Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 200
And simple favour shown a simple knave,
Her chamber-child, her varlet? a poor man,
Stranger, skilled little in great men’s policies
- Which is strange too, seeing he hath had some chance
To learn some tricks of courts and embassies,
Being therein bred, and not so very a fool
But one might teach him - yet no doubt a man,
Save for such teaching, simple and innocent;
Only what heart, what spirit and wit he has,
Being hot and close as fire on the old faith’s side
And the French party’s - if his wit were great,
It might do more than simple service soon,
Having her heart as ‘twere by the ear which leans
Still toward his saying or singing; but ye know
There is no peril in him, and the king
More fool than he a knave.
MORTON.
Well, I know not;
My skill is small in tunes, yet I can tell
Discord between king’s ear and people’s tongue,
Which hearing as in spirit I forehear
Harsh future music in a state mistuned,
If such men lay but hand upon the keys,
Touch ne’er so slight a string of policy
With ne’er so light a finger: I would the queen,
For the dear faith I bear her, saw but this,
Or that the lords were heavier-eyed to see.
MARY BEATON.
Are they so keen of soul as of their sight,
To slay wrong as to see wrong?
MORTON.
‘Faith, with us
The hand is matched against the eye for speed;
And these no slower in stroke of sight and sword
Than their sharp-sighted swift-souled forefathers.
I say not this that you should gather fear
Out of my saying to sow in the ear of the queen;
But for truth’s sake; and truly I do not fear
That I have put fear in you, for you seem
Not lightly fearful to me.
MARY BEATON.
I would not be,
Where I might keep good heart and open eye
Nor blind nor fevered with foolhardiness,
As here meseems I may keep; for I see
No hurt yet nor hurt’s danger steer in sight,
Save the mere daily danger of high-raised heads
To be misspoken and misseen of men,
Which is not for high-seated hearts to fear.
MORTON.
Her heart is high enough, and yours as hers;
You shall do well to hold your courage fast,
Keeping your wits awake; whereof myself
I make no doubt, howbeit men fear the queen,
Having our bitter folk and faith to fight,
Out of sharp spirit and high-heartedness
May do such things for love’s sake or for wrath’s
As fools for fear’s sake; which were no less harm
(Turning her wit and heart against herself)
Than to be coward or witless. Fare you well;
I will not doubt but she is well advised.
Exit.
MARY BEATON.
He is but dead by this then. I did know it;
And yet it strikes upon me sudden and sharp,
As a thing unforethought on. It is strange
To have one’s foot as mine is on the verge,
The narrowing threshold of a thing so great,
To have within one’s eyeshot the whole way,
The perfect reach of fate from end to end,
From life to life replying and death to death.
This is the first hour of the night, and I
The watcher of the first watch, by whose lamp
The starless sky that grows toward birth of stars
And the unlit earth and obscure air are seen
Pale as the lamp’s self yet not well alight.
Yet by the light of my heart’s fire, and mind
Kindled, I see what fires of storm, what flaws,
What windy meteors and cross-countering stars,
Shall be through all the watches to the dawn
And bloodlike sunrise of the fire-eyed day.
I am half content already; and yet I would
This watch were through.
Enter the Queen, Rizzio, and Mary Seyton
QUEEN.
Nay, it is later, sure:
I am idle, I am idle, and flattered; you say wrong,
To find my sloth some pardonable plea,
Which is not pardonable; a perfect sin,
One writ among the sorest seven of all;
Enough to load the soul past penitence.
Am I not late indeed? speak truth and say.
RIZZIO.
To watchers the sun rises ever late
Though he keep time with summer; but your grace
Keeps earlier than the sun’s time.
QUEEN.
’Tis but March,
And a scant spring, a sharp and starveling year.
How bitter black the day grows! one would swear
The weather and earth were of this people’s faith,
And their heaven coloured as their thoughts of heaven,
Their light made of their love.
RIZZIO.
If it might please you
Look out and lift up heart to summer-ward,
There might be sun enough for seeing and sense,
To light men’s eyes at and warm hands withal.
QUEEN.
I doubt the winter’s white is deeper dyed
And closer worn than I thought like to be;
This land of mine hath folded itself round
With snow-cold, white, and leprous misbelief,
Till even the spirit is bitten, the blood pinched,
And the heart winter-wounded; these starved slaves
That feed on frost and suck the snows for drink,
Hating the light for the heat’s sake, love the cold:
We want some hotter fire than summer or sun
To burn their dead blood through and change their veins.
