University of Virginia Library

Scene V

—The Hall of Seton Castle
Enter Morton and Bothwell
Morton
Where have you been, my lord?

Bothwell
A walk. The air
In country places helps me to make plain
My meshed and beating project to myself.

Morton
Last night I hardly slept at all, so joyous
Was Ainslie's wine within me. We are pledged,
By our rare tavern-fellowship, the greeting
We gave to your acquittal, the attention
With which your high proposals met our ear,
Across the cups and bounty of your feast,
To back you as the husband, for the queen,
Of our best, native choice: but you must play
The forthright wooer.

Bothwell
Ho! I need no lesson
In woman-winning.

Morton
Have you yet come near
Your proposition to her?

Bothwell
She has been
At mass this Sunday or in company;
Our elemental question to the sex
Forms not except in private.

Morton
(Glancing down a passage)
Man, she comes.
I meet her not too frequently; her eyes
Grow crystal points in scrutiny of one
Long absent from the court.

Exit
Bothwell
I have a fear
Before her, a firm seizure of my speech,
That dams up fate and passion. She is won—
Not as was Anna Throndssön, nor my dame,
Jane Gordon, nor the buxom waiting-girl,
Delighted Bessie Crawford: these were thrown
By my mere, single energy; it takes
Ancestral forces, bone-bred vehemence,
To compass what my fathers lusted for
In fiery years ago.

Enter the Queen
Queen
Help me, my lord;
I am in doubt and pain: all day my guards
Have had ill-brows about me. Yonder sky
Of wind and darkness cannot match the looks
These arquebusiers venture. On my word,
I am defenceless if they mutiny,
Save for your valour, Hepburn.

Bothwell
Hark! Their growls!
Madam, the varlets come. Rest tremorless,
I will obstruct this insolence.

Enter Arquebusiers
1st Arquebusier
We need;
Give us our pay.

2nd Arquebusier
Or we will use our weapons
To do offence.

3rd Arquebusier
Money! Our silver pay!

Bothwell
(Seizing the ring-leader)
Choke down your greed, you villain! Pay and hire!
You dun a lovely majesty as if
She held the common purse. A beggar, clipt
By fortune of all gear, would have a sense
Less ribald than you show. Advance one step—
All shall be hanged as traitors, and the boughs
Swing heavier favours than their leaves above
The daylit ground to-morrow.

Queen
Do they lack,
And feel the nip of that which is to us
A winter—empty pockets? They shall have
Two florins each, the utmost a crowned lady
Can find within her coffers.

Bothwell
Do you hear?
No jolting me, no rescue of this rogue,
Your frothy leader, till I let him free,
His wind-pipe swollen. Your queen is merciful,
And honours you with silver, who deserve
Cord for your noise.

2nd Arquebusier
Down with the payment then.
No promises!

Queen
It is with grievous sorrow
We take in such distrust.

Bothwell
Hence, quit the room.
The chancellor will give you audience duly
At eight o'clock. Why, why! I say begone!
And when I say it, go!

2nd Arquebusier
The bully!

Bothwell
(Loosening the leader's throat with a shake)
March,
With inclination to the graciousness
That spares to trounce your swerving. Out, I say,
And to your places!
Exeunt Arquebusiers
They have vanished.—Oh,
You flutter like a star through widow'd black,
That night-hood round the pallor of your face!
You had been undefended in this strait,
Except for my bluff service.

Queen
Which we thank.
Such rancour in my household was disclosed
So suddenly it shook me.

Bothwell
My loved queen,
The men you rule are heady as the blasts
That veer about our hills, and weariness
Of colour in your beauty testifies
The hard pitch of your toil. Take thought how far
A close devotion manly at your side
Would comfort and disburthen you, a love
Obedient and executive,—as always
Your general is the actor of your wrath
When deeds to do must be unwomanlike.
(Apart)
She doth not flush; the crystals in her cheek
Are growing sharp and brilliant.—All the land
Sighs at your lonesome task; your nobles join
To urge you to more livelihood of health
Than moping labour brings you. . . . There is none
To whom you have more lent in condescension,
More trusted with those offices that irk
The English foe than—
(Suddenly throwing himself before her)
I confess the fact;
I love you with a man's love, deep as hell,
Wild as the sea's for earth. My life has been
Spent under hatred, solitude, misfortune,
But ever with a singleness of hope
To serve you in the highest.

Queen
(Distractedly)
I am struck,
As if the roof had fallen.

Bothwell
What, you can wonder
That men should throw whole years of loyalty
Beneath your feet as trash, you masterpiece
Of world's enchantment; who in gait and speech
Are lovelier than the beauties of old praise;
Your steps surpass their kisses, and your voice
Makes their best glance unwished for.

Queen
Are you mad?
Well may you kneel: my other noblemen
Have trespassed out of hatred, or at least
Indifference to my reign. I have not found
The insult of base love in any one,
Save you alone. I am a widow, scarce
Of two month's dule, a murder's remnant—you,
A man but nine months married to a lady
I first bespoke as friend. How dare you rouse
The Bruce within me, the untempered fire
Of king on king I carry to the grave
In pledge of my descent? Henceforth, be sure,
You are an exile from my confidence.
Banished again! What reason do I find
In Arran's frenzy, which accused your faith
As liegeman to your princess! Self-condemned,
You may not hope for mercy from my doubt.
(Apart)
How still he is, how still!—We do not need
Your convoy or attendance as we journey
Through Lothian on the morrow. To remain
Even where you are displeases us. Goodnight.

Exit by inside door
(Bothwell rises and stands straight up without the least motion)
Bothwell
This woman! Somewhere she has pledged my soul;
We have drunk wine together on some bare,
Brown hill of chaos, while the wanton lights,
Young meteors flaming lawless through the heaven,
Peered at our rampant revel. We were one
Before the stars were broken to their spheres;
Part of the huge, unsevered element
When day and darkness hugged. I know that far
Below the rise of rivers, underneath
The sowing of the mine's unfathomed seed,
There was this sunken bond. She flings me now
Contempt, my lass, my lass! What should we find
In woman but the lavish side of God,
Before the thought of judgment crippled Him,
When He was soft, creative, fostering, free?
Contempt, contempt! Night's stinging moments spin,
And stir me to an act: the regicides
With their dismaying weapons shall have done
By far less intimate irreverence
On majesty than I in person dare.
Hell will be puzzled what to do with such
As I shall show myself, it has no code
That can entangle me, no quarter builded
That might immure my unimagined courage,
No flames to equal mine. The royal witch,
She sought to disenchant me in the guise
Of formal coldness, she the beauty, she
The madding, unfoiled beauty. How the air
Dreads me, I breathe on lion-like! She has said
She needs no convoy! I will furnish one:
She must with me the merry, downward way,
Where demons cackle. I will meet my bride
At Foulsbrigg with an army. This contempt
Is an infectious plague!

Exit by outside door