 | The Queen-Mother |  |
1
ACT I.
Scene I.
Environs of the Louvre.Enter Marsillac, Pardaillan, Soubise, and others, masked; the Duchess of Guise, and other Ladies.
Marsillac.
No, not the king, sir, but my lord of Guise;
I know him by the setting of his neck,
The mask is wried there.
Par.
Are not you the queen?
By the head's turn you should be; your hair too
Has just the gold stamp of a crown on it.
Duch.
You do dispraise her by your scorn of me.
Par.
Not the queen? then that hair's real gold of yours
And no white under?
Sou.
Speak low, sirs; the king—
See him there, down between the two big stems,
2
In the queen's colours.
Mar.
Ill colours those to wear;
I doubt some loose half of a Florentine,
Clipt metal too.
Par.
Lower: they are close by this;
Make space, I pray you; Christ, how thick they get!
[The Courtiers fall back.
Enter the King and Denise de Maulevrier.
Ch.
Why do you pluck your hands away from me?
Have I said evil? does it hurt you so
To let one love you?
Den.
Yea, hurts much, my lord.
Ch.
Such soft small hands to hide in mine like birds—
Poor child, she pulls so hard—hush now, Denise,
The wrist will show a bruise, I doubt.
Den.
My wrist?
This is a knight, a man gilt head and feet,
And does such villainous things as that!
Ch.
Yea now,
Will you not weep too? will you cry for it?
So, there, keep quiet; let one loose the mask;
Show me the rivet.
Den.
No, no, not the mask;
I pray you, sir—good love, let be the clasp,
I will not show you—ah!
Ch.
So, so, I said
This was my lady, this one? let the rest
3
I have my gold-headed sweet bird by the foot
To teach it words and feed it with my mouth.
I would one had some silk to tie you with
Softer than a man's fingers be.
Den.
I too;
Your finger pinches like a trap that shuts.
Ch.
Come then, what penance do you think to get
Now I have trapped you? No, my sweet Denise,
No crying, no dear tears for it: no, love,
I am not angry. Why did you break from me?
Den.
Because I would not have a touch of you
Upon me somewhere; or a word of yours
To make all music stupid in my ear.
The least kiss ever put upon your lips
Would throw me this side heaven, to live there. What,
Am I to lose my better place i' the world,
Be stripped out of my girdled maiden's gown
And clad loose for the winter's tooth to hurt,
Because the man's a king, and I—see now,
There's no good in me, I have no wit at all;
I pray you by your mother's eyes, my lord,
Forbear me, let the foolish maiden go
That will not love you; masterdom of us
Gets no man praise: we are so more than poor,
The dear'st of all our spoil would profit you
Less than mere losing; so most more than weak
It were but shame for one to smite us, who
Could but weep louder.
4
But Denise, poor sweet,
I mean you hurt, I smite you? by God's head
I'd give you half my blood to wash your feet.
[They pass.
Duch.
To speak truth, I'm a German offset, sir,
And no high woman; I was born in Cleves,
Where half the blood runs thick.
Par.
Ay, with your tongue and head,
Tell me of German! your silk hair, madam,
Was spun in Paris, and your eyes that fill
The velvet slit i' the mask like two fair lamps,
Set to shake spare gold loose about the dark—
Tell me of German!
Duch.
See then in my hands;
You have good skill at palm-reading, my lord?
Par.
The glove smells sweet inside; that's good to touch.
Duch.
Give me my glove back.
Par.
By your hand, I will not.
Duch.
There is no potency of oath in that;
My hands are weak, sir.
Par.
By your eyes then, no.
Duch.
I pray you, for your courtesy, sweet lord,
Leave me the glove yet.
Par.
Bid me tear it first;
I'll wear this whether iron gird or silk,
Let snatch at it who will; and whoso doth,
I've a keen tongue ensheathed to answer with.
Duch.
I do beseech you, not my glove, fair sir,
For your dear honour,—could you have such heart?
5
Yea, truly; do but see me fasten it;
Nay, it drops; help me to set in the wrist.
The queen comes; I shall cross her sight with this:
If you be woman, as you said, of hers,
It will make sharp the inward of her soul
To see it.
Enter the Queen-Mother, Guise, and Attendants; Cino Galli, and Ladies, masked.
Ca.
So, Denise is caught by this;
Alack, the wolf's paw for the cat's, fair son!
That tall knight with a glove wrought curiously,
Whose friend, think you?
Gui.
Some lady's here, no doubt;
Not mine, as surely.
Par.
Not yours, my lord of Guise.
Ca.
