University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Village-well.—Griselda and Lenette filling their pitchers with the well-water.
LENETTE.
And so this solemn keeping of the face,—
The seldom-smiling lip, and smooth staid cheek,
Where never deeper blush did dare to show
Than just enough to say it was not stone,—
The even beating of an idle heart,—
The lip that had no leisure for love-talk;—
Ah! must it end—all, all, thou stricken one,
With sighs and an alas?

GRISELDA.
I said not so!
Only I said, if it were well to love,
And if to love were to be loved again;
And if it were not matter for a blush
To say so much; his was a noble face,
With such sweet meanings written duskly in't,
That it were no life lost to spell them out
All a life long.

LENETTE.
Ah! the keen Stranger-Trader,
That bought a heart for nothing.

GRISELDA.
Thou dost wrong me,
Naming our names together.

LENETTE.
Wherefore, sweet?

GRISELDA.
They make no music; small thanks he would give
For the undowered lip and empty hand
Thou idly makest his. Yet he was fair.

LENETTE.
Oh! very fair,—nay, almost fair enough
To love, if only it were well to love;
And if to love were to be loved again,
And if, and if, and if—

GRISELDA.
Thou false, false friend!
How like a cruel justicer thou turn'st
My own allowings to my own undoing!
I tell thee I am scatheless: how should I
Have time or turn for loving?

LENETTE.
I believe it,
Specially as thou seal'st thy protest too,
With a large sigh that saith, “I love him so!”
Nay, answer not! I'll not believe thy no
Fifty times spoken; and take comfort, sweet,
Thou'rt in the fashion,—the Court's wiving too,
They go a-hunting for a Queen to-day;
Come, now, and see them pass.

GRISELDA.
I'll go with thee,
That thou mayest have a thing to jest upon;
But help me first to call the cattle home.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Cattle-stall outside the Cottage of Griselda.
Enter Marquis, Courtiers, Knights, and Ladies.
MARQUIS.
Farther than this we will not wend to-day.

PIETRO MALA.
My liege! this is the poorest hut of all,
Dwelt in by one who never in his days
Had for to-morrow. He's at war with death;
And each day that he lives is a hard battle—
Won with a broken sword.

MARQUIS.
Why, then, 'twere well
We looked upon so brave a soldier!
Hath not the man a daughter?

PIETRO MALA.
They do say so.

MARQUIS.
Griselda?

PIETRO MALA.
Even so.

MARQUIS.
And very fair?

PIETRO MALA.
They that have seen her say as fair as may be.

MARQUIS.
Fair as may be, for fairer may not be;
I rede you, learn betimes, to do her honour;
'Twill be the task and lesson of your life.
Look where she comes! Dio! how beautiful!
Griselda!

Enter Griselda and Lenette.
GRISELDA
(aside).
Lenette! Lenette! the Trader is the Prince.
Ah! me.

MARQUIS.
Griselda, set thy pitcher down.
Come to me here! Nay, not upon thy knee!
Where is thy father?

GRISELDA.
Lord! he is alone
Within the house.

MARQUIS.
I pray you fetch him forth.
[Exit Griselda.
Stand by me in your order, gentles all,
And doff the jewelled bonnets from your brows,—
Ye have beheld your Queen.

Enter Griselda and Janicola.
GRISELDA
to Janicola.
Said I not well?
See what an angry cloud sits on his brow;
Let's kneel and pray it pass us.

JANICOLA.
Wherefore, child?
We owe him nothing but the air we breathe;
If he hath come to take the price of it,
Let him say on.

GRISELDA.
Dost thou not know the face,—
The trader's cap changed to a princely crown?
Kneel, father! 'tis thy guest of yester-eve
Come back a King!

JANICOLA.
Alas! I knew him not.
(To the Marquis.)
Oh my Lord Marquis, I was over-bold
The yesternight when thou wert masking it.

MARQUIS.
Nay! I can bear to hear the truth of me,
And thank a true man for it; and to-day
I came to try thy love and not to chide it.
Give me thine ear.
[They walk aside.
I think thou lovest me,
As honest liegeman loveth rightful lord,
And therefore am I bold to ask a boon.

