Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 195
Why, take it then; there is my handwriting,
And here the hand that you shall slay him with.
’Tis a fair hand, a maiden-colored one:
I doubt yet it has never slain a man.
You never fought yet save for game, I wis.
Nay, thank me not, but have it from my sight;
Go and make haste for fear he be got forth:
It may be such a man is dangerous;
Who knows what friends he hath? and by my faith
I doubt he hath seen some fighting, I do fear
He hath fought and shed men’s blood; ye are wise men
That will not leave such dangerous things alive;
’T were well he died the sooner for your sakes.
Pray you make haste; it is not fit he live.
DARNLEY.
What, will you let him die so easily?
QUEEN.
Why, God have mercy! what way should one take
To please such people? there’s some cunning way,
Something I miss, out of my simple soul.
What, must one say “Beseech you do no harm,”
Or “for my love, sweet cousins, be not hard,”
Or “let him live but till the vane come round” —
Will such things please you? well then, have your way;
Sir, I desire you, kneeling down with tears,
With sighs and tears, fair sir, require of you,
Considering of my love I bear this man,
Just for my love’s sake let him not be hanged
Before the sundown; do thus much for me,
To have a queen’s prayers follow after you.
DARNLEY.
I know no need for you to gibe at me.
QUEEN.
Alack, what heart then shall I have to jest?
There is no woman jests in such a wise —
For the shame’s sake I pray you hang him not,
Seeing how I love him, save indeed in silk,
Sweet twisted silk of my sad handiwork.
Nay, and you will not do so much for me;
You vex your lip, biting the blood and all:
Were this so hard, and you compassionate?
I am in sore case then, and will weep indeed.
DARNLEY.
What do you mean to cast such gibes at me?
QUEEN.
Woe’s me, and will you turn my tears to thorns?
Nay, set your eyes a little in my face;
See, do I weep? what will you make of me?
Will you not swear I love this prisoner?
Ye are wise, and ye will have it; yet for me
I wist not of it. We are but feeble fools,
And love may catch us when we lie asleep
And yet God knows we know not this a whit.
Come, look on me, swear you believe it not:
It may be I will take your word for that.
DARNLEY.
Do you not love him? nay, but verily?
QUEEN.
Now then, make answer to me verily,
Which of us twain is wiser? for my part
I will not swear I love not, if you will;
Ye be wise men and many men, my lords,
And ye will have me love him, ye will swear
That I do love him; who shall say ye lie?
Look on your paper; maybe I have wept:
Doubtless I love your hanged man in my heart.
What, is the writing smutched or gone awry?
Or blurred-ay, surely so much-with one tear,
One little sharp tear strayed on it by chance?
Come, come, the man is deadly dangerous;
Let him die presently.
DARNLEY.
You do not love him;
Well, yet he need not die; it were right hard
To hang the fool because you love him not.
QUEEN.
You have keen wits and thereto courtesy
To catch me with. No, let this man not die;
It were no such perpetual praise to you
To be his doomsman and in doglike wise
Bite his brief life in twain.
DARNLEY.
Truly it were not.
QUEEN.
Then for your honor and my love of you
(Oh, I do love you! but you know not, sweet,
You shall see how much), think you for their sake
He may go free?
DARNLEY.
How, freely forth of us?
But yet he loves you, and being mad with love
Makes matter for base mouths to chew upon:
’T were best he live not yet.
QUEEN.
Will you say that?
DARNLEY.
Why should he live to breed you bad reports?
Let him die first.
QUEEN.
Sweet, for your sake, not so.
DARNLEY.
Fret not yourself to pity; let him die.
QUEEN.
Come, let him live a little; it shall be
A grace to us.
DARNLEY.
By God he dies at once.
QUEEN.
Now, by God’s mother, if I respite him,
Though you were all the race of you in one
And had more tongues than hairs to cry on me
He should not lose a hair.
DARNLEY.
This is mere mercy —
But you thank God you love him not a whit?
QUEEN.
It shall be what it please; and if I please
It shall be anything. Give me the warrant.
DARNLEY.
Nay, for your sake and love of you, not I,
To make it dangerous.
QUEEN.
O, God’ pity, sir!
You are tender of me; will you serve me so,
Against mine own will, show me so much love,
Do me good service that I loath being done,
Out of pure pity?
