NELSON.
Being awake,
Let not it move you.
DARNLEY.
Nay, it shall not move.
Yet were they dreams to shake with waking fear
A sounder state than mine is.
NELSON.
Sir, what dreams?
DARNLEY.
No matter what: I’ll tell thee yet some part,
That thou may’st know I shrink not for no cause.
I dreamed this bed here was a boat adrift
Wherein one sat with me who played and sang,
Yet of his cittern I could hear no note
Nor in what speech he sang inaudibly,
But watched his working fingers and quick lips
As with a passionate and loathing fear,
And could not speak nor smite him; and methought
That this was David; and he knew my heart,
How fain I would have smitten him, and laughed
As ‘twere to mock my helpless hands and hate.
So drove we toward a rock whereon one sat
Singing, that all the highest air of heaven
Was kindled into light therewith, and shone
As with a double dawn; stars east and west
Lightened with love to hear her, and the sky
Brake in red bloom as leaf-buds break in spring,
But these bore fires for blossoms: then awhile
My heart too kindled and sprang up and sang
And made sweet music in me, to keep time
With that swift singing; then as fire drops down
Dropped, and was quenched, and in joy’s stead I felt
Fear ache in me like hunger; and I saw
These were not stars nor overhead was heaven,
But a blind vault more thick and gross than earth,
The nether firmament that roofs in hell,
And those hot lights were of lost souls, and this
The sea of tears and fire below the world
That still must wash and cleanse not of one curse
The far foul strands with all its wandering brine:
And as we drove I felt the shallop’s sides,
Sapped by the burning water, plank from plank
Severing; and fain I would have cried on God,
But that the rank air took me by the throat;
And ever she that sat on the sea-rock
Sang, and about her all the reefs were white
With bones of men whose souls were turned to fire;
And if she were or were not what I thought
Meseemed we drew not near enough to know;
For ere we came to split upon that reef
The sundering planks opened, and through their breach
Swarmed in the dense surf of the dolorous sea
With hands that plucked and tongues thrust out at us,
And fastened on me flamelike, that my flesh
Was molten as with earthly fire, and dropped
From naked bone and sinew; but mine eyes
The hot surf seared not, nor put out my sense;
For I beheld and heard out of the surge
Voices that shrieked and heads that rose, and knew
Whose all they were, and whence their wrath at me;
For all these cried upon me that mine ears
Rang, and my brain was like as beaten brass,
Vibrating; and the froth of that foul tide
Was as their spittle shot in my full face
That burnt it; and with breast and flanks distent
I strained myself to curse them back, and lacked
Breath; the sore surge throttled my tongueless speech,
Though its weight buoyed my dipping chin, that sank
No lower than where my lips were burnt with brine
And my throat clenched fast of the strangling sea,
Till I swam short with sick strokes, as one might
Whose hands were maimed; then mine ill spirit of sleep
Shifted, and showed me as a garden walled,
Wherein I stood naked, a shipwrecked man,
Stunned yet and staggered from the sea, and soiled
With all the weed and scurf of the gross wave
Whose breach had cast me broken on that shore:
And one came like a god in woman’s flesh
And took mine eyes with hers, and gave me fruit
As red as fire, but full of worms within
That crawled and gendered; and she gave me wine
But in the cup a toad was; and she said,
Eat, and I ate, and Drink, and I did drink,
And sickened; then came one with spur on heel
Red from his horse o’erridden, smeared with dust,
And took my hand to lead me as to rest,
Being bruised yet from the sea-breach; and his hand
Was as of molten iron wherein mine
Was as a brand in fire; and at his feet
The earth split, and I saw within the gulf
As in clear water mine own writhen face,
Eaten of worms and living; then I woke.
NELSON.
It was a foul and formless dream, my lord,
With no soul in it.
DARNLEY.
Nay, I think it had not.
And I did mind me waking how the queen
Sang me a song of shipwreck, and strange seas,
And love adrift by night, and fires burnt out
That shine but for a song’s length; I did think
It was this singing made up half my dream.
For there was talk of storms in it, and stars,
And broken ships, and death that rode in the air:
So was there in my dream. What step comes here?
Enter Robert Stuart
ROBERT STUART.
I come to change less than a word with you,
And take my leave for all your rest of life.
DARNLEY.
