Between our ranks and the English in mid field
Lord Rivers’ brother, fighting for this land
That with a tongue as true and serviceable
You strove in speech to save the freedom of,
That by no policy it should be subdued
To a French province; so for faith and love,
For valour, wisdom, and for gentleness,
I wist no Scot had worthier name alive:
Shall I say now I have no deadlier foe?
Kirkaldy kneels.
I do not bid you kneel; speak, and stand up;
I have no help or comfort of men’s knees,
Nor pleasure of false worship; well I know,
For all knees bowed, how hearts and hands are bent
Of mine own men against me. Speak, I pray;
I am as their servant bound who speak in you
And open-eared to hear them.
KIRKALDY.
From the lords,
Madam, no word I have to bring but one,
That from this field they will not part alive
Without the man in bonds they came to seek;
Him will they take, or die: but on your part
They have no thought that is not set to serve
And do you honour, would but you forsake
The murderer of your husband, who to you
Can be no husband, being but lately wed
To the earl of Huntley’s sister and your friend
By your own mean and favour.
QUEEN to Bothwell.
Hold, my lord;
Let not your man give fire. - Sir, guard yourself;
See you not where one stands to shoot at you? -
You will not do me this dishonour, seeing
I have given my faith he should come safely through
And go back safe?
BOTHWELL.
Why, let him then, and say
That I will yet maintain my proffered cause
To fight with any that shall challenge me
Of the king’s murder.
KIRKALDY.
Sir, the first was I
To let you wit myself would fight with you
Upon that quarrel; and the first refused,
As being nor earl nor lord nor mate of yours,
But a poor baron only; the like word
You sent to Tullibardine; in whose place
Stands now my lord of Lindsay, if your heart
Yet fail you not to meet him, as it seems
Now to grow cold in shadow of his sword
That hangs against you in the air advanced,
Darkening your sight and spirit.
BOTHWELL to the Queen.
Shall this be said,
This shame go forth for ever through the world
Of one that held you by the wedded hand
And loosed it even for fear? Now, let me go:
There is no way now but the best, and this
You shall no more forbid me: one last time
I do implore you make not of your love
The branding-iron that should sign me slave
In sight of all men always, and on you
Stamp the vile name of wife to no true man
But harlot of a coward: who shall spare
To throw that name and shame on such a love
As came to such an end as ours shall come
If here its sun set bloodless, but more red
With shame than blood could brand it?
QUEEN.
I have thought
And set my heart against all chance to come
Of blame or blood that ever shall mark me;
Alone I take it on mine only hand,
And will not yield this one thing up to yours,
Who have yielded all things else, and this I would,
But that I may not with my soul alive.
Sir, if my lords within whose hand I am
Shall stand content to let my husband go,
Into their ward will I give up myself
On what good terms shall please them to call good,
So he may pass forth freely with such friends
Of these that have not hands enough to fight
As shall cleave to him; I pray you make good speed,
And let this day have end.
KIRKALDY.
Madam, I go.
Exit.
QUEEN.
Do not speak yet: a word should burst my heart;
It is a hollow crystal full of tears
That even a breath might break, and they be spilt
And life run out with them; no diamond now,
But weaker than of wax. Life of that heart,
There is but one thing hath no remedy,
Death; all ills else have end or hope of end
And time to work their worst before time change;
This death has none; there is all hope shut fast,
All chance bound up for ever: change nor time
Can help nor comfort this. You shall not die;
I can hold fast no sense of thought but this,
You shall not.
BOTHWELL.
Well, being sundered, we may live,
And living meet; and here to hold the field
Were but a deadly victory, and my hand
The mockery of a conqueror’s; we should pass
No less their prisoners from the field thus won
Than from these lists defeated. You do well;
They dare not urge or strain the power they have
To bring me prisoner where my witness borne
Might show them parcel of the deed and guilt
For which they rise up to lay hold on me
As upright men of doom, and with pure hands
To hale me to their judgment. I will go,
Till good time bring me back; and you that stay,
Keep faith with me.
QUEEN.
O, how does one break faith?
