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Readers are asked to re- port all cases of books marked or mutilated. Do not deface books by marks and writing. PR The original of tliis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3556083 WORKS BY MR. SWINBURNE, The Queen Mother and Rosamond. Fcp. 8vo. s^. Atalanta and Calydon. Crown 8vo. 6f. Chastelard : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. yj. Poems and Ballads. Fcp. 8vo. or cr. 8vo. gj. Notes on ' Poems and Bal- iads.' 8vo. If. Poems and Ballads. Sbcohd Series. Fcp. 8vo. or cr. 8vo. 9*. William Biake. A Critical Essay. Demy 8vo. i6s. Songs before Sunrise'. Crown 8vo. xoj. 6(/. Bothwell. A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. i2.r. Sd, George Chapman. An Essay. Crown 8vo. 7^. Songs of Two Nations. Crown 8vo. 6f. Essays and Studies. Crown 8vo. i2f. Erechtheus : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. ds. Note of an English Re- publican on the Muscovite Cru- sade. 8vo. zs. A Note on Charlotte Bronte. Crown 8vo. 6* . A Study of Shakespeare. Crown 8vo. 8j-. Songs of the Spring- Tides. Crown 8vo. 6s. Studies in Song. Crown 8vo. js. Mary Stuart. A Tragedy. Crown 8vo. is. CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly, W. BOTHWELL. •TroWk fiev ya Tpe^et Setyel deifiAruy &x''1t ir6vrial t' ayKdhai KvaBdXay hyraitav ^poroiffi AafiTTiiBes veddopoi, vravd re Kal Tre^o$dfxova, KiLV^fLo4i/TO)V aly'iBoiv tppdffai Kdrov. AaV uTripToXfi.ov hv- Zphs ff>p6injfA.a ris Keyoi, Kal yvvatKav (ppefflv rXjifjiSvau ; epiaras &rattrt ffvvvdfJLOvs $poTcdy, 9T)\vKpar^s hv4poi70S ?patr trapauiK^ Kvw^d\wv re koI ^porSiv. Absch. Cko. 535-601. BOTHWELL A TRAGEDY BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THIRD EDITION CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1882 All rights reserved CORNEtt UNiViRsrry U8RARY LONDOK : PRINTED BY SrOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET A VICTOR HUGO. Comme un Jlcuve qui donne d Poc/an son dme, jfapporte au lieu sacrd d'oH le vers tonne et luit Mon draine ^pigue et plein de iumulte et de flamme, on vibre un siecle Heint, oil flotte un jojir qui fuit. Un peuple qui rugit sous les pieds d'une femme Passe, et son souffle emplit d'aube et d'ombre et de bruit Un del dpre et guerrier qui luit comme une lame Sur I'avenir debout, sur le passi d^truit. Au fond des deux hagards, par I'orage battue, Une figure d'ombre et d'itoiles vitue Pleure et menace et brille en s'dvanouissant ; iclair d'amour qui blesse et de haine qui tue, Fleur iclose au sommet d'u siicle dblouissant. Rose a, tige ipineuse et que rougit le sang. BOTHWELL DRAMATIS PERSONS. Mart Stuart. Mart Beaton. Mary Seyton. Mary Carmichael. Jane Gordon, Countess of Bothwell. Janet Stuart, Countess of Argyle. Margaret Lady Douglas of Lockleven. Lady Reres. Henry Lord Darnley, King Consort, James Hepburn, Earl of Botkwell. James Stuart, Earl of Murray. James Douglas, Earl of Morton. William Maitland of Letk- ington, Secretary of State. John Knox. David Rizzio. The Earls of Huntley, Argyle, Caithness, Rothes, Cassilis, Athol, and Mar. Lards Herries, Lindsay, RuTHVEN, Fleming, Sey- ton, Boyd, Ochiltree, Hume, Arbroath, and Maxwell. The younger Ruthven. The Master of Ochiltree, son to Lord Ochiltree. The Master of Maxwell, son to Lord Herries. Sir James Melville. Sir Robert Melville. Sir George Douglas, uncle to Darnley. Sir William Douglas of Lochleven. George Douglas, his iroiher. Sir William Kirkaldy of Grange. Lord Robert Stuart, Aiiot of St. Cross. Du Croc, Ambassador from France. Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, Ambassador from England. John Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrew's. John Leslie, Bishop of Ross. Arthur Erskine, Captain of the Guard. Anthony Standen and Stuart of Traquair, Equerries. John Erskine of Dun. Andrew Ker of Fauldonside. Henry Drummond ofRicarton. Archibald Beaton. John Hepburn of Bolton, Ormiston, Hay of Talla, Conspirators with Bothwell. Crawford, Nelson, Taylor, servants to Darnley. Nicholas Hubert, surnamed Paris, servant to Bothwell. The Provost of Edinburgh. Robert Cunningham, steward to the Earl of Lennox. Page and Girl attending on Lady Lochleven. Burgesses, Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants, ^c. Time— March g, 1566, to May 16, 1568. ACT I. DAVID RIZZIO. I'iME, Mauch 9, 1566. ACT I. Scene I, — Holyrood. Enter Darnley and Mary Carmichael. Darnley. But you will not believe me though you hear J. You have no faith ; you steer by sight, and see This fellow gilt and garnished with her grace Sit covered by the queen where lords stand bare And jet before them lordlier ; and the sight Makes firm your faith that in his hand and eye This land is but a harp to play upon, Whose strings may turn to serpents or to swords To maim his hand or charm his eye to death. You have no faith to see this, or to read The sentence that ensuing shall write me king, And worth men's fears or faiths : lo, now you laugh. As thoughmy hope were braggart, and myself A fool and mouthpiece of its foolish vaunt : You have no faith. Mary Carmichael. I have no wit nor will To choose between St. David for my lord And sweet St. Henry. B2 4 BOTHWELL [act i. Darnley. Najf, King David now, King David psalmist ; but for all his song I doubt he hath lost the old trick of touch he had Once in the sword-play. Mary Carmichael. See you play not Saul, Who are something of his stature in our eyes, Much of his mighty presence ; be it not said He hath snipt your skirts already. Darnley. Who said that ? Who speaks of me so, lies to the blood and bone. To the heart and soul lies. I am no king mayhap — I do not say yet I shall die no king — God knows that, and is wise — but man I am, Look else, who love you Mary Carmichael. Sir, be king for me, It shall content my will to youward, seeing I take you to be royal, and myself Honest. Darnley. AVhy honest ? what a gibe is this ! What make you of me ? Mary Carmichael. Yea, what should I make ? 'Tis time I were on service. Darnley. O, the queen's ? She gets good service, excellent service done. And worthy servants hath she — a liberal queen. Well; if you will. {Exit Mary Carmichael. I would the month were out. If earth were easier by just one less knave, I might sleep well and laugh and walk at ease, SCENE I.] BOTH WELL 5 With none to mate me. Enter Morton. Ah, my good lord and friend^ I had somewhat I would say— but let words be. The man you know of— I would you had made him safe; I would have told you this much. Morion. Sir, the earl Murray being with us in the main thing here, Though he keep hand from the red handiwork. Shall enough help us. Damley. ■ Let him know it not then : Let him stand by : he must not know it. Why, well, It is the more our honour : yet woiild God He, being not with us, were not anywhere. But dead, sir, dead. I say, who hath eyes to see May see him dangerous to us, and manifest. Ye have no eyes who see not : for my part, I noted him at once. Sir, by this light, When I first saw him — and I have eyes to see — I knew what manner of meaning in his face Lay privy and folded up and sealed and signed. 1 would you lords had sight and heart like mine. He should not long live dangerous ; yet, God wot, For my poor personal peril I would match This body against his better. , Morton. There's no need Of iron words and matches here of men. Save this we meet upon ; which being played out Leaves our hands fall and henceforth peaceable. 6 BOTHWELL [act i. For the earl, he makes no part of men's designs, Nor would I have you keen to strive with him Who lies yet still and is well liked of men That are well-willers to this common state And the open peace of the people. Let him be ; Keep your heart here. Darnley. Here is it fixed and set With roots of iron. 'Tis more honour to us, Being so more perilous, to have no help Of popular hands and common friendliness, But our hearts helpful only. I am sure of her, That she suspects not — -I do surely think : But yet she is subtle and secret-souled and wise, Wise woman-fashion ; look you be not caught Through too much trust in what of her is weak, In her light mind and mutability. For subtlety lies close in her light wit. And wisdom wantons in her wantonness : I know her, I know her ; I have seen ere now, and am Not all to learn in women. Morton. I believe Your grace hath grace with women as with men, And skill of sense alike in those and these, I doubt not ; which is well and profitable. For this, how shall she know it, except you slip And let her wring the truth out from your hand, Or kiss the truth out, hanging mouth on mouth? But if no pressure press from hand or lip The unripe truth, the fruit so soon so red, What can she to us, though doubting, help or harm SCENE I.J BOTHWELL 7 How, if she know not surely ? Darnley. So I say. And we that do it, we do it for all men's good, For the main people's love, thankworthily — And this is matter of law we take in hand. Is it not, lawful ? for the man is judged, Doomed dead and damned by sentence, in good deed, Though not by scruple and show of trial and test, By clearer cause and purer policy — We cannot stand toward any accountable As for a slaughter, a treasonable shame, ■ To mark us red in the world's eyes ? no man Can say our fame is blotted with his blood. No man, albeit he hate us, bring in doubt — Woman or man — our right, our absolute law. Giving us leave — nay, bidding us do so ? So that we stand after the deed as now, In no more danger or fear ? Morton. In less fear, you, And much more honour ; now it might please you fear, Being overborne of woman and fast bound With feminine shame and weakness ; the man's strength, The sine\^ and nerve and spirit of royalty. Hers, and all power to use her power on you Hers, and all honour and pleasure of high place That should make sweet your lips and bright your brows Hers, and the mockery of mlsmarried men Yours. 8 BOTHWELL [act i. Damley. Nay, by God I said so ; why, I knew it; I told you thus aforetime, did I not ? Morlm. Truly and Avisely ; if this content you thus, He is even our king. Darnley. Methinks he should be king. And I, God wot, content. Here came a man Some few days back, a goodly, a gentleman. An honourable, that for king knave's behoof Was stript out of the better of all his lands As I of what was best part of my wifCj My place, and honour that grows up with hers — For of her love small fruit was left to strip. Few leaves for winter weather — but of these. These good things, am I stript as bare as shame. Even beggared as was this man. By God's light, It seems this is but justice, doth it not. And I so gentle and temperate — as, by God, I was not nor I will not. Morton. There's more need That you seem resolutely temperate then And temperately be resolute, I say. Till the hour to Cast off temperance and put on Plain passion for the habit of your heart Which now it wears in darkness, and by day The cloak and hood of temperance. But these fits And gusts and starts of will and will not, these Blow you this side and that side till men see Too much, and trust too Httle. Damley. O sir, you are wise. You are honourable, and a counsellor, and my friend, SCENE I.] BOTH WELL 9 And I too light, too light— yet by this light I think I am worth more than your counsel is If I be worth this work here to be done — I think I am so much. Morton. It may well be, sir, And you much wiser ; yet forbear your wrath If you would have it ready to your hand, Darnley. I will forbear nothing — nor nothing bear — Nor live by no man's bidding. This year through I have even been surfeited with wise men's breath And wiads of wordy weather round mine ears — Do this, spare that, walk thus, look otherwise, Hold your head kingly, or wisely bow your neck — A man might come to doubt himself no man. Being so long childUke handled. Now, look you, -Look she, look God to it if I be not man ! Now is my way swept, and my foot shod now, My wallet full now for the travelling, day That I fare forth and forward, arrow straight, Girt for the goal, red battle-ripe at need — As need there is — you are sure — and utter need ? Morton. Is my lord not sure ? Darnley. Ay, as sure as you — Surer maybe — ^the need is more of mine — This grazes your bare hand that grates my heart : Your queen it is wrongs you, and me my wife. Morton. You see that sure, too? sharp sight, have you not ? Darnley. I saw it, I first — I knew her— who knew her but I, 10 BOTHWELL [act i. That swore — at least I swore to mine own soul, Would not for shame's sake swear out wide to the world, But in myself swore with my heart to hear — There was more in it, in all their commerce, more Than the mere music — ^he is warped, worn through, Bow-bent, uncomely in wholesome eyes that see Straight, seeing him crooked-r-but she seeing awry Sees the man straight enough for paramour. This I saw, this I swore to — silently. Not loud but sure, till time should be to speak Sword's language, no fool's jargon like his tongue, But plain broad steel speech and intelligible. Though not to the ear, Italian's be it or Scot's, But to the very life intelligible. To the loosed soul, to the shed blood — ^for blood There must be — one must slay him — ^you are sure — as I am? For I was sure of it always — ^while you said, All you, 'twas council-stuff, state-handicraft, Cunning of card-play between here and there, I knew 'twas this and more, sir, I kept sight, Kept heed of her, what thing she was, what wife. What manner of stateswoman and governess — More than all you saw — did you see it or I ? Morton. You saw first surely, and some one spoke first out — You had eyes, he tongue — ^and both bear witness now If this must be or not be. Darnley. Death, is that ? I must kill — bid you kill him? SCENE I.] BOTHWELL ii Morton. Nowise, sirj As little need of one as the other is here j As little of either as no need at all. Darnley. Yoii doubt or hand or tongue then, sir, of mine? I would not strike, if need were, or bid strike ? Morion, Neither we doubt, nor neither do we need — Having you with us. Darnley. ■ 'Twas but so you meant ? I had else been angry — nay, half wroth I was — Not as I took it — I had else been wroth indeed. Morton. That had been grievous to me and perilous, This time of all times. Darnley. Ay, you need me, ay, I am somewhat now then, somewhat more than .wont, Who thus long have been nothing — but will be ? Well, so, I am with you. Shall he die — how soon ? To-day I had said, but haply not to-day — There might fall somewhat, something slip awry, In such swift work, ha ? Then, what day ? Perchance 'Twere better he died abed — or were there charms. Spells — if himself though be not witch, drug- proof 'Tis like, and devil-witted, being a knave Bom poisonous and bred sorcerous like his kind — We have heard what manner of plague his south land spawns, What sort of kith and kin to hell and him, How subtle in starry riddles and earth's roots 12 BOTH WELL [acti. The dpg-leeches that kill your soul in you, Or only body, or both, as Catherine please, Mother that was to our Mary — have we not ? We must look to it, and closely look. Morton. My lord. Of so much being so sure, of this be too ; i That surely and soon in some wise very sure We are quit of him with God's help or without Damley. Why, that were well I hold you resolute ; I pray you stay so, and all is well enough. We have talked our time out — you had all to say — All the thing's carriage — and my mind to take. Which with plain heart I have made you understand. My mind is, he must die then : keep you there. [Exit. Morion. Had God but plagued Egypt with fools for flies. His J.ews had sped the quicker. Enter Marv Beaton. Is the queen risen, Lady? Mary Beaton. Not yet. Was not the king with you ? I heard him high and shrill. Morton. Ay, he was here, If anywhere the king be. You are sad. Mary Beaton. I am not blithe of bearing, I wot well, But the word sad is sadder than I am. Is he not vexed ? Morton. I have never seen him else. Save when light-heartedness and loose-hung brain SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 13 Have made him proud and drunken : as of late He has been but seldom. There's one sad at least ; If it be sad to hang the head apart, Walk with brows drawn and eyes disquieted, Speak sullen under breath, and shrug and swear, If any move him, and then again fall dumb ; He has changed his fresher manner, and put off What little grace made his ungracious youth Fair in men's eyes a little ; if this last, He will not long last in men's lordship here, Except by love and favour shown of the queen. Mary Beaton. There he sits strong in surety ; yet men say He is discontent, disheartened, for distaste Of the like love and favour shown of her (Or not the like, yet too much near the like) Toward Rizzio ; but such men, seeing visionary. Run wide in talk, and sleep with speech awake And sight shut fast : are you not of my mind? Morton. I am most of theirs whose mind is most toward hers, 'As whose should be most noble ; but in truth Mine own is moved to hear her gracious heart Mismade of, her clear courtesies misread, Misliked her liking, her goodwill maligned. Even of his mouth who owes life, breath, and place. Honour and title, even to that clear goodwill, To that her grace, liking, and courtesy. Mary Beaton. Vou mean our lord and hers and king of Scots? 14 BOTHWELL [act i. Morton. As kingly a king as masterful a lord, And no less hers than ours ; as strong each way. Mary Beaton. And he misreads so much the queen's pure heart As to mistake .aloud her manner of life, And teach the world's broad open popular ear His graceless commentary on her mere grace And simple favour shown a simple knave, Her chamber-child, her varlet ? a poor man, Stranger, skilled Uttle in great men's policies — Which is strange too, seeing he hath had some chance To learn some tricks of courts and embassies, Being therein bred, and not so very a fool But one might teach him — ^yet no doubt a man, Save for such teaching, simple and innocent ; Only what heart, what spirit and wit he has. Being hot and close as fire on the old faith's side And the French party's — if his wit were great. It might do more than simple service soon, Having her heart as 'twere by the ear which leans Still toward his saying or singing ; but ye know There is no peril in him, and the king More fool than he a knave. Morton. Well, I know not; My skill is small in tunes, yet I can tell Discord between kings' ear and people's tongue. Which hearing as in spirit I forehear Harsh future music in a state mistuned, If such men lay but hand upon the keys, Touch ne'er so' slight a string of policy SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 15 With ne'er so light a finger : I would the queen, For the dear faith I bear her, saw but this, Or that the lords were heavier-eyed to see. Mary Beaton. Are they so keen of soul as of their sight, To slay wrong as to see wrong ? Morton. 'Faith, with us The hand is matched against the eye for speed ; And these no slower in stroke of sight and sword Than their sharp-sighted swift-souled forefathers. I say not this that you should gather fear Out ot my saying to sow in the ear of the queen ; But for truth's sake ; and truly I do not fear That I have put fear in you, for you seem Not lightly fearful to me. Mary Beaton. I would not be. Where I might keep good heart and open eye Nor blind nor fevered with foolhardiness, As here meseems I may keep ; for I see No hurt yet nor hurt's danger steer in sight. Save the mere daily danger of high-raised heads To be misspoken and misseen of men. Which is not for high-seated hearts to fear. Morton. Her heart is high enough, and yours as hers ; You shall do well to hold your courage fast. Keeping your wits awake ; whereof myself I make no doubt, howbeit men fear the queen. Having our bitter folk and faith to fight, Out of sharp spirit and high-heartedness i6 BOTHWELL [act i. May do such things for love's sake or for wrath's As fools for fear's sake : which were no less harm (Turning her wit and heart against herself) Than to be coward or witless. Fare you well ; I will not doubt but she is well advised. \Exit. Mary Beaton. He is but dead by this then. I did know it ; And yet it strikes upon me sudden and sharp, As a thing unforethought on. It is strange To have one's foot as mine is on the verge, The narrowing threshold of a thing so great, To have within one's eyeshot the whole way. The perfect reach of fate from end to end. From life to life replying and death to death. This is the first hour of the night, and I The watcher of the first watch, by whose lamp The starless sky that grows toward birth of stars And the unlit earth and obscure air are seen Pale as the lamp's self yet not well alight. Yet by the light of my heart's fire, and mind Kindled, I see what fires of storm, what flaws, What windy meteors and cross-countering stars, Shall be through all the watches to the dawn And bloodlikfi sunrise of the fire-eyed day. I am half content already ; and yet I would This watch were through. Enter the Queen, Rizzio, and Mary Seyton. Queen. Nay, it is later, sure : I am idle, I am idle, and flattered ; you say wrong, 6CENE I.J BOTHWELL 17 To find my sloth some pardonable plea, Which is not pardonable ; a perfect sin, One writ among the sorest seven of all j Enough to load the soul past penitence. Am I not late indeed ? speak truth and say, Rizzio. To watchers the sun rises ever late Though he keep time with summer ; but your grace Keeps earlier than the sun's time. Queen. 'Tis but March, And a scant spring, a sharp and starveling year. 7 How bitter black the day grows ! one would swear The weather and earth were of this people's faith. And their heaven coloured as their thoughts of heaven, Their light made of their love. Rizzio. If it might please you Look out and lift up heart to summer-ward, There might be sun enough for seeing and sense, To light men's eyes at and warm hands withal. Queen. I doubt the winter's white is deeper dyed And closer worn than I thought like to be ; This land of mine hath folded itself round With snow-cold, white, and leprous misbelief. Till even the spirit is bitten, the blood pinched. And the heart winter-wounded ; these starved slaves Tha,t feed on frost and suck the snows for drink. Hating the light for the heat's sake, love the cold : We want some hotter fire than summer or sun To burn their dead blood through and change their veins. Rizzio. Madam, those fires are all but ashen dust: c t i8 BOTHWELL [act i. 'Tis by the sun we have now to walk warm. If I had leave to give good counsel tongue And wisdom words to work with, I would say Rather by favour and seasonable grace Shall your sweet light of summer-speaking looks Melt the hard mould of earthen hearts, and put Spring into spirits of snow. Your husband here, \Vho was my friend before your lord, being grown Doubtful, and evil-eyed against himself, With a thwart wit crossing all counsel, turns From usward to their close fierce intimacy Who are bitterest of the faction against faith. And through their violent friendship has become His own and very enemy, being moved Of mere loose heart to vex you. Now there stands On the other hand, in no wise bound to him, But as your rebel and his enemy Cast forth condemned, one that called home again Might be a bond between the time and you, Tying the wild world tamer to your hand. And in your husband's hot and unreined mouth As bit and bridle against his wandering will. Quern. What name is his who shall so strengthen me? Rizzio. Your father gave him half a brother's name. Queen. I have no brother; a bloodless traitor he is Who was my father's bastard bom. By heaven, I had rather have his head loose at my foot Than his tongue's counsel rounded in mine ear. SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 19 Rizzio. I would you had called him out of banish- ment. Queen. Thou art mad, thou art mad ; prate me no more of him. Rizzio. He is wise, and we need wisdom; penitent,. And God they say loves most his penitents ; Stout-hearted and well-minded toward your grace, As you shall work him, and beguilable Now at your need if you but wiU he be ; And God he knows if there be need of such. Queen. No need, no need ; I am crowned of mine own heart And of mine own will weaponed ; am I queen To have need of traitors' leave to live by, and reign By the God's grace of these ? I will not have it ; Toward God I swear there shall be no such need. Rizzio. Yet if there were no need, less harm it were To have him easily on your royal side While the time serves that he may serve you in — Less harm than none, and profit more than less. Queen. He is a misbom traitor and heretic ; And of his own side baflfled, a flat fool, Who thought to have comfort of Elizabeth, Large furtherance of my sweet-souled sister's love, Grace and sure aid of her good plighted word. Her honourable and precious plighted word. And secret seal to help him; as she durst not, Yea, she would fain and durst not. Rizzio. Please you note C2 20 BOTHWELL [act l Queen. It shall not please me ; I say she hath made him kneel, (And this does please me indeed) hath seen him down, Seen him and spurned him kneeling from her foot. As my bom traitor and subject. David, nay, But hath thy careful love not made thee mad, Whose counsel was my sword against him once ? Why, thou wast sworn his slayer, and all that while He held up head against us thy one word Bade strike him dead of all men. What, hast thou Fairly forgot his purpose, were I taken. To speed thee out of life ? his secret bond, Sealed with himself in spirit, thou shouldst die ? Wast thou not trothplight with that soulless boj'. Ere he might thee, to rid him out of life ? Nay, and thou knowest how dear a cause I have. And thou, to slay him when the good chance comes, Which God make speedy toward us ; by my hand, Too little and light to hold up his dead head, It was my hope to dip it in his life Made me ride iron-mailed, a soldieress, All those days through we drove them here and there. Eastward from Fife, and hither and forth again, And broken to the border ; yea, all day I thought how worth his life it were to ride Within the shot-length of my saddlebow And try my poor and maiden soldiership. And now I am bidden, and you it is bid me. Reach my hand forth forgivingly and meek To strike with his for love and policy ? SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 21 He is beaten and broken, without help of hope, Who was mine enemy ever, and ever I knew How much he was mine enemy ; and now maimed. Wounded, unseated from his power of place, " Shall I raise up again and strengthen him, Warm and bind up his cold and o'erbled wounds With piteous cordials ? nay, but when I do. May he have strength to wreak his will on me, And I be flung under his feet ! beside. He was your mocking-stock this short while since, You swore, men tell me, Daniot told it me. Your ghostly man of counsel — why, to him, He says, you swore the bastard should not bide With you in Scotland ; it made anger at you, Put passion in their mouths who bear you hard, That you should threaten kinglike. Hath he moved you To change your heart and face toward him at once, Or do you mock, or are struck mad indeed, That now you turn to bid me cry him home, Make much of him and sing him to my side ? Rizzio. For all this, madam, if I be not mad. It were well done to do it. He is a man Well-loved, well-counselled, and though fast in faith, Yet howsoever in strong opinion bound. Not so much overridden of his own mind As to love no man for faith's single sake ; No fije-brained preacher nor wild-witted knave. But skilled and reared in state and soldiership. What doth it need you to misthink of me ? 