University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

—Woodstock. Masons raising the Labyrinth. Enter at a distance King Henry and Mavis.
1st Mason.
Yonder is the King.

2nd Mason.
He's aged of late.

1st Mason.
Ay, ay! about the face; his fiery hair
Is dimmed as if by smoke; his hollow eye
Is like a haughty general's retreat.
Yet is he stout in body, well-nigh young.

2nd Mason.
Some note he stoops a little i' the back
Since he was whipped in church.

1st Mason.
Dare-devil, peace!
He's straight enough; it is the monks that squint.

2nd Mason.
Mum, mum!

1st Mason.
Why, wherefore?

2nd Mason.
'Cause the sun's come out
That wakens us to labour in the glance
O' Master Mavis' eye.

Mavis.
My gracious liege. . . .

King Henry.
Thou hast a spider's entrails for thy brain,
To spin me such a web.

Mavis.
Upon that Cretan wonder did I think,
That held the misbegotten Minotaur,
Until—so worked my fancy on its shape—
Abortive circles built I airily,
And founded hoary walls as in a dream.
I entered the dim vistas, saw above
The ribboned sky
Blue as the fillets of a troop of girls.
'Twas magic certainty directed me
To the mid-chamber, straight as arrow takes
The eye o' the target; and Conception stood
Above my dreams, their secret throughly solved.

Sir Topaz.

I take it, Master Mavis, that you are what
they call a genius, for your talk is warm as a summer's
day.

Mavis.
I spoke too freely. Pardon, gracious sire.
There's many a page within the head our tongue
Should skip as reader.

Sir Topaz.

Now I do believe I've touched some quick,
and given some unconjecturable pain. On my faith,
good fellow, I know not what I have done. My apology
is an infant—'tis that innocent.

Mavis.
Oh, nothing, sir. 'Twas I that cut myself
With a knife that's in my mouth.

Sir Topaz.

Pardy, I'm grieved to the heart if I
offended. And 'tis so fair a building—a very rose—you've
carved on the ground.

K. Hen.

A what?

Sir Topaz.

So many curves, circular and broken, I
said, sire, the building was in that respect like a rose.

K. Hen.
Oh, ay! the garden rose, our cultured rose,
That's folded up in crimson like a queen.
Ay, ay! Then, Master Architect, I'd know
How many days before your labour's close?

Mavis.
Five, gracious liege, if every sinew work
From dawn to midnight, spite of curfew's toll
Above the hooded forest; on such terms
Will incompletion yield.

K. Hen.
And such we grant,
Though hard upon your craftsmen and yourself;
Necessity is on her knees to us
That we should use ye harshly.

Mavis.
Be it so.

Sir Topaz.

Ah, ah! He'll be right glad when 'tis
finished.

Mavis.
No; for my toil hath flushed Time's langui cheek.

K. Hen.
I'd have ye mark yon varlets! Make them skip
With energy of blows, and never spare.
Each moment is my prey the dogs should seize;
I will not brook the loss.

Mavis.
Your servant, sire

[Moves towards the masons.
K. Hen.
Sir Topaz. . . .

Sir Topaz.
Sire.

K. Hen.
I think you never married?

Sir Topaz.

Nay. Nor have I within me that which
could be quickened into the desire.

K. Hen.

So proof against the arrow-headed pangs?

Sir Topaz.

'Tis thus. The woman-child died I loved
as a lad, and my love never grew after. 'Tis a little
thing of her size.

K. Hen.
Oh! then you know Love's root as well as flower;
The hidden cords that darkling bind the heart
With hungry vehemence and never loose.
Oh! they may pluck and smell the joyful red
Of golden-scented blossom, call it love;
But there are fibres down, down in the depths,
That never shall be moved, by which it lives.

Sir Topaz.
Constancy . . .

K. Hen.
I did not speak of that, I spoke of love
When planted in the red soil of the heart;
Of its insatiate girth; of Rosamund,
And how she's everywhere about my soul.
I think I told you once how first we met.
She gathered cherry-blossoms, and I bent
The bough to her; when, lo!—just where they bunched—
Whitest, there hid a little hand more white,
I kissed it, and her upturned face grew white
To swooning, and the breath stood at her lips.
I longed to be a soul from Holy Land,
With shrift won at the Holy Sepulchre;
To touch her flesh made me a penitent;
The pressure of that kissing broke the seal
To all the wine that filled the stony jar
Of my unusèd past. To her I was
No king of men—only the great Lord Love,
To whom she gave, as she were born to it,
Unthinking loyalty. I've never known
Such homage, only sullen tolerance
And darkest-featured hate.

Sir Topaz.

My dear liege, you have ever made light
of your griefs.

K. Hen.
Because I was a loveless man and blind.
Vain, flippant men have tied round Cupid's eyes
The badge of their own shame; his heavenly orbs
See fairest things where others scarce see fair,
Behold in darkness sooty hells more deep.

