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

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  And care unbidden of me, I thank him not

  If he have done his own wound hurt thereby.

  I will but rest, and see him: bring me in.

  Exeunt.

  Scene X. Craigmillar

  The Queen, Murray, Bothwell, Maitland, Huntley, and Argyle

  QUEEN.

  If it must be, or all without it break,

  I am content to have Lord Morton home;

  Nay, all of them ye will, save two I keep

  To be the food of justice and my wrath,

  Now hunger-starven; his red hand who set

  To my child-burdened breast the iron death,

  And the uncle of my caitiff; they shall bleed,

  As Ruthven should, but for death’s hastier hand

  That plucked him up before me: for his son,

  Let him come back too.

  MAITLAND.

  It is nobly judged,

  And shall content the lords and land alike

  With such good counsel and such fair consent

  To see your highness moved to rid yourself

  Of their disease and yours, with all men’s will

  Purged from you by the readiest mean we may.

  QUEEN.

  Ay, by divorce: I have then your tongues to that,

  Yours, both my friends now that were ill friends once

  But handfast here in common faith to me

  And equal-hearted; and my brother’s voice,

  Joined with these good lords present: but you said,

  Was it not you said, sir, that by divorce,

  Though leave were given of them that might withhold,

  And the priest’s word that bound unbound us, yet

  Some soil might fall from lips of evil will

  On our son’s birth-name?

  MAITLAND.

  Yea, from ill men’s mouths

  And all that hate you such rebuke might fall,

  Which were foul shame to suffer and be dumb,

  Though made by your divorce unanswerable.

  QUEEN.

  In sooth, I thought so; and howbeit yourself,

  My lord of Bothwell, by the judgment given

  That loosed your mother’s from your father’s hand

  Stood undespoiled in fair inheritance,

  It may be where the cast is of a crown,

  And such a crown as in contention shakes

  Two several-storied kingdoms, even the chance

  Should stand not questionable, and friend nor foe

  Have word to throw against it.

  MAITLAND.

  So I said.

  BOTHWELL.

  Yet must the queen be freed; and for the fear

  Lest England for his sake be moved, I know not

  What hold it has upon us, who but now

  Saw what good heart and loyal will they bear

  To the right heirship of your majesty

  Who bide on our south border, when their guns

  From Berwick hailed you passing hither, and made

  The loud-mouthed crags cry to their batteries back,

  And tell the sundering Tweed and all green hills,

  And all the clamorous concourse of the sea,

  The name that had the lordship of both lands

  In heritage to bind them fast in one.

  There heart and tongue outspake of the true north

  That for his caitiff sake should not be moved

  Nor alter from its faith though he were cast,

  With haltered throat or millstone round his neck,

  From a queen’s bed into the naked sea.

  MAITLAND.

  Madam, we are here for service of your grace,

  Chief of your council and nobility:

  We shall find mean whereby without wrong done

  To your son’s title, you shall well be quit

  Of your ill-minded husband; and albeit

  My lord of Murray present here be one

  As scrupulous of his faith a Protestant

  As is your grace a Papist, he will look

  As through his fingers on the work we do

  And say no word, I am well assured, of all

  His eye may wink on.

  QUEEN.

  Nay, I cannot tell;

  I would not have mine honour touched, nor buy

  My peace with hurt of conscience; being so wise

  As silence proves you or as speech proclaims,

  Ye shall do well to let this be; perchance

  The good ye mean me being untimely done

  Might turn to my displeasure, and your hands

  Leave me more hurt than holpen.

  MURRAY.

  You say well;

  For none but honourable and lawful ends

  Have I desired this council, to procure

  Your just and honest freedom, and repeal

  The banished Morton, whose advice thereto

  Shall not be fruitless; for no further aim

  To no strange mean have I put hand. Farewell.

  Exit.

  ARGYLE.

  He will not know of us enough to thwart;

  And so not least may serve us; but if here

  These hands whose help would hurt you not be set

  To such a bond as may put forth our cause

  And bind us to sustain it with one soul,

  Shall they more hurt than help you?

  QUEEN.

  Nay, ye are wise;

  I know not; but I think your helpful hands

  Could not be set but to my service.

  HUNTLEY.

  Then

  Should we set down what reason of resolve

  We have to make it manifest and sure

  That this young fool and tyrant by our will

  Shall bear no rule among us, and thereto

  For divers causes shall he be put forth

  One way or other, and what man soe’er

  Shall take this deed in hand or do it, all we

  Shall as our own and general act of all

  Defend and fortify it.

  QUEEN.

