Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 182
Hen.
Madam, good night.
[Exit.
Ca.
That gives one heart; and yet I seem to choke,
I shall feel weak till I do hear them shoot.
Pray you take order that the watch be sharp
Upon this boy.
Tav.
I shall take order.
Ca.
Yea,
But go with me till I have seen the king.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
A Street.
Enter Guise with Soldiers.
Gui.
Keep in, let no man slip across of you;
Hold well together; what face I miss of mine
Shall not see food to-morrow; but he that makes
So dull a mixture of his soul with shame
As spares the gold hair or the white, shall be
Dead flesh this hour. Take iron to your hands,
Fire to your wills; let not the runagate love
Fool your great office; be pity as a stone
Spurned either side the way. That breast of woman
That suckles treason with false milk and breeds
Poison i’ the child’s own lip, think not your mother’s:
Nor that lank chin which the grey season shakes
Hold competent of reverence. Pluck me that corn
Which alters in the yellow time of man;
And the sick blade of ungrown days disroot,
The seed makes rot the flower. There’s no such use
But reason turns to holy, and keen right
Washes as pure as faith; therefore be swift, and let
Cold mercy choke on alms.
A Captain.
We shall not fail.
Gui.
Some ten go with me to the admiral’s house;
You shall be one — and you; pluck him from bed,
And use his body as your edges please,
Then hale him through the street. The rest of you,
As you see time, fire either way; then draw,
And strike across the thickest ends of flight,
God helping you. Say “Guise” now and set on.
[Exeunt.
Scene V.
The Admiral’s House.
Enter Coligny and La Noue.
La N.
That this is true we have clean proofs; she hath made us
Pawns of her game; this very France of ours
Is as a cloth to wipe her feet upon,
Her bed and stool of lust; and hath put on
The naked patience of a beaten face
And sufferance of a whore.
Co.
I think so. Sir,
I have believed this marriage of Navarre
Began our waste.
La N.
That stings me not so hard
As that men mix us in their mouths with fools
Who are not worth our slight esteem of them,
And yet have sewn religion on their sleeve
And badged their caps with us.
Co.
They have done more harm;
There is no lean or lesser villainy
That war or peace-time saddles them withal,
But it must be our blame, the fault of it
Throws dirt on us and each man’s several hand
That wets no finger in the Catholic way;
That bites the nearest.
La N.
We are imperilled; well,
Danger should be the coat across my back,
Meat in my lips, if I saw clear and good
The choice and shape of our necessity;
But here to blunder the chance out — my lord,
No help for us then here?
Co.
I see no help.
Nay too, I bind not all the weight on them;
In me and you the plague is well at work
That rots all chances. We have let go the times
That came with gold in the hands; and that slow snake,
Impotent patience of pernicious things,
Hath won upon us, and blown murderous breath
Between the wide unwardered lips of sleep.
Come, talk no more. Is the night fair? methinks
I heard some humming rumours run through it.
La N.
Sir, fair enough; there goes a little wind
Among the roofs, but slow as a maimed man;
The skies burn sharp with point of the lit stars,
Even to the larger cope of all there is
No air but smooth.
Co.
’Tis a good night for sleep;
Fair time to you.
La N.
I pray God set such peace
Upon the seasonable eyes of sleep
As may well comfort you. Dear lord, good night.
[Exit.
Co.
Farewell. — Now might I put lean patience in my prayers
If I should pray to-night; I have no will
To leave my witness against men and pray
That God would suffer them. Surely I think he bears
Somewhat too much with such side-working sins
As lame the labouring hope of men, and make
Endurance a blind sort of sleepy lie
To confute God with. This woman here grows old,
As I am old; we have drawn this way and that
So long, the purpose lessens from the doing,
Turns to a very function of the flesh
So used for custom. She carries France her way,
And my way breaks. Then if one sees the end,
The goal that shuts the roadway sheer across,
The builded limit of a complete will,
All these side-briars and puddled rain-shallows
That rend or drench us, are but nought thereto.
