University of Virginia Library

GRISELDA.

A Tragedy.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Walter. Marquis of Saluzzo.
• Pietro Mala. One of his Councillors.
• Janicola. Father of Griselda.
• Bertolo. Head-falconer to the Marquis.
• Antonio. A Lord in waiting.
• Bertram. A Troubadour.
• Martino. A Sergeant of the Guard.
• Griselda. Daughter of Janicola.
• The Prince. Child of Griselda and the Marquis.
• The Princess. Child of Griselda and the Marquis.
• Lenette. A Village Friend of Griselda.
• Jacinta. A Waiting-woman.
• Courtiers, Attendants, &c.

Scene.—Saluzzo, at the foot of the Italian Alps. Time.—Thirteenth Century.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Marquis alone, in an apartment of the Palace.
Enter Bertolo.
BERTOLO.
Wilt please you, good my lord, bestride your steed?
He stamps for starting, and the hawks are out;
We marked three crested herons overnight
By San Dalmazzo; and to grace the sport,
April hath borrowed from her sister May
The brightest dawn she brags of; not a cloud
Will cool the quarry's tired wing to-day.

MARQUIS.
The sun is forth, thou sayest?

BERTOLO.
Golden and broad,
Dyeing the white mist, crimson: Wilt thou ride?
Bruno and Lupa strain to take the field.

MARQUIS.
Leash up the dogs again, and lead them in;
I will not ride.

BERTOLO.
My liege, the hounds are hot;
The Barbary stallion will forget his feet;
Shall we not breathe him?

MARQUIS.
Lead them back, I say!
It fits my humour to be idle now;
Lead back. And, Bertolo,—I prithee tarry;
I had a thing to say:—wert thou not held
As keen a falconer as Sicil had?

BERTOLO.
My liege, I think I was. I do remember
When Siracusa's king came to his crown,
We had a field-day, flying at the brook,
And every lady brought her hooded hawk
With bells and jesses; but in flights fifteen,
Old Beppo—'t was my grey king-falcon,—strook
Ten of the long-bills dead. The king he laughed,
And shook his beard, and swore 't was a brave bird,
And asked me thrice if that mine art could teach
A king to strike as soon, and stoop as sure.

MARQUIS.
'Tis a rare bird the falcon.

BERTOLO.
My good lord,
He hath a wing will bear him through the thunder—
An eye more steady than the sun can turn,—
A heart, to broach it on the heron's bill,
And never blench; and when he strikes, he strikes
Once and for all.

MARQUIS.
Tell me, good Bertolo,
What if such falcon in his mid ascent
Should stoop away to chase a silly dove,
How wouldst thou hold him back?

BERTOLO.
Marry! the call
Brings him to glove.

MARQUIS.
How if he will not heed?

BERTOLO.
Then must the silken jesses, and the hood,
Keep his hot folly down, and curb his flight.

MARQUIS.
Nay! but resolve me this:—if he shall scorn
The silken jesses, and the call, and hood,
To follow meaner fowl, how say'st thou then?

BERTOLO.
'Twere pity of his life, but he should die!
For it were past doubt that his heart would taint
With taste of meaner blood than royal birds'.

MARQUIS.
Aye! there were peril of it! Thou sayest well.
Leave me alone,—mew up the hawks again;
I will not ride to-day.
[Exit Bertolo.
He reads me not,
I am that royal falcon, and the dove
Is a most lowly lady. Ah! the day
I saw her at the hawking, all my heart
Broke from its jesses towards her, and what lure
Will bring the tassel-gentle back to me?
Why fair being low, or wherefore low being fair?
For now between thy beauty and my love,
Cometh this little crown, by whose scant breadth
I, being higher, may not stoop to thee,
Nor thou reach unto me. Lady of Grace!
Her quiet lip's light touch were like a rose-leaf;
And I, who would have had it here, on mine,
Must take it, if I take it, on this hand,
Most monarch-like, but most unlovingly:
Her clear blue eye, where hath Saluzzo such?
Her soft, smooth braids that bridle up and down
Over her neck, like on a field of snow
Bright birds new lit. Ah! beauty, rich and rare,
If thou be casket to a mind like thee,
There were a piece of quaint and perfect work
Worthy a monarch's winning. By my life!
I'd stoop to win it, though it cost a crown.
And I do think, and so the village saith,
That out of this fair house, the inner soul,
Shining, doth make it bright. Grant it but so!
If she be wise and good, patient and true,
Are not these virtues for a queen to wear,
And for a king to wed? On such a brow
Would not the royal gems sit royally,
And bear their glitter bravest? Aye, they shall!
I know my people have a prayer to me
This very matin, touching on the need
Of some young forehead to receive the crown;
And even now they come. E'en let them come.
If they shall press me hard, I'll be advised,
For smoothly goes the suit whose arbiter
Before he hears determines.
Enter Nobles, Courtiers, &c.
Signors, welcome!
What weighty purpose brings ye from your dreams
Before the day is certain of the sun?

ANTONIO.
A suit, my liege.

MARQUIS.
Doth it touch aught of mine?

ANTONIO.
It toucheth thee, the court, the country-side,
Most nearly, good my lord.

MARQUIS.
Let it have words;
It should be something wise if white beards wag
To give it utterance. Thou, Pietro Mala,
Tell out the message: I am set to hear.

PIETRO MALA.
My liege, not that we are not overblessed,—
Not that we are not well content and glad,—
Not that the land is not a land of plenty,
Bring we these anxious faces to thy throne;
For over all the fields a sea of grain
Floats like new gold, and the green berries swing
And swell to purple in the summer sun:
Our boys are brave and lusty, and our girls
Comely and straight; and in their hamlet-homes
No lack is known of music or of mirth,—
Such mirth as marketh holiday in hearts,
Such music as in merry laughter rings:
There's not a village green that hath not felt
The quick step of the dancers,—not a wife
That will not pour her wine and olive forth
As free as water,—not a loyal heart
That doth not at the Ave Mary bell
Give God and thy good sway the grace for these;—
And, therefore, we thy councillors are sad.

MARQUIS.
Sad at so goodly cheer, Sir Councillor!
I am no riddle-reader, make me know
What butt you bend at, aiming so awry.

PIETRO MALA.
We grieve because to-day is not to-morrow,
Nor now, eternity. Oh, my good lord!
Change only rules unchanged in this wide world.
The priestess that one morn decks us with flowers,
The morrow, slays us for the sacrifice.

ANTONIO.
Nay sooth! and men go to the knife like beasts
Fatted with fortune, dazzled with the gauds
That badge them for her shrine:—thence kneel we thus.

MARQUIS.
Ah! friends, lend me your hearts, and not your knees;
True love stands straight, the false can bend, and lie:
Show me the chain whose subtle links can hold
This Proteus present to his proper form,
And heart and hand myself will rivet it
Past the undoing.

PIETRO MALA.
Let the promise, then,
Be warrant for the boldness of our love.

MARQUIS.
Speak it, and think it sealed.

PIETRO MALA.
My gracious prince,
The change we dread is not the change that comes
At seed-time, or at harvest, or at fall,—
A blight to rust the young grain in the blade,
Or suns to scorch the clusters from the vines,
Or murrain in the fair and speckled herds,
Or pestilence, doing the young to death;
These might be borne or bettered; but, alas!
If the fair fountain whence the river flows,
Whose gracious waters give the land its life,—
If this be dried, and die, what hope of help?
We draw the breath on trust,—all—all, my lord,
Living the little minutes at the will
Of one grim creditor, whose sudden stroke
Signs the acquittance with the blood of life.
Oh! if his shadow cross the palace-porch,
And turn thy banquet to a funeral,
Could we find remedy, or thy soul rest?

MARQUIS.
Therefore—

PIETRO MALA.
Therefore, my liege, lest we be left
A prey to the best blade and longest lance,
We pray thee take thyself a crownèd wife;
And when thy palace, like a tree in May,
Puts forth its promise of the after-fruit,
We shall learn early how to love our kings;
And thou shalt leave thy crown and royalties
To foreheads broad enough to bear them well,—
Living another life in their young beauty,
Dying the father of a line of Lords.

MARQUIS.
What if I say, I will?

