Act I. Scene Ii. a Hall in the Same.

The QUEEN, DARNLEY, MURRAY, RANDOLPH, the MARIES, CHASTELARD, &c.

QUEEN. Hath no man seen my lord of Chastelard? Nay, no great matter. Keep you on that side: Begin the purpose.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Madam, he is here.

QUEEN. Begin a measure now that other side. I will not dance; let them play soft a little. Fair sir, we had a dance to tread to-night, To teach our north folk all sweet ways of France, But at this time we have no heart to it. Sit, sir, and talk. Look, this breast-clasp is new, The French king sent it me.

CHASTELARD. A goodly thing: But what device? the word is ill to catch.

QUEEN. A Venus crowned, that eats the hearts of men: Below her flies a love with a bat's wings, And strings the hair of paramours to bind Live birds' feet with. Lo what small subtle work: The smith's name, Gian Grisostomo da--what? Can you read that? The sea froths underfoot; She stands upon the sea and it curls up In soft loose curls that run to one in the wind. But her hair is not shaken, there 's a fault; It lies straight down in close-cut points and tongues, Not like blown hair. The legend is writ small: Still one makes out this--*Cave*--if you look.

CHASTELARD. I see the Venus well enough, God wot, But nothing of the legend.

QUEEN. Come, fair lord, Shall we dance now? My heart is good again.

DARNLEY. I do not like this manner of a dance, This game of two by two; it were much better To meet between the changes and to mix Than still to keep apart and whispering Each lady out of earshot with her friend.

MARY BEATON. That 's as the lady serves her knight, I think: We are broken up too much.

DARNLEY. Nay, no such thing; Be not wroth, lady, I wot it was the queen Pricked each his friend out. Look you now--your ear-- If love had gone by choosing--how they laugh, Lean lips together, and wring hands underhand! What, you look white too, sick of heart, ashamed, No marvel--for men call it--hark you though--

MURRAY. Was the queen found no merrier in France?

MARY HAMILTON. Why, have you seen her sorrowful to-night?

MURRAY. I say not so much; blithe she seems at whiles, Gentle and goodly doubtless in all ways, But hardly with such lightness and quick heart As it was said.

MARY HAMILTON. 'Tis your great care of her Makes you misdoubt; nought else.

MURRAY. Yea, may be so; She has no cause I know to sadden her.

QUEEN. I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours Two years gone hence and felt no wearier. One grows much older northwards, my fair lord; I wonder men die south; meseems all France Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now, No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth; We have done with dancing measures: sing that song You call the song of love at ebb.

MARY BEATON.

1. Between the sunset and the sea My love laid hands and lips on me; Of sweet came sour, of day came night, Of long desire came brief delight: Ah love, and what thing came of thee Between the sea-downs and the sea?

2. Between the sea-mark and the sea Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me; Love turned to tears, and tears to fire, And dead delight to new desire; Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be Between the sea-sand and the sea.

3. Between the sundown and the sea Love watched one hour of love with me; Then down the all-golden water-ways His feet flew after yesterday's; I saw them come and saw them flee Between the sea-foam and the sea.

4. Between the sea-strand and the sea Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me; The first star saw twain turn to one Between the moonrise and the sun; The next, that saw not love, saw me Between the sea-banks and the sea.

QUEEN. Lo, sirs, What mirth is here! Some song of yours, fair lord; You know glad ways of rhyming--no such tunes As go to tears.

CHASTELARD. I made this yesterday; For its love's sake I pray you let it live.

1. Apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs, Soyez secourable a mon ame en peine. Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs; Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs, Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.

2. Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux. Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux, Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux; L'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere.

QUEEN. 'T is a true song; love shall not pluck time back Nor time lie down with love. For me, I am old; Have you no hair changed since you changed to Scot? I look each day to see my face drawn up About the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks. I think this air and face of things here north Puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears Between the sad eyes and the merry mouth In their youth-days.

CHASTELARD. It is a bitter air.

