MORTON.
Will she not let him fight?
KIRKALDY.
With no mean man,
Or lesser than himself; he shall not mate
With me nor Tullibardine; we must find
One equal to make proffer of his hand,
And by these messengers again returned
That brought her first word and took back our own
Himself now bids you forth by name to take
This justice on your sword.
MORTON.
And by my hand,
I am as glad as of his present death
That I should be the man of all chosen out
To lay his death upon him. Let him know
I am armed by this for answer.
LINDSAY.
Nay, my lord;
Who fights with Bothwell on this general plea
For all the land’s sake, should not only bear
The right upon his sword of this large cause,
But stand in the eye of all the land so far
From all men’s charge or any man’s conceit
That might repute him touched or mixed at all
With Bothwell’s works, or once but on his part
Suspected in time past or glanced upon
Of enemies’ eyes as parcel of his act,
That no sharp tongue on earth might find the mean
To tax his victory with unrighteousness
If he should conquer, - as were yours the sword
I doubt not it should surely - nor dispute
The justice and pure truth that on our side
Took up this challenge. You, they know, were one
Of that dead man once wronged, and sworn, they say,
To turn his treacheries on his head alive
And with his own lie pierce him as a sword;
He never did me wrong, nor gave men cause
To deem his death a thing that I should seek
As just and natural part of my desire;
So shall none hold it questionable or strange
If I should stand against his slayer in arms
As to do battle on the dead man’s part
That was toward me no traitor.
MORTON.
Well, my lord,
Take you then this upon you; to your hand
I shall not grudge to yield that honour up
Which none more noble in the world might wield
Nor heart more true deserve; in sign whereof
Here from mine own side I ungird the sword
Which was my grandsire’s, whose two-handed stroke
Did suchlike service as shall you to-day
To Scotland, in his hand that belled the cat,
When other slaves that clung about the throne
Made the land foul as this doth; to which end
I gird you with it, that its edge again
May lop as high a dangerous head away
And shear a weed as poisonous. This it was
That drove to death even with its lift and flash
The crew of Cochrane, as in scorn to smite
Their necks that craved the halter, and were bowed
Before the light and wind but of its stroke
Down to the dust and death; and this again
Struck with one blow to hell by Fala brook
Spens of Kilspindie, who being overblown
With favour and light love of the fourth James
Gave with his life all these to Douglas up
At the first change of sword-play; from such hand
By heritage I have it, as from mine
You now, my lord, by gift; and I well think
That in those great dead hands of Bell-the-Cat
It did no worthier work than ere we sleep
This land in yours shall see it.
LINDSAY.
Sir, with glad heart
I take the burden to me thankfully
That this great gift lays on; as with my hands
I strip this armour off and take from yours
To gird my body left else weaponless
This the most prosperous and most noble steel
That ever did truth right, so from my soul
God witness me that I put off all thought
Save of his justice to be served and shown,
And keep no memory more to enforce my hand
That he for whose dead sake I am girt to fight
With one that slew him was of my kindred blood,
Nor this mine own foe that I seek to slay,
But only that I stand here single-souled
For this land’s sake and all its noble brood,
To do their judgment on his murderous head
Who is their general traitor; and I pray
Here on my knees before these warlike lines
Kneeling.
That God on whom I call will equally
This day preserve and punish in men’s sight
The just and unjust that he looks upon,
With blameless hand dividing their just doom
To one and other; yea, as thou art Lord,
With eye to read between our hearts, and hand
To part between us punishment and grace,
Hear, God, and judge: and as thy sentence is
So shall man’s tongue speak ever of this day
And of his cause that conquers.
MORTON.
Laird of Grange,
While these that twice brought message from the queen
Bear now this last news back of what they hear,
Lest when the traitor knows whom he shall meet
His foul heart fail him and his false foot flee
By what way forth is left him toward Dunbar,
Take you two hundred horse, and with good speed
Cross to the right beyond this hollow ground
And cut him off; so though he fain would fly
And she stand fast or follow, yet we hold
As in one toil the lioness and the wolf
That clomb by night into the lion’s bed,
Who stand now staked about with nets and ringed
With pikes and hounds of hunters, glare at bay
With eyes and teeth that shine against us yet,
But the fierce feet are trammelled in our toils
Nor shall the tongues lap life again of man.