Sir Topaz.

Sire, these words afflict me beyond speech.
Is there any service you can put me to, aught you can
trust to an old man's care?

K. Hen.
Yes, yes; my love, the bright gold of my heart,
Be thou its treasurer,—be that which I
Would give my heart to be.

Sir Topaz.

Warden of the labyrinth and guardian of
the lady! With joy, and in all fidelity.

K. Hen.
'Tis well; I shall remember. But to give
This charge unto another is as hard
As to pull life and arrow from the breast
Together. Sooth, I am too heavy-souled
That I should stumble 'gainst thy kindliness
With such a clown's heel of ingratitude.
O honest Topaz, as complete my trust
In thee as is my perfect love to her.
Full well I know thou'lt dragon all my wealth,
That none shall be enriched. Yet solitude
May gyve thy days as iron. Will it? Speak.

Sir Topaz.

Oh, I'll marry Seclusion for the sake of
getting famous progeny—Meditation—Peace.

K. Hen.
Why should I ask? Was it a country lass?

Sir Topaz.
What lass?

K. Hen.
She thou didst . . .

Sir Topaz.
Ay, ay!

K. Hen.
So long ago! and after all at peace!
Come, we must hasten back. Ho, Mavis, there!
Five days!

Mavis.
As said, so be it, gracious liege.

Scene II.

—Woodstock, by the Forester's hut. Enter Rosamund and Margery.
Mar.
'Tis wonderful to see 'em dance . . .

Ros.
And strange
That I may never see an elf, although
I roam at evening underneath the trees,
And love their crumpled gloom.

Mar.
Oh, you should see!

Ros.
Ah, if I could. What is it in thine eyes?
Why, 'tis their magic black, the naughty hue
Beloved
Of shy hob-goblins.

Mar.
You are blue, and safe?

Ros.
Safe from enchantment? Yes, or nearly so.
I never see the fairies.

Mar.
Secretly
You take that light green path,—I've seen you there,—
An' look behind you; an' I laughed and thought,
“She thinks none sees the elves dance but herself.”
I've watched for you as weasel from its hole,
Behind the mossy wall, an' dare not speak,
You came along so new and wonderful.
It must have been the elves.

Ros.
Go, Margery;
The fire is low, and father's supper-time!

Mar.
He likes you best to wait on him.

Ros.
Peace! go!
[Exit Margery within.
I'm fretful . . . and my father turned
Once, when we stood together by the door,—
We always settle in the sunset so,
And do not speak,—that night he turned and went
Into the house, as I had not been there.
My heart stood still to hear him . . .
Henry!
The old when lonely must be very lone;
They sit and watch so patient by the fire,
And there is none to come to them save Death.
I'll back directly, for I love him more
Not less, though I'm so hard, with better love,
Bright coin—the king's face shining on it clear—
Not the worn pieces. Yonder is the beech!
I play sometimes when it is very long
Wi' the tiny urns, and say they hold my tears.

[Exit behind the trees.
[Enter Wilfred.]
Wil.

This must be the hut—the nest of sticks where
is found the King's dove. Ha, ha! famously said.
But I saw him, like a hawk, and his pigeon can't escape.
I spied him, and 'twill make my fortune with the Queen.
Down in the midst of the trees he toyed with her and
kissed her—pat!—as I looked. Ha! ha! I saw but
little of that joust of lips, the crimson couples tilted too
far off; yet I was witness, and my fortune's made. I'll
knock, and use my eyes.

[Knocks.
[Enter Margery from within.]
Fair damsel, pardon me; such sudden light
Is dazzling—

Mar.
Please you, enter sir; the sun
Shines as one cannot bear it on the face.
It's dark inside.

Wil.
[aside].
The blessed simpleton!
What eyes!—to stir one's blood—and shapely cheek,
As brown and red and dimpled as an apple.
We'll have an hour together in the wood.
[Aloud]
Your father is within?

Mar.
He's late to-night.

Wil.
Has he a fair young dog?

Mar.
Our Blanche has pups.
I play with them.

Wil.
No other playfellows?

Mar.
What, have you guessed?—the fairies!

Wil.
On my soul!
Do you dance with them? Tell me where they break
The ring to let you in to be their queen.
Ay?

Mar.
By the beeches.

Wil.
Where the old wall lies
Half ruined?

Mar.
Yes.

Wil.
At this end or at that?

Mar.
Right yonder, all among the elders there.
You'd never see 'em. They are very shy,
I fancy. But they like me; so I'd make
A little cap each. Look! I'm sewing it.
This bit o' red. I see you wear red, sir.

Wil.
A plume of red, but this is iron mail.
I'll let you handle it.—Ah! who comes here?
Who's that?

[Re-enter Rosamund.]
Mar.
My sister—and so beautiful,
You'll like to see her.

