The Queen's Chamber. Night. Lights burning In front of the bed.
[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 man That 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 song Called the Duke's Song, some boy made ages back, A song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seas And plucked up with rent sides, and caught therein A 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 pain And soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth, Fell in hot love, and having lain with her Died soon? one time I could have told it through:
Now I have kissed the sea-witch on her eyes And my lips ache with it; but I shall sleep Full 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 this Would make men mad that were not mad with love;I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heart Is like a springing water blown of wind For pleasure of this deed. Now, in God's name, I swear if there be danger in delight I must die now: if joys have deadly teeth, I'll have them bite my soul to death, and end In the old asp's way, Egyptian-wise; be killed In a royal purple fashion. Look, my love Would kill me if my body were past hurt Of 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 then I 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 life Will 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 in And here her head thrust under made the sheet Smell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even here Her arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled here The golden silken curtain halfway in It may be, and made room to lean out loose, Fair tender fallen arms. Now, if God would, Doubtless he might take pity on my soul To give me three clear hours, and then red hell Snare me forever: this were merciful:
If I were God now I should do thus much.
I must die next, and this were not so hard For him to let me eat sweet fruit and die With my lips sweet from it. For one shall have This fare for common days'-bread, which to me Should be a touch kept always on my sense To make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hell Soft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep.
Ah, love is good, and the worst part of it More than all things but death. She will be here In some small while, and see me face to face That am to give up life for her and go Where a man lies with all his loves put out And his lips full of earth. I think on her, And the old pleasure stings and makes half-tears Under mine eyelids. Prithee, love, come fast, That I may die soon: yea, some kisses through, I shall die joyfully enough, so God Keep me alive till then. I feel her feet Coming 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 it That 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 game To 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 God I 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 neck That'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 marvel So little color should be bold in the face When the blood is not quieted. I have But a brief space to cool my thoughts upon.
If one should wear the hair thus heaped and curled Would 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 eased By slackening of the slid clasp on it!
How soft the silk is-gracious color too;
Violet shadows like new veins thrown up Each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green Where the wrist lies thus eased. I am right glad I have no maids about to hasten me-So I will rest and see my hair shed down On 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 me And I will sing to you; look in my face Now, and your mouth must help the song in mine.
Alys la chatelaine Voit venir de par Seine Thiebault le capitaine Qui parle ainsi!
Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more But the comb drawn through half my hissing hair Laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it.
Dans ma camaille Plus de clou qui vaille, Dans ma cotte-maille Plus de fer aussi.
