University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Winchester. A terrace. Enter Queen Elinor, Wilfred, Jose, and Beatrix.
Q. Elin.
When, when?

Wil.
Not yet have Time and Circumstance
Engendered their love-child Occasion.
Have patience, O my Queen!

Q. Elin.
Patience and Queen!
Thou fool, the words are mortal enemies,
As much opposed as Strength and Impotence,
Entreaty and Command. I am no queen
Then, when I must be patient; royalty
Allows no pause between the will and deed.

Wil.
Pardon!

Beat.
Yet God is patient.

Q. Elin.
What, my saint?
Patient! God patient! Does He ever pause?
Give me a poison-bowl to mix, a blade
To try the edge of—something to prepare.

Jose.
There's for your silver pious tongue!

Beat.
We're told
God's patient with our wickedness.

Q. Elin.
What! lags
In preparation?—puts away His wrath?
Takes ease, as you would bid me now? You fools!
He whets the hunger ere the sin be hatched
Of the dragon that will tear it in our sight.
He never waits!

Jose
[to Beat.].
Why were you not a nun?

Wil.
Because she's tender, and her shining self
She'd never make foul weather of in black.

Jose.
Ha! ha!

Beat.
For shame!

Wil.
Nay, Mistress Beatrix,
What were my loss!

Beat.
Then, sir, I'll take the veil.—

Wil.
Of bridal lawn—ay, ay!

Beat.
You have me, sir,
But you must learn to keep a sinless mouth;
I'd have my husband irreproachable.

Q. Elin.
[aside].
To think of it!—at Woodstock!—and a home!
He brought me to a place inherited;
For her he's built this palace.—Rosamund?

Wil.
The name?
You have it right.

Q. Elin.
And planned the building.—Walk!
Why should we stand? In pausing we grow cold.

[They pace apart.
[Enter King Henry].
K. Hen.
Sons, sons! She'll dash the words against her mouth,
As if to break 't to pieces. And she stirs
A troop of boys, with tricks of horsemanship
And set o' the lips that stamp her nuptial faith,
To mad rebellion. Would she murder them?
She is a desperate woman! Sick at heart
Of all her wrath, passing yon twines of rose,
My wont, I tore a handful of the flowers,
Black, splendid, half malignant as it seemed,
To throw into her lap,—a gift for queens—
My first to her, coiled sleeping on her couch.
When presently she woke, she took the flowers
And sobbed, “A happy dream!—the sweet warm scent!—
For the king kissed me close, and called me Rose;”
Then tossed them from her with a stormy hand.
I heard her singing her Provençal songs
For an hour afterwards. Can she suspect?
I dare not try to soften her. She smiles
At a deprecating word—as the sword smiles
In blades of finest temper. I must keep
My majesty.—What news?

[Enter Messenger.
Mess.
A letter, sire,
From the third prince, your son.

K. Hen.
Ah! give it me.
[Reads.
Death-warrant to my heart!—
A call to Aquitaine. O Rosamund!
I'll bear the news myself. He asks my help.
[To Mess.]
Hence, and be entertained.
[Advances to Elinor.]
What! rebel too,
My tongue!—Read this.

Q. Elin.
News from the children?

K. Hen.
Ay
Your progeny, in arms, war each with each,
In most unnatural combat. Our chief son
Presses back Richard to the ocean's point,
Who prays for help we'll grant him speedily
Whom favour you?

Q. Elin.
Who bears thy name and face
Is my prime warrior.

K. Hen.
You'd greet me, how,
If I returned a conqueror?

Q. Elin.
With shrieks,
A spectre's welcome.

K. Hen.
What, that's darkly said.
I'll never slay the first-born of my loins
For all his bitter disobedience.
I trust you with the guidance of my realm:
Be ready for all chance; leave not the gates
Of Winchester. My Queen, the man in you
Will keep my honour safe, while I chastise
Our rebel offspring. You, good gentlemen,
Keep revel as our land were not distraught.
I may not tarry longer. Elinor,
Pray, not as wife or mother; pray for peace
To our divided hearts. Farewell!

[Exit.
Wil.
'Tis come!
The moment's ripe—

Q. Elin.
For vengeance and the deed!

Wil.
[to Beat.]
My Fair, you shudder at the thought of blood.
We've work to do. Braid me that favour, sweet;
You promised, and I crave.

Beat.
Nay, I'll to church.

[Exit.
Wil.
And there we'll meet.—I only know one way
To get the door unlocked.

Q. Elin.
None but ourself
Must murder her. Oh, I am blind with hate!
You'll lead me by the hand? I could not catch
The thread o' the maze.

