Not I: in God’s name, no;
No more than any other.
DARNLEY.
Nay then, well;
I am not angry.
QUEEN.
’Tis the noblest mood
That takes least hold on anger; those faint hearts
That hold least fire are fain to show it first;
The man that knows himself most honourable
Fears least or doubts if others hold him so;
But he that has small honour in himself
Is quick to doubt what men may deem of him
And thence most swift in anger as in fear
Of men’s imagined judgments; praised be God,
Our lord is none such. Is the deed not drawn
That gives into our servant Bothwell’s hand
The forfeit lands of Maitland for his own
That by his former fault stand forfeited?
MURRAY.
Is it your purpose he shall have those lands?
QUEEN.
It is my very purpose.
MURRAY.
I grieve at it.
QUEEN.
Grieve or be glad, it stands my purpose yet.
We should be gone to meet our councillors;
My heart thinks long till it shall know my lord
Held of the world as noble as of me.
DARNLEY.
It is not time.
QUEEN.
No, but much more than time.
Come with me, brother.
Exeunt Queen and Murray.
MELVILLE.
I am sorry for your grace.
DARNLEY.
You must not think I know not all this while
That she doth mock me.
MELVILLE.
Nay, her mood may change.
DARNLEY.
Never for me. I had been much better dead
Than cast off thus, who cast mine own friends off
And knew not for whose sake. She hath slain the men
Who kept that night the gates while he was slain;
I would she had rather taken too my blood
Than put my life to shame; yet I may live
To put that off upon her; had I friends,
Shame should go back from me to her, who thinks
To lay it on her wedded lord and laugh;
As I may one day laugh yet. Hear you news
Of Morton and mine uncle?
MELVILLE.
They are fled;
I hear but this, not whither.
DARNLEY.
As they brewed,
So let them drink; the hands were none of mine
That mixed that cup to them; so much I swear,
And may so much with honour. Yet would God
I had not chosen to lose their loves for hers,
And found so cold her favour. Scarce escaped,
Scarce out of bonds, half breathless yet with flight,
No mind was in her of my help, my love,
My hand that brake her prison; for all this,
My kin forsaken, mine own wrongs and griefs
Forgotten, mine own head imperilled, mine
For hers that I delivered and perchance
To leave within their danger had done well,
No thought or thanks I get of her: and these
That had I stood by them might stand by me
When I shall need, may mock me for her fool
And curse me for their traitor. Yet I think,
Were I once clear of her as now of these,
Please God, to make mine own strength by myself,
Being both ways free; I know not well yet how,
But I will take mine own part yet or die.
Exeunt.
Scene V. A Street
Enter Two Burgesses
FIRST BURGESS.
What is this news that flies so in the dark
Like a night-bird whereof we know it is
But of what wing we know not?
SECOND BURGESS.
This that comes
From the exiled lords in England, to make bare
The face of Darnley’s falsehood, with what lips
He swore his deed away and damned himself?
They had no sooner knowledge of such shame
Than word was sent of him through all the land,
Large witness of his full complicity
And conscience with them of the work to be
For which they groan in barren banishment
While he crawls here before the scornful queen,
And has betrayed the blood of his allies
To the axe’s edge of unjust judgment.
FIRST BURGESS.
One
By treason of his tongue already slain
Now speaks of him with breathless mouth to God;
And Maitland and two more lie under doom
Through but his witness: yet for all this shame
It seems he has won small guerdon save the shame,
But hath his treason for his treason’s fee;
And this more comfort, to behold the man
That by his lips and nobler hands than his
Was done to righteous death, and thrust in earth
Before the main door of this Abbey church,
Unearthed again and nobly reinterred
Hard by the grave’s edge of Queen Magdalen,
That men may judge how near he grew alive
To the queen’s side yet living; where instead
A worthier stay now in her brother stands
For her false lord to look upon and loath
No less than David, and much more to fear,
Whom with that David he laid trains to slay
Aforetime, and again made vaunt but now
In the queen’s sight to slay him; or so herself
Gave word to the earl, and willed him make demand
Of the king’s own false fearful mouth; but he,
Whom thus perchance she sought to make the sword
To pierce her husband, modestly bespake
Before her face this caitiff like a friend,
And was put off with faint excuse; and yet,
Heart-wrung to see him stand or any man
Fast in her favour, like one sick with grief
The king flies forth to Glasgow, where apart
His father’s head is hidden; and there as here
He sits not in men’s sight now royally,
But with some six or eight goes up and down
Even where he lists, and none takes note of him;
While the miscounselled queen, grown high in mind,
Holds privy commerce with the brood o’ the Pope
Whose plots corrupt the northward English air,
And with the murderous Irish, to put out
The live light of our God from sea to sea
With insurrection of the fires of hell
And smoke of slaughter; meantime she reclaims
Of the English queen for prisoners to her hand
The death-doomed lords in exile; and men say
They find scant countenance of the southern court;
Yet they think not she will deliver them.
