[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 brow I do not like. If you see anything In me that irks you I will painfully Labor to lose it: do but show me favor, And as I am your faithful humble wife This 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 queen Of 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 king I'd sell my kingdom for six roods of rye.

QUEEN. You are too sharp upon my words; I would Have leave of you to free a man condemned.

DARNLEY. What man is that, sweet?

QUEEN. Such a mad poor man As 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 life He 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 understand How 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 land To 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 faith I doubt he hath seen some fighting, I do fear He hath fought and shed men's blood; ye are wise men That 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 take To 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 hanged Before 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 me I wist not of it. We are but feeble fools, And love may catch us when we lie asleep And 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 part I 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 swear That 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 hard To hang the fool because you love him not.

QUEEN. You have keen wits and thereto courtesy To catch me with. No, let this man not die; It were no such perpetual praise to you To be his doomsman and in doglike wise Bite 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 sake He may go free?

DARNLEY. How, freely forth of us? But yet he loves you, and being mad with love Makes 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 be A 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 one And had more tongues than hairs to cry on me He 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 please It 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 hire And dicted with fleshmeats at his hand And 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-sake And 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 love And hath some tongue to cry on you for love And speak soft things; for that which loves not you Is none of mine, not though they grow of grief And 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 friend I would not plead too lovingly with you To have your love.

DARNLEY. Why, yet you have my love.

QUEEN. Alas, what shall mine enemies do to me If he be used so hardly of my friends? Come, sir, you hate me; yet for all your hate You cannot have such heart.

DARNLEY. What sort of heart? I have no heart to be used shamefully If 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 love As 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 night What 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 love Have you no fancies how these things will end In the pit's mouth? how all life-deeds will look At 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 blood Fallen on our faces when we twain are dead Will 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 first Pities the pitiful for their deed's sake.

DARNLEY. Get you some painting; with a cheek like this You'll find no faith in listeners.

QUEEN. How, fair lord?

DARNLEY. I say that looking with this face of yours None 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 slain To make you game and laughter; nay, your eyes Threaten as unto blood. What will you do To make men take your sweet word? pitiful— You are pitiful as he that's hired for death And 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; see How 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 way And do the deed, and when the doing is past I will come home and teach you tender things Out 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 have No 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 hand That 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 me To 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 forget Why I should be so angry; the dull blood Beats 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 forth And 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 pay Cleaves 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 name Between 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-perchance If I save love I shall well save myself. I could find heart to bid him take such fellows And kill them to my hand. I was the fool To sue to these and shame myself: God knows I was a queen born, I will hold their heads Here 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 heart They break for one night's watching, ache to death For 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 then Laugh 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 him He 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 that Be with the little of his life he kept To cast off some time more unworthily.

QUEEN. God help me! what should wise folk do with him? These men be weaker-witted than mere fools When they fall mad once; yet by Mary's soul I am sorrier for him than for men right wise. God wot a fool that were more wise than he Would 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 men If 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 thence Take ship for France and serve there out of sight In 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 with And 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 love And power and pity shall have part in me; I will not throw them such a spirit in flesh To make their prey on. Though he be mad indeed, It is the goodliest madness ever smote Upon man's heart. A kingly knight-in faith, Meseems my face can yet make faith in men And break their brains with beauty: for a word, An eyelid's twitch, an eye's turn, tie them fast And make their souls cleave to me. God be thanked, This air has not yet curdled all the blood That went to make me fair. An hour agone, I thought I had been forgotten of men's love More than dead women's faces are forgot Of after lovers. All men are not of earth: For all the frost of fools and this cold land There be some yet catch fever of my face And burning for mine eyes' sake. I did think My time was gone when men would dance to death As to a music, and lie laughing down In 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 heart That tender women miss of to their praise, They shall not say but I had grace to give Even 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 die For 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 revenge On all the crew of them. How will he look, Having my pardon! I shall have sweet thanks And 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 face And 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 life Methinks 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 it Till 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 me That have no leave to respite other lives To keep mine own life were small praise enow.

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 this At 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 myself And 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 majesty To lay no hand upon his second fault And let him thrice offend you.

QUEEN. Ay, my lord?

MORTON. It were well done to muffle lewd men's mouths By 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 this And 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.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.



ACT V.

CHASTELARD.

SCENE I.-Before Holyrood. A crowd of people; among them Soldiers, Burgesses, a Preacher, &c.

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 gone Wept the whole way: think you this man shall die In better sort, now?

1ST CITIZEN. Eh, these shawm-players That walk before strange women and make songs! How should they die well?

3D CITIZEN. Is it sooth men say Our dame was wont to kiss him on the face In lewd folk's sight?

1ST CITIZEN. Yea, saith one, all day long He used to sit and jangle words in rhyme To suit with shakes of faint adulterous sound Some 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 him When they do come?

3D CITIZEN. Ah! by God's leave, not so; If the knave show us his peeled onion's head And 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 say That if priest whore's friend with the lewd thief's cheek Show his foul blinking face to shame all ours, It goes back fouler; well, one day hell's fire Will burn him black indeed.

