But for my frowardness and rancorous mind;
Let all this even be so; as he shall say
Who will say nought but with your queenly will,
Why, so will I. Yet ere I am gone, my lord -
O, not my lord, but hers whose thrall am I -
My sometime friend and yet not enemy,
If this thing not offend you, that I crave
So much breath of you as may do me right,
I pray you witness for me how far forth
And for what love’s sake I took part with you
Or gave consent to our devised divorce,
And if this were for hate; for you should know
How much of old time I have hated you,
How bitter made my heart, what jealous edge
Set on mine envy toward you; spare not then
To say if out of cold or cankered heart
I sought, or yielded shamefully for spite,
To be divided from you. Nay, forbear;
Speak not, nor frown on me; you cannot say
I was your loveless or disloyal wife,
Or in my void bed on disconsolate nights
Sought comfort but of tears: nor that I held
Mine honour hurt of that which bruised my heart,
And grudged to help you to mine own most wrong
And lend you mine own hand to smite myself
And make you by mine own mouth quit of me.
This that I did, and wherefore I did this,
And if for love’s or hate’s sake, verily
You shall not say you know not, and the queen
Shall blame me not to put you yet in mind,
Nor think it much that I make record here
Of this that was between us: wherefore now
I take no shame at this my leave-taking
To part as one that has not erred herein,
To love too little; this shall not be said
When one bethinks him such a woman was,
That with poor spirit or with contracted heart
I gave myself to love you, or was found
Too mean of mind or sparing of my soul
To cast for love the crown of love away,
And when you bade refuse you for my lord,
Whom, had you bidden, with my whole heart’s blood
I had thought not much to purchase for my love:
But seeing nor blood nor all my body’s tears
Might buy you back to love me, I was fain
That you should take them and my very life
To buy new love and life with. Sir, and now
Ere we twain part -
QUEEN.
What, are ye parted not?
Between his lover and my lord I stand
And see them weep and wrangle ere they part,
And hold my peace for pity!
JANE GORDON.
God shall judge
If with pure heart and patience, or with soul
That burns and pines, I would have said farewell;
I crave but this much of your grace and God’s,
Make me at last not angry.
QUEEN.
Have you held
No counsel or communion with my lord
Since — I am shamed that take upon my lips
Such inquisition. If you have aught yet, speak;
I bid not nor forbid you.
JANE GORDON.
Nought but this;
To unpledge my faith, unplight my love, and so
Set on his hand the seal by touch of mine
That sunders us.
QUEEN.
You shall not take his hand.
JANE GORDON.
I think not ever then to touch it more,
Nor now desire, who have seen with eyes more sad
More than I thought with sorrowing eyes to see
When I came hither; so this long last time
Farewell, my lord; and you, his queen, farewell.
Exit.
QUEEN.
Hath she made end? While I have part in you,
None shall have part with me; was this my lord,
Was this not you that said so?
BOTHWELL.
Come, enough;
I am bound not to be baited of your tongues.
QUEEN.
Bid her come back.
BOTHWELL.
What, are you foolish? think
You twain shall look in either’s eyes no more.
QUEEN.
Why should I look in yours to find her there?
For there she sits as in a mirror shown
By the love’s light enkindled from your heart,
That flashed but on me like a fen-fire lit
To lure me to my grave’s edge, whence I fall
Deep as the pit of hell; but yet for shame
Deny not her to me as me to her,
Me that have known this ever, but lacked heart
To put the thing to use I knew; and now
For both our sakes who have loved you, play not false
But with one love at once; take up your love
And wear it as a garland in men’s sight,
For it becomes you; if you love me not,
You have lied by this enough; speak truth, shake hands,
Loose hearts and leave me.
BOTHWELL.
