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.
