Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  And fair enough to serve. My gentle lords,

  I am full glad of God that in great grace

  He hath given me such a lordly stay as this;

  There is no better friended queen alive.

  For the repealing of those banished men

  That stand in peril yet of last year’s fault,

  It is our will; you have our seal to that.

  Brother, we hear harsh bruits of bad report

  Blown up and down about our almoner;

  See you to this: let him be sought into:

  They say lewd folk make ballads of their spleen,

  Strew miry ways of words with talk of him;

  If they have cause let him be spoken with.

  LINDSAY.

  Madam, they charge him with so rank a life

  Were it not well this fellow were plucked out —

  Seeing this is not an eye that doth offend,

  But a blurred glass it were no harm to break;

  Yea rather it were gracious to be done?

  QUEEN.

  Let him be weighed, and use him as he is;

  I am of my nature pitiful, ye know,

  And cannot turn my love unto a thorn

  In so brief space. Ye are all most virtuous;

  Yea, there is goodness grafted on this land;

  But yet compassion is some part of God.

  There is much heavier business held on hand

  Than one man’s goodness: yea, as things fare here,

  A matter worth more weighing. All you wot

  I am choose a help to my weak feet,

  A lamp before my face, a lord and friend

  To walk with me in weary ways, high up

  Between the wind and rain and the hot sun.

  Now I have chosen a helper to myself,

  I wot the best a woman ever won;

  A man that loves me, and a royal man,

  A goodly love and lord for any queen.

  But for the peril and despite of men

  I have sometime tarried and withheld myself,

  Not fearful of his worthiness nor you,

  But with some lady’s loathing to let out

  My whole heart’s love; for truly this is hard,

  Not like a woman’s fashion, shamefacedness

  And noble grave reluctance of herself

  To be the tongue and cry of her own heart.

  Nathless plain speech is better than much wit,

  So ye shall bear with me; albeit I think

  Ye have caught the mark whereat my heart is bent.

  I have kept close counsel and shut up men’s lips,

  But lightly shall a woman’s will slip out,

  The foolish little winged will of her,

  Through cheek or eye when tongue is charmed asleep.

  For that good lord I have good will to wed,

  I wot he knew long since which way it flew,

  Even till it lit on his right wrist and sang.

  Lo, here I take him by the hand: fair lords,

  This is my kinsman, made of mine own blood,

  I take to halve the state and services

  That bow down to me, and to be my head,

  My chief, my master, my sweet lord and king.

  Now shall I never say “sweet cousin” more

  To my dear head and husband; here, fair sir,

  I give you all the heart of love in me

  To gather off my lips. Did it like you,

  The taste of it? sir, it was whole and true.

  God save our king!

  DARNLEY.

  Nay, nay, sweet love, no lord;

  No king of yours though I were lord of these.

  QUEEN.

  Let word be sent to all good friends of ours

  To help us to be glad; England and France

  Shall bear great part of our rejoicings up.

  Give me your hand, dear lord; for from this time

  I must not walk alone. Lords, have good cheer:

  For you shall have a better face than mine

  To set upon your kingly gold and show

  For Scotland’s forehead in the van of things.

  Go with us now, and see this news set out.

  [Exeunt QUEEN, DARNLEY, and LORDS.]

  [As CHASTELARD is going out, enter MARY BEATON.]

  MARY BEATON.

  Have you yet heard? You knew of this?

  CHASTELARD.

  I know.

  I was just thinking how such things were made

  And were so fair as this is. Do you know

  She held me here and talked — the most sweet talk

  Men ever heard of?

  MARY BEATON.

  You hate me to the heart.

  What will you do?

  CHASTELARD.

  I know not: die some day,

  But live as long and lightly as I can.

  Will you now love me? faith, but if you do,

  It were much better you were dead and hearsed.

  Will you do one thing for me?

  MARY BEATON.

  Yea, all things.

  CHASTELARD.

  Speak truth a little, for God’s sake: indeed

  It were no harm to do. Come, will you, sweet?

  Though it be but to please God.

  MARY BEATON.

  What will you do?

  CHASTELARD.

  Ay, true, I must do somewhat. Let me see:

  To get between and tread upon his face —

  Catch both her hands and bid men look at them,

  How pure they were — I would do none of these,

  Though they got wedded all the days in the year.

  We may do well yet when all’s come and gone.

  I pray you on this wedding-night of theirs

  Do but one thing that I shall ask of you,

  And Darnley will not hunger as I shall

  For that good time. Sweet, will you swear me this?

  MARY BEATON.

