MARY BEATON.Yea; though to do it were mortal to my soulAs the chief sin.
CHASTELARD.I thank you: let us go.
[Enter CHASTELARD and MARY BEATON.]
MARY BEATON.Be tender of your feet.
CHASTELARD.I shall not fail:These ways have light enough to help a manThat walks with such stirred blood in him as mine.
MARY BEATON.I would yet plead with you to save your head:Nay, let this be then: sir, I chide you not.Nay, let all come. Do not abide her yet.
CHASTELARD.Have you read never in French books the songCalled the Duke's Song, some boy made ages back,A song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seasAnd plucked up with rent sides, and caught thereinA strange-haired woman with sad singing lips,Cold in the cheek like any stray of sea,And sweet to touch? so that men seeing her face,And how she sighed out little Ahs of painAnd soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth,Fell in hot love, and having lain with herDied soon? one time I could have told it through:Now I have kissed the sea-witch on her eyesAnd my lips ache with it; but I shall sleepFull soon, and a good space of sleep.
MARY BEATON.Alas!
CHASTELARD.What makes you sigh though I be found a fool?You have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend,I never could have lived long either way.Why, as I live, the joy I have of thisWould make men mad that were not mad with love;I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heartIs like a springing water blown of windFor pleasure of this deed. Now, in God's name,I swear if there be danger in delightI must die now: if joys have deadly teeth,I'll have them bite my soul to death, and endIn the old asp's way, Egyptian-wise; be killedIn a royal purple fashion. Look, my loveWould kill me if my body were past hurtOf any man's hand; and to die thereof,I say, is sweeter than all sorts of life.I would not have her love me now, for thenI should die meanlier some time. I am safe,Sure of her face, my life's end in her sight,My blood shed out about her feet—by God,My heart feels drunken when I think of it.See you, she will not rid herself of me,Not though she slay me: her sweet lips and lifeWill smell of my spilt blood.
MARY BEATON.Give me good-night.
CHASTELARD.Yea, and good thanks.
[Exit MARY BEATON.]
Here is the very place:Here has her body bowed the pillows inAnd here her head thrust under made the sheetSmell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even hereHer arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled hereThe golden silken curtain halfway inIt may be, and made room to lean out loose,Fair tender fallen arms. Now, if God would,Doubtless he might take pity on my soulTo give me three clear hours, and then red hellSnare me forever: this were merciful:If I were God now I should do thus much.I must die next, and this were not so hardFor him to let me eat sweet fruit and dieWith my lips sweet from it. For one shall haveThis fare for common days'-bread, which to meShould be a touch kept always on my senseTo make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hellSoft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep.Ah, love is good, and the worst part of itMore than all things but death. She will be hereIn some small while, and see me face to faceThat am to give up life for her and goWhere a man lies with all his loves put outAnd his lips full of earth. I think on her,And the old pleasure stings and makes half-tearsUnder mine eyelids. Prithee, love, come fast,That I may die soon: yea, some kisses through,I shall die joyfully enough, so GodKeep me alive till then. I feel her feetComing far off; now must I hold my heart,Steadying my blood to see her patiently.
[Hides himself by the bed.]
[Enter the QUEEN and DARNLEY.]
QUEEN.Nay, now go back: I have sent off my folk,Maries and all. Pray you, let be my hair;I cannot twist the gold thread out of itThat you wound in so close. Look, here it clings:Ah! now you mar my hair unwinding it.Do me no hurt, sir.
DARNLEY.I would do you ease;Let me stay here.
QUEEN.Nay, will you go, my lord?
DARNLEY.Eh? would you use me as a girl does fruit,Touched with her mouth and pulled away for gameTo look thereon ere her lips feed? but see,By God, I fare the worse for you.
QUEEN.Fair sir,Give me this hour to watch with and say prayers;You have not faith-it needs me to say prayers,That with commending of this deed to GodI may get grace for it.
DARNLEY.Why, lacks it grace?Is not all wedlock gracious of itself?
QUEEN.Nay, that I know not of. Come, sweet, be hence.
DARNLEY.You have a sort of jewel in your neckThat's like mine here.
QUEEN.Keep off your hands and go:You have no courtesy to be a king.
DARNLEY.Well, I will go: nay, but I thwart you not.Do as you will, and get you grace; farewell,And for my part, grace keep this watch with me!For I need grace to bear with you so much.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.So, he is forth. Let me behold myself;I am too pale to be so hot; I marvelSo little color should be bold in the faceWhen the blood is not quieted. I haveBut a brief space to cool my thoughts upon.If one should wear the hair thus heaped and curledWould it look best? or this way in the neck?Could one ungirdle in such wise one's heart
[Taking off her girdle.]
And ease it inwards as the waist is easedBy slackening of the slid clasp on it!How soft the silk is-gracious color too;Violet shadows like new veins thrown upEach arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet greenWhere the wrist lies thus eased. I am right gladI have no maids about to hasten me—So I will rest and see my hair shed downOn either silk side of my woven sleeves,Get some new way to bind it back with-yea,Fair mirror-glass, I am well ware of you,Yea, I know that, I am quite beautiful.How my hair shines!-Fair face, be friends with meAnd I will sing to you; look in my faceNow, and your mouth must help the song in mine.
Alys la chatelaineVoit venir de par SeineThiebault le capitaineQui parle ainsi!
Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no moreBut the comb drawn through half my hissing hairLaid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it.
Dans ma camaillePlus de clou qui vaille,Dans ma cotte-maillePlus de fer aussi.
Ah, but I wrong the ballad-verse: what's goodIn such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to makeTheir broken burden lag with us? meseemsI could be sad now if I fell to thinkThe least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady's fool,Fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyesFor a small thing. Nay, but I will keep glad,Nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me.But my first wedding was not like to this—Fair faces then and laughter and sweet game,And a pale little mouth that clung on mineWhen I had kissed him by the faded eyesAnd either thin cheek beating with faint blood.Well, he was sure to die soon; I do thinkHe would have given his body to be slain,Having embraced my body. Now, God knows,I have no man to do as much for meAs give me but a little of his bloodTo fill my beauty from, though I go downPale to my grave for want—I think not. Pale—I am too pale purely—Ah!
