Griselda : A Tragedy : And other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why, thy crown; and thou wilt wear it? Look,
now, here are the reddest rose-buds in the valley,
tied with grape-leaf and myrtle; and all, by
Baccho! plucked when the moon was up and the
dew down, to make thee queen of the feast. If

thou say'st another no, we'll put rosemary in it,
and the sad ancient rue, and thy subjects shall mock
thee. Thou'lt come?

GRISELDA.

I may not say it, good Lenette! Take them my
thanks. Say that I grieve to lose dances and
flowers, for I specially love both; but, in sooth, they
have many a girl fitter for the flower-crown.

LENETTE.

They'll not think so; if Griselda lead it not, who
will say the feast was fine?

GRISELDA.

Nay! but I must not in truth dance and leave
my father. It were better I tended his white hairs
than crowned mine with roses. Thou art ever
kind, Lenette; fill me this jar from the well: he

comes anon, and I must shred the herbs he loves,
and spread his seat.

LENETTE.

I'll have another answer then, thou stay-at-home!
Dost thou know the sound of a mandoline, or the
colour of the sky on a summer-night? Alas! no—
well, heaven send thee merrier mood.

GRISELDA.

And thee never a sad one.
[Exit Lenette.
Now he will come weary, and sad, and worn,
And I must make him happy, gay, and glad;
It was a hard thing once, but that's all past.
I would his home were gayer, but, alas!
Wishing ne'er bettered want, what saith the song?

(She sings.)

“On a mountain
“Rose a fountain,
“Sweet and quiet and crystal-clear to see;

“Till it bubbled
“Sorely troubled,
“And a merry, roving streamlet longed to be.”

Ah, now I hear him; I am glad he comes
To make my labour double, but more dear.
Enter Janicola.
Thou'rt late, dear father.

JANICOLA.
Dost thou think I run
To such rare sights as an unfurnished board,
A hearth unlighted, and a house unroofed,
Where every idle wind comes whistling in
At his own will?

GRISELDA.
Nay, then, there's goodly store
Of herbs and fruits; and if the roof is thin,
The nights are clear; so we shall have the stars

To light us to our beds. Hast not thou seen
A thousand worse provided?

JANICOLA.
Aye! I have,
And counselled them to care no more for care,
And to give over the dull drudgery
That earns enough of life, only to feel
Life's wretchedness and curse. Thou!—why dost thou
Keep thy white fingers working? Take thy rest!

GRISELDA.
Ah! now, if thinking on a thing to do
Were all one with the doing, we would sit
And see the hours wear themselves away,
As carelessly as though they measured sands,
And not sad lives.

JANICOLA.
Ho! dost thou think them sad?

GRISELDA.
Sorely for thee.

JANICOLA.
Good daughter! bear with me.
Only for comfort of those patient eyes,
I have not left this buffeting for life,
Nor dropped my arms, nor sunk away, away,
Down in this salt life-sea.

GRISELDA.
Nor shalt thou yet;
Why, father, is the happy talk all gone
Of yester-night? Didst thou not say a star
Was named in heaven the night that I was born,
And nurses talked of—

JANICOLA.
Talked of gold—Aye! aye!
And said there was a line along the brow
That meant a crown; and that the little hands

Would come to touch velvets and silvered silks,
And think them common stuff.—I mind it well;
Oh, I'll be merry as a mocking-bird,
So thou wilt kiss me.

GRISELDA.
Nay! I'll not do that
Till thou hast laughed a quarter by the glass;
Now to thy supper. When I am a queen
Thou shalt eat out o' gold.
[Some one knocks.
Ah! 'tis Lenette,
The kind wild girl—how quickly she is come!
[She opens.
Enter Marquis of Saluzzo disguised as a trader.
What is your will?

MARQUIS.
I pray you pardon me:
I fear I break the quiet of your home
With an unwelcome footstep.

GRISELDA.
Oh, sir, no!
How may we stead you?

MARQUIS.
I have goods of store,
Somewhat too loosely guarded from the storm,
Crimson brocades, and stuffs of Genoa,
With silver-work of Florence rarely wrought;
And for I fear a cloud is sweeping up,
I would be bold to borrow for a space
The shadow of your homestead.

GRISELDA.
Enter, sir;
My father then shall bid you better welcome
Than I have skill to make you.