Wil.
I say there is a way.
Her foster-sister lives within my house,
A common wench—but thus she'll serve our turn.
She shall be taken to her father's hut—
(He'll have her back; they're grossly lenient,
These peasants, in such matters)—which is near
To Woodstock and the sylvan labyrinth.
There shall she seek her sister, there grow dear
To jovial Topaz in his lonely hours.
And thus her voice will be our key; to us
He'll double bar the door.
[To Jose].
She does not mark.
[To Elin.].
Listen, at Woodstock I prepare the toils.
[To Jose].
Attend the Queen, till at a sign from me
You draw her to the precincts of the maze.
Give her a gipsy's dress, and thus equipped
Yourself, await the doing of the deed,
With ready horses, just outside the wood.
I will attend her at the beldam's cot
Down by the brook—you know it—to the right;
There shall the poison brew.

Jose.
And how long hence?

Wil.
I fear me some few weeks, or even more,
To make all straight. But stay you till I send.
The king belike will not return for months.

Jose.
I'll off to help you.

Wil.
Look! she's throttling her.

Jose.
Ah, truly! Speak and soothe.

[Exit.
Wil.
Dear Queen, adieu.
Have patience; you must feign a sickness.

Q. Elin.
Yes!
Something at last to do.

Wil.
I'll straight prepare
My piece of goods for travel.

[Exit.
Q. Elin.
If he die
In France, two lovers will be gay in heaven,
And I on earth in hell. He must not die;
I must watch work in him the injury.
When God would hurt, He turns the heart adrift
To cut itself alive among the tombs,
And sets not corpse to corpse;—he must not die!

Scene II.

—Winchester: outside a chapel; Margery sitting on a tombstone.
Mar.
He called me harlot—would not stay at home,
But left the house just as the wretched moon
Fainted away, and everything was wet.
[Enter Wilfred and Beatrix.]
'Tis he!
I'll go to—no, I cannot; oh, good saints,
I cannot! Who's that he's a-talking to?
She's better dressed than me, an' white o' skin.
Oh me!

Wil.
[to Beat.].
Why go to church so oft?

Beat.
Because, Sir Wilfred, 'tis the dormitory
Of souls that find their pillow on sweet prayer.
The want is frequent.

Wil.
Marry! while you kneel,
Love has to play the monk.

Beat.
Sir Wilfred, fie!
I fear you're not religious.

Wil.
I'm in love!

Beat.
And love is half religion.

Wil.
Lovely saint!

Beat.
Oh fie, Sir Wilfred!

Wil.
Lovely angel!

Beat.
Peace

Wil.
'S death! then lovely woman!

Beat.
Nay, for shame,
You're full of oaths.

Wil.
Just stop them with a kiss.

Beat.
Nay, not in public, by my modesty;
A girl is watching us!

Wil.
Oh—ah! the slut!
Our marriage day will never come methinks.

Beat.
It is Time's sluggard, as all glad days are
That slowly from the curtained future rise,
Unwilling to forsake the bed which Hope
Has made with golden hands.

Wil.
I'm for the bed
Dressed by a grosser chamber-maid.

[Exeunt.
Mar.
Alone! alone! I never felt alone
I' the country; there was something loving me
In all the green and everywhere about;
But here I'm lonely—lonely—desolate.
There is no love for me in all the men,
Nor in the streets they make. I cannot cry
Because of loneliness, bacause—

[Enter Jose.]
Jose.
Ho, wench!
You want another woer. Look at me!
What say you, Mopsy?

Mar.
Go away.

Jose.
Not yet.
Why, hem! you're resting on a slab that boasts
The unexampled virtue of its dame;
She'll break it open with her finger-point,
And mark you for perdition.

Mar.
Oh, good sir,
I cannot read

[rising].
Jose.
Nay, never spoil the joke;
Let's see your purse; your finery is dashed.

Mar.
No, no!

Jose.
Come, goose-cap, out with it.

Mar.
[beginning to cry].

'Tis here—keep it. The
fairies . . . I . . .

[In bringing the purse out a bit of red stuff appears.
Jose.
Well, and what of them?

Mar.

The little cap . . . I began it . . . this
this . . . O' my old red skirt . . . I . . .
an' the little bodies . . . why, why . . .
they've harebells n—ow

[sobs on her knees].
Jose.
The dolt! Look here! 'tis gold, not silver, mind.
Some weighty pieces. Come!

Mar.
I hate you!

Jose.
Strong!

[Re-enter Wilfred.]
Wil.
Margie, old girl! Ho! brother, get away!
[Aside.]
She's yours hereafter. Come to me anon.

Jose
[To Mar.].
God bless you!
[Exit Jose.