JANICOLA.
What boon is mine to give or not to give?
My liege! I am a very poor old man,
Whose loyalty and service, if its worth
Be rated by its givings, beggars me
As much in service as in worldly store.

MARQUIS.
Nay! but thou hast a thing dearer to me
Than all the pearls and rubies of the earth;
Which, an thou givest me, I would honour less
The monarch who should load an argosy
With ingots of red gold, and call them mine,
Than thou whose loyalty from nothingness
Gavest me more than all.

JANICOLA.
Thou knowest, lord,
That I have nothing; therefore, gracious lord,
If thou wilt take from nothing, wherefore ask
A beggar's leave to take it?

MARQUIS.
Wilt thou know
Why thy ungracious answer cannot move
My patience to a frown?—I love thy daughter,—
So well that I must have her for my wife!
What wilt thou say?

JANICOLA.
Alas! alas! my lord,
I did deserve correction, but not mocking.
This is no prince's palace!—you are strayed
Out of the way. Those gaudy gentlemen
Will tell you I am old Janicola
That eat o' the roots, with his white daughter there.

MARQUIS.
How wilt thou credit me?—Give me an oath.

JANICOLA.
Thou saidst, I love her.

MARQUIS.
Aye! with heart and soul.

JANICOLA.
Thou sayest, She must be my wife and lady.

MARQUIS.
I did.

JANICOLA.
Griselda?

MARQUIS.
Even she.

JANICOLA.
My daughter?

MARQUIS.
Yea! and my soul's sworn love.

JANICOLA.
Indeed, I think
That thou art sad in this, but yet 'tis strange!
Oh! give me grace, my lord, these hairs are grey,
She's the last thing I have. Dost thou so love her?

MARQUIS.
Yea! by mine honour and my hope of ruth.

JANICOLA.
'Tis over strange; yet I will credit thee.
Speak to her, good my lord; let the surprise
Paint her cheek red and white; and what she says
I'll say it too.

MARQUIS.
Why, then, give me thy hand;
And I will ask her if her will doth serve.
Look you how pale she is! Now I shall bring
The blood into her cheek again;—Griselda!
Leave trembling, maiden, and come here to us.
[Griselda approaches and kneels.
Nay! thou must never kneel. Come near to me,
Lay thy true hand in this true hand of mine,
And take good heart and listen earnestly.
I have thy father's warrant for my words,
Who heareth what I swear. Before the God
Who made us both, Griselda, of one clay,
And knoweth what he made, and readeth hearts;
I love thee truly, royally, and well:
If thou wilt love me loyally and truly,
Never to change, and never to repent,
Whatever chance or change in life betide,
Half of my throne, and all my love, is thine.

GRISELDA.
My lord!

MARQUIS.
I pray thee, be not so dismayed;
The cold marsh-ague could not shake thee so
As these my words. Look up again, dear heart!
I'll say the oath a thousand several times,
So thou'lt believe it better.

GRISELDA.
My good lord!

MARQUIS.
Nay! do not weep; I bade thee lift thine eyes,
And thou hast dimmed them with so big a tear
I cannot see their meaning. Dear Griselda,
Is it so hard a thing to love a prince?

GRISELDA.
I'll not think that you jest thus; 'twere too base
And too unprincely. No! you could not do it.
I pray you hold me not unmaidenly,
If I shall look fixedly on your face,
And I will answer as a subject should,
And as a maiden may.

MARQUIS.
Why, gaze thy fill!
Canst thou see aught writ on this brow of mine,
Or in these eyes, whose meaning thou dost read
Book-like, but love,—true love, sweet wonderer,
And knightly faith and honour.

GRISELDA.
Dear my lord!
I do believe you from my very soul;
And for your kind love I return you here,
For ever and for ever while I live,
The little all I have,—a maiden heart,
A most unchanging loyalty and love,
Obedience that shall never faint or fail,
And thankful service that shall task itself
To serve yet better, and to love still more.
And the dear God, who knoweth I say true,
Be witness for me!