A WOMAN. What kind of man? 'T is yet great pity of him if he be Goodly enow for this queen's paramour. A French lord overseas? what doth he here, With Scotch folk here?

1ST CITIZEN. Fair mistress, I think well He doth so at some times that I were fain To do as well.

THE WOMAN. Nay, then he will not die.

1ST CITIZEN. Why, see you, if one eat a piece of bread Baked 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 bone Cleave one to other—why, if he steal to eat, Be it even the filthiest feeding-though the man Be famine-flayed of flesh and skin, I say He shall be hanged.

3D CITIZEN. Nay, stolen said you, sir? See, God bade eat abominable bread, And freely was it eaten—for a sign This, 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 slain If he be clear toward her?

3D CITIZEN. Sir, one must see The day comes when a woman sheds her sin As a bird moults; and she being shifted so, The old mate of her old feather pecks at her To get the right bird back; then she being stronger Picks out his eyes-eh?

2D CITIZEN. Like enough to be; But if it be—Is not one preaching there With certain folk about him?

1ST CITIZEN. Yea, the same Who preached a month since from Ezekiel Concerning these twain-this our queen that is And her that was, and is not now so much As 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 first Bred out of Egypt like the water-worm With sides in wet green places baked with slime And festered flesh that steams against the sun; A plague among all people, and a type Set 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 red And with red gold, fair foreign-footed men, The bountiful fair men, the courteous men, The delicate men with delicate feet, that went Curling their small beards Agag-fashion, yea Pruning their mouths to nibble words behind With pecking at God's skirts-small broken oaths Fretted to shreds between most dainty lips, And underbreath some praise of Ashtaroth Sighed laughingly.

2D CITIZEN. Was he not under guard For 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 said How she made letters for Chaldean folk And men that came forth of the wilderness And all her sister's chosen men; yea, she Kept not her lip from any sin of hers But multiplied in whoredoms toward all these That hate God mightily; for these, he saith, These are the fair French people, and these her kin Sought out of England with her love-letters To bring them to her kiss of love; and thus With a prayer made that God would break such love Ended some while; then crying out for strong wrath Spake with a great voice after: This is she, Yea the lewd woman, yea the same woman That gat bruised breasts in Egypt, when strange men Swart from great suns, foot-burnt with angry soils And strewn with sand of gaunt Chaldean miles, Poured all their love upon her: she shall drink The Lord's cup of derision that is filled With drunkenness and sorrow, great of sides And deep to drink in till the dreg drips out: Yea, and herself with the twain shards thereof Pluck 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 speak Surely 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.

SCENE II.—In Prison.

CHASTELARD. So here my time shuts up; and the last light Has made the last shade in the world for me. The sunbeam that was narrow like a leaf Has turned a hand, and the hand stretched to an arm, And the arm has reached the dust on the floor, and made A maze of motes with paddling fingers. Well, I knew now that a man so sure to die Could care so little; a bride-night's lustiness Leaps in my veins as light fire under a wind: As if I felt a kindling beyond death Of some new joys far outside of me yet; Sweet sound, sweet smell and touch of things far out Sure to come soon. I wonder will death be Even all it seems now? or the talk of hell And wretched changes of the worn-out soul Nailed to decaying flesh, shall that be true? Or is this like the forethought of deep sleep Felt by a tired man? Sleep were good enough— Shall sleep be all? But I shall not forget For any sleep this love bound upon me— For any sleep or quiet ways of death. Ah, in my weary dusty space of sight Her face will float with heavy scents of hair And fire of subtle amorous eyes, and lips More hot than wine, full of sweet wicked words Babbled against mine own lips, and long hands Spread out, and pale bright throat and pale bright breasts, Fit to make all men mad. I do believe This fire shall never quite burn out to the ash And leave no heat and flame upon my dust For 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 fire And 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 me And 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 glad I 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 knows I had a mind once to have saved this flesh And made life one with shame. It marvels me This girl that loves me should desire so much To have me sleep with shame for bedfellow A whole life's space; she would be glad to die To escape such life. It may be too her love Is but an amorous quarrel with herself, Not love of me but her own wilful soul; Then she will live and be more glad of this Than girls of their own will and their heart's love Before love mars them: so God go with her! For mine own love-I wonder will she come Sad at her mouth a little, with drawn cheeks And eyelids wrinkled up? or hot and quick To lean her head on mine and leave her lips Deep in my neck? For surely she must come; And I should fare the better to be sure What 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 since This had not seemed so good an end for me; But in some wise all things wear round betimes And wind up well. Yet doubtless she might take A will to come my way and hold my hands And 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 out And her wits cool again. She must have chafed A great while through for anger to become So like pure pity; they must have fretted her Night mad for anger: or it may be mistrust, She is so false; yea, to my death I think She will not trust me; alas the hard sweet heart! As if my lips could hurt her any way But 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, albeit They 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 you And 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 thing That 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 world That you should weep to take it: would mine were, And I might give you a world-worthier gift Than 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 bonds I have had such grief for love's sake and my heart's— Yea, by my life I have—I could not choose But give love way a little. Take my hand; You know it would have pricked my heart's blood out To 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 drink If 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 lopped And we twain left together this side death! But look you, sweet, if this my warrant hold You are but dead and shamed; for you must die, And they will slay you shamefully by force Even 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 wot I have no heart to bear with fear and die. Yea, and I cannot help you: or I know I 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 know How 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. Come I 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 through In 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 eyes And low thick lids that keep since years agone In the blue sweet of each particular vein Some special print of me! I am right glad That I must never feel a bitterer thing Than your soft curled-up shoulder and amorous arms From this time forth; nothing can hap to me Less good than this for all my whole life through. I would not have some new pain after this Come 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, whence My life began in me; mine that ends here Because you have no mercy, nay you know You 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 lips Be pitiful, and speak truth: they will not be Such perfect things as yours. Be not ashamed That hands not made like these that snare men's souls Should 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 see In through your bosom under the left flower, And there was a round hollow, and at heart A 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 came Her 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 read The hymn of death here over ere I die; I shall know soon how much he knew of death When 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 deeds I would do better. Let me keep the book.

