MURRAY.Your majesty hath power to respite men,As we well wot; no man saith otherwise.
QUEEN.What, is this true? 't is a thing wonderful—So great I cannot be well sure of it.Strange that a queen should find such grace as thisAt such lords' hands as ye be, such great lords:I pray you let me get assured again,Lest I take jest for truth and shame myselfAnd make you mirth: to make your mirth of me,God wot it were small pains to you, my lords,But much less honor. I may send reprieve—With your sweet leaves I may?
MURRAY.Assuredly.
QUEEN.Lo, now, what grace is this I have of you!I had a will to respite Chastelard,And would not do it for very fear of you:Look you, I wist not ye were merciful.
MORTON.Madam—
QUEEN.My lord, you have a word to me?Doth it displease you such a man should live?
MORTON.'T were a mad mercy in your majestyTo lay no hand upon his second faultAnd let him thrice offend you.
QUEEN.Ay, my lord?
MORTON.It were well done to muffle lewd men's mouthsBy casting of his head into their laps:It were much best.
QUEEN.Yea, truly were it so?But if I will not, yet I will not, sir,For all the mouths in Scotland. Now, by heaven,As I am pleased he shall not die but live,So shall ye be. There is no man shall die,Except it please me; and no man shall say,Except it please me, if I do ill or well.Which of you now will set his will to mine?Not you, nor you I think, nor none of you,Nor no man living that loves living well.Let one stand forth and smite me with his hand,Wring my crown off and cast it underfoot,And he shall get my respite back of me,And no man else: he shall bid live or die,And no man else; and he shall be my lord,And no man else. What, will not one be king?Will not one here lay hold upon my state?I am queen of you for all things come and gone.Nay, my chief lady, and no meaner one,The chiefest of my maidens, shall bear thisAnd give it to my prisoner for a grace;Who shall deny me? who shall do me wrong?Bear greeting to the lord of Chastelard,And this withal for respite of his life,For by my head he shall die no such way:Nay, sweet, no words, but hence and back again.
[Exit MARY BEATON.]
Farewell, dear lords; ye have shown grace to me,And some time I will thank you as I may;Till when think well of me and what is done.
1ST CITIZEN.They are not out yet. Have you seen the man?What manner of man?
2D CITIZEN.Shall he be hanged or no?There was a fellow hanged some three days goneWept the whole way: think you this man shall dieIn better sort, now?
1ST CITIZEN.Eh, these shawm-playersThat walk before strange women and make songs!How should they die well?
3D CITIZEN.Is it sooth men sayOur dame was wont to kiss him on the faceIn lewd folk's sight?
1ST CITIZEN.Yea, saith one, all day longHe used to sit and jangle words in rhymeTo suit with shakes of faint adulterous soundSome French lust in men's ears; she made songs too,Soft things to feed sin's amorous mouth upon—Delicate sounds for dancing at in hell.
4TH CITIZEN.Is it priest Black that he shall have by himWhen they do come?
3D CITIZEN.Ah! by God's leave, not so;If the knave show us his peeled onion's headAnd that damned flagging jowl of his—
2D CITIZEN.Nay, sirs,Take heed of words; moreover, please it you,This man hath no pope's part in him.
3D CITIZEN.I sayThat if priest whore's friend with the lewd thief's cheekShow his foul blinking face to shame all ours,It goes back fouler; well, one day hell's fireWill burn him black indeed.
A WOMAN.What kind of man?'T is yet great pity of him if he beGoodly enow for this queen's paramour.A French lord overseas? what doth he here,With Scotch folk here?
1ST CITIZEN.Fair mistress, I think wellHe doth so at some times that I were fainTo do as well.
THE WOMAN.Nay, then he will not die.