Wil.
Little hypocrite!
You've got too bright an eye to wish it matched.
[Aside]
Oh! but she's beautiful, and yet withal
Too self-sufficient; one of Nature's prudes,
Who wrap their beauty round them as a cloak,
Nor wave it as a veil. This browner girl
Is Nature's very wanton—will be mine.
[Aloud]
Good even. Shall I say it is mischance
Compels me speak of business that would be
Of interest to your father, though to you
Indifferent—or Heaven's peculiar grace
That gives me vision of two lovely maids
Who came to choose a setter?—for I've heard
Your father breeds such.

Ros.
It is accident.
I'm sorry father's out. Yet since I come
To lay his supper, I can give you hope
You have not journeyed bootless. Sit, sir knight!

Mar
[aside].
Sir knight!

Wil.
Nay, rather kneel—thus.

Ros.
Compliments
Are here ill-breeding. We are simple folk,
And I am no court-lady.

Mar.
Rosamund!
But very pretty.

Wil.
Ladies! Name them not;
There is not one to match you. Why, the heave
Of your green vesture sets desire to think
On the globing water-lilies underneath
Their buds' enthralment; while my city dames
Trick the round swell with gauds and broidery,
Befooling eager gaze—

Ros.
I'm maiden, sir,
As well as no court-lady.

Wil.
I'll affect
Clownishness, if it please you.—I will watch
Yon forester until I'm churl in full.

[Enter Michael.]
Michael.
Ay, ay! how now, wench?

Ros.
Father! . . .

Wil.
[aside].
Why, her eyes
Flash to him as the lightning to a stump;
And yet she is the minion of a king!

Mar.
He wants a dog.
He's a sir knight.

Mich.
Ay, ay! the least of the pups.
He shall not have the brown one with a star.

Wil.
Old man, I'd see your dogs—for such you breed,
The country-side allows, as none about.

Mich.
Your honour's servant and King Henry's slave.

Wil.
'Tis for the Queen.

Mich.
Her humble slave. I've got
Some few behind the hatch.

Wil.
I'll come.—You've bred
The fairest daughters of the country-side.

Mich.
Oh, ah! the brownie's mine. It was a wench
Like nuts I wedded, an' so full of prayers
I always had my luck. The comely one—
Why, she's my fosterling: her father, sir,
A man-at-arms; her mother! never saw
So fine a woman—just as red and white
As any lady born. I'll ask you, sir,
To step behind. An' girls, for shame, go in!

[Exeunt Wilfred and Michael.
Ros.
Margery!

Mar.
I cannot come. I'll creep
Behind 'em.

Ros.
No; it is not maidenly
To be so free with strangers.

Mar.
What a man!
With such big, ugly cheeks, like father's bull;
And did you see his great damp curls, an's eyes?
Such eyes that roll about you—

Ros.
Margery,
Be quiet! He's a wicked man. Don't speak
About his face.

Mar.
He's nasty; but he talks
As kind as can be for a gentleman.

Ros.
[aside].
O Henry! [aloud]
They are coming back. We'll go.

[Exeunt Rosamund and Margery.

Scene III.

—Winchester: a room within the Palace. Enter Queen Elinor and the Princes Henry and Richard.
Queen Elinor.
Upon the yellow ground of Africa
Young lions tear each other; so these sons,
Whom I, above all women, in my pride,
May proudly claim my offspring, wage a strife
Each against each. I care not. 'Tis the blood
Insurgent of their equal parentage.

P. Henry
[to Richard].
Ud's death! Thou wilt defy me to my face,
Deny my birthright and my crown's right too,
Because, forsooth, we're brothers—you who crawled
Behind me into light, who took the path
Which I discovered, in that very act
Sealing yourself my follower—bound to keep
A year's step lower in the court of Time;
You to whose brow no golden circle gave
It's pledge of loyalty; you, you to brag!—

Q. Elin.
Urged like my own young monarch.

P. Rich.
Glorious fool!
That cannot match a thunderstorm in noise
For all thy clapping lungs! I'll sing you still.
My blood is wine that ran from the same press
As your bright liquor; and the vessel!—see,
I'm broad and tall as you! Ay, mother?

Q. Elin.
Yes.
My thumb's nail taller.

P. Rich.
Holding so much more
Of the blue juice of royalty. Nay, nay;
Ennoble not your heels—those labourers
O' the soil. It were a shame.

P. Hen.
I'll make yours fly.

P. Rich.
Why then my knees would stand.

Q. Elin.
The lion-heart!

P. Rich.
Yea, get me prone, my spirit still would rise
Erect before you, spite of the false show.
Kill me—I'd face you as a spectre tall
With chin that topped your mouth.