What are they that are faithless? by my love,
I cannot tell or think how I should lie,
Should live and lie to you that are my faith,
My soul, my spirit, my very and only God,
My truth and trust that makes me true of heart,
My life that feeds and light that lightens me,
My breath and blood of living. Doth God think
How I shall be without you? what strange breath
Shall my days draw, what strange blood feed my life,
When this life that is love is gone from them
And this light lost? Where shall my true life go,
And by what far ways follow to find love,
Fly where love will? Where will you turn from me?
BOTHWELL.
Hence will I to Dunbar, and thence again
There is no way but northward and to ship
From the north islands; thence betimes abroad
By land or sea to lurk and find my life
Till the wheel turn.
QUEEN.
Ah God, that we were set
Far out at sea alone by storm and night
To drive together on one end, and know
If life or death would give us good or ill
And night or day receive, and heaven or earth
Forget us or remember! - He comes back;
Here is the end.
BOTHWELL.
But till time change his tune;
No more nor further. We shall find our day.
QUEEN.
Have we not found? I know not what we shall,
But what hath been and is, and whence they are,
God knows if now I know not. He is here.
Re-enter Kirkaldy
KIRKALDY.
Madam, the lords return by me this word,
With them must you go back to Edinburgh
And there be well entreated as of friends;
And for the duke, they are with one mind content
He should part hence for safe and present flight;
But here may tarry not or pass not free.
This is the last word from them by my mouth.
QUEEN.
Ay is it, sir; the last word I shall hear -
Last in mine ear for ever: no command
Nor threat of man shall I give ear to more,
That have heard this. - Will you not go, my lord?
It is not I would hold you.
BOTHWELL.
Then, farewell,
And keep your word to me. What, no breath more?
Keep then this kiss too with the word you gave,
And with them both my heart and its good hope
To find time yet for you and me. Farewell.
Exit.
QUEEN.
O God! God! God!
Cover my face for me:
I cannot heave my hand up to my head;
Mine arms are broken.
Is he got to horse?
I do not think one can die more than this.
I did not say farewell.
KIRKALDY.
My lord is gone.
QUEEN.
Whom spake I to? I have no woman here.
All these men’s eyes have seen my naked face
Wrung without tears for anguish, and no hand
Hide my blind eyes if haply they might weep
Great drops of blood and fiery. - Laird of Grange,
I yield myself upon such terms to you
As in these lords’ name you rehearsed to me;
Have here my hand for sign.
KIRKALDY.
Upon this hand
I lay the loyal witness of my lips
For duteous heart and service, and crave leave
That I may lead your highness through these ranks
Where at the hill’s foot we may find your friends
Who shall come forth to meet you as their queen
With all fair reverence.
QUEEN.
Lead me to my lords;
For one so poor a servant as I am
Here are too many masters. I could pray,
But that they lack my service and should chafe
If I dwelt long upon my prayer and let
My duty sleep or slacken toward them; else
I could pray God to shut up from these lands
His hand and eye of favour, that no dew
Might breed herefrom and no bloom break again
Nor grass be glad for ever; rain nor sun
Comfort their cankered face and hardening heart,
Nor hand that tilled or foot that trod of man
Pass and not curse them. Let me look but once
Upon this hill whereon till this ninth hour
Mine enemies’ hands have crucified my heart.
The sun burns yet and the stream runs; nor eye
Nor ear have these nor pity. Come, I talk,
Who had no mind; God will not heed me; come.
Exeunt.
Scene IV. The Camp of the Lords
Morton, Hume, Lindsay, etc.
MORTON.
What, is the Frenchman gone?
LINDSAY.
With heavy cheer,
By this to set sad foot in Edinburgh.
MORTON.
There should we be by nightfall; and you see
How the day reddens downward, and this hill
Hath all its west side fiery; he hath done
The queen and us small service, to put off
Her hour of yielding. Look, the last spears left
Begin to move in sunder; there he flies,
The traitor, with his heartless handful backed
That yet for fear cling to him: and on this side
Grange leads her down the hill between our horse,
Who comes not like one captive.
Enter the Queen and Kirkaldy
QUEEN.
Tell me, sirs,
Are they my doomsmen whom I come to find
And those your headsmen who stand sworded there
And visored soldier-like, that cry on me
To burn and slay me? let me have quick doom,
And be beyond their crying.
MORTON.
Madam, I think
You cannot fear of us a deadly doom,
Nor shall you find. Silence those throats, I say.