SECOND BURGESS.
One is there hath found sure deliverance;
No chain of man’s can mark him prisoner more,
Nor whence he rests can any banish him;
Ruthven is dead.
FIRST BURGESS.
God hath his friend then safe;
For God’s friend he was ever; and hath died
Most fortunately; seeing not what we live
Too soon to see.
SECOND BURGESS.
He was a nobler man
Than his own name was noble; no Scot born
More true to the old love of his natural land
Nor stouter-hearted on the gospel side
Of all that stood to serve it. Yet have these
As valiant servants; Morton, thoug
h cast out,
Lives secret yet in England, whence the queen
Dares not I think for shame’s sake yield him up
To this queen’s bloody judgment, or for fear
And hostile heart she will not. We shall know
Shortly what upshot God will bring of all;
Whate’er this be, there will be none again
That shall do Darnley good.
FIRST BURGESS.
I saw him swear
That day before the council; he was pale
As one half drunken, stammering as in wrath,
With insolent forehead and irresolute eyes,
Between false fear and shameful hardihood,
With frontless face that lied against itself,
And trembling lips that were not yet abashed
For all their trembling.
SECOND BURGESS.
Ay, good cause was there
To shake him to the soul, having cast off
Friendship and faith of good men, yet being still
Signed with their enemies’ blood too plain and broad
To gain the goodwill of unrighteousness.
When his day comes that men are weary of him,
God shall strike home.
FIRST BURGESS.
Then should that stroke be swift;
For evil and good alike are weary of him.
Scene VI. Castle of Alloa
Murray and Darnley
DARNLEY.
Shall I not see her? but if I see her not
I will be wroken of you that shut me out,
By God I will. What, are ye not combined,
You, my false-blooded brother, demi-prince,
And Bothwell, and the trustless fool Argyle,
With her to unmake me? I shall foil you though,
Yea, were all three made each a triple man
With thrice your heart and wit.
MURRAY.
You strike too high
And shear but air in sunder: there’s none yet
That wills you so much evil as yourself,
Would you but think it. Turn your wrath on me,
It cannot wound or fright out of its peace
A soul that answers not your hate, nor works
By night or light against you.
DARNLEY.
Swear me that,
And if a devil there be I am rid of you
Whom he will gripe at once and hale to hell;
You took not word to Melville from my wife
Of warning with rebuke for his past pains
To reconcile us, and with charge to be
No more familiar with me for her sake;
You were not of her counsel to lie in
At Stirling, whence she fled from sight of me,
Who following hither was again cast off,
And till our child was born in Edinburgh
Might scarce have sight of her, and may not now
When scarce a month delivered she comes back
To take by sea and land her pleasure here
Of hunt or sail among the firths and hills
In such fair fellowship as casts out mine;
It was not you that knew this and approved;
I pray you swear it.
MURRAY.
You are lesser than a child
That, being as simple, yet by innocence
Exceeds you naturally. What cause have I
Or power to wrong you? what good thing of yours
Should I desire to strip from you and wear,
What gold or grace to gird myself withal
And stand up clad in thievish ornament
To take your place thrust out? Conspiracy
Should have some gain for warrant of itself,
With vantage of some purpose; none lays wait
To slay or steal save what may profit him;
So sit you safe enough.
DARNLEY.
I shall not see her?
MURRAY.
