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_ ACT I - SCENE II. A Hall in the same.
The QUEEN, DARNLEY, MURRAY, RANDOLPH, the MARIES, CHASTELARD, &c.
QUEEN.
Hath no man seen my lord of Chastelard?
Nay, no great matter. Keep you on that side:
Begin the purpose.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Madam, he is here.
QUEEN.
Begin a measure now that other side.
I will not dance; let them play soft a little.
Fair sir, we had a dance to tread to-night,
To teach our north folk all sweet ways of France,
But at this time we have no heart to it.
Sit, sir, and talk. Look, this breast-clasp is new,
The French king sent it me.
CHASTELARD.
A goodly thing:
But what device? the word is ill to catch.
QUEEN.
A Venus crowned, that eats the hearts of men:
Below her flies a love with a bat's wings,
And strings the hair of paramours to bind
Live birds' feet with. Lo what small subtle work:
The smith's name, Gian Grisostomo da--what?
Can you read that? The sea froths underfoot;
She stands upon the sea and it curls up
In soft loose curls that run to one in the wind.
But her hair is not shaken, there 's a fault;
It lies straight down in close-cut points and tongues,
Not like blown hair. The legend is writ small:
Still one makes out this--*Cave*--if you look.
CHASTELARD.
I see the Venus well enough, God wot,
But nothing of the legend.
QUEEN.
Come, fair lord,
Shall we dance now? My heart is good again.
[They dance a measure.]
DARNLEY.
I do not like this manner of a dance,
This game of two by two; it were much better
To meet between the changes and to mix
Than still to keep apart and whispering
Each lady out of earshot with her friend.
MARY BEATON.
That 's as the lady serves her knight, I think:
We are broken up too much.
DARNLEY.
Nay, no such thing;
Be not wroth, lady, I wot it was the queen
Pricked each his friend out. Look you now--your ear--
If love had gone by choosing--how they laugh,
Lean lips together, and wring hands underhand!
What, you look white too, sick of heart, ashamed,
No marvel--for men call it--hark you though--
[They pass.]
MURRAY.
Was the queen found no merrier in France?
MARY HAMILTON.
Why, have you seen her sorrowful to-night?
MURRAY.
I say not so much; blithe she seems at whiles,
Gentle and goodly doubtless in all ways,
But hardly with such lightness and quick heart
As it was said.
MARY HAMILTON.
'Tis your great care of her
Makes you misdoubt; nought else.
MURRAY.
Yea, may be so;
She has no cause I know to sadden her.
[They pass.]
QUEEN.
I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours
Two years gone hence and felt no wearier.
One grows much older northwards, my fair lord;
I wonder men die south; meseems all France
Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days
That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now,
No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth;
We have done with dancing measures: sing that song
You call the song of love at ebb.
MARY BEATON.
[Sings.]
1.
Between the sunset and the sea
My love laid hands and lips on me;
Of sweet came sour, of day came night,
Of long desire came brief delight:
Ah love, and what thing came of thee
Between the sea-downs and the sea?
2.
Between the sea-mark and the sea
Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me;
Love turned to tears, and tears to fire,
And dead delight to new desire;
Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be
Between the sea-sand and the sea.
3.
Between the sundown and the sea
Love watched one hour of love with me;
Then down the all-golden water-ways
His feet flew after yesterday's;
I saw them come and saw them flee
Between the sea-foam and the sea.
4.
Between the sea-strand and the sea
Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me;
The first star saw twain turn to one
Between the moonrise and the sun;
The next, that saw not love, saw me
Between the sea-banks and the sea.
QUEEN.
Lo, sirs,
What mirth is here! Some song of yours, fair lord;
You know glad ways of rhyming--no such tunes
As go to tears.
CHASTELARD.
I made this yesterday;
For its love's sake I pray you let it live.
1.
Apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs,
Soyez secourable a mon ame en peine.
Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs;
Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs,
Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.
2.
Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux.
Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere
Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux,
Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux;
L'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere.
QUEEN.
'T is a true song; love shall not pluck time back
Nor time lie down with love. For me, I am old;
Have you no hair changed since you changed to Scot?
I look each day to see my face drawn up
About the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks.
I think this air and face of things here north
Puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears
Between the sad eyes and the merry mouth
In their youth-days.
CHASTELARD.
It is a bitter air.
QUEEN.