QUEEN. Faith, if I might be gone, sir, would I stay? I think, for no man's love's sake.

CHASTELARD. I think not.

QUEEN. Do you yet mind at landing how the quay Looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind And washing of wan waves? how the hard mist Made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight, They said my face would burn off cloud and rain Seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire, Kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods-- I know not what. You praise me past all loves; And these men love me little; 't is some fault, I think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault. I have your verse still beating in my head Of how the swallow got a wing broken In the spring time, and lay upon his side Watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time, And broke his heart with grieving at himself Before the snow came. Do you know that lord With sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat? Good friends to me; I had need love them well. Why do you look one way? I will not have you Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me To care much now for old French friends of mine.-- Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me, Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.--

DARNLEY. Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans, Holding him fast--the supple way she hath! Your queen hath none such; better as she is For all her measures, a grave English maid, Than queen of snakes and Scots.

RANDOLPH. She is over fair To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight; Goodly to look on.

MURRAY. Yea, a good sword too, And of good kin; too light of loving though; These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers, They snap at all meats.

DARNLEY. What! by God I think, For all his soft French face and bright boy's sword, There be folks fairer: and for knightliness, These hot-lipped brawls of Paris breed sweet knights-- Mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.--

QUEEN. There, I have danced you down for once, fair lord; You look pale now. Nay then for courtesy I must needs help you; do not bow your head, I am tall enough to reach close under it.

Now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.--

DARNLEY. A courtesy, God help us! courtesy-- Pray God it wound not where it should heal wounds. Why, there was here last year some lord of France (Priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince) Told tales of Paris ladies--nay, by God, No jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of That would keep clean; I wot he made good mirth, But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- Nay, I laughed too, but lothly.--

QUEEN. How they look! The least thing courteous galls them to the bone. What would one say now I were thinking of?

CHASTELARD. It seems, some sweet thing.

QUEEN. True, a sweet one, sir-- That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor, The second pity, and the last kiss love. Which think you now was that I kissed you with?

CHASTELARD. It should be pity, if you be pitiful; For I am past all honoring that keep Outside the eye of battle, where my kin Fallen overseas have found this many a day No helm of mine between them; and for love, I think of that as dead men of good days Ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when God Was friends with them.

QUEEN. Good; call it pity then. You have a subtle riddling skill at love Which is not like a lover. For my part, I am resolved to be well done with love, Though I were fairer-faced than all the world; As there be fairer. Think you, fair my knight, Love shall live after life in any man? I have given you stuff for riddles.

CHASTELARD. Most sweet queen, They say men dying remember, with sharp joy And rapid reluctation of desire, Some old thin, some swift breath of wind, some word, Some sword-stroke or dead lute-strain, some lost sight, Some sea-blossom stripped to the sun and burned At naked ebb--some river-flower that breathes Against the stream like a swooned swimmer's mouth-- Some tear or laugh ere lip and eye were man's-- Sweet stings that struck the blood in riding--nay, Some garment or sky-color or spice-smell, And die with heart and face shut fast on it, And know not why, and weep not; it may be Men shall hold love fast always in such wise In new fair lives where all are new things else, And know not why, and weep not.

QUEEN. A right rhyme, And right a thyme's worth: nay, a sweet song, though. What, shall my cousin hold fast that love of his, Her face and talk, when life ends? as God grant His life end late and sweet; I love him well. She is fair enough, his lover; a fair-faced maid, With gray sweet eyes and tender touch of talk; And that, God wot, I wist not. See you, sir, Men say I needs must get wed hastily; Do none point lips at him?

CHASTELARD. Yea, guessingly.

QUEEN. God help such lips! and get me leave to laugh! What should I do but paint and put him up Like a gilt god, a saintship in a shrine, For all fools' feast? God's mercy on men's wits! Tall as a housetop and as bare of brain-- I'll have no staffs with fool-faced carven heads To hang my life on. Nay, for love, no more, For fear I laugh and set their eyes on edge To find out why I laugh. Good-night, fair lords; Bid them cease playing. Give me your hand; good-night.