1ST CITIZEN.Why, see you, if one eat a piece of breadBaked as it were a certain prophet's way,Not upon coals, now—you shall apprehend—If defiled bread be given a man to eat,Being thrust into his mouth, why he shall eat,And with good hap shall eat; but if now, say,One steal this, bread and beastliness and all,When scarcely for pure hunger flesh and boneCleave one to other—why, if he steal to eat,Be it even the filthiest feeding-though the manBe famine-flayed of flesh and skin, I sayHe shall be hanged.
3D CITIZEN.Nay, stolen said you, sir?See, God bade eat abominable bread,And freely was it eaten—for a signThis, for a sign—and doubtless as did God,So may the devil; bid one eat freely and live,Not for a sign.
2D CITIZEN.Will you think thus of her?But wherefore should they get this fellow slainIf he be clear toward her?
3D CITIZEN.Sir, one must seeThe day comes when a woman sheds her sinAs a bird moults; and she being shifted so,The old mate of her old feather pecks at herTo get the right bird back; then she being strongerPicks out his eyes-eh?
2D CITIZEN.Like enough to be;But if it be—Is not one preaching thereWith certain folk about him?
1ST CITIZEN.Yea, the sameWho preached a month since from EzekielConcerning these twain-this our queen that isAnd her that was, and is not now so muchAs queen over hell's worm.
3D CITIZEN.Ay, said he not,This was Aholah, the first one of these,Called sisters only for a type—being twain,Twain Maries, no whit Nazarine? the firstBred out of Egypt like the water-wormWith sides in wet green places baked with slimeAnd festered flesh that steams against the sun;A plague among all people, and a typeSet as a flake upon a leper's fell.
1ST CITIZEN.Yea, said he, and unto her the men went in,The men of Pharaoh's, beautiful with redAnd with red gold, fair foreign-footed men,The bountiful fair men, the courteous men,The delicate men with delicate feet, that wentCurling their small beards Agag-fashion, yeaPruning their mouths to nibble words behindWith pecking at God's skirts-small broken oathsFretted to shreds between most dainty lips,And underbreath some praise of AshtarothSighed laughingly.
2D CITIZEN.Was he not under guardFor the good word?
1ST CITIZEN.Yea, but now forth again.—And of the latter said he—there being two,The first Aholah, which interpreted—
3D CITIZEN.But, of this latter?
1ST CITIZEN.Well, of her he saidHow she made letters for Chaldean folkAnd men that came forth of the wildernessAnd all her sister's chosen men; yea, sheKept not her lip from any sin of hersBut multiplied in whoredoms toward all theseThat hate God mightily; for these, he saith,These are the fair French people, and these her kinSought out of England with her love-lettersTo bring them to her kiss of love; and thusWith a prayer made that God would break such loveEnded some while; then crying out for strong wrathSpake with a great voice after: This is she,Yea the lewd woman, yea the same womanThat gat bruised breasts in Egypt, when strange menSwart from great suns, foot-burnt with angry soilsAnd strewn with sand of gaunt Chaldean miles,Poured all their love upon her: she shall drinkThe Lord's cup of derision that is filledWith drunkenness and sorrow, great of sidesAnd deep to drink in till the dreg drips out:Yea, and herself with the twain shards thereofPluck off her breasts; so said he.
4TH CITIZEN.See that stir—Are not they come?
3D CITIZEN.There wants an hour of them.Draw near and let us hearken; he will speakSurely some word of this.
2D CITIZEN.What saith he now?
THE PREACHER.The mercy of a harlot is a sword;And her mouth sharper than a flame of fire.