I will not speak alone with you again:
Stay by me there.
ROBERT STUART.
Have you not armour on?
You should not sleep with sword ungirt on thigh,
Lest one should fall upon you. For this time
I come indeed to see if you be man
Or ever knew beyond the naked name
What grace and office should belong to man
Or purpose to his sword. Reply not yet;
I know you are sick, weak, pitiful, half dead,
And with the ingrained infection of your soul
Its bodily house grown rotten; all you will;
You cannot swear yourself that piteous thing
That I will not believe you wretcheder;
No flesh could harbour such a worm alive
As this thing in you taken for a soul,
And ‘scape corruption; but if you shall live
To stand again afoot and strike one stroke
For your own hand and head, you shall fight with me
Or wear the lie writ red upon your face
With my hand’s buffet, that you spake who said
I had given you note of danger from the queen.
DARNLEY.
Is it a plot, her plot upon me? Sir,
By God, I never said so; what I said
I have heart and sword to uphold against all swords,
And kill you if I might as many times
As you shall iterate on me this for true
Which is most false. When I may stand and go -
ROBERT STUART.
Yea, then shall we see fighting. But as now
You can but swear you said not this of me?
DARNLEY.
I am not bound to swear it or unswear
At any bidding; but so much I will -
That you may see no hot foul words of yours
Have quenched in me the old thought of fellowship -
As swear again I said but what I might
With honour and clear heart: I spa
ke no word
To bring you in suspicion, or to turn
Thwart eyes upon you of men’s jealousies
Or cast you out of favour with the queen;
I said but you did warn me of my life,
As being my fast friend still, I thanked you for it -
I know not what she says I said - but this
I know, I spake no treason of you. See,
This is a foolish wind of wrath that shakes
And wrecks your faith in me, mine own in you
Being firm and flawless; what you have said, you have said;
And what I have spoken of you was no more
Than I had right to speak and rest your friend.
ROBERT STUART.
Will you fight with me to maintain so much?
DARNLEY.
If I might rise I would put off my state
To stand against you equal; you did say it,
That I was even as one the law damns dead
And she was parcel of my peril.
ROBERT STUART.
Ay!
You said so to her?
DARNLEY.
She will not say I did.
ROBERT STUART.
Plight not your faith to that; I am assured
You said so, and so lied; and this last time
I bind you yet to meet me on this cause
Or bear the lie about you as a badge.
DARNLEY.
By God, I will grow strong to fight with you.
ROBERT STUART.
If I shall see your living face again,
It shall be as mine enemy’s; foot to foot
And hand to mortal hand we twain will meet,
Or ere the day dawn I shall see you dead.
DARNLEY.
I am like to die, then? and your warlike words
Have so much iron in them, and your heart
Such daring to provoke one wellnigh dead?
I wist your tongue would move more tenderly
If I had now my strength of natural hand
And body to bear arms: but these shall come,
And you change face and lower your look to see.
ROBERT STUART.
I will abide my peril; do you the like,
You shall do wisely; should I say farewell,
It were to bid you fare not as they do
Who are of your kind or of your fortune; yet
I bid you, sir, fare better than I think.
Exit.
DARNLEY.
Ay, you think venomously. What hour to-day
Should the queen come?
NELSON.
To-night your highness knows
Her man Sebastian weds a maid of hers,
And she makes feast for them in Holyrood
With masque and music; having early supped,
She will be here somewhile with certain lords
To visit you, and so pass back ere night.
DARNLEY.
She shall not make so much, when I am revived,
Of outland folk and fiddlers, who should have
Too much of them by this. I would she had come
To see me turn the lie back on his lips.
I did not answer as I might, being whole,
But yet not like a sick man, ha? like one
Whose wit and heart lie sick too with his flesh?
NELSON.
Nay, with your natural spirit of speech you spoke,
With the same heart and tongue you have in health.
DARNLEY.
I think I did; I would she had come betimes.
Scene XX. The Garden behind Kirk of Field
Bothwell, Ormiston, Hay
BOTHWELL.
Did I not bid them spare no speed? the devil
I think has maimed their feet in my despite,
To keep a knave so piteous out of hell.
By God, it will be moonrise ere they come.
ORMISTON.
Tush, man! the night is close.
BOTHWELL.