  Must all set hands

  To one same bond for warrant?

  BOTHWELL.

  Who should fail?

  Not we that shall devise it, nor Balfour,

  My kinsman here and friend.

  QUEEN.

  Must you sign too?

  BOTHWELL.

  How must I not? am I not fit to serve

  As being or coward or faithless or a fool,

  Or all or any? or what misdoubt of yours

  Should wash my writing out or blur my name?

  What faith a faithful servant of his hands

  May freely challenge of the king they serve,

  So much I challenge of your majesty.

  QUEEN.

  Nay, my fair lord, but for your known faith’s sake

  And constant service the less need it were

  To have your hand here on our side; lest men

  Should lay the deed but on mine ancient friends,

  Whose names not all men love yet for my sake,

  And call it but our privy plot and hate

  Which is the judgment of all wisest lords

  And equal sentence of the general land.

  MAITLAND.

  So we that were not counted with your friends

  Should bear the whole deed and its danger up,

  We whom you have loved not, madam, for the stand

  We made against the perilous loves and hates

  That loosened half your people’s love from you.

  Yet must we have his hand too.

  BOTHWELL.

  Ay, and shall.

  I wear no glove when hands are bared to strike.

  QUEEN.

  Be it as you will; I am nothing in your count;

  So be it; my council shall not cumber you.

  Do all ye list.

  MAITLAND.

  And all that shall be done

  Will be t
he more strength to your majesty

  And comfort to your cause: which now we go

  With all our help to hearten.

  QUEEN.

  Go, and thrive.

  Exeunt Maitland, Huntley, and Argyle.

  I would we had no need of such men’s tongues.

  BOTHWELL.

  He has the wisest name on all their side;

  And by the tether that holds fast his faith

  We lead their lesser wits what way we will.

  Sharp-spirited is he surely, deep of soul,

  Cunning and fearless; one that gives, men say,

  Small heed or honour to their faiths or fears

  And breath of holy custom; undistraught

  By doubt of God’s hand paddling in our clay

  Or dream of God’s eye slanted on our sin;

  As one that holds more worthily of God,

  - Or would not hold at all - whate’er he be,

  Than of a sidelong scrupulous overseer

  That pries askance upon our piteous lives

  To judge of this and this, how ill or well,

  And mark souls white or black with coal or chalk

  For crowning or for burning, palms or fires;

  One therefore that through all shut ways of life

  Lets his soul range, even like the all-winnowing wind,

  And ply her craft in all life’s businesses

  Not like a blind man burdened; sure of hand

  And great of counsel, like an under fire

  That works in the earth and makes its breach by night

  And leaps a league’s length at the first stride forth

  Of its free foot, blackening the face of men;

  So strong and keen and secret is his soul.

  QUEEN.

  So he keep trust, I care not if his creed

  Be faced or lined with craft and atheism,

  His soul be close or open; but what bond

  Shall bind him ours so sure that fraud nor force

  May serve against us more?

  BOTHWELL.

  Doubt me not that;

  By hilt, not edge, we hold him as a sword

  That in our hand shall bend not till we break,

  If we would break it when our work is done.

  QUEEN.

  Have we the strength? I doubt not of this hand,

  That holds my heart, if it be strong or no,

  More than I doubt of the eyes that light mine eyes,

  The lips that my lips breathe by - O my life,

  More than I doubt of mine own bitter love,

  More than of death’s no power to sunder us,

  Of his no force to quench me who am fire,

  Fire for your sake, that would put all these out

  To shine and lighten in your sight alone

  For warmth and comfort, being to all eyes beside

  Or fear or ruin more fleet of foot than fear.

  I would I had on breast or hand or brow

  In crown or clasp the whole gold wrought of the earth,

  In one keen jewel the store of all the sea,

  That I might throw down at your hand or foot

  Sea, land, and all that in them is of price,

  Or in the strong wine of my piercing love

  Melt the sole pearl of the earth, and drink dissolved

  The cost of all the world’s worth.

  BOTHWELL.

  Yea, my queen?

  Have then no fear what man shall deem or do;

  For by this fire and light of you I swear

  That is my sunlight and my fire of day.

  We shall not walk as they that walk by night

  Toward our great goal uncertainly, nor swerve

  Till we strike foot against it. Kiss me now,

  And bid me too speed on my way with them

  To bring back all their hands here to the bond

  Set fast as mine, or as your heart is fast

  Set on his death whose life lies nigh burnt out,

  Half brand half ash already in the heat

  Of that bright wrath which makes as red as flame

  Your fearful and sweet splendour; nay, by heaven,

  It flushes all the light about your face

  With seven times kindled colour of pure fire,

  And burns mine eyes beholding, as your lips

  And quick breath burn me kissing. My sweet fear,

  Had you not been the sweetest, even to me

  You must have been the fearfullest thing alive.