Your wife's glove, is it? sewn with silk throughout,
And some gold work, too: her glove, certainly.
Gui.
Take no note of him, madam; let us go.
[They pass.
Par.
You Catholics, her glove inside my cap,
Look here, I tread it in the dirt: you, Guise,
I tread a token under foot of mine
You would be glad to wear about the heart.
Here, madam, have it back; soiled in the seam
Perhaps a little, but good enough to wear
For any Guise I see yet.
Duch.
I keep it for him.
[Exit Duchess.
6
If he be wise I am no fool. One of you
Bid him come sup with me.
Par.
What fare, good fool?
Cino.
A sacrament of eye-water and rye-bread
Changed to mere foolish flesh and blood to sup, sir.
Yolande.
'Ware stakes, my Cino; is this a head to roast?
Think, my poor fool's tongue with a nail through it,
Were it no pity?
Cino.
Fire goes out with rain, child.
I do but think, too, if I were burnt to-morrow,
What a waste of salt would there be! what a ruin of silk stuff!
What sweet things would one have to hear of me,
Being once got penitent! Suppose you my soul's father,
Here I come weeping, lame in the feet, mine eyes big—
“Yea, my sin merely! be it not writ against me
How the very devil in the shape of a cloth-of-gold skirt
Lost me my soul with a mask, a most ungracious one,
A velvet riddle; and how he set a mark on me,
A red mark, father, here where the halter throttles,
See there, Yolande writ broad;” yet, for all that,
The queen might have worn worse paint, if it please you note me,
If her physic-seller had kept hands cleaner, verily.
Yol.
Kind Cino! dost not look to be kissed for this now?
Cino.
Be something modest, prithee: it was never good time
7
You are not patient; to see how a good man's beard
May be worn out among you!
Anne.
Virtuous Cino!
Cino.
Tell me the right way from a fool to a woman,
I'll tell thee why I eat spiced meat on Fridays.
Yol.
As many feet as take the world twice round, sweet,
Ere the fool come to the woman.
Cino.
I am mocked, verily;
None of these slippers but have lightened heels.
I'll sit in a hole of the ground, and eat rank berries.
Yol.
Why, Cino?
Cino.
Because I would not have a swine's mouth
And eat sweetmeats as ye do. It is a wonder in heaven
How women so nice-lipped, discreet of palate,
Should be as easy for a thief to kiss
As for a king's son; like the common grass
That lets in any sun or rain, and wears
All favours the same way; it is a perfect wonder.
Yol.
A stole for Cino; pray for me, Fra Cino.
Cino.
Vex me not, woman; I renounce the works of thee.
I'll give the serpent no meat, not my heel,
To sweeten his tooth on. I marvel how your mother
Died of her apple, seeing her own sense was
So more pernicious; the man got but lean parings,
And yet they hang too thick for him to swallow.
Well, for some three or four poor sakes of yours,
I'll eat no honey.
8
Wherefore no honey, Cino?
One saint ate honey before your head had eyes in it.
Cino.
I would not think of kissing, and it remembers me.
Here are two scraps of Venus' nibbled meat;
Keep out of the dish, as ye respect me, children,
Let not love broil you on a gold spit for Sundays.
[They retire.
Re-enter the King and Denise.
Ch.
Nay, as you will then.
Den.
Not for love indeed,
Not for love only, but your own fair name,
The costliness and very price of it,
I am bold to talk thus with you. The queen, suspicious
And tempered full of seasonable fears,
Does partly work me into this; truth is it,
There's no such holy secret but she knows
As deep therein as any; all changes, hopes,
Wherewith the seed-time of this year goes heavy,
She holds and governs; and me, as all my fellows,
Has she fed up with shreds and relics thrown
From the full service and the board of time
Where she sits guest, and sees the feast borne through;
I have heard her say, with a sigh shaking her,
There's none more bound to pray for you than she,
And her you love not; and how sore it seems
To see the poisons mingle in your mouth,
And not to stay them.
9
Will she say that indeed?
Denise, I think if she be wise and kindly,
And mixed of mother's very milk and love,
She would not say so.
Den.
I have a fear in me
She doubts your timely speed and spur of blood;
She thinks, being young, you shall but tax her care
And liberal grace with practice and weak tricks;
As thus, say, you conceive of me, fair lord,
As one set on and haled by golden will
(Such lust of hire as many souls hath burnt
Who wear no heat outside) to do you wrong,
To scourge and sting your lesser times with speech,
Trailing you over by some tender lies
On the queen's party; which God doth well believe
To lie as far from me as snow from sun,
Or hence to the round sea.