22 BOTH WELL [act i Say it is but this jewel he sends me here That pleads his part before you ; say I am his And not your servant, or not only of you Made and again unmakeable ; 'tis truth, He hath given me gifts to be his counsel to you, And I have taken, and here I plead his part. Seeing my life hangs upon your life, and yours, If it be fiill and even and fortunate In spite of foes and fears and friends, must hang On his, unbound from tliese and bound to you. We have done ill, having so mighty a match. So large a wager on this turn of time. To leave the stakes in hand of a lewd boy, A fool and thankless ; and to save the game We must play privily and hold secret hands. Queen. I will not have his hand upon my part, Though it were safe to sweep up gold and all. Hizzio. But till our side be strong ; then cast him off. When he hath served to strengthen you so much You have no need of any strength of his. Bear with him but till time be and we touch The heart of the hour that brings our chance to catch Hope by the flying hair, and to our wheel Bind fortune and wind-wavering majesty. To shift no more in the air of any change. But hang a steady star; then, when the faith Sits crowned in us that serve her, and you hold The triple-treasured kingdom in your lap, WhaX shall forbid you set a sudden foot SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 23 Where it may please you, on their hearts or heads That in their season were found serviceable, And now are stones of stumbling? Time shapes all : And service he may do you, or else offence, Even as you handle this sharp point of time, To turn its edge this wary way or that ; And for the land and state, why, having served, He may be seasonably stript out of these When you would do some friend a courtesy Who has still been found secret and Catholic, A lantern's eye of counsel in close dark, While he did blind man's service ; but till then Let him keep land and name, and all he will, And blindly serve to the blind end in trust. To wake a naked fool. That this may be I am firm in faith, may it be but with your will. Queai. He will not help us beat his own faith down ; He is no hawk to seel and then to unhood. Fly at strange fowl and pluck back blind again. Rizzio. Bethink you, madam, he only of all his kind Stood out against men hotter in heresy, Spake down their speeches, overbore Pope Knox, Broke with his cardinal's college of shrewd saints. In your free faith's defence, that would have barred you From custom of religion ; and I wot. Save for his help, small help had found my queen From Huntley or Hamilton, her faith-fellows, Or any their co-worshippers with her. 24 BOTH WELL [act i. Queen. Thou art ever saying them wrong; they are ■ stout and sure, Even they that strove for honour's sake with us : Their one least fault I am minded to forgive ; True friends in faith, my dear own blood and kin, No birthless bastards nor mistitled men. It pleased me bid him into banishment, And shall not lightly please me bid him back. Rizzio. Yet some men banished for no less a cause It has been known you have loosed from banishment. I tell you for true heart. Queen. Nay, I well know it ; You are good and faithful to us, God quit it you, And well of us loved back ; how much, you know, But more than is our fear of men's missaying. For me, I find no such foul faultiness In the lord Bothwell but might well be purged After long trial of English prison-bands And proof of loyal lips and close true heart Whereout no gaoler could pluck dangerous speech, And then with overpassing to and fro The strait sea wide enough to wash him white 'Twixt France and us : and all this jarring year You have seen with what a service, in full field. Oft in our need he hath served us ; nor was it Such matter of treason and nowise pardonable To mix his wits with Arran's broken brain In their device to entrap mine hand witli his For high state's sake and strong-winged policy, SCENE I.] BOTH WELL 25 When he was matched with me in most men's mouths And found not yet for changehng or for fooL But howsoever, it pleased me pardon hnn ; And a stout spear for warden have I won. I have holp myself in help of him, who now Hath with good works undone his dead misdeeds, And left their memory drowned in the under sea That swept them out and washed him in again , A man remade ; and fail me whoso fails, Him I hold fast my friend ; but those cast out That rose up right between my will and me To make me thrall and bondslave to their own, Giving me prison and them swift banishment Whom I gave honour, and cast the crown away, And break the old natural heart of royalty, For foul faith's sake or craft of their miscreed ; That smote with sword or speech against all state, Not through blind heat or stumbling hardihood, But hate of holiness and height of mind, Hateful to kingly truth, haters of kings ; Them though I pardon I would not take to trust, Nor bind up their loose faith with my belief, For all assurances of all men born. Besides, I hate him, singly. Rizzio. I have said, and say ; Do you as time will turn it ; time turns alf. Queen. I do believe there is no man's estate So miserable, so very a helpless thing, So trodden under and overborne as mine. For first the man that I set up for lord, 26 BOTH WELL [act i. For master of mine and mate of only me, Have I perforce put forth of my shamed bed And broken on his brows the kingless crown, Finding nor head for gold nor hand for steel Worth name of king or husband, but the throne Lordless, the heart of marriage husbandless, Through his foul follies ; then in the utter world. In the extreme range and race of my whole life Through all changed times and places of its change, Having one friend, I find a foe of him To my true sense and soul and spirit of thought That keeps in peace the things of its own peace. Secret and surely ; in faith, this firets my faith. Distunes me into discord with myself. That you should counsel me against my soul. I pray you do not Rizzio. Nay, I will no more. But if you take not Murray again to trust At least in short sweet seeming for some while. So to subdue him as with his own right hand And all chief with him of his creed and crew, Then, cleaving to the old counsel, suddenly Have him attainted, and being so brought in By summons as your traitor, with good speed Have off his head ; let him not live to turn ; Choose ydu sure tongues to doom him, hands to rid, And be his slaying his sentence ; for the rest. Make to you friends Argyle and Chatelherault And such more temperate of their faction found SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 27 As may be servants to your i^ardoning hand If they be separable ; but anywise In pardoning these forgive not half his fault With half their pardon ; cut no branch of his But the root only ; strike not but at heart When you strike him ; he hath done and borne too much To live 'twixt that and this unreconciled, Having on this hand his conspiracy, On that your proclamation ; his head priced. His life coursed after with hot hound and horn. His wife thrust forth hard on her travailing time With body soft from pangs and delicate To roam in winter-bound and roofless woods ; These things not wholly with your grace wiped off And washed with favour and fair-faced love away Must work within him deadly and desperate. Queen. Now I find your counsel in you, no strange tongue, But the old stout speech and sure; and this same day Will I set hand to it. I have chosen the lords That shall attaint in council these men fled Of mortal treason ; and some two hours hence My tongue through their strange lips shall speak him dead Who is only my heart's hated among men. I am gay of heart, light as a spring south-wind, To feed my soul with his foretasted death. You know the reason I have, you know the right 28 BOTH WELL [act i. And he the danger of it, being no fool, For fool he is not ; I would he were but fooL O, I feel dancing motions in my feet, And laughter moving merrily at my lips, Only to think him dead and hearsed, or hanged — That were the better. I could dance down his life, Sing my steps through, treading on his dead neck, For love of his dead body and cast-out soul. He shall talk of me to the worm of hell. Prate in death's ear and with a speechless tongue Of my dead doings in days gone out. Sweet lord, David, my good friend and my chancellor, I thank you for your counsel. Rizzio. May it be Prosperously mine ! but howsoever, I think It were not well, when this man is put down. Though Lethington be wily or Melville wise. To make your stay of any other man. Queen. I would I had no state to need no stay ; God witness me, I had rather be reborn And bom a poor mean woman, and live low With harmless habit and poor purity Down to my dull death-day, a shepherd's wife, Than a queen clothed and crowned with force and fear. Rizzio. Are you so weary of crowns, and would not be Soon wearier waxen of sheepfolds ? Queen. 'Faith, who knows ? But I would not be wearj-, let that be SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 29 Part of my wish. I could be glad and good Living so low, with little labours set And little sleeps and watches, night and day Falling and flowing as small waves in low sea From shine to shadow and back, and out and in Among the firths and reaches of low life : I would I were away and well. No more, For dear love talk no more of policy. Let France and faith and envy and England be. And kingdom go and people ; I had rather rest Quiet for all my simple space of life, With few friends' loyes closing my life-days in And few things known and grace of humble ways — A loving little life of sweet small works. Good faith, I was not made for other life ; Nay, do you think it ? I will not hear thereof ; Let me hear music rather, as simple a song, If you have any, as these low thoughts of mine. Some lowly and old-world song of quiet men. Rizzio. Then is the time for love-songs when the lip Has no more leave to counsel ; even so be it ; I wUl sing simply, and no more counsel you. Queen. Be not unfiiends ; I have made you wroth indeed, Unknowing, and pray you even for my no fault Forgive and give me music ; I am athirst For sweet-tongued pardon only. Rizzio. If this be harsh, The pardon be for fault enforced of mine. 30 BOTH WELL [act i. Ix)ve with shut wings, a little ungrown love, A blind lost love, alit on my shut heart, As on an unblown rose an unfledged dove ; Feeble the flight as yet, feeble the flower. And I said, show me if sleep or love thou art, Or death or sorrow or some obscurer power ; Show me thyself, if thou be some such power, If thou be god or spirit, sorrow or love, That I may praise thee for the thing thou art. And saying, I felt my soul a sudden flower Full-fledged of petals, and thereon a dove Sitting full-feathered, singing at my heart Yet the song's burden heavier on my heart Than a man's burden laid on a child's power. Surely most bitter of all sweet things thou art. And sweetest thou of all things bitter, love ; And if a poppy or if a rose thy flower We know not, nor if thou be kite or dove. But nightingale is none nor any dove That sings so long nor is so hot of heart For love of sorrow or sorrow of any love ; Nor all thy pain hath any or all thy power, Nor any knows thee if bird or god thou art, Or whether a thorn to think thee or whether a flower. But surely will I hold thee a glorious flower, And thy tongue surely sweeter than the dove Muttering in mid leaves from a fervent heart Something divine of some exceeding love. If thou being god out of a great god's power Wilt make me also the glad thing thou art. Will no man's mercy show me where thou art, That I may bring thee of all my fruit and flower, That with loud lips and with a molten heart SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 31 I may sing all thy praises, till the dove That I desire to have within my power Fly at thy bidding to my bosom, love ? Clothed as with power of pinions, O my heart, Fly like a dove, and seek one sovereign flower, Whose thrall thou art, and sing for love of love. Queen. It sings too southerly for this harsh north ; This were a song for summer-sleeping ears, One to move dancing measures in men's feet Red-shod with reek o' the vintage. Who went there ? What, hear you not? Mary Seyton, My lord of Bothwell's foot : His tread rings iron, as to battle-ward. Queen. Not his, it was not. See if it be indeed. 'Twas a good song. Something he had with me — I thank you for your song — I know not what. Let him come in. Sir, be with us to-night — I knew it was late indeed — at supper-time. Rizzio. Madam, till night I take my loyal leave. God give you good of all things. \Exit. Queen. Doth he mock me ? I care not neither ; I know not. Stay with us. Enter Bothwell. Good morrow, sir : we bade you, did we not ? Be with us after noon j 'tis not noon near, And you are truer than your own word ; and that, 'Tis a true man's and trusty. 32 BOTHWELL [act l Bothwdl. Trae it should be, Madam, if truth be true, and I your thrall And truth's for your sake. Queen. I would know of you — I know not what — something there was to know. I would you were not warden — as in truth I think to unmake you — of the marches there. 'Tis a fierce office. You have a royal sword, At least a knightly ; I would not see it hacked rough In brawling border dangers. Bothwell. Anywhere Hand, hilt, and edge are yours, to turn and take. Use or throw by, you know it. Queen. I know it indeed. I have not many hearts with me, and hold Precious the hearts I have and the good hands. Ladies, we have somewhat with our servant here That needs no counsel and no ear of yours, So gives you leave. \Exeunt Maries. I know not why they are gone ; I have nothing with you secret Bothwell. Yea, one thing ; You cannot help it ; your face and speech and look Are secret with me in ray secret heart. Queen. I know not that ; I would I did know that 'Tis yet not twelve days since I saw you wed To my dear friend, and with what eye you know Who would not, for all love that I might make And suit to you, give ear to me and be SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 33 In mine own chapel at the holy mass Made one with her ; for all the feast we kept, No jewel of mine bequeathed your wife might buy Consent of you to take her wedded hand After the church-rite of her faith and mine ; And how much love went with your policy I cannot tell ; yet was my will content That you should wed her name and house, to bring The race of Gordon on our side again. And have its ruin rebuilded and its might Restored to do us service ; so you said, And so I thought I knew your mind to stand ; Being so fast bound to me, I need not doubt She could but hold you by the hand, and I That had you by the heart need grudge not that, While time gave order, and expediency Required of us allowance ; but in faith I know not whether there be faith or no Save in my heart wherein I know too siure How little wisdom is to trust in man. So comes it, as you see, for all my show, I am ill at heart and tired. Bothwdl. 'Tis your own blame. Queen. Yea, now, what would you have me ? I am yours to do it : But you say nothing ; yet you say too much. My blame it is, my weary waste of breath, My wretched hours and empty bloodless life, My sleepy vigils and my starting sleeps, All by my fault — ^if it be fault to be D 34 BOTHWELL [act i. More than all men loving, all women true, To hunger with the foodless heart of grief And wither with the tearless thirst of eyes, To wander in weak thought through unsown fields Past unreaped sheaves of vision ; to be blind, Weak, sick and lame of spirit and poor of soul, And to live loveless for love's bitter sake And have to food loathing, and shame for drink, And see no cease or breach in my long life ■Where these might end or die ; my fault it is. And I will kill my fault : for I that loved Will live to love no living thing again. Bothwell. As you will, then. Queen. Nay, do not tread on me ; I am lying a worm out of your way, and you Turn back to bruise me. 1 am stricken sore enough ; Do not worse wound me ; I am hurt to the heart. You change and shift quicker than all good things. That all change quickly : I am fast, and cannot change. If you do hold me so, fast in your heart. You should not surely mock me. Bothwell. I mock you not. You are looser and lighter-tempered than the wind, And say I mock you : 'tis you mock yourself. And much more me that wot not of your mind. What would you have and would not. Queen. Nothing, I, Nothing but peace, and shall not. By my faith, I think no man ever loved woman well. You laugh and thrust your lips up, but 'tis truth. SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 35 This that I think, not your light lewd man's tnought, But in my meaning it is bitter true. By heaven, I have no heart for any on earth, Any man else, nor any matter of man's. But love of one man \ nay, and never had. Bothwell. I do believe it, by myself I do, Who am even the self-same natured ; so I know it. Queen. What heart have you to hurt me ? I am no fool To hate you for your heat of natural heart. I know you have loved and love not all alike, But somewhat all ; I hate you not for that. Wlien have I made words of it ? sought out times To Wrangle with you ? crossed you with myself? What have I said, what done, by saying or deed To vex you for my love's sake ? and have been For my part faithful beyond reach of faith, Kingdomless queen and wife unhusbanded. Till in you reigning I might reign and rest. I have kept my body, yea from wedded bed, And kept mine hand, yea from my sceptre's weight. That you might have me and my kingdom whole ; What have these done to take you, what to keep. Worth one da)r's doing of mine yet ? Ah, you know. For all the shape and show of things without. For all the marriage and the bodily bond And fleshly figure of community, \ have loved no man, man never hath had me whole, I am virgin toward you : O my love, love, love, 36 BOTHWELL [act i. This that is not yours in me I abhor, I pray God for your sake it may be false, Foolish and foul : I would not have it man, Not manlike, and not mine, it shall not be, Being none of love's, and rootless in my soul, Not growing of my spirit but my blood ; I hate myself till it be bom. Bothwell. Ay, sweet. You talk now loud of love, but ten days since Was I not bid love well your friend, and be True husband to her? whatsweet-tonguedpreacherthen Taught me how faith should best be kept by change Of passionate fear and pleasure and bright pain And all their strange sharp sweet solicitudes For such good gifts as wisdom gives and takes From hand to married hand of them that wed ? Whose counsel was this wisdom ? whose command This that set sorrow and silence as one seal On the shut lips of foolishness and love ? Queen. I bade you not be wise j or if I bade, It was to be obeyed not. Bothwell. Then indeed I did obey not, who did foolishly To do your bidding. Queen. Mine ? did I say, go ? Did I say, love her ? did I say, hate me ? As you must hate to love her. Yea, perchance I said all this ; I know not if I said ; But all this have you done ; I know that well. Bothwell. Indeed I have done all this if aught I have, SCENE i.j BOTHWELL 37 And loved at all or loathed, save what mine eye Hath ever loathed or loved since first it saw That face which taught it faith and made it first Think scorn to turn and look on change, or see How hateful in my love's sight are their eyes That give love's light to others. Queen. Tell her so. Not me ; I care not though you love your wife So well that all strange women's eyes and mine Are hateful to you. O, what heart have I, That jest and wrangle ? but indeed I thought You should do well to love her not, but wed. And make you strong and get us friends — but, nay, God knows I know not what I thought, or why. When you should wed her : now I think but this, That if one love not she does well to die, And if one love she does not well to live. I pray you, go ; not for my love who pray. But that for love's sake we thought well to part, And if we loved not it was well indeed. Go. Bothwell. To what end? and whither? whence- soe'er, I must come back. Queen. Not to my feet, not mine ; Where should his end be for a married man To lie down lightly with all care cast off And sleep more sound than in love's lap ? for sleep Between the two fair fiery breasts of love Will rest his head not oft, nor oft shut eyes, 38 BOTHWELL [act i. They say, that love's have looked on. Bothwdl. By that law Mine eyes must wake for ever. Queen. Nay, for shame, Let not the fire in them that feeds on mine Strike fire upon my cheeks ; turn off their heat, It takes my breath like flame and smothers me. What, when I bid ? Bothwell. You have bid me do before What you have chid me doing, but never yet A thing so past all nature hard, nor now Shall chide me for obedience. Queen. Well — ah me ! — I lack the heart to chide ; I have bonie too much And haply too much loved. Alas, and now I am fain too much to show it ; but he that made Made me nd liar, nor gave me craft wth power To choose what I might hide at will or show. I am simple-souled and sudden in my speech, Too swift and hot of heart to guard my lips Or else lie lighdy : wherefore while I may, Tillmy time come to speak of hate or love, I will be dumb, patient as pity's self Gazing from Godward down on things of the earth And dumb till the time be : would I were God, Time should be quicker to lend help and hand To men that wait on him. I will not wait. Lest I wait over long, no more than need. By my long love I will not. Were I a man, I had been by this a free man. SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 39 BothwelL Be content. If I have any wit of soldiership, 'Tis not far off from this to the iron day That sets on the edge of battle, the bare blow, All that we fight or fret for. 'Tis not like Men will bear long with their own lingering hopes And hearts immitigable and fiery fears That burn above dead ashes of things quenched Hotter for danger, and light men forth to fight, And from between the breaking ranks of war The flower must grow of all their fears and hopes, Hopes of high promise, fears made quick by faith, Angers, ambitions ; which to gather and wear Must be our toil and garland. Queen. My heart's lord, I put my heart and hands into your hand To hold and help ; do you what thing in the world Shall seem well to you with them, they content Live with your love or die. For my one part, I would I had done with need of forging words That I might keep truth pure upon my lips. I am weary of lying, and would not speak word more To mock my heart with and win faith firom men But for the truth's sake of my love, which lies To save the true life in me. BothwelL It may be You shall not long need to dress love in lies ; This plighted plague of yours hath few men friends To put their bodies between death and his. Queen. Nay, I think not ; and we shall shape us friends 40 BOTHWELL [act i. Out of the stuff of their close enmities ^^'herewith he walks enwoven and wound about To the edge and end of peril ; yet God knows If I for all my cause would seek his death, Whose lips have stained me with report as foul As seem to mine their kisses that like brands Sear my shamed face with fire to think on them ; Yet would I rather let him live, would God Without mine honour or my conscience hurt Divide from mine his star or bid it set And on my life lift up that light in heaven That is my day of the heart, my sun of soul, To shine till night shut up those loving eyes That death could turn not from it though the fire Were quenched at heart that fed them. Nay, no more : Let me go hence and weep not. [Ext'i. Bothwell. Fire, in faith, Enough to light him down the way of the worm And leave me warmer. She went suddenly ; Doth she doubt yet ? I think by God's light no — I hold her over fast by body and soul, Flesh holds not spirit closer. Now what way To shift him over the edge and end of life She laughs and talks of, yet keep fast my foot On the strait verge of smooth-worn stony things That we stand still or slide on ? 'Tis a shoal Whereon the goodliest galleon of man's hope That had no burning beacon such as mine Lit of her love to steer by, could not choose But run to wreck. SCENE II.] BOTH WELL 41 Re-enter Mary Beaton. Mary Beaton. Pray you, my lord, a word. If you know aught of any new thing here You will not be about the court to-night ; If not, of my good will I counsel you. Make hence in speed and secret, and have hope Till the next day lighten your days to come. Bothwell. I had rather the close moon and stars anight Lit me to love-bed : what warm game is here That I must keep mine hand out ? Mary Beaton. Such a game As you shall win and play not, or my wit Is fallen in sickness from me. Sir, you know I am your friend, I have your hap at heart. Glad of your good and in your crosses crossed ; I pray you trust me, and be close and wise. For love of your own luck. Bothwell. Tell me one thing ; What hand herein shall Master David hold ? Mary Beaton. I think he will not hold the like alive. [Exeunt. Scene II. — The High Street. Burgesses and People. First Citizen. Was it not shown long since when she came in If God were glad of her? Two days and nights Ere she brought strife among us, and again 42 BOTHWELL [act I. Two nights and days when first we saw her face, We saw not once by day the sun's in heaven, The moon's by night, or any space of stars, But thick sick mist corrupting the moist air With drench of darkness, so that scarce at noon Might man spy man a bow-shot's length away; And in man's memory on that day of the year Was never a more dolorous face of heaven Seen so to scowl on summer, as to speak What comfort should come with her to this land; But then were most eyes blind. Second Citizen. These five years since Has God filled full of signs that they might see. And sent his plagues to open them ; and most This year or twain what portents of his hand Have writ us down in heaven and trembling earth For fearful flatterers and for faithless friends Whose fear and friendship have no part in him. Who knows not or can read riot ? famine, frost, Storms of stars crossing, and strange fires in the air. Have these no tongues to chide with? Third Citizen. Why, at first A man that was no seer might see what end Should come on us that saw the mass come in And held our hand when man by man fell off And heart by heart was cooled of all its heat By sprinkled holy-water of the court In five days' space, tempering the fervent edge That had been fieriest on God's side ; Lord James, Whose heart should weep now for it, or bum again SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 43 With shame to think how he made strong their hands Who have cast him out among the banished lords That lack their life in England, kept himself The chapel-door, that none who loved God's law Might slay the idolatrous and whorish priest In his mid sin; and after mass was said Lord Robert and Lord John of Coldingham, Who then had put not off our cause, but sat With faithful men as fellows at God's board, Conveyed him to his chamber : there began The curse that yet constrains us, and must fall On more than these; of whom ye know this John Is now before the face o' the fire of God, And ere he died in desperate penitence, Men say, sent warning to his sister queen To turn her feet from those unquiet ways Wherein they tread behind the Pope's to hell. First Citizen. His life was like liis brother's of St. Cross, As foul as need or friar's or abbot's be That had no shameful part in a king's race, And made such end as he that lives may make, Whose bastard blood is proud yet, and insults As might a prince's or a priest's indeed, Being truly neither, yet with either name Signed as in scorn ; these are our lords, whose lust Breaks down men's doors to fetch their daughters forth, Even as his townsmen vexed the doors of Lot Till God sent on them fire, who spares but these 44 BOTHWELL [act i. For our shame's sake, because we spare, being men, And let our hands hang swordless, and the wrath Faint in our hearts, that though God send none down Should be made fire to make a fire of them. Third Citizen. These fools and foul that with them draw the king To shame and riotous insolence which turns Past hope and love to loathing — these, though vile, Have in them less of poison than men's tongues Who for the queen's love boast in what brief while They will pluck down God and plant Antichrist, And pull out Knox by the ears : thus Bothwell did, And yet stands higher than any head save his Who in disdain of danger fills his hands As full of gold as are his faithless lips Of lies and bloody counsels, and requires No less than part in all their forfeit lands That live in exile, so to turn his name From loon to lord, from stranger into Scot, And next the Pope's exalt it : while this king Sets all his heart to fleshly foolishness. The beastlike body that eats up the soul As a bird snared and eaten : and in fear Of God and Rimmon, with a supple soul, Crooks his lithe knee for craft and bows his back In either's house, yet seeks no prophet's leave. Nor hears his saying that God shall spew the like Out of his mouth. Second Citizen. Yet this good grows in him, SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 45 That he has fallen in anger with the queen For her knave's sake that was his closest friend, Chief craftsman and main builder of the match ; Yea, half his heart, brother and bedfellow. Sworn secret on his side. Third Citizen. There are who think They have changed beds in very and shameful deed. And halved more than their own hearts. First Citizen. He came here On the Pope's party, against our kindly lords, Against the duke, our first more natural head, Against the good will of all godliness ; And hath he now cast their cords from him ? nay, This is the stormy sickness of ill blood Swelling the veins of sin in violent youth That makes them wrangle, but at home and heart, Whatever strife there seem of hands abroad, They are single-minded in the hate of God. Did he not break forth into bitterness, Being warned by Knox of youth and empty heart, Yea, rail aloud as one made mad with wine? Did he not lay devices with this knave That now ye say defiles him in his wife To rid the noble Murray from their way That they might ride with hotter spurs for hell ? Second Citizen. God hath set strife betwixt them that their feet Should not be long time out of their own snares. Here be the men we look for comfort from, 46 BOTHWELL [act i. Men that have God's mark shaip upon the soul ; Stout Ochiltree, and our main stay John Knox. Enter John Knox and Ochiltree. Ochiltree. Have you yet hope that for his people's sake God will leave off to harden her hard heart, That you will yet plead with her ? John Knox. Nay, I know not ; But what I may by word or witness borne. That will I do, being bidden : yet indeed I think not to bring down her height of mind By counsel or admonishment. Her soul Is as a flame of fire, insatiable. And subtle as thin water ; with her craft Is passion mingled so inseparably That each gets strength from other, her swift wit By passion being enkindled and made hot. And by her wit her keen, and passionate heart So tempered that it burn itself not out. Consuming to no end. Never, I think. Hath God brought up against the people of God To try their force or feebleness of faith A foe than this more dangerous, nor of mood More resolute against him. Ochiltree. So long since You prophesied of her when new come in : What then avails it that you counsel her To be not this bom danger that she is, SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 47 But friends with God she hates and with his folk She would root out and ruin ? John Kmx. Yet this time lam not bidden of him to cast her off ; I will speak once ; for here even in our eyes His enemies grow great and cast off shame. We are haled up out of hell to heaven, and now They would fain pluck us backward by the skirt. And these men call me bitter-tongued and hard Who am not bitter ; but their work and they Who gather garlands from the red pit-side To make foul fragrance in adulterous hair, And lift white hands to hide the fires of God, Their sweetness and their whiteness shall he turn Bitter and black. I have no hate of her, That I should spare ; I will not spare to strive That the strong God may spare her, and not man. Ochiltree. Yea, both, so be we have our lost lords home. And the Pope's back-bowed changeling clean cast out And of a knave made carrion. John Knox. For your first. It grows as fruit out of your second wish ; Come but the day that looks in his dead face, And these that hate him as he hates all good Shall have their friends home and their honour high Which the continuance of his life keeps low. Ochiltree. Surely, for that, my hand or any's else Were hot enough to help him to his end. 48 BOTHWELL [act- i. Yet when this thing is through and this plague purged There stands a thorn yet in our way to prick — The loose weak-witted half-souled boy called king. John Knox. It is of him I am bidden speak with her, Having but now rebuked him backsliding In God's sight and his name. It may be yet, Whether by foolishness and envious heart Or by some nobler touch left in his blood. Some pulse of spirit that beats to a tune more high Than base men set their hearts by, he will turn Helpful to Godward, serviceable in soul To good men's ends in hate of that they hate : I cannot say ; howbeit I fear not much Her love of him will keep him fast to her ; If he be drawn in bonds after her wheels, It will be but of subtle soul and craft The cords are woven that hold him. But, for me. Love they or hate, my way is clear with them ; Not for her sake nor his sake shall our Lord Change counsel and turn backward ; and save his What will or wit I have to speak or live He knows who made it little for myself, But for him great ; and be you well assured Love of their love nor doubt of their disHke Hath upon me more power than upon God. For now 1 have seen him strive these divers years With spirits of men and minds exorbitant. Souls made as iron and their face as flame Full hard and hot against him, and their wits Most serpent-strong and swift, sudden of thought SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 49 And oveiflowing of counsel, and their hands Full of their fortune, and their hearts made large To hold increase of all prosperities ; And all these are not, and I poor man am, Because he hath taken and set me on his side And not where these were ; I am content alone To keep mine own heart in his secret sight Naked and clean, well knowing that no man bom Shall do me scathe but he hath bidden him do, Nor I speak