University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A Garden.
Enter King and Violenzia.
Vio.
Why do you love me?

King.
For thy beauty, sweet.

Vio.
O fatal beauty, which, like bloom on the fruit,
Invites its own destruction. You do love me,
And for that cause would kill me.

King.
I! O heaven!

Vio.
Call it not love, for therein you blaspheme;
Like men that, from their own polluted thoughts,
Build up their worshipped deities. Love loves not
Self, but in the answering breast of the beloved
It consecrates a temple to its joy,
And therein ministering it finds true peace,
Though all be lost at home. Yours is not love,
But base self-liking, apeing love's fair guise.
Me you love not, but love yourself in me,
To use me for your passion and my shame.

King.
The folly of proud women! that love chastity,
That love their loss, or love to seem to do.
Some act, none think it. Seeming-sainted Dian
Best knew what coldness means. In heaven she showed
A virgin face; but stooping to green earth,
Couched often on the starlit Latmian hill,
Sucking the warm breath of Endymion.
The base boy blabbed—from me no breath shall move;
Trust me, I'll be as secret as the grave.

Vio.
You speak of that you cannot comprehend,
As you have never known it, and confound
Things different—chastity and reputation.
My silver reputation that should be,
You, that profess a secrecy after shame,
Have dared beforehand tarnish. Shame on liars!

King.
Ha!

Vio.
You are not angry. Why, I do but say
You have broken truth's law—do you no such wrong
As you do me, when, with an artful tongue,
You would persuade me, being innocent,
To break the law of sacred chastity,
Which is the fostering air of the unstained soul;
And they that with foul thoughts dare cloud it over
Shut out the light and intercourse of heaven.
Nay, beyond this you wrong me—you would have me
Break my sworn faith. What boots it you to swear
With these thick vows you love me, when the same breath
Persuades to perjury? Who shall believe you?
More; I must offer up a love that beats
In my heart's centre, and a man that loves me
As truly as you do falsely, sacrifice
To the depths of shame and grief—that rich affection
Given to my keeping pour on the wasteful ground.
You ask me for my virgin innocence,
You ask me for my heaven-registered oath,
My deep-implanted love, my all of virtue.
What give you in return? Have you no voice?
And yet you call it love! You call it love!
Great Heaven, upon what ill-deserving heads
Hang'st thou thy crowns!

King.
Hark, thou detested girl!
No more I'll say I love thee; something I'll do
Shall make thee fear me.

Vio.
Nothing canst thou do.
If I had yielded to thy base assaults,
If I in thought had fallen from my truth,
And swayed my inclination but one jot
To the alluring pictures of thy vice,
Then mightst thou speak of fear, then might I tremble;
But now I stand in the angels' circling arms,
Whither thy power not stretches, and thence tell thee,
Pompous in youthful beauty, and set up
With regal ornament and absolute power,
All that high fortune heaps on her beloved,
Yet-wanting one thing—virtue, that I scorn thee,
And think thee, when compared to my beloved,
Not worth to touch his hand. What! can love's brow
Hang in so fierce a cloud? Did you not say—
Or have you now forgot that you did say?—
You loved me or you hated? I forget which;
For I was thinking of my own beloved.

King.
Think of him dead; there feed your wandering love-thoughts.

Vio.
Touch not his life—touch not his life, O King!
For never walked so fiery eager a spirit
Of keen revenge as such a deed shall waken.

King.
Darest thou threaten?

Vio.
Oh, no! I dare not threaten;
For in the hollow of a kingly hand
Death makes his home. And what boots dull revenge?
What shall restore the irreparable life?
Be nobler than thy words. Upon my knees
I bend and supplicate. I was too proud;
Low in the dust I lay the audacious face
That dared affront the eye of majesty,
And drown in tears the bold rebellious voice.
Have mercy! ah! have mercy! thou shouldst be
The life-giver; and that thy awful sceptre is not swayed
To guide the assassin's knife, though so to do,
Alas! it lacks not might. They that do murder
Never sleep more, never more taste of peace,
Quaff poison in their drink, see knives in the dark,
And ever at their elbow horror walks,
Shaking them like a palsy. Give me some sign
Of soft relenting grace, undo that frown;
I'll no more love him, no more look upon him,
If my love breed his death. Be merciful!