  Yea; though to do it were mortal to my soul

  As the chief sin.

  CHASTELARD.

  I thank you: let us go.

  ACT III.

  THE QUEEN.

  SCENE I. — The Queen’s Chamber. Night. Lights burning In front of the bed.

  [Enter CHASTELARD and MARY BEATON.]

  MARY BEATON.

  Be tender of your feet.

  CHASTELARD.

  I shall not fail:

  These ways have light enough to help a man

  That walks with such stirred blood in him as mine.

  MARY BEATON.

  I would yet plead with you to save your head:

  Nay, let this be then: sir, I chide you not.

  Nay, let all come. Do not abide her yet.

  CHASTELARD.

  Have you read never in French books the song

  Called the Duke’s Song, some boy made ages back,

  A song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seas

  And plucked up with rent sides, and caught therein

  A strange-haired woman with sad singing lips,

  Cold in the cheek like any stray of sea,

  And sweet to touch? so that men seeing her face,

  And how she sighed out little Ahs of pain

  And soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth,

  Fell in hot love, and having lain with her

  Died soon? one time I could have told it through:

  Now I have kissed the sea-witch on her eyes

  And my lips ache with it; but I shall sleep

  Full soon, and a good space of sleep.

  MARY BEATON.

  Alas!

  CHASTELARD.

  What makes you sigh though I be found a fool?

  You have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend,

  I never could have lived long either way.

  Why, as I live, the joy I have of this

  Would make men mad that were not mad with love;

  I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heartr />
  Is like a springing water blown of wind

  For pleasure of this deed. Now, in God’s name,

  I swear if there be danger in delight

  I must die now: if joys have deadly teeth,

  I’ll have them bite my soul to death, and end

  In the old asp’s way, Egyptian-wise; be killed

  In a royal purple fashion. Look, my love

  Would kill me if my body were past hurt

  Of any man’s hand; and to die thereof,

  I say, is sweeter than all sorts of life.

  I would not have her love me now, for then

  I should die meanlier some time. I am safe,

  Sure of her face, my life’s end in her sight,

  My blood shed out about her feet — by God,

  My heart feels drunken when I think of it.

  See you, she will not rid herself of me,

  Not though she slay me: her sweet lips and life

  Will smell of my spilt blood.

  MARY BEATON.

  Give me good-night.

  CHASTELARD.

  Yea, and good thanks.

  [Exit MARY BEATON.]

  Here is the very place:

  Here has her body bowed the pillows in

  And here her head thrust under made the sheet

  Smell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even here

  Her arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled here

  The golden silken curtain halfway in

  It may be, and made room to lean out loose,

  Fair tender fallen arms. Now, if God would,

  Doubtless he might take pity on my soul

  To give me three clear hours, and then red hell

  Snare me forever: this were merciful:

  If I were God now I should do thus much.

  I must die next, and this were not so hard

  For him to let me eat sweet fruit and die

  With my lips sweet from it. For one shall have

  This fare for common days’-bread, which to me

  Should be a touch kept always on my sense

  To make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hell

  Soft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep.

  Ah, love is good, and the worst part of it

  More than all things but death. She will be here

  In some small while, and see me face to face

  That am to give up life for her and go

  Where a man lies with all his loves put out

  And his lips full of earth. I think on her,

  And the old pleasure stings and makes half-tears

  Under mine eyelids. Prithee, love, come fast,

  That I may die soon: yea, some kisses through,

  I shall die joyfully enough, so God

  Keep me alive till then. I feel her feet

  Coming far off; now must I hold my heart,

  Steadying my blood to see her patiently.

  [Hides himself by the bed.]

  [Enter the QUEEN and DARNLEY.]

  QUEEN.

  Nay, now go back: I have sent off my folk,

  Maries and all. Pray you, let be my hair;

  I cannot twist the gold thread out of it

  That you wound in so close. Look, here it clings:

  Ah! now you mar my hair unwinding it.

  Do me no hurt, sir.

  DARNLEY.

  I would do you ease;

  Let me stay here.

  QUEEN.

  Nay, will you go, my lord?

  DARNLEY.

  Eh? would you use me as a girl does fruit,

  Touched with her mouth and pulled away for game

  To look thereon ere her lips feed? but see,

  By God, I fare the worse for you.

  QUEEN.

  Fair sir,

  Give me this hour to watch with and say prayers;

  You have not faith-it needs me to say prayers,

  That with commending of this deed to God

  I may get grace for it.

  DARNLEY.

  Why, lacks it grace?

