 | The Queen-Mother |  |
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.
| The Queen-Mother | |