QUEEN. Yea, keep it: as would God you had kept your life Out 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 food More than my soul's. There are bad thoughts in me— Most bitter fancies biting me like birds That 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 it I shall be eased so God will give me back Sometimes one golden gracious sight of you— The aureole woven flowerlike through your hair, And in your lips the little laugh as red As 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 ago You shed and were not holpen: and your heart Will ache for help and comfort, yea for love, And find less love than mine—for I do think You 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 man Your 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 might To help you more, mine arms and hands no power To 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 beautiful It must needs be as God is more than I So 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 sin My face of color shall prevail so much With him, so soften the toothed iron's edge To save my throat a scar? nay, I am sure I shall die somehow sadly.

CHASTELARD. This is pure grief; The shadow of your pity for my death, Mere foolishness of pity: all sweet moods Throw out such little shadows of themselves, Leave such light fears behind. You, die like me? Stretch your throat out that I may kiss all round Where mine shall be cut through: suppose my mouth The axe-edge to bite so sweet a throat in twain With bitter iron, should not it turn soft As lip is soft to lip?

QUEEN. I am quite sure I 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 be As 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 fear But 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 throat Lest one see tumbled lace and prate of it.

[Enter the Guard: MURRAY, DARNLEY, MARY HAMILTON, 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 friend That 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 courtesy He will now cast it from his mind and heed Like a dead thing; considering my dead fault Worth no remembrance further than my death. This for his gentle honor and goodwill I do beseech him, doubting not to find Such kindliness if he be nobly made And 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 things We 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 have I give you thanks, sir; and to all these lords That have not heart to load me at my death. Last, I beseech of the best queen of men And royallest fair lady in the world To pardon me my grievous mortal sin Done in such great offence of her: for, sirs, If ever since I came between her eyes She hath beheld me other than I am Or 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 cease Even 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 upon May 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 Holyrood And take Carmichael with you: go both up In 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 strike Here on my neck; if they will have him die, Why, I will die too: queens have died this way For less things than his love is. Nay, I know They want no blood; I will bring swords to boot For 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.]



SCENE III.—The Upper Chamber in Holyrood.

MARY BEATON seated; MARY CARMICHAEL at a window.

MARY BEATON. Do you see nothing?

MARY CARMICHAEL. Nay, but swarms of men And 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 soon When 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 doubt I 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 hearts To have such hard sides to them.

MARY BEATON. O, not you, And I could nowise; there's some blood in her That does not run to mercy as ours doth: That fair face and the cursed heart in her Made keener than a knife for manslaying Can bear strange things.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Peace, for the people come. Ah—Murray, hooded over half his face With plucked-down hat, few folk about him, eyes Like 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 her Few 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 here As 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, yea The 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 about Each way from him.

MARY BEATON. Ah, Lord God, bear with me, Help me to bear a little with my love For 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 lands Should 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 drawn And 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 sure She 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 God If 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 hear And 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 wide And his smile great; and like another smile The blood fills all his face. Her cheek and neck Work fast and hard; she must have pardoned him, He looks so merrily. Now he comes forth Out of that ring of people and kneels down; Ah, how the helve and edge of the great axe Turn in the sunlight as the man shifts hands— It must be for a show: because she sits And hardly moves her head this way—I see Her 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 neck To 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 upon That living one was fain of? give me way. Lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had; The doomsman gathers it into his hand To 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 hair To kiss his face, still lying in his arms. Ay, go and weep: it must be pitiful If one could see it. What is this they say? So perish the Queen's traitors! Yea, but so Perish the Queen! God, do thus much to her For his sake only: yea, for pity's sake Do thus much with her.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Prithee come in with me: Nay, come at once.

MARY BEATON. If I should meet with her And spit upon her at her coming in— But if I live then shall I see one day When God will smite her lying harlot's mouth— Surely I shall. Come, I will go with you; We will sit down together face to face Now, 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.



EXPLICIT