CHASTELARD.So here my time shuts up; and the last lightHas made the last shade in the world for me.The sunbeam that was narrow like a leafHas turned a hand, and the hand stretched to an arm,And the arm has reached the dust on the floor, and madeA maze of motes with paddling fingers. Well,I knew now that a man so sure to dieCould care so little; a bride-night's lustinessLeaps in my veins as light fire under a wind:As if I felt a kindling beyond deathOf some new joys far outside of me yet;Sweet sound, sweet smell and touch of things far outSure to come soon. I wonder will death beEven all it seems now? or the talk of hellAnd wretched changes of the worn-out soulNailed to decaying flesh, shall that be true?Or is this like the forethought of deep sleepFelt by a tired man? Sleep were good enough—Shall sleep be all? But I shall not forgetFor any sleep this love bound upon me—For any sleep or quiet ways of death.Ah, in my weary dusty space of sightHer face will float with heavy scents of hairAnd fire of subtle amorous eyes, and lipsMore hot than wine, full of sweet wicked wordsBabbled against mine own lips, and long handsSpread out, and pale bright throat and pale bright breasts,Fit to make all men mad. I do believeThis fire shall never quite burn out to the ashAnd leave no heat and flame upon my dustFor witness where a man's heart was burnt up.For all Christ's work this Venus is not quelled,But reddens at the mouth with blood of men,Sucking between small teeth the sap o' the veins,Dabbling with death her little tender lips—A bitter beauty, poisonous-pearled mouth.I am not fit to live but for love's sake,So I were best die shortly. Ah, fair love,Fair fearful Venus made of deadly foam,I shall escape you somehow with my death—Your splendid supple body and mouth on fireAnd Paphian breath that bites the lips with heat.I had best die.
[Enter MARY BEATON.]
What, is my death's time come,And you the friend to make death kind to me?'T is sweetly done; for I was sick for this.
MARY BEATON.Nay, but see here; nay, for you shall not die:She has reprieved you; look, her name to that,A present respite; I was sure of her:You are quite safe: here, take it in your hands:I am faint with the end of pain. Read there.
CHASTELARD.Reprieve?Wherefore reprieve? Who has done this to me?
MARY BEATON.I never feared but God would have you live,Or I knew well God must have punished me;But I feared nothing, had no sort of fear.What makes you stare upon the seal so hard?Will you not read now?
CHASTELARD.A reprieve of life—Reprieving me from living. Nay, by God,I count one death a bitter thing enough.
MARY BEATON.See what she writes; you love; for love of you;Out of her love; a word to save your life:But I knew this too though you love me not:She is your love; I knew that: yea, by heaven.
CHASTELARD.You knew I had to live and be reprieved:Say I were bent to die now?
MARY BEATON.Do not die,For her sweet love's sake; not for pity of me,You would not bear with life for me one hour;But for hers only.
CHASTELARD.Nay, I love you well,I would not hurt you for more lives than one.But for this fair-faced paper of reprieve,We'll have no riddling to make death shift sides:Look, here ends one of us.
[Tearing it.]
For her I love,She will not anger heaven with slaying me;For me, I am well quit of loving her;For you, I pray you be well comforted,Seeing in my life no man gat good by meAnd by my death no hurt is any man's.
MARY BEATON.And I that loved you? nay, I loved you; nay,Why should your like be pitied when they love?Her hard heart is not yet so hard as yours,Nor God's hard heart. I care not if you die.These bitter madmen are not fit to live.I will not have you touch me, speak to me,Nor take farewell of you. See you die well,Or death will play with shame for you, and win,And laugh you out of life. I am right gladI never am to see you any more,For I should come to hate you easily;I would not have you live.
[Exit.]