Ch.
There's no trick meant me?
Den.
I pray, sir, think if I, so poor in wit
The times rebuke me, and myself could chide
With mine own heaviness of head, be fit
To carry such a plot and spill none over
To show the water's colour I bear with me?
All I lay care to is but talk of love,
And put love from me I am emptier
Than vessels broken in the use; I am sorry
That where I would fain show some good, work somehow
To suit with reason, I am thrown out merely,
And prove no help; all other women's praise
10
In them are all my praises. God help some!
If women so much loving were kept wise,
It were a world to live in.
Ch.
Poor Denise,
She loves not then so wisely? yea, sweet thing?
Den.
Did I say that? nay, by God's light, my lord,
It was ill jested—was not—verily,
I see not whether I spake truth or no.
Ch.
Ay, you play both sides on me?
Den.
It may prove so.
I am an ill player, for truly between times
It turns my heart sick.
Ch.
Fear when one plays false, then.
Den.
As good play false when I make play so hardly.
My hand is hurt, sir; I'll no more with you.
Ch.
Will you so cheat me?
Den.
Even so; God quit you, sir!
But pardon me; and yet no pardon, for
I'll have no stay to find it: were pardon at my feet,
I would not bow to gather it. Farewell.
[Exit Denise.
Ch.
Even so? but I'll have reason; eh, sweet mouth?
But I'll have reason of her, my Denise;
How such can love one! all that pains to talk!
What way ran out that rhyme I spun for her?
To do just good to me, that talk! sweet pains.
Yea, thus it fell: Dieu dit—yea, so it fell.
11
Le monde vaut bien une femme.
L'amour passe et fait bien souffrir.
C'est ce que Dieu me dit, madame.
Moi, je dis à Dieu; Je ne veux,
Mon Dieu, que l'avoir dans ma couche,
La baiser dans ses beaux cheveux,
La baiser dans sa belle bouche.
[Exit the King.
Yol.
Now, Cino?
Cino.
I am considering of that apple still;
It hangs in the mouth yet sorely; I would fain know too
Why nettles are not good to eat raw. Come, children,
Come, my sweet scraps; come, painted pieces; come.
Anne.
On after him; he is lean of speech and moody;
Cunning for ill words at such winter-seasons
That come i' the snow like bitter berries. On.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
In the Louvre.Enter King Henry and Margaret.
Mar.
Yea, let him say his will.
Hen.
I will not bear him.
This temperance grows half shame.
Mar.
I doubt God hath
Fashioned our brother of like earth and fire
As moulds you up; be patient; bear with him
Some inches past your humour's mark.
12
Bear what?
By God I will have reason: tell me not;
I love you with the soundest nerve i' the heart,
The cleanest part of blood in it; but him
Even to the sharpest edge and tooth of hate
That blood doth war upon.
Mar.
Keep in this chafe;
Put me in counsel with you.
Hen.
It is no matter.
Mar.
I never saw yet how you love and hate.
Are you turned bitter to me? all old words
Buried past reach for grief to feed upon
As on dead friends? nay, but if this be, too,
Stand you my friend; there is no crown i' the world
So good as patience; neither is any peace
That God puts in our lips to drink as wine,
More honey-pure, more worthy love's own praise,
Than that sweet-souled endurance which makes clean
The iron hands of anger. A man being smitten
That washes his abuséd cheek with blood
Purges it nothing, gets no good at all,
But is twice punished, and his insult wears
A double colour; for where but one red was
Another blots it over. Such mere heat
I' the brain and hand, even for a little stain,
A summer insolence and waspish wound,
Hurts honour to the heart, and makes that rent
That none so gracious medicine made of earth
Can heal and shut like patience. The gentle God
That made us out of pain endurable
13
How life, being perfect, should keep even hand
Between a suffering and a flattered sense,
Not fail for either.
Hen.
You do think sweetly of him;
But on this matter I could preach you out.
For see, God made us weak and marred with shame
Our mixed conception, to this end that we
Should wear remembrance each alike, and carry
Strait equal raiment of humility;
Not bare base cheeks for wrong to spit across,
Nor vex his print in us with such foul colours
As would make bondsmen blush.
Mar.
Let him slip wrong,
So you do reason; if such a half-king'd man
Turn gross or wag lewd lips at you, for that
Must anger strike us fool? 'Tis not the stamp,
The purity and record of true blood,
That makes Christ fair, but piteous humbleness,
Wherein God witnesses for him, no prince
Except a peasant and so poor a man
God gives him painful bread, and for all wine
Doth feed him on sharp salt of simple tears
And bitter fast of blood.