PIETRO MALA.
Then, by your grace,
Such as are happy in your trust and love
Shall from the spacious garden of the court
Pluck out the newest and the queenliest flower
To lay it at your heart.

MARQUIS.
By Mary! no!
If for your sakes I bend me to this yoke,
I will be free to choose what yoke I will.

ANTONIO.
We ask no other law than that high will,
But like to like, my lord, is fairest match.

MARQUIS.
Say you so—know you so? I cannot tell;
The rose-stock, grafted with a stranger slip,
Puts out new blossoms, brighter than before.
Doth not the miner seek the diamond
Down in the rubbish of the under-world?

ANTONIO.
But there 'tis dark and rough; the workman's hand
Lends it the courtly splendour and the glint
That rank it with the trappings of a king.

MARQUIS.
What! ratest thou the work beyond the gem?
The world's astray, my lords, if kings must teach
Courtiers the lesson of humility;
Yet to be courtly is not to be wise,
Nor just, nor generous, nor valiant;
And many goods strong gold is weak to buy.
It were to be indeed a king, if kings
Had more of greatness than a meaner man.
But ah for us! the world's nobility
Is not named noble for its nobleness.
Virtue is as the universal sky
That kisseth all alike the hills and dales;
And ye shall meet her, oh! as easily
In huts where Poverty and Sorrow wait
To bar her path, as in the halls of kings,
Where gilded doorways gape to take her in;
Ever she makes her house in noble hearts,
Careless of clime or creed, like birds that build
Under mosque-roof or Christian basilic
Their nests for loves and lives. But birth and blood,
What are these to her, when alas! my lords,
Not the nice palate of the grave-yard worm
Knows the cast shell of vassal from a king's.
Ye smile, sirs,—sooth, for all your smiles and mine,
It may be, that in God's great book of life
The blood a peasant poureth for his lord,
Is writ more precious than the stream that warms
The heart he died to keep at even beating.

PIETRO MALA.
Our right is none to curb your royal will,
Our skill is small to guide you in the choosing;
Only if you are purposed, we depart
Asking no other boon.

MARQUIS.
Thus far, be sure;
Before another moon hath time to trim
Another silver lamp to guide the Night,
Myself will for myself fill up the throne
And take a wife. So ye shall promise me
This on your faith.

PIETRO MALA.
My liege, we wait to hear.

MARQUIS.
That be she come of peasant or of lord,
The lady whom my love shall dignify,—
Be she of matchless beauty, or of none,
Gentle or simple, eloquent or mute,
Wise or unwise, wealthy or dowerless,
She shall in all things hold your hearts and swords
Alway her own; and not a deed of yours,
A thought, a look, shall ever derogate
From your true service and her sovereignty:—
This shall ye swear on your cross-hilted blades.

OMNES.
Kneeling we swear.

MARQUIS.
Then wake the ghittern-strings!
Bid hearts be light, and happy eyes, like stars,
Shine to make brighter this our wedding-week.
Let seneschals make matters for a feast,
And cellarers ungaol the prisoned wine,
Till, like a rosy river, it o'erflow,
And drown care fathom-deep. Bring gold and pearls
From their dark houses in the earth and sea,
And make me wedding-robes and coronals
Of bravest colours, and of richest stuff;
Till our gay gear shall make the rainbow dull.
Oh! we will bring her home—this queen of ours,
As if like angels we were leading up
A wandered planet to its place in heaven.
So speed you well.

OMNES.
Great thanks and humble, Lord.

[Exeunt Omnes, but Marquis.
MARQUIS.
(solus).
What! they would have me lose thee, my Griselda,—
My alder-liefest beauty, for some pair
Of soulless eyes, and some fair frozen lady,
Whose blood is all too courtly to run quick?
Methinks I have more skill at merchant-craft,
Than for gay goods of parcel-gilt to give
Mine own unpolished gold. Now am I not
A most bold bachelor to make the feast,—
The wedding-feast, and not to bid the bride?
Shall I not go before I buy my wares
And sight them closer? All that seems a prince
A trader's gown will hide. Aye! I will go,
And see my jewel glitter in the dusk,
Before its splendour flashes in the sun.

[Exit Marquis.

SCENE II.

The Cottage of Janicola. Griselda spinning, and Lenette.
LENETTE.

Thou'lt not come?

GRISELDA.

I cannot, if I would,— Indeed I cannot.

LENETTE.

Why, you turn your wheel as if it spun you music and gold threads.

GRISELDA.

It spins all that is mine of either.

LENETTE.

If nothing else will make you idle, this must then.

GRISELDA.

What is it, thou silly one?

LENETTE.

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.)
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.

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 enoúgh 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 nithing, 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 now 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 take 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 here 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 beauteous 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!

BETRAM.
sings.
Love, sweet love, is minstrel learning,
All but sages so are ruled;
Sages, our sweet follies spurning,
Bid ye be not over-fooled:
Better not to love and rue it
Than to ever love.

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.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the Palace. Lenette enters, meeting Bertolo.
LENETTE.

What, Bertolo, art thou back?

BERTOLO.

But newly come, freighted with gifts and good wishes from Genoa's Duke.

LENETTE.

Good wishes burdened thee little; what were the gifts?

BERTOLO.

I have a cast of hawks for my lord, feathered and flecked with silver, fairer than the daintiest wrist they ever sat on. For my lady, a fancywork of jewels, but the birds are rare.

LENETTE.

Thou shouldst be hooded like them, to say so. But what of the fancy-work,—is it pearls? —pearls become my lady rarely.

BERTOLO.

I know not. How fareth she?

LENETTE.

Hast not heard? then have I a woman's joy,— news to tell!

BERTOLO.

And a woman's tongue to tell them, Lenette.

LENETTE.

Maybe; but my lady Griselda is in thy absence lighter by the sweetest boy and girl that ever mother welcomed.

BERTOLO.

Say'st thou? the bells have told it then?

LENETTE.

Aye, and the wine-skins bled for it: they have mortally wounded forty this past month.

BERTOLO.

I would I had been at their shriving! but, in truth, this is good hearing for Lord Walter and the Court.

LENETTE.

Nay, he hath been altered of late, and shows his joy strangely. To-day he is exceeding wroth, and the first of it is for Frederigo.

BERTOLO.

Why? what hath he done?

LENETTE.

Slandered my lady vilely. Thou dost remember how her father Janicola would not follow her fortunes hither, and so comes never nigh the palace. I dare tell thee, being discreet, that the lady Griselda hath ofttimes taken gifts and her love a-foot to him, and this with the praise and knowledge of Lord Walter. All which hidden goodness this fellow knew, and said ill things of her daughterly visits. But here comes my lord; thou wilt do well to say over thy sweeter phrases, for I know that he chafes horribly.

Enter Marquis, Nobles, &c.

MARQUIS.
Antonio! look these letters be obeyed.
The slanderous mouth, that good deeds cannot close,
Shall taint no air of ours.—Ah! Bertolo,
Whence comest thou?

BERTOLO.
My lord, from Genoa.

MARQUIS.
We'll hear thy news anon.
[Exit Bertolo.
Pietro, tell me,
Thou knowest the people:—Is it common with them
To say such slander as this villain said
Of ladies spotless as this lady is?

PIETRO MALA.
I thought no tongue could speak but it would praise her:
I think none other would. Greatness is sin
To envious low ones ever; but her crown
Hath better glory than its gems and gold,
And as much love as honour.

MARQUIS.
'Tis no less
Than she may claim. Go seek out Bertolo,
And take his tidings for me. Leave me, lords.
Lenette! bid here thy lady. (Solus)
They shall have
Stronger confirmment of her worthiness.
They joyed to see her smile,—she shall weep yet,
And own no higher title than her tears,
To make them sad with her. I will begin
Now while my purpose holds,—another day
Will kiss the purpose from me. Ah! she comes.
Sweet love, be strong for thy sake and for mine.

Enter Griselda.
GRISELDA.
How fares my lord?

MARQUIS.
Well pleased to see thee well.
Hadst thou my message?

GRISELDA.
Nay! I heard but now
That thou wert angered with you slanderer.
I pray thee let not such a fellow dwell
In my lord's thought—the more so that his sin
Toucheth not thee but me.