Wil.
Jewel, I have merry news.
These cheeks are wan and dinted, ask for winds
That blow across the fields. My turtle-dove,
We'll to your home.

Mar.
Is it to cast me oft
Because you take . . . a wife?

Wil.
Ha, jealousy!
Why, baggage, bless your innocence, we wed
Because we must. A wife, a wife! Forsooth!
We look more sweet on minions such as you,
Than on our proper spouses. Thus it is:
I ride perforce to Oxford, and you wait
The space of some few days till I return.
At Woodstock there's a jolly squire who keeps
Your foster-sister's bower. Margery,
Seek him. His honest talk will spend the time
If it hang heavy as a miser's purse.
We'll start at dawn.

Mar.
You'll bring me back again?
It is so still down there.

Wil.
Nay, never fear.
Brave wench, a kiss! And now come home with me.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—Winchester: An ante-room to the Queen's chamber. Curtain before the door. Enter maidens.
1st Maid.
Since Lammas-tide
Autumn hath lain about the doomèd woods.
To-night she storms them, battering the leaves
From many a stricken oak.

2nd Maid.
And the wind waves
The curtain to and fro.

3rd Maid.
Is death behind? I know not which to fear,
The ruffling night or the dead quietness
Within.

2nd Maid.
I'd like to peep.

3rd Maid.
Thou dar'st not; none
Enter save Beatrix.

2nd Maid.
A cunning leech!

3rd Maid.
Yet she
Is colourless, and whimpers, “Pray for us!”

[Thunder.
2nd Maid.
Hear you that?
Should the king be afloat?

1st Maid.
Impossible!
His stoutest vessel cannot climb such waves,
As must make mountain-country of the sea
Betwixt his lands.

2nd Maid.
'Twas pity that the tales
From Holy Land should keep him in the town
After farewell.

3rd Maid.
They say it fretted him.

2nd Maid.
Peace, peace! The curtain moves.

[Enter Beatrix.]
All.
How fares the Queen?

Beat.
She cannot sleep. Is the King still detained?

1st Maid.
He left five hours ago.

Beat.
A fearful night!
I cannot calm the Queen. Fetch me Sir Jose,
He'll aid me; then to bed!

1st Maid.
God lay the storm!

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

—Woodstock: Forester's hut.
[Michael, laying faggots together for a fire.]
Mich.

There's no wenches. I can lay the faggots,
and maybe stir a little flame . . . It's growing dark,
. . . one might almost as well be underground; it's
cold, and nothing to smile at. There's no wenches, and
that means no broth. A dry crust's enough, without a
child to break one's bread in the bowl and spice it. To
think she could have done it—her—as white as the
lily on the pond. But her mother was a slippery
thing. Had she been as honest as fair, I had never had
the hiding of her babe. And Sir Topaz must come with
an air; how Blanche barked at him! “The Lady Rosamund
was well; the king had taken her under his protection;
had I a message for her?” Well, I told him to
mark how the dogs yelped at him, and be gone. The
wood's green; it won't kindle. . . . . . . . .

Mags was the faggot-gatherer, what a wench!
They'd not 'tice her to mischief; she was shrewd;
She milked the goat, and never lolled about;
It's the lying on the grass that leads to sin,
Snapping at flies. I kept Mags at my side;
She knew the pups from their birth; she'd work to do
Feeding and training 'em. 'Twas a soft hand
Of Rose's, seemed to make you warm at once
The way she led you in. She didn't talk;
And it's a sign of honesty to talk.
That sighing when there's nothing wrong looks ill
Mag's eyes were wet two days for Blackberry;
Rose stroked my head—she didn't care for the cow;
She hadn't got the sense; but Margery—
A child to lean on that! just like yourself,
With a temper you'd grown used to—knew the rash
At sight, like measles, and could tackle it.
Mags, Mags, what have they done with ye, my wench?
The fire won't burn; I'll just lie down a bit.
No, no; I'll try again
To stir a flame. She may have lost her way,
And look for the red light about the door.
I'll try.

Mar.
[entering].
Dear father!

Mich.
[hugging Margery].
Hussy, clear the hearth!
Where have you been, you naughty girl? Oh, stop . . .
It takes my breath. . . . You wait
Till after supper, and I'll beat you blue
For straying in the woods. . . . Just tell me all.

Wil.
[advancing].
I found your daughter, Michael, in the glade
Seven nights ago, as I was riding back
To town, in haste, on business of the King's.
I put her on my horse, and kept her safe
In charge of gentle ladies, till to-night,
When I restore her to you with the prayer
You will not let her play among the elves.
The woods are dense, her childish brain confused,
And harm may happen.