Hen.
Yea, well; yea, well;
And I am patient with you Catholics;
But this was God's sweet son, nothing like me,
Who have to get my right and wear it through
Unhelped of justice; all do me wrong but I,
And right I'll make me.
14
But all this wording-time
I am not perfect where this wrong began;
Last night it had no formal face to show,
That's now full-featured.
Hen.
Ah! no matter, sweet;
Nothing, pure nought.
Mar.
Have you no shame then current
To pay this anger? Nay, as you are my lord,
I'll pluck it out by the lips.
Hen.
A breath, a threat,
A gesture, garment pulled this way; nothing.
Mar.
You do me wrong, sir, wrong.
Hen.
Well, thus then it fell out;
By God, though, when I turn to think on it,
Shame takes me by the throat again; well, thus.
King Charles, being red up to the eyes with wine,
In the queen's garden, meeting me—as chance
Took me to walk six paces with some girl,
Some damozel the queen's choice dwells upon,
Strayed somehow from the broader presence—
Mar.
Well—
Hen.
I swear to you by faith and faith's pure lip
That I know—that I did not hear her name
Save of his mouth.
Mar.
I did not ask her name.
Hen.
Nor do I well remember it; forgive,
I think it was not—
Mar.
Pass.
Hen.
Alys de Saulx—
Mar.
Marshal Tavannes has no such name akin.
15
There's Anne de Saulx wears longest hair of all;
A maid with grey grave eyes—a right fair thing;
Not she, I doubt me.
Mar.
Worse for you, my lord.
Hen.
Ay, worse. Diane de Villequier is tall—
Mar.
Are we at riddles?—Agnès de Bacqueville?
Hen.
Some such name, surely; either Châteauroux—
Mar.
Her name? as I am wedded woman, sir,
I know you have it hidden in your mouth
Like sugar; tell me; take it on the lip.
Hen.
There was a D in it that kissed an M.
Mar.
Denise? a white long woman with thick hair,
Gold, where the sun comes?
Hen.
Ay, to the ends clean gold.
Mar.
Yea, not the lightest thing she has, that hair.
Hen.
You hold for true—
Mar.
We have time to come for her.
Keep in your story.
Hen.
Nought, mere nought to tell:
This just; the king comes, pulls her hand from mine—
Mar.
Ah! no more shame?
Hen.
No more in him than that;
Plucked her as hard—
Mar.
As she was glad to go.
Hen.
Not so; she trembled to the feet, went white,
Spoke hardly—
Mar.
Kept one hand of them your way?
Hen.
Charles caught her wrist up, muttered next her ear,
Bade me leave care—
16
Nay, here's more fool than we.
Enter Cino.
Cino.
The world was a wise man when he lived by bread only;
There be sweet tricks now. How does my worthy sister?
Mar.
Not so much ill as to cease thanks for it.
How does thy cap, fool?
Cino.
Warm, I thank it, warm;
I need not wear it patched as much as faith.
I am fallen sick of heavy head; sad, sad;
I am as sick as Lent.
Mar.
Dull, dull as dust;
Thou hadst some nerve i' the tongue.
Cino.
Why, I am old;
This white fool three days older in my beard
Than is your wedding. But be not you cast down;
For the mere sting is honourable in wedlock,
And the gall salve: therefore I say, praise God.
Hen.
We do not catch thy sense.
Cino.
Let my sense be;
I say I could weep off mine eye-cases,
But for pity of some ladies who would run mad then.
Do not you meddle.
Mar.
What wisdom mak'st thou here?
Cino.
Why, a fool's wisdom, to change wit with blocks.
You were late railing; were she that you did gibe
Clean as her mother made, I tell you verily
17
To her fair footsole.
Mar.
Ay, but she's none such.
Cino.
I care not what she be; do you not gibe,
I care no whit. Let her take twelve or six,
And waste the wicked'st part of time on them,
She doth outstand you by ten elbow-lengths.
Hen.
Hath love not played the knave with this fool's eyes?
Cino.
Let that lie shut, and put you thumb to lip;
For kings are bone and blood; put flesh to that,
You have the rind and raiment of a man.
If you be wise, stay wise, even for my sake;
Learn to lie smooth, be piteous and abashed,
And though dirt fall upon your faith and you
Keep your ear sober, chide not with its news,
And use endurance well; so shall he thrive,
That being a king doth crouch, and free doth wive.
Farewell, fair king.
[Exit Cino
Hen.
This fool is wried with wine.
Mar.
French air hath nipped his brains; what ailed my mother
To have him north?
