University of Virginia Library

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.