word but as he hath set it me. First Citizen. Goes he to Holyrood ? Second Citizen. Ay, sir, by noon. First Citizen. There is a kindUng trouble in the air ; The sun is halting toward the top of day ; It will be shine or rain before he come. Ochiltree. What ails this folk to hover at our heel And hang their eyes on you so heedfully ? John Knox. They should be naturally disquieted Seeing what new wind makes white the wave o' the time We ride on out of harbour. Sirs, ye have heard News of your scathe and of shame done to God, And the displeasure bites you by the heart, I doubt not, if your hearts be godly given ; Make your souls strong in patience ; let your wrath Be rather as iron than as fuel in fire, Tempered and not consumed ; heat that burns out Leaves the hearth chillier for the flameless ash Than ere the wood was kindled. First Citizen. Master Knox, You know us whereto we would and by what way ; 50 BOTHWELL [act i. This too much patience burns our cheeks Avith shame That our hands are not redder than our face With slaying of manslayers who spill blood of faith And pierce the heart of naked holiness ; It is far gone in rumour how the queen Will set on high and feed on gold that man ^^^lO was a scourge laid long since on the saints, The archbishop of St. Andrew's, and perforce, Dyed as he stands in grain with innocent blood, Will make him mightier for our scathe and shame Than ere the kindly people of the word Had made him bare of bad authority. Second Citizen. Likewise she hath given her seal imperial To a lewd man and a stranger, her own knave, Vile, and a papist ; that with harp and song Makes her way smoother toward the pit of hell. John Knox. What needs us count and, cast oifences up That all we know of, how all these have one head, The hateful head of unstanched misbelief? For sins are sin-begotten, and their seed Bred of itself and singly procreative ; Nor is God served with setting this to this For evil evidence of several shame. That one may say, Lo now, so many are they ; But if one seeing with God-illumined eyes In his full face the encountering face of sin Smite once the one high-fronted head and slay, His will we call good service. For myself, SCENE 11.] BOTH WELL 51 If ye will make a counsellor of me, I bid you set your hearts a^ ainst one thing To burn it up, and keep your hearts on fire, Not seeking here a sign and there a sign, Nor curious of all casual suiferances. But steadfast to the undoing of that thing done Whereof ye know the being, however it be, And all the doing abominable of God. Who questions with a snake if the snake sting ? Who reasons of the lightning if it burn ? While these things are, deadly will these things be ; And so the curse that comes of cursed faith. First Citizen. It is well said. Second Citizen. Ay, and well done were well. Third Citizen. We have borne too long for God, we that are men, Who hath time to bear with evil if he would. Having for life's length even eternity ; But we that have but half our life to live. Whose half of days is swallowed of their nights, We take on us this lame long-suffering, To sit more still and patienter than God, As though we had space to doubt in, and long time For temperate, quiet, and questionable pause. First Citizen. Let the time come — Second Citizen. Nay, we must make the tinvi. Bid the day bring forth to us the fruit we would, Or else fare fruitless forth. Third Citizen. It is nigh noon ; There will be shine and rain and shine ere night. E2 52 BOTH WELL [act i. Scene III. — Holyrood. The Queen and Rizzio ; Mary Seyton and Mary Carmichael in attendance. Queen. Is he so tender-tongued ? it is his fear That plucks the fang out fEom his hate, and makes A stingless snake of his malignant heart ; He hath a mind, or had he a mind at all, Would have a mind to mischief ; but his will Is a dumb devil. Rizzio. Why, fear then and no love Will make faith in him out of falsehood's self, And keep him constant through unstableness. Queen. Fear that makes faith may break faith ; and a fool Is but in folly stable. I cannot tell If he indeed fear these men more than me \ Or if he slip their collar, whether or no He will be firm on my side, as you say. Through very lightness ; but I think not of him, Steadfast or sUppery. Would I had been that day Handless, when I made one his hand with mine ! Yet it seemed best. I am spirit-sick and faint With shame of his foul follies and loathed life. Which hath no part but lewdness of a man. Nor style of soul nor several quality, Dividing men from men, and man from beast, By working heart or complement of brain — None, very none. I will not see him to-night. SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 53 I have given command to ensure our privacy. Is it past noon ? Enter Darnley and Mary Beaton. Damley. You say she hath asked for me ? Mary Beaton. Ay, and complainingly, as though her love Were struck at by your absence. Darnley. Love ! her love ! . It were a cunning stroke should print a wound In that which hath no substance, and no spirit To feel the hurt. Well, I will speak to her. Queen. How like a chidden bondman of his lord Looks my lord now ! Come you from penance, sir ? Has the kirk put you to no private shame Besides the public tongue of broad rebuke ? We are blessed in your penitence ; it is A gracious promise for you. Darnley. Penitence ? Queen. You have a tender faith and quick remorse That will bear buffets easily ; pray God ] t pluck you absolution from their hands Who are godly sparing of it We have heard A priest of theirs cast for incontinence Hardly with thrice purgation of his shame Redeemed himself to kirkward. Darnley. I hear nought. Queen. Nay, but you hear when these rebuke you of sin In the full face and popular ear of men ; 54 BOTHWELL [act i. You hear them surely, and patiently you hear, And it shows in you godliness and grace Praiseworthy from them ; for myself, my lord, I have some foolish petulances in me And stings of pride that shut me out from grace So sought and bought of such men ; but your course May teach me timelier humble-mindedness And patience to get favour : which till now I have never needed beg, and now should prove A very witless beggar. Teach me words, Pray you, to move men's minds with ; such great men's As your submission purchases to be Good friends and patrons to you ; for I fear Your Knox is not my friend yet. Darnley. So I think. Madam, I know not what you make of me. Nor if your jest be seasonable or no ; I am no fool nor implement of theirs. Nor patienter of their irreverences Than the queen's self; if you endure such tongues. Why, I may bear them. Queen. Well and patiently ; I praise your manhood's temper for it, and am The haooier for your royalty of spirit That will not feel wrong done of baser men To be at all wrong done you. Darnley. Will you think it ? Well then, I am so, I am just your thought, You read me right, and this our friend reads too, For I am plain and easy to read right. SCENE III.] BOTH WELL . 55 Queen. Have you made time to say so ? Darnley. Ay, and this, That it mislikes me — ^it gives me discontent That men should Queen. Ay ? that men should — anything — Bear themselves manlike, or that men should be. It is oflfence done openly to you ? Darnlai. Nay. not offence, nor open ; nought it is. Or to me nougm. Queen. Nought as I think indeed. . You were about to chide us ? well it is You have so humble a wife of us and true, To make your chidings fruitful, that your words Bear and bring forth good seed of bettering change. I pray you, when you chide me, that you make Your stripes the gentler for my humbleness. Darnley. I have no mind to jest and jape, and will — And will not wrangle with you. Queen. Will, and will not ? They say a woman's will is made like that. But your will yet is wilfuller than ours. Darnley. Not as I think; Queen. God better the king's thought. And mind more tyrannous than is his place ! Darnley. If I be king Queen. And I be kingdomless, And place be no place, and distinction die Between the crown and curch— Well, on, our lord. Darnley. Why am I out of counsel with you? Whence £5 BOTHWELL [act i. Ami made show of for a titular fool And have no hand in enterprise, of yours, Nor tongue, nor presence ? Not alone my name That is rubbed out and grated off your gold, But myself plucked out of your register, Made light account of, held as nothingness, Might move me Queen. Whither ? Darnley. To some show of wrath More than complaint, if I were minded ill. Here is a breach made with the English queen, Our cousin of England, a wide-open breach, A great-grown quarrel, and I no part of it, Not named or known of. Queen. You are the happier man Heavenward, if blessed be the peaceable. Darnley. The happier heavenward, being the world- lier shamed ; The less I like it. You have suddenly cast forth A man her servant and ambassador. With graceless haste and instance, from the realm, On barren charge of bare complicity With men now banished and in English bounds. But not attaint of treason toward us yet Nor deadly doomed of justice. Queen. Not attaint ? Give not your spirit trouble for that ; the act Is drawn by this against them, and the estates Need but give warrant to their forfeiture Now it has passed the lords of the articles ; SCENE III.] BOTH WELL 57 Take no care for it ; though it be sweet in you And gracious, to show care of your worst foes You have on earth ; that would have driven you forth A shamefiil rebel to your cousin queen And naked of our foreign favour here That clothed you with unnatural royalty And not your proper purple. Forth ; you say I have done this wrong ? Damley. I do not say you have done Wise work nor unwise ; but howbeit, I say I had no part in aught of it, nor knew With what a spur's prick you provoked her spleen Who is not stingless to requite it you, Nor with what scant of reason. Queen. 'Tis sad truth, She shows no less disquiet mind than yours Nor a less loud displeasure ; she was kind, She says, well-willed to meward, but my sins, Unkindliness, and soul's obduracy. Have made her soft heart hard ; and for this fault She will not ever counsel me again. Nor cease to comfort my dear brother's need With gold and good compassion : and I have Even such a sister as brother of her as him. And love alike and am like loved of them. He wills me well, she swears, as she herself, And, I'll re-swear it, she wills as well as he. Darnley. Ay, we know whence this well-spring of your will Takes head and current ; who must have brave wars 58 BOTH WELL [act i. We know, fair field, broad booty to sweep up, Space to win spurs in ; and what English gold Must after battle gild his heels with them, When he shall stand up in my father's stead Lieutenant-general for you of the realm : And who must have your brother's lands we know, Investiture must have, and chancellorship, And masterdom in council. Here he stands, A worthy witness to it ; do you look on me ? Is it not you must be the golden sir, The counsel-keeper, the sole tongue of the head, The general man, the goodly ? Did you send Lord Bothwell hard at heel of him cast forth To make his wrong sweet with sweet-spoken words. And temper the sharp taste of outrage done And heat in him of anger, with false breath ? Why made you not your own tongue tunable Who are native to soft speaking, and who hate With as good heart as any Scot that hates England ? or is her messenger your fool To take blows from you and good words alike As it shall chance him cross your morning mood Angry or kindly ? Queen. Sir, our chancellor. We charge you that you answer not the duke. Darnley, Duke ? Queen. Ay, the duke of Rothsay j whom we pray Seek otherwhere some seemlier talking-stock To flush his hot and feverish wit upon. SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 59 Darnley. Your chancellor? why went not such a man With you before the lords of the articles Now, an hour back, and yet but half day through, To help you speak the banished lords to death ? Is't not the heart of the office, to see law Punish law's traitors, as you bid them be In the proof's teeth, who are honester than some You bid be law's justiciaries of them ? Why went he not ? 'twere no more shame nor praise Than 'here to swell in state beside your own. Queen. Must we crave leave to bid you twice takd leave. Or twice to ask what would you ? Darnley. Truly this, A mere mean thing, an insignificance. If you will once more hear — oh, nowise me. But just the man whose name you take in mouth To smite me on my face with — Master Knox. • Queen. Are you his usher going before his grace No less than servant to his master-word ? Or is it penitence and submission makes you In the holy way of honour and recompense So high in office with him? Say, this time For the usher's sake I'll speak with the usher's lord : Yet if I mind 'twas I bade send for him To speak of you his servant : for I hear You did not at first stripe submit yourself Nor take all penance with all patience, being 6q BOTHWELL [act i. Brought hardly in time to harsh humility Such as we see now ; which thing craves excuse To make you gracious in your master's eyes, If it be true — I would not think it were — You brake in anger forth from the High Kirk, Being there rebuked, and would not sit at meat, But past away to hawking in pure rage After an hour or twain of high discourse Heard with plain show of sharp unthankfulness ; Which that you now repent and would redeem I will bear witness for you to your lord To make your penitential peace with him. Let him come in. Darnley. I am no messenger. Queen. Where is my chamberlain? bid Marnock here — Let the man in and one man only more. Whoever it be ; we'll see him privily. Our chancellor, and our no messenger. We have no need of to dispute with him. Darnley. If I go hence Queen. Why then you stay not here. Damky. But if I go at bidding Queen. Why, you go : With the more speed, the less of tarriance made. l>et me not hold you half-way back : farewell. \Exeunt Darnley and Rizzio. I have not begim so luckily, nor set So good a face on the first half of day, Now to keep terms with mere tongue-traitors more. SCENE III.] BOTH WELL 6i Enter John Knox and John Erskine of Dun. So once we are met again, sir, you and I. Set him before us. 'yohn Knox. I am before your grace Without man's haling or compulsive word : Nor at these divers times you have sent for me Have you found need to use me forcefully. Queen. Well, let that be ; as verily meseems 'Tis I find forceful usage at your hands, Anfl handling such as never prince has borne Since first kings were ; yet have I borne with it. Who am your natural princess, and sat by To hear your rigorous manner of speaking through As loud against my kinsfolk as myself ; Vea, I have sought your favour diligently And friendship of my natural subject bom And reconcilement by all possible means ; I have offered you at your own choice and time Whenso it pleased you ever admonish me Presence and audience ; yea, have shamed myself With reasonless submission ; have endured The naked edge of your sharp speech, and yet Cannot be quit of you : but here to God I make my vow I will be once revenged. Give me my handkerchief. I should take shame That he can shame me with these tears, to make Mine eyes his vassals. John Knox. Madam, true it is There have been divers seasons of dispute 62 BOTHWELL [act i. Between your grace and me, wherein I have never Found you offended : neither now would find The offence I sought not ; yea, I knew this well, If it shall please God break your prison-house And lighten on your disimprisoned soul, That my tongue's freedom shall offend you not For surely being outside the preaching-place I think myself no breeder of offence Nor one that gives man cause of wrath and wrong ; And being therein, I speak not of myself But as God bids who bids me, speaking plain, Flatter no flesh on earth. Lo, here I stand, A single soul and naked in his eye, Constrained of him, to do what thing he will, And dare and can none other. Hath he sent me To speak soft words of acceptable things In ladies' chambers or kings' courts, to make Their ways seem gracious to them ? I wot, no. I am to bring God's gospel in men's ears. And faith therein, and penitence, which are The twain parts of it ; but the chief o' the land And all the main of your nobility Give God no heed nor them that speak for God Through flattering fear and ill respect of you ; And seeing if one preach penitence to men He must needs note the sin he bids repent, How should not I note these men's sin who choose To serve affections in you and wild will Rather than truth in God ? This were lost breath, To chide the general wrong-doing of the world sctNE in.] BOTHWELL 63 And not the very present sin that burns Here in our eyes offensive ; bid serve God, And say not with what service. Queen. Nay, but so What is it to you or any saving me How this man married to me bears himself? With what sign-manual has God warranted Your inquisition of us ? What am I That my most secret sanctuaries of life And private passages of hours should be Food for men's eyes or pavement for men's feet To peer and pasture, track and tread upon. Insult with instance ? Am I only bound To let the common mouth communicate In my life's sweet or bitter sacrament, The wine poured, the bread broken every day ? To walk before men bare that they may judge If I were born with any spot or no. And praise my naked nature ? to subject Mine unsubmitted soul subordinate To popular sight and sentence ? What am I That I should be alone debarred, deposed. From the poor right of poor men, who may live Some hour or twain unchallenged of the day And make to no man answer what they do As I to mine must render ? who is this That takes in hand such hard things and such high ? Sir, what man are you that I need account For this word said or that, or such things done, Only to you or mainly, of myself? 64 BOTHWELL [act i. Yea, what are you within this commonwealth ? John Knox. A man within it and a subject bom, Madam ; and howsoever no great man, Earl, lord, nor baron to bear rule therein, Yet has God made me a profitable man, How abject I seem ever in your eye, No member of the same unmeritable. Yea, madam, this pertains not less to me Than any of all your noble-nurtured men, To warn men of what things may hurt the same, So as I see them dangerous : and herein My conscience and mine office with one tongue Crave plainness of me : wherefore to yourself I say the thing I speak in public place, That what great men soever at any time Shall be consenting to your lord's unfaith Or flattering furtherance of unfaith in you. They do what in them lieth to cast out Christ, Banish his truth, betray his liberty And free right of this realm, and in the end Shall haply do small comfort to yourself. And for him too, your husband, it may be That as he spares not to dishonour God For your delight, by service of the mass, God will not spare to smite him by your hand That faithlessly he fawns on to his loss. Queen. When was there queen so handled in the world ? I would I could not weep \ for being thus used I needs must never or now. Is this light day? SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 65 Am I asleep, or mad, or in a trance, That have such words to beat about mine ears And in mine eyes his present face who speaks ? Erskine of Dun. Madam, I pray your grace con- tain your mood. And keep your noble temperance of yourself, For your high sake and honour, who are held For excellence of spirit and natural soul As sovereign bom as for your face and place. Kingdom and kingly beauty ; to whose might The worthiest of the world, all Europe's chief, Her choice of crowns, might gladly bow themselves To find your favour. I beseech you think That here is no disloyalty designed Nor thing dishonourable ; for were men mad Whose wits are whole, and false whose faiths are sound, The very mouth of madness would speak sense, The very tongue of treason would speak truth. For love and service of your royalty ; Blind curses bless, and red rebellion bow, That came to bum and threaten. Do not dream That a man faithful Godward and well loved Can be to youward evil-willed, who have Power on your natural and your bom unfriends To bind their goodwill to you. Queen. Words, all words ; I am weary of words : I have heard words enough To build and break, if breath could break or build, Centuries of men. What would they with me, sir ? These my liege folk that love me to the death, F 66 BOTHWELL [act i. Their death or mine, no matter — my fast friends Whose comfortable balms so bruise my head It cannot hold the crown up — these good hands That wring my wrist round to wrench out the staff God set into mine own — these loving lips That take my name upon them as to kiss And leave it rank with foam of hateful speech ? Must I be dead deposed, or must I live Stript shameless, naked to the very name, A crestless creature and displumed, that feeds On charities and chances ? wUl they give Me, their queen bom, me, bread or dust to eat, With a mouth water-moistened or a dry, Beggared or buried ? shall I hold my head In shameiiil fief and tenantry of these For their least wind of any wrath that blows To storm it off my shoulders ? What were I That being so bom should be bom such a thmg As bondsmen might bemock the bondage of And slaves contemn for slaver}' ? Nay, no words : A word may wound and no word heal again, As none can me — whom all men's words may wound — ^Vho am Uable to all buffets of men's tongues. All stripes of all their scandals — and was bom To no such fear — and have nor tongue nor wit To plead and gather favour — no such grace As may get grace, no piteous skUfiilness — Only my trath and tears— and would to God My tears and truth for you were wind and fire To burn and blow corruption from the world, SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 67 And leave pure peace to breed where you plant war And make the furrows fat with pestilence And the grain swell with ti eason^but, too sure, They too can hurt and heal not. I am soul-sick With shame and bitter weakness ; yet, God's will, I may take strength about me to put off Some part of shame. Sir, you that make me weep, By these my tears and my sharp shame of them I swear you will not laugh to see me laugh, When my time comes : you shall not ; I will have Time to my friend yet — I shall see you, sir. If you can weep or no, that with dry eyes Have seen mine wet — I will try that — look to it. jfohn Knox. Madam, I speak in very eye of God, I never took delight in any tears Shed of God's creatures ; yea, for my self-sake, I can but very hardly abide the tears Of mine own boys whom mine own hand and love Chastens, and much less can take any joy In this the weeping of your majesty. But seeing I have given you no offensive cause Nor just occasion, but have spoken truth After mine office as mine own place craves Lest I, God's man, be manswom to God's truth, I must sustain, howbeit unwillingly, Rather these tears drawn of your majesty Than blood of mine own conscience stabbed to death Or through my silence of my commonwealth By my dumb treason wounded. Queen. A fair word — F 2 68 BOTHWELL [act i. I thought it was forgotten of men's mouths And only lived in the inner heat of the heart Too sure to want the spelling of their speech. Sir, you shall find it in my very tears, This blood you fear for of your commonwealth, And in the hurts of mine authority The wounds it hes abed with ; what, God help. Can the head bleed and not the body faint ? Or wherein should the kingdom feel such maim As in the kingship stricken ? there are you, If you be true man, and each true man bom Subject and circled with the bound of rule. Hurt to the heart. But heartless things are words ; Henceforth I will not mix my speech with yours In the way of disputation ever more, Nor set against your tongue the plea of mine To reason as its equal. Wait you here, Here in the chamber : you, sir, come with me To counsel in my cabinet somewhile ; We will return his answer. \Exeunt Queen and Erskine of Dun. Mary Carmichael. She wept sore ; I never saw her spirit, so chafed, so melt And thaw to such mere passion ; this one time He is sure attainted. Mary Beaton. Ay, she fain would dare Upon the spur of the hour attaint him ; yet What none dare else she durst not ; they will put Force of fair words as bridle in the mouth Of her wild will and reinless. SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 69 Mary Seyton. She is wise, And fights not wisdom, but being counselled well Takes truce with time and tongueless policy. What, will the man speak to us ? ,he looks so hard With such fast eyes and sad — I had not thought His face so great, nor presence. John Knox. Ah, fair ladips, How fair were this your life and pleasurable If this might ever abide, and so in the end With all this gay gear we might pass to heaven : But fie upon that knave, Death, that will come Whether we will or ivill not : and being come. When he has laid on his assured arrest, The foul worms will be busy with this flesh, Be it never so fair and tender ; and the soul, The silly soul shall be so feeble, I fear. It can bear with it neither gold nor pearl. Painting of face, garnish, nor precious stones. Mary Beaton. Sir, for myself, small joy this were to me That this life should live ever : nor would I Care much by praying to stretch my days of life Into m.ore length, nor much to take with me Garnish or gold ; but one thing I would fain Have to go gravewards with me and keep it safe, That you have cast no word or warning on, And yet women, whose hearts are worldly worn And by no creed of yours consolable Nor gladness of your gospel, love its name As dear as God's ; and its name is but rest. 70 BOTHWELL [act i. yohn Knox. Rest has no other name but only God's. Mary Beaton. But God has many another name than rest : His name is life, and life's is weariness. yohn Knox. Ay, but not his ; that life has lost his name ; Peace is his name, and justice. Mary Beaton. Ah, sir, see, Can these two names be one name ? or on earth Can two keep house together that have name Justice and peace ? where is that man i' the world Who hath found peace in the arms of justice lain Or justice at the breast of peace asleep ? Is not God's justice painted like as ours, A strong man armed, a swordsman red as fire, UTiose hands are hard, and his feet washed in blood ? It were an iron peace should sleep with him, And rest were unrest that should kiss his lips. What man would look on justice here and live. Peace has no more part in him. yohn Knox. Lady, nay, That only peace indeed which is of God Hath in the just man not a part but all, But the whole righteous life and heart in him Still peacefully possesses ; who hath not Or loves not justice, he can love not peace, For peace is just ; and that thing is not peace That such men love, but full of strife and lies, A thing of thorns and treasons. This were even SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 71 As if a man loving a harlot should Praise her for maiden and himself for pure To love such maidenhood, when any says That he loves peace who loves not holiness, For peace is holy. Yea, and if one seek He shall find peace where bitterest justice is, In the full fire and middle might of wrath, Rather than where sloth sucks the lips of shame Or fear with her foul brother unbelief Lives in adultery ; strife is that which springs, As a winged worm and poisonous, of their sheets ; And in the slumberless and storm-strewn bed That very war's self spreads for righteousness Peace as a babe is bom. Mary Beaton. Would God it were. For 'tis a bitter childbed : these long years We look for fruit and none comes forth of it, But yet more iron travail ; and ourselves, Desiring justice, quite lose hold of peace. And are distracted with our own fierce want And hungry need of right unreachable. Yet it may come, and then shall peace indeed. John Knox. You talk against your habit. Re-enter Erskine of Dun. Erskine of Dun. Master Knox, The queen will no more hear you at this time, But with good will and gracious mind will weigh Your worth and worthy meaning in your words. 