[See him in the glass, coming forward.]
CHASTELARD.Be not afraid.
QUEEN.Saint Mary! what a shaken wit have I!Nay, is it you? who let you through the doors?Where be my maidens? which way got you in?Nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard;By God's fair body, if you but breathe on themYou are just dead and slain at once. What adderHas bit you mirthful mad? for by this lightA man to have his head laughed off for mirthIs no great jest. Lay not your eyes on me;What, would you not be slain?
CHASTELARD.I pray you, madam,Bear with me a brief space and let me speak.I will not touch your garments even, nor speakBut in soft wise, and look some other way,If that it like you; for I came not hereFor pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will,Let me look on you.
QUEEN.As you will, fair sir.Give me that coif to gather in my hair—I thank you—and my girdle-nay, that side.Speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone,Why, you shall go, because I hate you not.You know that I might slay you with my lips,With calling out? but I will hold my peace.
CHASTELARD.Yea, do some while. I had a thing to say;I know not wholly what thing. O my sweet,I am come here to take farewell of loveThat I have served, and life that I have livedMade up of love, here in the sight of youThat all my life's time I loved more than God,Who quits me thus with bitter death for it.For you well know that I must shortly die,My life being wound about you as it is,Who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet,But tell me wherein I came short of love;For doubtless I came short of a just love,And fell in some fool's fault that angered you.Now that I talk men dig my grave for meOut in the rain, and in a little whileI shall be thrust in some sad space of earthOut of your eyes; and you, O you my love,A newly-wedded lady full of mirthAnd a queen girt with all good people's love,You shall be fair and merry in all your days.Is this so much for me to have of you?Do but speak, sweet: I know these are no wordsA man should say though he were now to die,But I am as a child for love, and haveNo strength at heart; yea, I am afraid to die,For the harsh dust will lie upon my faceToo thick to see you past. Look how I love you;I did so love you always, that your faceSeen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tearsFor pure delight in you. Why do you thus?You answer not, but your lips curl in twainAnd your face moves; there, I shall make you weepAnd be a coward too; it were much bestI should be slain.
QUEEN.Yea, best such folk were slain;Why should they live to cozen fools with lies?You would swear now you have used me faithfully;Shall I not make you swear? I am ware of you:You will not do it; nay, for the fear of GodYou will not swear. Come, I am merciful;God made a foolish woman, making me,And I have loved your mistress with whole heart;Say you do love her, you shall marry herAnd she give thanks: yet I could wish your loveHad not so lightly chosen forth a face;For your fair sake, because I hate you not.
CHASTELARD.What is to say? why, you do surely knowThat since my days were counted for a man'sI have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense,Whatever thing was bitter to my love,I have loved you; how when I rode in warYour face went floated in among men's helms,Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords;Yea, and I never have loved women well,Seeing always in my sight I had your lipsCurled over, red and sweet; and the soft spaceOf carven brows, and splendor of great throatSwayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one haveTo wind his arms about a lesser love?I have seen you; why, this were joy enoughFor God's eyes up in heaven, only to seeAnd to come never nearer than I am.Why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood,Bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writAll my heart over: if I would lie to youI doubt I could not lie. Ah, you see now,You know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love,Let me kiss there.
QUEEN.I love you best of them.Clasp me quite round till your lips cleave on mine,False mine, that did you wrong. Forgive them dearlyAs you are sweet to them; for by love's loveI am not that evil woman in my heartThat laughs at a rent faith. O Chastelard,Since this was broken to me of your new loveI have not seen the face of a sweet hour.Nay, if there be no pardon in a man,What shall a woman have for loving him?Pardon me, sweet.
CHASTELARD.Yea, so I pardon you,And this side now; the first way. Would God pleaseTo slay me so! who knows how he might please?Now I am thinking, if you know it not,How I might kill you, kiss your breath clean out,And take your soul to bring mine through to God,That our two souls might close and be one twainOr a twain one, and God himself want skillTo set us either severally apart.O, you must overlive me many years.And many years my soul be in waste hell;But when some time God can no more refrainTo lay death like a kiss across your lips,And great lords bear you clothed with funeral things,And your crown girded over deadly brows,Then after you shall touch me with your eyes,Remembering love was fellow with my fleshHere in sweet earth, and make me well of loveAnd heal my many years with piteousness.
QUEEN.You talk too sadly and too feignedly.
CHASTELARD.Too sad, but not too feigned; I am sadThat I shall die here without feigning thus;And without feigning I were fain to live.
QUEEN.Alas, you will be taken presentlyAnd then you are but dead. Pray you get hence.
CHASTELARD.I will not.
QUEEN.Nay, for God's love be away;You will be slain and I get shame. God's mercy!You were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet.Oh, I do love you more than all men! yea,Take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast,So you leave hold a little; there, for pity,Abide now, and to-morrow come to me.Nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat—Dear God! what shall I give you to be gone?
CHASTELARD.I will not go. Look, here's full night grown up;Why should I seek to sleep away from here?The place is soft and the lights burn for sleep;Be not you moved; I shall lie well enough.
QUEEN.You are utterly undone. Sweet, by my life,You shall be saved with taking ship at once.For if you stay this foolish love's hour outThere is not ten days' likely life in you.This is no choice.
CHASTELARD.Nay, for I will not go.
QUEEN.O me! this is that Bayard's blood of yoursThat makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay.I do not understand. Mind, you must die.Alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me;I shall be deadly to you.
CHASTELARD.Yea, I saw that;But I saw not that when my death's day cameYou could be quite so sweet to me.
QUEEN.My love!If I could kiss my heart's root out on youYou would taste love hid at the core of me.