Well, here I tire for one, and fain would use
This winter of bleached hair and fallen flesh
To make me quiet room. — Shut up the house;
Let nothing wake the windows. — I will to bed. —
The wind gets thick indeed. What noise is there?
[Firing outside.
Get me a light.
Gui.
(Within.)
Nay, but get you first in;
Throw the knave out at window.
Co.
Yea, my Guise?
Then are the sickles in this corn, I doubt.
Gui.
(Within.)
This way, men, this!
Co.
Not so; the right hand, sirs.
Scene VI.
Outside the Louvre.
Enter Denise.
Den.
I cannot find a man; the cries are thick;
I come too late. Alas, I fear the king
Hath put the order forward; I may see him
And so prevent some peril; and though they slay me,
I die of my misdoing. Yet I fear death
Most piteously, wear passion on my cheek
White as a coward’s. I’ll yet forth and look;
For in the temper of this bloody time
Must sleep my help or end; I may discover him
And that may be some grace; now God be good,
Or I am so far bruised this way, as death
Can bite no sharper.
[Exit.
Scene VII.
A Balcony of the Louvre.
Enter many Ladies.
1 La.
Did you not see him?
2 La.
Give me place, place, place;
I have the news.
3 La.
Not you; I can say more.
2 La.
How your sides push! let me get breath — O Mary!
I have seen such things —
4 La.
As should wear silence.
2 La.
Nay,
For they felt sweet.
; 3 La.
See, there goes one — and there;
O well run, you! now trip him— ‘ware stones, ho!
Or you may catch a bruise.
1 La.
Now is he down.
5 La.
Not so; you have no eyes.
3 La.
Had I a bow,
I would take four myself. Look, look, a chase!
O, now you thrust.
4 La.
Way, sirs! make way for him!
5 La.
There’s a child slain; I will not look that side;
They thrust him in the back.
2 La.
Go and sew threads;
Go sew; you are a fool.
1 La.
Who has that side?
4 La.
Do him no hurt, sirs; yea, the point now, yea,
Not the edge — look you! just the nape across —
Down with him, there!
3 La.
Is the old man yet slain?
2 La.
Ay, by the Guise; they took him in his bed,
Just in a fumbled sheet.
1 La.
No, he was risen.
Enter Renée.
Renée.
Why are you here? next room serves best for show;
There they have drawn to head, that all the street
Swells up and cries; Soubise and Marsillac
Hold off their pikes.
4 La.
Show us the way to that.
Renée.
This way — I pray you hurt me not — this way;
Do not push close. God’s love, what heat is here!
[Exeunt.
Scene VIII.
The Streets.
Enter Guise, Tavannes, with Soldiers ; Marsillac, Soubise, Pardaillan, and others confusedly.
Sol.
Guise, Guise! down with them! for the king, the king!
Guise, Guise!
1 Sol.
Here, dog, take this to choke upon.
Mar.
Sirs, stand by me; hew down that knave at right,
I pray you, sir. Nay, we shall spoil them yet;
Stand but a little fast.
A Huguenot.
Mercy! God help!
Tav.
Thrust me a steel nail in that tongue and throat;
So, sir; prate now as you do love such nails.
Set on; this August serves for reaping-time;
Bleed the plague out with your incisions.
Mar.
Guise, if thou hast a man’s mark left on thee,
Do me this right. I thank you, sir; the office
Spares me some work.
Gui.
Stand to me, men; down with him!
My heel hath rent a better face to-night.
Tav.
Kill me this scapegate harlot in her smock,
The child to water. Charge their face again;
Make a clean way and we shall smite them all.
Par.
Yea, devil’s dog, wilt only snarl at me?
Prithee, but room to die in and take breath,
One stifles this way stupidly — ah beasts!
[Dies.
Tav.
(crossing Soubise.)
Ah thing, what set thee on such work to do?
Die, fragment, and turn carrion fit for use.
[Stabs him.
There’s not a man the less.
Sol.
Tavannes! Tavannes!
Others.
Guise, Guise! upon them for the king, the king!
[Exeunt.
Scene IX.