72 BOTHWELL [act i. yohn Knox. It may be she will never hear me more. Farewell, fair ladies ; may God look on you, And give you chiefly comfort, which is grace. \Exeunt John Knox and Erskine of Dun. Mary Seyton. Why did you prate so preacher-like with him ? Mary Beaton. I cannot tell by asking of myself Nor answer for yoiu: asking. Which of you Shall wait at supper on the queen to night ? Mary Carmichad. None but her counsel of close hours, Argyle. Mary Beaton. She sups with them — and in attend- ance there Some two or three I heard of — one of these No man of arms. Mary Seyton. What should they do with arms ? More need of lips to sing with. Mary Beaton. Ay, to sing — It is no matter of state the)^ meet upon ? Mary Seyton. Are your wits lost indeed, or do you jest ? Mary Beaton. True, it should be for no afiFairs of state They sup at nightfall in the lesser room — They three, and three to make the music up. Mary Seyton. What ails you at it ? Mary Beaton. Nothing j I ail nought. I did but think what music he should make After this preacher. Let us to the queen. SCENE iv.J BOTHWELL Scene IV. — Darnley's Lodging. Darnley and Sir George Douglas. Damley. I think our friend of Morton had grovm slack But for my spurring, uncle. Sir George Douglas. Nay, he is firm ; You do him less right than you do yourself To think he should need quickening. Darnley. O, I know not. What should I know ? what wit have I to know ? I am a fool and have no forethought ! Why, But for my resolute instance at this need — I said to him, be resolute — and since then, Some six or eight hours gone, I have heard such things As would put sense and passion in dead bones — By God I have ; it shall be seen 1 have. But are you sure it should be done to-night ? Sir George Douglas. Ay, surely. Darnley. Well, I see no surety in it — Methinks now every day we let him live Blows hot the popular wrath of all the land And makes us surer when we strike indeed That all men's hearts will stab him with our hands. Sir George Douglas. By. which account he might live long and die An old white death and woundless. Is not this The man whereof you told me some while since How at close midnight, your wife's doors being lockedj 74 BOTHWELL [act i. You burst them open, and gat hold of him Hid in a closet of her bedchamber, Save for furred gown and shirt about the knave Naked ? and must you take him so again And he so twice get clear of you and laugh ? You swore me that — ^what need to tell or swear, If he must live still ? weeping, with clenched hands, You swore it, prajdng me for our shame's sake send Word to your uncle Ruthven ; but what need. If there were no shame in the thing at all Or but so little, as now so little it seems, There is no haste to slay him ? Darnley. Nay, you carp— 'Tis thus men ever catch at my good words To turn them on their tongues and spit them out Changed and discoloured. He shall die to-night Sir George Douglas. Assuredly. Darnley. I say so — mark, I say it, I that have cause — how else could it be sure ? But sure it is — I say he shall not live. Let us go seek Lord Morton out again And tell him it is sworn we strike to-night How many of us have hands in it with me. Who cannot with mine own hand as I would Strike — it were shameful to me — were it not ? For mine own hand's sake. Sir George Douglas. There are hands enough Without the shame done to your highness' hand : Sufficeth us we have it set to the bond That signs him dead ; nor need we sum their names SCENE v.] BOI'HWELL 75 Whose hands will strike, not spare, for their own sakes. Damky. Well, let us go to make my lord's faith sure That it shall be no later than to-night. Scene V. — The Queen's Cabinet. The Queen, Rizzio, Countess of Argyle, Lord Robert Stuart, Arthur Erskine, in attendance. Queen, Have I not done a queenlike work to-day ? I have made attaint my traitors of myself. With no man at my hand to strengthen me Have gone before the lords of the articles And set my will upon them like a seal, And they for their part set on their old friends The bloody seal of treason signed of death And countersigned of burning ignominy. You were half fearful, you, lord chancellor, You my good servant ; but I knew their necks Were made to take the impression of my foot. Their wills and souls the likeness of mine own, And I have used them for the things they are. Countess of Argyle. You have been right royal, madam, and your lovers Have joyful cause to praise you. Qtieen. Will you say it. Who bear as much part in his blood as I Of our dead father's giving ? then I think No other tongue for love of Murray slain Shall sting me though mine own speak off his head, 76 BOTHWELL [act i. Once caught up out of England ; nay, I think We shall get vantage of your lord's friend Knox Ere many days be. Countess of Argyle. Speed your majesty ! The cord were hallowed that should silence him. Queen, Ay, though mine own hands twist it. To spin hemp For such a throat, so loud and eloquent, Should better please me and seem a queenlier thing Than to weave sUk and flower it with fine gold. He hath a tongue to tame a tiger with, Fright into fierce and violent reverence The fearfuUest earth's monsters. I do think I like him better than his creed-fellows Whose lips are softer toward me ; 'tis some sport To set my wit to his, and match with mine The shrewd and fiery temper of his spirit For trial of true mastery ; yet to-day He made me weep, weep mightily — by faith. If there be faith in any hps of earth, I think to live and laugh at his tears yet. Robert Stuart. I would the hand were on him that might make His eyes weep red and drop out of their rings, Looking on death. What reason gives him leave, What right makes room for him to take his way So past men's patience grown so masterful ? Had I one half word's warrant of your grace His tongue should not be long inside his lips. Queen. I am no wife of Antony, to try SCENK v.] BOTH WELL 77 My needle's point against his tongue's edge j yet I have cause as good as Fulvia's, though his speech Ring somewhat shott of Roman. Here is one That has that southern honey on his Ups Frozen as it seems up with this galling air And not a note left golden, but his tongue Nipt with the chill to death as with a knife That cuts us short of music. Countess of Argyle. Yea, my lord. Why will you so discomfort the good hour With tongueless sadness ? ■ we have cause to chide That having cause to sing find song to seek And thought to find it ready. Rizzio. - I have been sad These two hours back ; I know not what it was So struck me out of mirth, for I was merry. And knew not why. Queen. Nay, if you love me, sir. You had reason to be merry with my mirth ■\Vho am blithe to be found queen over my foes ; I have been glad all this good day thereof Save some few minutes that my subject-saint Vexed even to mere intemperance ; but few tears Wept out that little bitter part of day And left it sweet Have you not heard men say This heaviness without a root of fear Goes oft before some good ? now should there be Some new thing hard upon us that will make All good hearts glad. Have you no song to mock The doubt away that mocks you ? 78 BOTHWELL [act i. Rhzio. At your will. I am something yet in tune for such a song As joy makes out of sorrow, when the thought Plays with false grief for joy's sake. Please you hear it With such light audience as its worth is light ? Queen. Ay, such a note should fit me for this time ; After the tuneless toil of talking day A light song lightly brings ill thoughts asleep. (Rizzio sings). Lord Love went Maying Where Time was playing. In light hands weighing Light hearts with sad ; Crowned king with peasant. Pale past with present, Harsh hours with pleasant, Good hopes with bad ; Nor dreamed how fleeter Than Time's swift metre, O'er all things sweeter How clothed with power, The murderess maiden Mistrust walks laden With red fruit ruined and dead white flower. How close behind him Ere man's faith find him. How strong to bind him With fears for bands. Lest once beholden Of man the golden God's face embolden All hearts and hands ; SCENE v.] BOTH WELL 79 For if doubt were not, Whose sore shafts spare not, Large life would care not For death's poor hour, Seeing all life's season By love's sweet reason Made wise would seem in his eyes a flower. Countess of Argyle. Did you hear that ? Robert Stuart. What ? Queen. Nothing but sweet words. Countess of Argyle. I heard a cry i' the wind as of one hurt. Arthur Erskine. There is no wind up, madam. Queen. Peace, I pray ; It was your own sense mocked you. Hear it through ; There should be more, and sadder. Countess of Argyle. Nay, I heard. Rizzio (sings). By Love's side flying As Time went ciying Glad news and lying In all men's ears, With blind feet gliding She came deriding Their joyous tiding That ends in tears ; From Time's side failing As Love sank quailing, Her strong wings sailing Made *11 heads cower. Her wings untethered. With fleet thoughts feathered, Made weak the summer and bleak the flower. go BOTHWELL [act i. Hope found no cover Wherein to hover, And Love no lover, And Joy no place ; Till when Time creeping Had left him sleeping, Love knelt down weeping Before her face. And prayed, soul-stricken. One flower might quicken, Though spring should sicken And storm devour j She from her bosom Flung one sere blossom. Then passed him dead on the last dead flower. Robert Stuart. Hark ! some one laughed there. Queen. What does death i' the song ? Can they not let love live, but must needs make His grave with singing ? 'Tis the trick of song That finds no way to end else. Rizzio. An old trick ; Your merrier songs are mournfuUer sometimes Than very tears are. Queen. Do you hear noises still ? Enter Darnlby. Who sent you to us ? Darnley. ■ My love to my sweet lady. \Kisses her. Queen. What feet are theirs behind you ? Who stands there ? SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 8i Daml^. Nay, nothing, nay, sweet, nothing. Queen. I should know — Judas ! \Seeing Ruthven in the doorway. Damley. I tell you Ruthven. Let that man come forth ; He hath been here too long. Queen. What hath he done ? Ruthven. So please your highness, how he hath done you wrong To offend the honour of your majesty I dare not boldly say ;■ but this I dare. He hath done the king your husband's honour wrong In this past all the rest, to hinder him Of the crown matrimonial, which your grace Made his by promise ; other wrongs than this Are more than I need speak of ; for the lords. He hath caused you banish a great part of them And the most chief, and at this parliament Forefault them as for treason, that himself Who jets here in his cap and damask gown Might of your grace be made a lord, and tread On men more noble : wherefore with good cause For very love I pray your majesty Make not yourself his buckler who lacks heart Save to pluck forth his hanger and not strike, But cower behind and clasp your gown for shield. Stand from before the window, lest perforce I hale him hence by the hair. Queen. Help us, our friends ! Thrust out this death-faced traitor. 82 BOTHWELL [act i. Arthur Erskine. Sir, give way. Robert Stuart. Out of this presence ! Ruthven. Lay no hands on me ; \Draws. Stand ; I will not be handled. Enter Fauldonside and Sir George Douglas. Queen. Out with him ! Rizzio. Save, save me, madam ! Queen. You are within my ward. Stand from him, sirs ; what ! treason ! Fauldonside. Nay, then, thus. [Putting a pistol to her breast. Queen. Do him no wrong ; ye dare not murder me: If he have sinned let justice pass on him. Fauldonside. This cord shall justify him. Rizzio. Help me ! help ! Sir George Douglas. Let go the queen. Rizzio. Help me, my mistress ! Fauldonside. Out ! Queen. Have mercy ! Rizzio. Mercy ! nay, I am innocent ! Save me, sweet lady ! Queen. Will ye slay me too ? Fauldonside. Drag him away; pluck his hands off her. Rizzio. Help ! \They force him out. Queen. Why does that sheath sit empty on your side? Where is the dagger? SCENE v.] BOTHWELL S3 Damley. Why, I know not where. Queen. It will be known hereafter \ it shall be Dear blood to some of you if David's here Be spilt, my faithful servant's ; but may God, My poor true friend, have mercy on your soul ! Ruthven. Here, take your wife into your arms, my lord. And bid her fear not Madam, have no fear ; We had sooner spend the blood of our own hearts Than you should suffer harm ; and what we do Is but your husband's bidding. Let them pass : • He shall be kept for this time safe enough In my lord's chamber here. Damley. Ay shall he, safe — In that same chamber where you used of old Before this fellow grew so in your grace To come and seek me ; but since he so fell In credit with you and familiar use, Even if I come to yours I find of late Small entertainment of you, save so far As David may sit third with us, and set To cards with you even till an hour or twain Be gone past midnight. Queen. I have heard not said It was a duteous gentlewoman's part ' To seek her husband's chamber, but the man's To seek the wife when he would aught with her. Damley, Why came you to my chamber then at first, And ever till these few months back that he G 3 84 BOTHWELL [act i. Became familiar with you ? or am I In any part now of my body failed, To fall out of your grace ? or what disdain Have you of me ? or what offence of mine Makes you not use me at aU times alike, Seeing I am willing to do all good things That may become a husband to his wife ? Queen. My lord, of all the shame here done to me You have the fault : for which sake I henceforth Shall never be your wife nor lie with you. Nor ever shall have liking of my Hfe Till I may make you bear as sore a heart As I bear now. Ruthven. Madam, for honour's sake. Be reasonably and timely reconciled To your wed lord ; and with him take advice Of such good friends as love you. Give me leave : I am faint, and cannot stand to plead with you. \Sits. Bring me to drink, for God's sake. Darnley. Give my lord A cup of wine. Queen. Is this your malady ? If ye shall slay me or my six months' child By this night's force and fear, my friends yet live To wreak me of Lord Ruthven. Ruthven. Be content Queen. When word goes forth how I am handled here — What, am I kinless, think you, without help ? Mine uncles and my brother king of France, !;CENE v.] BOTHWELL 85 All lords of all lands living, all heads crowned, Shall be one storm to shake you from the world ; And the Pope with me, and the Catholic king. And all that live or of my faith or blood, Shall all make way upon you. Ruthven. I am too mean That these so many and mighty should take aim At one such poor man here as I am. See, If you will weigh it worthily yourself. This is no treason ; never till this night Was so good service done you. For myself, I will make answer to God's charge and man's How I have served you in it. Queen. What have I done ? What thing am I that ye should use me thus ? O miserable and desertless that I am, Unkingdomed of mine honour ! I that had Lordship of land and natural rule of men Am poorer here than any landless man And weaker than all women. Pray you, sir. By what law's sentence am I made man's thrall ? What lord have I offended that can bid My face for shame be covered in your sight ? Whom have I wronged ? or who hath power on me, WTiat thing soever I be, to do me wrong ? Whohathgivenforthjudgmentonme? what man's right Calls me his servant ? Nay, there is no slave Men strike without a sentence ; and ye strike Your own right in me and your name to death With one self-ruinous violence. 86 BOTHWELL [act i Ruthven. Be at peace ; We strike but your own sickness off yourself AVho cut off him to save you : the disease That dies of the physician leaves no cause That you should curse but thank him. Queen. Thank? ay, thank — God give me grace to give you thanks! be sure Ye shall not lack my memory to it, nor will To make me worthy of you. What, no more? \Exit Ruthven. I thought his wrath was large enough for me To find a murderous part in where to die And share it with my servant. Must I live? Sir, you that make death warm between your lips. And, silent, let fall murder from your mouth. Have you no kiss to kill me? no love left To give me poison? Why is he gone forth? Hath the hot falsehood eaten through your tongue? Speak. Darrdey. Why, Ibadehimlook tothoseyourfriends That might have risen upon us; hear you that? \Noise outside. There is a clamour of them in the courts. But nought to help or hurt now. He is gone To read our will out in the general ear, And by proclaiming of my share with them In this their new-bom justice to make sure Men's hearts that hearken ; and lest fear shake our friends. Or illwill toward us and goodwill toward you SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 87 Make our foes strong in malice of design, To warn them of your brother's present speed, Who must be here with morning : my device, My trick to win all faiths that hang on him And tie them to my service with his hand. So have we all souls instant on our side, And you no way to wound us : for by this. Even with the hearing of my name given forth As parcel of the bond that writes him dead, Which is now cancelled with his bloodshedding,' This your good town is with us, and your lords That stood for you with this man fled or dead, If they dare strike or stand yet. What shift now ? What wit ? what craft ? Queen. My friends driven forth the court ? No help upon my side ? The town raised too ? Darnley. We had no heart nor wit to work with, ha ? We were yovu: fools, and heartless ? Queen (at the window). Help, all friends ! All good men help your queen here ! Ho, my lord, My lord the Provost ! Darnley. He is raised indeed. Queen. Help for the queen ! help, Irovost! Darnley. Peace, I say ; You may fare worse : these are wild hours. Voice without. Sit down ; You shall be hewn in pieces if you stir And flung into the Nor'-Loch. Darnley. Nay, be wise ; Pluck not their madness on you. 88 BOTHWELL [act i. Queen. O, your love ! It shows now kindly in you. Re enter Ruthven. Ruthven. All is sped ; The lords of the adverse party being roused up And hearing with what large applause of men The reading of our sentence in the bond And names subscribed, and proclamation made Of Murray even at heel of the act returned, Was of all mouths made welcome, in fierce haste Forth of their lodging fled confusedly AVith no more tarriance than to bring their lives Clear of the press and cry of peril at hand, And their folk round them in a beaten rank Hurled all together ; so no man being left, The earls of Huntley and of BothweU gone, To lift a hand against the general peace, The townsmen, of their surety satisfied, Brake up with acclamation of content For the good comfort done them in this deed. Queeti. What have ye made my servant ? Ruthven. A dead dog. His turn is done of service. Damley. Yea, stark dead ? Ruthven. They stabbed him through and through with edge on edge Till all their points met in him ; there he lies, Cast forth in the outer lodge, a piteous knave And poor enough to look on. SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 89 Queen. I am content. Now must I study how to be revenged. Darnley. Nay, think not that way : make it not so much ; Be warned, and wiser. Queeii. Must I not, my lord ? You have taught me worthier wisdom than of words ; And I will lay it up against my heart. END OF THE FIRST ACT. ACT II. BOTHWELL. Time, from March io, 1566, to February 9, 1567. ACT II. Scene I. — The Queen's Chamber. Enter Darnley and Arthur Erskine, severally. Damley. Is the queen risen ? Arthur Erskine. She has not slept, my lord. They say she is in some peril of mishap Through the sore handling of this violent night ; Mortal mishap it may be. Darnley. Ay ! who say it ? What should be mortal to her ? she was not sick Nor near enough her danger. Arthur Erskine. I am no leech ; Haply the fright of murderous menaces And noise of swords is held medicinal ; The savour of a slain friend comfortable And his blood balm : if these be healthful things, You have given her weakness physic. Enter the Queen. Queen. Ah, our lord ! Comes he with death about him ? I could take it 94 BOTHWELL [act n. As readily as condemned men take reprieve, For of a life much deadlier than itself Death would reprieve me. Damley. I am come to bring you help. Queen. You are ever helpful, even at all needs good. For stroke or speech, good always. I am weak ; Let me have execution swift or soft ; Here is no strength to suffer. Damley. Sit, and rest. Queen. Nay, I can stand ; or should I kneel, my plight Were one with my new fortune. You may go : I have but private penitence to do, And privy grace to get me ; for indeed I were stark mad to hope by any mean For public pardon ; I am condemned, and have No hope but of such pity as dead men gain Who living found no grace in the great world. [Exit Arthur Erskine. Now, what death, sir ? Damky. You think not as you speak j Your thought has other business than your tongue. And death has no part in it. Queen. I am assured I must not live. Darnley. Whose doom has passed on you ? Not mine ; I would not have you go in fear ; You may be safe as I am. Queen. As you, my lord ? I think I may, and yet may chance but find SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 95 A little day of surety. Damley. By mine honour, My word and place of sovereignty is pledged For your fair usage ; they that unseat you Shall find no king in me. Queen. Nay, I think not. Darnley. As they would have me friend and firm to them, I told them, they should use you royally. No state or privilege plucked off you ; nay, I have no thought by stolen strength of yours To increase myself out of your weakness ; only I would have royalty remade in you, And in your honour an honourable part ; See the state in you and the name shine fair, And in your praise mine own praise perfected As parcel of it, and in your good fame Mine own fame stablished ; as from your repute Shaken or sullied, my name too takes soil, And in your insuiEcience I wax weak. So would I have the grace I gain and strength Redound to youward ; who being queen indeed, I cannot seem unkingly. Queen. 'Tis well thought. It was my cinrse to know not in good time How high a sense and royal of itself I had in you so near me. Darnley. That your thought, Misdeeming me worth no more weight with you. Hath brought us to this breach. Now lies it in you 96 BOTHWELL [act ii. To make all whole ; these lords that in my name And for mine ends and with my leave rose up To rid out peril and scandal from us all, And make red-handed witness of themselves Against the shame and scathe of royalty, Are not the traitors of your thought, but keep Faith flawless toward the personal empire here And spirit of rule, dishonouring not the law By forceful chastisement of secret breach That did it bloodless violence ; this blood shed Must heal indeed the privy hurt of law And all but death of kingship, in such pass Wasted and wounded ; but no hand of theirs Would stab through you your holy majesty, Cut oif all life of law with yours, and make Authority die with you one visible death ; No thought put out your office, though yourself Were found come short thereof, to leave this laud A kingless kingdom ; wherefore with good will I counsel you make peace with their designs And friends with mine intent, which for us both Is but all power and honour. Queen. So you see it ; But were your eyes no flatterers of themselves The sight were other : yet for my poor part I cannot care though power be out of sight, Save that mine honour visibly is marred By wreck in you of either ; for indeed Nor power nor honour shall hang on to you If you must wear them but at will of men SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 97 And by strange leave of chance authority- Reign or not reign ; but all concerns me not ; Rule as you may, be lord of that you can, . I can contend not with your lords or you, Their master-servant. Pardon me j I am weak, A feeble simple woman, without stay. And witless of your worth ; yet I might fear Their policies were no good friends of youi's, Could we see all; men's hearts are manifold. Not made of glass like women's such as mine. At once transpicuous and perceptible To eyes like yours that look their faults through ; yet Perchance you see more faults than lie there, spots That are not natural to us ; or make too much Of our Ught thoughts and weakness ; yet, your pardon : You have reason in it, being more wise than we And stronger in your regency of soul ; It may be you do well to bear me hard, And I do ill who think to counsel you ; 'Tis no great matter; for in no great while My weakness will be medicine to itself And end as I do : no default of mine But must by dying be curable ; and God knows I little think to live, Damley. Why, have no fear ; You see I stand 'twixt you and all such threat, Quern. Nay, I see not; but though you be my friend. How far soever you stand out for me. There is one threat that no man's help in the world 9& BOTHWELL [act ii. Can bring to nothing ; here it speaks in me Mortal ; I know the word inevitable That without breath or sound has called me dead ; I would not plead against it. Damley. Nay, you dream ; You jest or dream. Queen. I do not ; I am dead ; What, have you slain in jest, or in a dream Have I seen death and felt him in my flesh. Felt my blood turn and my veins fill with death And the pang pass and leave me as I am, Dead ? for my state is pangless, and my pain Perished ; I have no life to bring forth pain. Or painful fruit of life ; I think in pity God willed one stroke of sheer mortality Should kill all possible pain and fear in me, All after chance of ill ; I cannot die Twice, and can live not with my dead self here Violently slain j I am sure I have no child ; I would but pray, if I had breath to pray. For mere shame's sake and pit/s, I might have My women with me ; and was not bom to want What our most poor bare natural womanhood Seeks not in vain of meanest people ; more I seek of no man's mercy. Darnley. You shall have it ; But this is fear and shaken heart in you — I trust not very danger. Queen. I that know Must bear the peril and the sense alike SCENE I.] BOTHWELL ^^ And patiently can bear, so but I have Hope of your heart made soft towards me ; sir, Howe'er I have been untoward and confident In my blind state and sovereign folly, now God knows me if I have not need of love Who have so much of pardon. Darnley. Is this sure, Such instant and such perilous press of time — Or but your thought it may be ? Queen. Nay, my thought ! Is it my thought I am stricken to my death ? Is it my thought you have no pity of me ? Is it my thought I had looked at other time For other joy of childbed, and such pangs As bring glad women honour ? not this death That sunders me from fruit of mine own years And youth and comfort, and mere natural hope. And love that looks on many a worse than me ? Is it my thought that for small fault of mine, And little lack of love and duteousness, I am brought to shame and mortal chastisement ? Is it my thought love is not dead in me For all this chastening? and my penitence Wherewith I weep on my least wrong-doings past. And faith wherewith I look for pardon yet. For grace of you — is all this but my thought ? Darnley. By heaven, I will not have you wronged of them. You shall live safe and honourably. Queen. My lord, loo BOTHWELL [act n. Who lives in such times honourably or safe, When change of will and violence mutable Makes all state loose and rootless ? Think you, men Who have dipped their hands in this red act with you Will, as they wash them, so wash off their hearts The burning spot of raw malignity And fire and hunger of ambition made So proud and full of meat, so rank in strength. So grossly fed and fattened with fresh blood ? Is it for love of your name more than mine These men that fought against my love of you. And made rebellious wars on my free choice. Smite now .my very head and crown of state In this night's hot and present stroke ? Be sure It is the throne, the name, the power in us That here is stabbed and bleeds from such a wound As draws out life of you no less than me If you be part of majesty indeed. Yea, howsoe'er you be now borne in hand, They will but use you as an axe to smite, A brand to set on fire the house of state And in the doing be burnt up of itself. Why, do but think with now more temperate blood What are they that have helped you to this deed ? What friends to you ? what faith toward royalty, And what goodwill and surety of sound mind, Have you found m them ? or how put in proof? What bond have their loves given you to confirm Their hearts toward you stable ? Nay, if this Be all my pledge for honour and safe life, SCENE I.] BOTHWELL loi They slide upon a slippery ground indeed. Damky. The pledge is mine, not theirs ; you have my word ; No warrant of their giving, but of me ; What ails you to go yet in fear of them ? Queen. Alas, I know not whom I need yet fear. What men were they who helped you to this deed ? Yet it avails not me to know. I think The fierce first root of violence was not set Of you nor of your uncles, though I know They of your mother's kinship love me not ; But though their hearts, albeit one blood with yours, Be bitter toward me, yet being of your blood I would fain think them not so hard j and yet It was no gentle sight I had of them. Nor usage ; I can see their eyes burn still. And their brows meet against me. Such a sight Again might wind all suffering up in me And give it full release. Damley. It was their plot ; That is, for love of me they felt the offence \ Eat at their hearts ; I did not set them on ; But wrath and shame's suspicion for my sake Edged and envenomed ; then your policies too. And injuries done the popular weal, the state So far mishandled ; this was all men's ta k. Mine uncle's chiefly, Ruthven's, and his word Was hot in the ear of Maitland and Argyle, Showing the wrong done and the further fear, More wide in issue and large in likelihood 102 BOTHWELL [act ii. Than all wrong done already ; nay, and plain ; You would have given the state up to strange hands, And for strange ends ; no dreaming doubt of mine, But very vision, proof ; they held it so ; And, by my faith, I with them. Queen. Morton too ? Was not his wit part of your wisdom ? Darnley. Ay ; Why, all heads highest, all subtlest, could not choose But be one judgment and one counsel here. In such a biting need ; yea, common fools, Poor senseless knaves might see it Queen. Yea, visibly. The sharpest wits and hands put armour on To go forth strong against me ; little doubt But fools and ignorance and the common mouth, The very dust o' the street, the dross of man. Must needs take fire with blowing of such wind And stir at such men's passage : their mere feet Moving would raise me up such enemies From the bare ground. Ruthven — ^you said his breath Was first to heat men's hearing with strange words And set their hearts on edge — ^and at his touch The quick-eyed Maitland and loose-souled Argyle, Keen to catch fire or fear from other men's — And the full-counselled Morton — ^by my life, (That's but a little oath now) I think strange To be at all alive, and have such men So sore unfriends and secret, and their wits So sharp to set upon so slight a thing. SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 103 How grew this up amongst you? Damley. Why, you see it ;' No need to set men on; their swords were made Of your own follies; yet have comfort; I, That was so little made of, so less worth, In your late judgment, will alone be guard And buckler of you; come what counsel may, It shall not hold against you with my will, And cannot work without Queen. Nay, that were hard. I thank you ; but what counsel will they take. Think you, which way to deal with me ? my soul Is womanly distempered and distract With doubts of them — ^no fear of your good mind. Of your firm love and finiitful — ^but, alas, I am no strong man as you my guard, and ache With new faint fear of their fresh angers : then, This watch on me, my ways and rooms barred up, No help nor issue, shakes and sickens me With pangs for every stroke in the hour, that says I am so much more time prisoner. Damley. For your guard. It must be later taken off; the rest I will find mean of help for. They are now In council with your brother, new brought home With seal from me of pardon to reverse Your fresh and rash attainder, in my name Now cancelled and made strengthless ; and I think There must three judgments be debated of; Whether for hurt done to the common state ro4 BOTHWELL [act ii. And treason to succession you must bear Penance of death or life's imprisonment, Which fear not I will have them put in form Nor see it pass upon you ; the third mean Is for some season that you be in ward In Stirling Castle, till your warrant given And free consent to this late-justice done, And to the new faith stablished in the realm By right and rule of law, religiously, And to mine own investiture as king. Now for no fear at all or doubt of them But very love and good desire toward you I will go plead your part and take them sign Of seasonable submission ; with which word I doubt not but to reconcile their thoughts And bring their loves back bounden to your feet. Queen. Neither do I doubt. Letthemdrawthisbond, I will set hand to what they will of me ; To seal you king needs now no grace of mine, Hardly my leave ; and for their faith, it has Too firm a foot for my -poor power to shake, Had I the will now molten in me strong As ere the fire of fierce necessity Had made it soft and edgeless ; for their deed. Say, if they hold my word of pardon worth More than mere scorn, lam bound to thank them, being Masters of me and of my wrath or will, And needing show me no such courtesy ; And if it please them take mine oath and hand To sign them safe and mark them from all charge SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 165 Sackless and scatheless, let them take it j alas, I thought well they might rather take my life, And yet I think well they would take indeed But for your safeguard of me ; would they not Slay me ? nay, by your honour tell me — nay, I know they would, had I no guard in you, Slay me defenceless. Darnley, Have no fear ; I have sworn They shall not touch