MARQUIS.
He is away
To mourn it at his leisure. By St. Paul!
Is not thine honour mine? I am right sad
He 'scaped so lightly.

GRISELDA.
I—I pity him.
Forget his folly, Walter, as I do;
'Tis slight as was the slanderer. Come and see
Our little ones asleep.

MARQUIS.
Is my boy well?

GRISELDA.
Ask that of both, love, and I'll answer thee;
They are so like they never should be named
But in a breath. The leaves of one red rose
Wear not so near a colour as their cheeks;
And river-ripples are not more the same
Than her light smile and his. Come and look on them!

MARQUIS.
I think more of thy little maid, my wife,
Than my words show.

GRISELDA.
Oh then! do I not know it?
Thou couldst not look upon her, and not love her,
Loving me so, and she so like to me:
Give me thy hand and come.

MARQUIS.
Nay, give me thine!
I meant another thing. That day, Griselda,
When from thy low estate I lifted thee
To high nobility,—hast thou forgot it?

GRISELDA.
Ah, no! Before I sleep I think on it,
That all my dreams may be a dream of that;
It comes first to my heart when daylight comes
First to mine eyes; and all day long it makes
Thy love a miracle.

MARQUIS.
Well,—very well!
Thou wottest then how that thou camest here
With no more queenship than a single hour
Had made thee mistress of.

GRISELDA.
I think it o'er,
The circumstance of thine exceeding love,
A thousand times a-day.

MARQUIS.
'Tis well! and when
The fine, fair ladies of the court had decked thee
And robed in gold, upon a steed of snow,
Past thy self-knowledge beautiful and bright,
Thou rodest to my house, what oath was it
Thy lips had spoken?

GRISELDA.
To be leal and true
For that thy love,—to be submiss and gentle
Unto thy love,—to recompense thy love
With the return of an unchanging faith
And loyalty and service.

MARQUIS.
Aye! it ran so,
And if that love changed—

GRISELDA.
So should never mine,
But wear a steadfast face and even look
Whatever chance or change in life betided:—
Thus did I swear.

MARQUIS.
And wilt thou keep the oath?

GRISELDA.
I do, and will until I die.—Alas!
Dost thou not love me then?

MARQUIS.
I said not that.
Look not so deadly pale; but listen now:
This matter of the malcontents goes farther
Than the poor lie of one. They love thee not,
They hold it shame to be o'erruled of thine,
And ask, what doth thy daughter in the court?
The boy will have a hand to guard his head;
But for his peace and mine the girl must go,
And that, too, presently. Wilt thou take well
What it is well to do?

GRISELDA.
Lord, as thou wilt.
My child and I, in all humility,
Are all—all thine, and thou mayest save or spill
What is thine own: needs must it please me well
If it please thee; for so God's Mother keep me,
I ask for nothing,—nothing dread to lose,
Save only thee; and this is in my heart
Ever and ever, nor shall time or trial
Change my firm courage to another place.

MARQUIS.
Aye! keep thee to that mind, and go thy ways.
I'll send anon to thee.
[Exit Griselda.
Oh, my brave wife!
I do my love more wrong than I do thine.
Be still as true, and I'll be still as cruel,
And when the end comes thou'lt have sweet revenge.

SCENE II.

Griselda's Apartment. Lenette watching the young children. Enter Griselda.
GRISELDA.
Sleep they, Lenette?

LENETTE.
Since thou went hence, Madonna,
They have not stirred.

GRISELDA.
My little noble girl,
Doth she rest well?

LENETTE.
The shadow of her brother,
She sleeps and wakes with him; they'd live to die
If they should live to sever.

GRISELDA.
Sayest thou so?
God keep her as He may, if that be true.

LENETTE.
Madonna, why?

GRISELDA.
All things may chance to all,
And this to her.

LENETTE.
Nay, never!

GRISELDA.
But it may,—
Alas! indeed, it may.

LENETTE.
Ah! surely no.
Look at them sleeping, when they smile asleep
Good angels show them what their lives will be,
And the sight makes them glad. I've heard it told
By ancient nurses.

GRISELDA.
Let me see them smile.—
Dear loves! fit company for heavenly ones,
I could believe that silver pennons paused
Above them, and that angels' eyes looked down,
Love-wrapt, as I do now—so pure they seem,
So beautiful, so tender, and so new
From walking in the paths of Paradise:—
Ah! my sweet girl, she smiles! Would God, Lenette,
I could believe thy tale!

LENETTE.
Thou mayest believe it.
What jewels will my noble lady wear
Upon St. Michael's feast?

GRISELDA.
Jewels, Lenette!

LENETTE.
If it shall please you. Thou didst warmly praise
My lord's last gift,—the zone of amethyst,—
The silver one: 'twill clasp right worthily
Thy crimson robes.

GRISELDA.
Aye, robes! Thou dost remind me.
Bring me the gown and kirtle that I wore
When my lord rode to fetch me from the field;—
I had well-nigh forgotten that these two
May soon be one; and if it come to that,
There is much need to learn the lesson well,
And they shall be my book.
(Lenette brings them.)
Thanks, good Lenette!
These maiden-weeds, all lowly as they be,
Teach patience wondrous well.
(Knocking.)
Who's at the door?

(Lenette opens.)
LENETTE.
A message from my lord.

GRISELDA.
Who beareth it?

Enter Martino.
MARTINO.
I, lady.

GRISELDA.
Who art thou?

MARTINO.
Martino Scalza,
The sergeant of the guard.

GRISELDA.
I know thee not.

MARTINO.
'Tis very like thou wilt not hold me hence
In fair remembrance.

GRISELDA.
Why, what bringest thou?

MARTINO.
That which I mean to speak. Great ones, good madam,
Do as they list; and they who suffer of them
Must bear it and bewail. I am not one
To stand against the storm; and, sooth to say,
Madam, I will not.

GRISELDA.
Say what wrings you, sir?

MARTINO.
Thy lord—my master, bids me bear thee what
Thou must take of me.

GRISELDA.
If it come from him,
Speak welcomely; I'll hear it willingly!

MARTINO.
Thus then, I am intrusted to deliver:—
My lord commends me to your patient grace,
And prays you, of your courtesy, to give
Unto me here, without or let or stop,
The little maid your child.

GRISELDA.
So soon?

MARTINO.
Aye! now.

GRISELDA.
What is your warrant, sir?

MARTINO.
His signet-ring,
Behold it here!

GRISELDA.
It never yet set seal
To aught unworthy of his nobleness:
I will obey it.

MARTINO.
Madam, you were best.

GRISELDA.
Yes! but this cometh somewhat suddenly;
Yet I'll obey it. Give me pardon, sir;
Art thou to have my girl?

MARTINO.
Madam, I am.
My lord's behest is that you render it,
Sleeping or waking, here into my hands,
Thereafter—

GRISELDA.
Oh! say on!

MARTINO.
I say too much,
More is not in my message; by your leave
I'll find it here, and quit you.

(Goes to the bed)
GRISELDA.
No! oh, no!
Thou art not gentle, thou wilt wake my babe.

MARTINO.
She'll sleep enough anon.

GRISELDA.
I fear I read
A bitter meaning in your broken speech:
But I'll not think so,—you are not to take her;
Your hands are hard with arquebuss and sword,
Used to the clench of iron. You are fierce,
And soldierlike, and stern; your gentleness
Would crush this little life. What canst thou do
With her whose bed hath been of silks and down,—
Whose food were delicates,—whose rosy beauty
Nought harder than a kiss hath ever touched?
It is not true,—tell me it is not true!

MARTINO.
So true, that I shall take what you refuse me,
If you refuse it longer than my leave.

GRISELDA.
Keep off! I had forgotten: it is true!
Stand there, sir; you shall have her—take her—so.

(Gives the child.)
MARTINO.
'Tis well! thou dost this wisely; and I go.
Pardon the needful pain.

GRISELDA.
Oh! stay, good sergeant.
(Sweet angels make me strong!) Thou askest pardon,
Thou shalt have thanks; render me back my child.

MARTINO.
Nay, madam!