CHASTELARD.Kiss me twice more. This beautiful bowed headThat has such hair with kissing ripples inAnd shivering soft eyelashes and browsWith fluttered blood! but laugh a little, sweetly,That I may see your sad mouth's laughing lookI have used sweet hours in seeing. O, will you weep?I pray you do not weep.
QUEEN.Nay, dear, I haveNo tears in me; I never shall weep much,I think, in all my life; I have wept for wrathSometimes and for mere pain, but for love's pityI cannot weep at all. I would to GodYou loved me less; I give you all I canFor all this love of yours, and yet I am sureI shall live out the sorrow of your deathAnd be glad afterwards. You know I am sorry.I should weep now; forgive me for your part,God made me hard, I think. Alas, you seeI had fain been other than I am.
CHASTELARD.Yea, love.Comfort your heart. What way am I do die?
QUEEN.Ah, will you go yet, sweet?
CHASTELARD.No, by God's body.You will not see? how shall I make you see?Look, it may be love was a sort of curseMade for my plague and mixed up with my daysSomewise in their beginning; or indeedA bitter birth begotten of sad starsAt mine own body's birth, that heaven might makeMy life taste sharp where other men drank sweet;But whether in heavy body or broken soul,I know it must go on to be my death.There was the matter of my fate in meWhen I was fashioned first, and given such lifeAs goes with a sad end; no fault but God's.Yea, and for all this I am not penitent:You see I am perfect in these sins of mine,I have my sins writ in a book to read;Now I shall die and be well done with this.But I am sure you cannot see such things,God knows I blame you not.
QUEEN.What shall be said?You know most well that I am sorrowful.But you should chide me. Sweet, you have seen fair wars,Have seen men slain and ridden red in them;Why will you die a chamberer's death like this?What, shall no praise be written of my knight,For my fame's sake?
CHASTELARD.Nay, no great praise, I think;I will no more; what should I do with death,Though I died goodly out of sight of you?I have gone once: here am I set now, sweet,Till the end come. That is your husband, hark,He knocks at the outer door. Kiss me just once.You know now all you have to say. Nay, love,Let him come quickly.
[Enter DARNLEY, and afterwards the MARIES.]
DARNLEY.Yea, what thing is here?Ay, this was what the doors shut fast upon—Ay, trust you to be fast at prayer, my sweet?By God I have a mind—
CHASTELARD.What mind then, sir?A liar's lewd mind, to coin sins for jest,Because you take me in such wise as this?Look you, I have to die soon, and I swear,That am no liar but a free knight and lord,I shall die clear of any sin to you,Save that I came for no good will of mine;I am no carle, I play fair games with faith,And by mine honor for my sake I swearI say but truth; for no man's sake save mine,Lest I die shamed. Madam, I pray you sayI am no liar; you know me what I am,A sinful man and shortly to be slain,That in a simple insolence of loveHave stained with a fool's eyes your holy hoursAnd with a fool's words put your pity out;Nathless you know if I be liar or no,Wherefore for God's sake give me grace to swear(Yea, for mine too) how past all praise you areAnd stainless of all shame; and how all menLie, saying you are not most good and innocent,Yea, the one thing good as God.
DARNLEY.O sir, we knowYou can swear well, being taken; you fair FrenchDare swallow God's name for a lewd love-sakeAs it were water. Nay, we know, we know;Save your sweet breath now lest you lack it soon:We are simple, we; we have not heard of you.Madam, by God you are well shamed in him:Ay, trust you to be fingering in one's face,Play with one's neck-chain? ah, your maiden's man,A relic of your people's!
CHASTELARD.Hold your peace,Or I will set an edge on your own lieShall scar yourself. Madam, have out your guard;'T is time I were got hence.
QUEEN.Sweet Hamilton,Hold you my hand and help me to sit down.O Henry, I am beaten from my wits—Let me have time and live; call out my people—Bring forth some armed guard to lay hold on him:But see no man be slain.Sirs, hide your swords;I will not have men slain.
DARNLEY.What, is this true?Call the queen's people—help the queen there, you—Ho, sirs, come in.
[Enter some with the Guard.]
QUEEN.Lay hold upon that man;Bear him away, but see he have no hurt.
CHASTELARD.Into your hands I render up myselfWith a free heart; deal with me how you list,But courteously, I pray you. Take my sword.Farewell, great queen; the sweetness in your lookMakes life look bitter on me. Farewell, sirs.
[He is taken out.]
DARNLEY.Yea, pluck him forth, and have him hanged by dawn;He shall find bed enow to sleep. God's love!That such a knave should be a knight like this!
QUEEN.Sir, peace awhile; this shall be as I please;Take patience to you. Lords, I pray you seeAll be done goodly; look they wrong him not.Carmichael, you shall sleep with me to-night;I am sorely shaken, even to the heart. Fair lords,I thank you for your care. Sweet, stay by me.
The QUEEN and the four MARIES.
QUEEN.Why will you break my heart with praying to me?You Seyton, you Carmichael, you have wits,You are not all run to tears; you do not thinkIt is my wrath or will that whets this axeAgainst his neck?
MARY SEYTON.Nay, these three weeks agoneI said the queen's wrath was not sharp enoughTo shear a neck.
QUEEN.Sweet, and you did me right,And look you, what my mercy bears to fruit,Danger and deadly speech and a fresh faultBefore the first was cool in people's lips;A goodly mercy: and I wash hands of it.—Speak you, there; have you ever found me sharp?You weep and whisper with sloped necks and headsLike two sick birds; do you think shame of me?Nay, I thank God none can think shame of me;But am I bitter, think you, to men's faults?I think I am too merciful, too meek:Why if I could I would yet save this man;'T is just boy's madness; a soft stripe or twoWould do to scourge the fault in his French blood.I would fain let him go. You, Hamilton,You have a heart thewed harder than my heart;When mine would threat it sighs, and wrath in itHas a bird's flight and station, starves beforeIt can well feed or fly; my pulse of wrathSounds tender as the running down of tears.You are the hardest woman I have known,Your blood has frost and cruel gall in it,You hold men off with bitter lips and eyes—Such maidens should serve England; now, perfay,I doubt you would have got him slain at once.Come, would you not? come, would you let him live?