Mich.
Thank you, sir.
[To Margery.]
Mags, since you've been away
I've had no broth. Don't cry so; never mind!
Look in my face! You must have seen fine folks,
Fine ladies, in the city, were they kind?

Mar.
So kind! . . . O Wilfred, will you go away?

Mich.
You have not combed your hair—a ragged face!
How is it you don't ask for her: “Where's Rose?”

Mar.
O father, Rosie's safe; she's with the King,
She'll be a lady; I may go sometimes
And see her.

Mich.
This is not your woollen gown.

Wil.
Kind ladies gave it her.

Mar.
A lie, a lie!
No ladies gave it me, it was yourself.
Father, he promised me
Fine clothes to make me wicked. Why, there's Blanche.
Blanche, Blanche, you'll never know the difference.
She smells too at my frock.

[Jumping down and caressing the dog.
Mich.
[to Wilfred].
You took the hound
I had no mind to part with; you took her
And spoilt her for my use. I had two maids
At my fireside—good girls,
And when I dozed at nights and woke again
They seemed like angels watching me. Ah, Lord!
I shall dream now of fiends. If I could lay
My hands on her! Come here, now!

Mar.
[springing to him].
Let me stay;
I dare not go with him. . . . A blow! . . . I thought
'Twas wicked men who loved you struck like that.
Speak to me.

Mich.
Curse you. . . .

Wil.
He has lost his wits.
Don't listen to him. Had you held your tongue,
All had gone well. Here, call your dog and come.

Mar.
[to Wilfred].
No; I'll leave Blanche with father.
[To Michael.]
Every day
I'll bring you faggots, lay them at the door.
I do not want to stay; it's spoiled at home.
How still my father looks. . . . Oh see, he sobs!
Let me go back to him.

[Struggling to escape from Sir Wilfred.
Wilfred.
He'll strike you dead.
There now, you'll see!

Mar.
[breaking from Wilfred].
He's dead; he cannot strike.
The sweet grey hair!
Don't snuff so, Blanche. It's better to be dead;
It's safe, like the high shelf I used to climb,
Up out of reach. . . . How very thin
His hands are!

Wilfred.
Poor Brownie! There, cheer up! Learn not to blab,
And you shall live with Rosamund. Come, now,
Kiss me; be good.

Mar.
Take me to Rosamund

[Exeunt.

Scene V.

—Within the Labyrinth. Enter Rosamund and Sir Topaz.
Ros.

He'd not have died . . .

Top.

I doubt it. I'm an old man myself. When
death once claps you by the hand, you must go. Think
not of that; think of the King! Belike he's coming
through wind and rain.

Ros.

Fie on me, fie! Is not my father dead?
And Margery . . . and yet the thing I want . . .
Is the wind fluttering through the trees? . . .

Top.

'Tis a wild night, but the wind cannot find you
—so warm and close. Yet there's comfort; one can!
The king will be here to-night. And I've taught you to
play on the lute, and made you the lady you are—his
very queen and idol!

Ros.

He has a queen in Winchester.

Top.

Now don't wring your hands till they're like
the flowers o' bindweed at the droop o' the day. Sit,
sit—and I'll tell you of Dame Elinor. She's a woman of
black eye and blacker soul—that overflows in her births—
her children benighted from all goodness. She's a snake
about the poor king's heart, and they the brood of vipers
that sting it within.

Ros.

And he has never wronged her that she knows.

Top.

Nay, nay, never. All the hurt is with him.
Oh, Lady Rosamund! I've known him stout and red,

with face like a lamp and smiles that came out a'doors
as if from home, and not from a dungeon. It's a woman's
doing, the change. But you'll shake your tears off and
comfort him. Keep your pretty face dry till he tells
you of his broken heart. You may cry then. Why,
I warrant he's here; I must to the bolts now. Hark!

[Exit Topaz.

Ros.
Yes.—The door moves; I hear the wind—
Oh, I'm his leman, and I know not how
Bad women feel; I cannot act the part.
I am his Lady and his Love; it were
A mistress's part to meet him with reproach.
I'll be a rose for fragrance, not for thorn.
Alas! when we were lovers, I ne'er asked
What mood my love would like! He's coming! . . .

[Enter King Henry.]
K. Hen.
Rose!

Ros.
O sweet, my lord!
You're sick and weary. Keep the cloudy brow.
Let us be sad together; I've heard say
Green herbs are simple remedies, and so
There may be cure in Rosamund for ills
She wots not of. You're come to say Farewell!
I'll bear it, love.

K. Hen.
God's truth, a Royal Rose!
Though my young vultures famish for my blood,
What matter! if my little Woodstock dove
Coo for her missing mate in widowhood
That tells where love lies bleeding.