DARNLEY.
Nay, your word shall stand.
QUEEN.
What makes you gape so beastlike after blood?
Were you not bred up on some hangman’s hire
And dicted with fleshmeats at his hand
And fed into a fool? Give me that paper.
DARNLEY.
Now for that word I will not.
QUEEN.
Nay, sweet love,
For your own sake be just a little wise;
Come, I beseech you.
DARNLEY.
Pluck not at my hands.
QUEEN.
No, that I will not: I am brain-broken, mad;
Pity my madness for sweet marriage-sake
And my great love’s; I love you to say this;
I would not have you cross me, out of love.
But for true love should I not chafe indeed?
And now I do not.
DARNLEY.
Yea, and late you chid,
You chafed and jested and blew soft and hard —
No, for that “fool” you shall not fool me so.
QUEEN.
You are no churl, sweet, will you see me weep?
Look, I weep now; be friends with my poor tears,
Think each of them beseeches you of love
And hath some tongue to cry on you for love
And speak soft things; for that which loves not you
Is none of mine, not though they grow of grief
And grief of you; be not too hard with them.
You would not of your own heart slay a man;
Nay, if you will, in God’s name make me weep,
I will not hate you; but at heart, sweet lord,
Be not at heart my sweet heart’s enemy.
If I had many mighty men to friend
I would not plead too lovingly with you
To have your love.
DARNLEY.
Why, yet you have my love.
QUEEN.
/>
Alas, what shall mine enemies do to me
If he be used so hardly of my friends?
Come, sir, you hate me; yet for all your hate
You cannot have such heart.
DARNLEY.
What sort of heart?
I have no heart to be used shamefully
If you mean that.
QUEEN.
Would God I loved you not;
You are too hard to be used lovingly.
DARNLEY.
You are moved too much for such a little love
As you bear me.
QUEEN.
God knows you do me wrong;
God knows the heart, sweet, that I love you with.
Hark you, fair sir, I’d have all well with you;
Do you not fear at sick men’s time of night
What end may come? are you so sure of heart?
Is not your spirit surprisable in sleep?
Have you no evil dreams? Nay, look you, love,
I will not be flung off you heart and hand,
I am no snake: but tell me for your love
Have you no fancies how these things will end
In the pit’s mouth? how all life-deeds will look
At the grave’s edge that lets men into hell?
For my part, who am weak and woman-eyed,
It turns my soul tears: I doubt this blood
Fallen on our faces when we twain are dead
Will scar and burn them: yea, for heaven is sweet,
And loves sweet deeds that smell not of split blood.
Let us not kill: God that made mercy first
Pities the pitiful for their deed’s sake.
DARNLEY.
Get you some painting; with a cheek like this
You’ll find no faith in listeners.
QUEEN.
How, fair lord?
DARNLEY.
I say that looking with this face of yours
None shall believe you holy; what, you talk,
Take mercy in your mouth, eat holiness,
Put God under your tongue and feed on heaven,
With fear and faith and-faith, I know not what —
And look as though you stood and saw men slain
To make you game and laughter; nay, your eyes
Threaten as unto blood. What will you do
To make men take your sweet word? pitiful —
You are pitiful as he that’s hired for death
And loves the slaying yet better than the hire.
QUEEN.
You are wise that live to threat and tell me so;
Do you love life too much?
DARNLEY.
O, now you are sweet,
Right tender now: you love not blood nor death,
You are too tender.
QUEEN.
Yea, too weak, too soft:
Sweet, do not mock me, for my love’s sake; see
How soft a thing I am. Will you be hard?
The heart you have, has it no sort of fear?
DARNLEY.
Take off your hand and let me go my way
And do the deed, and when the doing is past
I will come home and teach you tender things
Out of my love till you forget my wrath.
I will be angry when I see good need,
And will grow gentle after, fear not that:
You shall get no wrong of my wrongdoing.
So I take leave.
QUEEN.
Take what you will; take all;
You have taken half my heart away with words:
Take all I have, and take no leave; I have
No leave to give: yea, shortly shall lack leave,
I think, to live; but I crave none of you;
I would have none: yet for the love I have,
If I get ever a man to show it you,
I pray God put you some day in my hand
That you may take that too.