MARY HAMILTON.Yes-I think yes; I cannot tell; maybeI would have seen him punished.
QUEEN.Look you now,There's maiden mercy; I would have him live—For all my wifehood maybe I weep too;Here's a mere maiden falls to slaying at once,Small shrift for her; God keep us from such hearts!I am a queen too that would have him live,But one that has no wrong and is no queen,She would-What are you saying there, you twain?
MARY CARMICHAEL.I said a queen's face and so fair an one'sWould lose no grace for giving grace away;That gift comes back upon the mouth it leftAnd makes it sweeter, and set fresh red on it.
QUEEN.This comes of sonnets when the dance draws breath;These talking times will make a dearth of grace.But you-what ails you that your lips are shut?Weep, if you will; here are four friends of yoursTo weep as fast for pity of your tears.Do you desire him dead? nay, but men sayHe was your friend, he fought them on your side,He made you songs-God knows what songs he made!Speak you for him a little: will you not?
MARY BEATON.Madam, I have no words.
QUEEN.No words? no pity—Have you no mercies for such men? God help!It seems I am the meekest heart on earth—Yea, the one tender woman left alive,And knew it not. I will not let him live,For all my pity of him.
MARY BEATON.Nay, but, madam,For God's love look a little to this thing.If you do slay him you are but shamed to death;All men will cry upon you, women weep,Turning your sweet name bitter with their tears;Red shame grow up out of your memoryAnd burn his face that would speak well of you:You shall have no good word nor pity, none,Till some such end be fallen upon you: nay,I am but cold, I knew I had no words,I will keep silence.
QUEEN.Yea now, as I live,I wist not of it: troth, he shall not die.See you, I am pitiful, compassionate,I would not have men slain for my love's sake,But if he live to do me three times wrong,Why then my shame would grow up green and redLike any flower. I am not whole at heart;In faith, I wot not what such things should be;I doubt it is but dangerous; he must die.
MARY BEATON.Yea, but you will not slay him.
QUEEN.Swear me that,I'll say he shall not die for your oath's sake.What will you do for grief when he is dead?
MARY BEATON.Nothing for grief, but hold my peace and die.
QUEEN.Why, for your sweet sake one might let him live;But the first fault was a green seed of shame,And now the flower, and deadly fruit will comeWith apple-time in autumn. By my life,I would they had slain him there in Edinburgh;But I reprieve him; lo the thank I get,To set the base folk muttering like smoked beesOf shame and love, and how love comes to shame,And the queen loves shame that comes of love;Yet I say nought and go about my ways,And this mad fellow that I respitedBeing forth and free, lo now the second timeYe take him by my bed in wait. Now seeIf I can get good-will to pardon him;With what a face may I crave leave of menTo respite him, being young and a good knightAnd mad for perfect love? shall I go say,Dear lords, because ye took him shamefully,Let him not die; because his fault is foul,Let him not die; because if he do liveI shall be held a harlot of all men,I pray you, sweet sirs, that he may not die?
MARY BEATON.Madam, for me I would not have him live;Mine own heart's life was ended with my fame,And my life's breath will shortly follow them;So that I care not much; for you wot wellI have lost love and shame and fame and allTo no good end; nor while he had his lifeHave I got good of him that was my love,Save that for courtesy (which may God quit)He kissed me once as one might kiss for loveOut of great pity for me; saving this,He never did me grace in all his life.And when you have slain him, madam, it may beI shall get grace of him in some new wayIn a new place, if God have care of us.
QUEEN.Bid you my brother to me presently.
[Exeunt MARIES.]
And yet the thing is pitiful; I wouldThere were some way. To send him overseas,Out past the long firths to the cold keen seaWhere the sharp sound is that one hears up here—Or hold him in strong prison till he died—He would die shortly—or to set him freeAnd use him softly till his brains were healed—There is no way. Now never while I liveShall we twain love together any moreNor sit at rhyme as we were used to do,Nor each kiss other only with the eyesA great way off ere hand or lip could reach;There is no way.
[Enter MURRAY.]
O, you are welcome, sir;You know what need I have; but I praise heaven,Having such need, I have such help of you.I do believe no queen God ever madeWas better holpen than I look to be.What, if two brethren love not heartily,Who shall be good to either one of them?
MURRAY.Madam, I have great joy of your good will.
QUEEN.I pray you, brother, use no courtesies:I have some fear you will not suffer meWhen I shall speak. Fear is a fool, I think,Yet hath he wit enow to fool my wits,Being but a woman's. Do not answer meTill you shall know; yet if you have a wordI shall be fain to heart it; but I thinkThere is no word to help me; no man's word:There be two things yet that should do me good,A speeding arm and a great heart. My lord,I am soft-spirited as women are,And ye wot well I have no harder heart:Yea, with all my will I would not slay a thing,But all should live right sweetly if I might;So that man's blood-spilling lies hard on me.I have a work yet for mine honor's sake,A thing to do, God wot I know not how,Nor how to crave it of you: nay, by heaven,I will not shame myself to show it you:I have not heart.
MURRAY.Why, if it may be doneWith any honor, or with good men's excuse,I shall well do it.
QUEEN.I would I wist that well.Sir, do you love me?
MURRAY.Yea, you know I do.
QUEEN.In faith, you should well love me, for I loveThe least man in your following for your sakeWith a whole sister's heart.
MURRAY.Speak simply, madam;I must obey you, being your bounden man.
QUEEN.Sir, so it is you know what things have been,Even to the endangering of mine innocent name,And by no fault, but by men's evil will;If Chastelard have trial openly,I am but shamed.
MURRAY.This were a wound indeed,If your good name should lie upon his lip.