Hen.
You bring her in my mind;
Have you no service on the queen to-day?
Mar.
I think she would lie privately; she said
She was not well.
Hen.
I pray you then with me.
Mar.
I will not with my lord of Pardaillan;
You shall not break me with the king.
18
Men say
Guise hath some angry matter made with him
That I would learn.
Mar.
I am with you by the way;
I have some tricks to tell you of Denise.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Cabinet.The Queen-Mother; Denise dressing her hair; Tavannes.
Den.
Disait amour, voyant rire madame,
Qui me baisait dessous mes yeux un jour;
La rose est plus que fleur et moins que femme,
Disait amour.
Disait amour; m'est peine éclose en âme;
Dieu veuille, hélas! qu'elle me baise un jour.
Ayez merci, car je souffre, madame,
Disait amour.
Ca.
Set the gold higher. So, my lord Tavannes,
You have no answer of the king?
Tav.
Not I;
The devil would give over such hard work,
I doubt, as you put me to.
Ca.
Ah well, well,
I thank you for it. Tie the next more loose,
You prick my forehead through the hair, Denise.
Strange, my lord marshal, I show less grey spots
Than gold thread in it, surely. Five years hence,
These girls will put a speckled silver on,
19
Eh, will not you, Denise?
Den.
If I wear white,
Gold must be out of purchase; I'll get gold
Or wear my head shorn flat, and vex no combs.
Ca.
You put sweet powders in your own too much;
There, stoop down—you may kiss me if you will—
I smell the spice and orris-root in it.
Fie, this will cheat your face, my poor Denise;
This will bleach out the colours of your blood,
And leave the hair half old. See you, lord marshal,
This girl's was never soft and thick like mine:
Mine was so good to feel once, I know well
Kings would have spent their lips in kissing it.
Tav.
I have poor judgment of girls' hair and cheeks;
Most women doubtless have some gold and red
Somewhere to handle, and for less or more
I care not greatly.
Ca.
Yea, I do well think once
I had such eyes as time did sleep in them,
And age forbear the purple at their lids;
And my mouth's curve has been a gracious thing
For kisses to fall near: none will say now
That this was once. I may remember me
That Scotswoman did fleer at my grey face;
I marvel not what sort of hair she has.
Den.
The Queen of Scots lived gently in repute;
She has much wrong.
Ca.
Put not your judgment to't;
The peril that enrings her place about
20
Yet hardly from the outside of my heart,
Our sister England; were I set like her,
I might look so.
Tav.
Yea so? mere heretic?
Ca.
Beseech you, pardon me; I am all shame
That I so far misuse your holiness.
I know as you are sharp in continence
So are you hard in faith. Mark this, Denise,
These swording-men are holier things than we;
These would put no kiss on, these would not praise
A girl's hair—
Tav.
Madam, do you jape at me?
Ca.
Scarce let the wine turn in their veins to blood;
Strangle the knowledge and the note of sense,
Deny that worth; these eat no grosser meat
Than the cleanest water we dip fingers in;
Endure beyond the very touch of man,
Have none so soft use of the lip as makes it
Affect the natural way. Sir, is this true?
Tav.
Why, if men said you had more teeth than hairs
They would just lie; and if they call me that
They lie a something harder.
Ca.
Fie, my lord!
Your good wit to a woman's? will you say
The dog licks where it bit you, if I say
Forgive, Sir Gaspard, and be friends with me?
Come, if I make you sit by me, fair knight,
21
To choose you for his marshal? Ten years back,
And maybe clap some other tens on that,
I mind me well, sir, how you came up here
To serve at Paris; we had a right king then,
King Francis, with his close black beard and eyes
Near half as royal as your own, I think.
A fair page were you, and had yellow hair
That was all burnt since into brown; your cheek
Had felt no weather pinch it or sun bite,
It was so red then: but you fought well, sir,
Always fought well; it was good game to see
Your hand that swung round, getting weight to throw,
Feeling for room to strike; Gaspard, by God
I would have paid gold coin to turn a man
And get me bone to handle the good steel
And nerves to fight with; but I doubt me, soon
I should have had the dust to roll into,
Though I were made six men to fight with you.
Yet my arm ached for want of spears to smite—
Eh? when you ran down that Montgommery
That slew my lord with his side-prick i' the eye?
Yea surely; you were my best knight, De Saulx.
Tav.
Madam—
Ca.
Nay, Gaspard, when I lie of you
Then let your bit rasp at the mouth of me;
I speak poor truth; why, this Denise of mine
Would give time up and turn her gold hair grey
To have seen out the season we two saw.
