University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

A By-way in the Labyrinth.
Eleanor and Dwerga.
Dwerga.
Hither, dull grandam!—this way; here 's the clue.
See where it threads the quickset roots along
Under those nettles, thistles, and rank weeds,
Pale glittering like the Fatal Sisters' yarn
Weft out of dead man's skin.

Eleanor.
'Tis broken here.

Dwerga.
'Tis thou, most sovereign beldam, art blear-sighted!
I, as the dew-born spider, span it slim
Out of my ropy venom, but scarce breakable.
Peer, peer about!—there 'tis again: some reptile
Hath dragg'd it thus awry.

Eleanor.
How didst thou manage
To lay it so adroit?

Dwerga.
Even though mine eyes
Were film'd with slime out of the leech-pond there,
Into which that curst whelp of thee and Satan,
Lubberly Dick (whom I will plague anon!),
When blows had stunn'd me quite, couching his club,
Butted poor Dwerga like a battering-ram!—
Yet forth I trail'd me soon; and while these orbs
Were dim as leaden ones, I laid the clue
Sly as thou see'st it! Was it not well done?

Eleanor.
Shrewdly. Where is it now?

Dwerga.
Here, i' the ditch.
O 'twas well done of Dwerga! as emball'd
Urchin-like, she did bowl herself unseen
By the dusk hedges and rush-cover'd channels,
Out of the maze as she had trundled in!
Hu! hu! hex! hex!

Eleanor.
The Bower! the Bower!

Dwerga.
Trot on!
Now we shall have a frolic worth the venture!—
Trot on, sweet grandam!
[Sings.
Hu! hu! hex!

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to the Bower inside.
Rosamond alone.
Rosamond.
My spirits are heavy, and they lend all things
Their own dark nature! See how the evening sun
Fills this green chamber with a golden gloom;
The broider'd tapestry waves its lustrous folds
Dismal, as o'er some breathless Dame laid here
In proud, sad state; yon cricket chirps as loud
And quick, as sounds a larum-bell by night;
And when that sweet bird twitter'd past the bower,
Methought it was the screech-owl. O how long
Since I felt happy!—Since I left the heaven
Of innocent girlhood, when even sorrow's drops
Were bright and transient as an angel's tears.
Can I not pray? When innocent, night and morn
I always pray'd for happiness, and it came.
Pray!—yet repent not of your sin!—Far worse
Than the mute sin itself. I will go back
To Godstowe once again; I will beseech
The Nuns receive me as a truant wretch
Weigh'd down to heart-prostration by my guilt,
And there upon my face at Mercy's shrine
Beg for an age of suffering to wash out
The stain which blots my youth—

Eleanor
(from behind).
Wash it out here,
With this! (showing a phial).
It is a lotion most abstersive;
'Twill cleanse you monumental-white, and save
A world of holy water!

Rosamond.
Art thou a demon,
Or Eleanor the Queen?

Eleanor.
Either you like,
Or both, if it please you. There's my familiar!

[Pointing at Dwerga
Rosamond.
Ah! fiend assured, that canst return from hell,
Whither young Richard sent thee!

Dwerga.
Hu! hu! hex!
Take to thy sucking-bottle, pretty child!
Take to it, lovesome! 'Tis more precious milk
Than the slow-dribbling poppy gives; yea better
Than the black suckle from my dam I drew,
Which makes me such a darling!

Rosamond.
Fearful thing!
Comest thou to tear me through my opening grave
Into the house of torment for my sins?

Dwerga.
Just so!—But feel how tenderly I'll grip
Thy soft white limbs with my beak'd claws! No blood
Shall ooze from them but I will kiss it up
Fond as a gloating lover, and each wound
Sear with hot caustic breath!—Try it, my sweetling!

Rosamond.
Save me, ah save me, thou more human form!

[Kneeling to Eleanor.
Dwerga.
Let me upon her! my fangs itch.