The Louvre.
The
Queen-Mother,
Yolande, Margaret,
Duchess of Lorraine, and Attendants.
Ca.
Where is the king?
Yol.
Madam, gone forth I think.
Ca.
Are you whole yet? you look half slain with fear;
Quiet yourself.
Mar.
You know not what I saw.
No, not your hand; let me sit here.
Ca.
Yea, sit. —
O, are you there?
Yol.
Madam, it is no fault
To say she is escaped.
Ca.
No fault!
What, have you let her go? how came she out?
Yol.
Do your best will with me; I will speak truth.
Ca.
How came she forth? you are a worthy guard —
Do, as you love the better chance of time.
I have a will to smite you by the cheek;
Answer to that.
Yol.
By heaven I speak all pure;
By heaven I do; she had the key of me.
Ca.
Do not you mock; I may turn sharp with you.
Yol.
Alas, I do not; she put force on me
To let her forth; I could not please you; do not
Lay your great wrath my way.
Ca.
O fool — fool — fool!
Were you so much compassionate of her?
I was bewitched to give you such a charge.
Where is she now? speak still.
Yol.
I have not seen.
Ca.
If these be lies I’ll find a bitter way —
I’ll do — I have no time to think of it,
But I’ll make shame as wide as your desert
To show you penitence. Find me this girl,
Or punishment shall reach beyond your deed,
Put pity out of service. Look for her;
Bring her to me; if I so miss her — Go.
[Exit Yolande.
How does my daughter?
Duch.
Madam, well by this.
Mar.
But shaken to the brain.
Ca.
Poor child; what cause?
Mar.
I was unclothed for sleep, heavy at eyes,
And fit for my bed’s heat, when thus at point
There comes a cry and beating of two hands
Hard at my door; then snaps the hinge from it,
And a man comes, smeared shamefully and red
With a new wound i’ the side; flings him on me,
Plucks me half slain with fear across the bed,
Cries for some pity, hales me by the hand,
And so clings hard; when my great fear got strength
To wellnigh wrench me clear and throw off him,
Begins such piteous prayer and puts rebuke
To such a tune, so bitter, I did even
Make mercy wet with tears; whereon (as peril
Would outgrow its own face and turn like death,
Doubling my fear) the soldiers after him,
Some three or four, flecked murderously with blood,
All weaponed for their work, and crying out,
Broke in on us; he twisting with sore fright
Obscures himself with me; and thus in doubt
He shuffled this side death; for as they bore on him
Still holding to me, comes their captain in,
Chides the knave off that had a hand on us,
And plucks him loose; then with mixt laughter did
Swear the man safe; he could not choose but laugh
To see me harried so, so haled and drawn,
Nor I to see him laugh; and so our laughter
Got off my friend.
Enter the King with an arquebuse, and Tavannes.
Ch.
O, are you here? I have
Some three — some six — by God I have some six
Already to my share.
Ca.
(To Tav.)
Sir, what is this?
Tav.
The king has slain some six of them, he says;
I saw him shoot indeed.
Ch.
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Ay, did I not?
Hear you, he says I did; hear him a little.
One — two — see, I can take them either hand,
The place is wide.
Tav.
Here, by this balcony;
I saw him shoot myself.
Ca.
How goes the work?
Tav.
Even like a wave that turns; the thing opposed
Is as the weed it rends at root away,
Dies ere the touch for fear.
Ca.
It is well done.
Tav.
The king did summon me to speak with; there
I left them midways. Are you yet abashed?
I think it smirches you with half a red,
This pity; are you nothing plagued with it?
Ca.
Not I a jot; I would all such i’ the world
Were here to be so rid.
Re-Enter Yolande.
Now? have you her?
Yol.
She has been seen to-night; one found her late
Ranging the rooms and passage of the court
Like one distempered; now catching at this man
To pray him pity her, crying on him
To let her go; or poring in side ways
To follow up their feet, as she would trace
The consequence and graft of peril through
To know it thoroughly.
Ca.
This doth approve it like
That she is fled; where should she hide herself?