22
I would not; (aside to Cath.)
my lord marshal is too lean
To be a fair man.
Ca.
So, your glove for his?
We shall have larger passages of war
Except I look to it. Pray you, Denise,
Fetch me my glove—my spice-box—anything;
I will not trust you with my lord; make in.
[Exit Denise.
How like you her?
Tav.
A costly piece of white;
Such perfumed heads can bear no weight inside
I think, with all that waste of gold to bear
Plaited each way; their roots do choke the brain.
Ca.
There your sense errs; though she be tender-made,
Yet is there so much heart in her as could
Wear danger out of patience. It is my son I fear
Much more than I doubt her: the king my son
Flutters not overmuch his female times
With love enough to hurt, but turns and takes,
Wears and lets go; yet if she springe him once,
Click, quoth the gin; and there we trap him. See,
This medicine I make out for him is sweet,
More soft to handle than a poppy's bud,
And pleasant as a scented mouth to kiss.
Tav.
Yea, I do see.
Ca.
Now at this turn of time
He is not perfect; and I have a mean
To bring him to our use. My lord of Guise—
23
Doth he make part of it?
Ca.
Fear you not him;
He is the blazon patched upon our cloth
To keep the pattern's gold. For the king's self,
I have half possessed him of the deeds to be,
And he hath nothing blenched.
Tav.
But, to this girl—
What way serves her in this?
Ca.
Being ignorant,
She does the better work; for her own sake
Trails him my way, assures herself the king
Would pluck the reddest secret from his heart
To show her, as you take the reddest rose
To smell at, if the colour go by scent;
That's all her certainty. What foot is there?
Tav.
The king, and hastily.
Ca.
Keep you by me;
I know his cause. Let him come in.
Enter the King.
Ch.
Fair mother,
Good morrow come upon your majesty.
Ca.
The morrow grows upon good night, fair son;
That will salute me soon with sleep; you see
I keep not well.
Ch.
Ah, pale by God though, pale!
I'm sorry—sir, good morrow—hurt at heart.
Hear you my news? The admiral is hurt,
Touched in the side—I lie now, not the side,
24
But he is some way wounded.
Ca.
I am sorry
No goodness walks more clear. Sir, think you not
That for a colour—say a colour, now—
Ch.
I doubt you do not mean to visit him?
Ca.
But I do mean; and if your leave hold out
We'll bid the Guise with us.
Ch.
Have your best way:
Write me content thereof.
Ca.
I thank you, sir.
Lord marshal, you shall pray the Guise for us.
Tav.
Madam, I shall; God keep your grace's health.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
The Admiral's House.Enter Coligny and La Rochefoucauld.
La R.
How do you yet, sir?
Co.
Ill, yea, very ill:
This snake has pricked me to the heart, to the quick,
To the keenest of it; I believe heartily
I shall not live to foil them. God mend some!
For live or die, and wounded flesh or whole,
There will be hard things done; we shall not see
Much more fair time.
La R.
Take better thoughts to you;
The king is steady; and the Guise wears eyes
Of such green anger and suspicious light
As cows his followers; even the queen-mother
25
And pinches whiter her thin face; Tavannes
Goes chewing either lip's hair with his teeth,
Churning his bearded spite, and wears the red
Set on his cheek more steady; the whole court
Flutters like birds before the rain begin;
Salcède, who hates no place in hell so much
As he loathes Guise, lets out his spleen at him
And wags his head more than its use was; yea,
The main set draws our way now the steel bit
Keeps hard inside their mouths: yea, they pull straight.
Co.
You lay too much upon them.
La R.
Not a whit over:
They are good men our side; no dog laps i' the trough
So deep as we do; the best men we have
That France has for us, the best mouths for a hunt,
To wind the quarry furthest; then to these
A clean cause, friends with iron on the hand,
The king to head, no less.
Co.
The king, no less?
Yea, there's a dog gives tongue, and tongue enough,
Too hot I doubt, too hot; strikes by the scent.
La R.
Will you think so? why, there be dog-leashes;
Pluck hard, you hold him. Come, I note you though;
None sticks in your throat but Venus the old brach.
Co.
True, there she sticks, sir; for your burden saith—
“Brach's feet and witch's nose
Breathe which way the quarry blows.”
26
She's old, sir, old; the teeth drop, the smell wears;
No breath in her by this.
Co.
Enough to breathe
The best of you that snuff about and yelp.
Who stops there in the street? look out.
La R.
The king!
So, get you ready; Catherine here and all,
God save my wits a taking! here you have them.