GRISELDA.
But a minute,—she is thine.
Hath he not so commanded? Ah! dear love,
Lie back a breathing space upon this breast—
Thy home no more—thy home and life no more!
My little sleeping girl—my silent daughter!
To-night thou diest for the fault of me,
Thine o'er-fond mother. Therefore, pretty one!—
Aye, smile on so—even as thy father smiled,
And I shall get the heart to say the word,—
Therefore, farewell,—farewell! and let me take
Thine earthly sorrows off with this last kiss:
Thy soul, my little child, is His to have
Who died upon the cross, whereof in token
I sign thee with the sign. Take! here again,
Good sergeant, your young maid.

MARTINO.
I pity you,
And thank you, good my lady.

GRISELDA.
You are courteous
In an ungentle task. If, at the least,
My lord forbade you not, out of your grace
Bury this small slight body in some grave
Where birds and beasts shall miss it.
[Exit Martino with Child.
Ah, Lenette!
He answers not, but goes.

LENETTE.
Dear mistress—cry!
If thou dost feel it, cry upon this wrong,
Let him not part so! I will after him
And bring him back. Oh! let me go!

GRISELDA.
Stay here!
It is no wrong,—he doth it to his own;
Let not thy love lose mine, blaming my lord.
Look to the little Prince, and take these hence,—
Their work is done, and well. I will away;
She shall not see me weep—none shall,—but God!

[Exit Griselda.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Palace. The Marquis alone.
MARQUIS.
Now is the first fear present. If she stands,—
If all go as I think—she shall build up
Honour for me, and for her sex a name,
Better than did the best; proud ones, who scorned,
Hearing her swear the oath, shall live to hear
How my brave peasant-queen could keep her word.
Yet is contentment wise; and if she fail,
My love goes with her courage.
Enter Martino.
Thou didst my message yester night?

MARTINO.

Aye! my lord.

MARQUIS.

She gave it patiently?

MARTINO.

When she was certified of my warrant, she rendered it without complaint. There was a piteous sorrow of the eye and a working with the lip, that shook me wondrously. I had liever do thy next message to my lord's enemies than to my lord's lady.

MARQUIS.

Thou art not less worthy; but did she question my will in nothing?

MARTINO.

Not a whit. I delivered myself roughly as thou

badest, which she rather bore with gentleness, as in my office, than put off with resentment.

MARQUIS.

She gave it thee for the death?

MARTINO.

I led her plainly to that thinking; in the heart of which sorrow she took comfort, for the little one smiled, she said, after thy fashion, and sweetly bade her despatch.

MARQUIS.

Rare Lady! Look now! The trustiest one of thy following hath this pretty one in charge; let her be cared for as a king's daughter. After the feast I will appoint thee a time when thou shalt take the boy; then do thou, with the fleetest horses, bring them to Bologna, my sister's court, to whose care commend them with the scroll I shall give thee.

MARTINO.

My lord, I will.

MARQUIS.

Let this secret meantime be thine and mine only. Go now, and let one of her women desire for me the Lady Griselda's presence.

[Exit Martino.
Enter Griselda.

GRISELDA.
You sent for me, my lord! What is your will?

MARQUIS.
Nay, I know not! I'm sick and sad, Griselda;
Look that thou make me merry.

GRISELDA.
Will love do it?
I'll sit and soothe thee to forgetfulness;
Or lay thy head upon my heart, and keep
With wifely kisses all thy grief away:
They have a charm to do it.

MARQUIS.
No! not that,
I should soon weary thee.

GRISELDA.
Art thou ill here?
I'll bind my kerchief round about thy brow.
Art heart-sick? I will fetch the virginals,
I have some skill thereon,—thou saidst it once,
And play a measure that I love to play
When I am sad.

MARQUIS.
Nay, then, I think, Griselda,
'Twere all as well for thee to play it now;
Thine eyes are red with weeping; thy face shows
Paler than mine. Go to! here have been tears;
I see all down the whiteness of thy cheek
The path they went. How is it?

GRISELDA.
I am sad,
If thou art so; my visage is deject,
If thine lose cheer: is this a wonder, Walter?
Good sooth, it should not be.

MARQUIS.
Aye! thou art right,
Doubtless I erred. Come then! Sith thou art well,
Tell me a story of some wileful lady,
Who paid her tyrannous lord with scathe and scorn
In the high Eastern style. I love to hear
How well they smiled and stabbed.

GRISELDA.
I never learned one.
I know a story of a lowly lady
Who gave her heart away, and with her heart
Its pains and pleasures, keeping but enough
To ponder how she gave it.

MARQUIS.
So do I;
That tale is old, as we are. Well then! play
This doleful lay of thine.

(Griselda plays, and falls asleep.)
MARQUIS.
Lo! my sweet leech
Medicines herself. Sleep! thou art kindly come,
Keep thy soft fingers on her lids awhile.
(He takes the instrument from her hands and bends over her.)
Last night thou couldst not close them for her tears.
What have we here, worn with such curious care?
I never saw it yet—a golden curl
Cut from her child.—Sweet! thou must add another,
And crop a silken fillet from thy boy,
If these be worn for lost ones. How she sleeps,
Poor weary Niobe! I've heard it said
That, sleeping so, they'll answer asking ones,
As if the soul spake to the catechist
With all its truth, soul-like and solemnly.
I'll make the trial. Hearest thou, Griselda?
No answer!—Lo! they take thy child from thee.
(She sighs.)
Oh! aye! that reaches to her heart asleep.
I'll try anew!—This daughter that is lost,
Didst thou, Griselda, love her very well?

GRISELDA.
(faintly, and in her sleep.)
Yes!

MARQUIS.
It was Lord Walter took thy girl from thee;
Thou wilt not love this Walter any more?

GRISELDA.
I will.

MARQUIS.
But thou dost dote upon thy bonny lad;
And where the sister is, the brother goes,
And I shall send him: wilt thou love me then?
(She sighs.)
Say! wilt thou love me then?

GRISELDA.
Yes! very well.

MARQUIS.
Excellent patience! I do think thou wouldst;
Yes am I sore, sweetheart, to tempt thee thus.
Grant me for what is done, and shall be yet,
Sweetly thy sleeping pardon. Didst thou wake,
Thou'dst see me kneel for it, and set seal to it
Here on the gracious lips that grant it me.
So then I'll put this treasure back; and now
Open tired eyes again!

(He plays the same strain louder, till she wakes.)
GRISELDA.
Ah me! my lord!

MARQUIS.
What is it, good my lady?

GRISELDA.
Sooth I am
A slothful nurse to sleep upon my charge;
How gott'st thou that my music?

MARQUIS.
Even thus;
Your ladyship sank to a sudden sleep,
Medicined with this same melody, whereat
I tried its potency.

GRISELDA.
Thou mockest me.

MARQUIS.
No! not a whit. I grieve my little skill
Trifled too loudly with the strings, and so
Broke on thy pleasant slumber.

GRISELDA.
Oh! not pleasant,—
I dreamed my boy was dead.

MARQUIS.
Ha! didst thou so?
Sometimes these dreams come for bewilderment,—
Sometimes for warning,—sometimes that the heart
May gather strength before the tempest comes.

GRISELDA.
What tempest, Walter?

MARQUIS.
Trial, good my wife,—
Trial that strikes adown the steady soul,
Unless it look to stand.

GRISELDA.
It was not that,
Nor yet a common dream, for being sad,
It ended with strange joy.—Art thou sick now?

MARQUIS.
No; 'twas a passing ailment. Thou wilt grace
Our tourney, sweet?

GRISELDA.
Aye! if it please thee so.

MARQUIS.
It doth; the knights are mated,—let us go
And see what spears are come.

GRISELDA.
Lord! as thou wilt.

SCENE IV.

The Anti-chamber of the Palace. Antonio, Bertolo, Bertram, Lords and Ladies.
BERTOLO.

He hath done her grievous wrong.

BERTRAM.

Aye! and she so holy-mannered! I have touched string before every Queen from Naples to Toulouse, but none hath a sweeter smile than the Lady Griselda, nor a voice more attuned to music.

BERTOLO.

Aye! that makes the pity; if she needed reclaiming or forgot her feather, there were cause for this. But, in truth, this last grievance is foul.

BERTRAM.