Ros.
Nay, not so.
I'll with you to the wars.

K. Hen.
My doughty Love!
In the field's disposition, womanhood
Is best in the rear. The soldier must not see
In front the thing he loves; it would perplex;
Imagination of it nerves his hand.
You must not to the field—but day and night
You may besiege the skiey citadel;
I will appoint you captain in that war.
To arms, sweet lips, put off your peaceful use
Of softest kisses, and in prayerful mail
Equip you. But not yet. I'll keep this mouth
That flowers against my cheek for purposes
Most womanly. Shall women fast and pray?
Oh, never in Love's sight; it is contempt
Of his High Majesty. A fearfulness
Possesses me that here you are not safe.
I'll hide you deeper, you sweet-smelling Rose,
For safety with my treasures; you shall have
The custody of my imperilled crown.

Ros.
Think not of me—but you, my dearest lord,
Give me your griefs to think of when you're gone;
They're dearer than your crown. You go to war . .

K. Hen.
With my own blood; and Elinor—

Ros.
I would not see
Dame Elinor . . . not look
On that which bore you rebels.

K. Hen.
Ay, the boy
Who made me father would unmake me king.

Ros.
May Heaven dishonour him!

K. Hen.
A royal lad!
So princely! I have put the crown on's head,
And smiled to see his brow confer a grace
On the gold bauble. Be he covetous
Of my grave, that territory shall be his;
He will annex it briefly.

Ros.
Give me leave
To dress my father's grave. I've played the part
You feel the stabbing hurt of. . . .

K. Hen.
When I'm dead
Haply the boy will grieve. Rose, have you lost
Your foster-father?

Ros.
He died daughterless.
I hate your rebel son! Go, strike him dead.
There is a grave
Where I will put my hand in Memory's,
Listen her tales and bear the childishness
That doth so oft repeat.

K. Hen.
I was mistaken babbling of my boy
As you had been his mother.

Ros.
Rosamund
Could not have borne a traitor.

K. Hen.
Ah, my sweet!
If you had borne him, Henry's very self—
The tiny portrait traced in flesh, with all
A woman's delicate imaginings,
Would have been dearer than the King, because
It was the King and Love and Rosamund.
Let us not wrangle: lovers wrangle thus,
Young lovers, who can kiss again next day.
We're parting; one of us,
I think, will see the other once again.

Ros.
God help me! . . .

K. Hen.
Oh, parting is the mirror in Death's hand,
Reflex of that immitigable face
Whose glance for ever sunders!

Ros.
Dear, my lord,
There are some thoughts
That through this stormy weather of my soul,
Cannot now travel toward you. Fare you well!

K. Hen.
What! Lightning in those eyes! A long, long rain
Follows such storms! Farewell!

[Exeunt

Scene VI.

—Without the Labyrinth.
[Enter Margery.]
Mar.
The country makes me shy—so shy! The trees
O' the forest seem to stand aloof—straight up,
An' ask respect, like gentle folk in town.
An' then . . . the flowers, somehow, are not kind;
They only look at me . . . the marigolds!
But they are in the gardens. . . . Yet I've stopped
At every wild flower, . . . an' they only look.
We were such cronies! Oh, it frightens me!
This is the door; I'll very softly rap,
Lest she should hear. I would not for the world
Catch sight of her. . . . She would be haughty too.

[Knocks.
Top.
[within].

Who's there? who's there? Master the
Wind, ay?—that's put a glove on his noisy hand to make
a fool of me? [Looking through a window and then

opening.]
Bless us!

Mar.
Your honour—

Top.
Indeed, good maiden, what would you?

Mar.
A basket for the lady—whortleberries;
I gathered 'em this morning i' the dew;
An' if you'd give—

Top.

Very pretty, very pretty! A fresh gift, but bad
for the teeth, assuredly bad. Ho! ho! you've the sweet
soot on your lips.

Mar.
'Tis from my fingers, for I like them not.
But Ro—I thought . . .

Top.

A homely fruit! and you've set the sprigs about
like nature. Well done! And pray where do you live,
my pretty virgin, eh?

Mar.

With Mother Greene.

Top.

Odzookers! With Ellen Greene, the witch?
a good girl like you! Why, she's got a black kitten
that sucks her under the ear; and they say—mercy on
us!—'tis a devil.

Mar.
Oh, sir, but I have never seen it suck.
It sits upon her shoulders with large eyes
As yellow as the stars.

Top.
'Tis Lucifer.

Mar.
She calls it Pretty.

Top.

My child—tut, tut! Why do you live in her
stye? Bless my heart! Her company's vile.