QUEEN.
I have not said I feared; nor shall there come
For you that lying breath upon my lips.
What will ye do with what of me ye have
If not what these tongues cry for?
MORTON.
Some man ride -
You, Laird of Grange, with two or three at back,
And with the flatlong stroke of your good swords
Smite their mouths dumb. Madam, take you no heed;
They shall not hurt you.
QUEEN.
Sir, no heed have I;
I think these common haters shall not hurt
Indeed, nor smite me but with tongues; ’tis you,
My good lords only, from whose noble hands
I look to take my death, who would not lose
Nor lack this royal office. For my sake
Do them no hurt, I pray, who are but your mouths
As you their hands; I see no choice of you,
Or them the lesser traitors.
HUME.
I will go:
Ride you that way, sir, by their ranks who shout,
As I this side; for every way men hear
How the field rings that all the hills roar back
With noise of names and cries to burn the whore
And murderess of her husband: spare no strokes
To shame or smite them silent.
QUEEN.
You, my friends,
Good servants that have care of my good name,
And loyal lovers - of your love and grace,
May it please you show me whither I must go
To find what face of death? or if yet none,
And yet ye have not the hardy hearts to slay,
To uncrown and slay me, I require you then
Deliver me into my kinsmen’s hands
Of the house of Hamilton, in whose good ward
I am content to abide men’s evil will
With honourable surety; which refused,
Of life nor honour shall I hold me sure
For all your vows and voices, but esteem
My life to be as all your honours, dead.
MORTON.
Madam, with mocks you cannot make us mad,
To bring you to their trustless hands whose ward
Should be to you but dangerous, and to us
And all this kingdom’s hope in heritage
And all men’s good most mortal. You must go
With us to Edinburgh, and being made safe
Abide the judgment there that shall not fall
By fierce election of men’s clamorous mouths
Whose rage would damn you to the fire-clad death,
But by their sentence who shall do no wrong,
If justice may with honour make them sure
And faith defend from error.
QUEEN.
Ay, my lord?
I shall be doomed then ere I die, and stand
Before their face for judgment who should kneel
To take my sentence as a scourge, and bear
What brand my tongue set on them? Nay, ye are mad;
Kings have been slain with violence and red craft
Or fallen by secret or by popular hands,
But what man heard yet ever of a king
Set to the bar of his own men to plead
For life with rebels’ reasons, and wage words
With whoso dare of all these baser born
Rise up to judge him? Surely I shall die,
Be rent perchance in pieces of men’s fangs,
But of their mouths not sentenced: in f
air field
That only steel that bids a king’s neck stoop
Is the good sword that in a warlike hand
Makes his head bow and cuts not off his crown
But with the stroke of battle; who hath seen
By doom of man a king’s head kingdomless
Bow down to the axe and block? so base an edge
Can bite not on such necks. Let me bleed here,
By their swift hands who ravin for my blood,
Or be assured how if ye let me live
I live to see you die for me as dogs:
Ye shall be hanged on crosses, nailed on rows,
For birds to rend alive; ye shall have doom,
A dog’s doom and a traitor’s, and the cord
Strangle the sentence in your labouring lips
And break the plea that heaves your throat and leaves
Your tongue thrust forth to blacken; ye shall wage
Words and try causes with the worms and flies
Till they leave bare your bones to sun and wind
As shame shall leave your titles. Was it you
To Lindsay.
That were to fight before me with my lord?
Give me your hand, sir; by this hand of yours
I swear for this thing yet to have your head,
And so thereof assure you.
MORTON.
Bid the camp
Strike and set forth behind us. Sirs, to horse;
And, madam, be not yet so great of speech
As utterly to outwear your spirit of strength
With pain and passion that can bear no fruit
But wind and wrath and barren bitterness.
Vex not yourself more than your foes would vex,
Of whom we would be none that ride with you
From them to guard you that would lay red hands
On you yet faint and weak from this fierce day.
QUEEN.
My body and head wax faint, but not my heart;
I have yet there fire enough for all of you,
To burn your strengths up that my feebler limbs
Can make my heart not yield to nor bow down,
Nor fear put out its fires. Come, worthy lords,
And lead me to my loving town again
That bears your heads not yet above its gates
Where I shall see them festering if I live.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 232