Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 206
Save, save me, madam!
QUEEN.
You are within my ward.
Stand from him, sirs; what! treason!
FAULDONSIDE.
Nay, then, thus.
Putting a pistol to her breast.
QUEEN.
Do him no wrong; ye dare not murder me:
If he have sinned let justice pass on him.
FAULDONSIDE.
This cord shall justify him.
RIZZIO.
Help me! help!
SIR GEORGE DOUGLAS.
Let go the queen.
RIZZIO.
Help me, my mistress!
FAULDONSIDE.
Out!
QUEEN.
Have mercy!
RIZZIO.
Mercy! nay, I am innocent!
Save me, sweet lady!
QUEEN.
Will ye slay me too?
FAULDONSIDE.
Drag him away; pluck his hands off her.
RIZZIO.
Help!
They force him out.
QUEEN.
Why does that sheath sit empty on your side?
Where is the dagger?
DARNLEY.
Why, I know not where.
QUEEN.
It will be known hereafter; it shall be
Dear blood to some of you if David’s here
Be spilt, my faithful servant’s; but may God,
My poor true friend, have mercy on your soul!
RUTHVEN.
Here, take your wife into your arms, my lord,
And bid her fear not. Madam, have no fear;
We had sooner spend the blood of our own hearts
Than you should suffer harm; and what we do
Is but your husband’s bidding. Let them pass:
He shall be kept for this time safe enough
In my lord’s chamber here.
DARNLEY.
Ay shall he, safe -
In that same chamber where you used of old
Before this fellow grew so in your grace
To come and seek me; but since he so fell
In credit with you and familiar use,
Even if I come to yours I find of late
Small entertainment of you, save so far
As David may sit third with us, and set
To cards with you even till an hour or twain
Be gone past midnight.
QUEEN.
I have heard not said
It was a duteous gentlewoman’s part
To seek her husband’s chamber, but the man’s
To seek the wife when he would aught with her.
DARNLEY.
Why came you to my chamber then at first,
And ever till these few months back that he
Became familiar with you? or am I
In any part now of my body failed,
To fall out of your grace? or what disdain
Have you of me? or what offence of mine
Makes you not use me at all times alike,
Seeing I am willing to do all good things
That may become a husband to his wife?
QUEEN.
My lord, of all the shame here done to me
You have the fault: for which sake I henceforth
Shall never be your wife nor lie with you,
Nor ever shall have liking of my life
Till I may make you bear as sore a heart
As I bear now.
RUTHVEN.
Madam, for honour’s sake,
Be reasonably and timely reconciled
To your wed lord; and with him take advice
Of such good friends as love you. Give me leave:
I am faint, and cannot stand to plead with you.
Sits.
Bring me to drink, for God’s sake.
DARNLEY.
Give my lord
A cup of wine.
QUEEN.
Is this your malady?
If ye shall slay me or my six months’ child
By this night’s force and fear, my friends yet live
To wreak me of Lord Ruthven.
RUTHVEN.
Be content.
QUEEN.
When word goes forth how I am handled here -
What, am I kinless, think you, without help?
Mine uncles and my brother king of France,
All lords of all lands living, all heads crowned,
Shall be one storm to shake you from the world;
And the Pope with me, and the Catholic king,
And all that live or of my faith or blood,
Shall all make way upon you.
RUTHVEN.
I am too mean
That these so many and mighty should take aim
At one such poor man here as I am. See,
If you will weigh it worthily yourself,
This is no treason; never till this night
Was so good service done you. For myself,
I will make answer to God’s charge and man’s
How I have served you in it.
QUEEN.
What have I done?
What thing am I that ye should use me thus?
O miserable and desertless that I am,
Unkingdomed of mine honour! I that had
Lordship of land and natural rule of men
Am poorer here than any landless man
And weaker than all women. Pray you, sir,
By what law’s sentence am I made man’s thrall?
What lord have I offended that can bid
My face for shame be covered in your sight?
Whom have I wronged? or who hath power on me,
What thing soever I be, to do me wrong?
Who hath given forth judgment on me? what man’s right
Calls me his servant? Nay, there is no slave
Men strike without a sentence; and ye strike
Your own right in me and your name to death
With one self-ruinous violence.