DU CROC.
Ay, lion-like, my lord, she bears herself,
As who should shake all spears or shafts away
Like leaves that fell upon her, and all fears
As grains of dust brushed off; but he too makes
Such gallant show at need of such good heart
As in this utter peril where he stands
Might win for one that had no unjust cause
Pity and praise of enemies, and for him
At least such mingled and discoloured fame
As falls not on a coward; nor can men
Report him in his end and sore extreme
But as a soldier tried of hand and brain,
Skilful and swift, with heart to match his eye
And wit to serve them; could these yet avail
To ransom him by spirit of soldiership
And craft with courage tempered as with fire
To wield with fiery cunning the wide war,
He should not fall but mightily, nor cease
But with a strife as earthquake.
MORTON.
Well, my lord,
With no such strife we think to win him. - Go,
And if they send again to treat with us
Speak you with her and bring us once more word.
Scene III. The Queen’s Camp
The Queen and Bothwell
QUEEN.
Are we quite lost?
BOTHWELL.
Ay, if I fight not: but
I will not die and fight not.
QUEEN.
What, no help?
Is there not left
a score of manlike men
To stand and strike round us that in their ring
May fight enclosed and fall where none shall fly?
Are all our strengths slid from us? not one troop
That has not piecemeal dropped with shame away?
Not some twelve friends to back us yet and die
As never men died nobler?
BOTHWELL.
No, not three:
My levies there of Lothian and the Merse
Are slipped away like water; of your men
Not yet four hundred lie along the heights,
Nor half will stay of these a half-hour hence.
Look too where yonder rides about the hill
The Laird of Grange between us and Dunbar
As to make onset with two hundred horse
Thence where the way is smooth, while those in front
Charge up the hill right on our unfenced camp
And their trap’s teeth shut on us. This remains
Of all our chance, this one way to make end,
That while they yet refuse me not a man
To bear the day’s weight on his sword and mine
I go to meet whom they soever choose
With no more question made; and this I will,
If yet they grant me but their meanest man
For opposite as equal.
QUEEN.
Have they hearts,
That have you for their fiery star of fight
To see and not to follow? That I could
But give mine own among all these away
And with the parcels of it portioned out
Divide myself into a hundred hearts
Of manlier-spirited blood, to raise us up
For these a tribe of soldiers! Speak to them,
And they will hear and hunger to go on
Full of your words to death; yea, all as I
Will thirst to die around you. O my God!
What is their blood that it can kindle not
To be so called of such a chief to die,
To hear his words and leap not? Hast thou made
Such stuff of man’s flesh as we take for man,
And mixed not soul enough to serve the hound
Who gives for love his life up? These go back,
These that might die, they start aside from death,
They have no joy to close with it, but fear,
These that I deemed, come what might worst on us,
Should fall with face and heart one fire of joy
To ride on death and grapple him and die.
Have I not heard of men once in the world?
I see none only but mine only love,
Who finds not one to follow. You shall fight,
And if we thrive not shame them with your end
As I with mine ensuing. That I might stand
Your second, and my sword be page to yours,
As on your death my death should wait at need
And halt not after! No, you shall not die.
O miserable white hanging hands, that rest
Baffled and bloodless! let your kingdom go,
Let all things pass together; what of price
Should ye keep back that could not fight for him
Who falls for lack of seconds? Nay, the fault
Comes all of me that fail him, I it is
Bring down that high head to the earth with mine,
That helmless head, for my sake; O, for love’s,
Kiss me, and kill me! be not wroth, but strike,
For if I live I shall but deal more death
And where I would not shall the more destroy,
Living and loving; yea, whom I would save,
Him shall I slay the surelier; save then me,
Lest I do this and dying abhor myself,
Save me and slay; let not my love again
Kill more than me, that would have shed my blood
To spare the blood I shed; make me now sure;
Let me cease here.
BOTHWELL.