'Tis the liker thy talk, Bertolo; if there be no herons in Paradise, thou wilt seek them otherwhere.

BERTOLO.

Not so! thou thing of strings, I should fear to meet thee else. I hate thy preludes and thy virelays worse than the east wind. I marvel how my lady doth thee favour.

BERTRAM.

Thou hast praised her discretion, marvel therefore no longer. But here is my lady's woman, she will tell us more of it. Good mistress Lenette, how went this fair child away?

LENETTE.

I may say this of her going, that she went shamefully; but I may not give more reason for her going than that it was of Lord Walter's policy. He made my lady believe she is not

loved of the people, nor her little ones held worthy of their knees.

BERTOLO.

Why, they saint her,—the hem of her garment draws them after it, like divination and Lapland charms!

BERTRAM.

They get prayers by heart to say for her.

LENETTE.

I would they did pray Heaven to mend her patience; these lords that have gentle ladies do much abuse them.

BERTRAM.

Thine shall never thus err, Lenette.

LENETTE.

Why then, beware thee, Sir Troubadour!

BERTRAM.

I,—nay, I am horribly afraid of thee,—and beside I am not wise enough to wive.

LENETTE.

They should come together, thou sayest,—wisdom and a wife?

BERTRAM.

Aye! the one to rule the other.

LENETTE.

Such conjunction shall not befall thee, therefore wed not. Didst thou see the tilting this morning?

BERTOLO.

Yea, it was my lady's saint's day. Why came she not to the lists?

LENETTE.

Thou wert best ask that of my lord, for he cometh.

Enter Marquis and Martino. The others go off.
MARQUIS.

(to Lenette).
Stay, good mistress, where is thy lady?

LENETTE.

She is but now gone to her chamber.

MARQUIS.

Tell her that I come anon. [Exit Lenette.
(To Martino.)
Hast thou the boy?

MARTINO.

Aye, my lord!

MARQUIS.

Thou took'st him privily?

MARTINO.

He is three leagues beyond the river, and none knoweth it but thou!

MARQUIS.

'Tis well; take them both now with thy most careful speed to my sister, as I bade thee: thou dost answer for them with thy life till then.

MARTINO.

Aye, lord. [Exit Martino.

MARQUIS.
Thus are they gone, and all her joy with them.
Nay, and half mine! I have advanced my foot
Too far to fly, yet would I even now
Spare thy tried patience this. Sweet, keep thee firm,
Or both shall fall to-day.

[Exit Marquis.

SCENE V.

Griselda's Apartment. Enter the Marquis to Griselda.
GRISELDA.
Why didst thou bid me to the tournament,
And send to say, Go not?

MARQUIS.
Because, Griselda,—
It is a woman's answer, but will serve,—
I changed my purpose.

GRISELDA.
And no more, my lord

MARQUIS.
Art not content?

GRISELDA.
I must needs be content;
My tongue shall never question will of thine;
But yet my heart should quicker leap to keep it,
So it were sure of love.

MARQUIS.
Why, look you now,
There hath been that, and there will be again,
Whose hard and doubtful doing well might shake
This faith of thine, look that these shake it not.
What such I say and do,—these are to me
Out of avoidance, and thy debt to them
Is an obedient duty; but thy love,
Be ever sure, is answered worthily.

GRISELDA.
Oh now, do what thou wilt, I'll not think more
Of this same jousting.

MARQUIS.
Dost thou love it so?

GRISELDA.
Nay, 'tis a rare sight when the noble knights,
Death-proof from heel to helm, splinter the spears
Like straws upon their breasts. Oh! when our boy
Is grown to man, shall he not, Walter, ride
Like these along the lists,—a star of them?

MARQUIS.
I cannot tell.

GRISELDA.
Not yet, but if he lives?

MARQUIS.
Didst thou not see him dead?

GRISELDA.
Where then, my lord?

MARQUIS.
Why, in thy dreams.

GRISELDA.
Ah! thou didst make me fear.
My prince! I saw him not six hours agone,
Here, sleeping in his bed.

MARQUIS.
Is he there yet?

GRISELDA.
Why, yes,—look thou! He'll smile to see thee come
With sword and steel cap; he is too like thee
To fear their flash. Look on him now.

MARQUIS.
Look thou!

GRISELDA.
(finding the boy gone).
O God, my child is gone! Lenette! Lenette!
Who took my child,—my son,—my darling?

MARQUIS.
I!

GRISELDA.
(after a silence).
Was it thou, Walter?

MARQUIS.
It was I, my wife!

GRISELDA.
Oh, heart, be still! Why didst thou take my boy?

MARQUIS.
He stood between me and my kingdom's peace:
They would not have the herdsman's daughter's son,
Nor bend a knee to him.

GRISELDA.
Where is he gone?

MARQUIS.
Even where his sister went.

GRISELDA.
They are both gone!
Both my twin-blossoms! Ah, lord Walter, both!
Were they thy danger?

MARQUIS.
Else this were not done;
Ask what thou wilt, I'll answer.

GRISELDA.
Answer this!
I must pray God to tend those whom I tended.
Shall I pray for the dead?

MARQUIS.
Pray for thy babes
As for sweet angels thou shalt see again.

GRISELDA.
In heaven, lord?

MARQUIS.
Aye, Madam, there, I hope.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Griselda's Robing-room. Lenette and the women of Griselda.
LENETTE.

Lay the robes there, and fetch forth the cinture and minivers. My Lady weareth none else tomorrow.

JACINTA.

How knowest thou?

LENETTE.

'Twas her wedding-gear, wench; and to-morrow is twelve years that she hath needed to weep for wearing them.

JACINTA.

And I could weep to wear them! 'Twill be a brave show, if it match the glitter of this, Lenette.

LENETTE.

'Tis a fine fashion!

JACINTA.

Dio! thou sayest but little;—where throne they to-morrow?

LENETTE.

In the great hall—all the country is coming to greet my lady.

JACINTA.

She hath graciously earned their greeting.

LENETTE.

Aye! and all the wages that this poor world pays virtue.

JACINTA.

Bertram told me he had written a song on her patience.

LENETTE.

If my lord know, he will not sing it twice: but, in sooth, if pitiful words could stead her, a wrong should be quickly righted. There is none that hath not a fair story of her.

JACINTA.

Nay, 'tis so! Shall I set forth these broidures? —they are marvellous fit.

LENETTE.

Silk vest shroudeth sad breast:—it would dull thy praise to know what a heart these shall hide. But my lady cometh soon; do thou take these hence, Jacinta.

JACINTA.

And these small girdles?—how fine their silver is!

LENETTE.

Let them lie! my lady sayeth ever a prayer for the little ones they circled; it may be she will take pleasure to see them. Enter Griselda.

GRISELDA.
My girl! bear hence my service to thy lord—
Tell him I would his steps might this way bend,
His leisure being come.
[Exit Jacinta.
What now, Lenette,
Wherefore these gauds?

LENETTE.
Madam, we sought to find
What gems and vesture might least misbecome
Their wearer at the feast.

GRISELDA.
I' the court to-morrow?

LENETTE.
Good lady, yes!

GRISELDA.
I know not that I need them.
The Book saith, Solomon in all his glory
Wore none such raiment as the lilies wear.

LENETTE.
Look! here are silver lilies.

GRISELDA.
Even thus
Their country sisters shame them,

LENETTE.
For a day!
Most wise madonna.

GRISELDA.
Ah! Lenette, Lenette!
Ah! measure nothing by the space it stays!
Who loves not dear delight, though it die soon,
Ended by only being. I'd a dream,—
A very short sweet dream of motherhood,
That died away as summer lilies do.
Oh, Mary Mother! there are twelve years gone,
And none of all their months hath brought a joy
Like what one took away.

LENETTE.
These lilies, madam,
My lord the Marquis gave.

GRISELDA.
Aye! and the others!
Thou speakest well,—in faith, a pretty thing.

LENETTE.
I mind you said so once.

GRISELDA.
I say so now;
The more that they bring back to memory,
As the others bring the pleasant sun to mind,
My marriage morning. But I'll wear no flowers;—
Lilies grow low, Lenette.

