To be our makebate and your talebearer;
I have heard too of your brother, how he says
I spake with him at Stirling, where I swear
I came not in his chamber, spake not half
Of all whereof he has rounded in your ear
That I made plaint to him concerning you;
For all my faults are published in your eye,
And I deny not one, and nought put off;
What should it boot me to deny my speech?
But there are they that think the faults they make
Shall to all time lie still unspoken of,
Yet will they speak aloud of small and great
And tax alike all faults of other folk,
The least fault as the worst, in men like me
That have not craft to hide or most or least;
God save you from such friendship: it is thought,
Through power upon you of such evil tongues,
Yourself have not your power upon yourself,
As by your slight still of my proffered love
I would believe you have not; such a friend
Rode with you hither - or unfriend as I doubt -
I like her not - the Lady Reres, your friend;
I pray God she may serve you, if she be,
To your own honour; it runs through all men’s mouths
She was Lord Bothwell’s harlot, who stands marked
For a lewd liver above all men alive;
She and her sister both lie side by side
Under the like report of his rank love -
Foul concord and consent unsisterlike
In such communion as beasts shun for shame.
Nay, for you know it, it lives on common lips,
Cries from all tongues, you know it; but for my part
I will love all that love you, though they were
But for that love’s sake shameful in men’s eyes.
Why will you wake not with me this one night,
But so soon leave me, and I sleep so ill?
QUEEN.
Nay, though this night I may not watch with you,
I leave you not till you turn back with me;
But for the lords’ sake must it not be known
That if you change not purpose ere that time
When you are whole we shall be one again;
Lest when they know it, remembering your loud threat
To make them find, if ever we agreed,
What small account they had made of you, and how
You had counselled me to take not some of them
To grace again without assent of yours,
They fall in fear and jealousy, to see
The scene so broken and the play so changed
Without their knowledge, that contrariwise
Was first set up before them.
DARNLEY.
Think you then
They will for that the more esteem of you?
But I am glad at heart you speak of them,
And do believe now you desire indeed
That we should live together in quietness;
For were it otherwise, to both of us
Might worse fall than we wot of; but I now
Will do whatever you will do, and love
All that you love; and I have trust in you
To draw them in like manner to my love;
Whom since I know they aim not at my life
I will love all alike, and there shall be
No more dissension of your friends and mine.
QUEEN.
It was by fault of you all this fell out
That I must heal. For this time fare you well;
When I get rest I will return again.
Exit with attendants.
DARNLEY.
What say you now? she is gentler in mine eyes
Than was your word of her.
CRAWFORD.
Ay, sweet to sight,
Exceeding gentle. Wherefore, could one tell,
Should she desire to lead you so in hand
Just to Craigmillar? whence report came late
Of no good counsel toward you or good hope,
Except the hope be good, there to be healed
Of all life’s ill for ever, once being bathed
In the cold springs of death: and hence meseems
More like a prisoner than her wedded lord
Are you borne off as in her bonds.
DARNLEY.
By heaven,
I think but little less, and fear myself,
Save for the trust indeed I have in her
And in her promise only; howsoe’er,
I will go with her and put me in her hands,
Though she should cut my throat; and so may God
Between us both be judge. I have been men’s fool
That were but tongues and faces of my friends;
I see by mine own sight now, and will stand
On no man’s feet but mine. Give me to drink;
I will sleep now; my heart is healed of fear.
Scene XIV. The Queen’s Apartment in the same
The Queen and Paris
QUEEN.
Here is the letter for your lord to know
I bring the man on Monday, as is writ,
Hence to Craigmillar. Say too this by mouth,
The Lady Reres can witness, with mine oath,
I would not let him kiss me. Bid our lord,
Mine and your lord, enquire of Maitland first
If our past purpose for Craigmillar hold
Or if the place be shifted, and send word
To me that here await his will by you.
Be of good speed; I say not of good trust,
Who know you perfect in his trust and mine.
Farewell.
PARIS.
I am gone with all good haste I may,
And here come back to serve your majesty.
Hath it no further counsel or command
To be my message?
QUEEN.
Tell him, night and day
And fear and hope are grown one thing to me
Save for his sake: and say mine hours and thoughts
Are as one fire devouring grain by grain
This pile of tares and drift of crumbling brands
That shrivels up in the slow breath of time,
The part of life that keeps me far from him,
The heap of dusty days that sunder us.