Mar.
I have been left with her, and dare not go.
It's better i' the day.
But, oh! the dreaful night! I lie an' quake
To hear the purrs and chuckles i' the dark,
Or see the embers spring as green as wheat
About a hellish pot! the room grows big
And like a church at evening.

Top.

Oh, carry trefoil and pray, Ave Mary! That's
a safe prayer. Rove the woods and be merry. 'Tis
lonely hereabouts; but never fear! Maids have a
watch. Keep at large, and come at your will to me.
I've a cup inside, and a bit of honest talk will keep you
from further witchcraft. Little sorceress! you've learnt
the art as long as it's white and holy. Oh, oh! You
set that gay bonnet like a sweet pea—all flaps. Did
Mother Greene teach the charm? Nay, I see! A
scholar to your own lesson, and very right! Nature has
a pretty way of teaching girls. Why, my lady—bless you!
she puts a flower on her bosom as if to grow. Hist!
that's her voice! Bring what the woods yield at your
will. I'll give the berries to my lady. God be wi' you,
lass!

[Exit.
Mar.
It's like old times.
He's natural, and does not seem to know,
As the flowers do, and all the men in town.

[Exit.

Scene VII.

—Woodstock: Witch's cottage. Enter Wilfred and Ellen Greene.
Wil.
It's getting late.

Greene.
An' full o' bats an' owls.

Wil.
Your time.

Greene.
'Tis true, but later of an eve
The fire is making yonder!

[Goes apart.
Wil.
Margie's gone
To catch old Topaz in her artless net
Of prattle! 'Twas by very providence
I visited the silly chuck at last.
So many days and she had never moved
One step toward the fulfilment of my plan.
The hussy tires me with her drooping ways,
The little Autumn! She's dispiriting,
And makes me an old sinner with her sighs
And yellow tinct. If Jose can make her dance,
Twill be as the north wind, by savage play.
What tall, gaunt woman's that across the path!
A wolf, a prowling creature? Ah, the Queen!
She has no patience.

Q. Elin.
Take me to the maze.
See here the fire-tipped blade!

Wil.
Nay, you've mistook
The time; our thread is Margery's young voice;
E'en now she's making friends with the old man.
To-morrow night—

Greene
[advancing].
Eh, are there two of us?
Pardie, there's magic in the hem of the robe.
Good faith! I tremble at her!

Wil.
Goodie, here!
She needs a cup—the poison I bespoke—
Against to-morrow eve.

Greene.
I've been to pluck
The berries. Lack-a-day! I only played
With wonders—for a poor soul must not die!
I frightened the young girls and got their pence.
Why, sir, that lass of yours, this blessed eve
She'll have a bath o' dew beneath the moon,
To comfort her.

Wil.
Humph! devilish penitence!

Greene.
But, Lord! I ne'er have sold me to the fiend;
Belike he's come to fetch me. Don't ye go.
It must be secret.—Kindly stay about,
Good sir.

Q. Elin.
I cannot bide another night.
My brain grows hot; 'twill scorch my sense. The king
Returns a conqueror. She'll crown him—she!
Get access quickly. Ah, I fear my hand
Can scarce strike steady. Get the poison mixed;
My will is firm, and I can force her drink.
Sir Wilfred, there's a heart to stop, ere night;
The king is landing.

Wil.
I'll seek Margery;
Watch you the draught a-brewing. I'll return.

[Exit.
[Q. Elin. flings herself on a bench.
Greene.
Beyond me—quite beyond me—a blue spirit
That's smelt at sulphur. My poor cat is grey.
Pretty! . . . There's a sort o' chains about the air.
Lor! if I'm not afraid.

Q. Elin.
To do my will?

Greene.
What is it?

Q. Elin.
To make death.

Greene.
'Twas once I sent
A faithless lover pining to his doom.
An' thus: I pinched a candle to his shape,—
So like, it made ye start; and by the fire
I kept it dropping.

Q. Elin.
Fill your caldron—come!

Greene.
I'm shredding vipers' flesh.

Q. Elin.
I have a knife;
I'll help.

Greene.
Is it a man you'd murder?

Q. Elin.
No; a girl.

Greene.
Bless us! D'ye see that flying thing with blood
I' the trail of it—a shroud! and at the breast—

Q. Elin.
Old crazy brain . . . her ghost will comfort me.

Greene.
Nay, to be haunted! Lady, look ye here!
There's safer ways.
I'll give ye this will make
Any one love ye, and be mad for ye;
Take that . . .

Q. Elin.
You can?
Nay, nay, I must not be a fool;—
Past that! Henceforth on hatred I must feed.
To be hated more and more, and more to hate.
What's that in the pot?

Greene.
It's henbane!