LENETTE.
And all unseen,

GRISELDA.
They toil not,—runs it not so? Yesternight
I won my father from his cottage home
To see my splendours, but he praised them not
Beyond his wont;—he held them all in scorn,
Something too long, whereat I led his steps
Along the terrace. Know'st thou where my vines
Run o'er the garden olives, and the elms,
Hanging their purple berries on strange stems,
And crowning the grave trees like revellers?
We rested there. I said,—These leafy bowers,
These flowers of gold starring a sky of green,—
Is it not dainty fair? Say that of these!
Ah me!—he pointed out between the stalks,
And not an arrow's flight away, there stood
A hut,—about it gleamed those lowly lilies,
Those lilies clad more gorgeously than kings;
And underneath its eaves God's pensioner
And man's light friend, the swallow, nested thick;
And from the vineyard came the goodman home,
Red from his work i' the fruit; and a low door,
Made lower with the leaves that corniced it,
Gave a young mother and her gold-haired girl
Unto our eyes—whose eyes awaited him:
And all the happy circumstance of this,
God's equal sunshine cast a glory on,
And touched it into perfectness and peace;—
While mine stood in cold shadow.—Girl! I wept!

LENETTE.
I would you did weep more!

GRISELDA.
Wherefore, Lenette?

LENETTE.
That so the grief
Which lies a large dark lake within your heart,
Might come in rivers from your yielded eyes
And ease you, madam.

GRISELDA.
Of what load, Lenette?

LENETTE.
A twelve-years' gathered one. Oh pardon me,
Too patient mistress mine,—a load of loss
Crushing the heart that bears it silently.

GRISELDA.
Art thou not bold? how knowest thou what I bear?

LENETTE.
Less loving eyes and leal know what I know,
Thy mirror sees it, and the tell-tale breeze,
Finding dead lilies where young roses were,
Goes past thy sad face sighing.

GRISELDA.
By my crown!—

LENETTE.
I speak the truth,—else dared I not to speak;
Nay, frown on me, but be as I am bold;
Say with thine eyes that thy life dies for lack
Of what these girdles rounded.

(Showing them to Griselda.)
GRISELDA.
Ah! sweet souls!
Give them me here, where gott'st them?

[She takes the girdles, and kneeling down, covers them with kisses. The Marquis meantime enters, who motions to Lenette to leave the apartment, remaining unseen to Griselda till she rises.
GRISELDA.
I did not mean thou shouldst have seen me weep?

MARQUIS.
And wherefore weepest thou?

GRISELDA.
For what is not,
And cannot be, and therefore foolishly.

MARQUIS.
Thy tears are wet upon these silver zones:
Wherefore?

GRISELDA.
Am I to speak?

MARQUIS.
If it shall please you

GRISELDA.
Our children that are gone these twelve years wore them.

MARQUIS.
Grievest thou them gone with grief a twelve-years old?

GRISELDA.
Aye, lord! I must.

MARQUIS.
How fits thine oath with that?

GRISELDA.
Faithfully still,—my sorrow murmurs not.

MARQUIS.
I knew not that it lived.

GRISELDA.
Thou hadst not known
But for this chance.

MARQUIS.
Now knowing, was it well
To cover sadness with a cheek serene,
And smile me back my smiles?

GRISELDA.
Aye! very well.

MARQUIS.
Give me the toys.—Why then, thou lovedst thy babes?

GRISELDA.
Thou shalt have answer, lord. I loved my life,—
The pleasant air I breathed, the stretching skies,—
God's gracious summer, with its fruits and flowers,
Fine sounds, fair sights,—earth's every circum-stance,
As a most happy woman and a wife
Might in her May-time: but, with heart and mind
Ten times more fast and set, I loved those twain.

MARQUIS.
And yet thou gav'st them?

GRISELDA.
Yes! thee I loved more!

MARQUIS.
I think it. Wherefore sent'st thou?

GRISELDA.
If I might,
To know what care keeps thee these two months pale.
Hast thou that news from Rome thou didst look for?

MARQUIS.
Why yes, my girl! to-morrow in the hall
Thou shalt thyself deliver it; none else
So fitly, as I think. Come with me now.

SCENE II.

The Presence Chamber. Courtiers, &c., Bertram, Bertolo, Lenette, Jacinta, Antonio, &c.
BERTRAM.

Will they not come? Who'll go a voyage for tidings?

JACINTA.

I for on.

BERTRAM.

And I; one and one make two.

BERTOLO.

An thou dost so readily multiply, one and one shall make three.

ANTONIO.

Nay, he was ever quick at numbers,—'tis his vocation.

BERTRAM.

Heed them not, Jacinta.

JACINTA.

I!—I speak with my cheeks.

ANTONIO.

Aye, so they grow roses; may a man touch at these, and defy rain.

JACINTA.
(striking him).

So he fear not the thunder.

BERTRAM.

Ha! ha! by my lute, well stormed!

ANTONIO.

Swearest thou by cat-gut?

BERTRAM.

Aye, a string of oaths, that of thee spake the wise Arnaultz:—

More foolish than fat,
And more feeble than that.

(He thrums his guitar.)
ANTONIO.

Hast thou more of like matter?

BERTRAM.

Needs it?

ANTONIO.

Aye, to sing thyself into a fever with—then if thou lackest leech, I will blood thee.

BERTRAM.

Wilt thou? thy fee shall be the fee-simple of thy length in land.

LENETTE.

Sirs, my lady cometh, let this end.

BERTOLO.

Certes! it were ill brawling, and she so gentle.

ANTONIO.

I sheathe my tongue.

BERTRAM.

And I:—are they at hand?

LENETTE.

Do you not see the people how they press her for a smile? They have but one voice for her name, and one heart to bless it.

ANTONIO.

Yet she smileth little.

LENETTE.

For the very good cause meseems, that she hath none.

JACINTA.

Thou sayest it!—the Marquis looketh but ill pleased.

LENETTE.

He hath nought in this greeting, and liketh it nought; but they enter.

Enter Marquis, Griselda, and Attendants, amid the rejoicing of the people.
OMNES.
Health to the lady Griselda!

[Pietro kneels.
GRISELDA.
Why kneel'st thou, good Pietro?

PIETRO.
To lay in loving words the people's greeting
At thy kind feet.

GRISELDA.
(raising him).
Thus let me lift it then
As high as to my heart. (To Frederigo, a Courtier)

And wherefore thou?

FREDERIGO.
Long time ago I spake ill things of thee,
Which sin thy gentle pity punished most,—
I sue for pardon, where these have thy love.

GRISELDA.
Thanks for thy bettered thought, if thou lack'st mine,
Keep thy heart light, good friend!

OMNES.
Long live our lady!

MARQUIS.
Lords and leal hearts, my lady hath no phrase
To stead her gratefulness, but she doth mind,
Some half-score summers back this very day,
Fair Sirs! how stiffly your joints bent to her:
Sweet dames! how scornfully ye crown'd the braids,
Whose tiring-women were but Health and Youth:
Sith she stands better; let this late-got grace
Make a late-given thing not less a gift.

OMNES.
Long live lord Walter!

MARQUIS.
to Griselda.
I prithee play the clerk;
Thou bad'st me tell thee my last news from Rome.

BERTOLO.
(aside).
A revel, I warrant ye.

LENETTE.
Or a tourney.

ANTONIO.
Three days' fiesta, and the fountains to run wine.

BERTOLO.
Nay 'tis a bull; mark but the broad sigil of it.

BERTRAM.
Baccho! what cometh?

ANTONIO.
Hold thy peace! she reads.
[Griselda first glances at the paper and extends it doubtfully to the Marquis, who signs command. She descends slowly from her throne, and taking off her crown lays it at Walter's feet.

GRISELDA.
Good friends! our Holy Father,
Who hath on earth the keys to bind and loose,
Doth herein freely
Loose our most noble lord and this fair state
From an unworthy wife and unfit lady.
(They raise a confused murmur of discontent.)
Nay, let me end;—and lest this palace lack
A queenly presence, and Saluzzo's house
For lack of young ones fail—

MARQUIS.
Canst not thou read?

GRISELDA.
Aye, Sir!—it granteth leave and faculty
Of a fresh spousal and new wedding vows,
None other hindrance letting than the old.