Q. Elin.
Divinely bold!

P. Rich.
I'll never yield in heaven, on earth, in hell.

P. Hen.
Thou shalt by everything immovable,
The throne of God and Satan's iron roof!
I swear thou shalt.

P. Rich.
By all that never yields,
The punishment of fiends and sinners' dole,
I swear I never will.

P. Henry.
I've sworn.

P. Rich.
But I
Swore many days ago. Ha, ha, my oath
Is first-born and the heir of Fate.

Q. Elin.
Well put,
My own young warrior.

P. Hen.
I'll turn the edge
Of thy own sword against thee, as I live.
In Aquitaine
Bertram de Born, the troubadour, is mad
Beneath thy scorpion rule. I'll use his rage—

P. Rich.
Offal!

P. Hen.
Then shalt thou eat of it.

P. Rich.
Sweet cook!

Q. Elin.
Ha, ha!

P. Hen.
S'death, I will waste no further threats—
No comets of my passion—but thou'lt know
Destruction and remember how they flared.
I'll to De Born.

P. Rich.
And I to Aquitaine.

P. Hen.
[shaking his fist].
My sign of parting.

P. Rich.
Mine.

Q. Elin.
Now here's a cheek
For each—and kiss me both together—so,
My mouth is herald 'tween the lips arrayed
In double line of battle on each side.
Farewell—Farewell! Thank God you have repaid
My flesh and blood in you with usury.

P. Hen.
I'll force his homage.

P. Rich.
I'll bring down his pride

Q. Elin.
They feed my heart!

[Exeunt severally.
[Enter Beatrix.]
Beatrix.
Your majesty.

Q. Elin.
Oh pray
For motherhood; it is the golden thread
On which are strung the ages—

Beat.
Gracious Queen!

Q. Elin.
Time works within our wombs as in the depths
Of earth the miner. There are found the gems
He wears before the light, and there the dross
That makes the dull pile of oblivion.—
Well?

Beat.
I am bidden ask your instant leave
To hear De Lacy speak—

Q. Elin.
You velvet moth,
Of you? I will not listen to his suit.
He only lures with flame to drown in oil
Of dull neglect. Man's lamp of love is set
Ever to such low issues.

Beat.
Not of me—
Of matter fitting but your private ear
He chafes to speak. My dearest sovereign, you
Should hold so stout a liegeman in regard,
Your service is his very stuff of life,
The yarn of all his time. He would be nothing
Without your favour. The King loves him not.

Q. Elin.
Oh, the King loves none.

Beat.
I fear he's deep in love.

Q. Elin.
The King in love! It was my hope that morn—
You rode the spotted palfrey—I the grey—
My bridegroom with the bright half-rubied hair—
Woman, you must remember how we saw
Our lover on the knoll, above the bend
O' the road, ere he was 'ware of us. Ah me!
You bring me news my Henry is in love?
His youngest lad
Is in his teens—in love?

Beat.
Then shall I call
Sir Wilfred?

Q. Elin.
Call him? Ay; he has a throat
[Exit Beatrix.
That's loud, and shame must have a trumpeter,
Or never march at all.
[Re-enter Beatrix with Wilfred.]
[To Wilfred.]
The Kings's in love—
With you or me?

Wil.
Nay, 'tis a snooded girl
Down i' the country, coloured like a rose.
I burn as hell to speak it—how they kissed
And hung together—

Beat.
Mercy!

Wil.
In a wood—
He pressed her to his heart with panting voice
That out-ran language.

Beat.
And the little wretch?

Wil.
Was eager as a devil.

Beat.
Fie, I'm sick
Of horror and disgust.

Q. Elin.
Thank God for boys!
To have reared a treasonous brood from his own blood,
To have it at my call! John laughs in 's face;
'Tis a fierce pup
My first; he'll fasten where I bid, relax
When Death or I cry Loose; Oh, I am glad
To have the record of those ancient moods
Writ clear
In my boys' faces. That first ecstasy
Of anger, then the weak drift of despair
In puling Godfrey. From a fire of tears
Leapt out my Lion-heart!
When I again conceived, my flesh was cold,
I bred a coward!
[To Wilfred.]
Come, a covenant;
Join hands! . . . My Beatrix,
I toss her, a bright posy from my breast,
The day, the very hour, I've smoothed her limbs.
This . . . Let me loose on her! . . .
Speak fast! Direct me! I have sown i' my sons
The whirlwind of my nature; he will reap.
This doe of the forest—my peculiar prey—
With silver-arrow'd death she must be pierced;
The wrongèd Dian must behold her bleed!
I have not shared the King's love o' the chase;
It 'gins to stir in me.
[Enter Henry.]
My lord, these twain
Have kept me all the morning with their loves.
Will you not bless them?

K. Hen.
Love alone can bless:
Not kings.—Sir knight,
Be merry. Of twain studies one must be
For ease, one for attainment. You'll pass days
Too strenuous at task with life and love.
Love therefore as a pastime,—this fair dame
Your mistress of the revels. Joy to each!