CHASTELARD.She has cause enow.I would this wretched waiting had an end,For I wax feebler than I was: God knowsI had a mind once to have saved this fleshAnd made life one with shame. It marvels meThis girl that loves me should desire so muchTo have me sleep with shame for bedfellowA whole life's space; she would be glad to dieTo escape such life. It may be too her loveIs but an amorous quarrel with herself,Not love of me but her own wilful soul;Then she will live and be more glad of thisThan girls of their own will and their heart's loveBefore love mars them: so God go with her!For mine own love-I wonder will she comeSad at her mouth a little, with drawn cheeksAnd eyelids wrinkled up? or hot and quickTo lean her head on mine and leave her lipsDeep in my neck? For surely she must come;And I should fare the better to be sureWhat she will do. But as it please my sweet;For some sweet thing she must do if she come,Seeing how I have to die. Now three years sinceThis had not seemed so good an end for me;But in some wise all things wear round betimesAnd wind up well. Yet doubtless she might takeA will to come my way and hold my handsAnd kiss me some three kisses, throat, mouth, eyes,And say some soft three words to soften death:I do not see how this should break her ease.Nay, she will come to get her warrant back:By this no doubt she is sorely penitent,Her fit of angry mercy well blown outAnd her wits cool again. She must have chafedA great while through for anger to becomeSo like pure pity; they must have fretted herNight mad for anger: or it may be mistrust,She is so false; yea, to my death I thinkShe will not trust me; alas the hard sweet heart!As if my lips could hurt her any wayBut by too keenly kissing of her own.Ah false poor sweet fair lips that keep no faith,They shall not catch mine false or dangerous;They must needs kiss me one good time, albeitThey love me not at all. Lo, here she comes,For the blood leaps and catches at my face;There go her feet and tread upon my heart;Now shall I see what way I am to die.
[Enter the QUEEN.]
QUEEN.What, is one here? Speak to me for God's sake:Where are you lain?
CHASTELARD.Here, madam, at your hand.
QUEEN.Sweet lord, what sore pain have I had for youAnd been most patient!—Nay, you are not bound.If you be gentle to me, take my hand.Do you not hold me the worst heart in the world?Nay, you must needs; but say not yet you do.I am worn so weak I know not how I live:Reach me your hand.
CHASTELARD.Take comfort and good heart;All will find end; this is some grief to you,But you shall overlive it. Come, fair love;Be of fair cheer: I say you have done no wrong.
QUEEN.I will not be of cheer: I have done a thingThat will turn fire and burn me. Tell me not;If you will do me comfort, whet your sword.But if you hate me, tell me of soft things,For I hate these, and bitterly. Look up;Am I not mortal to be gazed upon?
CHASTELARD.Yea, mortal, and not hateful.
QUEEN.O lost heart!Give me some mean to die by.
CHASTELARD.Sweet, enough.You have made no fault; life is not worth a worldThat you should weep to take it: would mine were,And I might give you a world-worthier giftThan one poor head that love has made a spoil;Take it for jest, and weep not: let me go,And think I died of chance or malady.Nay, I die well; one dies not best abed.
QUEEN.My warrant to reprieve you—that you saw?That came between your hands?
CHASTELARD.Yea, not long since.It seems you have no will to let me die.
QUEEN.Alas, you know I wrote it with my heart,Out of pure love; and since you were in bondsI have had such grief for love's sake and my heart's—Yea, by my life I have—I could not chooseBut give love way a little. Take my hand;You know it would have pricked my heart's blood outTo write reprieve with.
CHASTELARD.Sweet, your hands are kind;Lay them about my neck, upon my face,And tell me not of writing.
QUEEN.Nay, by heaven,I would have given you mine own blood to drinkIf that could heal you of your soul-sickness.Yea, they know that, they curse me for your sake,Rail at my love—would God their heads were loppedAnd we twain left together this side death!But look you, sweet, if this my warrant holdYou are but dead and shamed; for you must die,And they will slay you shamefully by forceEven in my sight.
CHASTELARD.Faith, I think so they will.
QUEEN.Nay, they would slay me too, cast stones at me,Drag me alive—they have eaten poisonous words,They are mad and have no shame.
CHASTELARD.Ay, like enough.
QUEEN.Would God my heart were greater; but God wotI have no heart to bear with fear and die.Yea, and I cannot help you: or I knowI should be nobler, bear a better heart:But as this stands—I pray you for good love,As you hold honor a costlier thing than life—
CHASTELARD.Well?
QUEEN.Nay, I would not be denied for shame;In brief, I pray you give me that again.
CHASTELARD.What, my reprieve?