(She returns the paper.)
MARQUIS.
Why so? ye scowl upon me, and your hands
Play with your dagger-hilts; ye bade me wive,
I took a wife; ye held her all too base
To breed you kings, I sent them otherwhere
Those that she bore: now will I for your loves
Marry me royally, what would ye else?
[To Griselda.
Certes, Griselda, it was pleasance dear
To call thee wife, not I from what I chose
Sunder my heart; but what a serf holds safe
A king must love and lose,—and, sooth to say,
She that shall have thy place is distant hence
Only a two-days' stage.

GRISELDA.
The high God guard her!
It shall be void! (After a pause.)
It may be that a queen
Should speak a braver speech to keep a crown,
But I—ah memory! I think not on that,
Something I need to say. Thou ledd'st me here;
In show thy equal wife, in heart thy servant,—
Thy mindful servant. And so have I been;
And so I thank thee now for thy long love,
And so—I yield it.

MARQUIS.
Why then! this goes well!
As thou art patient-hearted, take with thee,
I give it of my grace, what dower ye brought me.

GRISELDA.
Thou wottest, Walter, that I brought thee none.
My lord, why sayest thou that? this ring is thine,
Ah, the good God! how gentle and how kind
Thou wert that day; these braveries be thine,—
Rich gifts of lost love, here I render them,—
And this,—and these; they have no lustre less,
'Tis love that is not old, as when 'tis new.
The remnant of your jewels ready be,
I kept them safe, as I kept all sweet words,
And looks, and thoughts of thine; only these last
Are heart-stores, and I cannot render them;
The others thou shalt have, for with them all
Ye decked me of your grace; but for the dower,
Sooth of my bringing, there is none to take;
For faith, and first-love, and my maiden name,
And what poor praise my village beauty had,
Came with me here, and I shall leave them here;
And beside these, I had not—save the weeds
They stripped me of, long lost: my robes are there,
(She takes off her velvet gown and mantle.)
But these are thine, I am so wholly thine
That thou canst shame me, taking what is thine;
Yet out of pity, for dear honour's sake,
Give one gift more, and let me not go hence
Smockless. They are not here to speak for me,
Yet I did bear thee children. Ah, good lord!
It cannot be thy will,—though 'tis thy word,—
To send their mother gazed at from thy gate,
Naked and shamed.

MARQUIS.
The smock upon thy back
Let it rest there, and bear it forth with thee.

[Exit Marquis.
PIETRO.
By our lady, this shall not go thus!

OMNES.
No, no!

LENETTE.
Madam! Madam! take again thy crown.

OMNES.
Aye, it shall not off!

ANTONIO.
Oh! thou noble patience, oh my idle blade!
Good lady! let me draw it.

OMNES.
Out blades all,
She shall be only queen!

GRISELDA.
Good people, peace!
Thou wearest that steel to guard thy lord, Antonio.
Lenette take these, and see the jewels safe.
I thank you all, I thank you much. Farewell!

[Exit Griselda, the people following.

SCENE III.

Janicola's Cottage. Janicola stooping over the embers of a fire. Enter Griselda, who walks to the press, and takes from its place her old gown and kirtle, stoops over her father and kisses him on the cheek; and then takes the herbs that are beside him and finishes the preparation of his meal. She places it before him, while he looks fixedly on her. Then she fetches her spinning-wheel, and, sitting down, begins to spin. Janicola at last speaks slowly.
JANICOLA.
If thou art come from heaven,—a white angel,
To stead me so, why thou art come in time.
I am nigh gone with age, and lack of sight
Of my scorned daughter; but if thou art she
These should be silks,—or is it all not so,
And no years gone?

GRISELDA.
Sir, there are twelve years gone
Since I did tend thee here, and I am come
To tend thee here again.

JANICOLA.
Hath not one else
A right to that and thee?

GRISELDA.
Not now.

JANICOLA.
Why, girl?

GRISELDA.
My lord doth wed again.

JANICOLA.
Wedded, and wed!
Oh, Cross of Christ! art come to tell me this?
Is't not enough that he hath slain thy brats?
Give me my arblast! Oh, these old grey hairs!
I looked for this all the gay tinselled time;
But he shall answer it.

GRISELDA.
Dear father, patience!

JANICOLA.
For him!

GRISELDA.
For me! thou shalt know all anon.
Now take thy sleep as thou wert wont; we've time
To weep beside to-day: why I could dream
That all was dreaming, and that long ago
Was now, and this same thread, the thread I spun
My wedding-morning, and the song I sang
Fit to sing now. I'll try,—rest thee, dear head?
(She sings.)
[She rises and stands watching Janicola, while the scene closes.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Janicola's Cottage. Janicola is discovered lying on a pallet dead. Griselda enters, bearing a flask of wine, accompanied by Lenette, both in peasant clothes.
GRISELDA.
The wine will bring him strength; the good God thank them
Who gave so freely of their little store!
Father! look up!

LENETTE.
He is asleep, Madonna!

GRISELDA.
(stooping over him, and at last rising slowly).
Aye, a long sleep, Lenette, girl!—he is dead!
Oh, father, dost thou leave me all alone
In the wide, wild world? Would I were cold with thee,
For there is no one now,—not one weak help,
To stay the flood of grief, whose knocking waves
Will overflow my soul! Angels of God,
Bear him to blessed rest, and make me strong
For earth's unquiet remnant!

(While she mourns silently, enter Antonio, Pietro, and Bertram. Lenette motions them to be still.)
GRISELDA.
(rising).
What would you, Sirs, with me?

PIETRO MALA.
We bear an unwelcome message; if we offend in
our coming we will await thy occasion.

GRISELDA.
I will hear what it shall please you.

PIETRO MALA.
Thou hast yonder other duties, Madam!

GRISELDA.
God hath acquitted me of them:—thou mayest speak.

ANTONIO.
He is dead, good lady?

GRISELDA.
Aye, Sir!

BERTRAM.
Oh, signors, let us bear back our charge,—now
is no time to tell Lord Walter's will!

GRISELDA.
Bring ye aught from my Lord?

PIETRO MALA.
Yea, if thou wilt take it; if not, the fault of silence shall be on us.

GRISELDA.
Now, and presently,
All times alike of mine are his; kind hearts,
Who keep unfashioned constancy, speak on;
I have some stock of sufferance.

ANTONIO.
He bids us deliver—that which spoken by
another should make matter for blood. Do thou
tell it, Pietro!

GRISELDA.
What is it stays you?
I am too low for scorn to lower me,
And all too sorrow-stricken to feel grief:
Why, say it then, Pietro!

PIETRO MALA.
There is coming from Bologna she who shall
be my lord's lady, and the trumpets' mouths are
to speak the greeting that none else will. More-
over, the palace is to wear a new face, and there
is gold and velvets, and I know not what braveries,
for its bedecking.

GRISELDA.
My lord had ever a free hand.

PIETRO MALA.
In which matters he holdeth no wit rarer than
thine, and he bids thee betake thyself to his
house, and make ready the chambers to a queen's liking.

GRISELDA.
Say that I will!
[Exeunt Antonio, &c.
He might have spared this last!
I know not that I can. Oh, false and cruel!
Now hold of my soul, thou lovedst me not.
Were it not well to shame his marriage-show,
And let dumb patience cry?—

LENETTE.
Oh, well! most well!

GRISELDA.
To turn the new wife's laughter into tears
With the old one's story!—

LENETTE.
Oh, most well and just!

GRISELDA.
Aye, and to lay my hand upon her crown,
And break my oath, telling him he broke his!—

LENETTE.
Oh, do it!—others, Madam—

GRISELDA.
Why so, girl?
A hundred other tongues will help my tongue,
And back my sighs with swords.

LENETTE.
Oh, do so! do so!

GRISELDA.
Yet did he make one year of life all joy,
And what he took was his. I am not come
Of blood enough to mate him for his throne,
With hot mad words, and wrestle down his will!
Oh, but I think I love him even now
Too well to wish him speed,—and yet too well
Not to work all his will. Girl, I will go!

LENETTE.
Even as my lady please.