If you will be well counselled, no; her mood
Is hard and keener since your child was born,
And she, new-risen from childbed, hither came
To taste the savour and sweetness of the sea,
I think, with no mind you should follow her;
Nor am myself, howbeit you hold me hers,
And of one counsel to put down your hopes,
More near her favour; one man’s eye alone
Sees her face favourable, one only ear
Hears her speak soft; if he be friend of mine,
You know as I know.
DARNLEY.
Why, ye are reconciled;
I have heard what care she had to appease both parts,
When you before her face had braved him, saying,
Ere he reft Maitland’s forfeit land and state
Some score as honourable as he should die,
And she had cast herself across your wrath
With reconciling passion; ay, my lord,
Take note we are not so dull of ear or brain
But we hear word of you and understand
The traitors that ye all are, all, to me,
The false heart and the lying lips that serve
The murderous meaning of your will, and hers
The first and worst. What, will ye have my life?
Is it my helpless blood that she would take
To serve for christening water to her child,
And for the font no gift of English gold
Though bright and hollow and void as English love,
But the strait coffin, the vile shell of death,
That hides and bears me graveward? but I live,
To save myself and to revenge I live,
And will not die for all you.
Enter the Queen and Bothwell
QUEEN.
What is this
That makes such wrathful or such woful war
Even on our ears, and here? We bade you not
Come brawl before us like a groom, and break
Our breath of peace with cries of contumely.
Here is not room enough for rioters’ threats
To ring through and return; in Edinburgh
You have leave to brawl and wail and swear and cry,
Feed where you list, and love; here I would rest,
With thus much leave yet by your gracious grant,
That I may somewhile sit apart, and think
What man I have to husband.
DARNLEY.
I will go:
I would I had not come between your eyes
Nor now nor ever.
QUEEN.
Then they had never learnt
What makes or makes not man worth looking on.
DARNLEY.
Am I not worth your eye?
QUEEN.
I pray, go back;
I would not say what you are worth or no.
DARNLEY.
I am yet worth two bastards; and this man,
If he shall do me less than right, by heaven,
Shall wear the proof upon him.
MURRAY.
Sir, your words
Are as swords drawn of drunkards’ hands, which first
Feel their edge bite; me can they make not shrink.
You they may pierce, and slay your own good name,
If any man be that gives ear to you.
DARNLEY.
You will not fight with me?
QUEEN.
What, in our face?
Hath fear gone after shame?
MURRAY.
Let him pass hence;
He hath said truth once; we shall not fight.
QUEEN.
I charge you
Make straight atonement; else, though shame be dead,
I will find means to raise up fear alive.
DARNLEY.
Nay, I spake hot and hastily; my lord,
You know I bear no bitter heart toward you;
I
am more of quick tongue than of evil will.
MURRAY.
Sir, so I hold you.
DARNLEY.
So you do but right.
Nor will I stay to chafe your majesty
That has all power to bid me to and fro,
Who yet was called your lord once of the priest,
And am no lord but servant.
Exit.
QUEEN.
Said you, once?
Not once but twice he hath spoken truth to-day.
Yet sits it strange upon his lips.
MURRAY.
I would
He had come not hither, or you not bidden him back.
QUEEN.
What, should he stay? Fair brother, wot you well,
I had rather touch in the dark a serpent’s flesh
And with its body and breath confound mine own
Than with his breath and body. Never more,
By Mary Virgin, while these limbs are mine
And these my living lips, never will I
Pollute myself with him; by kiss nor touch
Shall ever he defile me. Nay too, see,
(You have not seen) what privacies he hath
With what strange friends; here have I to my hand
Letters of his to Philip and the Pope,
That they should know I am slacker toward the faith
Than Rome would have me, or Spain; he swears I am cold,
I have cast off care (God wot) to serve the church,
And he it is, my lord, being strong in faith,
Expounds mine unfaith to them.
BOTHWELL.
Hath he sworn
To sleep for their sakes in a naked grave?
If this were blown among the popular folk
Scant time there were to sew his shroud, I ween,
Ere earth were shed upon him.
MURRAY.
Ay, but, sir,
They must not know it; it were not well they knew;
Nor shall it be put forth among them.
BOTHWELL.
No!
It shall not?
MURRAY.
By my will it shall not be.
BOTHWELL.
His will! and shall not! Is it queen or king
That holds the rod of rule in Scotland here?
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 210