Ay, close and safe
As is the lock of a girl’s maidenhood
When the gold key turns in it. They halt like jades;
God plague their laggard limbs with goads of fire!
Must they fall spavined now?
HAY.
Here come they three,
And with charged hands; be not so outward hot,
But as their charge is ere we give it fire.
BOTHWELL.
Teach your own tongue to take your tune, not mine.
Enter Hepburn with Servants
Have you some devil’s cramp in your bones, to crawl
At this worm’s race? Set down your load and go.
Exeunt Servants.
What lamed these knaves’ feet or belated you,
To hold us here thus till the moon were up?
HEPBURN.
’Tis not yet risen; and your own word it was
Withheld us till the west should cast off red.
BOTHWELL.
Well, we have time. Ye three are hands enough
To bear this down and strew it within the vault
While I go help the queen here bide her hour
Till you send Paris to me for a sign.
Take heed there be no noise. Let but two stay
To fire the train; you, cousin, for my love
Shall be one hand thereto. Pass in, and see
Ye go down sure and softly. From this gate
Ye know the passage under; go, and speed.
Exeunt.
Scene XXI. Darnley’s Chamber
The Queen, Darnley, Earls of Cassilis, Huntley, and Argyle
QUEEN.
But I must chide you for one thing, my lord,
That you would hold your servant Duram here
Though it be for love you bear him; he is sick,
And should not sleep nor watch with you to-night;
You do not well to keep him from the town
Against his health, who should take physic there
And come back whole to serve you.
DARNLEY.
Let him go.
I did but bid him leave me not alone;
I will have one for service at my hand.
QUEEN.
Have you no more but just this young man gone
Whom I bade go even where was best for him?
Let your page lie at hand here.
DARNLEY.
Nay, I will.
You sent off Alexander?
QUEEN.
He was sick;
We should show care of them we take to grace
More friendlike than by cherishing ourselves
With their forced company; the grace is more
To take thought for them whom we hold in trust
Than still to exact their service, tax their faith,
Whose faith and service we that lean thereon
Should put to no more toil and pain than needs,
Requiting love with labour.
DARNLEY.
You say well;
But what should ail him? save that yesterday
He found his bed-straw here by chance afire
And flung it out at window; on which plea
He would not lie to-night here, till I bade him
Sleep with me as aforetime, being of all
The man bound closest to my love and trust;
Then first he spake of sickness, as you heard
Who sat between us. Nay, but let him go;
The boy shall serve to sleep here.
QUEEN.
Sickness makes
All wills to serve it like necessity;
Witness my will to keep my brother here
Whom his wife’s sickness at St. Andrew’s now
Parts from our feasts and counsels, caught up hence
As if a wind had rapt him.
DARNLEY.
She is sick too -
The Lady Murray?
QUEEN.
>
Nigh to death, he says;
I know not: who knows how near death he walks
Who treads as now most upright in the sun
ARGYLE.
Why have we death and sickness in our mouths
Who come forth of a feast not ended yet
That in good time recalls us?
QUEEN.
Presently.
I would you were in health to dance me down
To-night but for the bride’s sake; for the groom,
He may live easier that you grace him not
Nor gall with favour or with jealousy.
DARNLEY.
We twain shall see this night out otherwise.
QUEEN.
I am sure you shall see more of rest than I.
DARNLEY.
Except I watch for sickness’ sake all night.
QUEEN.
That shall you not; I charge you on my love
Sleep sound for my sake.
Enter Bothwell
Are not you the bell
That strikes the hour to sunder us, my lord?
BOTHWELL.
Madam, I strike not yet.
QUEEN.
The better; sit,
And make no sound of parting till your hour,
No timeless note of severance. My fair lord,
Have you no fair word for your noble guests?
DARNLEY.
I pray you, sirs, of your own gentleness,
Lay it not to my discourtesy for shame
That I can but thus sickly entertain
The grace ye do me; that I meet it so,
Impute not to my will that is myself
But to my weakness that is none of me
Save as our enemy may be part of us,
And so forgive it.
HUNTLEY.
Sir, we are fain to see
Even in your gracious words that speak you ill
Some spirit of health already.
CASSILIS.
I would pledge
My name and word you shall not long lie sick
Who bear yourself thus lordlike.
Noise below.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 218