Enter the King, Queen-Mother, Guise, and Attendants.
Ch.
Do not rise up, sir; pray you keep your place;
Nay now, by God's face, look, the cloak slips off;
Nay, be more patient.
Co.
Dear and gracious lord,
If you be pleased to look on my disease
As not my will, but a constraint to me
Less native than my garments, I have hope
You may forgive it.
Ch.
Yea, we do, we do.
Ca.
It was not, sir, your sickness we took pains
To come and visit; what's no friend of yours
Is even as our own felt infirmity,
And should be held so.
Ch.
True, sir, by God it should.
Ca.
We therefore pray you have no care of that,
But as we do, respect it.
Ch.
Do not, sir.
Co.
Madam, a sick man has not breath or tongue
27
But even the very blood that pain makes war on
Is healed and sound by this. From stronger heart
Than ere I saw you was in me, now touched
And comforted by favour, I pay thanks
The best I have; and none so poor man pays
A rent of words more costly.
Ca.
My fair lord,
This compliment has relish of more health
Than was believed in you; I am most glad
That footless rumour which makes wing to go
Reports you something lesser than you seem;
So making keener with new spice to it
Our very edge of pleasure, the fine taste
That waits on sudden sweetness. Sir, nathless,
No compliment it was we came to beg,
No alms of language and frayed garb o' the court
That makes no wear for men; but to do grace indeed
Rather to us than you, whose worth no friend
Can top with favour.
Co.
It shows the more love in you.
Ca.
Also, my lord, for such poor part as mine,
I pray you be not jealous to receive
Assurance of me with how sore a hurt
Ill news of you made passage most unkind
Into my knowledge; and with how dear a price
I would have bought a chance to succour you
Whose wound was sickness to me. So God love my son,
As I have put my prayer for your good hap
28
Get worship of me but I'll speak of you
As the leader of my loves, the captain friend
Among my nearest. Sir, the king knows well
How I speak of you; see now, let him say
Whether I lie or no in loving you.
Ch.
Ay, sir, there's no such day or night-season
But she holds to you, none but the admiral,
That good lord, that best counsellor, strong ward
For any king to hang by; time has been, sir,
I have turned sick of hearing your grave name
So paddled over, handled so; my lord,
There's no man, none in the world, my mother mates with you
Save two, that's I and God.
Gui.
And that's a courtesy.
Co.
My lord of Guise, I saw you not; this day,
As men do shut the edges of a wound,
Shuts the loud lips of our contention; sir,
This grace you do me shall keep fast my thanks
To your name always.
Gui.
It is the king's good will
I should be made the servant to his act;
And what grace pleases him to bring me to
I take as title to me; this not least,
To call my poor name a friend's name of yours.
Co.
That makes mine honour.
Ch.
It was this we came
To see made well up from the Guise to you;
My thought was ever there, yea, nailed to it,
29
Prayer at feast-season and my fast at noon,
To get this over.
Co.
It is well set now.
This hand is hurt I lay into your hand,
But the love whole and the good will as sound
As shall the peace be for us.
Gui.
I take it so;
Maimed be that hand which first shall loosen it,
Even beyond healing.
Co.
Pardon, my fair lord,
I am but old, you strain my wrist too much.
Ch.
Nay, you are worse hurt than they told us, then;
I pray you show me but the coat, I would
Fain see the coat where blood must stick of yours.
Co.
Sir, there it is.
Ch.
Ay, no more red than this?
I thank you; was it this way the slit came?
Yea, so, I see; yea, sideways in the sleeve.
Is that the admiral's blood indeed? Methinks,
Being issued from so famous veins as yours,
This should be redder. See, well above the wrist;
See, madam; yea, meseems I smell the stain.
Ca.
It is an ill sight.
Co.
I would give better, sir,
Spill the red residue some worthier way,
If you would heed me. Trust not each in all,
Nor sew your faith too thinly to men's sleeves;
There is a poisonous faith that eats right out
The sober and sweet heart of clean allegiance,
30
Merely the baser flesh; beware of that.
Ch.
I will.—Is not this like men's blood?—I will.
Most like a common fool's; see you, lord Guise,
Here's a great soldier has no blood more worth
Than yours or mine. By God, how strange is that,
It makes me marvel. Is your wound near well?
Tush! no more hurt than shall a month see out.
Ca.