RUTHVEN.
Be at peace;
We strike but your own sickness off yourself
Who cut off him to save you: the disease
That dies of the physician leaves no cause
That you should curse but thank him.
QUEEN.
Thank? ay, thank -
God give me grace to give you thanks! be sure
Ye shall not lack my memory to it, nor will
To make me worthy of you. What, no more?
Exit Ruthven.
I thought his wrath was large enough for me
To find a murderous part in where to die
And share it with my servant. Must I live?
Sir, you that make death warm between your lips,
And, silent, let fall murder from your mouth,
Have you no kiss to kill me? no love left
To give me poison? Why is he gone forth?
Hath the hot falsehood eaten through your tongue?
Speak.
DARNLEY.
Why, I bade him look to those your friends
That might have risen upon us; hear you that?
Noise outside.
There is a clamour of them in the courts,
But nought to help or hurt now. He is gone
To read our will out in the general ear,
And by proclaiming of my share with them
In this their new-born justice to make sure
Men’s hearts that hearken; and lest fear shake our friends,
Or illwill toward us and goodwill toward you
Make our foes strong in malice of design,
To warn them of your brother’s present speed,
Who must be here with morning: my device,
My trick to win all faiths that hang on him
And tie them to my service with his hand.
So have we all souls instant on our side,
And you no way to wound us: for by this,
Even with the hearing of my n
ame given forth
As parcel of the bond that writes him dead,
Which is now cancelled with his bloodshedding,
This your good town is with us, and your lords
That stood for you with this man fled or dead,
If they dare strike or stand yet. What shift now?
What wit? what craft?
QUEEN.
My friends driven forth the court?
No help upon my side? The town raised too?
DARNLEY.
We had no heart nor wit to work with, ha?
We were your fools, and heartless?
QUEEN at the window.
Help, all friends!
All good men help your queen here! Ho, my lord,
My lord the Provost!
DARNLEY.
He is raised indeed.
QUEEN.
Help for the queen! help, Provost!
DARNLEY.
Peace, I say;
You may fare worse: these are wild hours.
VOICE WITHOUT.
Sit down;
You shall be hewn in pieces if you stir
And flung into the Nor’-Loch.
DARNLEY.
Nay, be wise;
Pluck not their madness on you.
QUEEN.
O, your love!
It shows now kindly in you.
Re-enter Ruthven
RUTHVEN.
All is sped;
The lords of the adverse party being roused up
And hearing with what large applause of men
The reading of our sentence in the bond
And names subscribed, and proclamation made
Of Murray even at heel of the act returned,
Was of all mouths made welcome, in fierce haste
Forth of their lodging fled confusedly
With no more tarriance than to bring their lives
Clear of the press and cry of peril at hand,
And their folk round them in a beaten rank
Hurled all together; so no man being left,
The earls of Huntley and of Bothwell gone,
To lift a hand against the general peace,
The townsmen, of their surety satisfied,
Brake up with acclamation of content
For the good comfort done them in this deed.
QUEEN.
What have ye made my servant?
RUTHVEN.
A dead dog.
His turn is done of service.
DARNLEY.
Yea, stark dead?
RUTHVEN.
They stabbed him through and through with edge on edge
Till all their points met in him; there he lies,
Cast forth in the outer lodge, a piteous knave
And poor enough to look on.
QUEEN.
I am content.
Now must I study how to be revenged.
DARNLEY.
Nay, think not that way: make it not so much;
Be warned, and wiser.
QUEEN.
Must I not, my lord?
You have taught me worthier wisdom than of words;
And I will lay it up against my heart.
ACT II
Bothwell
Time from March 10, 1566, to February 9, 1567
Scene I. The Queen’s Chamber
Enter Darnley and Arthur Erskine, severally
DARNLEY.
Is the queen risen?
ARTHUR ERSKINE.
She has not slept, my lord.
They say she is in some peril of mishap
Through the sore handling of this violent night;
Mortal mishap it may be.
DARNLEY.
Ay! who say it?
What should be mortal to her? she was not sick
Nor near enough her danger.
