Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 205
And rest were unrest that should kiss his lips.
What man would look on justice here and live,
Peace has no more part in him.
JOHN KNOX.
Lady, nay,
That only peace indeed which is of God
Hath in the just man not a part but all,
But the whole righteous life and heart in him
Still peacefully possesses; who hath not
Or loves not justice, he can love not peace,
For peace is just; and that thing is not peace
That such men love, but full of strife and lies,
A thing of thorns and treasons. This were even
As if a man loving a harlot should
Praise her for maiden and himself for pure
To love such maidenhood, when any says
That he loves peace who loves not holiness,
For peace is holy. Yea, and if one seek
He shall find peace where bitterest justice is,
In the full fire and middle might of wrath,
Rather than where sloth sucks the lips of shame
Or fear with her foul brother unbelief
Lives in adultery; strife is that which springs,
As a winged worm and poisonous, of their sheets;
And in the slumberless and storm-strewn bed
That very war’s self spreads for righteousness
Peace as a babe is born.
MARY BEATON.
Would God it were,
For ’tis a bitter childbed: these long years
We look for fruit and none comes forth of it,
But yet more iron travail; and ourselves,
Desiring justice, quite lose hold of peace,
And are distracted with our own fierce want
And hungry need of right unreachable.
Yet it may come, and then shall peace indeed.
JOHN KNOX.
You talk against your habit.
Re-enter Erskine of Dun
ERSKINE OF DUN.
Master Knox,
The queen will no more hear you at this time,
But with good will and gracious mind will weigh
Your worth and worthy meaning in your words.
JOHN KNOX.
It may be she will never hear me more.
Farewell, fair ladies; may God look on you,
And give you chiefly comfort, which is grace.
Exeunt John Knox and Erskine of Dun.
MARY SEYTON.
Why did you prate so preacher-like with him?
MARY BEATON.
I cannot tell by asking of myself
Nor answer for your asking. Which of you
Shall wait at supper on the queen to-night?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
None but her counsel of close hours, Argyle.
MARY BEATON.
She sups with them - and in attendance there
Some two or three I heard of - one of these
No man of arms.
MARY SEYTON.
What should they do with arms?
More need of lips to sing with.
MARY BEATON.
Ay, to sing -
It is no matter of state they meet upon?
MARY SEYTON.
Are your wits lost indeed, or do you jest?
MARY BEATON.
True, it should be for no affairs of state
They sup at nightfall in the lesser room -
They three, and three to make the music up.
MARY SEYTON.
What ails you at it?
MARY BEATON.
Nothing; I ail nought.
I did but think what music he should make
After this preacher. Let us to the queen.
Scene IV. Darnley’s Lodging
Darnley and Sir George Douglas
DARNLEY.
I think our friend of Morton had grown slack
But for my spurring, uncle.
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
Nay, he is firm;
You do him less right than you do yourself
To think he should need quickening.
DARNLEY.
O, I know not,
What should I know? what wit have I to know?
I am a fool and have no forethought! Why,
But for my resolute instance at this need -
I said to him, be resolute - and since then,
Some six or eight hours gone, I have heard such things
As would put sense and passion in dead bones -
By God I have; it shall be seen I have.
But are you sure it should be done to-night?
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
Ay, surely.
DARNLEY.
Well, I see no surety in it -
Methinks now every day we let him live
Blows hot the popular wrath of all the land
And makes us surer when we strike indeed
That all men’s hearts will stab him with our hands.
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
By which account he might live long and die
An old white death and woundless. Is not this
The man whereof you told me some while since
How at close midnight, your wife’s doors being locked,
You burst them open, and gat hold of him
Hid in a closet of her bedchamber,
Save for furred gown and shirt about the knave
Naked? and must you take him so again
And he so twice get clear of you and laugh?
You swore me that - what need to tell or swear,
If he must live still? weeping, with clenched handy,
You swore it, praying me for our shame’s sake send
Word to your uncle Ruthven; but what need,
If there were no shame in the thing at all
Or but so little, as now so little it seems,
There is no haste to slay him?
DARNLEY.
