University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

The Louvre.
The Queen-Mother, Margaret, Duchess of Lorraine, and Ladies.
Ca.
No, no, the scandal stands with us, not you
That have no lot in it. Well, God be praised,
It does not touch me inwardly and sharp
To be so rid of him; but I do pity
The means of his removal, from my heart
I pity that. 'Tis a strange deed; I have not
Seen any that may call it brother, since
That dame's who slew her lord, being caught in middle
Of some more lewd delight; her name now?

Duch.
Châteaudun.

Ca.
True, so it was; I thank you; Châteaudun.

Mar.
How says she yet? will she confess his death?

Ca.
No, but outbears all comfort with keen words.

Mar.
Truth, I commend her for it; I would not have her
Show the wet penitence of fools that are
More weak than what they do.

Ca.
I partly hold with you.
Have we no music? Nay, I would hear none;
I am not bowed that way; my sense will not stoop
To the pleasurable use of anything.
Is it not late?

Mar.
I think it wears to nine.

Ca.
Nay, it lies further; I am sure it does.

Duch.
Madam, it is not late.

Ca.
I say it is;
If I am pleased to reckon more than you,
It shall be late.

Mar.
I promised at this time
To be about my husband; if I fail,
My faith is breached with flaw of modesty.

Duch.
Nay, go not yet.

Ca.
Will you lay hands on her?

Duch.
I do beseech you—

Mar.
What makes you cling to that?

Duch.
If you would show me kindness, do not go.

Ca.
You play love's fool awry.

Mar.
Show me some reason.

Duch.
I have no reason broader than my love;
And from the sweetest part of that sweet love
I do entreat you that you will not go,
But wake with me to-night. I am not well.

Mar.
Sister, I am quite lost in your desire.

Ca.
What, are you ill? how shall it get you whole
To wake the iron watches of the night
Companioned with hard ache of weariness
And bitter moods that pain feeds full upon?
Come, you are idle; I will wake with you,
If you must wake; trouble not her so much.

Mar.
Indeed it would a little tax me.

Ca.
Nay,
Think not upon it; get you hence and sleep.
Commend me to your lord; bid him thank me
That he to-night doth side you; it is a grace
Worth honourable thanks.

Duch.
Still I beseech you
To keep me company some poor two hours;
My prayer is slight, more large my need of it;
I charge you for pure pity stay with me.

Ca.
Are you gone mad? what makes your prayer in this?
As you regard my wrath or my fair mood,
And love me better peaceable than harsh,
Make a quick end of words.—Margaret, good night.—
Nay, sit you close.—At once good night, my love;
I pray you do my message.

Mar.
Madam, I will;
No less fair night with you and with my sister,
Whom I shall look to see as whole in health
As sound in spirit.

Ca.
I will take pains for it;
She shall get healed with pains; have no such fear.
[Exit Margaret.
Are you so much a fool? by heaven, I am ashamed
That ever I did use your faith like mine,
Nay that some blood of mine was lost on you
To make such shallow stuff as you are of.

Duch.
Madam, you have not thought—

Ca.
What ailed my wits
To lay so precious office on your brain,
Which is filled out with female matters, marred
With milky mixtures? I do loath such women
Worse than a leper's mouth.

Duch.
Consider but her state:
It is your flesh, my sister and my blood,
That must look death in the eyes; you bid her hold
Keen danger by the skirt, gripe hands with him;
For those that scape the edges of your men,
Being refuged in her lodging, may as well
Turn their own points on her; if none escape,
Then in the slaying of her husband's men
She may well chance on some one's iron side
And death mistake her end.

Ca.
I did mistake
More grossly, to believe the blood in you
Was not so mean in humour as it is.
She is safe enough; he that but strikes at her
With his bare hand doth pluck on his bare head
Sudden destruction. Say she were not safe,
Must we go back for that and miss the way
That we have painfully carved out and hewn
From the most solid rivet of strong time?

Duch.
If you would bid her watch—

Ca.
I will do nothing.

Duch.
Let me but speak to her.

Ca.
You shall not move;
This thing is heavier than you think of it
And has more cost than yours. You shall sit still,
And shall not frown or gape or wag your head,
As you respect the mood of my misliking.

Enter Attendant.
Att.
Madam, the Duke of Anjou—

Ca.
What would he?

Att.
He prays you dearly be about the king;
What he would have I cannot tell; I am sure
He is much moved, and as I think with fear.

Ca.
This is an absolute summons. I will go.
[Exit Attendant.
So, get you in; you have no lot beyond;
That I should have such need to use such fools!
Get you to bed and sleep.

[Exeunt severally.