  Is not all wedlock gracious of itself?

  QUEEN.

  Nay, that I know not of. Come, sweet, be hence.

  DARNLEY.

  You have a sort of jewel in your neck

  That’s like mine here.

  QUEEN.

  Keep off your hands and go:

  You have no courtesy to be a king.

  DARNLEY.

  Well, I will go: nay, but I thwart you not.

  Do as you will, and get you grace; farewell,

  And for my part, grace keep this watch with me!

  For I need grace to bear with you so much.

  [Exit.]

  QUEEN.

  So, he is forth. Let me behold myself;

  I am too pale to be so hot; I marvel

  So little color should be bold in the face

  When the blood is not quieted. I have

  But a brief space to cool my thoughts upon.

  If one should wear the hair thus heaped and curled

  Would it look best? or this way in the neck?

  Could one ungirdle in such wise one’s heart

  [Taking off her girdle.]

  And ease it inwards as the waist is eased

  By slackening of the slid clasp on it!

  How soft the silk is-gracious color too;

  Violet shadows like new veins thrown up

  Each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green

  Where the wrist lies thus eased. I am right glad

  I have no maids about to hasten me —

  So I will rest and see my hair shed down

  On either silk side of my woven sleeves,

  Get some new way to bind it back with-yea,

  Fair mirror-glass, I am well ware of you,

  Yea, I know that, I am quite beautiful.

  How my hair shines!-Fair face, be friends with me

  And I will sing to you; look in my face

  Now, and your mouth must help the song in mine.

  Alys la chatelaine

  Voit venir de par Seine

  Thiebault le capitaine

  Qui parle ainsi!

  Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more

  But the comb drawn through half my hissing hair

  Laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it.

  Dans ma camaille

  Plus de clou qui vaille,

  Dans ma cotte-maille

  Plus de fer aussi.

  Ah, but I wrong the ballad-verse: what’s good

  In such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to make

  Their broken burden lag with us? meseems

  I could be sad now if I fell to think

  The least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady’s fool,

  Fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyes

  For a small thing. Nay, but I will keep glad,

  Nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me.

  But my first wedding was not like to this —

  Fair faces then and laughter and sweet game,

  And a pale little mouth that clung on mine

  When I had kissed him by the faded eyes

  And either thin cheek beating with faint blood.

  Well, he was sure to die soon; I do think

  He would have given his body to be slain,

  Having embraced my body. Now, God knows,

  I have no man to do as much for me

  As give me but a little of his blood

  To fill my beauty from, though I go down

  Pale to my grave for want — I think not. Pale —

  I am too pale purely — Ah!

  [See him in the glass, coming forward.]

  CHASTELARD.

  Be not afraid.

  QUEEN.

  Saint Mary! what a shaken wit have I!

  Nay, is it you? who let you through the doors?

  Where be my maidens? which way got you in?

  Nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard;

/>   By God’s fair body, if you but breathe on them

  You are just dead and slain at once. What adder

  Has bit you mirthful mad? for by this light

  A man to have his head laughed off for mirth

  Is no great jest. Lay not your eyes on me;

  What, would you not be slain?

  CHASTELARD.

  I pray you, madam,

  Bear with me a brief space and let me speak.

  I will not touch your garments even, nor speak

  But in soft wise, and look some other way,

  If that it like you; for I came not here

  For pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will,

  Let me look on you.

  QUEEN.

  As you will, fair sir.

  Give me that coif to gather in my hair —

  I thank you — and my girdle-nay, that side.

  Speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone,

  Why, you shall go, because I hate you not.

  You know that I might slay you with my lips,

  With calling out? but I will hold my peace.

  CHASTELARD.

  Yea, do some while. I had a thing to say;

  I know not wholly what thing. O my sweet,

  I am come here to take farewell of love

  That I have served, and life that I have lived

  Made up of love, here in the sight of you

  That all my life’s time I loved more than God,

  Who quits me thus with bitter death for it.

  For you well know that I must shortly die,

  My life being wound about you as it is,

  Who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet,

  But tell me wherein I came short of love;

  For doubtless I came short of a just love,

  And fell in some fool’s fault that angered you.

  Now that I talk men dig my grave for me

  Out in the rain, and in a little while

  I shall be thrust in some sad space of earth

  Out of your eyes; and you, O you my love,

  A newly-wedded lady full of mirth

  And a queen girt with all good people’s love,

  You shall be fair and merry in all your days.

  Is this so much for me to have of you?

  Do but speak, sweet: I know these are no words

  A man should say though he were now to die,