Nay, you carp -
’Tis thus men ever catch at my good words
To turn them on their tongues and spit them out
Changed and discoloured. He shall die to-night.
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
Assuredly.
DARNLEY.
I say so - mark, I say it,
I that have cause - how else could it be sure?
But sure it is - I say he shall not live.
Let us go seek Lord Morton out again
And tell him it is sworn we strike to-night.
How many of us have hands in it with me,
Who cannot with mine own hand as I would
Strike - it were shameful to me - were it not?
For mine own hand’s sake.
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
There are hands enough
Without the shame done to your highness’ hand:
Sufficeth us we have it set to the bond
That signs him dead; nor need we sum their names
Whose hands will strike, not spare, for their own sakes.
DARNLEY.
Well, let us go to make my lord’s faith sure
That it shall be no later than to-night.
Scene V. The Queen’s Cabinet
The Queen, Rizzio, Countess of Argyle, Lord Robert Stuart, Arthur Erskine, in
attendance
QUEEN.
Have I not done a queenlike work to-day?
I have made attaint my traitors of myself,
With no man at my hand to strengthen me
Have gone before the lords of the articles
And set my will upon them like a seal,
And they for their part set on their old friends
The bloody seal of treason signed of death
And countersigned of burning ignominy.
You were half fearful, you, lord chancellor,
You my good servant; but I knew their necks
Were made to take the impression of my foot,
Their wills and souls the like
ness of mine own,
And I have used them for the things they are.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
You have been right royal, madam, and your lovers
Have joyful cause to praise you.
QUEEN.
Will you say it,
Who bear as much part in his blood as I
Of our dead father’s giving? then I think
No other tongue for love of Murray slain
Shall sting me though mine own speak off his head,
Once caught up out of England; nay, I think
We shall get vantage of your lord’s friend Knox
Ere many days be.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
Speed your majesty!
The cord were hallowed that should silence him.
QUEEN.
Ay, though mine own hands twist it. To spin hemp
For such a throat, so loud and eloquent,
Should better please me and seem a queenlier thing
Than to weave silk and flower it with fine gold.
He hath a tongue to tame a tiger with,
Fright into fierce and violent reverence
The fearfullest earth’s monsters. I do think
I like him better than his creed-fellows
Whose lips are softer toward me; ’tis some sport
To set my wit to his, and match with mine
The shrewd and fiery temper of his spirit
For trial of true mastery; yet to-day
He made me weep, weep mightily - by faith,
If there be faith in any lips of earth,
I think to live and laugh at his tears yet.
ROBERT STUART.
I would the hand were on him that might make
His eyes weep red and drop out of their rings,
Looking on death. What reason gives him leave,
What right makes room for him to take his way
So past men’s patience grown so masterful?
Had I one half word’s warrant of your grace
His tongue should not be long inside his lips.
QUEEN.
I am no wife of Antony, to try
My needle’s point against his tongue’s edge; yet
I have cause as good as Fulvia’s, though his speech
Ring somewhat short of Roman. Here is one
That has that southern honey on his lips
Frozen as it seems up with this galling air
And not a note left golden, but his tongue
Nipt with the chill to death as with a knife
That cuts us short of music.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
Yea, my lord,
Why will you so discomfort the good hour
With tongueless sadness? we have cause to chide
That having cause to sing find song to seek
And thought to find it ready.
RIZZIO.
I have been sad
These two hours back; I know not what it was
So struck me out of mirth, for I was merry,
And knew not why.
QUEEN.
Nay, if you love me, sir,
You had reason to be merry with my mirth
Who am blithe to be found queen over my foes;
I have been glad all this good day thereof
Save some few minutes that my subject-saint
Vexed even to mere intemperance; but few tears
Wept out that little bitter part of day
And left it sweet. Have you not heard men say
This heaviness without a root of fear
Goes oft before some good? now should there be
Some new thing hard upon us that will make
All good hearts glad. Have you no song to mock
The doubt away that mocks you?
RIZZIO.
At your will.
I am something yet in tune for such a song
As joy makes out of sorrow, when the thought
Plays with false grief for joy’s sake. Please you hear it
With such light audience as its worth is light?