MARQUIS.
And for me, who seal
The oath of two lips with one loving kiss.
Kiss me back boldly, lovingly, Griselda;
And our sweet match is made. So! that is well!—
I will be merchant, sweetheart, once again,
To make exchanges at so fair a mart.

(Kisses her again.)
GRISELDA.
Alas! my lord, thy trade will beggar thee,
I pay thee nothing, and thou givest me all.

MARQUIS.
Thou wrong'st thyself, thyself not valuing;
Thou dost give love, and takest sovereignty,
So we are honest traders. Nay! they say
That loving arms cling closer than the purple,
And to be master of a faithful heart
Is more than ruling kingdoms; thus is love
Greater than sovereignty, and thou art wronged.

GRISELDA.
Then is the wrong so sweet a wrong, my lord,
That thanks for ever leave the wrong unthanked.
I would my lip could from that of thine
The trick of queening it, as thine hath taken
From this of mine its love.

MARQUIS.
Thou shalt make trial
Presently with thy liegemen. Nobles all,
Your lady waits your leal welcoming,

PIETRO MALA.
I will be tongue and lip to their dumb welcome,
And make it loyally. Most noble lady,
Whose worthy beauty wins to-day a throne,
We hail thee for the Queen of us and ours,
And tender true allegiance. These our swords
Are thine to sheathe and draw. If we could bare
Our hearts, as we can bare our honest blades,
We'd show thee, written in the cores of them,
The record of our love. We greet you well.

GRISELDA.
I thank you,—and I thank you humbly, lords,
Mindful of what I was, and not forgetting
All that I am and shall be; for your love,
In that I was not better than the worst,
I thank you humbly, and will task myself
Still to deserve it;—for your fealty,
Ye pay it to your lady, and as she,
I take mine own with thanks.

MARQUIS.
Why! bravely spoken.
Take her thine own! (Crowning her)
Do you, fair ladies, fetch
The miniver, the ermines, and the zone,
And robe your mistress as a queen doth robe.
We will await you here.
[Exeunt.
Let music sound,
And play a strain that hath no sorrow in't.
Sorrow is out of tune.

[Music plays, presently enter Griselda attired regally with gems, &c.
MARQUIS.
Indeed, I did not know thou wert so fair.
Speak, speak, my queen, and make the music dull.

GRISELDA.
Shall not my father go along with us,
And this my friend too?

JANICOLA.
Ask him, good my daughter!
For leave to live unstirred. I love not courts,
Though thou be lady there.

MARQUIS.
I would thy boon
Were something worthier; thou shouldst be, good sir,
In yonder palace, even with the best;
Yet have thy will. Thou that hast lost thy mate
Shall find her yet, and love her as thy lady,
Doing all nearest service. Nay! your thanks
Must be to her; lead out my horse again,
And bring the palfrey with the cloth of gold.
Our road lies to the Palace. Sweetheart! come!

[Exeunt Omnes.
PIETRO MALA
to Janicola.
This is rare to you, sir!

JANICOLA.

Nay, nay! I have seen a company of daws ere
now about a dove. Will you not follow your feather,
Signors?

[Exit Janicola.
PIETRO MALA.

He hath a strange manner.

ANTONIO.

Aye, and matter, for that.—If thou wilt, let us
discourse on this to-morrow in the gardens of the
house.

PIETRO MALA.

We will, and now to follow them.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Gardens of the Palace.
Enter Pietro Mala and Antonio.
PIETRO MALA.
Where is the King Cophetua?

ANTONIO.
He's within,
Playing at loving with the beggar-lady.

PIETRO MALA.
What doth the passion hold?

ANTONIO.
Most constantly;
He hath forsworn the sceptre and the crown,
And will not look on dry decrees of state.
He traceth veins along his lady's hands,
And binds his bravest jewels in her braids,
Nor thinks them half so gleaming; he would say so,
But that from dawn to dusk the royal lips
Are over-close for talking.

PIETRO MALA.
Will it last?

ANTONIO.
Yes! while she wears the crown as if the crown
Were what it is for being on her brow.
She meets him still in each particular,
And shows as royal to his royalty,
As loving to his love.