Q. Elin.
Wherefore cook
Your wretched broth? This phial will suffice.

[Snatching at phial.
Greene.
Not that, not that! It will not do the thing.

Q. Elin.
All's ready! . . . Ah, it presses inwardly,
Like the full breast
Undrained by thirsty lips. I've borne the load
Of an unlonged-for heart; it stifles less
Than the burthen of dammed hate!

[Re-enter Wilfred with Margery.]
Mar.
Who's this?

Q. Elin.
I am—

Wil.
Listen: this lady here
Is Rose's mother. She was lost, you know;
Now she is come again. She'll get you Rose
Out of the maze. She wants to see her so;
She can't be patient. Twenty years away!

Mar.
Oh, she looks poor and hungry. I am glad
Sir Topaz said I might come any hour.

Wil.
Then you shall be our guide, and with your voice
Call the good gentleman to let us in.

Q. Elin.
Give me this Rose, I say!

Mar.
I do not think
She's gentle; may be she will strike at Rose.

Wil.
She's angry with the king, who shut her in.

Q. Elin.
[taking Margery firmly by the hand].
Go straight; I am her mother.

Mar.
Oh, I feel
As there were thunder in her; I'm afraid!

Scene VIII.

—Labyrinth. Rosamund pacing the room. Clear moonlight.
Ros.
White moon, art thou the only visitant?
Thou look'st like death!
Dost glisten through the trees
My Henry bows his plumes to in the gloom?
He comes to-night; for good Sir Topaz said,
“My lady, put you on the crimson gown
The king had wrought for you, and ask no more.
But trust an old man's word.
And be you ready.” It's a silver night;
I'll put me out apparel. How blood red
Burn the dark folds! I cannot put it on;
And yet I will. My lute; what is't I want—
God, or the King?
[Sings.
[Laying down her lute.
No; it hurts sharper. I must just sit down
On the edge of the bed, and comb my hair and wait—
It can't be long—until the tide of tears
Rises and fills
The cracked and parchèd channels of my heart.
I cannot think at all [letting fall her hair].
How beautiful
This gold made silver in the moonlight. What!
Would Heaven age me for my Love? Let's look
In the mirror. Rosamund, you're worshipful.
[Starting back.]
'Tis thus,
Even thus, he swore that he should come to me.
His very words! The prophecy's fulfilled,—
I'll comb my hair down to my very feet.
A step!—my heart, some patience. Henry, speak;
Bid it take courage! [enter Elinor]
God, the Queen!

Q. Elin.
The Queen, who'll give you access to your God;
The wife, who'll doom the leman. Elinor
Come to put bitter poison in the cup
The King drinks deep of. Never tremble so:
I'll do naught hastily. Give me your face
To lay between mine hands, and drink my fill
Of the rich beauty I must violate.
Let's look in your face! Why, Death were yellow to
The blanch of your lips. Do not mistake me, girl,
I lay
Dagger and cup at leisure for your use;
I will not harm you. [Aside.]
What a curl o' the lash—
A lovely coast-line to the hidden realm
Of the eyes.—Have you thought of me these many days?
Queen, wife, and mother, and the thing you are.
Old age is heir
Apparent to the majesty of Death,
And thought of the impending royalty
Softens the manners, and should awe the heart
Of youth—that churl of nature!

Ros.
I'll not stay
For any prayers; only remove the siege
Of your eyes from off my soul. I will repay
The debt [stabbing herself].
This blood—
An earnest of the red gold from my heart—
Take it . . . and do for my dead flesh the things
A mother would entreat.

[Dies.
Q. Elin.
Sooth to my will, and she died prettily,
With tears on her cheek.

Mar.
[bursting in].
Where's Rosamund?

Q. Elin.
A play at hide and seek here in the maze.
Warm!—at my feet.

Mar.
You've killed my sister; you're a murderess;
And Sir Topaz murdered! Oh, he died so slow,
I could not leave him. Rose!

Wil.
[entering].
My Queen, to horse!
I hear
The King's horn in the woods. The parchment's writ
We'd make him reader of. Plantagenet
Best spend his first wild fury on the dead.
Quick, by this passage.

Q. Elin.
Would that I were here
To chronicle his face! Give me your hand!
This roof
Will break my brow. I've made my lord
A bridal bed—a royal recipe
For slighted wives. In very sooth the neigh
Of his horse! All's ready for him.

[Exit.
Mar.
[kneeling by Rosamund's corpse].

Oh, what
is it that sucks the air from the room? An' I dare
not go back, for the sweet old man breathed hard.
It's worse than the dark, and it stares so. I never
minded Rose looking. . . . They use coin. I've
got some pieces of the silver left. I'll do it before I'm
wild. But I shouldn't like the money there when I die.
No. My hand. She's looking softer now. She hadn't
seen the Prince Jesus before! 'Tis a great way above
[raising her head at the sound of footsteps].
O Rose,
Rose! Now I'll see what they do when we're dead who
say fine things to us.