QUEEN.I will the judges put him not to plead,For my fame's sake; he shall not answer them.
MURRAY.What, think you he will speak against your fame?
QUEEN.I know not; men might feign belief of himFor hate of me; it may be he will speak;In brief, I will not have him held to proof.
MURRAY.Well, if this be, what good is to be done?
QUEEN.Is there no way but he must speak to them,Being had to trial plainly?
MURRAY.I think, none.
QUEEN.Now mark, my lord; I swear he will not speak.
MURRAY.It were the best if you could make that sure.
QUEEN.There is one way. Look, sir, he shall not do it:Shall not, or will not, either is one way;I speak as I would have you understand.
MURRAY.Let me not guess at you; speak certainly.
QUEEN.You will not mind me: let him be removed;Take means to get me surety; there be means.
MURRAY.So, in your mind, I have to slay the man?
QUEEN.Is there a mean for me to save the man?
MURRAY.Truly I see no mean except your love.
QUEEN.What love is that, my lord? what think you of,Talking of love and of love's mean in meAnd of your guesses and of slaying him?Why, I say nought, have nought to say: God help me!I bid you but take surety of the man,Get him removed.
MURRAY.Come, come, be clear with me;You bid me to despatch him privily.
QUEEN.God send me sufferance! I bid you, sir?Nay, do not go; what matter if I did?Nathless I never bade you; no, by God.Be not so wroth; you are my brother born;Why do you dwell upon me with such eyes?For love of God you should not bear me hard.
MURRAY.What, are you made of flesh?
QUEEN.O, now I seeYou had rather lose your wits to do me harmThan keep sound wits to help me.
MURRAY.It is right strange;The worst man living hath some fear, some love,Holds somewhat dear a little for life's sake,Keeps fast to some compassion; you have none;You know of nothing that remembrance knowsTo make you tender. I must slay the man?Nay, I will do it.
QUEEN.Do, if you be not mad.I am sorry for him; and he must needs die.I would I were assured you hate me not:I have no heart to slay him by my will.I pray you think not bitterly of me.
MURRAY.Is it your pleasure such a thing were done?
QUEEN.Yea, by God's body is it, certainly.
MURRAY.Nay, for your love then, and for honor's sake,This thing must be.
QUEEN.Yea, should I set you on?Even for my love then, I beseech you, sir,To seek him out, and lest he prate of meTo put your knife into him ere he come forth:Meseems this were not such wild work to do.
MURRAY.I'll have him in the prison taken off.
QUEEN.I am bounden to you, even for my name's sake,When that is done.
MURRAY.I pray you fear me not.Farewell. I would such things were not to do,Or not for me; yea, not for any man.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.Alas, what honor have I to give thanks?I would he had denied me: I had held my peaceThenceforth forever; but he wrung out the word,Caught it before my lip, was fain of it—It was his fault to put it in my mind,Yea, and to feign a loathing of his fault.Now is he about devising my love's death,And nothing loth. Nay, since he must needs die,Would he were dead and come alive againAnd I might keep him safe. He doth live nowAnd I may do what love I will to him;But by to-morrow he will be stark dead,Stark slain and dead; and for no sort of loveWill he so much as kiss me half a kiss.Were this to do I would not do it again.
[Reenter MURRAY.]
What, have you taken order? is it done?It were impossible to do so soon.Nay, answer me.
MURRAY.Madam, I will not do it.
QUEEN.How did you say? I pray, sir, speak again:I know not what you said.
MURRAY.I say I will not;I have thought thereof, and have made up my heartTo have no part in this: look you to it.
QUEEN.O, for God's sake! you will not have me shamed?
MURRAY.I will not dip my hand into your sin.
QUEEN.It were a good deed to deliver me;I am but a woman, of one blood with you,A feeble woman; put me not to shame;I pray you of your pity do me right.Yea, and no fleck of blood shall cleave to youFor a just deed.
MURRAY.I know not; I will none.
QUEEN.O, you will never let him speak to themTo put me in such shame? why, I should dieOut of pure shame and mine own burning blood;Yea, my face feels the shame lay hold on it,I am half burnt already in my thought;Take pity of me. Think how shame slays a man;How shall I live then? would you have me dead?I pray you for our dead dear father's sake,Let not men mock at me. Nay, if he speak,I shall be sung in mine own towns. Have pity.What, will you let men stone me in the ways?
MURRAY.Madam, I shall take pains the best I mayTo save your honor, and what thing lieth in meThat will I do, but no close manslayings.I will not have God's judgment gripe my throatWhen I am dead, to hale me into hellFor a man's sake slain on this wise. Take heed.See you to that.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.One of you maidens thereBid my lord hither. Now by Mary's soul,He shall not die and bring me into shame.There's treason in you like a fever, hot,My holy-natured brother, cheek and eye;You look red through with it: sick, honor-sick,Specked with the blain of treason, leper-like—A scrupulous fair traitor with clean lips—If one should sue to hell to do him goodHe were as brotherly holpen as I am.This man must live and say no harm of me;I may reprieve and cast him forth; yea, so—This were the best; or if he die midway—Yea, anything, so that he die not here.
[To the MARIES within.]
Fetch hither Darnley. Nay, ye gape on me—What, doth he sleep, or feeds, or plays at games?Why, I would see him; I am weary for his sake;Bid my lord in.-Nathless he will but chide;Nay, fleer and laugh: what should one say to him?There were some word if one could hit on it;Some way to close with him: I wot not.-Sir,
[Enter DARNLEY.]
Please it your love I have a suit to you.
DARNLEY.What sort of suit?
QUEEN.Nay, if you be not friends—I have no suit towards mine enemies.
DARNLEY.Eh, do I look now like your enemy?
QUEEN.You have a way of peering under browI do not like. If you see anythingIn me that irks you I will painfullyLabor to lose it: do but show me favor,And as I am your faithful humble wifeThis foolishness shall be removed in me.
DARNLEY.Why do you laugh and mock me with stretched hands?Faith, I see no such thing.