PIETRO MALA.
Hath she a charm
To witch all hearts to her? There's not a tongue
That hath not learned to laud her.

ANTONIO.
Aye! and none
That laudeth worthily. She doth not keep
One memory of her simple peasant state,
Save to be simple-hearted. Thou didst see
The tournament, and how she queened it there?

PIETRO MALA.
Not I, by this good light.

ANTONIO.
It was thy loss;
She gave away the prizes of the ring,
Coupling the gifts with such rare courtesy
And regal speech, that every bleeding knight
Forgot his wounds, and would have braced again
His broken vaunt-brace; aye! and drained his heart
For such another guerdon.

PIETRO MALA.
Sups she not
Under these trees at vespers with the prince?

ANTONIO.
The feast is spread, thou seest, in the garden;
If thou wilt stay, we'll taste their cheer, and see
How the play prospers.

PIETRO MALA.
Let us stay—they come.

Enter Marquis, with train of Attendants, &c.
[They take their places, and the banquet begins.
MARQUIS.
Fill up the cups! The reveller whose lip
Shall let the bubbles burst before he drinks,
Doth us high treason. Thou, Pietro Mala,
Melt thy sage wrinkles into smiles to-night
With the rare Cypriot.

PIETRO MALA.
Oh! our joy is young,
It shall be ripe and lusty, my good lord,
When our dear lady's smile shines on the feast.

MARQUIS.
Nay, then, 'tis grown already,—for she comes.
Queen of my land and love, the banquet lacked
Thee only, but in thee lacked all its best!

GRISELDA.
My light is thine,—shine still on me, dear sun;
And to thy golden and most gracious rays,
I, like the moon,—the patient, watchful moon,—
Will send back silver shining, borrowed beams.

MARQUIS.
Wilt thou be as the moon to change and change?

GRISELDA.
My sun sets not, as hers. I need not change.

MARQUIS.
Nay but it may!

GRISELDA.
Then I'll not be the moon,
But a poor star, which, when its light is gone,
Keeps to its path and post.

MARQUIS.
Sweet! throne thee here;
Wilt thou command the revels? Shall they trip
A courtly measure for thy pleasuring,
Or wilt have music?

BERTOLO.
There is come, Madonna,
To Saluzzo, a troubadour of note;
He waits your bidding.

GRISELDA.
Oh, we bid him straight:
Whence cometh he?

BERTOLO.
Last from Lauretta's court,—
The Countess of Bologna.

GRISELDA.
He doth name
Thy sister, Walter.

MARQUIS.
Even so, my heart!
Doubtless she sends a message sisterly
Of praise and promise hither. Look, he comes
Enter Bertram.
Thy name?

BERTRAM.
Bertram di Bocca d'Oro, Prince.

MARQUIS.
Right fit for roundelays; if thou bring'st speech
More sober than thy rebeck's to Saluzzo,
Tell it out first.

BERTRAM.
Thy sister bade me lay
Before thy beautous lady's gentle feet
Her love and commendation; being thine,
Her weal is hers. This scroll, and what it saith,
Ends my commission.

MARQUIS.
Let this jewel pay
Its fair fulfilment. Hast thou taught thy strings
A feast-song for us?

GRISELDA.
Sing, Sir Troubadour,
We love the music well.

BERTRAM.
Alas! my strings
Sound well to common ears at village-wakes,
But this is a brave festival, and I—
I have no skill save for a simple song.

GRISELDA.
Oh, sing a simple song, for I have thought,
Listening to many a modern line and lay
Of minstrelsy excelling, that their strings
Strove for too great an utterance, and so missed
The ready road that quiet music finds
Right to the heart; like as an o'erstrained bow
Shoots past the butt. Dame Nature doth not thus,
And minstrels are her children, and should stand
Close at their mother's knee to learn of her.
Look! when she will be beautiful or great,
She strains not for her rainbows or her stars,
But with deft finger works her wonders in
With an unruffled quiet, a soul-felt
And unregardful strength,—so that her storms,
Her calms, night, day, moon-risings and sunsets,
Wood-songs and river-songs, and waves and winds,
Come without noise of coming. Ah! I love,
When 'tis voiced tenderly—a simple song,—
A song whereto the caught ear listens close,
To hear a heart, and not a chord speak out
Musical truthfulness.