  QUEEN.

  For love is so, and I am very love,

  And no more queen or woman; have no heart,

  No head, no spirit or sense at all of life,

  Save as of love that lives and that is I,

  I that was woman, and bore rule alone

  Upon myself; who am all diskingdomed now,

  Made twice a slave, mine own soul’s thrall and yours

  Who wield the heart that wields me at your will.

  I can but do as wills the spirit in me

  Which is your spirit’s servant. Ah, my lord,

  My one lord every way, my poor heart’s blood,

  Breath of my lips and eyesight of mine eyes,

  How did I live the life that loved you not?

  What were those days wherein I walked apart

  And went my way and did my will alone

  And thought and wrought without you in the world?

  Then I did evil and folly; the more need

  I purge me now and perfect my desire,

  Which is to be no more your lover, no,

  But even yourself, yea more than body and soul,

  One and not twain, one utter life, one fire,

  One will, one doom, one deed, one spirit, one God;

  For we twain grown and molten each in each

  Surely shall be as God is and no man.

  BOTHWELL.

  God speed us then till we grow up to God!

  Me first, who first shall clear our way to climb

  By carving one weed’s earthly coil away

  That cumbers our straight growing: pray for me!

  I will have all their hands to it in an hour.

  Scene XI. Courtyard of a Hostelry at Whittingham

  Bothwell and Morton

  MORTON.

  Fled in pure fear of me? well, he knows best.

  Towards Glasgow, said you?

  BOTHWELL.

  Soon as came the word

  You were brought home with welcome of the queen,

  He spurs from Stirling with all heat of speed

  Even from her arms new-reconciled and face

  That favourably had received him; leaves the feast

  Half made and his unchristened yeanling there

  Not yet signed God’s and dewy from the font

  Long waited for, till the English golden gift

  Was grown too strait to hold and hallow him;

  Flies from all sight and cheer of festal folk,

  And on the way being smitten sick with fear

  Cries out of poison working in his flesh

  Blue-spotted as with ulcerous pestilence,

  Weeps himself dead and wails himself alive,

  As now he lies, but bedrid; and has lain

  This Christmas through, while the queen held her feast

  At Drummond Castle.

  MORTON.

  Yea, I heard so; and you

  At Tullibardine likewise, or men lie,

  Kept the feast high beside her. Well, my lord,

  Now have you time and room to say for each

  What ye would have of me, the queen and you,

  Who are hand and tongue at once of her design;

  Here am I newly lighted, hot from horse,

  But fresh come forth of exile and ill days

  To do you service; let me have her hand

  For warrant of what dangerous work she will,

  And mine is armed to do it; but till I have,

  Exp
ect of me, who have seen times strange as this,

  Nothing.

  BOTHWELL.

  I have her warrant in my lips;

  By me she speaks you safe in serving her.

  MORTON.

  Let that secure yourself; I must have proofs.

  BOTHWELL.

  You shall have all, and written; but your hand

  Must be in this with ours.

  MORTON.

  I have cause enough,

  Good reason and good will to see it performed;

  But will not strike through mine own side at him.

  Make your mind sure of that.

  BOTHWELL.

  Well, you shall have it;

  Myself will fetch your warrant from her hand

  That from my mouth assures you not; and then -

  MORTON.

  Then shall my hand make answer to her own.

  Exeunt.

  Scene XII. Callander

  The Queen and Lady Reres

  QUEEN.

  I do not feel as at past partings; then

  My heart was sick and bitter, and mine eye

  Saw not beyond the grievous hour at hand;

  Now when of all time I should be most sad,

  Being parted at love’s highest of height from love

  And bound to meet love’s poison and my plague,

  My life’s live curse yet married to my life,

  Yet am I light and fuller of sweet hope

  Than even sweet memory fills me.

  LADY RERES.

  It is well

  When dawn discomforts not the whole sweet night.

  QUEEN.

  There be stars sure that die not of the day,

  Or in this hoariest hour of dusk and dew

  How should my heart be warm with last night’s fire?

  Enter Bothwell

  What, risen so soon, my lord?

  BOTHWELL.

  What, not yet forth?

  That was the question laughing on your lips,

  And this my plea to kill the question with.

  Kissing her.

  I must ride now. There waits a messenger

  From our wed lord in Glasgow.