QUEEN.That is well seen.Come, I will take my heart between my lips,Use it not hardly. Sir, my suit begins;That you would please to make me that I am,(In sooth I think I am) mistress and queenOf mine own people.
DARNLEY.Why, this is no suit;This is a simple matter, and your own.
QUEEN.It was, before God made you king of me.
DARNLEY.No king, by God's grace; were I such a kingI'd sell my kingdom for six roods of rye.
QUEEN.You are too sharp upon my words; I wouldHave leave of you to free a man condemned.
DARNLEY.What man is that, sweet?
QUEEN.Such a mad poor manAs God desires us use not cruelly.
DARNLEY.Is there no name a man may call him by?
QUEEN.Nay, my fair master, what fair game is this?Why, you do know him, it is Chastelard.
DARNLEY.Ay, is it soothly?
QUEEN.By my life, it is;Sweet, as you tender me, so pardon him.
DARNLEY.As he doth tender you, so pardon me;For if it were the mean to save my lifeHe should not live a day.
QUEEN.Nay, shall not he?
DARNLEY.Look what an evil wit old Fortune hath:Why, I came here to get his time cut off.This second fault is meat for lewd men's mouths;You were best have him slain at once: 'tis hot.
QUEEN.Give me the warrant, and sit down, my lord.Why, I will sign it; what, I understandHow this must be. Should not my name stand here?
DARNLEY.Yea, there, and here the seal.
QUEEN.Ay, so you say.Shall I say too what I am thinking of?
DARNLEY.Do, if you will.
QUEEN.I do not like your suit.
DARNLEY.'Tis of no Frenchman fashion.
QUEEN.No, God wot;'Tis nowise great men's fashion in French landTo clap a headsman's taberd on their backs.
DARNLEY.No, madam?
QUEEN.No; I never wist of that.Is it a month gone I did call you lord?I chose you by no straying stroke of sight,But with my heart to love you heartily.Did I wrong then? did mine eye draw my heart?I know not; sir, it may be I did wrong:And yet to love you; and would choose again,Against to choose you.
DARNLEY.There, I love you too;Take that for sooth, and let me take this hence.
QUEEN.O, do you think I hold you off with words?Why, take it then; there is my handwriting,And here the hand that you shall slay him with.'Tis a fair hand, a maiden-colored one:I doubt yet it has never slain a man.You never fought yet save for game, I wis.Nay, thank me not, but have it from my sight;Go and make haste for fear he be got forth:It may be such a man is dangerous;Who knows what friends he hath? and by my faithI doubt he hath seen some fighting, I do fearHe hath fought and shed men's blood; ye are wise menThat will not leave such dangerous things alive;'T were well he died the sooner for your sakes.Pray you make haste; it is not fit he live.
DARNLEY.What, will you let him die so easily?
QUEEN.Why, God have mercy! what way should one takeTo please such people? there's some cunning way,Something I miss, out of my simple soul.What, must one say "Beseech you do no harm,"Or "for my love, sweet cousins, be not hard,"Or "let him live but till the vane come round"—Will such things please you? well then, have your way;Sir, I desire you, kneeling down with tears,With sighs and tears, fair sir, require of you,Considering of my love I bear this man,Just for my love's sake let him not be hangedBefore the sundown; do thus much for me,To have a queen's prayers follow after you.
DARNLEY.I know no need for you to gibe at me.
QUEEN.Alack, what heart then shall I have to jest?There is no woman jests in such a wise—For the shame's sake I pray you hang him not,Seeing how I love him, save indeed in silk,Sweet twisted silk of my sad handiwork.Nay, and you will not do so much for me;You vex your lip, biting the blood and all:Were this so hard, and you compassionate?I am in sore case then, and will weep indeed.
DARNLEY.What do you mean to cast such gibes at me?
QUEEN.Woe's me, and will you turn my tears to thorns?Nay, set your eyes a little in my face;See, do I weep? what will you make of me?Will you not swear I love this prisoner?Ye are wise, and ye will have it; yet for meI wist not of it. We are but feeble fools,And love may catch us when we lie asleepAnd yet God knows we know not this a whit.Come, look on me, swear you believe it not:It may be I will take your word for that.
DARNLEY.Do you not love him? nay, but verily?
QUEEN.Now then, make answer to me verily,Which of us twain is wiser? for my partI will not swear I love not, if you will;Ye be wise men and many men, my lords,And ye will have me love him, ye will swearThat I do love him; who shall say ye lie?Look on your paper; maybe I have wept:Doubtless I love your hanged man in my heart.What, is the writing smutched or gone awry?Or blurred-ay, surely so much-with one tear,One little sharp tear strayed on it by chance?Come, come, the man is deadly dangerous;Let him die presently.
DARNLEY.You do not love him;Well, yet he need not die; it were right hardTo hang the fool because you love him not.
QUEEN.You have keen wits and thereto courtesyTo catch me with. No, let this man not die;It were no such perpetual praise to youTo be his doomsman and in doglike wiseBite his brief life in twain.
DARNLEY.Truly it were not.
QUEEN.Then for your honor and my love of you(Oh, I do love you! but you know not, sweet,You shall see how much), think you for their sakeHe may go free?
DARNLEY.How, freely forth of us?But yet he loves you, and being mad with loveMakes matter for base mouths to chew upon:'T were best he live not yet.
QUEEN.Will you say that?
DARNLEY.Why should he live to breed you bad reports?Let him die first.
QUEEN.Sweet, for your sake, not so.
DARNLEY.Fret not yourself to pity; let him die.
QUEEN.Come, let him live a little; it shall beA grace to us.
DARNLEY.By God he dies at once.
QUEEN.Now, by God's mother, if I respite him,Though you were all the race of you in oneAnd had more tongues than hairs to cry on meHe should not lose a hair.
DARNLEY.This is mere mercy—But you thank God you love him not a whit?