QUEEN.Even so; deny me not,For your sake mainly: yea, by God you knowHow fain I were to die in your death's stead.For your name's sake. This were no need to swear.Lest we be mocked to death with a reprieve,And so both die, being shamed. What, shall I swear?What, if I kiss you? must I pluck it out?You do not love me: no, nor honor. ComeI know you have it about you: give it me.
CHASTELARD.I cannot yield you such a thing again;Not as I had it.
QUEEN.A coward? what shift now?Do such men make such cravens?
CHASTELARD.Chide me not:Pity me that I cannot help my heart.
QUEEN.Heaven mend mine eyes that took you for a man!What, is it sewn into your flesh? take heed—Nay, but for shame—what have you done with it?
CHASTELARD.Why, there it lies, torn up.
QUEEN.God help me, sir!Have you done this?
CHASTELARD.Yea, sweet; what should I do?Did I not know you to the bone, my sweet?God speed you well! you have a goodly lord.
QUEEN.My love, sweet love, you are more fair than he,Yea, fairer many times: I love you much,Sir, know you that.
CHASTELARD.I think I know that well.Sit here a little till I feel you throughIn all my breath and blood for some sweet while.O gracious body that mine arms have had,And hair my face has felt on it! grave eyesAnd low thick lids that keep since years agoneIn the blue sweet of each particular veinSome special print of me! I am right gladThat I must never feel a bitterer thingThan your soft curled-up shoulder and amorous armsFrom this time forth; nothing can hap to meLess good than this for all my whole life through.I would not have some new pain after thisCome spoil the savor. O, your round bird's throat,More soft than sleep or singing; your calm cheeks,Turned bright, turned wan with kisses hard and hot;The beautiful color of your deep curved hands,Made of a red rose that had changed to white;That mouth mine own holds half the sweetness of,Yea, my heart holds the sweetness of it, whenceMy life began in me; mine that ends hereBecause you have no mercy, nay you knowYou never could have mercy. My fair love,Kiss me again, God loves you not the less;Why should one woman have all goodly things?You have all beauty; let mean women's lipsBe pitiful, and speak truth: they will not beSuch perfect things as yours. Be not ashamedThat hands not made like these that snare men's soulsShould do men good, give alms, relieve men's pain;You have the better, being more fair than they,They are half foul, being rather good than fair;You are quite fair: to be quite fair is best.Why, two nights hence I dreamed that I could seeIn through your bosom under the left flower,And there was a round hollow, and at heartA little red snake sitting, without spot,That bit—like this, and sucked up sweet—like this,And curled its lithe light body right and left,And quivered like a woman in act to love.Then there was some low fluttered talk i' the lips,Faint sound of soft fierce words caressing them—Like a fair woman's when her love gets way.Ah, your old kiss—I know the ways of it:Let the lips cling a little. Take them off,And speak some word or I go mad with love.
QUEEN.Will you not have my chaplain come to you?
CHASTELARD.Some better thing of yours—some handkerchief,Some fringe of scarf to make confession to—You had some book about you that fell out—
QUEEN.A little written book of Ronsard's rhymes,His gift, I wear in there for love of him—See, here between our feet.
CHASTELARD.Ay, my old lord's—The sweet chief poet, my dear friend long since?Give me the book. Lo you, this verse of his:With coming lilies in late April cameHer body, fashioned whiter for their shame;And roses, touched with blood since Adon bled,From her fair color filled their lips with red:A goodly praise: I could not praise you so.I read that while your marriage-feast went on.Leave me this book, I pray you: I would readThe hymn of death here over ere I die;I shall know soon how much he knew of deathWhen that was written. One thing I know now,I shall not die with half a heart at least,Nor shift my face, nor weep my fault alive,Nor swear if I might live and do new deedsI would do better. Let me keep the book.
QUEEN.Yea, keep it: as would God you had kept your lifeOut of mine eyes and hands. I am wrong to the heart:This hour feels dry and bitter in my mouth,As if its sorrow were my body's foodMore than my soul's. There are bad thoughts in me—Most bitter fancies biting me like birdsThat tear each other. Suppose you need not die?