JANICOLA.
Signor, sit!
I am well pleased to serve you, pray you sit;

Little but welcome, and a right good will
We have to greet you with; but these are yours,
As free as words can make 'em.

MARQUIS.
Reverend sir,
Small service is true service when the will,
And not the work, is rated. I had rather
A cup of water from a willing hand,
Than a great bowl of purple Cyprus wine
Meted me drop by drop.

JANICOLA.
Thou sayest well;
So our poor hut is thine.

MARQUIS.
But you are rich,
If this fair, gentle maiden be your daughter,
As I must think she is.

JANICOLA.
Aye! upon that,
I'll string as many stories of her love
As ever thou didst pearls.

GRISELDA.
Alas! I fear
They are not fine enough to set in words;
Therefore, dear father, leave them. Didst thou come
By Saluzzo, Sir Trader?

MARQUIS.
Even thence;
There was a talk at court of wedding-feasts
That would be soon, and that the Prince would take
A sharer of his crown.

GRISELDA.
It is the tale.

MARQUIS.
I trust my wares will find a market then.
What of this Prince? Hath he the general love?

JANICOLA.
Not to be slandered is a step to praise,
And thus much praise he hath. 'Tis a brave Prince:
But men do say that he can change and change;
They say he hath two faces, and two favours—
One for his fasting-days, and one for feasts,
Bitter and sweet.

MARQUIS.
Why, that, methinks, were well;
A great king standing lone 'mid friends and foes,
Should look o' both sides. Mark yon mighty Alps,
They front the Switzer woods with frowning crags
Where storms are stored, but smile on Italy

With summer softness and eternal green.
(To Griselda.)
Hast thou beheld this Janus?

GRISELDA.
I!—I saw
A gallant, goodly gentleman ride by
One morning at the hawking, and they said
It was the Prince.

MARQUIS.
Saw you him not again?

GRISELDA.
Twice by our village-well,—yes! it was twice;
For the last time he seemed to gaze on me
Something too earnestly.

MARQUIS.
I wonder not

But rather how his eyes could leave the looking.
Hath he not yellow hair?

GRISELDA.
Nay, liker yours,
Black and close-curled.

MARQUIS.
His port, I think, was meek,
With nothing of a kingly bearing in 't.

GRISELDA.
Oh! it was full of knightly majesty,
He sate his steed as 'twere a canopied throne,
Chafing its proud heart into mutiny
Only for the dear joy of taming it
With curb and rowel. Sooth! I think again,
His inches were most nearly thine, Sir Trader.

MARQUIS.
'Tis very like. Now if I were to choose
A wife for him, I would not seek her far.

GRISELDA.
How, Sir?

MARQUIS.
I pray thee let me see thy hand;
I have some skill at palmistry.

GRISELDA.
'Tis there.
Not fair, but very frank: what canst thou read?

MARQUIS.
A world of meanings in its tender white;
And goodness, gentleness, and maidenhood,
In its blue-veined beauty. It reminds me
Of a dear lady who will be my wife.
I pray thee, let the memory pardon me

If mine unworthy lips shall touch it thus,
Thinking it hers.

GRISELDA.
Is this thy palmistry?
Betake thee to thy craft.

MARQUIS.
Canst bear to hear
All I can tell? Look a broad line of life,
Crossed once and once again. Aye, thou wilt be
All that thou wouldst, and more. There's a fair table,
Promising pretty children, and a crown,
Palaces, wealth beyond the counting, gems;
With all the ornaments that ladies love,
To deck these dainty fingers, that unfold
Their destiny so fairly. Wilt have more?

GRISELDA.
Aye! when the half of what you tell is true,—
Till then I am contented.

JANICOLA.
Gentle Sir,
Keep your fine words—they'll be fair ware at Court:
We be plain folk, whose candle is the sun,
And he, thou seest, burns down; if thou'lt rest here
We'll give thee willing lodgment.

MARQUIS.
Oh! your bounty
Beggars my thanks. The night is clear again,
And tempts me to my road. To-morrow, Sir,
By your good leave, I will repay you better.

JANICOLA.
Nay, Sir, God give you speed!

MARQUIS.
And you! (Aside.)
To-morrow,—
Not later, lest I die before I fetch
This white vale-lily from its hidden home
And set it first o' the garland.

[Exit.