[Exeunt Beatrix and Wilfred.
Q. Elin.
A pastime! From experience you speak?

K. Hen.
I never have concerned myself with love.
Where's John?

Q. Elin.
Why with his retinue of fools.
Best set an ape
Before base things, since whatso'er he sees
Must fall a prey
To the antics of his visage. Do you need
One to make mock of majesty?

K. Hen.
The boy,
Where is he? Tell me where. O Elinor,
Consider: you have Henry, the young king,
To dote on; grant this favour to mine age,
Let be our youngest boy—leave the soft wax
Of's heart unimpressed by your virulence.
He calls me “father,”—I who bear an old
Usurper's aspect to your fiery three,
Plant not your poison in him.

Q. Elin.
With my milk
He sucked it. The soft-browed deceptive lad
You munch with kissing dogs his brothers' heels
And licks allegiance to them. You're disgraced
Suing for love as humbly on your knees
As once for pardon at your Becket's tomb.
A piteous whine!—“Love me, my little son,
Or heart will burst”—a sorry spectacle!
I have a king to dote on—a young king!
I tell you to your face, that boy of ours
Crowned Henry has my love, because he has
My bridegroom's eyes;—but for the rest, my lord,
You're old to think of love: when you were young
You thought not of it.

K. Hen.
I embraced your lands,
Not you.

Q. Elin.
Plantagenet, you wronged yourself
As you had made the day and night your foe,
And roused
The violated seasons to confer
Each his peculiar catastrophe
Of death or pestilence—Embraced my lands!
I'll shatter you
As Nature shatters—you, as impotent
As the uprooted tree to lash the earth
That flings its griping roots out to the air.
And plants it burgeoned summits in the soil.
Embraced my lands!—Ah, I forget myself—
The loveless are insensate to presage;—
'Tis in calamity's harsh stubble-field,
They learn to suffer. I'll be harvester,
And sickle your ripe joys. Embraced my lands!
Had you embraced me, I had borne you fruit
Of soft-fleshed children. Hug the progeny
Of your stony lust, and curse me!

[Exit.
K. Hen.
She forgets—
When she is gone,—dear bliss!—the thought of her
Lies not a stinking corpse about my heart.
The loved or loathed may haunt us. Who oppress,
Are mortal in remembrance: being past
As sultry day that kept the air in bond,
I can breathe free. How beautiful
To have the mind a solitude for love!
Mine's clamorous as a camp—one silken tent
Close-curtained, secret . . . Rosamond!

[Enter Courtier.
Cour.
A man
Would see you, sire,—a haggard, bright-eyed knave,
With rapid tongue.

K. Hen.
I know him. Bring him in.
[Exit Courtier.
The architect
[Re-enter Courtier with Mavis.
We would be private. Go.

[Exit Courtier.
Mavis.
'Tis done, and this the eve of the fifth day.
All ready.

K. Hen.
Come within. Yon door hath ears
Of human shape. Be dumb! This very night
I'll ride with Topaz to the Oxford woods.
Come, follow! thou dost pant; I'll give thee wine.

[Exeunt within.

Scene IV.

—Woodstock. Moonlight. Rosamund asleep under a beech-tree. Enter on the other side Michael.
Mich.

Ay, 'tis a fair night—as much day as can be,
only a bit dark i' the corners like. 'Tis warm, too, for a
night o' May—wonderful soft and dry.—Now what is the
dog a-snuffing at? Here, Blanche, here! We must stop
for no game. . . . 'Tis late belike, an' the wenches
are a-bed.

[Enter King Henry behind the bushes.]
K. Hen.
Is't a hobgoblin, this black, crooked shape?
The dog that snuffs about yon single drift
Of snowy womanhood, a thing bewitched?
I will protect her from all enmities.
Stand!

Mich.
Robbers, robbers, robbers! I'm trapped;
I've naught!—God help!

[Exit in flight.
K. Hen.
'Tis only some belated peasant. There!
He's gone.—She sleeps as innocence, and I
Her lion-shield. So young—so still! O Sleep,
Thou lover pressing closer while we live,
Than any other bedfellow on earth,
I'm jealous of thy hold on her dear limbs,
Thy intimate warm clasp. Ah, but she dreams!
Divine to watch
The course of her dreams, and by the rising flush
Mark the king's entrance. Soon as she awakes
I'll worship her!—in worship's fiery clime
Desire's a child audacious, innocent,
And knows not it is naked. Sweet, so close,
And I can let thee fondle with my shade!
One kiss, the trembling whisper of a touch,
And we're together!

[Kisses her.
Ros.
Prison! No,—there's air!
O Henry!

K. Hen.
Love!

Ros.
You left me desolate,
And in a prison. Still mine eyes are wet
With their leave-taking tears.

K. Hen.
What, weep to-night,
Your birthday? Rose, you are a woman now;
You love the king—how much?

Ros.
The stars must count.