King.
Stand up. I spake in jest; I will not hurt him;
Nay, you must love me, then.

Vio.
Oh, never! never!
Only He that did create me can new-mould me,
And make this love not part: I cannot change
My mortal fashioning, and cast afresh
These eyes, these lips, this frame; I cannot barter
My hand with yours, and am as impotent
To bend the loving fixture of my soul
Upon another object.

King.
Neither can I, then,
Quench the hot flame that rages here.

Vio.
You may.
Call but your power about you. Budding affection,
And most a wandering fancy, that is guilt,
That will whereon the conscience lays strong hand
Lacks not the force to vanquish; but where conscience
Smiles with clear front on long-fed pure affection,
Where the deep heart's, the eye's, the brain's emotions
Knit up two souls in a fair threefold knot,
You may destroy the lives round which they twine,
But no way else unlace them.

King.
Pish! you talk.
Come, I'll speak coldly with you, and what I say,
Look you consider it; for though the earth
Broke from its centre, never shall my act
Fall from its fixed intent. I will enjoy thee—
Fling not away—despite thy chastity,
Thy vowed love, and thy virtue. If by consent,
The better for thee, and the more concealment;
If not, there is no sin in hell's wide book
Shall stay me, and no blackening taint of shame
I will not smear my life with.

Vio.
Oh, the heavens!
How basely men dare write themselves; would you
Might hear another speak as you do now,
You would condemn him for the most debased
That ever yet left blushing.

King.
Who breaks in there?—
Look you, I'll keep my purpose.

Enter Malgodin and Cornelius.
Mal.
Sire, this gentleman
Brings you good news of a great battle fought;
Victory hath blown upon your royal flag;
Engelborg is relieved, and the vexed Swede
Wheels his now fresh-recruited troops, and means
In a new battle to retrieve his loss.

Vio.
Cornelius! most of all men welcome!

Cor.
Say you?

Vio.
What says he? Quick, Cornelius!

Cor.
Here's his letter.

[Giving a Letter to Viol.
Vio.
Secretly, good Cornelius.

Cor.
Oh, ay! secretly.
Will you not read it?

[As Cornelius is giving letters to the King, Violenzia, putting the letter in her bosom, drops it, unperceived to herself, on the ground. Malgodin picks it up.
King.
These are all your letters?

Mal.
Covertly, covertly; aid me now, good devil.

[Exit, with Letter.
King.
Well, I'll go in and read them.—Follow me.

[Exit King, Cornelius following.
Vio.
Cornelius! hist! a moment, kind Cornelius.

Cor.
What would you with me?

Vio.
News!

Cor.
What news, and whence?

Vio.
O dull! you waste the moments. What says Ethel?
How looks he? lives he? doth he still remember
The girl he left? I dare be sworn he doth,
And speaks of me, Cornelius?

Cor.
Is she mad?
Or thinks me ignorant, or is so base—
Nay, that's not credible—as to think to make him
The cover of her shame?

Vio.
Cornelius, speak, I pray you.
Why do you mutter, and not answer me?

Cor.
I must to the King.

Vio.
Old friend! come, speak to me.

Cor.
Look in my eyes. So steadfast! May hot hell
Be peopled but with women!

[Exit.
Vio.
Stop, Cornelius!
[Exit after him, and returns.
Alas! he's gone. Dear Ethel, where's thy letter?
There's comfort there, at least. Where is't—where is't?
Not here! What, dropt! O carelessness! O heaven!
What was't Cornelius meant? On the ground? let's see;
'Twas here I took it, but where lost it? Oh,
I had rather lost my dowry; and Cornelius
Will tell me nothing. Folly, folly, folly;
If it had been a pin to stick i' the hair,
I could not have more carelessly bestowed it.
I'll seek without upon my steps. False bosom!
The heart within thee's truer.

[Exit.