BERTRAM.
Most wise Madonna,
Small skill is mine of this. If you will hear 'em,
I have a few rhymes to my lady's eyes,
And one or two poor stories of old wars,
Such as the gossips sing; with, it may be,
A tale of derring-do, and light-o'-love;
Farther than these I know not.

GRISELDA.
Oh, sir, yes!
You wrong your fame, speaking so lightly of it;
I pray you to your craft.

BERTRAM.
Now, by my Lady,
Thy silver asking makes the music harsh,
Yet what my rebeck skills to rival it,
I will be lavish in. Will't please you hear
A song of love?

MARQUIS.
Aye, sing it, courtly sir!

Bertram
sings.

MARQUIS.
Doth he say sooth, Griselda?

GRISELDA.
It were hard
For him, and us, and all, if such were sooth:
Look you, it is the fashion of the time
To rhyme sweet rhymes and sing them daintily,
Touching this woman-fault. Our praise is said
Roughly in wrack and pain, our blame they make
Matter for mandolines;—nay, but I err,—
Doubtless the measure mends.

BERTRAM.
Madonna! no.
For the sad lack of constancy, it praises
The love that sweetly overlives a kiss,
Yet there comes wisdom at the end.

MARQUIS.
Nay then,
For wisdom's sake sing on!

Bertram
sings.

MARQUIS.
St. Paul! I think not so.

BERTRAM.
Lord, by your leave,
The wise man speaketh now.

MARQUIS.
'Tis over time!

Bertram
sings.

MARQUIS
to Griselda.
What think'st thou?

GRISELDA.
Higher of his measure far
Than of his matter; 'tis too fine a strain
To slander true love in.

MARQUIS.
Art thou not charmed
Almost into a disbelief of love,
When Love's own almoner and subject sings
Disloyalty so well?

GRISELDA.
Not with a song.
My heart remembers, and remembering loves
Once and for ever. Give me leave, fair sirs,
And take my thanks. For thee, Sir Troubadour,
We shall think lightly of the Southern dames
Until thy penitence be sung as sweet
As this thy heresy.

[Exeunt Griselda, Ladies, and Courtiers.
MARQUIS
(alone with Bertram).
What song is that?

BERTRAM.
A lay of mine thy noble sister loved;
She bade me sing it here.

MARQUIS.
Know'st thou the sense
Her letter bears?

BERTRAM.
My noble lord, not I.

MARQUIS.
'Tis well. I shall have need of thee; meanwhile
Make here my havings thine.

BERTRAM.
I humbly thank you.

[Exit Bertram.
MARQUIS
(alone).
My love is like a river grown too large
For little lets to stay, yet I do fret,
Wondrously at her scripture: thus she saith,—

“Thy village spousal is Italy's gossip; take
heed it be not its scorn. Thou art the most
fortunate or the most witless of men; yet must
thou mar thy fortune to prove thy wit. If thou
wilt wear thy jewel bravely, try it boldly;
if not, its lustre must be still suspect. Thus
much the opinion of thy dignity asketh of the
blindness of thy love.”

Is my love blind? good sister,—no! or blind,
With gazing ever on a steadfast star
Of sweet perfections; so my darkness is
Gender'd of heavenly light. Yet I do fear;
Not for my name,—albeit a noble name
Must not be lightly lost,—not for the note
My wisdom had, good sister;—wisdom's self
Might stoop to folly for a love like mine.
Yet thou sayest well,—this jewel must be tried,—
Tried like the gold, with fire of fancied wrath,—
Tried like the adamant, with stroke of scorn,—
Tried to the pitch of sufferance. If she fail,
Like a most desperate alchemist, I lose
All at a loss;—if she come clear of that,
Detraction's breath can never taint her more.
I that I chose her,—she that she kept oath,
Shall be the country's love and wonderment;
And naming perfect wifehood, they shall name
The wife Lord Walter married from the stall.