Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 177
Then at the last felt underhand on this,
What were her state-words, her talk’s policy;
Which way she bowed; or should the Polish king
Weigh dearer than the duke of Alençon
Or either than this Charles; and thus, and thus;
Being so, you see, bosomed and gathered up
Towards the close and dearest time of all
She could keep nothing safer than her mouth
Would let it out for me; and I as quick
To catch her talk for food as ‘twere a kiss
The last I thought to find about her lips.
Co.
But, to the point she told you of — if thus
You got one clear.
Tel.
Ay, that, sir, show us that.
La R.
Give me the breath to come to it, my lords;
Thus was it; I must hide her foolishness
Deep as trust lies in man; whereon I swore
Ten such sweet oaths as love doth take to wind
His windy weaving up; then she begins
The matter of her fear, thus quakes thereon —
Tel.
This will outlive all patience.
La N.
Bear with it.
La R.
The queen she said was kind, not given to put
Her care of things outside her talk, but kind,
And would say somewhat — something one might know —
As this; the queen was graciously disposed
And all sick humour of old policies
By this blown out; she would not do men wrong;
We should have music in the month would play
All harsher-throated measures out, and make
Even in the noisy and sick pulse of war
Continual quiet.
Co.
Did she take such words?
La R.
Even these I tell you.
Co.
I thank you for their use;
This trouble hath borne fruit to us of yours.
La R.
To please a lesser friend than you are, sir,
I’ll undergo worse labour, stretch myself
To a much keener service. Sirs, farewell:
I have a business waits upon the king
That narrows half my leisure seasons in.
[Exit.
Co.
What do you say of this?
Tel.
May we believe
The Florentine would with so light a key
Lock such deep matter? I do not trust the man.
Co.
Sir, what say you?
La N.
I rule not by such levels.
Co.
I hold with both of you; and I am glad
The time hath rid him hence.
Tel.
True, it is fit.
Co.
He weighs much lighter than our counsel may.
By this I doubt not, if his whore spake truth
(As commonly such have repute to trip
At unawares on it, and escape lies
By disesteem of truth) — I say I doubt not
The queen doth something cover in her speech
That has more danger in its likelihood
Than a snake poison.
La N.
Will you take it so?
Co.
Nay, so I know it. Therefore as we prefer
Before the deadly-coloured face of war
The cold assurance of a sober peace,
And esteem life beyond death’s violence
For all dear friends who hang their weight on us,
It so imports us to make use of time
As never was more need.
Tel.
What must we do for you?
Co.
I would send letters to the province towns
For witness how impaired a state we have
In this loose Paris; how like beleaguered men
That are at edge of hunger and begin
To slacken their more temperate advice
And heat the blood of counsel, we are bound
To the service of this danger; informing further
Of this my hurt, caught unawares at hand
(As proof doth drive beyond the guess) of one
Who wears the gold of Guise at his point’s edge
And hath allowance for the use of him
Rightly received. This being set down, with more
That is but half a hazardous as it
And yet hath face enough, shall sting them through;
So shall their keener service overcome
The providence of these.
La N.
They shall have news;
Myself am charged to be from hence this week;
The office that I have must be my means
To steal upon our friends that lie abroad
And work them to our way.
Tel.
Have you no more?
Co.
This only, that you warn our Paris men
To keep waked eyes this month; for as I think
(And partly this is gathered of report
Which our late evidence hath put sinew to)
There moves between the Guisards and the queen
Some certain question whose performance will
Bruise us past use. Nay, I am sure of it;
If proof may give security large heart
And things endured be held believable,
Then I am sure. Therefore be wise and swift;
Put iron on your lips, fire in your feet,
And turn trust out of service. I have no more;
For me, this maimed and barren piece I am
May bear the time out, and sufficient roof
Is in the patient cover of a grave
To keep hard weathers off; but for the cause
And for my friends therein I take this care
To counsel you. Farewell.
Tel., La N.
Farewell, great lord.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene III.
The Louvre.
Enter the Queen-Mother, Margaret, Denise, Yolande, and other Ladies.
Ca.
Call in my fool. You have all made proof of love
Except Denise; nay, she shall gift him too.
I prithee call him to us.
(Exit Denise.)
And yet I think
The fellow turns half sour about the lip,
Being almost wholly dull.
Mar.
Nay, I keep friends with him.
Ca.
That’s like enough, for he doth love your husband.
But the lewd words he put upon my son
And on Denise, did all but quite condemn
Our meek account of them. It is no matter,
If she can pardon him.
Re-Enter Denise with Cino.
O, sir, come hither.
Cino.
I shall run at your bidding, shall I not?
Ca.
What should you do?
Mar.
Ay, there, what would you be?
Cino.
Not fool enough to be a dog of yours.
Mar.
This is no fool; he can do nought but rail.
Yol.
The fool has strayed among the gospellers.
Cino.
I begin to see I am virtuous; the wicked abuse me.
Ca.
Come hither, sirrah. Look well upon this fellow;
Would you not say a fool so round of flesh
Should be as courteous as a spaniel, ha?
Make answer, sir; we are told news of you,
What licensed things inhabit in your lip
That should be whipt ere heard, corrected first
And after to offend: what say you to’t?
Cino.
Now shall I slip for want of a good tongue
&nbs
p; And have my patience beaten. Prithee lend me
A tongue of yours.
Ca.
Have I more tongues than one?
Cino.
A score or so.
Ca.
Show us a little first
What sort of speech thy mother taught thee mar.
Mar.
Ay, there it lies; try that.
Cino.
What will you have me say?
Yol.
His jests are waste.
Anne.
Pure scandal screams in them.
Cino.
You call me gospeller, ha?
Yol.
Nay, that did I.
