University of Virginia Library

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.