QUEEN.
Ay, such a note should fit me for this time;
After the tuneless toil of talking day
A light song lightly brings ill thoughts asleep.
RIZZIO sings.
Lord Love went Maying
Where Time was playing,
In light hands weighing
Light hearts with sad;
Crowned king with peasant,
Pale past with present,
Harsh hours with pleasant,
Good hopes with bad;
Nor dreamed how fleeter
Than Time’s swift metre,
O’er all things sweeter
How clothed with power,
The murderess maiden
Mistrust walks laden
With red fruit ruined and dead white flower.
How close behind him
Ere man’s faith find him,
How strong to bind him
With fears for bands,
Lest once beholden
Of man the golden
God’s face embolden
All hearts and hands;
For if doubt were not,
Whose sore shafts spare not,
Large life would care not
For death’s poor hour,
Seeing all life’s season
By love’s sweet reason
Made wise would seem in his eyes a flower.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
Did you hear that?
ROBERT STUART.
What?
QUEEN.
Nothing but sweet words.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
I heard a cry i’ the wind as of one hurt.
ARTHUR ERSKINE.
There is no wind up, madam.
QUEEN.
Peace, I pray;
It was your own sense mocked you. Hear it through;
There should be more, and sadder.
COUNTESS OF ARGYLE.
Nay, I heard.
RIZZIO sings.
By Love’s side flying
As Time when crying
Glad news and lying
In all men’s ears,
With blind feet gliding
She came deriding
Their joyous tiding
That ends in tears;
From Time’s side failing
As Love sank quailing,
Her strong wings sailing
Made all heads cower,
Her wings untethered,
With fleet thoughts feathered,
Made weak the summer and bleak the flower.
Hope found no cover
Wherein to hover,
And Love no lover,
And joy no place;
Till when Time creeping
Had left him sleeping,
Love knelt down weeping
Before her face,
And prayed, soul-stricken,
One flower might quicken,
Though spring should sicken
And storm devour;
She from her bosom
Flung one sere blossom,
Then passed him dead on the last dead flower.
ROBERT STUART.
Hark! some one laughed there.
QUEEN.
What does death i’ the song?
Can they not let love live, but must needs make
His grave with singing? ’Tis the trick of song
That finds no way to end else.
RIZZIO.
An old trick;
Your merrier songs are mournfuller sometimes
Than very tears are.
QUEEN.
Do you hear noises still?
Enter Darnley
Who sent you to us?
DARNLEY.
My love to my sweet lady.
Kisses her.
QUEEN.
What feet are theirs behind you? Who stands there?
DARNLEY.<
br />
Nay, nothing, nay, sweet, nothing.
QUEEN.
I should know -
Judas!
Seeing Ruthven in the doorway.
DARNLEY.
I tell you -
RUTHVEN.
Let that man come forth;
He hath been here too long.
QUEEN.
What hath he done?
RUTHVEN.
So please your highness, how he hath done you wrong
To offend the honour of your majesty
I dare not boldly say; but this I dare,
He hath done the king your husband’s honour wrong
In this past all the rest, to hinder him
Of the crown matrimonial, which your grace
Made his by promise; other wrongs than this
Are more than I need speak of; for the lords,
He hath caused you banish a great part of them
And the most chief, and at this parliament
Forefault them as for treason, that himself
Who jets here in his cap and damask gown
Might of your grace be made a lord, and tread
On men more noble: wherefore with good cause
For very love I pray your majesty
Make not yourself his buckler who lacks heart
Save to pluck forth his hanger and not strike,
But cower behind and clasp your gown for shield.
Stand from before the window, lest perforce
I hale him hence by the hair.
QUEEN.
Help us, our friends!
Thrust out this death-faced traitor.
ARTHUR ERSKINE.
Sir, give way.
ROBERT STUART.
Out of this presence!
RUTHVEN.
Lay no hands on me;
Draws.
Stand; I will not be handled.
Enter Fauldonside and Sir George Douglas
QUEEN.
Out with him!
RIZZIO.