CHASTELARD.You know I cannot live for two hours more.Our fate was made thus ere our days were made:Will you fight fortune for so small a grief?But for one thing I were full fain of death.
QUEEN.What thing is that?
CHASTELARD.No need to name the thing.Why, what can death do with me fit to fear?For if I sleep I shall not weep awake;Or if their saying be true of things to come,Though hell be sharp, in the worst ache of itI shall be eased so God will give me backSometimes one golden gracious sight of you—The aureole woven flowerlike through your hair,And in your lips the little laugh as redAs when it came upon a kiss and ceased,Touching my mouth.
QUEEN.As I do now, this way,With my heart after: would I could shed tears,Tears should not fail when the heart shudders so.But your bad thought?
CHASTELARD.Well, such a thought as this:It may be, long time after I am dead,For all you are, you may see bitter days;God may forget you or be wroth with you:Then shall you lack a little help of me,And I shall feel your sorrow touching you,A happy sorrow, though I may not touch:I that would fain be turned to flesh again,Fain get back life to give up life for you,To shed my blood for help, that long agoYou shed and were not holpen: and your heartWill ache for help and comfort, yea for love,And find less love than mine—for I do thinkYou never will be loved thus in your life.
QUEEN.It may be man will never love me more;For I am sure I shall not love man twice.
CHASTELARD.I know not: men must love you in life's spite;For you will always kill them; man by manYour lips will bite them dead; yea, though you would,You shall not spare one; all will die of you;I cannot tell what love shall do with these,But I for all my love shall have no mightTo help you more, mine arms and hands no powerTo fasten on you more. This cleaves my heart,That they shall never touch your body more.But for your grief—you will not have to grieve;For being in such poor eyes so beautifulIt must needs be as God is more than ISo much more love he hath of you than mine;Yea, God shall not be bitter with my love,Seeing she is so sweet.
QUEEN.Ah my sweet fool,Think you when God will ruin me for sinMy face of color shall prevail so muchWith him, so soften the toothed iron's edgeTo save my throat a scar? nay, I am sureI shall die somehow sadly.
CHASTELARD.This is pure grief;The shadow of your pity for my death,Mere foolishness of pity: all sweet moodsThrow out such little shadows of themselves,Leave such light fears behind. You, die like me?Stretch your throat out that I may kiss all roundWhere mine shall be cut through: suppose my mouthThe axe-edge to bite so sweet a throat in twainWith bitter iron, should not it turn softAs lip is soft to lip?
QUEEN.I am quite sureI shall die sadly some day, Chastelard;I am quite certain.
CHASTELARD.Do not think such things;Lest all my next world's memories of you beAs heavy as this thought.
QUEEN.I will not grieve you;Forgive me that my thoughts were sick with grief.What can I do to give you ease at heart?Shall I kiss now? I pray you have no fearBut that I love you.
CHASTELARD.Turn your face to me;I do not grudge your face this death of mine;It is too fair—by God, you are too fair.What noise is that?
QUEEN.Can the hour be through so soon?I bade them give me but a little hour.Ah! I do love you! such brief space for love!I am yours all through, do all your will with me;What if we lay and let them take us fast,Lips grasping lips? I dare do anything.
CHASTELARD.Show better cheer: let no man see you mazed;Make haste and kiss me; cover up your throatLest one see tumbled lace and prate of it.
[Enter the Guard: MURRAY, DARNLEY, MARYHAMILTON, MARY BEATON, and others with them.]
DARNLEY.Sirs, do your charge; let him not have much time.
MARY HAMILTON.Peace, lest you chafe the queen: look, her brows bend.
CHASTELARD.Lords, and all you come hither for my sake,If while my life was with me like a friendThat I must now forget the friendship of,I have done a wrong to any man of you,As it may be by fault of mine I have;Of such an one I crave for courtesyHe will now cast it from his mind and heedLike a dead thing; considering my dead faultWorth no remembrance further than my death.This for his gentle honor and goodwillI do beseech him, doubting not to findSuch kindliness if he be nobly madeAnd of his birth a courteous race of man.You, my Lord James, if you have aught toward me—Or you, Lord Darnley—I dare fear no jot,Whate'er this be wherein you were aggrieved,But you will pardon all for gentleness.