Vex not me too long,
Vexing your own heart thus with vanity;
Take up your wisdom that you have at will,
And wear it as a sword in danger’s sight
That now looks hard upon us. Mine you are,
Love me or love not, trust me not or trust,
As yours am I; and even as I in you,
Have faith in me, no less nor further; then
We shall have trust enough on either part
To build a wall about us at whose foot
That sea of iron swayed by winds of war
Shall break in foam like blood; and hurled once back,
The hearts and swords of all our enemies fallen
Lie where they fell for ever. Know but this,
And care not what is unknown else; we twain
Have wrought not out this fortune that we have
Nor made us way to such an hour and power
To let men take and break it, while as fools
We kiss and brawl and cry and kiss again,
And wot not when they smite. For these next days,
We will behold the triumph held at Leith
And pageant of a sea-fight as set forth
With open face and spirit of joyousness
To fix this faith in all men’s eyes and minds,
That while life lives we stand indissoluble:
Then shall you send out for your child again
Forth of Lord Mar’s good keeping, that your heart
May here have comfort in his present sight;
So shall all these who make his name their sword
Lie weaponless within our hand and hold,
Who are drawn in one against us, or prepare,
While we delay, for Stirling; where by this,
I am certified on faith of trusty men,
Argyle is met with Morton, our good friends
That served us for their turn, with some that helped
To make our match and some that would have marred,
Once several-souled, now in their envies one,
As Lindsay, Athol, Herries; and to these
Maitland is fled, your friend that must not bleed,
Your counsellor is stolen away and lives
To whet his wit against you; but myself,
When we have shown us to the people, and seen
What eye they turn upon our marriage feast,
Will ride to Melrose, and raise up from sleep
Their hardy hearts whom now mine unfriends there
Hold in subjection; Herries nor Lord Hume
Nor Maxwell shall have power to tie them up
&n
bsp; When I shall bid them forth, and all the march
Shall rise beneath us as with swell o’ the sea
And wash of thickening waters when the wind
Makes the sea’s heart leap with such might of joy
As hurls its waves together; there shall we
Ride on their backs as warriors, and our ship
Dance high toward harbour. Put but on the spirit
You had in all times that beset your peace,
Since you came home, with danger; in those wars
That made the first years clamorous of your reign,
And in this past and perilous year of ours
Where you lacked never heart. Be seen again
The royal thing men saw you; these your friends
Shall look more friendly on our wedded faith
Seeing no more discord of our days to be,
And our bold borderers with one heart on fire
Burn in your warlike safeguard, once to strike
And end all enemies’ quarrel. When we part,
At Borthwick Castle shall you look for me,
Where I will gather friends more fain of fight
Than all our foes may muster.
QUEEN.
Sir, so be it;
But now my heart is lower than once it was,
And will not sit I think again so high
Though my days turn more prosperous than I deem.
But let that be. Come, friends, and look not sad
Though I look sadder; make what cheer we may,
For festival or fight, or shine or shower,
I will not fail you yet. God give me heart,
That never so much lacked it; yea, he shall,
Or I will make it out of mine own fears
And with my feebleness increase my force
And build my hope the higher that joy lies low
Till all be lost and won. Lead you, my lord,
And fear not but I follow; I have wept
When I should laugh, and laughed when I should weep,
And now live humbler than I thought to be;
I ask not of your love, but of mine own
I have yet left to give. Come, we will see
These pageants or these enemies; my heart
Shall look alike on either. Be not wroth;
I will be merry while I live, and die
When I have leave. My spirit is sick; would God
We were now met at Borthwick, with men’s spears
And noise of friends about us; friend or foe,
I care not whether; here I am sore at heart,
As one that cannot wholly wake nor sleep
Till death receive or life reprieve me. Come;
We should be glad now; let the world take note
We are glad in spite and sight of enmities
That are but worth the hour they take to quell.
Scene XII. Stirling Castle
Maitland and Lindsay
LINDSAY.
Is there such breach between them? why, men said,
When they would ride through Edinburgh and he
Bare-headed at her bridle, she would take
By force and thrust his cap upon his head
With loving might and laughing; and at Leith
They saw the false fight on the waters join
And mid-May pageants that shone down the sun,
As with glad eyes of lovers newly wed
Whose hearts were of the revel; and so soon
Are hearts and eyes divided?
MAITLAND.
Not an hour
May she draw breath but in his eye, nor see
But whom he shall give entrance: in her sight
He thought to have slain me, but she came between
And set for shield her bosom to his sword
In her own chamber; so each day and night
By violent act or viler word than deed
He turns her eyes to water-springs of tears,
Who leaves not yet to love him; such strong hold
By flesh or spirit or either made one fire
Hath such men’s love on women made as she,
For no foul speech I think nor strokes nor shame
Would she go from him, but to keep him fast
Would burn the world with fire; and no force less
Shall burn their bonds in sunder.
LINDSAY.