RIZZIO.
Madam, those fires are all but ashen dust:
’Tis by the sun we have now to walk warm.
If I had leave to give good counsel tongue
And wisdom words to work with, I would say
Rather by favour and seasonable grace
Shall your sweet light of summer-speaking looks
Melt the hard mould of earthen hearts, and put
Spring into spirits of snow. Your husband here,
Who was my friend before your lord, being grown
Doubtful, and evil-eyed against himself,
With a thwart wit crossing all counsel, turns
From usward to their close fierce intimacy
Who are bitterest of the faction against faith,
And through their violent friendship has become
His own and very enemy, being moved
Of mere loose heart to vex you. Now there stands
On the other hand, in no wise bound to him,
But as your rebel and his enemy
Cast forth condemned, one that called home again
Might be a bond between the time and you,
Tying the wild world tamer to your hand,
And in your husband’s hot and unreined mouth
As bit and bridle against his wandering will.
QUEEN.
What name is his who shall so strengthen me?
RIZZIO.
Your father gave him half a brother’s name.
QUEEN.
I have no brother; a bloodless traitor he is
Who was my father’s bastard born. By heaven,
I had rather have his head loose at my foot
Than his tongue’s counsel rounded in mine ear.
RIZZIO.
I would
you had called him out of banishment.
QUEEN.
Thou art mad, thou art mad; prate me no more of him.
RIZZIO.
He is wise, and we need wisdom; penitent,
And God they say loves most his penitents;
Stout-hearted and well-minded toward your grace,
As you shall work him, and beguilable
Now at your need if you but will he be;
And God he knows if there be need of such.
QUEEN.
No need, no need; I am crowned of mine own heart
And of mine own will weaponed; am I queen
To have need of traitors’ leave to live by, and reign
By the God’s grace of these? I will not have it;
Toward God I swear there shall be no such need
RIZZIO.
Yet if there were no need, less harm it were
To have him easily on your royal side
While the time serves that he may serve you in -
Less harm than none, and profit more than less.
QUEEN.
He is a misborn traitor and heretic;
And of his own side baffled, a flat fool,
Who thought to have comfort of Elizabeth,
Large furtherance of my sweet-souled sister’s love,
Grace and sure aid of her good plighted word,
Her honourable and precious plighted word,
And secret seal to help him; as she durst not,
Yea, she would fain and durst not.
RIZZIO.
Please you note -
QUEEN.
It shall not please me; I say she hath made him kneel,
(And this does please me indeed) hath seen him down,
Seen him and spurned him kneeling from her foot,
As my born traitor and subject. David, nay,
But hath thy careful love not made thee mad,
Whose counsel was my sword against him once?
Why, thou wast sworn his slayer, and all that while
He held up head against us thy one word
Bade strike him dead of all men. What, hast thou
Fairly forgot his purpose, were I taken,
To speed thee out of life? his secret bond,
Sealed with himself in spirit, thou shouldst die?
Wast thou not trothplight with that soulless boy,
Ere he might thee, to rid him out of life?
Nay, and thou knowest how dear a cause I have,
And thou, to slay him when the good chance comes,
Which God make speedy toward us; by my hand,
Too little and light to hold up his dead head,
It was my hope to dip it in his life
Made me ride iron-mailed, a soldieress,
All those days through we drove them here and there,
Eastward from Fife, and hither and forth again,
And broken to the border; yea, all day
I thought how worth his life it were to ride
Within the shot-length of my saddlebow
And try my poor and maiden soldiership.
And now I am bidden, and you it is bid me,
Reach my hand forth forgivingly and meek
To strike with his for love and policy?
He is beaten and broken, without help of hope,
Who was mine enemy ever, and ever I knew
How much he was mine enemy; and now maimed,
Wounded, unseated from his power of place,
Shall I raise up again and strengthen him,
Warm and bind up his cold and o’erbled wounds
With piteous cordials? nay, but when I do,
May he have strength to wreak his will on me,
And I be flung under his feet! beside,
He was your mocking-stock this short while since,
You swore, men tell me, Daniot told it me,
Your ghostly man of counsel - why, to him,
He says, you swore the bastard should not bide
With you in Scotland; it made anger at you,
Put passion in their mouths who bear you hard,
That you should threaten kinglike. Hath he moved you
To change your heart and face toward him at once,
Or do you mock, or are struck mad indeed,
That now you turn to bid me cry him home,
Make much of him and sing him to my side?