Eleanor.
Abide:
It were too soon to put her out of pain.
Tell me, young Mistress!—Nay, keep on your knees;
No succour hears thee; good Sir Fier-à-bras
Has been grave-sick these three days, and no other
Dares front the Queen;—tell me, thou smooth-faced Witch!
What sorceries didst thou practise, to beguile
My husband of his troth—what sinful arts?

Rosamond.
None, as I am most sinful, but what nature
Taught him to wile me with—alas the day!

Eleanor.
Ay, wilt thou boast thee of thy natural charms
Above all aid from art? Thou dog-briar Rose!
Thou vile, poor, daggled, village-garden Rose!
Thou stuck upon the bosom of a king,
As the prime flower of England?

Rosamond.
All unmeet:
But 'twas love, not ambition, fixed me there!

Eleanor.
Love! dost avouch it, brazen of tongue and brow

Rosamond.
Ay me, is ever truth a wrong?

Eleanor.
Audacious!
Dost thou, a base-born peasant Girl, dare vie
With Eleanor of Guienne for a king's heart?

Rosamond.
I am a daughter of De Clifford, dame!
A high-born, high-soul'd race, till sunk in me.
But farewell pride!—'tis for the pure alone;
Vain flourish even for them, since humble or proud,
We are all equal in our winding-sheets,
The country-maid and queen!

Eleanor.
No rug, vile Wretch,
Shall wind thy harlot corse! It shall be cast
Upon the cross-road, as a gaze for men,
A glut for dogs and daws!

Rosamond.
O Queen, some pity
To thy own sex!

Eleanor.
That thy so vaunted beauty
Be first the mock of every tongue, and end
The horror of all eyes!

Rosamond.
O rather, rather
Bury me breathing quick ten feet in earth,
Build me up in these walls, and my last look
Shall stare dumb pardon on thee!

Eleanor.
Drink off this!—
Here 's a love-potion from me in return
For that thou gavest the king, to warm his blood
Tow'rds thee his paramour, freeze it towards his spouse.
Drain it up, sorceress!—no words, no prayers!

Rosamond.
One moment, if thou 'rt not inexorable,
To plead with Heaven.

Eleanor.
'Tis deafer still than I!

Rosamond.
But to confess my sins—

Eleanor.
Fool, they are flagrant
In hell itself renown'd!—Hither, good Fury!
[To Dwerga.
Howl through her brain, flame round her with your eyes,
If she put off the cup once more, cling to her
And poison her with your kisses!

Dwerga.
Let me! I'll screw
Her soul out in my tortuous clasp—

Rosamond.
To the dregs!
[She drinks off the poison.
'Tis bitter—as thy hate!—fierce—as thy rage!
My head swims!—Mercy, Heaven!—Too cruel Queen!
Relent when I am dead—O give me burial!
Cast me not out to gaze—Henry! defender!
The fiends are here!—Thy Rosamond is—no more!

[Dies.
Eleanor.
The King's name on her lips even to the last!
She shall bleach for it!

Dwerga.
There's a drying wind
Out now, will make a precious mummy of her,
And with her thus thou canst present the King
To hang up in his cabinet as a study,
Like a stuff'd alligator—hu! hu! hex!

Eleanor.
Fair Rosamond? Pale Rosamond, now, I ween!

Dwerga.
Foul Rosamond she shall be, foul as she fair had been!—
There's a quaint rhyme for thee!—I will turn minstrel
And make a doleful ditty of this drone—
‘Fair Rosamond done to death in her sweet Bower,
By cruel Eleanor, that wicked Queen!’
It shall be famous! you shall have your meed,
As Cain's most pitiless Daughter, from mankind!

Eleanor.
Make me not tremble, now I 've done the deed,
With diabolic drolling: it and this
Would give a stone the shudders. Let's begone!

[Exit.
Dwerga.
I'll plague thee raving-mad with it each night,
Till thou shalt wish to sleep as sound as she!
Dwerga will be thy Incubus; and more,
Thy Succubus too, fattening upon thy gall,
And laughter at thy follies—hu! hu! hex!

[Exit after her.