K. Hen.
You'd do me homage, Rose,
Were you the lady of broad lands; what vows
Shall I require of you who hold in fief
My heart's wide realm?

Ros.
I give you of myself
All, all there is—and for the rest, my love.

K. Hen.
And you will swear me over-lord of all
The womanhood
That Time's good sword shall win for you?

Ros.
Ay, all.
How should I know
That I am girl, or, if you'll have it so,
With this May-moon rise woman, save for love?

K. Hen.
The moon
[wrapping her in his cloak]
For touching this white shoulder must be banned!
Let's to the deeper woods! The nightingale!
Dost hear that urgent note?—a thorny sigh,
A prick sets bliss to bleed, desire too sharp
For tolerance—a pang.

Ros.
I'm curious
To learn what happens to the nightingales
At daybreak. Henry, do their gurgling throats
Stop like a torrent when it turns to rest
Under green leaves?

K. Hen.
In the nest all grows still.
I've built a fair bower-nest for thee, my bird,
And there we'll mate.
Come, 'tis a little deeper in the wood,
And nearer to its heart.

Ros.
I love you here
Where the beech is and the sun. I will not go
Where I have never loved you.

K. Hen.
Ha! Not come?
Who is it orders? God, with those clasped hands
She's forging mail to keep me from her heart.
You love me in the woods!—a summer love!
You shall love me in the winter, in the world,
Where'er I will; what pain I put you to.
You shall not choose. Is this your loyalty?
And you'll not go
Where you have never loved me! In the camp,
The palace, I can find no spot of life
Where I have “never loved.” Where'er I am
Is Love—the famished child you will not feed.
Come, come! Ah, Rose, you cannot know the pain!
. . . If you'll not come,
I'll burn the bower, ride off to the wars,
Make havoc till I perish.

Ros.
It fulfils
My dream.—You shut me in a prison close—
Henry, I cannot leave you; lead me home.

[Exeunt.

Scene V.

—Another part of the Wood. Moonlight. Enter Margery.
Mar.
O moon, I love to be afraid, an' see
The elder-boughs all white, an' feel alone
With my big fear of every bush. The says
Will dance to-night, for all is blue and still;
There's not a little wind runs from its hole
To be a mouse among the trees.—Good Lord!
There's the black yew I never pass, because
I know 'tis dreadful underneath—I'll run!
Yes, there's the stone! Yes, yes—an' there are they
The honey-elves!

[Lies, and watches the fairies dance and sing.
Fairies.
In the moony brake
When we laugh and wake,
And our dance begins,
Violets hang their chins
Fast asleep—
While we laugh and leap.

Mar.
The little wingy circle spins about
So that I cannot see 'em in the gloom;
They might be made o' spider's gossamer.

Fairies.
Woodbine-leaves above,
Each a tiny dove,
Roost upon the bare
Winter stems, and there
Peaceful cling—
While we shout and sing.

Mar.
They've jumped the bonfire glow-worm. Here they come!
Soft! They will dance upon my hair as moss,
And I'll not scratch my head for all their toes.

Fairies.
On the rooty earth
Ferns of April's birth,
Brown and closely furled,
Doze like squirrels curled
Warm and still—
While we frisk our fill.

Mar.
Now I can see their scrimpèd kirtles green,
And swinging beads of dew about their necks;
They've not the pretty caps o' Midsummer,
Poor midges,—only cowslip-bells, o'er young,
That fall at every jerk, an' dirty cups
From acorns of last year.
I'll make my tiny peakèd bonnets red,
And see if they will pick 'em from the twigs.

Fairies.
Hark! our ears have caught
Sound of breath and snort
Near our beechen-tree,
Mixing carelessly!
Sprites away!
Fly as if 'twere day!

[Exeunt.
Mar.
They're gone! I heard a noise! Oh, oh, oh, oh!
If it should come from underneath the yew!

[Faints.
[Enter Wilfred, leading his horse.]
Wil.
By Cupid! 'tis my nut-brown maid enacts
The shrieking owl! I swore I'd find her here,
Watching for silly spirits of the night,
That never come at all. My simpleton,
My comely rustic fool, to be cajoled,
The pleasant way of forcing childishness.
Words be my only violence to win
A lusty little paramour. These churls
Are hoodwinked by the language of the great.
Each finger is an icicle to touch.
I'll wrap her in my cloak, fold her in fur,
Before I speak. She's a delicious heap.
My cosset!

Mar.
[starting].
Rosie!—Why, I'm not in bed!
[Discovering Wilfred]
Oh, Oh!

[sobs]
Wil.
My pretty maid, you're in my arms,
And I'm the knight to whom you told a tale
Or elfin pranks beneath the elder-trees,
Just on the strike of midnight. So I came
To see among the fairies which is fairest,
That I may give her gems and gold and love.
I see her!

Mar.
Sir, . . . I think they skipt away . . .
A moment back.