RIZZIO.
For all this, madam, if I be not mad,
It were well done to do it. He is a man
Well-loved, well-counselled, and though fast in faith,
Yet howsoever in strong opinion bound,
Not so much overridden of his own mind
As to love no man for faith’s single sake;
No fire-brained preacher nor wild-witted knave,
But skilled and reared in state and soldiership.
What doth it need you to misthink of me?
Say it is but this jewel he sends me here
That pleads his part before you; say I am his
And not your servant, or not only of you
Made and again unmakeable; ’tis truth,
He hath given me gifts to be his counsel to you,
And I have taken, and here I plead his part,
Seeing my life hangs upon your life, and yours,
If it be full and even and fortunate
In spite of foes and fears and friends, must hang
On his, unbound from these and bound to you.
We have done ill, having so mighty a match,
So large a wager on this turn of time,
To leave the stakes in hand of a lewd boy,
A fool and thankless; and to save the game
We must play privily and hold secret hands.
QUEEN.
I will not have his hand upon my part,
Though it were safe to sweep up gold and all.
RIZZIO.
But till our side be strong; then cast him off,
When he hath served to strengthen you so much
You have no need of any strength of his.
Bear with him but till time be and we touch
The heart of the hour that brings our chance to catch
Hope by the flying hair, and to our wheel
Bind fortune and wind-wavering majesty,
To shift no more in the air of any change,
But hang a steady star; then, when the faith
Sits crowned in us that serve her, and you hold
The triple-treasured kingdom in your lap,
What shall forbid you set a sudden foot
Where it may please you, on their hearts or heads
That in their season were found serviceable,
And now are stones of stumbling? Time shapes all:
And service he may do you, or else offence,
Even as you handle this sharp point of time,
To turn its edge this wary way or that;
And for the land and state, why, having served,
He may be seasonably stript out of these
When you would do some friend a courtesy
Who has still been found secret and Catholic,
A lantern’s eye of counsel in close dark,
While he did blind man’s service; but till then
Let him keep land and name, and all he will,
And blindly serve to the blind end in trust,
To wake a naked fool. That this may be
I am firm in faith, may it be but with your will.
QUEEN.
He will not help us beat his own faith down;
He is no hawk to seel and then to unhood,
Fly at strange fowl and pluck back blind again.
RIZZIO.
Bethink you, madam, he only of all his kind
Stood out against men hotter in heresy,
Spake down their speeches, overbore Pope Knox,
Broke with his cardinal’s college of shrewd saints,
In your free faith’s defence, that wo
uld have barred you
From custom of religion; and I wot,
Save for his help, small help had found my queen
From Huntley or Hamilton, her faith-fellows,
Or any their co-worshippers with her.
QUEEN.
Thou art ever saying them wrong; they are stout and sure,
Even they that strove for honour’s sake with us:
Their one least fault I am minded to forgive;
True friends in faith, my dear own blood and kin,
No birthless bastards nor mistitled men.
It pleased me bid him into banishment,
And shall not lightly please me bid him back.
RIZZIO.
Yet some men banished for no less a cause
It has been known you have loosed from banishment.
I tell you for true heart.
QUEEN.
Nay, I well know it;
You are good and faithful to us, God quit it you,
And well of us loved back; how much, you know,
But more than is our fear of men’s missaying.
For me, I find no such foul faultiness
In the lord Bothwell but might well be purged
After long trial of English prison-bands
And proof of loyal lips and close true heart
Whereout no gaoler could pluck dangerous speech,
And then with overpassing to and fro
The strait sea wide enough to wash him white
‘Twixt France and us: and all this jarring year
You have seen with what a service, in full field,
Oft in our need he hath served us; nor was it
Such matter of treason and nowise pardonable
To mix his wits with Arran’s broken brain
In their device to entrap mine hand with his
For high state’s sake and strong-winged policy,
When he was matched with me in most men’s mouths
And found not yet for changeling or for fool.
But howsoever, it pleased me pardon him;
And a stout spear for warden have I won.
I have holp myself in help of him, who now
Hath with good works undone his dead misdeeds,
And left their memory drowned in the under sea
That swept them out and washed him in again,
A man remade; and fail me whoso fails,
Him I hold fast my friend; but those cast out
That rose up right between my will and me
To make me thrall and bondslave to their own,