.
That I am so put off I say is well;
You are wise herein; for women at best count
Are the mere spoil of a male reason, lie
In his loosest thoughts outside. We are the chaff,
The gross unwinnowed husks of your fanned wheat;
I say that you do well to turn me off.
But this too for my witness I should say;
That if you do me there a word of wrong,
Yea the thin grain of one particular word,
The same is worse than ill. I pardon it.
That I do love you, God shall do me right
To bring the credit will approve it me:
That I have sought your health yourself believe;
That I did love the state and would get ease
For its wried body, shall make smooth my name
In patient reputation of good men.
The end of that is come. Sir, this much yet;
Since you have thus delivered up your place,
Your worth and body to the love of these
That hate me deadly — wherein you do well,
For yet I will not say but you do well —
I will entreat such almsgiving of you
As for my son of Anjou and myself
May serve to make us a safe place away,
Where we may keep behind the perilous time
And house with simple peace. For I do know
That howsoe’er these fare as friends with you,
With us they will but fare as murderers do
That live between the sharpening of a knife
And the knife’s edge embrued. This being made sure,
I take my leave of a most royal care
That has been precious pain to me, and is
No costlier than a pin. The end is here
That I have gladly answered.
Ch.
You say well;
I would not have you think so thinly of me
As that girl’s mercy and the feeble flesh
Prevail upon advice. I love you much.
But me she heeds not; tell her you, my lord,
I love no meddled policy of man’s
Before her honour.
Ca.
I am perfect in your way.
Best let me part more quickly.
Ch.
You shall not go.
Gui.
Madam, your son is tempered graciously;
You see his will keeps good.
Ch.
Ay, so it doth;
I thank you, sir; you see my will is good.
Ca.
I had rather be a thing of labouring days
Than a so childed mother.
Gui.
You must give her way.
Ca.
It is not fit that I should wear your time.
Ch.
That year of mine is lame wherein you lack.
Ca.
Nay, there’s no speech of silk will serve your turn,
You must be whole with me or break; I’ll have
No patched alliance, lank allegiances,
Starved out of use.
Ch.
I do not like the business.
Ca.
Nay, but speak large; what is it you mislike?
Ch.
Keep you that way.
Ca.
Why this is what I said.
Ch.
I have thought of it, and have informed my heart
How pale distempering evil makes the blood
That ran full way before. I will not do it;
Lest all that regiment of muffled years
Now huddled in the rear and skirts of time
I must walk through, take whips into their hands
To bruise my shame withal.
Ca.
I heed you not.
It is the sick and infirm spite of fear
Makes your will insolent. But as it please you;
It is not I that shall wear death for it.
Gui.
You do both stray: give me some leave to speak,
And keep your patience w
hole. Right noble sir,
For my poor worth and special reverence here
I would not waste the price of half an hour;
Though I might say, and no man cross the lie,
That in the personal state of mine esteem
I have kept endurance on against a wrong
That might put blood i’ the dead. My royal father,
Whose cost did earn the sum of such a name,
Yea, even to full repute; whose motive hand
Did the most inward ties of war unloose,
And pluck its joint away; this man so built,
So strained and clean of any weak revolt
That faith herself did set her tongue by his
And use his lesson for her proper text;
This bulk and nerve of all your services
Fashioned in one man’s work; how he came dead
You twain are no whit less assured than I,
Who have thrown beyond conjecture. It is poor truth
To say we think that he fared treacherously;
If knowledge be no weaker than report,
And proof no looser than a popular mouth,
Then we do know it. O, such a want we have,
So dear and so entire a loss in him,
As should make France the book of all men’s griefs,
The mould wherein a very face of sorrow
Were cast indeed. That I have not avenged him,
Both you dare swear: that it is not my shame,
But my sore pain and burden of this time,
Both you do likewise see. How say you, sir!
Will you find sufferance smoother-faced than mine?
Have I borne much? or is there fault in me,
Who am the limit of endurances?
Now in this very point of patience here,
Even here, you take me; and considering this,
Commend the calm and heaviness in me
That lackeys your own purpose, runs before
Your proper care, pages your policy. Now, sir,
Were I a poor man’s dog the same were well;
Were I a sick man’s fool the same were well;
Being thus, I doubt it is not well at all.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 173