SCENE III.--MARY BEATON'S chamber: night.

CHASTELARD. I am not certain yet she will not come; For I can feel her hand's heat still in mine, Past doubting of, and see her brows half draw, And half a light in the eyes. If she come not, I am no worse than he that dies to-night. This two years' patience gets an end at least, Whichever way I am well done with it. How hard the thin sweet moon is, split and laced And latticed over, just a stray of it Catching and clinging at a strip of wall, Hardly a hand's breadth. Did she turn indeed In going out? not to catch up her gown The page let slip, but to keep sight of me? There was a soft small stir beneath her eyes Hard to put on, a quivering of her blood That knew of the old nights watched out wakefully. Those measures of her dancing too were changed-- More swift and with more eager stops at whiles And rapid pauses where breath failed her lips.

O, she is come: if you be she indeed Let me but hold your hand; what, no word yet? You turn and kiss me without word; O sweet, If you will slay me be not over quick, Kill me with some slow heavy kiss that plucks The heart out at the lips. Alas! Sweet love, Give me some old sweet word to kiss away. Is it a jest? for I can feel your hair Touch me--I may embrace your body too? I know you well enough without sweet words. How should one make you speak? This is not she. Come in the light; nay, let me see your eyes. Ah, you it is? what have I done to you? And do you look now to be slain for this That you twist back and shudder like one stabbed?

MARY BEATON. Yea, kill me now and do not look at me: God knows I meant to die. Sir, for God's love, Kill me now quick ere I go mad with shame.

CHASTELARD. Cling not upon my wrists: let go the hilt: Nay, you will bruise your hand with it: stand up: You shall not have my sword forth.

MARY BEATON. Kill me now, I will not rise: there, I am patient, see, I will not strive, but kill me for God's sake.

CHASTELARD. Pray you rise up and be not shaken so: Forgive me my rash words, my heart was gone After the thing you were: be not ashamed; Give me the shame, you have no part in it; Can I not say a word shall do you good? Forgive that too.

MARY BEATON. I shall run crazed with shame; But when I felt your lips catch hold on mine It stopped my breath: I would have told you all; Let me go out: you see I lied to you, Am I am shamed; I pray you loose me, sir, Let me go out.

CHASTELARD. Think no base things of me: I were most base to let you go ashamed. Think my heart's love and honor go with you: Yea, while I live, for your love's noble sake, I am your servant in what wise may be, To love and serve you with right thankful heart.

MARY BEATON. I have given men leave to mock me, and must bear What shame they please: you have good cause to mock. Let me pass now.

CHASTELARD. You know I mock you not. If ever I leave off to honor you, God give me shame! I were the worst churl born.

MARY BEATON. No marvel though the queen should love you too, Being such a knight. I pray you for her love, Lord Chastelard, of your great courtesy, Think now no scorn to give me my last kiss That I shall have of man before I die. Even the same lips you kissed and knew not of Will you kiss now, knowing the shame of them, And say no one word to me afterwards, That I may see I have loved the best lover And man most courteous of all men alive?

MARY SEYTON.

Here, fetch the light: nay, this way; enter all.

MARY BEATON. I am twice undone. Fly, get some hiding, sir; They have spied upon me somehow.

CHASTELARD. Nay, fear not; Stand by my side.

MARY HAMILTON. Give me that light: this way.

CHASTELARD. What jest is here, fair ladies? it walks late, Something too late for laughing.

MARY SEYTON. Nay, fair sir, What jest is this of yours? Look to your lady: She is nigh swooned. The queen shall know all this.

MARY HAMILTON. A grievous shame it is we are fallen upon; Hold forth the light. Is this your care of us? Nay, come, look up: this is no game, God wot.

CHASTELARD. Shame shall befall them that speak shamefully: I swear this lady is as pure and good As any maiden, and who believes me not Shall keep the shame for his part and the lie. To them that come in honor and not in hate I will make answer. Lady, have good heart. Give me the light there: I will see you forth.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.