Faith, if I might be gone, sir, would I stay?
I think, for no man's love's sake.
CHASTELARD.
I think not.
QUEEN.
Do you yet mind at landing how the quay
Looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind
And washing of wan waves? how the hard mist
Made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight,
They said my face would burn off cloud and rain
Seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire,
Kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods--
I know not what. You praise me past all loves;
And these men love me little; 't is some fault,
I think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault.
I have your verse still beating in my head
Of how the swallow got a wing broken
In the spring time, and lay upon his side
Watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time,
And broke his heart with grieving at himself
Before the snow came. Do you know that lord
With sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat?
Good friends to me; I had need love them well.
Why do you look one way? I will not have you
Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me
To care much now for old French friends of mine.--
Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me,
Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.--
DARNLEY.
Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans,
Holding him fast--the supple way she hath!
Your queen hath none such; better as she is
For all her measures, a grave English maid,
Than queen of snakes and Scots.
RANDOLPH.
She is over fair
To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight;
Goodly to look on.
MURRAY.
Yea, a good sword too,
And of good kin; too light of loving though;
These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers,
They snap at all meats.
DARNLEY.
What! by God I think,
For all his soft French face and bright boy's sword,
There be folks fairer: and for knightliness,
These hot-lipped brawls of Paris breed sweet knights--
Mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.--
QUEEN.
There, I have danced you down for once, fair lord;
You look pale now. Nay then for courtesy
I must needs help you; do not bow your head,
I am tall enough to reach close under it.
[Kisses him.]
Now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.--
DARNLEY.
A courtesy, God help us! courtesy--
Pray God it wound not where it should heal wounds.
Why, there was here last year some lord of France
(Priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince)
Told tales of Paris ladies--nay, by God,
No jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of
That would keep clean; I wot he made good mirth,
But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise--
But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise--
Nay, I laughed too, but lothly.--
QUEEN.
How they look!
The least thing courteous galls them to the bone.
What would one say now I were thinking of?
CHASTELARD.
It seems, some sweet thing.
QUEEN.
True, a sweet one, sir--
That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx
Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor,
The second pity, and the last kiss love.
Which think you now was that I kissed you with?
CHASTELARD.
It should be pity, if you be pitiful;
For I am past all honoring that keep
Outside the eye of battle, where my kin
Fallen overseas have found this many a day
No helm of mine between them; and for love,
I think of that as dead men of good days
Ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when God
Was friends with them.
QUEEN.
Good; call it pity then.
You have a subtle riddling skill at love
Which is not like a lover. For my part,
I am resolved to be well done with love,
Though I were fairer-faced than all the world;
As there be fairer. Think you, fair my knight,
Love shall live after life in any man?
I have given you stuff for riddles.
CHASTELARD.
Most sweet queen,
They say men dying remember, with sharp joy
And rapid reluctation of desire,
Some old thin, some swift breath of wind, some word,
Some sword-stroke or dead lute-strain, some lost sight,
Some sea-blossom stripped to the sun and burned
At naked ebb--some river-flower that breathes
Against the stream like a swooned swimmer's mouth--
Some tear or laugh ere lip and eye were man's--
Sweet stings that struck the blood in riding--nay,
Some garment or sky-color or spice-smell,
And die with heart and face shut fast on it,
And know not why, and weep not; it may be
Men shall hold love fast always in such wise
In new fair lives where all are new things else,
And know not why, and weep not.
QUEEN.
A right rhyme,
And right a thyme's worth: nay, a sweet song, though.
What, shall my cousin hold fast that love of his,
Her face and talk, when life ends? as God grant
His life end late and sweet; I love him well.
She is fair enough, his lover; a fair-faced maid,
With gray sweet eyes and tender touch of talk;
And that, God wot, I wist not. See you, sir,
Men say I needs must get wed hastily;
Do none point lips at him?
CHASTELARD.
Yea, guessingly.
QUEEN.
God help such lips! and get me leave to laugh!
What should I do but paint and put him up
Like a gilt god, a saintship in a shrine,
For all fools' feast? God's mercy on men's wits!
Tall as a housetop and as bare of brain--
I'll have no staffs with fool-faced carven heads
To hang my life on. Nay, for love, no more,
For fear I laugh and set their eyes on edge
To find out why I laugh. Good-night, fair lords;
Bid them cease playing. Give me your hand; good-night. _
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