DARNLEY.For my part—yea, well, if the thing stand thus,As you must die—one would not bear folk hard—And if the rest shall hold it honorable,Why, I do pardon you.
MURRAY.Sir, in all thingsWe find no cause to speak of you but well:For all I see, save this your deadly fault,I hold you for a noble perfect man.
CHASTELARD.I thank you, fair lord, for your nobleness.You likewise, for the courtesy you haveI give you thanks, sir; and to all these lordsThat have not heart to load me at my death.Last, I beseech of the best queen of menAnd royallest fair lady in the worldTo pardon me my grievous mortal sinDone in such great offence of her: for, sirs,If ever since I came between her eyesShe hath beheld me other than I amOr shown her honor other than it is,Or, save in royal faultless courtesies,Used me with favor; if by speech or face,By salutation or by tender eyes,She hath made a way for my desire to live,Given ear to me or boldness to my breath;I pray God cast me forth before day ceaseEven to the heaviest place there is in hell.Yea, if she be not stainless toward all men,I pray this axe that I shall die uponMay cut me off body and soul from heaven.Now for my soul's sake I dare pray to you;Forgive me, madam.
QUEEN.Yea, I do, fair sir:With all my heart in all I pardon you.
CHASTELARD.God thank you for great mercies. Lords, set hence;I am right loth to hold your patience here;I must not hold much longer any man's.Bring me my way and bid me fare well forth.
[As they pass out the QUEEN stays MARY BEATON.]
QUEEN.Hark hither, sweet. Get back to HolyroodAnd take Carmichael with you: go both upIn some chief window whence the squares lie clear—Seem not to know what I shall do—mark that—And watch how things fare under. Have good cheer;You do not think now I can let him die?Nay, this were shameful madness if you did,And I should hate you.
MARY BEATON.Pray you love me, madam,And swear you love me and will let me live,That I may die the quicker.
QUEEN.Nay, sweet, see,Nay, you shall see, this must not seem devised;I will take any man with me, and go;Yea, for pure hate of them that hate him: yea,Lay hold upon the headsman and bid strikeHere on my neck; if they will have him die,Why, I will die too: queens have died this wayFor less things than his love is. Nay, I knowThey want no blood; I will bring swords to bootFor dear love's rescue though half earth were slain;What should men do with blood? Stand fast at watch;For I will be his ransom if I die.
[Exeunt.]
MARY BEATON seated; MARY CARMICHAEL at a window.
MARY BEATON.Do you see nothing?
MARY CARMICHAEL.Nay, but swarms of menAnd talking women gathered in small space,Flapping their gowns and gaping with fools' eyes:And a thin ring round one that seems to speak,Holding his hands out eagerly; no more.
MARY BEATON.Why, I hear more, I hear men shout The Queen.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Nay, no cries yet.
MARY BEATON.Ah, they will cry out soonWhen she comes forth; they should cry out on her;I hear their crying in my heart. Nay, sweet,Do not you hate her? all men, if God please,Shall hate her one day; yea, one day no doubtI shall worse hate her.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Pray you, be at peace;You hurt yourself: she will be merciful;What, could you see a true man slain for you?I think I could not; it is not like our heartsTo have such hard sides to them.
MARY BEATON.O, not you,And I could nowise; there's some blood in herThat does not run to mercy as ours doth:That fair face and the cursed heart in herMade keener than a knife for manslayingCan bear strange things.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Peace, for the people come.Ah—Murray, hooded over half his faceWith plucked-down hat, few folk about him, eyesLike a man angered; Darnley after him,Holding our Hamilton above her wrist,His mouth put near her hair to whisper with—And she laughs softly, looking at her feet.