I would I could burn all at once away
And our lips meet across the mid red flame
Thence unconsumed, being made of keener fire
Than any burns on earth. Say that mine eyes
Ache with mine heart and thirst with all my veins,
Requiring him they have not. Say my life
Is but as sleep, and my sleep very life,
That dreams upon him. Say I am passing now
To do that office he would have me do,
Which almost is a traitor’s; say, his love
Makes me so far dissemble, that myself
Have horror at it; bid him keep in mind
How were it not to obey him I had rather
Be dead before I did it; let him not
Have ill opinion of me for this cause,
Seeing he is alone the occasion of it himself,
Since for mine own particular revenge
I would not do it to him that I most hate;
My heart bleeds at it. Say, he will not come
But on condition I shall cleave to him
Hereafter, and on that word given of mine
Will go where I would have him go: alas,
I never have deceived yet any man,
But I remit me to my master’s will
In all things wholly; bid him send me word
What I shall do, and come what may thereof
I shall obey him; if some new subtler way
By medicine may be thought on when I bring
&nbs
p; The man here to Craigmillar, that as yet
May not this long time of himself go forth
Out of the house, let him advise himself
How to put this in hand: for all I find,
This man I here endure to play upon
Lives now in great suspicion; yet my word
Hath credit with him, but not far enough
For him to show me anything; but yet
I shall draw forth of him what thing I will
If my lord bid me be more plain with him;
But I will never take delight to wrong
The trust of any that puts trust in me;
Yet may my lord command me in all things.
And though by checks and hints of that I feared
This man sometimes even touch me to the quick
With words dropt of mine honour and my power
On mine own self, whereby I surely know
That he suspects him of the thing we wot
And of his life, yet as to that last fear
I need but say some three good words to him
And he rejoices, and is out of doubt.
He was seen never as gay of mood as now
When I make show of grace and gentle heart,
And puts me in remembrance of all things
That may assure my faith he loves me well.
Let not my love suspect me for his sake,
Who take such great joy of his love-making
That I come never where he is but straight
I take the sickness of my sore side here,
I am vexed so with it; wearied might he be,
This poisonous man that gives me all this pain
When I would speak of things far sweeter; yet
He is marred not overmuch of form or face
Though he have borne much, and his venomed breath
Hath almost slain me though I sit far off.
He would have had me watch with him, but I
Put off the night; he says he sleeps not sound;
He never spake more humbly nor more well;
And if I had not proven his heart of wax
And were not mine cut of a diamond
Whereinto no shot ever can make breach
But that which flies forth of mine own love’s hand,
I had almost had pity of him; but say
I bid the captain of my fortressed heart
Fear not; the place shall hold unto the death.
And bid my love in recompense thereof
Let not his own be won by that false kind
That will no less strive with him for the same.
I think the twain were trained up in one school,
For he hath ever tear in eye, and makes
Most piteous moan to arouse men’s pity, yea,
Humbly salutes them all, even to the least,
To make their hearts soft toward him; and desires
That with mine own hands I would give him meat;
But let my lord, where he is, give no more trust
Than I shall here. Tell him all this; and say
I am in the doing here of a work I hate
Past measure; and should make him fain to laugh
To see me lie so well, or at the least
So well dissemble, and tell him truth ‘twixt hands.
Say, by the flatteries I perforce must make
And prayers to him to assure himself of me,
And by complaint made of the men designed,
I have drawn out of him all we list to know,
Yet never touched one word of that your lord
Showed me, but only wrought by wiles; and say
With two false kinds we are coupled, I and he,
My love; the devil dissever us, and God
Knit us together for the faithfullest pair
That ever he made one; this is my faith,
I will die in it. Excuse me to my lord
That I writ ill last night, being ill at ease,
And when the rest were sleeping was most glad
To write unto him, who might no more, nor could
Sleep as they did and as I would desire,
Even in my dear love’s arms; whom I pray God
Keep from all evil and send him all repose.
