University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—Woodstock. Moonlight. Rosamund asleep under a beech-tree. Enter on the other side Michael.
Mich.

Ay, 'tis a fair night—as much day as can be,
only a bit dark i' the corners like. 'Tis warm, too, for a
night o' May—wonderful soft and dry.—Now what is the
dog a-snuffing at? Here, Blanche, here! We must stop
for no game. . . . 'Tis late belike, an' the wenches
are a-bed.

[Enter King Henry behind the bushes.]
K. Hen.
Is't a hobgoblin, this black, crooked shape?
The dog that snuffs about yon single drift
Of snowy womanhood, a thing bewitched?
I will protect her from all enmities.
Stand!

Mich.
Robbers, robbers, robbers! I'm trapped;
I've naught!—God help!

[Exit in flight.
K. Hen.
'Tis only some belated peasant. There!
He's gone.—She sleeps as innocence, and I
Her lion-shield. So young—so still! O Sleep,
Thou lover pressing closer while we live,
Than any other bedfellow on earth,
I'm jealous of thy hold on her dear limbs,
Thy intimate warm clasp. Ah, but she dreams!
Divine to watch
The course of her dreams, and by the rising flush
Mark the king's entrance. Soon as she awakes
I'll worship her!—in worship's fiery clime
Desire's a child audacious, innocent,
And knows not it is naked. Sweet, so close,
And I can let thee fondle with my shade!
One kiss, the trembling whisper of a touch,
And we're together!

[Kisses her.
Ros.
Prison! No,—there's air!
O Henry!

K. Hen.
Love!

Ros.
You left me desolate,
And in a prison. Still mine eyes are wet
With their leave-taking tears.

K. Hen.
What, weep to-night,
Your birthday? Rose, you are a woman now;
You love the king—how much?

Ros.
The stars must count.

K. Hen.
You'd do me homage, Rose,
Were you the lady of broad lands; what vows
Shall I require of you who hold in fief
My heart's wide realm?

Ros.
I give you of myself
All, all there is—and for the rest, my love.

K. Hen.
And you will swear me over-lord of all
The womanhood
That Time's good sword shall win for you?

Ros.
Ay, all.
How should I know
That I am girl, or, if you'll have it so,
With this May-moon rise woman, save for love?

K. Hen.
The moon
[wrapping her in his cloak]
For touching this white shoulder must be banned!
Let's to the deeper woods! The nightingale!
Dost hear that urgent note?—a thorny sigh,
A prick sets bliss to bleed, desire too sharp
For tolerance—a pang.

Ros.
I'm curious
To learn what happens to the nightingales
At daybreak. Henry, do their gurgling throats
Stop like a torrent when it turns to rest
Under green leaves?

K. Hen.
In the nest all grows still.
I've built a fair bower-nest for thee, my bird,
And there we'll mate.
Come, 'tis a little deeper in the wood,
And nearer to its heart.

Ros.
I love you here
Where the beech is and the sun. I will not go
Where I have never loved you.

K. Hen.
Ha! Not come?
Who is it orders? God, with those clasped hands
She's forging mail to keep me from her heart.
You love me in the woods!—a summer love!
You shall love me in the winter, in the world,
Where'er I will; what pain I put you to.
You shall not choose. Is this your loyalty?
And you'll not go
Where you have never loved me! In the camp,
The palace, I can find no spot of life
Where I have “never loved.” Where'er I am
Is Love—the famished child you will not feed.
Come, come! Ah, Rose, you cannot know the pain!
. . . If you'll not come,
I'll burn the bower, ride off to the wars,
Make havoc till I perish.

Ros.
It fulfils
My dream.—You shut me in a prison close—
Henry, I cannot leave you; lead me home.

[Exeunt.