We will bring
And kindle it in their sight. They are southward fled
To meet at Borthwick; thither we design,
To raise the Merse with Hume, and with Lord Mar
And with the Douglas’ following bind them round
And take them in one snare, whence one of these
Shall creep not forth with life or limb that feels
No hound’s fang fasten on it; and his mate
Shall see their feet smoke with his slaughtered blood.
Scene XIII. Borthwick Castle
The Queen and Bothwell; Mary Beaton in attendance
QUEEN.
You should be hence again; since you came in
From Melrose with no levies at your back,
We have heard no news of friends, and hear but now
That we are ringed with Morton’s folk about;
How shall he not have laid unhappy hand
Upon your messenger that bare our word
Of summons to the archbishop and your friend
Balfour to be with Huntley at our side?
BOTHWELL.
Ay, he is trapped that bore my letters hence,
I doubt not; none have feet to run aright,
Eyes to see true, hands to bring help, but they
That move them to our ruin. This Balfour,
Whom I laid trust on since our fiery night
As on a true man bound of force to me,
Has fallen in conference and device of plots,
I hear, with that lean limb of policy
That loves me not, James Melville, by whose mouth
Being warned I meant to take out of his hand
The castle-keys of Edinburgh and give
To one my closer kinsman for more trust,
He has made him friends of ancient foes, and seeks,
By no less service than pursuit of them
Who slew the king your husband, to deserve
Their favour who are risen of honest heart
But to chastise these slayers, of whom God wot
Themselves were none, nor he that hunts with them
Upon the trail of treason. O, your lords
Are worthy friends and enemies, and their tongues
As trusty as their hands are innocent,
When they see time to turn.
QUEEN.
I would their lives
Lay all between my lips, and with one breath
I might cut all theirs off! nor tongue nor hand
Should rise of them against us, to deny
Their work disclaimed when done. What slaves are these
That make their hands red with men’s secret blood
And with their tongues would lick them white, and wash
The sanguine grain out with false froth of words
From lying lips that kissed the dead to death
And now cry vengeance for him? But, my lord,
Make you haste hence to-night ere they be here
That if we tarry will beset us; I
Should hang but as a fetter on your foot,
Which should pass free forth to Dunbar, and raise
With sound even of its tread and forward speed
The force of all the border.
BOTHWELL.
Where I go,
There shall you not be far to find; to-night
I will sleep here.
QUEEN.
God give you rest and strength,
To make that heart which is the lord of mine
Fresh as the spirit of sunrise! for last night
You slept not w
ell.
BOTHWELL.
No; I had dreams, that am
No natural dreamer; I will sleep apart,
With Cranston’s son to lie at hand, or wait
If I lack service.
QUEEN.
Nay, let me be there;
I will not weary you with speech, nor break
Your sleep with servile and officious watch,
But sit and keep it as a jewel is kept
That is more dear than eyesight to its lord,
Or as mine eyes can keep not now their own,
Now slumber sits far from them. Let me wake.
BOTHWELL.
No, not with me.
QUEEN.
What, lest I trouble you?
Should my being there put dreams in you again,
To cross your sleep with me?
BOTHWELL.
Belike it might.
QUEEN.
Nay, I was no part of your dreams, I think;
You dream not on me waking nor asleep,
But if you dream on no face else nor mine,
I will be yet content.
BOTHWELL.
Well, so it was,
I dreamt at once of either; yet I know not
Why I should tell my dream; your lord that was,
They say, would prattle of his fears by night
And faces of false peril; I was never
So loth by day to face what fear I might
As to be sick in darkness; but this dream
I would not see again. Yet was it nought;
I seemed to stand between two gulfs of sea
On a dark strait of rock, and at my foot
The ship that bore me broken; and there came
Out of the waves’ breach crying of broken men
And sound of splintering planks, and all the hull
Shattered and strewn in pieces; and my head
Was as my feet and hands, bare, and the storm
Blew hard with all its heart upon me; then
Came you, a face with weeping eyes, and hair
Half glimmering with a broken crown that shone
Red as of molten iron; but your limbs
Were swathed about and shrouded out of sight,
Or shown but as things shapeless that the bier
Shows ready for the grave; only the head
Floated, with eyes fast on me, and beneath
A bloodlike thread dividing the bare throat
As with a needle’s breadth, but all below
Was muffled as with cerecloths; and the eyes
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 228