you roughly. Queen. Swear again. That I may quite rest confident , and yet Swear not ; I would not seem to hold you fast To your own peril ; better were I dead Than you fell in their danger for my sake. Ah, and I know not, I may hardly think I have you surely on my side. Darnley. By heaven. You shall want nothing of my help or love. Queen. How had you heart to go so near my death ? Darnley. I had no mind to hurt you. Queen, None ? well, none — I will not think it ; yet I was nigh dead. You saw my very death here at my breast Where' your child is not yet — I did not think To feel instead there murder's iron lips For his soft suckling mouth. Darnley. Come, think not of it. Queen. I had not time to think of it indeed. But I think now you will have hardly power To match your will to save me, if their will io6 BOTHWELL [act ii. Shall yet be mortal to me ; then I saw You had not power or had not will ; and now I know not which you have yet Damley. They shall find I have power enough and will to turn them. Queen. Well — I lean then on your hand. If you were mine, Though they were subtler and more strong in hate, They should not hold me here in peril. Damley. How ? Qtieen. No matter, so their guard were less ;on me. Damley. You would take flight then ? Queen. Ay, with you for wing To lift me out of prison. Darnley. Whither ? Qiieeti. Nay, I am but the fool of your keen flattering wit, Who let you see my little hope that lives To see my some day sunnier : yet God knows Without light of you it were lustreless. I can look forth not or heave up my hand But with your help to stay me. Darnley. Surely no. As you stand now you cannot ; and I were A faithless fool to mine own fortune, if I loosed you out of sight for wantonness, Who have you now in hand : but for all this It may be flight were no such unwise mean To assure our free and mutual power on them And show thero simply subject ; as it is, SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 107 They have some show of hold on us which makes Our reign and freedom questionable and slight : I see some reason in it. Queen, Why, do you think That you being here their gaoler in their eye Can be their king too, or not rather they Lords both of gaol and warder ? they will, hold you But as the minister of their power on me, Of no more office than a door-keeper Nor honour than their headsman : but fled hence You are very king indeed, by your own hand, Lord of the life you give and majesty. By no man's furtherance and no grant of theirs Made pensioner and proxy for their reign Who should bear rule and you the semblance, worn As mask of all their faces, glove of hands, And hollow trumpet blown of -all their mouths. But mine and all their free and sovereign king. Darnley. Why, so I say ; they must be borne in hand; Look you, we must not set their fears on edge, They shall suspect not : I will take them word, And bring them to you for your bond. Queen. Meantime, I will but walk an hour here hand in hand With my good brother ; let me speak to him While they shall draw the schedule. Darnley. I will bid him Attend you, and your women ; but be sure Yqu t%ke him not tQ counsel : b? is wise, io8 BOTHWELL [act ij. And full of malice : let him not be part Of our new mind. Queeti. He shall not. Darnky. But you smile — What should he do to know it ? Queen. He shall not know. Darnky. Well, you shall see him, and they take off your guard ; I will make sure : but when and by what means Think you to fly ? Queen. To-night. Darnky. God help your wit ! To-night ? Queen. Before the change of watch ; I have said ; Weak as I stand, and burdened, and soul-spent, I will be hence. Mistrust me not for strength ; My soul shall make my body like itself, A servant armed to wait upon my thought And page my purpose as its minister Till the end be held in hand. This guard removed, I will find ways out to win forth to-night. Fear not, and servants. Go now to the lords With all submissive mild report of me. And bring them to receive my word and hand To confirmation of what bond they please For pardon and possession of their will ; And for your kingship — sir, assure yourself That in few hours it shall be seen and sure You shall need never seek their loves again Or hands to help you to it'or tongues to cry, SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 109 Nor be called king by will of any man Nor lord by choice of any friend on earth. Darnley. Nay, I would need no voices. Queen. And be sure You shall not build your power on loves of theirs Nor live by their election. Go, and thrive : Think how my faith and hope and love in you Find all their rest and stronghold, and on them Set up your trust and standard of your strength. [Exit Darnley. So much is done ; go thou then first to death; For from this hour I have thee. Heart, lie still, Tin I may make those mightier traitors mine That shall be swords for me to smite him with, And then be free as fire. Enter Mary Beaton. Hast thou no news ? Mary Beaton. The lord of Bothwell lies at secret ward To bear you forth of peril here by force; He has gathered up his men beyond the walls To break this guard upon you when you will, If at your suit it shall not be withdrawn; Here is his token brought me privily For your own hand. Qtieen. No, in my heart it is. My love and lord, thy token; this poor heart That ere mine ear is smitten with thy name Hears it and turns to springing fire. AVhat thanks Would I not rather pay than these of words no BOTH WELL [act ii. For this thy loving speed ? Yet send him these, And bid him, I would fain say come, but wait Till I have tried my traitors; if my tongue Win them to slack their hold on me to-night, We may speed surelier ; if their hands hold fast, Then let him smite and slay and set me free. I would have all their heads here in my lap. Tell him, not one or two slain suddenly, That their blood shed may seem not spilt by chance Nor lost and won in hazard of aifray But sacrificed by judgment, and their names Who would have made of royalty in me Ruin, and marred the general name of king, Shall with their lives be perfectly put out. Royally ruined ) wherefore if I may I will steal forth with subtle help of words, Not break their bonds with violence ; in which hope Bid him watch close. \Exit Mary Beaton. And when his watch is done It will be morning, and the sun shall break As fire for them that had their hour by night And light for wrath to see them and to slay. Re-enter Arthur Erskine, introducing Murray. Arthur Erskine. Madam, my lord of Murray. Queen. Ah, my brother. Had you been here they had not used me thus. Murray. I am sorry, madam, such things should be done As even the strain of sharp necessity SCENE I.] BOTHWELL in Can make but fierce and bitter. Qiieai. Is this all? Nay, it was necessary then and just, Or I must seem and strive to think it was, If you say so. But in ray present sight, Now when a feather's or a flower's weight borne Might make life stoop within me, sense break down. All strong capacities of nature fail ; Now when the hardest heart with iron bound Might turn. to very mercy for my sake. Here in mine eye to do my friend to death — For howsoe'er ye hold him, yet being dead I will not say but he was friend of mine Who lies now dead and slaughtered — nay, by heaven, I will not cast that name of friend away Because the man my friend is slain for me — I say, to kill him at my knee, to stain An imborn child's brow with his murdered blood, To afiray with sanguine hands, shake with sheer blows, The weak and holy warders of the womb, The reverence and remembrance of us all For that which bare us hidden before birth And after was called mother — O, this deed, This, though all law were cast out of the world, All grace forgotten — this, you will not say But they did ill who did it. What, you weep? These tears are made of our dear father's blood, Who left in each of us such part of him As must yearn each toward other, and divide At need their mutual suffering : I knew well 112 BOTHWELL [act ii. I need not fear to find not in your heart Some natural seed of comfort. Murray. That I weep I take no shame, to see you ; but mine eyes Receive more comfort than their tears can give To see, for all this rash and ruthless night, Yet you stand up unwounded, and your heart Is left you to put spirit in your speech Not like a sick man's ; if you have no hurt, No hurt is done though they did violently : For this man's life was as a present death To the well-being and peace of all your state, Which by the force of justice done on him Stands now in surety. I would pray you make Your profit of your'pain herein, being wise. As you well may ; for this was not the man That you saw slain, but the man's policy. Stabbed through with all their daggers ; and you see How it lies dead and outcast. I beseech you, For your own love and honour of high rule, Set not your heart toward it to raise it up That men would bury, lest the graveyard reek Of dead men's craft and strange men's creeds brought back Prove poison to you. Queen. I will do what men will. I must not die then ? Murray. There are those would have it. For scandal and offence cast on the realm By shame done to the popular commonwealth SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 113 In majesty made shameful; as they say Through you it hath been, and your dealings known With this dead friend ; some that would leave you life Spake of life spent in sharp imprisonment Unto your death's day ; but by mine award You are quit of either danger ; you must live But under guard till you by word approve This man's despatch for necessary and just, Submit yourself to call your husband king, And own the true faith rooted in this realm For lawful and for sovereign here of rule. So much you shall. Queen. Nay, I will more than this. . I will seal now what you will have me seal. What bond soever : let them come to me Who wrought this murderous matter but last night That I may sign their pardon with my tongue Ere they can crave or threaten. Let them come ; So shall my perfect purpose be more plain Freely in all things to submit myself — I have your word already — to their will : Ay, even with all my new submissive heart, As else I cannot choose ; for what am I That I should think much to submit myself? Murray. You shall do wisely to keep faith with them And make your word yoiu: action's measure ; so Shall hearts now loosened from you be made fast And love reclaimed wait on you loyally Through all your land's length. See, the lords are come. I 114 BOTHWELL [act ii. Enter Darnley, Morton, and Ruthven. Queen. Good morrow, sirs ; ye gave me no good night, Yet are you welcome even as life or death Were welcome to me, coming with your will ; For without love of my good lords my Kfe Were scarce worth holding out against their will. But if it please them I should die not yet. For their love's sake I give it welcome. Sirs, I have heard what terms ye lay upon mine head. And bow beneath them willingly, being sure It is but meet I should submit myself. It is but fit mere majesty bow down To take the burden by good men and wise Imposed upon it ; nor shall this be hard j For what ye did so suddenly and swift. If there be power of pardon in me, here With as good heart even as ye did the deed Do I forgive it ; nay, I should give you thanks That ye vouchsafe of me to be forgiven ; For what am I among you ? Let the bond Be drawn between us presently to sign, While for an hour's space I will walk and wait Here with my noble brother, hand in hand, And heart reposed on heart, eyes answering eyes. With pure plain faith ; for what now in the world Should lies or dumb dissembling profit me Though I were natural liar? as I do trust Ye shall not find me but most faithful ; yet. SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 115 If I were falser than the foam of the sea And wilfuUer than wind, what should I do, Being yours, to mock you and myself, and lie Against mine own life ? for ye see me, sirs, How I stand bare between you, without strength, At your mere mercy, with no friend on earth If ye will be mine unfriends ; and I think To live but by your grace and leave, who might If ye were minded speak me out of life Or sign me dead with smiling ; I were mad To play with lies, who feel your hands on me So heavy as they are, and have no hope Save to be pitied and believed of you. I pray you then have faith in me, who live In your faith only, and if it fail me here Must die the lowliest death in all the world. And no man's hand to help me. Darnley. She says truth ; There is no hand. Morton. Madam, though faith stand fast, Yet fear hath something here to say of you, And wisdom to remember ; we must think That what is done in service of yourself You cannot hold good service when it comes So masked in blood, so vizarded like death, As this of ours doth ; and that yet in time You may find mean to wreak your wrath on us For having strangely served you, and perforce Given desperation and the dangerous time So desperate a deliverance from despair. Ij6 BOTH WELL [act ii. We have saved you in this service done the state, Who must have else been broken in the breach Of the state's order and the popular law By this man living violently misused ; But cannot hope yet for such thanks of you As even the deed deserves whose fierce despatch Has shaken you with thunder, and its flame StiU makes your eyes blind to the good work done And sharp need felt of it ; so must this be, And so must we take heed lest being yet blind We give you scope and mean to hurt yourself. Queen. I did not think the thing was yet alive That could fear me. Damky. Nay, look you, she says right ; We have no room to fear her. Queen. Lo, my lords, How dangerous and how strong a thing it is That threatens here your state and safety ; see. It is no less than woman, and unarmed, Half dead, unfriended, hard on childbearing, Naked of arms or means ; it were not wise To leave unguarded, without spies or swords About her path, so great a danger ; yea. Wise men would rather fear her force too much Than good men show compassion. Do your wills ; I am well content to know you wise, and so To bear what hard or lighter weight ye please ; How sore soever, God knows, I believe It shall not long afflict me. Mvrray. In my mind, SCENE t.] BOTHWELL 117 It now shall less distract the general eye With apprehension of strange times and strife To see the ways again made clear, and gates Not crowded up with guard. Damley. Why, so I said. Ruthven. So I say not. Bear with me though I seem Less confident or free of heart than men, Whose minds are gentle as their names, should be In things of common care ; what hurt may come By fault of us we know not, but we know It is no private peril ; if we err. Not we nor ours must only ache for it. But the whole popular heart of this great land Must bleed and break for our false friendship shown And confident remission of our cause And very duty toward her, through mere wish To be called gentle toward her enemies. Queen. I am her enemy then: where lies my strength ? What field? what weapon? how shall we make war. Take truce and break it, with what equal face Stand brow to brow for battle ? By this hand, I knew not yet how strong it was, nor worth How many hands of swordsmen ; were this true, I might wax proud to be so terrible, Seeing in such great men's eyes so great a fear And only mine own fearful face therein As in a mirror shadowed. Darnley. 'Tis mere truth ; We should be shamed to seem in fear of her, liS BOTHWELL [act ii. Yea, made a raockeiy in men's eyes and mouths For base and blind misgiving. Ruthven. You, my lords And equals with me in the proof of years. In the age of counsel and experience borne Of common service done our natural state, Shall best pass judgment if in hate or fear I speak for mine own ends or enmities To turn your hearts from honour ; for the queen, As she shall be toward God, so I toward her Would be fast friend and servant ; but wherein She is not friend with heaven nor with the state I were no friend to serve her, nor to say There were no danger and no sin to serve. Ye must all think I think not to live long ; And being so signed of sickness for my grave With such a mortal seal, I speak alive As one being dead that speaketh ; if ye lose The grace of God here won by your own hands. The power ye have to serve him, and the effect Of his good hour, through negligence of will Or pride or pity, ye shall see the state Break from your hands, and for one devil cast out Seven entered in its body. Sirs, take heed ; The least thing lightly overlooked or done May undo all things wrought. Keep fast your guards ; By the king's counsel if they be withdrawn. Upon his head that bade them go shall rest What bloodshed ever follows ; yet in time Think nothing weak that is not with us ; each SCENE I.J BOTHWELL 119 May have some sting or weapon of itself That till sloth feel it sees not. Queen. A wise rule : So should the wary wolf pen up the lambs, The falcon set good guard upon the wren, For fear of teeth or talons. Murray. We will give To the king's hand the bond for yours to sign ; Meantime all ease and reverence shall you have, And freedom for your household folk to serve As best your need may bid them. Queen. Sirs, farewell. I will not pray you do but what ye will, Which shall seem wisely to me. — Let me have Word of their instant sentence. \Astde to Damky. Darnley {aside). With all speed. [Exeunt Darnley, Murray, Morton, aWRuthven. Queen. Where are my servants Standen and Tra- quair? Arthur Erskine. At hand to ser\'e your highness. Queen. Ah, to serve ! My highness is brought low, too low to claim Service of men ; if I may find but love Or only pity of any, this shall be All utmost service I desire of them. I have but my sorrows to my subjects left, And these rebellious ; yet I keep what state And rule I may upon them. Tell those twain I pray their patience lend me but the time To hear what I would have them, and to choose J 20 BOTHWELL [act ii. If they will do it for pity. Arthur Erskine. Think them here And your will done already. \Exit. Queen. Yea, my will ! What knowest thoa may my will be ? by this light, I feel a heat and hurry of the heart That burns like joy ; my blood is light and quick. And my breath comes triumphantly as his That has long laboured for a mountainous goal And sets fast foot on the utmost cliff of all. If ere the race be run my spirit be glad. What when it puts the palm of peril on And breathes clear air and conquers? Nay, I think The doubt itself and danger are as food To strengthen and bright wine to quicken me And lift my heart up higher than my need, Though that be high upon me. Re-enter Erskine with Traquair and Standen. Now, my friends. Ye come unlike to courtiers, come to serve Me most unlike a queen : shall I think yet I have some poor part in your memories safe. And you some care of what I was, and thought How I fare now? Shall I take up my hope. That was cast down into the pit of death. To keep the name God gave me, and the seal That signs me royal, by your loves and faiths Recrowned and reinstated? Say but no. Or say but nought, this hope of mine and heart SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 121 Are things as dead as yesterday : my cause Lies in your lips, to comfort or confound, As ye see reason. Yet, as power is yours, So let remembrance in you be for light To see the face of the time by; so let faith, Let noble pity and love be part of you, To make you mindful what a cause it is That ye must put in judgment, and what life For fame or shame to you through all time bom Ensues upon your sentence ; for ye choose If ye will match my dangers with your faiths And help me helpless with your hearts, who lie By grief and fear made heartless ; or lend hand To make my weakness weaker, and break down My broken wall of sovereignty ; which now Y^ wot were no sore labour. Standen. Let him die As heartless toward the grace of God, who hath No heart in him to give its blood for yours ! Traquair. So say we all your servants. Queen. Did I know it ? Methinks I knew when I bade send for you. Ye should so say. Ah friends, I had no fear But I should find me friends in this fierce world. Or I had died unfriended. Shall I thank you For being the true men and the kind ye are. Or take your service thankless, since I thought Ye could not else, being young and of your kinds. But needs must be my help? ye have not hearts To strike but at men weaponed ; ye would not T22 BOTH WELL [act il Lay hard hand on a woman weak with child, A sick sad woman that was no man's queen Of all that stood against her ; yet her son, The unborn thing that pleads again with you As it could plead not with them, this dumb voice, This sightless life and sinless, was their king's, If ever they would let it come to life. Lo, here their aim was ; here the weapons went That should have stabbed to death the race of kings And cut their stem down to the root ; here, here The pistol's mouth that bruised my breast, the hand That struck athwart my shoulder, found their mark, Made here their point to shoot at ; in my womb By them the bud of empire should have died That yet by you may live and yet give thanks For flower and fruit to them that saved the seed. Standen. They shall die first. Traquair. Command us what next way There is to serve you, though the way were fire We would be through it. Queen. To-night then at first watch I purpose with the man's help— nay, what name Shall his be now? king, husband, or, God help, King's father? — with the man that you called king As I called husband, to win forth of bonds By the close covered passage underground That by strange turns and strait blind working ways Winds up into the sovereign cemetery , Wliose dust is of my fathers ; therewithout Wait you with horse ; and when you see us rise SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 123 Out of the hollow earth among the dead, Be ready to receive and bear us thence. Some two hours' haste will speed us to Dunbar, Where friends lie close, and whence with sudden strength I trust to turn on these good lords again. Do this for such poor love's sake as your queen's, And if there be thanks worthy in the world, Them shall she give ; not silver, sirs, nor gold, Nor the coined guerdon that is cast on churls To coin them into service ; but a heart, If not worth love, yet loving, and a faith That will die last of all that dies in me And last of all remembrances foregone Let your names go, God speed you, and farewell. Scene II. — Ruins of the Abbey of Holvrood. Enter Arthur Erskine, Traquair, and Standen. Standen. It must be time ; the moon is sick and slow That should by this be higher. Arthur Erskine. It is your eye Whose sight is slow as sickness ; for the moon Is seasonable and full : see where it burns Between the bare boughs and the broken tombs Like a white flower whose leaves were fire : the night Is deep and sharp wherein it hangs, and heaven Gives not the wind a cloud to carry, nor Fails one faint star of all that fill their count 124 BOTHWELL [act ii. To lend our flight its comfort ; we shall have Good time of heaven and earth. Traqtiatr. How shall the steeds Be shared among us ? Arthur Erskitie. If she keep her mind, My English gelding best shall bear the queen, And him the Naples courser. Hark, they come. Standen. It was a word said of the wind to hear What earth or death would answer. These dead stoneF Are full of hollow noises though the vault Give tongue to no man's footfall ; when they come It will speak louder. Lo how straight that star Stands over where her face must break from eartii As it hath broken ; it was not there before, But ere she rise is risen. I would not give The third part of this night between us shared For all the days that happiest men may live Though I should die by morning, Traquair. Till she come, I cannot choose but with my fears take thought. Though all be after her sweet manner done And by her wise direction, what strange ways And what foul peril with so faint a guard Must of so tender feet be overpast Ere she win to us. Arthur Erskine. All these with laughing lips Shall she pass through ; the strength and spring of soul That set her on this danger will sustain Those feet till all her will and way be won. Her spirit is to her body as a staff SCENE II.] BOTH WELL 125 And her bright fiery heart the traveller's lamp That makes all shadow clear as its own light. Enter from the vaults the Queen and Darnley. Queen. Here come the wind and stars at once on us j How good is this good air of that fiill heaven That drives the fiime back of the sepulchres And blows the grave away ! Have no more fear ; These are no dead men. Damky. Nay, I fear no dead ; Nothing I fear of quick or dead but God. Shall I not go before you ? Queen. ' Not a foot. See you, my friends, what valiant hearts are here, My lord's and mine, who hardly have crept forth. In God's fear only, through the charnel-house. Among the bones and skulls of ancient kings That thought not shame to stand for stumbling stones In their poor daughter's way, whose heart had 'failed But that his hardier heart held up her feet Who even if winds blew did not shrink nor shake For fear of aught but God. The night is kind. And these March blasts make merry with the moon That laughs on our free Hight. Where stand yoursteeds? Arthur Erskine. Madam, hard by in shadow of the stones ; Please you, this. way. Queen. . I will to horse with you. Darnley. No, but with me. Queen. It is not my good will. Ride you alone, and safer. Friend, your arm. 126 BOTHWELL [act ii. Scene III. — Murray's Lodging in Holyrood. Enter Murray, Morton, and Ruthven. Morton. There is no present help; theviolentspeed Of these fierce days has run our chances down. It is found certain she comes back to-day ; Soon as tlieir flight drew bridle at Dunbar, Yet hot from horse, she sends for Bothwell in With all his border thievery, red-foot knaves, The hardiest hinds of Liddesdale ; next him His new bride's brother, Huntley, more in care To win the land back than revenge the blood His father lost for treason ; after these Caithness with Athol, and the queen's chief strengths, The earl marshal and the archbishop ; in few days Eight thousand swords to wait on that sweet hand Was worth so little manhood ; then Argyle, Who should have been a sea-wall on our side Against the foam of all their faction, he. Struck to the heart with spite and sharp despair Through proof late made of English faith — as you. My lord of Murray, felt it when ye twain Sought help and found false heart there— casts himself Over upon her side ; with him two more Her last year's rebels, Rothes and Glencairn, And pardon sealed for all that rose with them Who were not of our counsel in this death. Thus fare we without help or hope of these, And from the castle here of Edinburgh SCKNE III.] BOTHWELL 127 The hot Lord Erskine arms in our offence His mounted guns, inaking the queen more strong Than had her flight won first its darkling walls And for a free camp in the general field Set up her strength within the fortress here Which serves her now for outwork, while behind The whole force raised comes trooping to her hand. In this deep strait that our own hands have dug And our own follies channelled, to let in Storm on our sails and shipwreck on our hopes, My counsel is that whoso may stand fast Should,here in harbour bide his better day, And we make land who may not ; you, my lord. As by James Melville §he solicits you. May honourably assure your peace with her, Being speckless in her sight pf this man's blood j We that dipped open hand in it must hence, And watch the way of the wind and set of storm Till the sea sink again. Ruthven. Sir, so say I ; Vou serve not us a whit nor change our chance By tarrying on our side- Let no man fly For our deed's sake but we that made our deed The witness for us not to be gainsaid By foe of ours or friend we have on earth. It was well done ; what else was done, and ill, We must now bear the stroke of, and devise Some healing mean in season. This is sure. That faith or friendship shall have no long life Where friendship is engraffed on breach of faith j 128 BOTHWELL [act ii. But shame, despite, division, and distrust Shall eat the heart out of their amity. And hate unreconcUe their heartless hands Whom envious hope made fast or cunning fear. This cannot be but nigh : and ye that live Shall see more sure for this blind hour's default And hold more fast and watch more heedfuUy The new chance given for this chance cast away. I shall not see it, how near soe'er j and yet The day that I shall die in banishment Is not much nigher than must their doom's day be Whose trust is in the triumph of their hour. Mine is now hard on end ; but yours shall last, I doubt not, till its service be all done And comfort given our people. Take the Lairds Grange and Pittarrow with you to the queen , Ye shall find peace and opportunity With present welcome as for proffered love ; Make swift agreement with her ; this shall be The surest staff that hope may take in hand. Farewell. Murray. I would not say it, if ye not knew MLy faith departs not with me from your side Nor leaves the heart's bond broken of our loves ; But in this trust, though loth, I take farewell, To give you welcome ere the year be dead. Ruihven. Me shall you not, nor see my face again, Who ere the year die must be dead ; mine eyes Shall see the land no more that gave them light. But fade among strange faces ; yet, if aught SCENE IV.] BOTHWELL 129 I have served her, I should less be loth to leave This earth God made my mother. Murray. Then farewell, As should his heart who fares in such wise forth To take death's hand in exile. I must fare 111 now or well I know not, but I deem I have as much as you of banishment Who bear about me but the thought of yours. Scene IV. — Holyrood. The Queen and Sir James Melville. Queen. Am I come back to be controlled again. And of men meaner ? must I hold my peace Or set my face to please him ? Nay, you see How much miscounselled is he, strayed how far From all men's hope and honour, and to me How strange and thankless, whom in self-despite You will me yet to foster : I would live Rather the thrall of any hind on earth. Melville. I would but have your wisdom hide sonaewhile The sharpness of your spirit, whose edge of wrath There is no man but now sees manifest ; As there is none who knows him that hath cause To love or honour ; yet great pity it is To see what nobler natural mind he had And the first goodness in him so put out By cursed counsel of his mother's kin, The bastard Douglas, and such ill friends else 130 BOTHWELL [act ii. As most are unfriends : but this fire in you Who chose him, being so young, of your own will, Against the mind of many, for your lord. Shall rather bum yourself than purge his mood, And the open passion of your heart and hate Hearten in him the hate he bears not you But them that part yoii from him. Twice, you know Or now my tongue were less for love's sake bold, Twice hath it pleased your highness charge me speak When time or need might seem for counsel ; then That thus you charged me, now such need is come. Forgive that I forget not. Queen. I might well, Did you forget, forgive not ; but I know Your love forgot yet never any charge That faith to me laid on it ; though I think I never bade you counsel me to bear More than a queen might worthily, nor sought To be advised against all natural will, That with mine honour now is joined to speak And bid me bear no more with him, since both Take part against my patience. For his hate. Henceforth shall men more covet it than fear ; My foot is on its head, that even to-day Shall yield its last poor power of poison up, And live to no man's danger till it die. Enter Darnley and Murray. Welcouie, dear brother and my worthy lord. Who shall this day by your own word be clear SCENE iv.] BOTHWELL 131 In all men's eyes that had ill thoughts of you. Brother, to-day my lord shall purge himself By present oath before our councillors Of any part in David's murdered blood, And stand as honourable in sight of all Whose thought so wronged him as in mine he doth Who ever held him such as they shall now. Murray. Must he swear this ? Darnley. Who says I shall not swear ? Queen. He has given his faith to swear so much to-day, And who so shameless or so bold alive As dare doubt that ? Murray. Not I : in God's name, no ; No more than any other. Darnley, Nay then, well ; I am not angry. Queen. 