Cino.
Shall I turn preacher for your sake and make
A parable of your mouths?
Mar.
That, that; come on.
Yol.
Put your worst wrath on us.
Renée.
We’ll hear the fool.
Anne.
Speak large and open; spare us not; speak wide.
Yol.
Now the mill grinds; now mark.
Cino.
But I shall rail indeed
Now I have holy leave.
Mar.
No matter; prithee now.
Cino.
It is your preacher’s parable and not mine
Who am your poor fool and a simple thing.
Ca.
Come, sir, dig out your spleen.
Cino.
Thus then. You are all goats —
Mar.
Ha?
Ca.
Hear him through; we must have lewder stuff.
Cino.
And that which should make humbled blood in you
And clothe your broader times with modesty
Runs all to spoil and plagues your veins with heat.
Yol.
We must have more.
Anne.
This is blunt matter, fool.
Cino.
Hunger abides in you as in a dog
That has been scanted of flesh-meat three days;
Sin doth make house with you. Are you pleased yet?
You have smooth Sodom in your shameful cheeks;
Respect, obedience, the shut lips of fear,
Worship and grace and observation,
You have not heard of more than spring-swoln kine
Have heard of temperance. Are you yet satisfied?
Ca.
This is dead ware.
Mar.
Mere chaff that chokes the bin.
Yol.
The dust of a fool’s bones.
Anne.
Dull as a preacher’s beard.
Cino.
But are you not? resolve me; are not you?
You are made up of stolen scraps of man
That were filched unawares; you can make no children
Because you are grown half male with wicked use.
Ca.
I’ll have thee whipt; thou art a hollow fool,
And hast no core but pith. Why, any beast
That hath the spring of speech in his tongue’s joint
Or any talking nerve, could breed to this.
Thou wert to make us mirth.
Cino.
Well, do I not? do I not?
Mar.
Who angles in thee save for weeds, shall trip
Over his ears in mire: shut thy lewd mouth.
Ca.
Will you take gifts to be dumb? we are wearied with you.
Cino.
Ay, and worse favours at your prayer I will.
Ca.
You look near white with laughing much, Yolande,
Nay, there’s no need to catch so sharp at red.
Give me that glove you keep for him.
Yol.
Here, madam.
Ca.
Here, wear this, Cino, and be friends with us.
Cino.
A fair gold thing, a finch’s colour i’ the back;
Too small for me though; God change one of us.
Ca.
Denise gave me the glove.
Den.
I, gracious madam?
Ca.
You, gracious maiden; it would span your wrist.
So, fool; beware you do not rend it.
Yol.
Ah!
Ca.
What now? did a gnat sting you?
Yol.
A mere fly;
A mere gold fly; I took it for a wasp.
Mar.
What does this mean? Come hither, fool; sit here.
Ca.
I will not have him there. — Stand further off. —
The knave’s report doth poison miles about;
Come half so close, he’ll kill you in your ear.
Cino.
Have back your glove; here, madam, have it back;
I will not wear it.
Mar.
What stings him now i’ the brain?
Cino.
I am not well.
Ca.
This is some sideways jest.
Den.
(Aside.)
God make this business better than my thought,
For I do fear it.
Mar.
Do you note his lips?
Yol.
Yea, his eyes too?
Anne.
He is not well indeed.
Was all his railing prologue to this play
That reads as dull as death?
Cino.
Now I could prophesy
Like who turns heaven to riddles; my brain beats.
A man were as good ask mercy of dead bones
As of the best lip here; nay, I shall be
Quite marred amongst you.
Ca.
Convey the fool from us;
This does not look like wine.
Cino.
God be with you; be wise now, for the fool is gone.
[Exit.
Ca.
I do not like the face of this. Where had you
The glove you gave me?
Den.
I gave you nothing, madam.
Ca.
Does that wind hold? I must have more of you.
Mar.
Madam, you do not think —
Ca.
Give me leave, sweet.
We have had too much peril in report
To let this lie so light. Where had you it?
Den.
Why do you bait me out of season thus?
You know I never had it.
Ca.
Oh! had you not?
Then I have dreamed awry of you.
Den.
Madam —
Enter Attendant.
Att.
Where is the queen?
Ca.
What puts such haste in you?
Am I not worth a knee?
Att.
Pardon me, madam,
I have such tidings; your poor fool is dead.
Ca.
Bring me to him. So suddenly to cease
Is to cry out on his death’s manner; bring me
To see his body; I have a little craft
In such a matter’s healing. Some of you
Look to that girl; she swoons to have the deed
So entered in her ears.
Mar.
It is too foul.
Ca.
God pardon her! Could she not see that sharpness
Was but the gall and flaw of his bowed brain?
It did not hurt her more, being most proclaimed,
Than she has pitied him. Bring her with us.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I.
The Louvre.
Enter La Noue, Soubise, and Pardaillan.
Pardaillan.
I have
not heard such news.
La N.
‘Faith, they sound i
ll;
If women of so choice and costly names
Turn worse than popular murders are, we have all
Much need to help ourselves.
Sou.
This is their fashion;
Their blood is apt to heats so mutable
As in their softer bodies overgrow
The temper of sweet reason, and confound
All order but their blood.
Par.
You read them well;
Good reason have you to put reason to’t
And measure them by the just line of it.
La N.
But that such sins should plague the feverish time
I do not wonder far; all things are grown
Into a rankness.
Par.
Still I say, a woman
To do such bitter deeds —
Sou.
That’s where it sticks.
Par.
Put on such iron means —
Sou.
Ay, that, sir, that.
Par.
So rip the garments of their temperance
And keep no modest thing about their face
To hide the sin thereon: pluck off the shows
That did o’erblanch a little —
Sou.