ARTHUR ERSKINE.
I am no leech;
Haply the fright of murderous menaces
And noise of swords is held medicinal;
The savour of a slain friend comfortable
And his blood balm: if these be healthful things,
You have given her weakness physic.
Enter the Queen
QUEEN.
Ah, our lord!
Comes he with death about him? I could take it
As readily as condemned men take reprieve,
For of a life much deadlier than itself
Death would reprieve me.
DARNLEY.
I am come to bring you help.
QUEEN.
You are ever helpful, even at all needs good,
For stroke or speech, good always. I am weak;
Let me have execution swift or soft;
Here is no strength to suffer.
DARNLEY.
Sit, and rest.
QUEEN.
Nay, I can stand; or should I kneel, my plight
Were one with my new fortune. You may go:
I have but private penitence to do,
And privy grace to get me; for indeed
I were stark mad to hope by any mean
For public pardon; I am condemned, and have
No hope but of such pity as dead men gain
Who living found no grace in the great world.
Exit Arthur Erskine.
Now, what death, sir?
DARNLEY.
You think not as you speak;
Your thought has other business than your tongue,
And death has no part in it.
QUEEN.
I am assured
I must not live.
DARNLEY.
Whose doom has passed on you?
Not mine; I would not have you go in fear;
You may be safe as I am.
QUEEN.
As you, my lord?
I think I may, and yet may chance but find
A little day of surety.
DARNLEY.
By mine honour,
My word and place of sovereignty is pledged
For your fair usage; they that unseat you
Shall find no king in me.
QUEEN.
Nay, I think not.
DARNLEY.
As they would have me friend and firm to them,
I told them, they should use you royally,
No state or privilege plucked off you; nay,
I have no thought by stolen strength of yours
To increase myself out of your weakness; only
I would have royalty remade in you,
And in your honour an honourable part;
See the state in you and the name shine fair,
And in your praise mine own praise perfected
As parcel of it, and in your good fame
Mine own fame stablished; as from your repute
Shaken or sullied, my name too takes soil,
And in your insufficience I wax weak,
So would I have the grace I gain and strength
Redound to youward; who being queen indeed,
I cannot seem unkingly.
QUEEN.
’Tis well thought.
It was my curse to know not in good time
How high a sense and royal of itself
I had in you so near me.
DARNLEY.
That your thought,
Misdeeming me worth no more weight with you,
Hath brought us to this breach. Now lies it in you
To make all whole; these lords that in my name
And for mine ends and with my leave rose up
To rid out peril and scandal from us all,
And make red-handed witness of themselves
Against the shame and scathe of royalty,
Are not the traitors of your thought, but keep
Faith flawless toward the personal empire here
And spirit of rule, dishonouring not the law
By forceful chastisement of secret breach
That did it bloodless violence; this blood shed
> Must heal indeed the privy hurt of law
And all but death of kingship, in such pass
Wasted and wounded; but no hand of theirs
Would stab through you your holy majesty,
Cut off all life of law with yours, and make
Authority die with you one visible death;
No thought put out your office, though yourself
Were found come short thereof, to leave this land
A kingless kingdom; wherefore with good will
I counsel you make peace with their designs
And friends with mine intent, which for us both
Is but all power and honour.
QUEEN.
So you see it;
But were your eyes no flatterers of themselves
The sight were other: yet for my poor part
I cannot care though power be out of sight,
Save that mine honour visibly is marred
By wreck in you of either; for indeed
Nor power nor honour shall hang on to you
If you must wear them but at will of men
And by strange leave of chance authority
Reign or not reign; but all concerns me not;
Rule as you may, be lord of that you can,
I can contend not with your lords or you,
Their master-servant. Pardon me; I am weak,
A feeble simple woman, without stay,
And witless of your worth; yet I might fear
Their policies were no good friends of yours,
Could we see all; men’s hearts are manifold,
Not made of glass like women’s such as mine,
At once transpicuous and perceptible
To eyes like yours that look their faults through; yet
Perchance you see more faults than lie there, spots
That are not natural to us; or make too much
Of our light thoughts and weakness; yet, your pardon:
You have reason in it, being more wise than we