'Tis the noblest mood That takes least hold on anger ; those faint hearts That hold least fire are fain to show it first ; The man that knows himself most honourable Fears least or doubts if others hold him so ; But he that has small honour in himself Is quick to doubt what men may deem of him And thence most swift in anger as in fear Of men's imagined judgments ; praised be God, Our lord is none such. Is the deed not drawn That gives into our servant Bothwell's hand The forfeit lands of Maitland for his own That by his former fault stand forfeited ? 132 BOTHWELL [act ii. Murray. Is it your purpose he shall have those lands ? Queen. It is my very purpose. Murray. I grieve at it. Queen. Grieve or be glad, it stands my purpose yet We should be gone to meet our councillors ; My heart thinks long till it shall know my lord Held of the world as noble as of me. Damley. It is not time. Queen. No, but much more than time. Come with me, brother. [^xif««/ Queen and Murray. Melville. I am sorry for your grace. Damley. You must not think I know not. all this while That she doth mock me. Melville. Nay, her mood may change. Darnley. Never for me. I had been much better dead Than cast off thus, who cast mine own friends off And knew not for whose sake. She hath slain the men Who kept that night the gates while he was slain ; I would she had rather taken too my blood Than put my life to shame ; yet I may live To put that oif upon her ; had I friends, Shame should go back from me to her, who thinks To lay it on her wedded lord and laugh ; As I may one day laugh yet. Hear you news Of Morton and mine uncle ? Melville. They are fled ; I hear but this, not whither. SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 133 Damley. As they brewed, So let them drink ; the hands were none of mine That mixed that cup to them ; so much I swear, And may so much with honour. Yet would God I had not chosen to lose their loves for hers, And found so cold her favour. Scarce escaped, Scarce out of bonds, half breathless yet with flight, No mind was in her of my help, my love. My hand that brake her prison ; for all this, My kin forsaken, mine own wrongs and griefs Forgotten, mine own head imperilled, mine For hers that I delivered and perchance To leave within their danger had done well, No thought or thanks I get of her : and these That had I stood by them might stand by me When I shall need, may mock me for her fool And curse me for their traitor. Yet I think. Were I once clear of her as now of these. Please God, to make mine own strength by myself, Being both ways free ; I know not well yet how, But I will take mine own part yet or die. \Exeunt. Scene V. — A Street. Enter T-vfo Burgesses. First Burgess. What is this news that flies so in the dark Like a night-bird whereof we know it is But of what wing we know not ? 134 BOTHWELL [act ii. Second Burgess, This that comes From the exiled lords in England, to make bare The face of Darnley's fa,lsehood, with what lips He swore his deed away and damned himself? They had no sooner knowledge of such shame Than word was sent of him through all the land, Large witness of his full complicity And conscience with them of the work to be For which they groan in barren banishment While he crawls here before the scornful queen, And has betrayed the blood of his allies To the axe's edge of unjust judgment. First Burgess. One By treason of his tongue already slain Now speaks of him with breathless mouth to God ; And Maitland and two more lie under doom Through but his witness : yet for all this shame It seems he has won small guerdon save the shame, But hath his treason for his treason's fee ; And this more comfort, to behold the man That by his lips and nobler hands than his Was done to righteous death, and thrust in earth Before the main door of this Abbey church. Unearthed again and nobly reinterred Hard by the grave's edge of Queen Magdalen, That men may judge how near he grew alive To the queen's side yet living ; where instead A worthier stay now in her brother stands For her false lord to look upon and loath No less than David, and much more to fear, SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 135 Whom with that David he laid trains to slay Aforetime, and again made vaunt but now In the queen's sight to slay him ; or so herself Gave word to the earl, and willed him make demand Of the king's own false fearful mouth ; but he, Whom thus perchance she sought to make the sword To pierce her husband, modestly bespake Before her face this caitifl like a friend, And was put off with faint excuse ; and yet, Heart-wrung to see him stand or any man Fast in her favour, Hke one sick with grief The king flies forth to Glasgow, where apart His father's head is hidden ; and there as here He sits not in men's sight now royally, But with some six or eight goes up and down Even where he hsts, and none takes note of him ; While the miscounselled queen, grown high in mind. Holds privy commerce with the brood o' the Pope Whose plots corrupt the northward English air, And with the murderous Irish, to put out The live light of our God from sea to sea With insurrection of the fires of hell And smoke of slaughter ; meantime she reclaims ■ Of the EngUsh queen for prisoners to her hand The death-doomed lords in exile ; and men say They find scant countenance of the .southern court ; Yet they think not she will deliver them. Secpnd Burgess. One is there hath found sure dehverance ; No chain of man's can, mark him prisoner more, 136 BOTHWELL [act ii. Nor whence he rests can any banish him ; Ruthven is dead. First Burgess. God hath his friend then safe ', For God's friend he was ever ; and hath died Most fortunately ; seeing not what we Hve Too soon to see. Second Burgess. He was a nobler man Than his own name was noble ; no Scot born More true to the old love of his natural land Nor stouter-hearted on the gospel side Of all that stood to serve it. Yet have these As valiant servants ; Morton, though cast out, Lives secret yet in England, whence the queen Dares not I think for shame's sake yield him up To this queen's bloody judgment, or for fear And hostile heart she will not. We shall know Shortly what upshot God will bring of all ; Whate'er this be, there will be none again That shall do Damley good. First Burgess. I saw him swear That day before the council ; he was pale As one half drunken, stammering as in wrath, With insolent forehead and irresolute eyes, Between false fear and shameful hardihood. With frontless face that lied against itself, And trembling lips that were not yet abashed For all their trembling. Second Burgess. Ay, good cause was there To shake him to the soul, having cast off. Friendship and faith of good men, yet being still SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 137 Signed with their enemies' blood too plain and broad To gain the goodwill of unrighteousness. When his day comes that men are weary of him, God shall strike home. First Burgess. Then should that stroke be swift ; For evil and good aUke are weary of him. Scene VI. — Castle of Alloa. Murray and Darnley. Darnley. Shall I not see her ? but if I see her not I will be wroken of you that shut me out, By God I will. What, are ye not combined, You, my false-blooded brother, demi-prince, And Bothwell, and the trustless fool Argyle, With her to unmake me ? I shall foil you though. Yea, were all three made each a triple man With thrice your heart and wit. Murray. You strike too high And shear but air in sunder : there's none yet That wills you so much evil as yourself,. Would you but think it Turn your wrath on me, It cannot wound or fright out of its peace A soul that answers not your hate, nor works By night or light against you. Darnley. Swear me that, And if a devil there be I am rid of you Whom he will gripe at once and hale to hell ; You took not word to Melville from my wife 138 BOTHWELL [act ii. Of warning with rebuke for his past pains To reconcile us, and with charge to be No more familiar with me for her sake; You were not of her counsel to lie in At Stirling, whence she fled from sight of me, Who following hither was again cast off, And till our child was bom in Edinburgh Might scarce have sight of her, and may not now When scarce a month delivered she comes back To take by sea and land her pleasure here Of hunt or sail among the firths and hills In such .fair fellowship as casts out mine ; It was not you that knew this and approved; I pray you swear it. Murray. You are lesser than a child That, being as simple, yet by innocence Exceeds you naturally. Wliat cause have I Or power to wrong you ? what good thing of yours Should I desire to strip from you and wear. What gold or grace to gird myself withal . And stand up clad in thievish ornament To take your place thrust out ? Conspiracy Should have some gain for warrant of itself, With vantage of some purpose; none lays wait To slay or steal save what may profit him; So sit you safe enough. Darnley. I shall not see her? Murray. If you will be well counselled, no ; her mood Is hard and keener since your child was born, SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 139 And she, new-risen from childbed, hither came To taste the savour and sweetness of the sea, I think, with no mind you should follow her; Nor am inyself, howbeit you hold me hers, And of one counsel to put down your hopes, More near her favour; one man's eye alone Sees her face favourable, one only ear Hears her speak soft; if he be friend of mine, You know as I know. Darnley. Why, ye are reconciled ; I have heard what; care she had to appease both parts, When you before her face had braved him, saying. Ere he reft Maitiand's forfeit land and state Some score as honoiu-able as he should die, And she had cast herself across your wrath With reconciling passion ; ay, my lord. Take note we are not so dull of ear or brain But we hear word of you and understand The traitors that ye all are, all, to me, The false heart and the lying lips that serve The murderous meaning of your will, and hers The first and worst. What, will ye have my life? Is it my helpless blood that she would take To serve for christening water to her child. And for the font no gift of English gold Though bright and hollow and void as English love. But the strait coffin, the vile shell of death. That hides and bears me graveward ? but I live, To save myself and to revenge I live, And will not die for all you. 140 BOTHWELL [act ii. Enter the Queen and Bothwell. Queen. What is this That makes such wrathful or such woful war Even on our ears, and here ? We bade you not Come brawl before us like a groom, and break Our breath of peace with cries of contumely. Here is not room enough for rioters' threats To ring through and return; in Edinburgh You have leave to brawl and wail and swear and cry, !feed where you list, and love ; here I would rest. With thus much leave yet by your gracious grant, That I may somewhile sit apart, and think What man I have to husband. Darnley. I will go : I would I had not come between your eyes Nor now nor ever. Queeti. Then they had never learnt What makes or makes not man worth looking on. Darnley. Am I not worth your eye ? Queen. I pray, go back ; I would not say what you are worth or no. Darnley. I am yet worth two bastards ; and this man, If he shall do me less than right, by heaven. Shall wear the proof upon him. Murray. Sir, your words Are as swords drawn of drunkards' hands, which first • Feel their edge bite ; me can they make not shrink, You they may pierce, and slay your own good name, If any man be that gives ear to you. SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 141 Damley. You will not fight with me ? Queen. What, in our face ? Hath fear gone after shame ? Murray. Let him pass hence ; He hath said truth once ; we shall not fight. Queen. I charge you Make straight atonement ; else, though shame be dead, I will find means to raise up fear alive. Dariiley. Nay, I spake hot and hastily ; my lord, You know I bear no bitter heart toward you ; I am more of quick tongue than of evil will. Murray. Sir, so I hold you, Darnley. So you do but right. Nor will I stay to chafe your majesty That has all power to bid me to and fro, Who yet was called your lord once of the priest, And am no lord but servant. \ExU. Queen. Said you, once ? Not once but twice he hath spoken truth to-day. Yet sits it strange upon his lips. Murray. I would He had come not hither, or you not bidden him back. Quern. What, should he stay ? Fair brother, wot you well, I had rather touch in the dark a serpent's flesh And with its body and breath confound mine own Thkn with his breath and body. Never more. By Mary Virgin, while these limbs are mine And these my living lips, never will I Pollute myself with him ; by kiss nor touch 142 BOTHWELL [act ii. Shall ever he defile me. Nay too, see, » (You have not seen) what privacies he hath With what strange friends ; here have I to my hand Letters of his to Philip and the Pope, That they should know I am slacker toward the faith Than Rome would have me, or Spain ; he swears I am cold, I have cast off care (God wot) to serve the church, And he it is, my lord, being strong in faith. Expounds mine unfaith to them. Both-well. Hath he sworn To sleep for their sakes in a naked grave ? If this were blown among the popular folk Scant time there were to sew his shroud, I ween, Ere earth were shed upon him. Murray. Ay, but, sir, They must not know it ; it were not well they knew ; Nor shall it be put forth among them. Bothwdl. No ! It shall not? Murray. By my will it shall not be. Bothwell. His will ! and shall not ! Is it queen or king That holds the rod of rule in Scotland here ? Madam, what says your sometime majesty Of such a kingly will ? since, for your own. It has no power, it shall not fight with his. Shall not have way, nor shall not be at all. Except it swim with his will. Murray. This is nought. Bothwell. Yea truly, nought shall be this will of yours, SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL i4'3 This potent will that shall not tread us down ; Yea, what you will or will not, all is nought, Nought as your name, or title to bear rule Within the realm possessed more royally. Murray. 'Tis not a score as big-voiced men as this Shall make me weak mth wagging of their tongues That I should loose what lies into my hand. Madam, what faith I bear you and goodwill. If that you know not, let the time and proof, Not mine own lips, be witness ; in this realm I have some power to serve you, by no craft Unjustly purchased nor by force of hand Won masterfully : and for God's love and yours That which I may I will do to keep fair In the open eye of all men your good name And power which if that name be blown against With windy whispers of ill-minded folk, Or such as see your marriage-bed lie cold And know not wherefore, dies out of your hand And is no more for ever. Therefore is it I would not the worst cause of strife you have Were opened to the people ; for himself. You know if ever love between us were Since first I fell under your stroke of wrath For his sole sake, whose match then made with you I would betimes have broken, but being made Would not now see rent shamefully in twain That men should speak you wrong. Qiieen. You are honourable ; 144 BOTHWELL [act ii. But yet the whole worst cause you know not of, That even his" father Lennox writes me here Letters to put the charge thereof away And clear himself of fellowship therein, Assuring his own honesty, albeit His word is worthless with his son my lord And his name held not as a father's name. This letter will I lay before the lords That they may see what manner of cause he hath To plead against us with what likelihood. When his own father shall forswear his cause. I am Assured he hath set his lewd light mind, Out of what fear I know not or What shame, To flee forth of the kingdom and take ship For the islands westward of that southern cape Where the out-thrust heel of England cleaves the sea — But God knows how to live there, if by spoil Or what base mean of life ; only thus much In parley with the French ambassador He hath avowed, and wept to tell of wrongs That as he swears have driven him down to this. Murray. He is a fool, and vile ; yet let not him Be the more dangerous to you even for this, That he is vile and foolish ; there should be Wise means to curb and chain the fool in him Without the scandal of the full-mouthed world. Qiieen. Such have I sought ; and presently I think To have him brought again in Edinburgh Before the lords in council, even those men Who stood in arms against him with yourself SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 143 When first there grew debate upon our match (Which I could pray now with too tardy' tongue That God had given you force to break indeed), And were of counsel with him afterward In David's bloodshed, and betrayed of him Into mine hand again for perfect fear, Fear and false heart ; even before these, I say, Whose threefold memory of him so must knit Their hearts to his, there shall he plead, and say If he have aught against me blameworthy. Or what he would ; so shall he be displayed And we in the eyes of all men justified That simply deal with him and honourably, Not as by cunning or imperious hand, But plain as with an equal. Bothwell. By my head, Your counsel, madam, is more than man's poor wit. Murray. It may do well : would all were well indeed ! I see no clearer way than this of yours Nor of more peaceful promise. I will go To bid my friends together of the lords Who wUl be counselled of me, and to show Your purpose righteous : so I take my leave. \Exit. Queen. Is not that light red oversea? Bothwell. Blood-red. Queen. The wind has fallen ; but there the clouds come up ; We shall not sail to-day. Bothwell. No j here will be L 146 BOTHWELL [act ii. No woman's weather. Queen. Yet I had in mind Either to sail or drive the deer to-day. I fear not so much rainfall or sea-drift That I should care to house and hide my head. I never loved the windless weather, nor The dead face of the water in the sun ; I had rather the live wave leapt under me, And fits of foa m struck light on the dark air, And the sea's kiss were keen upon my lip And bold as love's and bitter ; then my soul Is a wave too that springs against the light And beats and bursts with one great strain of joy As the sea breaking. You said well ; this light Is like shed blood spilt here by drops and there That overflows the red brims of the cloud And stains the moving water : yet the waves Pass, and the spilt light of the broken sun Rests not upon them but a minute's space ; No longer should a deed, methinks, once done Endure upon the life of memory To stain the days thereafter with remorse And mar the better seasons. Bothwell. So think I. Queen. If I were man I would be man like you. Bothwell. What then ? Queen. And being so loved as you ot me, I would make use of love, and in good time Put the scythe to it and reap ; it should not rot As corn ungarnered, it should bring forth bread And fruit of life to strengthen me : but, mark, SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 147 Who would eat bread must earn bread : would you be King? Bothwdl. Nay, but servant ever to my queen. Queen. Let us go forth ; the evening will be fair. Scene VII. — Edinburgh. The Parliament- House. The Queen seated in state ; near her Du CROC and Murray ; Darnley in front, as at his arraignment ; on the one side the Lords of the Cingregation ; on the other those of the Queen's party, BoTHWELL, HuNTLEY, CAITHNESS, Athol, and the Archbishop o/St. Andrew's. Queen. My lords, ye hear by his own word of hand How fair and loyally our father writes, To purge his name that had indeed no soil Of any blame to usward ; though he have No power upon our wedded lord his son To heal his heart's disease of discontent : Which, for myself, before God's face and yours I do protest I know not what thing done Hath in my lord begotten or brought forth, Nor of what ill he should complain in me. . Nay, here in very faith and humbleness I turn me to him and with clasped hands beseech That he would speak even all his mind of me. In what thing ever I have given my lord offence, And if before him I stand blameworthy Would lay my blame for burden on my head In this high presence ; which to bear shall be At once for penance and instruction to me Who know not yet my lightest fault by name. T48 BOTHWELL [act ii. Ochiltree. So would we all be certified of you, Sir, that your cause may stand forth visibly And men take cognizance of it who see Nor root nor fruit now of your discontent ; We pray you then make answer to the queen. Du Croc. My lord, you have held me for a friend, and laid A friend's trust on me ; for that honour's sake For which I am bounden to you, give me now But leave to entreat you in all faith of heart Dishonour not yourself nor this great queen *By speech or silence with a show of shame ; Let it be seen shame hath no portion here, But honour only and reconciled- remorse That pours its bitter balm into the wound Of love somewhile divided from itself And makes it whole ; I pray you, be it so now. Queen. An honourable petition, my good lord, And one that comes reverberate from my heart. Darniey. I will not stand the question. Are ye set To bait me like a bondslave ? Sirs, I think There is no worthier man of you than I, Whom ye would chide and bait and mock ; howbeit, Ye shall not wring out of my smitten lips, As from a child's ye scourge till he speak truth. One word I would not ; rather being thus used I will go forth the free man that I came. No nobler, but as noble. For your grace, I have stood too near you now to fall behind And stand far back with vassal hat plucked off SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 149 To bow at bidding ; therefore with free soul For a long time I tak^ farewell and go, Commending you to God ; and if as seems I was or nought or grievous in your eye, It shall not take offence this many a day At this that here oflfends it. So I have done ; Enough said is said well. Bothwell (aside to the Queen). I never saw Such heart yet in the fool. Madam, speak now ; I wot he hath made a beard or two of them Nod favourably. Queen. What should I say? not I. Bothwdl. Speak to the ambassador ; bid him take heed This feather fly not shipward, and be blown Out of our hand ; speak to him. Queen. Have no such fear ; He will not fly past arm's length ; the French lord Will hold him safe unbidden. Look, they talk. Bothwell. And yet I would he had spoken not so high. I did not think but he would bend, and mourn Like a boy beaten. Queen.. With what sorrow of heart, My lords, we have heard such strange and harsh reply To our good words and meaning, none of you But must be as ourself to know it well. But since nor kindliness nor humble speech Nor honest heart of love can so prevail Against the soul of su h invetera,cy, ISO BOTHWELL [act il But wilful mind will make itself more hard Than modesty and womanhood are soft Or gentleness can speak it fair, we have not One other tear to weep thereon for shame. So without answer, yea, no word vouchsafed, As all ye witness, no complaint, no cause. No reason shown, but all put off in wrath, — • I would not say, ourself in you, my lords, Mocked with defiance, — it were but a scorn To hold our session further. Thus in grief Will we fare hence and take of you farewell. Being southward bounden, as ye know, to hear At Jedburgh what complaint of wrong there is Between our own folk and the bordering men. Whose wardens of the English side have wrought us Fresh wrong but late ; and our good warden here Shall go before us to prepare our way. Scene VIII. — Hermitage Castle. The Queen and Bothwell. Bothwell. I did not think you could have rid so fast. Queen. There is no love in you to lift your heart, Nor heart to lift the fleshly weight, and bear Forward : I struck my love even as a spur Into the tired side of my horse, and made it Leap like a flame that eats up all its way Till I were here. Bothwell. Why came you not before ? SCENE VIII.] BOTHWELL 151 Qfieen. What, am I now too slow? Bothwdl. Ay, though you rode Beyond the sun's speed, yea, the race of time That runs down all men bom. Forgive it me That I was wroth and weary for your love, Here lying alone, out of your eyes ; I could not But chafe and curse, sending my spirit forth From this maimed flesh yet halting with its wound To move about you like a thought, and bring me Word of your works and ways. Queen. I could not come. BothweU. Was there so much work worthier to be done Than this, to give love and to take again Thus ? but for my part, of all things in the world I hold this best, to love you ; and I think God never made your like for man to love. Queen. You are my soldier; but these silk-soft words Become your lips as well as mine, when love Rekindles them ; how good it is to have A man to love you ! here is man indeed, Not fool or boy, to make love's face ashamed, To abash love's heart and turn to bitterness The sweet blood current in it. O my fair lord ! How fairer is this warrior face, and eyes With the iron light of battle in them lefl As the after fire of sunset left in heaven When the sun sinks, than any fool's face made Of smiles and courtly colour ! Now I feel As I were man too, and had part myself 152 BOTHWELL [act ii. In your great strength ; being one with you as I, How should not I be strong ? It is your deed, By grace of you and influence, sir, it is That I fear nothing ; how should I lift up Mine eyes to your eyes, O my light o' the war, And dare be fearful ? yours but looked upon. Though mine were timorous as a dove's affrayed, For very shame would give them heart, and fire To meet the eyes of danger. What were I To have your love and love you, and yet be No more than women are whose name is fear And their hearts bloodless — I, who am part of you. That have your love for heait's blood ? Shall I think The blood you gave me fighting for my sake Has entered in my veins and grown in me To fill me with you ? O, my lord, my king, Love me ! I think you cannot love me yet, That have done nought nor borne for love of you ; But by the eye's light of all-judging God That if I lie shall bum my soul in hell, There is not in this fierce world anything, Scorn, agony, stripes, bonds, fears, woes, deep shame, Kingdomless ruin, but with open hands, With joyous bosom open as to love, Yea, with soul thankful for its great dehght And life on fire with joy, for this love's sake I would embrace and take it to my heart. Bothwell. Why, there should need not this to love you well ; What should you have to bear for me, my queen, SCENE VIII.] BOTHV/ELL 153 Or how should I more love you ? Nay, sweet, peace, Let not your passion break you ; your breast burns, Your very lips taste bitter with your tears. Queen. It is because — O God that pities us ! — I may not always lie thus, may not kneel, Cling round your hands and feet, or with shut eyes Wait till your lips be fast upon my face, And laugh with very love intolerable As I laugh now — look, now I do not weep, I am not sad nor angered against heaven That ever he divides us ; I am glad That yet I have mine hour. Sweet, do not speak, Nor do not kiss me ; let mine eyes but rest In the love's light of yours, and for a space My heart lie still, late drunken with love's wine. And feel the fierce fumes lessen' and go out And leave it healed. O, I have bled for you The nearest inward blood that is my life Drop by drop inly, till my swooning heart Made my face pale — I should look green and wan If by heart's sickness and blood-wasting pain The face be changed indeed ; for all these days Your wound bled in me, and your face far off Was as a moving fire before mine eyes That might not come to see you ; I was dead. And yet had breath enough, speech, hearing, sight. To feel them strange and insupportable ; I know now how men live without a heart. Does your wound pain you ? Bothwell. What, I have a wound } 154 BOTHWELL [act ii. Queen. How should one love enough, though she gave all, Who had your like to love ? I pray you tell me, How did you fight ? , Bothwell. Why, what were this to tell ? I caught this reiver, by some chance of God, That put his death into mine hand; alone, And charged him ; foot to foot we fought some space. And he fought well ; a gallant knave, God wot. And worth a sword for better soldier's work Than these thieves' brawls ; I would have given him life To ride among mine own men here and serve, But he would nought \ so being sore hurt i' the thigh I pushed upon him suddenly, and clove His crown through to the chin. Queen. I will not have you Henceforth for warden of these borders, sir : We have hands enow for that and heads to cleave That but their wives will weep for. Bothwell. Have no fear ; This hour had healed me of more grievous wounds ; When it shall please you sign me to your side, Think I am with you. Queen. I must ride — ^woe's me ! The hour is out. Be not long from me, love ; And till you come, I swear by your own head I will not see the thing that was my lord Though he came in to Jedburgh. I had thought To have spoken of him, but my lips were loth SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 155 To mar with harsli intrasion of his name The least of all our kisses. Let him be ; We shall have time. How fair this castle stands ! These hills are greener, and that singing stream Sings sweeter, and the fields are brighter faced, Than I have seen or heard ; and these good walls That keep the line of kingdom, all my life I shall have mind of them to love them well. Nay, yet I must to horse. Bothwell. Ay must you, sweet ; If you will ride thus fifty mile a day. But for your face you should be man indeed. Queen. But for my face ? Bothwell. If you will make me mad Queen. I dare not dwell with madmen ; sir, farewell. Bothwell. But for your love and for its cruelty, I would have said, you should be man. Queen. Alas ! But for my love ? nay, now you speak but truth ; For I well knew there was no love in man. But we grow idle in this our labouring time ; When we have wrought through all the heat o' the day. We may play then unblamed, and fear no hand To push us each from other ; now farewell. Scene IX. — The Queen's Lodging at Jedburgh. The three Maries. Mary Carmichael. What, will she die ? how says this doctor now ? 