Wil.
But one was left behind.

Mar.
You only see some primroses.

Wil.
[aside].
'Tis thus
We win the city harlots; but to-night
I'm ineffectual.— [Aloud]
'Tis melancholy
Watching for pixies dressed in flow'ry bits—
Not much to see, if seen; while in the town
Are ladies trooping all in bodices
Of scarlet, jewel-lighted, with their locks
Caught in a golden web; and there they dance
With knights unarmed and rustling in silk.

Mar.
It must be brave to be in town!

Wil.
This dress
Is poor—it wants an edge of gold; the stuff
Is coarsely woven. If you'd come to town,
And let me love you, robes of red and white,
With golden fleur-de-lis all over them,
I'd give you, and a necklace of bright gold.

Mar.
It must be brave in town!

Wil.
Oh, but it is!

Mar.
I'd like to see it very much.

Wil.
And have
A pretty dress of red?

Mar.
I've got a cloak
At home. And this is my old dress.

Wil.
Poor wench!
You'd like to have a necklace of bright gold?

Mar.
Yes, sir; I've only got a string of eggs.

Wil.
Kiss me?

Mar.
They've told me to be coy with men.

Wil.
With foresters and peasants, not with knights;
You should do all a gentleman could ask.

Mar.
I'd rather not.

Wil.
Come, come!
You have not learnt respect, and if you'd have
A silken bodice, I must have a kiss.

Mar.
Silk!

Wil.
And with spangles on't.—My bait has ta'en;
The body's caught in raiment as a net.—
Kiss me?

Mar.
I've never kissed a man before.

Wil.
Then try how nice it is.

[Kisses her.
Mar.
I'd best go home.

Wil.
Nay, but the scarlet and the linen fine,
The broidery of wedded gems and gold,
The silken vest? Will you forget them all?

Mar.
I can't.

Wil.
Then will you come to town with me?

Mar.
Ye—s.

Wil.
Or I'll go, and you be left to wear
Coarse clothing all your life, and have no play
But watching leaves or pixies at their dance.

Mar.
I'll run home and put on my better frock.

Wil.
No; for we'll have you straightway dressed in white
A-glow with lilies.

Mar.
Lilies o' the vale?

Wil.
Oh, something larger. There, another kiss.
One, two—she cannot count them, so I'll take
An unrestricted measure.—Come this way.

[Exeunt.
[Re-enter Fairies.]
Fairies.
Silence! on the ground
Set the toadstools round,
Of these mortals twain
We to talk will deign,
Grave and wise,
Till the morning rise.

Scene VI.

—Without the Labyrinth. Morning. Enter King Henry and Rosamund.
K. Hen.
Sweet Love,
Here we must part.
[Taking her hands.
Oh, brave, unwedded hands, that wear the kiss
Of troth-plight for their pledge—a pretty bond!
You have the royal seal of a king's lips
At your free service ever.

Ros.
I am glad
No woman ever spoke to me of love.
It's pure
Only from burning lips.

K. Hen.
[aside].
Her innocence
Kept the flame golden! [Aloud]
I have taught you well?
My bonnie wood-bird, when I'm at the wars,
I'll lie in my tent and think of the sweet throat
Of the nightingale that swells for me.
[Kissing her throat.]
Again
You turn? Home, sweeting, this is forwardness
To stroke my curls and fondle me.
We've done with parting, if you glisten so,
Unpacking all your sweets before the eyes
That must to fast.

Ros.
O Henry, could I lie
In the green sunshine and sing soft all day
The words o' the lute!
The little wood-sorrel and strawberry leaves,
I've smiled to see them twinkling with my tears,
When I have cried for sound of horse's feet,
And the woodpecker provoked me.

K. Hen.
What surprise
To find my lady in her midmost bower,
Loosing from silken fillet, knot by knot,
That hair that measures, as I well believe,
My royal stature! When you comb it out,
As the rower from the sea strikes sudden light
With his oar's motion, every crispèd tress
Will shimmer into argent. I shall laugh
To find you silver-haired. Now to my will.
You've wedded a Plantagenet. Seven nights
Keep watch in heaven. When your couch is touched
With the first moonbeam, take it as a sign
That night
You lie not lonely.

Ros.
While I live alone
Let me be free to gossip with the woods.

K. Hen.
My lady keeps her bower.

Ros.
What should you fear?

K. Hen.
Your father will be seeking you.

Ros.
My lord,
You would not banish me from sight of him,
My fond old foster-father? He'll ne'er know
I slip away from him. I still must tend
His gentle childishness, and to my state
When the King rides his forests.

K. Hen.
Were it my dearest hound that thus let creep
A minute 'twixt my word and bidding done—

Ros.
I cannot leave my father. He'll not eat
If I dress not his food, and Margery
So wild and negligent. . . .