GRISELDA.
Thy lady, sooth!
Thy lady wore a crown, went daintily,
Wedded a lord;—and I, I am a wench
With kitchen work to do, and a dead father
To put away into a peasant's grave.
Ah, thou didst die in time! Come, we'll away,
And end our mourning by this marriage-day!

SCENE II.

The Presence Chamber. Servants of the Palace, Jacinta, &c.
FIRST SERVANT.

Saw any the company come in yester eve?

SECOND SERVANT.

That did I!

FIRST SERVANT.

And the maiden to whom Lord Walter plighteth faith?

SECOND SERVANT.

She rode first of them, with her boy brother.

FIRST SERVANT.

What favour hath she?

SECOND SERVANT.

Mine, be she white or brown, for in truth I marked not that,—her beauty is for worship, not for weighing.

FIRST SERVANT.

Is it so rare?

SECOND SERVANT.

There be redder lips and brighter eyes than she hath, but no such lip and eye.

THIRD SERVANT.

What years hath she?

SECOND SERVANT.

She hath but counted thirteen. My lord must wait yet for the maiden he betroths. Enter Jacinta.

JACINTA.

Why idle ye all here, and the tapestries unspread? will ye leave all the work to her?

FIRST SERVANT.

Who then?

JACINTA.

She that was worthily your mistress!

SECOND SERVANT.

Nay, we knew not—

JACINTA.

She is coming hither for your services!

SERVANTS.

We will render them gladly. Enter Griselda, in the attire of a servant. The others bend and uncover.

GRISELDA.

I pray you regard me in nothing but your good wills: I bade them bring hither the flowers: see to it, my girl, and have them scattered. Jacinta, tell the seneschal that my lord drinks to-day in the emerald beaker. Wherefore is not the cloth of gold laid,—and the canopy?

SERVANTS.

We will see it done, my lady!

GRISELDA.

Thanks, for they come anon.

Enter Gentleman of the Princess.

Would you aught, sir?

GENTLEMAN.

With you, I think. I pray you, are you she who hath my lady's lodging in charge?

GRISELDA.

Even so.

GENTLEMAN.

She would thank you herself if your occasion serves.

GRISELDA.

I will attend her. [Exit Griselda. (The servants are busied in completing the preparations.)

GENTLEMAN.

(to Jacinta).
How name you her to whom I made my message?

JACINTA.

Griselda.

GENTLEMAN.

She hath a noble bearing!

JACINTA.

What she hath well learned in twelve years, a week hath hardly untaught her!

GENTLEMAN.

Hath she been better than a servant?

JACINTA.

She hath been served of a hundred servants,—Lord Walter's wife.

GENTLEMAN.

And he hath brought her to this?

JACINTA.

Thou seest! Enter Griselda and the Princess, talking together.

PRINCESS.
I know I weary you.

GRISELDA.
No, not a whit!

PRINCESS.
Oh, then speak still to me. I do not know
Wherefore I love your voice, and look at you;
Nor why you seem so like one of my dreams,—
One I dreamed long ago.—Do you love me
In these three minutes so?

GRISELDA.
I must not say
How well, being a servant.

PRINCESS.
Art thou so?

GRISELDA.
Yes! my sweet mistrees.

PRINCESS.
Oh! that must not be.
I shall be queen, thou knowest; when I am queen,
Thou shalt be next me ever: wilt thou?

GRISELDA.
Nay!
Thou wilt have other tendance.

PRINCESS.
Oh, no! no!
Lord Walter will say yea to what I ask,
And what I ask for first will be for thee.
Is he not gentle?—they did tell me so.

GRISELDA.
They told thee very truth.

PRINCESS.
Then, hast thou seen him?

GRISELDA.
Yes, lady.

PRINCESS.
In the Court?

GRISELDA.
Yes.

PRINCESS.
Art thou then
One of his following?

GRISELDA.
I was so once.

PRINCESS.
And not so now! Oh, you look pale and sad,
And I shall be so, if I weary you;
Stand here by me, and tell me all the names
Of these brave knights and ladies.

Enter Marquis with the Prince, Lords, Ladies, &c. He advances to where the Princess is seated.
MARQUIS.
(kissing her hands).
Sweet one, I pray thee take my love with this:
I and my house are thine. Please you to think
That these poor fineries bid you welcome here.

PRINCESS.
How shall I give you thanks?

MARQUIS.
By thinking them
Worth but your slightest. Wilt thou, fair one, now
Grace our slight feast?

(He takes her hand, a flourish of trumpets, and they seat themselves in place.)
PRINCE.
(to the Princess).
Whom spake you with, sister?

PRINCESS.
When?

PRINCE.
At our entering,—she gazes on us now,—who is she?

PRINCESS.
With the sad kind face—oh! thou wilt love her.

PRINCE.
Nay! I do.

(The banquet proceeds, and the wine is poured round.)
MARQUIS.
(rising).
Fill to the beaded rims, and let no lip
Bend to the wine, that hath not shaped a prayer,
And said a welcome, for the fair young faces
That ask your love.—What ho! Griselda girl,
Brim me a beaker with the Cypriot;
No lesser liquor than the king of wines
Befits our pledge.
Griselda fills a cup and presents it. The Marquis drinks, and, turning round, addresses her.
Griselda,
How liketh thee my wife? Seem these young roses
Fair enough for a lord to wear at heart?

GRISELDA.
Right so, my lord; for in good faith and truth,
A fairer saw I never one than she;
I pray they wither not: I pray to God
To send you both of his good grace delights,
And pleasance, and fair fortunes, and long loves,
Unto your life's end.
(None speak. Griselda turns to the Princess.)
Thou bad'st me tell thee what I was at Court,
Fair mistress mine. I was what thou wilt be.
There were some few did love me,—for my sake
I bid them love my sweet supplanter so!
(Griselda turns to the Marquis.)
I shall not speak again. Let me say this,
I do beseech you, and I humbly warn,
That, as ye have this tender maiden ta'en,
Ye try her not; nor grieve her tenderness.
I pray you think I say it of true heart,
For your dear peace. She is not like as I,—
She hath been fostered with high nourishing
More daintily; and to my thinking, lord,
She might not all adversity endure,
As could a poorly fostered peasant-girl!

(The Marquis starts from his seat, and embraces her with passionate fondness.)
MARQUIS.
This is enough! Griselda mine! end fear,
Die doubt! Oh, now my heart hath room to beat!
Oh, sorely, surely tried,—oh, great of heart;
Oh, noble wifely patience,—now I know
That nothing breaks it! Brave heart, pardon me!
(Griselda is speechless and amazed.)
Oh, dost thou doubt me yet?
Griselda, by the God that for us died,
Thou art my wife! no leave to change I had,
Nor wished for; so God save me! This fair child
Is daughter of thy body, and this boy
Her twin-born brother! See, I kept them safe!
They were at Padua,—oh, not dead!—not dead!
Take them with twelve years' beauty more than when
Thou gavest them me. And let no man bethink
Ill of this deed,—it was not idly done;
But for to try thee in thy womanhood,
And guerdon thee and me!
(Griselda falls down swooning, then recovering, calls to her children, and piteously embraces them.)

GRISELDA.
God thank it you! God thank it you, sweet lord!
That you have saved me so my children dear!
I reck not to be dead now these are here,
And I stand in your love! My tender ones,
Your woeful mother weened that cruel hounds
Had eaten you! But God, of his good will,
And your good father's love, hath kept you well!
Kiss me! cling both to me!

(She swoons again, and they separate her children from her arms with difficulty.)
MARQUIS.
Bring here the crown.—
So: let it sit again upon its place!
Raise her! aye, thus! and bring the ermines here,
Robe her, as she was robed!
Peace all, she moves!
Speak to her, children!

PRINCE.
Mother!

PRINCESS.
Mother dear!

GRISELDA.
(faintly).
Oh me! as if clear angel-voices called
My soul back out of death, and bade it live,
Sound those two tongues. Where am I? who are these?

MARQUIS.
Knowest thou not? ah, thou knowest! comfort thee;
Fear not to loose them! 'tis not losing them!
Sit there! Now, trumpets, tell the story out;
A noble wife doth win her own again!
Patience is crowned!

(A flourish of trumpets, the people shout, and the Scene closes.)