Peace, and give heed; you see
Whither the day has brought us, and what hope
Holds anywhere of rescue; this one lot
Lies in my hand by fortune to be drawn,
That yet by God’s and by our enemies’ grace
I may fight singly though my whole world fail
And end no less than soldier. Now, my queen,
As you are highest of women’s hearts that live
And nobler than your station stands your soul -
As you had never fear, and in this past
As ever you have loved me - by such sign
And in such name I charge you, put me not
In this great need to shame; let me go forth
As should yourself being king, had you the cause
That our linked loves put on me; by that heart
That is so fain within you to be man’s,
Make me not meaner than the man I am
Nor worthless of the name; think with what soul
Would you stand up to battle in my stead,
And wrong me not to pluck that prize away
Which were you I you would not yield to me
Nor I would ask of you; desire not this,
To have me for your sake so vile a thing,
When I should rise up worthiest, that no man
Could bear such name and live; bid me not be,
Because you love me that are first on earth
And crowned of queens most royal, such a slave
As might not seek and be not spit upon
The foulest favour that is given for gold
From lips more vile than all things else but I
Who durst not fight for you; make me not this;
Let me die rather such a man as might,
Having your love, had fortune loved him too,
Have lived beside you kinglike, and not left
Less memory than a king’s.
QUEEN.
O, you shall go:
Look how I hold you not; yes, you shall fight,
And I sit strengthless here. - You shall not yet;
If I did know that God were with my heart,
Then should you go indeed; could I sit sure
My prayer had power upon him, and my cause
Had made him mine to fight for me, and take
My charge and this field’s issue in his hand,
I would not doubt to send you. Nay, myself
Will speak to those my soldiers; they will fight;
They shall not choose for shame who hear me speak
But fear to fight not. O, for all this yet,
If they were men about me, they would sweep
Those traitors from the hill-side as a wind
And make me way to live. What, if I speak,
If I kneel to them, each man by his name,
Bid him fight for me though I be not king,
His king to lead him - as, had I been born
My father’s son, they should have fought, and found
A king to fight for and a sword to lead
Worth many a good sword’s following - nay, but these
That will not fight for you whose sword they see
Worth all their swords to follow, for no king’s
Would they take heart to strike. Love, you shall go;
Send out a flag to bid one come and say
Who dares of all fight with you. Why, methought
This march-folk loved you and your sword’s bright name
That burned along their borders; is there left
No such fierce love of theirs and faith at need
To do us soldier’s service?
BOTHWELL.
Look, and see;
Their ranks unknit themselves and slide more fast
From the bare slopes away whereon they stand
Than the last leaves or the last snows that fade
From off the fields or branches: and this tha
w
Speaks not our spring, but winter. Let them pass;
If I may stand but in mine enemy’s face,
One foot of ours shall slip not, and one hand
Be reddened on our side. I will go send
Word with your flag of truce by Ormiston,
To bid their spokesman to us.
Exit.
QUEEN.
What am I worth,
That can nor fight nor pray? my heart is shut
As a sealed spring of fire, and in mine ears
This air that holds no thunder but fair day
Sounds louder than a stricken brazen bell
That rings in a great wind, or the blown sea
That roars by night for shipwreck.
Re-enter Bothwell with Kirkaldy
BOTHWELL.
Here is he
That brings our lords’ will with him, and shall show
But in your private ear; I while you please
Will wait apart upon you.
Retires.
QUEEN.
Is it you,
Is it my friend of France, my knight and friend,
Comes on such errand in mine extreme need
To me that honoured him? Sir, time has been
That had one asked me what man most on earth
I would for trust have sought the service of
In such sore straits as this, I had found no name
But yours to leap the first upon my lips,
On whom I have seen my father the French king
Point with his hand, saying, Yonder goes there one
Of the most valiant men in all our age,
And ever would he choose you on his side
In all his pastimes for your manhood’s sake
And might in jousts of men and gallant games,
And when they shot for mastery at the butts
Would make you shoot two arrows still for one,
And took delight beyond all shots of theirs
To see how far forth would your great shaft fly,
Sped for his pleasure; and my heart grew great
For my land’s sake whereof your strength was made,
That bore such men for honour; and the best
Who served my father Henry in his wars
Looked reverently upon you horsed at head
Of your brave hundred men that rode with you,
And never the great constable of France
Would speak to you uncovered as to one
Less than his own place worthy; and your hand
Here on these marches hath not lost its praise
For many as fair a stroke as overthrew
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 231