K. Hen.
I'll order good Sir Topaz to procure
[Enter Margery.
All comforts for old Michael; trust me, Rose.
Sweetheart, once more farewell.

[Exit King.
Ros.
There's Margery;
She'll tell me of my father. What! her cheeks
Are peonies; she looks . . . Where have you been?
Who tricked you in these gauds?

Mar.
[dancing].
A knight! all gold
To his horse's knees. It's splendid! You're in white.
How beautiful! But, sister, I've a man
Gave me these pearls, and called 'em mistletoe—
A kiss for every one. He's taking me
To London on a palfrey.
[Stopping before Rosamund.
Rosamund,
Though I'm a child, he's making love to me;
It's like you and the King.

Ros.
The King! O God!
You've been asleep all night, at home?

Mar.
No, no—
With Sir Wilfred, and he promised me
A frock all blue, with stars, and made me laugh.
He'll after me; the palfrey had a stone
In's foot, and while he pulled it out I peered,
And something glistened—then I jumped down quick
And saw . . . don't shudder. Rosie, do you live
Inside? Why, it's a palace. He'll come soon.
Just see, this scarf
Is gayer than the kingcups.

Ros.
[aside].
A mere child
Playing with fairies!

Mar.
Past the cherry-trees
We rode: the moon was like a candle held
To the little slit of light down in our room!
Rosie, I cried to kiss you once, and he—
[Enter Sir Wilfred.
He's coming—held me firm, blew down my ear,
“You think none naughty but yourself, you elf!
Your sister can play pranks. She sleeps to-night
In a palace with the King.” Oh, but it's fine!

Ros.
[aside].
How can I save her? [Aloud.]
Child, leave gambolling,
They want to steal and kill you. Take my hand,
[Catching her hand and turning to the labyrinth.
Come, see the pretty palace.

Sir Wil.
[advancing].
Pardon me,
That lady is my prize, if you're the king's.
Your little foster-sister has an eye
Of an enchanting wildness. In attire
Becoming that brave skin. . . .

Ros.
[gathering Margery in her arms].
Sweet Margery!
Oh, do not look at him. Love, hide your eyes
In my bosom; hush!
[To Wilfred.
You shall not touch the child.
The King—his name shall shield her.

Sir Wil.
Ay,
You bear it proudly. You're his mistress—so!
Queen Elinor shall hear of this.

Mar.
[looking up].
Rose, Rose!
Do you not want me go and see the streets,
And wear grand jewels? I will stay with you.
Don't sob so 'gainst my heart.

Ros.
Ill keep the child.
[To Margery.
Sister is lonely; stay with her.

Sir Wil.
[to Margery].
You little fool, d'you hear? I'll fetch the Queen.
She'll frighten you.
And when she sees your sister here, who keeps
The King away, she'll take her by the hair,
And bind it round her till it chokes.

Mar.
No, no!
She shall not come.

Ros.
You have betrayed the child.
God curse you for't.

Mar.
Have I done wrong, dear Rose?

Sir Wil.
[to Rosamund].
Fair precedent
You've given my audacity. The thing
You call her ruin had been triumph if
The actress were yourself; no more to her
Than trick of a rash goblin. [To Margery.]
Margery,
You must with me; and if you're very good,
I'll not blab of your sister. If you stay,
I'll fetch the Queen
To murder her by inches.

Mar.
[struggling from Rosamund].
Murder Rose!
I'll strike her in the face. [To Rosamund.]
He is my man,
And I must follow him! Rose, you'll be safe,
He'll not offend me.

[Kisses her.
Ros.
[clasping her, and kneeling to Sir Wilfred].
For our Lady's sake,
Leave this wild innocence to me.—
I've sinned.
She's torn
Her frock in the briers, and laughs.

Mar.
[struggling].
I'll not with you,
With my man!
[Jumping into Wilfred's saddle.
Good-bye.

[Exeunt Sir Wilfred and Margery waving her hands.
Ros.
And I am bound to him,
The King and my seducer! Oh, he loves,—
It is not so he loves me!—
Margery,
He's hard and cruel; Margery, come back!
Nothing to see
But a trout leap in the stream.

[Turns to the labyrinth.
[Enter Sir Topaz.]
Top.

Mercy! if there are not folk about, and my
lady outside the walls. Bless the pretty soul, she looks
badly. There's been a summer shower on the two roses

of her face. My dear damozel, I must lead you back
'Tis a strict command I have that you never stray from
the door. There's a little garden within, where is broom
and what not. Nay, look not so down-hearted. I've
planted sunflower and sweet basil against the season.

Ros.
I'm so bewildered. Where in all this green
Starts the way home?

Top.

Straight to the door, straight to the door—that
is your home. Permit

[takes her arm].
Ros.

And will you never let me out again?

Top.

Nay, nay; you'll be very happy. And my dear
monarch is so full of griefs, I'd rather lose a seat in
heaven than put you in peril.

[Exeunt.