DARNLEY.
Well, as he please;
God keep you in such love; and so farewell.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.
So fare I as your lover, but not well. —
Ah sweet, if God be ever good to me
To put you in my hand! I am come to shame;
Let me think now, and let my wits not go;
God, for dear mercy, let me not forget
Why I should be so angry; the dull blood
Beats at my face and blinds me-I am chafted to death,
And I am shamed; I shall go mad and die.
Truly I think I did kneel down, did pray,
Yea, weep (who knows?) it may be-all for that.
Yea, if I wept not, this was blood brake forth
And burnt mine eyelids; I will have blood back,
And wash them cool in the hottest of his heart,
Or I will slay myself: I cannot tell:
I have given gold for brass, and lo the pay
Cleaves to my fingers: there’s no way to mend —
Not while life stays: would God that it were gone!
The fool will feed upon my fame and laugh;
Till one seal up his tongue and lips with blood,
He carries half my honor and good name
Between his teeth. Lord God, mine head will fail!
When have I done thus since I was alive?
And these ill times will deal but ill with me —
My old love slain, and never a new to help,
And my wits gone, and my blithe use of life,
And all the grace was with me. Love-perchance
If I save love I shall well save myself.
I could find heart to bid him take such fellows
And kill them to my hand. I was the fool
To sue to these and shame myself: God knows
I was a queen born, I will hold their heads
Here in my hands for this. Which of you waits?
[Enter MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]
No maiden of them?-what, no more than this?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Madam, the lady Seyton is gone forth;
She is ill at heart with watching.
QUEEN.
Ay, at heart —
All girls must have such tender sides to the heart
They break for one night’s watching, ache to death
For an hour’s pity, for a half-hour’s love —
Wear out before the watches, die by dawn,
And ride at noon to burial. God’s my pity!
Where’s Hamilton? doth she ail too? at heart,
I warrant her at heart.
MARY BEATON.
I know not, madam.
QUEEN.
What, sick or dead? I am well holpen of you:
Come hither to me. What pale blood you have —
Is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me?
Why, if I were so loving, by my hand,
I would have set my head upon the chance,
And loosed him though I died. What will you do?
Have you no way?
MARY BEATON.
None but your mercy.
QUEEN.
Ay?
Why then the thing is piteous. Think, for God’s sake —
Is there no loving way to fetch him forth?
Nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love,
To help no more than this doth! Were I in love,
I would unbar the ways to-night and then
Laugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead;
I think you love well with one half your heart,
And let fear keep the other. Hark you now,
You said there was some friend durst break my bars —
Some Scotch name — faith, as if I wist of it!
Ye have such heavy wits to help one with —
Some man that had some mean to save him by —
Tush, I must be at pains for you!
MARY BEATON.
Nay, madam,
QUEEN.
I say, the name. O, Robert Erskine-yea,
A fellow of some heart: what saith he?
MARY BEATON.
Madam,
The thing was sound all through, yea, all went well,
But for all prayers that we could make to him
He would not fly: we cannot get him forth.
QUEEN.
Great God! that men should have such wits as this!
I have a mind to let him die for that;
And yet I wot not. Said he, he loathed his life?
MARY BEATON.
He says your grace given would scathe yourself,
And little grace for such a grace as that
Be with the little of his life he kept
To cast off some time more unworthily.
QUEEN.
God help me! what should wise folk do with him?
These men be weaker-witted than mere fools
When they fall mad once; yet by Mary’s soul
I am sorrier for him than for men right wise.
God wot a fool that were more wise than he
Would love me something worse than Chastelard,
Ay, and his own soul better. Do you think
(There’s no such other sort of fool alive)
That he may live?
MARY BEATON.
Yea, by God’s mercy, madam,
To your great praise and honor from all men
If you should keep him living.
QUEEN.
By God’s light,
I have good will to do it. Are you sure,
If I would pack him with a pardon hence,
He would speak well of me-not hint and halt,
Smile and look back, sigh and say love runs out,
But times have been-with some loose laugh cut short,
Bit off at lip-eh?
MARY BEATON.
No, by heaven he would not.
QUEEN.
You know how quickly one may be belied —
Faith, you should know it-I never thought the worst,
One may touch love and come with clean hands off —
But you should know it. What, he will not fly —