MARY BEATON.She will not live long; God hath given herFew days and evil, full of hate and love,I see well now.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Hark, there's their cry—The Queen!Fair life and long, and good days to the Queen!
MARY BEATON.Yea, but God knows. I feel such patience hereAs I were sure in a brief while to die.
MARY CARMICHAEL.She bends and laughs a little, graciously,And turns half, talking to I know not whom—A big man with great shoulders; ah, the face,You get his face now—wide and duskish, yeaThe youth burnt out of it. A goodly man,Thewed mightily and sunburnt to the bone;Doubtless he was away in banishment,Or kept some march far off.
MARY BEATON.Still you see nothing?
MARY CARMICHAEL.Yea, now they bring him forth with a great noise,The folk all shouting and men thrust aboutEach way from him.
MARY BEATON.Ah, Lord God, bear with me,Help me to bear a little with my loveFor thine own love, or give me some quick death.Do not come down; I shall get strength again,Only my breath fails. Looks he sad or blithe?Not sad I doubt yet.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Nay, not sad a whit,But like a man who losing gold or landsShould lose a heavy sorrow; his face set,The eyes not curious to the right or left,And reading in a book, his hands unbound,With short fleet smiles. The whole place catches breath,Looking at him; she seems at point to speak:Now she lies back, and laughs, with her brows drawnAnd her lips drawn too. Now they read his crime—I see the laughter tightening her chin:Why do you bend your body and draw breath?They will not slay him in her sight; I am sureShe will not have him slain.
MARY BEATON.Forth, and fear not:I was just praying to myself—one word,A prayer I have to say for her to GodIf he will mind it.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Now he looks her side;Something he says, if one could hear thus far:She leans out, lengthening her throat to hearAnd her eyes shining.
MARY BEATON.Ah, I had no hope:Yea thou God knowest that I had no hope.Let it end quickly.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Now his eyes are wideAnd his smile great; and like another smileThe blood fills all his face. Her cheek and neckWork fast and hard; she must have pardoned him,He looks so merrily. Now he comes forthOut of that ring of people and kneels down;Ah, how the helve and edge of the great axeTurn in the sunlight as the man shifts hands—It must be for a show: because she sitsAnd hardly moves her head this way—I seeHer chin and lifted lips. Now she stands up,Puts out her hand, and they fall muttering;Ah!
MARY BEATON.Is it done now?
MARY CARMICHAEL.For God's love, stay there;Do not look out. Nay, he is dead by this;But gather up yourself from off the floor;Will she die too? I shut mine eyes and heard—Sweet, do not beat your face upon the ground.Nay, he is dead and slain.
MARY BEATON.What, slain indeed?I knew he would be slain. Ay, through the neck:I knew one must be smitten through the neckTo die so quick: if one were stabbed to the heart,He would die slower.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Will you behold him dead?
MARY BEATON.Yea: must a dead man not be looked uponThat living one was fain of? give me way.Lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had;The doomsman gathers it into his handTo grasp the head by for all men to see;I never did that.
MARY CARMICHAEL.For God's love, let me go.
MARY BEATON.I think sometimes she must have held it so,Holding his head back, see you, by the hairTo kiss his face, still lying in his arms.Ay, go and weep: it must be pitifulIf one could see it. What is this they say?So perish the Queen's traitors! Yea, but soPerish the Queen! God, do thus much to herFor his sake only: yea, for pity's sakeDo thus much with her.
MARY CARMICHAEL.Prithee come in with me:Nay, come at once.
MARY BEATON.If I should meet with herAnd spit upon her at her coming in—But if I live then shall I see one dayWhen God will smite her lying harlot's mouth—Surely I shall. Come, I will go with you;We will sit down together face to faceNow, and keep silence; for this life is hard,And the end of it is quietness at last.Come, let us go: here is no word to say.
AN USHER.Make way there for the lord of Bothwell; room—Place for my lord of Bothwell next the queen.