QUEEN.It shall be what it please; and if I pleaseIt shall be anything. Give me the warrant.
DARNLEY.Nay, for your sake and love of you, not I,To make it dangerous.
QUEEN.O, God' pity, sir!You are tender of me; will you serve me so,Against mine own will, show me so much love,Do me good service that I loath being done,Out of pure pity?
DARNLEY.Nay, your word shall stand.
QUEEN.What makes you gape so beastlike after blood?Were you not bred up on some hangman's hireAnd dicted with fleshmeats at his handAnd fed into a fool? Give me that paper.
DARNLEY.Now for that word I will not.
QUEEN.Nay, sweet love,For your own sake be just a little wise;Come, I beseech you.
DARNLEY.Pluck not at my hands.
QUEEN.No, that I will not: I am brain-broken, mad;Pity my madness for sweet marriage-sakeAnd my great love's; I love you to say this;I would not have you cross me, out of love.But for true love should I not chafe indeed?And now I do not.
DARNLEY.Yea, and late you chid,You chafed and jested and blew soft and hard—No, for that "fool" you shall not fool me so.
QUEEN.You are no churl, sweet, will you see me weep?Look, I weep now; be friends with my poor tears,Think each of them beseeches you of loveAnd hath some tongue to cry on you for loveAnd speak soft things; for that which loves not youIs none of mine, not though they grow of griefAnd grief of you; be not too hard with them.You would not of your own heart slay a man;Nay, if you will, in God's name make me weep,I will not hate you; but at heart, sweet lord,Be not at heart my sweet heart's enemy.If I had many mighty men to friendI would not plead too lovingly with youTo have your love.
DARNLEY.Why, yet you have my love.
QUEEN.Alas, what shall mine enemies do to meIf he be used so hardly of my friends?Come, sir, you hate me; yet for all your hateYou cannot have such heart.
DARNLEY.What sort of heart?I have no heart to be used shamefullyIf you mean that.
QUEEN.Would God I loved you not;You are too hard to be used lovingly.
DARNLEY.You are moved too much for such a little loveAs you bear me.
QUEEN.God knows you do me wrong;God knows the heart, sweet, that I love you with.Hark you, fair sir, I'd have all well with you;Do you not fear at sick men's time of nightWhat end may come? are you so sure of heart?Is not your spirit surprisable in sleep?Have you no evil dreams? Nay, look you, love,I will not be flung off you heart and hand,I am no snake: but tell me for your loveHave you no fancies how these things will endIn the pit's mouth? how all life-deeds will lookAt the grave's edge that lets men into hell?For my part, who am weak and woman-eyed,It turns my soul tears: I doubt this bloodFallen on our faces when we twain are deadWill scar and burn them: yea, for heaven is sweet,And loves sweet deeds that smell not of split blood.Let us not kill: God that made mercy firstPities the pitiful for their deed's sake.
DARNLEY.Get you some painting; with a cheek like thisYou'll find no faith in listeners.
QUEEN.How, fair lord?
DARNLEY.I say that looking with this face of yoursNone shall believe you holy; what, you talk,Take mercy in your mouth, eat holiness,Put God under your tongue and feed on heaven,With fear and faith and-faith, I know not what—And look as though you stood and saw men slainTo make you game and laughter; nay, your eyesThreaten as unto blood. What will you doTo make men take your sweet word? pitiful—You are pitiful as he that's hired for deathAnd loves the slaying yet better than the hire.
QUEEN.You are wise that live to threat and tell me so;Do you love life too much?
DARNLEY.O, now you are sweet,Right tender now: you love not blood nor death,You are too tender.
QUEEN.Yea, too weak, too soft:Sweet, do not mock me, for my love's sake; seeHow soft a thing I am. Will you be hard?The heart you have, has it no sort of fear?
DARNLEY.Take off your hand and let me go my wayAnd do the deed, and when the doing is pastI will come home and teach you tender thingsOut of my love till you forget my wrath.I will be angry when I see good need,And will grow gentle after, fear not that:You shall get no wrong of my wrongdoing.So I take leave.
QUEEN.Take what you will; take all;You have taken half my heart away with words:Take all I have, and take no leave; I haveNo leave to give: yea, shortly shall lack leave,I think, to live; but I crave none of you;I would have none: yet for the love I have,If I get ever a man to show it you,I pray God put you some day in my handThat you may take that too.
DARNLEY.Well, as he please;God keep you in such love; and so farewell.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.So fare I as your lover, but not well.—Ah sweet, if God be ever good to meTo put you in my hand! I am come to shame;Let me think now, and let my wits not go;God, for dear mercy, let me not forgetWhy I should be so angry; the dull bloodBeats at my face and blinds me-I am chafted to death,And I am shamed; I shall go mad and die.Truly I think I did kneel down, did pray,Yea, weep (who knows?) it may be-all for that.Yea, if I wept not, this was blood brake forthAnd burnt mine eyelids; I will have blood back,And wash them cool in the hottest of his heart,Or I will slay myself: I cannot tell:I have given gold for brass, and lo the payCleaves to my fingers: there's no way to mend—Not while life stays: would God that it were gone!The fool will feed upon my fame and laugh;Till one seal up his tongue and lips with blood,He carries half my honor and good nameBetween his teeth. Lord God, mine head will fail!When have I done thus since I was alive?And these ill times will deal but ill with me—My old love slain, and never a new to help,And my wits gone, and my blithe use of life,And all the grace was with me. Love-perchanceIf I save love I shall well save myself.I could find heart to bid him take such fellowsAnd kill them to my hand. I was the foolTo sue to these and shame myself: God knowsI was a queen born, I will hold their headsHere in my hands for this. Which of you waits?
[Enter MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]
No maiden of them?-what, no more than this?
MARY CARMICHAEL.Madam, the lady Seyton is gone forth;She is ill at heart with watching.