And being so long my letter hindered me
To write what tidings of myself I would,
Who had wrought before for two hours of the day
Upon this bracelet I would send to him
Though it be evil made for fault of time,
I have had so little, and I can get no lock,
Though that mine hands might end it yestereve
I would not see the man; but this mean time
I think to make one fairer; let him not
Bring it in sight of any that was here,
For all would know it, seeing it was wrought for haste
In sight of them; yet might it bring some harm
And may be seen if he should chance be hurt;
Let him send word if he will have it, and say
If he will have more gold by you, and when
I shall return, and how far I may speak;
For this man waxes mad to hear of him
Or of my brother; and when I visit him
His friends come all to be my convoy, say,
And he desires me come the morn betimes
And see him rise. This letter that I send,
Bid my lord burn it, being so dangerous,
With nought in it well said, - for all my mind
Was on this craft I loath to think upon -
And if it find his hand in Edinburgh,
Let him soon send me word, and that I doubt
Be not offended, since to doubts of him
I give not o’er-great credit; but say this,
That seeing to obey him, who is my dear heart’s love,
I spare nor honour, conscience, hazard, state,
Nor greatness whatsoever, I beseech him
But that he take it in good part, and not
As his false brother-in-law interprets, whom
I pray him give not ear to nor believe
Against the faithfullest lover he ever had
Or ever shall have; nor cast eye on her
Whose feigned tears should not be esteemed so much
Nor prized so as the true and faithful toils
Which I sustain but to deserve her place:
Whereto that I despite all bonds may climb,
Against my nature I betray them here
That may prevent me from it; God forgive me,
And God give him, my only love, the hap
And welfare which his humble and faithful love
Desires of him; who hopes to be to him
Ere long a thing new-named for recompense
Of all her irksome travails. Tell him this;
Say I could never stint of hand or tongue
To send love to him, and that I kiss his hands,
Ending; and let him think upon his love
And write to her, and that oft; and read twice through
Mine evil-written letter, and keep in mind
All several sayings writ of the man therein.
Say for delight I have to send to him
I run twice over all the words I send,
And that each word may fasten in his ear
As in his eye, and you may witness me
That hand and tongue and heart were one to send,
Put all my message in your lips again
That here was written. Say - I know not what;
I can say nought but with my silent hands,
Speak with the lips of deeds I do for him.
PARIS.
Shall I say nothing of Lord Darnley more?
QUEEN.
Say, when I did but speak of Maitland once,
His caitiff flesh quaked in each joint of him,
Each limb and bone shivered; even to the feet
He shook, and his shrunk eye
s were stark with fright,
That like a live thing shuddered in his hair
And raised it ruffling from the roots for dread.
Let him mark that: though coward the man be, and fool,
He has wit and heart enough to know the worst
Of his wrong-doing, and to what manner of man,
Being fool, he did it, and discerning him
Think whether his cause of dread be small or no
For less or more of peril. So to horse,
And lose no word sent of my heart to him.
Scene XV. Kirk of Field
Enter Bothwell
BOTHWELL.
This is the time and here the point of earth
That is to try what fate will make of me.
I hold here in my hand my hand’s desire,
The fruit my life has climbed for; day on day
Have I strid over, stretching toward this prize
With all my thews and spirits. I must be glad,
If I could think; yet even my cause of joy
Doth somewhat shake me, that my sense and soul
Seem in their springs confused, even as two streams
Violently mingling: what is here to do
Is less now than the least I yet have done,
Being but the putting once of the mere hand
To the thing done already in device,
Wrought many times out in the working soul.
Yet my heart revels not, nor feel I now
The blood again leap in me for delight
That in the thought grew riotous and beat high
With foretaste of possession unpossessed.
Is it that in all alike fruition slacks
The shrunk imagination? in all deeds
The doing undoes the spirit to do, the joy
Sickens, the lust is swallowed as of sand?
Why, yet the stream should run of my desire
Unshrunken, and no deserts drink it up,
Being unfulfilled; no satiate sluggishness
Gape with dry lips at the edge of the dry cup
For the poor lees of longing. I am here
Not royal yet, nor redder in the hand
Than war has dyed me fighting; the thing done
Is but for me done, since I hold it so,
Not yet for him that in the doing must bleed;
I that stand up to do it, and in my mind
Behold across it mightier days for deeds,
Should not be way-sick yet nor travel-tired
Before I drink fulfilment as a wine;
And here must it restore me.
Enter Paris
Ha! so soon?
What news of her?
PARIS.
The queen commends to you
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 215