156 BOTHWELL [act ii. Mary Seyton. He thinks by chafing of her blood- less limbs To quicken the numbed life to sense again That is as death now in her veins ; but surely I think the very spirit and sustenance That keeps the life up current in the blood Has left her as an empty house for death, Entering, to take and hold it. Mary Beaton. I say, no ; She will not die of chance or weariness ; This fever caught of riding and hot haste Being once burnt out, as else nought ails her, will not Leave her strength tainted ; she is manly made, And good of heart ; and even by this her brain, We see, begins to settle ; she will Uve. Mary Carmichael. Pray God she may, and no time worse than this Come through her death on us and all her land Left lordless for men's swords to carve and share ; Pray God she die not. Mary Beaton. From my heart, amen ! God knows and you if I would have her die. Mary Seyton. Would you give up your loving life for hers ? Mary Beaton. I shall not die before her ; nor, I think, Live long when she shall live not. Mary Seyton. A strange faith : Who put this confidence in you ? or is it But love that so assures you to keep life SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 157 While she shall keep, and lose when she shall lose For very love's sake ? Mary Beaton. This I cannot tell, Whence I do know it ; but that I know it I know. And by no casual or conjectural proof Not yet by test of reason ; but I know it Even as I know I breathe, see, hear, feed, speak, And am not dead and senseless of the sun That yet I look on : so assuredly I know I shall not die till she be dead. Look, she is risen. Enter the Queen, supported by attendants. Queen. What word was in your lips ? That I must die ? Mary Seyton. Heaven hath not such hard heart. Queen. I think I shall not, surely, by God's grace ; Yet no man knows of God when he will bring His hour upon him. I am sick and weak. And yet unsure if I be whole of mind. I think I have been estranged from my right wits These some days back ; I know not. Prithee tell me. Have I not slept? I know you who you are ; You were about me thus in our first days. When days and nights were roseleaves that fell oflf Without a wind or taint of chafing air But passed with perfiime from us, and their death Had on it still the tender dew of birth. We were so near the sweet warm wells of life We lay and laughed in bosom of the dawn iS8 BOTHWELL [act ii. And knew not if the noon had heat to burn Or the evening rain to smite us ; being grown tall, Our heads were raised more near the fires of heaven And bitter strength of storms ; then we were glad, Ay, glad and good. Is there yet one of you Keeps in her mind what hovers now in mine, That sweet strait span of islanded green ground Where we played once, and set us flowers that died Before even our delight in them was dead ? Now we are old, delights are first to die Before the things that breed them. Mary Seyton (aside). She roams yet. Mary Beaton. I do remember. Queen. Yea, I knew it ; one day We wrangled for a rose' sake and fell out With tears and words protesting each 'twas she. She 'twas that set it ; and for very wrath I plucked up my French lilies and set foot On their gold heads, because you had chafed me,saying Those were her flowers who should be queen in France, And leave you being no queen your Scottish rose With simpler leaves ungilt and innocent That smelt of homelier air ; and I mind well I rent the rose out of your hand and cast Upon the river's running; and a thorn Pierced through mine own hand, and I wept not then, But laughed for anger at you and glad heart To have made you weep, being worsted. What light things Come back to the light brain that sickness shakes SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 159 And makes the heaviest thought that it can hold No heavier than a leaf, or gossamer That seems to link two leaves a minute, then A breath unlinks them ; so my thoughts are : nay, And should not so ; it may be I shall die, And as a fool I would not pass away Witli babbUng lips unpurged and graceless heart Unreconciled to mercy. Let me see That holy lord I bade be not far off While I lay sick — I have not here his name^ My head is tired, yet have I strength at heart To say one word shall make me friends with God, Commending to him in the hour of unripe death The spirit so rent untimely from its house And ere the natural night lay hold on it Darkly divided from the light of life. Pray him come to me. Mary Beaton. It is my lord of Ross The queen would see ? my lord is at her hand. Enter the'SusROv OF Ross. Queen. Most reverend father, my soul's friend, you see How little queenUke I sit here at wait Till God lay hand on me for life or death, With pain for that gold garland of my head Men call a crown, and for my body's robe Am girt with mortal sicknpss : I would fain, Before I set my face to look on death. Mine eyes against his eyes, make straight the way r6o BOTHWELL [act ii. My soul must travel with this flesh put off At the dark door; I pray you for God's grace Give me that holy help that is in you To lighten my last passage out of sight. For this world's works, I have done with them this day, With mine own lips while yet their breath was warm Commending to my lords the natural charge Of their born king, and by my brother's mouth To the English queen the wardship of her heir, And by the ambassador's of France again To his good mistress and my brother king The care of mine unmothered child, who has No better friends bequeathable than these : And for this land have I besought them all, Who may beseech of no man aught again, That here may no man for his faith be wronged Whose faith is cvne with mine that all my life I have kept, and fear not in it now to die. Bishop of Ross. Madam, what comfort God hath given his priests To give again, what stay of spirit and strength May through their mean stablish the souls of men To live or die unvexed of life or death, Unwounded of the fear and fang of hell, Doubt not to have ; seeing though no man be good But one is good, even God, yet in his eye The man that keeps faith sealed upon his, soul Shall through the bloodshedding of Christ be clean. And in this time of cursing and flawed faith Have you kept faith unflawed, and on your head The immediate blessing of the spouse of God. SCENE ax.] BOTHWELL i6i Have no fear therefore but your sins of life, Or stains and shadows such as all men take, In this world's passage, from the touch of time. Shall fall from off you as a vesture changed And leave your soul for whiteness as a child's. Queen. I would have absolution ere I die, But of what sins I have not strength to say Nor hardly to remember. I do think . I have done God some service, holding fast Faith, and his Church's fear ; and have loved well His name and burden set on me to serve, To bear his part in the eye of this thwart world And witness of his cross ; yet know myself To be but as a servant without grace Save of his lord's love's gift ; I have sinned in pride, Perchance, to be his servant first and fight, In face of all men's hate and might, alone. Here sitting single-sceptred, and compel For all its many-moutiied inveteracy The world with bit and bridle like a beast Brought back to serve him, and bowed down to me WTiose hand should take and hale it by the mane And bend its head to worship as I bade, I, first among his faithful ; so I said, And foolishly ; for I was high of heart j And now, behold, I am in God's sight and man's Nothing ; but though I have not so much grace To bind again this people fast to God, I have held mine own faith fast and with my lips Have borne him witness if my heart were whole. M 1 62 BOTH WELL [act ii. Bishop of Ross, Therefore shall he forget not in your hour Nor for his child reject you ; and shall make The weight and colour of your sins on earth More white and light than wool may be or snow. Queen. Yea, so my trust is of him ; though as now Scarce having in me breath or spirit of speech I make not long confession, and my words Through faintness of my flesh lack form ; yet, pray you, Think it but sickness and my body's fault That comes between me and my will, who fain Would have your eye look on my naked soul And read what writing there should be washed out With mine own heart's tears, and with God's dear blood. Who sees me for his penitent ; for surely My sins of wrath and of lightTmindedness, And waste of wanton will and wandering eyes, Call on me with dumb tongues for penitence ; Which I beseech you let not God reject For lack of words that I lack strength to say. For here as I repent and put from me In perfect hope of pardon all ill thoughts, So I remit all faults against me done, Forgive all evil toward me of all men. Deed or device to hurt me ; yea, I would not There were one heart unreconciled with mine When mine is cold ; I will not take death's hand With any soil of hate or wrath or wrong About me, but being friends with this past world Pass from it in the general peace of love. SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 163 Mary Beaton. Here is some message from the world of friends Brought to your brother : shall my lord come in ? Queen. What lord ? ye have no lord of any man While I am lady of all you. Who is this ? Message ? what message ? whence ? Enter Murray. Murray. From Edinburgh Your husband new alighted ia sharp speed Craves leave of access to your majesty. Queen. By heaven, I had rather death had leave than he. What comes he for? to vex me quick or dead With his lewd eyes and sodden sidelong face That I may die agaiii with loathing of him ? By God, as God shall look upon my soul, I will not see hira. Bid him away, and keep Far off as Edinburgh may hold him hence Among his fellows of the herded swine That not for need but love he wallows with To expend his patrimony of breath and blood In the dear service of dishonouring days. Murray. Let him but bide the night here. Queen. Not an hour ; Not while his horse may breathe. I will not see him. Murray. Nay, for the world's sake, and lest worse be said ; Let him sleep here and come not in your sight. Queen. Unless by some mean I be freed of him 1 64 BOTH WELL [actii. I have no pleasure upon earth to live. I will put hand to it first myself. My lord, See how this ill man's coming shakes my soul And stains its thoughts with passionate earth again That were as holy water, white and sweet, For my rechristening ; I could weep with wrath To find between my very prayer and God His face thrust like a shameful thought in sleep. I cannot pray nor fix myself on heaven But he must loose my hold, break up my trust, Unbind my settled senses, and pluck down My builded house of hope. Would he were dead That puts my soul out of its peace with God. Comfort me, father ; let him not have way ; Keep my soul for me safe and full of heaven As it was late. — See that you rid him hence, I charge you, sir, with morning. Murray. Yea, I shall ; 'Twere best he saw you not. Queen. I think so. Hark ! AVho is there lighted after him ? I heard — Nay, he is sick yet, wounded ; yet I heard — Pray God he be not risen too soon, to ride With his wound's danger for my sickness' sake. Mary Beaton. It is my lord the warden. Queen. What, I knew it— So soon so far, and with such speed ! ay, never Had queen so ill befriended of her own So fast a friend and loving. I will see him ; I am stronger than I was. Give me your hands ; SCENE X.J BOTHWELL 165 I can stand upright surely. Come you in And help to attire me like a living queen ; These are as grave-clothes. One go bring me word How he looks now, if weak or well indeed, If stout of cheer or tired. Say, for his coming And care unbidden of me, I thank him not If he have done his own wound hurt thereby. I will but rest, and see him : bring me in. \Exeunt. Scene X. — Craigmillar. The Queen, Murray, Bothwell, Maitland, Huntley, and Argyle. Quern. If it must be, or all without it break, I am content to have Lord Morton home ; Nay, all of them ye will, save two I keep To be the food of justice and my wrath, Now hunger-starven ; his red hand who set To my child-burdened breast the iron death. And the uncle of my caitiff ; they shall bleed, As Ruthven should, but for death's hastier hand That plucked him up before me : for his son, Let him come back too. Maitland. It is nobly judged, And shall content the lords and land alike With such good counsel and such fair consent To see your highness moved to rid yourself Of their disease and yours, with all men's will Purged from you by the readiest mean we may. i66 BOTHWELL [actii. Quetn. Ay, by divorce : I have then your tongues to that, Yours, both my friends now that were ill friends once But handfast here in common faith to me And equal-hearted ; and my brother's voice. Joined with these good lords present : but you said, Was it not you said, sir, that by divorce, Though leave were given of them that might withhold, And the priest's word that bound unbound us, yet Some soil might fall from lips of evil will On our son's birth-name ? Maitland. Yea, from ill men's mouths And all that hate you such rebuke might fall. Which were foul shame to suffer and be dumb, Though made by your divorce unanswerable. Queen. In sooth, I thought so ; and howbeit yourself. My lord of Bothwell, by the judgment given That loosed your mother's from your father's hand Stood undespoiled in fair inheritance, It may be where the cast is of a crown. And such a crown as in contention shakes Two several-storied kingdoms, even the chance Should stand not questionable, and friend nor foe Have word to throw against it. Maitland. So I said. Bothwell. Yet must the queen be freed ; and for the fear Lest England for his sake be moved, I know not What hold it has upon uSj who but now Saw what good heart and loyal will they bear SCENE X.] BOTHWELL 167 To the right heirship of your majesty Who bide on our south border, when their guns From Berwick hailed you passing hither, and made The loud-mouthed crags cry to their batteries back, And tell the sundering Tweed and all green hills, And all the clamorous concourse of the sea, The name that had the lordship of both lands In heritage to bind them fast in one. There heart and tongue outspake of the true north That for his caitiff sake should not be moved Nor alter from its faith though he were cast, With haltered throat or millstone round his neck, From a queen's bed into the naked sea. Maitland. Madam, we are here for service of your grace, Chief of your council and nobility : We shall find mean whereby without wrong done To your son's title, you shall well be quit Of your ill-minded husband ; and albeit My lord of Murray present here be one As scrupulous of his faith a Protestant As is your grace a Papist, he will look As through his fingers on the work we do And say no word, I am well assured, of all His eye may wink on. Queen. Nay, I cannot tell ; I would not have mine honour touched, nor buy My peace with hurt of conscience ; being so wise As silence proves you or as speech proclaims, Ye sliall do well to let this be ; perchance 1 68 BOTHWELL ' [act ii. The good ye mean me being untimely done Might turn to my displeasure, and your hands Leave me more hurt than holpen. Murray. You say well ; For none but honourable and lawrful ends Have I desired this council, to procure Your just and honest freedom, and repeal The banished Morton, whose advice thereto Shall not be fruitless ; for no further aim To no strange mean have I put hand. Farewell. [Exit. Argvle. He will not know of us enough to thwart ; And so not least may serve us ; but if here These hands whose help would hurt you not be set To such a bond as may put forth our cause And bind us to sustain it with one soul. Shall they more hurt than help you? Queen. Nay, ye are wise : I know not ; but I tliink your helpful hands Could not be set but to my service. Huntley. Then Should we set down what reason of resolve We have to make it manifest and sure That this young fool and tyrant by our will Shall bear no rule among us, and thereto For divers causes shall he be put forth One way or other, and what man soe'er Shall take this deed in hand or do it, all we Shall as our own and general act of all Defend and fortify it. Queen. Must all set hands SCENE X.] BOTHWELL 169 To one same bond for warrant ? Bothwell. Who should fail? Not we that shall devise it, nor Balfour, . My kinsman here and friend. Queen. Must you sign too ? Bothwell. How must I not? am I not fit to serve As being or coward or faithless or a fool, Or all or any ? or what misdoubt of yours Should wash my writing out or blur my name ? What faith a faithful servant of his hands May freely challenge of the king they serve, So much I challenge of your majesty. Queen. Nay, my fair lord, but for your known faith's sake And constant service the less need it were To have your hand here on our side ; lest men Should lay the deed but on mine ancient friends, Whose names not all men love yet for my sake, And call it but our privy plot and hate Which is the judgment of all wisest lords And equal, sentence of the general land. Maitland. So we that were not counted with your friends Should bear the whole deed and its danger up, We whom you have loved not, madam, for the stand We made against the perilous loves and hates That loosened half your people's love from you. Yet must we have his hand too. Bothwell. Ay, and shall. I wear no glove when hands are bared to strike. 170 BOTHWELL [actii. Quee7i. Be it as you will; lamnothinginyourcount; So be it ; my council shall not cumber you. Do all ye list Maitland. And all that shall be done Will be the more strength to your majesty And comfort to your cause : which now we go With all our help to hearten. Queen. Go, and thrive. \Exeunt Maitland, Huntley, and Argyle. I would we had no need of such men's tongues. Bothwell. He has the wisest name on all their side ; And by the tether that holds fast his faith We lead their lesser wits what way we will. Sharp-spirited is he surely, deep of soul, Cunning and fearless ; one that gives, men say, Small heed or honour to their faiths or fears And breath of holy custom ; undistraught By doubt of God's hand paddling in our clay Or dream of God's eye slanted on our sin ; As one that holds more worthily of God, — Or would not hold at all — ^whate'er he be. Than of a sidelong scrupulous overseer That pries askance upon our piteous lives To judge of this and this, how ill or well. And mark souls white or black with coal or chalk For crowning or for burning, palms or fires ; One therefore that through all shut ways of life Lets his soul range, even like the all- winnowing wind, And ply her craft in all life's businesses Not like a blind man burdened ; sure of hand SCENE X.J BOTHWELL 171 And great of counsel, like an under fire That works in the earth and makes its breach by night And leaps a league's length at the first stride forth Of its free foot, blackening the face of men ; So strong and keen and secret is his soul. Queen. So he keep trust, I care not if his creed Be faced or lined with craft and atheism, His soul be close or open ; but what bond Shall bind him ours so sure that fraud nor force May serve against us more ? BothweU. Doubt me not that ; By hilt, not edge, we hold him as a sword That in our hand shall bend not till we break, If we would break it when our work is done. Queen. Have we the strength? I doubt not of this hand. That holds my heart, if it be strong or no, More than I doubt of the eyes that light mine eyes, The lips that my lips breathe by — O my life, More than I doubt of mine own bitter love, More than of death's no power to sunder us. Of his no force to quench me who am fire, Fire for your sake, that would put all these out To shine and lighten in your sight alone For warmth and comfort, being to all eyes beside Or fear or ruin more fleet of foot than fear. I would I had on breast or hand or brow In crown or clasp the whole gold wrought of the earth, In one keen jewel the store of all the sea. That I might throw down at your hand or foot 172 BOTH WELL [actii. Sea, land, and all that in them is of price. Or in' the strong wine of my piercing love Melt the sole pearl of the earth, and drink dissolved The cost of all the world's worth. Both-well. Yea, my queen ? Have then no fear what man shall deem or do ; . For by this fire and light of you I sweaj That is my sunlight and my fire of day We shall not walk as they that walk by night Toward our great goal uncertainly, nor swerve Till we strike foot against it. Kiss me now. And bid me too speed on my way with them To bring back all their hands here to the bond Set fast as mine, or as your heart is fast Set on his death whose life lies nigh burnt out, Half brand half ash already in the heat Of that bright wrath which makes as red as flame Your fearful and sweet splendour ; nay, by heaven, It flushes all the light about your face With seven times kindled colour of pure fire. And burns mine eyes beholding, as your lips And quick breath bum me kissing. My sweet fear, Had you not been the sweetest, even to me You must have been the fearfuUest thing alive. Queen. For love is so, and I am very love, And no more queen or woman ; have no heart, No head, no spirit or sense at all of life, Save as of love that lives and that is I, I that was woman, and bore rule alone Upon myself J who am all diskingdomed now, SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 173 Made twice a slave, mine own soul's thrall and yours Wlio wield the heart that wields me at your will. I can but do as wills the spirit in me Which is your spirit's servant. Ah, my lord, My one lord every way, my poor heart's blood, ■ Breath of my lips and eyesight of mine eyes, How did I live the life that loved yoii not ? What were those days wherein I walked apart And went my way and did my will alone And thought and wrought without you in the world ? "then I did evil and folly ; the more need I purge me now and perfect my desire, Which is to be no more your lover, no. But even yourself, yea more than body and souF, One and not twain, one utter life, one fire, One will, one doom, one deed, one spirit, one God ; For we twain grown and molten each in each Surely shall be as God is and no man. Bothwdl. God speed us then till we grow up to God ! Me first, who first shall clear our way to chmb By carving one weed's earthly coil away That cumbers our straight growing : pray for me ! I will have all their hands to it in an hour. Scene XI. — Courtyard of a Hostelry at Whittingham. BoTHWELL atid Morton. Morton. Fled in pure fear of me ? well, he knows best. Towards Glasgow, said you ? 174 BOTHWELL [act ii. Bothwell. Soon as came the word You were brought home with welcome of the queen, He spurs from Stirling with all heat of speed Even from her arms new-reconciled and face That favourably had received him; leaves the feast Half made and his unchristened yeanling there Not yet signed God's and dewy from the font Long waited for, till the English golden gift Was grown too strait to hold and hallow him ; Flies from all sight and cheer of festal folk, And on the way being smitten sick with fear Cries out of poison working in his flesh Blue-spotted as with ulcerous pestilence, Weeps himself dead and wails himself alive, As now he lies, but bedrid ; and has lain This Christmas through, while the queen held her feast At Drummond Castle. Morton. Yea, I heard so ; and you At TuUibardine likewise, or men lie, Kept the feast high beside her. Well, my lord, Now have you time and room to say for each What ye would have of me, the queen and you, Who are hand and tongue at once of her design ; Here am I newly lighted, hot from horse, But fresh come forth of exile and ill days To do you service ; let me have her hand For warrant of what dangerous work she will, And mine is armed to do it ; but till I have. Expect of me, who have seen times strange as this. Nothing. SCENE xn.] BOTHWELL 175 Bothwell. I have her warrant in my lips ; By me she speaks you safe in serving her. Morton. Let that secure yourself; I must have proofs. Bothwell. You shall have all, and written ; but your hand Must be in this with ours. Morton. I have cause enough, Good reason and good will to see it performed ; But will not strike through mine own side at him. Make your mind sure of that. Bothwell. Well, you shall have it ; Myself will fetch your warrant from her hand That from my mouth assures you not ; and then Morton. Then shall my hand make answer to her own. [Exeunt. Scene XII. — Callander. The Queen and Lady Reres. Queen. I do not feel as at past partings ; then My heart was sick and bitter, and mine eye Saw not beyond the grievous hour at hand ; Now when of all time I should be most sad. Being parted at love's highest of height from love And bound to meet love's poison and my plague, My life's live curse yet married to my life, Yet am I light and fuller of sweet hope Than even sweet memory fills me. Lady Meres. It is well 175 BOTH WELL [act ii. When dawn discomforts not the whole sweet night. Queen. There be stars sure that die not of the day, Or in this hoariest hour of dusk and dew How should my heart be warm with last night's fire ? Enter Bothwell. What, risen so soon, my lord ? Bothwell. What, not yet forth ? That was the question laughing on your lips. And this my plea to kill the question with. [Kissing her. I must ride now. There waits a messenger From our wed lord in Glasgow. Queen. Ay? would God He had slipt his saddle and borne his charge to hell ! Must we part here ? I ask but what I know, Only to have a breath more of your mouth, A smile more of your eye, turn of your head, Before you kiss and leave me. Why should love. That can change life, seat and disseat the soul In heaven or hurl it hellward, break and build. Root and unroot the very springs o' the heart. Have not the force to pluck but twelve hours back, And twice consume and twice consummate life, Twice crowned and twice confounded ? I would give All but love's self, all hope and heat of life, But to have over this scant space again, Since yesterday saw sunset. Bothwell. You shall win A better prayer than this ; for one poor hour Caught from the gripe of all good-grudging time, SCENE XII. J BOTHWELL 177 An hundredfold in long-lived happiness, Secure and scatheless of all change or fear. Queen. Yet this joy waited on by fear and doubt, Plucked casually, a flower of accident, On the rough lip and edge of danger's breach, How sweeter is it than the rose to smell We gather from our garden with gloved hand, And find nor thorn nor perfume ! You must go, And I part hence ; yet all through life and death I shall have mind of this most gracious place, Poor palace of all pleasure, where I found Brief harbourage in long travel of my life. Now take farewell of me. Bothwdl. Fair lips, farewell. And love me till we kiss again and sleep. \Exit. Queen. So may my last sleep kiss me at your lips. And find me full of you as heaven of light When my time comes of slumber. — Bid this man Come in that waits : he shall bear word of me Before I stand in his lord's sight again. Enter Crawford. What message from our lord your master, sir ? Crawford, Madam, with all his heart my lord commends His heart's excuses to your majesty For the great grief and doubt wherein it stands Of your imstanched displeasure ; of which fear He lies soul-sick, and sends that heart by me To crave its pardon of you, and for grace N I7S BOTHWELL [act ii. From your dread lips some comfortable word That may assure him who now lives in pain Through the evil news he hears from all winds blown, In all mouths open ; whence as one distraught, And knpwing not how to bear himself secure Or dare put forth to meet you, for the words He hears you have said, though fain, I know, to come And clear himself of aught that you suspect By present inquisition — this I know. Though now he laid no charge on me to say — He hath writ you word already of his grief. And finds no answer but of bitter sound. Nor any light of pity from your face, Nor breath of healing ; wherefore on my knees He kneels before you to require his doom. Queen. I have no remedy for fear ; there grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart. Fears were not rank were faults not rank in him. Crawford. Itisno caitiff doubt that pleads withyou, No rootless dread sprung of a craven mood That bows him down before your highness' foot To take the sovereign sentence of your eye And bide and bear its judgment given as God's : He knows, he says, by proof and speech of men What cause he has what friends of yours to fear. Queen. What, must I ride alone to comfort him ? Tell him he may sleep sure then though I come ■ Lord Bothwell is bound back to Edinburgh ; There is no man to affright him in my train But grooms and lacqueys ; and for all I hear SCENE xiii.] BOTHWELL 179 He never feared my women. Crawford. Please it you, My master doth but wish all hearts of men Were on their faces written with their faith. Queen. Hath he no more than this, our lord, to say ? Then let him hold his peace ; and bear him word That of our grace we come to cherish him With not a man's face to procure his dread. Tell him so much and bid him keep good heart, If heart he have, even for my sake who swear He shall not long live in this fear of me. Scene XHI. — Darnley's Lodging in Glasgow. Darnley on a couch, as' sick; Crawford in attendance. Damley. She is come in then ? Crawford. Presently she comes. Darnley. You found her yet more sharp of eye than tongue ? Crawford. Ay. Darnley, Would I had but strength to bring myself Forth of this land where none will pity me, No, not the least of all you, though I die. Who comes with her? what household? I would speak With Joachim her French fellow there, to know Why she should come — you cannot show me — ay, And if for good — and if they come with her, i8a BOTHWELL [act ii. Her outland folk and Bothwell's — or at least If she have mind yet to send off or no Joseph, her dead knave's brother? Are you sure Himself shall come not ? wherefore being come in Should she not lodge beside me ? Nay, I hear More than she wots of, and have spies that see What counsels breed among the crew of them. What talk was that of marriage that should be Between her fiddler and no maid of hers. To what fair end ? Would God I might take ship, I would make speed for England ; there at least They durst not lay their nets about my life : Here every wind that blows hath smells of blood. I am lost and doomed ; lost, lost. Crawford. Have better thoughts. Take hope to you, and cheer. Darnley. Ay, ay, much cheer ! Ye are all in one to abuse me, snare and slay — Ye are all one heart to hate, one hand to smite ; I have none to love nor do me good, not one, One in the world's width, of all souls alive. I am dead and slain