QUEEN.Ay, at heart—All girls must have such tender sides to the heartThey break for one night's watching, ache to deathFor an hour's pity, for a half-hour's love—Wear out before the watches, die by dawn,And ride at noon to burial. God's my pity!Where's Hamilton? doth she ail too? at heart,I warrant her at heart.
MARY BEATON.I know not, madam.
QUEEN.What, sick or dead? I am well holpen of you:Come hither to me. What pale blood you have—Is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me?Why, if I were so loving, by my hand,I would have set my head upon the chance,And loosed him though I died. What will you do?Have you no way?
MARY BEATON.None but your mercy.
QUEEN.Ay?Why then the thing is piteous. Think, for God's sake—Is there no loving way to fetch him forth?Nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love,To help no more than this doth! Were I in love,I would unbar the ways to-night and thenLaugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead;I think you love well with one half your heart,And let fear keep the other. Hark you now,You said there was some friend durst break my bars—Some Scotch name—faith, as if I wist of it!Ye have such heavy wits to help one with—Some man that had some mean to save him by—Tush, I must be at pains for you!
MARY BEATON.Nay, madam,It were no boot; he will not be let forth.
QUEEN.I say, the name. O, Robert Erskine-yea,A fellow of some heart: what saith he?
MARY BEATON.Madam,The thing was sound all through, yea, all went well,But for all prayers that we could make to himHe would not fly: we cannot get him forth.
QUEEN.Great God! that men should have such wits as this!I have a mind to let him die for that;And yet I wot not. Said he, he loathed his life?
MARY BEATON.He says your grace given would scathe yourself,And little grace for such a grace as thatBe with the little of his life he keptTo cast off some time more unworthily.
QUEEN.God help me! what should wise folk do with him?These men be weaker-witted than mere foolsWhen they fall mad once; yet by Mary's soulI am sorrier for him than for men right wise.God wot a fool that were more wise than heWould love me something worse than Chastelard,Ay, and his own soul better. Do you think(There's no such other sort of fool alive)That he may live?
MARY BEATON.Yea, by God's mercy, madam,To your great praise and honor from all menIf you should keep him living.
QUEEN.By God's light,I have good will to do it. Are you sure,If I would pack him with a pardon hence,He would speak well of me-not hint and halt,Smile and look back, sigh and say love runs out,But times have been-with some loose laugh cut short,Bit off at lip-eh?
MARY BEATON.No, by heaven he would not.
QUEEN.You know how quickly one may be belied—Faith, you should know it-I never thought the worst,One may touch love and come with clean hands off—But you should know it. What, he will not fly—Not though I wink myself asleep, turn blind—Which that I will I say not?
MARY BEATON.Nay, not he;We had good hope to bring him well aboard,Let him slip safe down by the firths to sea,Out under Leith by night-setting, and thenceTake ship for France and serve there out of sightIn the new wars.
QUEEN.Ay, in the new French wars—You wist thereof too, madam, with good leave—A goodly bait to catch mine honor withAnd let me wake up with my name bit through.I had been much bounden to you twain, methinks,But for my knight's sake and his love's; by God,He shall not die in God's despite nor mine.Call in our chief lords; bid one see to it:Ay, and make haste.
[Exeunt MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]
Now shall I try their teeth:I have done with fear; now nothing but pure loveAnd power and pity shall have part in me;I will not throw them such a spirit in fleshTo make their prey on. Though he be mad indeed,It is the goodliest madness ever smoteUpon man's heart. A kingly knight-in faith,Meseems my face can yet make faith in menAnd break their brains with beauty: for a word,An eyelid's twitch, an eye's turn, tie them fastAnd make their souls cleave to me. God be thanked,This air has not yet curdled all the bloodThat went to make me fair. An hour agone,I thought I had been forgotten of men's loveMore than dead women's faces are forgotOf after lovers. All men are not of earth:For all the frost of fools and this cold landThere be some yet catch fever of my faceAnd burning for mine eyes' sake. I did thinkMy time was gone when men would dance to deathAs to a music, and lie laughing downIn the grave and take their funerals for their feasts,To get one kiss of me. I have some strength yet,Though I lack power on men that lack men's blood.Yea, and God wot I will be merciful;For all the foolish hardness round my heartThat tender women miss of to their praise,They shall not say but I had grace to giveEven for love's sake. Why, let them take their way:What ails it them though I be soft or hard?Soft hearts would weep and weep and let men dieFor very mercy and sweet-heartedness;I that weep little for my pity's sake,I have the grace to save men. Let fame go—I care not much what shall become of fame,So I save love and do mine own soul right;I'll have my mercy help me to revengeOn all the crew of them. How will he look,Having my pardon! I shall have sweet thanksAnd love of good men for my mercy's love—Yea, and be quit of these I hate to death,With one good deed.
[Enter the MARIES.]
MARY BEATON.Madam, the lords are here.
QUEEN.Stand you about me, I will speak to them.I would the whole world stood up in my faceAnd heard what I shall say. Bid them come in.
[Enter MURRAY, RANDOLPH, MORTON, LINDSAY, and other LORDS.]
Hear you, fair lords, I have a word to you;There is one thing I would fain understand—If I be queen or no; for by my lifeMethinks I am growing unqueenly. No man speak?Pray you take note, sweet lord ambassador,I am no queen: I never was born queen;Alack, that one should fool us in this wise!Take up my crown, sir, I will none of itTill it hath bells on as a fool's cap hath.Nay, who will have it? no man take it up?Was there none worthy to be shamed but I?Here are enow good faces, good to crown;Will you be king, fair brother? or you, my lord?Give me a spinner's curch, a wisp of reed,Any mean thing; but, God's love, no more gold,And no more shame: let boys throw dice for it,Or cast it to the grooms for tennis-play,For I will none.
MURRAY.What would your highness have?
QUEEN.Yea, yea, I said I was no majesty;I shall be shortly fallen out of grace.What would I have? I would have leave to live;Perchance I shall not shortly: nay, for meThat have no leave to respite other livesTo keep mine own life were small praise enow.