You have poor sense of sickness; I fear much
Our friend shall hardly feed on the larger air
This two months hence. You must keep close, dear lord,
Hide from the insolent and eager time;
And we not wrong you by the overstay
Of foolish friendship, thankworthy in this,
That it knows when to cease, what limit made
To measure its observance by. Farewell;
Think not worse of us that we trouble you,
But know we love you even too well to buy
Our further speech with danger of your hurt,
And had we sounder witness of our love
Would better prove it. Sir, God keep you well
And give us joy to see you.
Ch.
Farewell, dear father;
Doubt not but we will lay a present hand
On one that hath so stricken us in you,
And he shall find us sharp. In trust of that
Keep some thought of this poorest friend you have,
As we of you shall. Trouble not yourself.
Nay, have your cloak on; so; God give you help.
31
Yea, night it is now; God send you good time of it.
[Exeunt, King, Queen-Mother, Guise, &c.
Co.
Good thanks, sir, and farewell.—So: gone, I think?
La R.
Fair words go with them! you have good time indeed;
What holidays of honey have they kept,
What a gold season of sentences to warm by,
Even past all summer! a sweet oil-season,
Kept ripe with periods of late wine to finish it!
Co.
Ay, the taste of them makes a bitter lip, sir.
La R.
Nay, mere feast-honey; did you mark the Guise once,
How his chin twisted and got rough with smiles,
Like a new cloth rained on? How the nose was wried of him,
What widow's cheeks he had, never well dried yet?
The sweet speech clung in his throat like a kernel swallowed
In sucking cherries.
Co.
You are too loud yet, too splenetive.
La R.
Tush! they are well gone, no fear of them; but verily
I doubt you saw not how like a dog's his face was,
A dog's you catch with meat in his teeth; by Christ,
I thought he would have cried or cursed outright,
His mouth so wrought.
Co.
Yea, either had done well.
La R.
A dog that snarls and shivers with back down,
32
For God's sake do not beat me, sirs!” eh, Guise?—
With timid foam between his teeth; poor beast, too,
I could be sorry for him.
Co.
Be wise in time, sir,
And save your tears; this Guise has scope to mend,
Get past these matters; I not doubt the queen
Touches them with a finger-point of hers.
La R.
The queen gets kind; she lessens and goes out;
No woman holds a snake at breast so long,
But it must push its head between the plaits
And show across her throat's gold work. Fair sir,
Cure but your doubt, your blood is whole again
And pain washed out at once; it is the fret of that
Which fevers you so far.
Co.
This is not so.
I pray you mark: their fires are lit next room,
The smoke bites in our eyelids, air turns weak
And body trembles and breath sickens here.
Sir, I do know this danger to the heart,
To the shape and bone of it, the mouth and eyes,
The place and time, season and consequence;
By God's head, sir, now, this mere now, this day,
The peril ripens like a wound o' the flesh
That gathers poison; and we sleepy things
Let crawl up to our feet the heats that will
Turn fire to burn.
La R.
Your wisdom is too loud:
Doth it fear truly some court-card, some trick
That throws out honour?
33
Yea; for note me this,
These men so wholly hate us and so well
It would be honey to their lips, I think,
To have our death for the familiar word
They chatter between mass-time and the bed
Wet with wine, scented with a harlot's hair,
They lie so smooth in. When one hates like that,
So many of them, each a hand and mouth
To stab and lie and pray and poison with,
The bloodsmell quickens in the head, the scent
Feels gross upon the trail, and the steam turns
Thicker i' the noses of the crew; right soon
Shall their feet smoke in the red pasturing-place
And tongues lap hot; such cannot eat mere grass
Nor will drink water.
La R.
Are we stalled for them?
Are we their sheep? have we no steel? dumb sheep?
Co.
No steel; the most of us have watered blood,
Their nerves are threads of silk, their talk such cries
As babies babble through the suckling milk,
Put them by these.
La R.
I have a way to help;
A damsel of the queen-mother's loves me
More than her mistress; she has eyes to kiss
That can see well; I'll get us help of her.
Co.
Tell her no word.
La R.
Yea, many words, I think.
Co.
No word, sir, none.
La R.
This riddle sticks, my lord.
Co.
To say we stand in fear is perilous prate;
34
So could we neither stand in time nor fly,
Being caught both ways. Do not you speak with her.
La R.
I'll make help somehow yet; Yolande is good
And would not hurt us; a fair mouth too small
To let lies in and learn broad tricks of speech;
I'll get help, surely. Does not your wound hurt?
Co.
Not much; I pray you draw my cloak across;
So; the air chafes.
La R.
Go in and rest some while;
Your blood is hot even to the fingers.
Co.
True;
I shall sleep ill. Come in with me, fair lord.
[Exeunt.
| The Queen-Mother | |