Wil.
[re-entering].
You little fool!
Come out; did I not bid you follow? Leave
You here for witness, sooth! Gag up your mouth.
Come [pausing before Rosamund].

Oh, a royal morsel!

[Margery stabs him.
Mar.
'Twas the look
He gave
At Rosamund's white breast. I'm used to it.
He may look so at me! It trickles down—
The blood on his cheeks—and clots his curly hair,
The big black curls. I can't have hurt him much!
Wilfred! I love him, love him; be alive,
And strike and curse me. I've so swart a skin,
The yellow bruises hardly show; but he—
He's growing deadly white.

Wil.
[aside].
A wench's thrust,
And mortal! Little drab!
She'll do what I tell her, though. [Aloud.]
I'll have you hanged,
Do you hear, before the city? Men will hoot
And jeer at you; and say, “A slut like that,
To lay her hands upon a gentleman!”
The king will have you hanged tight by your neck,
Do you hear? till you are dead.

Mar.
Hush, hush, hush, hush!
Don't bleed so fast,
Wilfred! Oh, kill me first, I can't be hanged;
Have you not strength to kill me?

Wil.
Reach that bowl.
[She drinks.
Don't stagger here to die; go further off!

Mar.
Oh, kiss me! . . . Do not die! . . . It's horrible,
The cold inside.

Wil.
She's fallen in a heap.
[Enter King.
My brain's still sick
From loss of blood, or here's a spectre king!
How hoary pale!

[The King enters staggering; stands silent before Rosamund's corpse.]
King.
Before the funeral the eyes are buried.
Thy lips—already is the tender mouth
A rosy marble to the memory
Of all past kisses. Lovely portraiture!
That young Desire beholding ages slow,
And turns from with the dull pace of regret.
Her lute—O God! there's life about the strings;
Her spirit's touched it.

[Looking round discovers Wilfred.
Wil.
[to Margery, who groans].
Peace!

King
[going to Wilfred].
Confess your lips, and for your soul I'll pray
That God may damn it deeper every hour.
Unkennel!

Wil.
Sire, that child,
Suspecting me of Elinor's base deed
(That's the Queen's scarf caught in your lady's dress),
Struck at me with the yet warm-blooded sword;
Now end.

Mar.
Stop, stop!
This gentleman
Is kind to me, he never did me harm.
'Twas the tall lady with the knife . . . and this
[lifting the poison bowl].
Don't hang me, sir; if you'll wait a bit, I'll die.
I drunk it off
As he told me. Pretty, pretty Rosamund,
I'd like
To have seen her crowned. Give her a handsome tomb
In the church, and bury me
Out in the grass. I'm but a common girl,
And she's a lady.

[Dies.
Wil.
You've your paramour
To answer for; I mine. I killed that wench
For slashing at me!
Like enough
Your lady rent her body at command
Of majesty; what will not ladies do
For monarch's pleasure,—eh?

King.
What lips God sets
To his chalice-cups of love! What drink
He gives foul mouths! Is there comparison
Betwixt our deeds? From this slain innocence
I wince not; for I worshipped. You—I swear
By the lost childhood of that cheek—defiled.

Wil.
We had our pleasure the forbidden way,
Each after his own fashion. For the rest,
I bleed to death; it's painless.

King.
You shall have
A leech, a cunning one. My men shall bear
Your body in a litter to your love,
With word from me how honourable your hurt;
And if she spurn you from her door, 'tis well;
Or if she tend you with cold eyes. [Wilfred swoons.]
He swoons.
[Turning to Rosamund.]
Heaven favours me, to give my Love
A private audience. They have pulled about
Our bower, sweet Rose; but there's a holy spot
At Goddeshill, where, 'mid the sisterhood
Of blessèd nuns, I'll rear a stately shrine. . . .
What need? . . . Death's labyrinth
None threads. Ah, Rosa Mundi! thou
That wert to the king a tender sweet-brier rose,
They've shed thy petals; all thy balmy leaves
Lie crushed against my heart. And what regret?
Without thee I had plunged for solitude
I' the murk of hell; and without me, my Life,
Thy spirit had ne'er worn love's purple robes.
Let's cover thee
[Wilfred stirs.
From this base sight,—(My Sweet, how well thou know'st
'Tis the first time
Lust hath breathed near thee!) cover thee, until,
'Fore God and all His glistering righteousness,
I shall re-claim thee, body, ay, and soul.