already in your hearts : By God, if ever I stand up strong again, I will be even with all you. Doth she think I fear her ? there is none that lives I fear. What said she to you ? Crawford. With her last breath she said You should no longer live in fear of her. Darnley. Why, so I do not : nay, nor ever did. Let her come now and find I fear her not, SCENE xiii.J BOTHWELL i8i What shall she say ? ( WitJwut) Make way there for the queen. Enter the Queen, attended. Queen. How is it with our lord ? Damley. Ill is it, ill. Madam, and no lord but your servant here. Will you not kiss me ? Queen. Nay, you are sick indeed. Let me sit here, and give me but your hand. I have a word with you to speak for love, And not for chiding. Damley. I beseech you, no : I have no force to bear man's chiding now. Being sick, and all my sickness is of you. That look so strange and heavily on me ; Howbeit I could now die, I am made so glad. For very joy to see you ; if I die, Look, I leave all things to your only will, And of my pure love make no testament, Nor lay no charge on any else for love. Queen. I will rebuke you not but tenderly, As a right wife and faithful woman ; sir. What word was that you wrote me, and wherein And wherefore taxing some for cruelty. Of what suspicion misconceived and bom, That came forth of your hand to strike ray heart ? You that have found no cause, and will not say You haVe found or shall find ever cause of fear, So to misdoubt me — what could sting you so, i82 BOTHWELL [act ii. What adder headed thought or venomous dream, To make you shoot at this bared breast to you Suspicion winged and whetted with ill thoughts ? Wliat words \yere these to write, what doubts to breed. Of mere mistrust and stark unfriendliness ? Nay, and I know not, God can witness me, So much as what you doubt or what misdeem Or wherein hold me dangerous or my friends. More than I know what source your sickness hath, Whereof I would fain think all this is bred And all ill fears grown but of feverish nights. What cause most ails you ? or what think you on ? Darrdey. I think how I am punished — ay, God knows I am punished that I made my God of you. What should I mean of cruelty but yours That will not look on my sore penitence For my least sin, as God would look on all ? Though I confess wherein I have failed indeed, Yet never in worse kind than was avowed. And many a man for such revolt as mine Hath had your pardon ; in this kind I have sinned. Not in such wise as ever I denied, And am yet young ; and though you should cast up How often being forgiven I have gone back And fallen in fresh offence of you that late Forgave me, may not any twice or thrice So slip that is none older than I am. Or slack his promise plighted, yet in the end. Repenting, by experience be chastised ? SCENE XIII.] BOTHWELL 183 If my weak years and grief may get but grace, I swear I never shall make fault again ; And this is all, and honest, that I crave. To have again my wife to bed and board, Which if I may not by consent of you Out of this bed I never will rise more. I pray you tell me whereof you resolve, That I may die or live, who have no thought But only of you j and at such luckless time As ever I offend you, even the oflfence Grows of yourself ; for when I am wronged or wroth If I for refuge might complain to you Of any that offends me, I would speak Into no ear but yours ; but being estranged, What now soe'er I hear, necessity Binds me to keep it in my breast, and hence I am moved to try my wit on mine own part For very anger. Now, being at your foot. Will you forgive me ? that for love indeed And fear of you have trespassed, being so young. And had no good man's counsel, and no guard, No light, no help, no stay, — was yet scarce man. And have so loved you whom I sinned against Queen. Why would you pass in the English ship away? Darnley. I swear by God I never thought thereon ; I spake but with the men ; but though I had, I might have well ta'en hold on such a thought, To hear much less things than the least I heard. Queen. Wliat inquisition was it that you made J 84 BOTHWELL [act ii. To hear such things as fright you ? Darnley. ■ Nay, by heaven, 1 have made none ; I never sought man out To speak with any ; I swear I see no spies. Queen. Must I return to your own ear again The very words were spoken ? Darnley. I did hear There was a letter brought you to subscribe By certain of the council, to the intent I should be cast in prison, and with power To slay me by your warrant, should I make Resistance j Highgate said so ; I confess I spake with him ; my father that first heard Brought him to speech of me. Queen. Spake he so much ? But Walcar, thait at Stirling brought me word Of this man's speeches here, had heard of him That you with certain of our lords had laid A plot to take our son, and having crowned Reign for him king of Scots ; whereon the man Being had before our council with good speed Swore he knew no such tale, and had but heard Some rumour blown of your imprisonment, But nothing of your slaying ; to which again His witness summoned gave him straight the lie. Yet would I not conceive the tale for true That being incensed with some our loyal lords Who were not of the faction that should lay Such regency upon you for your son. You had threatened them aloud with wrath to come. SCENE XIII.] BOTHWELL 185 What say you to it ? Darnley. I say you do me wrong To speak to me of him that as you say Belied me to you ; who saith so of me lies, And I will pluck his ears from off his head; The knave whose tongue so misdelivers me. And I beseech you think he lies that saith I would be wroth with any man your friend, Or would not rather give away my life Than by despite toward such displease you ; yet I have heard strange things here of a trustier tongue 5 The Laird — ^you know him — of Minto, my fast friend, If any friend be fast on earth to me, He told me to what bond what hands were set ; Yea, and more hands than those that signed me dead, He swore, were set to slay me ; but God knows I gave no faith to it — would not dream or doubt You could devise, that were my proper flesh. To do me any evil ; nay, I said It was well seen you would not, by their writ Against my life that you subscribed not ; else, Could I think once you hungered for my death, God knows I would not hold you hungering long. But make mine own throat naked for your knife As readily as your hand could pluck it forth : Howbeit the best man of mine enemies else Should buy me dear — ay, any of all but you. Except he took me sleeping ; as indeed Were now not hard to take me : had I but A hand to help my heart, and health to go, i86 BOTHWELL [act ii. A foot to stand against them, God and you, Madam, should oversee us and judge ; but now You see what power I have, what hope of help, What strength to serve my will and my best heart Lies in my broken body ; ay, these know that, What force is left to second my goodwill They know who durst not else devise or do. Had I the natural might yet of my limbs, What now — but you, if you have pity of me. Seeing me how faint I am and how sore sick, And cannot eat for weakness, though I faint, That makes me loathe my meat — but will you not Feed me, and kiss me ? surely I could live. Being quickened of your hands and piteous lips. So sweet you are and strong and large of life. Nay, do but kiss me once though I must die, Be it but lest all men say you loved me not. Queen. I have a pain here takes me in my side — I pray you— where my sickness left it sore And liable to swift pains yet — pardon me. Darnley. 'Tis I you cannot pardon, I, woe's me, You cannot love or pardon ; but I swear, So be it you will not leave me, I will go, So but I may not lose you out of sight, Borne in a litter,, such as here I lie. So weak, so full of sickness, where you will, Be it to Craigmillar, though death went with me, Or to the world's end, going in sight of you. Queen. Have here my hand then and my faith to it, sir, When theye the healing springs have washed you whole SCENE XIII.] BOTHWELL 187 As they shall surely, with cold cleansing streams Whose medicinal might shall bathe your veins And kill the fire that feeds upon their blood, I will once more dwell with you as your wife, In all the lovely works and ways of love And dues of duteous life and unity That man may claim of woman. Tell me now. Ere we go tliither, where the leech and I May help you, nor be far off from my son, What are those lords you are wroth at? since I hear Some are there that you threaten, as in doubt Their minds are bitter toward you j shall I say You stand in fear of Maitland ? Darnley. Him? not I — I pray you speak not of him for my sake — I stand in fear of no man ; I beseech you. Speak me not of him j I will see no man. To be our makebate and your talebearer; I have heard too of your brother, how he says I spake with him at Stirling, where I swear I came not in his chamber, spake not half Of all whereof he has rounded in your ear That I made plaint to him concerning you; For all my faults are published in your eye. And I deny not one, and nought put off; What should it boot me to deny my speech? But there are they that think the faults they make Shall to all time He still unspoken of. Yet will they speak aloud of small and great And tax alike all faults of other folk, i88 BOTHWELL [act ii. The least fault as the worst, in men like me That have not craft to hide or most or least ; God save you from such fnendship : it is thought, Through power upon you of such evil tongues, Yourself have not your power upon yourself, As by your slight still of my proffered love I would believe you have not ; such a friend Rode with you hither — or unfriend as I doubt — I like her not — the Lady Reres, your friend ; I pray God she may serve you, if she be. To your own honour; it runs through all men's mouths She was Lord Bothwell's harlot, who stands marked For a lewd liver above all men alive ; She and her sister both lie side by side Under the like report of his rank love- Foul concord and consent unsisterlike In such communion as beasts shun for shame. Nay, for you know it, it lives on common lips. Cries from all tongues, you know it ; but for my part I will love all that love you, though they were But for that love's sake shameful in men's eyes, Why will you wake not with me this one night. But so soon leave me, and I sleep so ill? Queen. Nay, though this night I may not watch with you, I leave you not till you turn back with me ; But for the lords' sake must it not be known That if you change not purpose ere that time When you are whole we shall be one again ; SCENE XIII.] BOTHWELL 1S9 Lest when they know it, remembering your loud threat To make them find, if ever we agreed, What small account they had made of you, and how You had counselled me to take not some of them To grace again without assent of yours, They fall in fear and jealousy, to see The scene so broken and the play so changed AVithout their knowledge, that contrariwise Was first set up before them. Dapiley. Think you then They will for that the more esteem of you? But I am glad at heart you speak of them, And do beUeve now you desire indeed That we should live together in quietness ; For were it otherwise, to both of us Might worse fall than we wot of j but I now Will do whatever you will do, and love All that you love ; and I have trust in you To draw them in like manner to my love ; Whom since I know they aim not at my life I will love all alike, and there shall be No more dissension of your friends and mine. Queen. It was by fault of you all this fell out That I must heal. For this time fare you well ; When I get rest I will return ajain. \jE,xU with attendants. Damley. What say you now ? she is gentler in mine eyes Than was your word of her. Crawford. Ay, sweet to sight. igo BOTHWELL [act ii. Exceeding gentle. Wherefore, could one tell, Should she desire to lead you so in hand Just to Craigmillar ? whence report came late Of no good counsel toward you or good hope, Except the hope be good, there to be healed Of all life's ill for ever, once being bathed In the cold springs of death : and hence meseems More like a prisoner than her wedded lord Are you borne off as in her bonds. Darnley. By heaven, I think but little less, and fear myself, Save for the trust indeed I have in her And in her promise only ; howsoe'er, I will go with her and put me in her hands. Though she should cut my throat ; and so may God Between us both be judge. I have been men's fool That were but tongues and faces of my friends ; I see by mine own sight now, and will stand On no man's feet but mine. Give me to drink ; I will sleep now ; my heart is healed of fear. Scene XIV. — The Queen's Apartment in the SAME. The Queen and Paris. Queen. Here is the letter for your lord to know I bring the man on Monday, as is writ, Hence to Craigmillar. Say too this by mouth. The Lady Reres can witness, with mine oath. SCENE XIV.] BOTHWELL ' 191 I would not let him kiss me. Bid our lord, Mine and your lord, enquire of Maitland first If our past purpose for Craigmillar hold Or if the place be shifted, and send word To me that here await his will by you. Be of good speed ; I say not of good trust, Who know you perfect in his trust and mine. Farewell. Paris. I am gone with all good haste I may, And here come back to serve your majesty. Hath it no further counsel or command To be my message ? Quien. Tell him, night and day And fear and hope are grown one thing to me Save for his sake : and say mine hours and thoughts Are as one fire devouring grain by grain This pile of tares and drift of crumbling brands That shrivels up in the slow breath of time. The part of life that keeps me far from him, The heap of diisty days that sunder us. I would I could bum all at once away And our lips meet across the mid red flame Thence unconsumed, being made of keener fire Than any burns on earth. Say that mine eyes Ache with mine heart and thirst with all my veins, Requiring him they have not. Say my life Is but as sleep, and my sleep very life. That dreams upon him. Say I am passing now To do that office he would have me do. Which almost is a traitor's; say, his love 102 BOTHWELL [act ii. Makes me so far dissemble, that myself Have horror at it j bid him keep in mind How were it not to obey him I had rather Be dead before I did it ; let him not Have ill opinion of me for this cause, Seeing he is alone the occasion of it himself, Since for mine own particular revenge I would not do it to him that I most hate ; My heart bleeds at it. Say, he will not come But on condition I shall cleave to him Hereafter, and on that word given of mine Will go where I would have him go : alas, I never have deceived yet any man, But I remit me to my master's will In all things wholly ; bid him send me word What I shall .do, and come what may thereof I shall obey him ; if some new subtler way By medicine may be thought on when I bring The man here to Craigmillar, that as yet May not this long time of himself go forth Out of the house, let him advise himself How to put this in hand : for all I find, This man I here endure to play upon Lives now in great suspicion ; yet my word Hath credit with him, but not far enough For him to show me anything ; but yet I shall draw forth of him what thing I will If my lord bid me be more plain with him ; But I will never take delight to wrong The trust of any that puts trust in me j SCENE XIV.] BOTHWELL 193 Yet may my lord command me in all things. And though by checks and hints of that I feared This man sometimes even touch me to the quick With words dropt of mine honour and my power On mine own self, whereby 1 surely know That he suspects him of the thing we wot And of his Hfe, yet as to that last fear I need but say some three good words to him And he rejoices, and is out of doubt. He was seen never as gay of mood as now When I make show of grace and gentle heart, And puts me in remembrance of all things That may assure my faith he loves me well. Let not my love suspect me for his sake, Who take such great joy of his love-making That I come never where he is but straight I take the sickness of my sore side here, I am vexed so with it ; wearied might he be, This poisonous man that gives me all this pain When I would speak of things far sweeter ; yet He is marred not overmuch of form or face Though he have borne ifauch, and his venomed breath Hath almost slain me though I sit far off. He would have had me watch with him, but I Put off the night ; he says he sleeps not sound ; He never spake more humbly nor more well ; And if I had not proven his heart of wax And were not mine cut of a diamond Whereinto no shot ever can make breach But that which flies forth of mine own love's hand, 6 194 BOTHWELL [act ii. I had almost had pity of him ; but say I bid the captain of my fortressed heart Fear not ; the place shall hold unto the death. And bid my love in recompense thereof Let not his own be won by that false kind That will no less strive with him for the same. I think the twain were trained up in one school, For he hath ever tear in eye, and makes Most piteous moan to arouse men's pity, yea, Humbly salutes them all, even to the least, To make their hearts soft toward him ; and desires That with mine own hands I would give him meat ; But let my lord, where he is, give no more trust Than I shall here. Tell him all this ; and say I am in the doing here of a work I hate Past measure ; and should make him fain to laugh To see me lie so well, or at the least So well dissemble, and tell him truth 'twixt hands. Say, by the flatteries I perforce must make And prayers to him to assure himself of me. And by complaint made of the men designed, I have drawn out of him all we list to know, Yet never touched one word of that your lord Showed me, but only wrought by wiles ; and say With two false kinds we are coupled, I and he, My love ; the devil dissever us, and God Knit us together for the faithfuUest pair That ever he made one ; this is my faith, I will die in it. Excuse me to my lord That I writ ill last night, being ill at ease, SCENE XIV.] BOTHWELL 195 And when the rest were sleeping was most glad To write unto him, who might no more, nor could Sleep as they did and as I would desire, Even in my dear love's arms ; whom I pray God Keep from all evil and send him all repose. And being so long my letter hindered me To write what tidings of myself I would, Who had wrought before for two hours of the day Upon this bracelet I would send to him Though it be evil made for fault of time, I have had so little, and I can get no lock. Though that mine hands might end it yestereve I would not see the man ; but this mean time I think to make one fairer ; let him not Bring it in sight of any that was here. For all would know it, seeing it was wrought for haste In sight of them ; yet might it bring some harm And may be seen if he should chance be hurt ; Let him send word if he will have it, and say If he will have more gold by you, and when I shall return, and how far I may speak ; For this man waxes mad to hear of him Or of my brother ; and when I visit him His friends come all to be my convoy, say, And he desires me come the mom betimes And see him rise. This letter that I send. Bid my lord bum it, being so dangerous. With nought in it well said, — for all my mind Was on this craft I loath to think upon — And if it find his hand in Edinburgh, 196 BOTH WELL [act 11. Let him soon send me word, and that I doubt Be not oifended, since to doubts of him I give not o'er-great credit ; but say this, That seeing to obey him, who is my dear heart's love, I spare nor honour, conscience, hazard, state, Nor greatness whatsoever, I beseech him But that he take it in good part, and not As his false brother-in-law interprets, whom I pray him give not ear to nor believe Against the faithfullest lover he ever had Or ever shall have ; nor cast eye on her Whose feigned tears should not be esteemed so much Nor prized so as the true and faithful toils Which I sustain but to deserve her place : Whereto that I despite all bonds may climb. Against my nature I betray them here That may prevent me from it ; God forgive me, And God give him, my only love, the hap And welfare which his humble and faithful love Desires of him ; who hopes to be to him Ere long a thing new-named for recompense Of all her irksome travails. Tell him this ; Say I could never stint of hand or tongue To send love to him, and that I kiss his hands. Ending ; and let him think upon his love And write to her, and that oft ; and read twice through Mine evil-written letter, and keep in mind All several sayings writ of the man therein. Say for delight I have to send to him SCENE XV,] BOTHWELL 197 I run twice over all the words I send, And that each word may fasten in his ear As in his eye, and you may witness me That hand and tongue and heart were one to send, Put all my message in your lips again That here was written. Say — I know not what ; I can say nought but with my silent hands, Speak with the lips of deeds I do for him. Paris. Shall I say nothing of Lord Damley more ? Queen. Say, when I did but speak of Maitland once, His caitiff flesh quaked in each joint of him. Each limb and bone shivered ; even to the feet He shook, and his shrunk eyes were stark with fright, That like a live thing shuddered in his hair And raised it ruffling from the roots for dread. Let him mark that: though coward themanbe. and fool, He has wit and heart enough to know the worst Of his wrong-doing, and to what manner of man, Being fool, he did it, and discerning him Think whether his cause of dread be small or no For less or more of peril. So to horse, And lose no word sent of my heart to him. Scene XV. — Kirk of Field. Enter Bothwell. Bothwell. This is the time and here the point of earth That is to tiy what fate will make of me. 198 BOTHWELL [act ii. I hold here in my hand my hand's desire, The fruit my life has climbed for ; day on day Have I strid over, stretching toward this prize With all my thews and spirits. I must be glad. If I could think ; yet even my cause of joy Doth somewhat shake me, that my sense and soul Seem in their springs confused, even as two streams Violently mingling : what is here to do Is less now than the least I yet have done. Being but the putting once of the mere hand To the thing done already in device, Wrought many times out in the working soul. Yet my heart revels not, nor feel I now The blood again leap in me for delight That in the thought grew riotous and beat high With foretaste of possession unpossessed. Is it that in all alike fruition slacks The shrunk imagination ? in all deeds The doing undoes the spirit to do, the joy Sickens, the lust is swallowed as of sand ? Why, yet the stream should run of my desire Unshrunken, and no deserts drink it up. Being unfulfilled ; no satiate sluggishness Gape with dry lips at the edge of the dry cup For the poor lees of longing. I am here Not royal yet, nor redder in the hand Than war has dyed me fighting ; the thing done Is but for me done, since I hold it so. Not yet for him that in the doing must bleed \ I that stand .up to do it, and in my mind Behold across it mightier days for deeds, SCENK XV.] BOTHWELL 19 Should not be way-sick yet nor travel-tired Before I drink fulfilment as a wine ; And here must it restore me. Enter Paris. Ha ! so soon ? What news of her ? Paris. The queen commends to you Her best heart in this letter, and would know How yet your purpose toward Craigmillar bears, \Vhether to train him thither by her hand Or what choice else. BothweU. Say, the device is changed By counsel and consent of whom she wots ; Here must they come ; James Balfour and myself Have waked all night to see things well begun, For that bond's sake whereto his hand was set With mine here at CraigmiUar ; all things now Stand apt and fit in this his brother's house To entertain the kingship of its guest ; We have seen to it, Maitland with us. Paris. I was sent From the town hither, finding you set forth. But why folk wist not. BothweU. Carry to my queen This diamond ; say too I would send my heart, But that she hath already, and no need To pluck it forth and feel it in her hand. Bid her be swift as we have been for love. And the more surety quickens our design ; The rest unsaid shall tarry till she come. 200 BOTHWELL [act ii. Scene XVI. — The Queen's Lodging in Glasgow. Th£ Queen in bed; Lady Reres and Paris attending. Qiuen. What was his word at parting ? let it kiss Mine ear again. Paris. Being horsed, he bade me say, Madam, he would be fain for love of you To train a pike all his life-days. Queen. Please God, It shall not come to that. Ere this month die That lias not half a week to live, we stand In Edinburgh together. He will go Without more word or fear ; and being well hence — How looked my love ? Paris. Madam, as one uplift To the height of heart and hope, though full of cares, And keen in resolution. Queen. I grow strong To hear of him. Hath he not heart enough To fill with blood a hundred of our hearts, Put force and daring, for the fear cast out. In all our veins made manlike? Prithee, Reres, Was he thus ever ? had he so great heart In those dead days, such lordliness of eye To see and smite and bum in masterdom, Such fire and iron of design and deed To serve his purpose and sustain his will ? Hath he not grown since years that knew me not sctNE XVI.] BOTHWELL 201 In light and might and speed of spirit and stroke To lay swift hand upon his thought, and turn Its cloud to flame, its shadow to true shape, Its emptiness to fulness ? If in sooth He was thus always, he should be by now Hailed the first head of the earth. Lady Reres. It cannot be But in your light he hath waxed, and from your love. Madam, drawn life and increase ; but indeed His heart seemed ever high and masterful As of a king unkingdomed, and his eye As set against the sunrise ; such a brow As craves a crown to do it right, and hand Made to hold empire swordlike, and a foot To tread the topless and unfooted hill Whose light is from the morn of majesty. Queen. When mineeyefirst took judgmentof his face It read him for a king bom : and his lips Touching my hand for homage had as 'twere Speech without sound in them that bowed my heart In much more homage to his own. Would God I could so read now in that heart I serve What thought of me moves in it, hear what word Now hangs upon those lips ; if now his eye Darken or lighten toward mine unseen face, Or his ear hearken for my speech unheard. Why art thou now not with him, and again Here the same hour to tell me ? I would .have More messengers than minutes that divide Mine eyes from their desire, to bring me word 202 BOTHWELL [acth. With every breath of every change in him, If he but rest or rise ; nay, might it be, Of every thought or heart-beat that makes up His inner hours of life : yet by mine own, If he so loved me, should I know them not I will rise now and pass to see how soon We may set forth to-morrow. Lady Reres. Can it be He shall have strength ? but let your highness heed That pretext be not given for knaves to say You had no care to wait on his good time. But vexed and harried him, being sick, with haste And timeless heat of travel. Queen. Fear not you : I will make means to bring him in my hand As a tame hound, and have his thanks and love For bringing him so wifelike on his way. It is the last pain I shall take for him. The last work I shall do for marriage-sake And wifehood wellnigh done with duty now. I have not much more time to serve my lord, And strife shall fall between us twain no more. Scene XVII. — Darnley's Chamber in Kirk OF Field. Darnley and Nelson. Darnley. Thou hast the keys ? This house is strange and chill. As chill as earth : I have slept no better here. SCENE XVII.J BOTHWELL 203 Those two days that we halted on the way There at Linlithgow, I could see the haste That burnt in her to be in Edinburgh, And here being come she sets me in this grange. And till her chamber be made ready sleeps In Holyrood apart, and here by day Hath still by her that face I warned her from, That woman's thg,t I spake of, plays and sings There in the garden with none else — by God, I like not aught of it I am sick again, Sick-hearted, or my will should be a sword To sunder them. I would I were away. I have ill dreams, man. Nelsmi. Please your highness Darnley. Ay ! Is majesty gone out of all men's mouths ? Is my state dead before me, even the name Dead of my place, then ? Nelson. There is come from court Lord Robert Stuart to see your majesty. Darnley. Let him come in. Robert ? he was my friend ; I think he held me dear till David died : He supped with them that night. I found him once A quick-souled fellow that would quaff and kiss The glow of woman's or of wine-cup's mouth, And laugh as mine own lips that loved the like Can now no more this long time. Let him come. 804 BOTHWELL [act n. Enter Robert Stuart. My holy lord of Holyrood-house, good day ; You find a fit man for a ghostly rede. Robert. Stuart. I am glad you have a jest yet ; but I come On graver foot than jesters run, my lord. Darnley. How, graver than your ghostly name ? nay, then 'Tis matter for a grave-side. Robert Stuart. Sir, it may ; I would be secret with you. Darnley. What, alone ? Why should we talk alone ? what secret ? why ? Robert Stuart. I wiU put off my sword and give it your man, If that will ease you. Darnley. Ease me ? what, by God, You think I fear you come to kill me ? tush, I am not the fool — and were that all, being thus, 'Faith, you might end me with your naked hands. Leave us. \Exit Nelson. What is it ? you make me not afraid — Sir, I fear no man — what, for God's sake speak, I am not moved — in God's name let me have it. Robert Stuart. I came to do you such good ser- vice, sir, As none has done you better nor can do. There is an old phrase in men's mouths of one That stands between the devil and the deep sea ; SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 205 So now stand you ; the man that toward a reef Drives naked on a thunderstricken wreck And helmless, hath not half your cause of fear ; Th^ wretch that drops plague-eaten limb from limb Crumbles to death not half so fast as you : The grave expects not the new-shrouded man More surely than your corpse now coffin,less. Darnley. Who put this in your mouth? what enemy ? How have you heart, or whosoe'er he be, Albeit ye hate me as the worm of hell Who never harmed you in my hapless days, To use me so ? I am sick Robert Stimrt. Ay, sick to death, If you give ear not to me that am come In very mercy, seeing I called you friend, For pity's sake to save you, or at least To stretch your days out for some brief span more' Of life now death-devoted. Daniky. What, so soon ? God would not have it done, so young I am, — What have I done that he should give me up ? So comfortless, — who hath no help of man. They say, hath God's ; God help me ! for God knows There is none living hath less help of mail. Nay, and he must, as I have faith in God, Hang all my hope upon him, — For God's sake. Whence got you this ? Robert Stuart. No matter. Darnley. At whose hand — 2o6 BOTHWELL [act ii. me, what hand ! who is it shall touch me Robert Stuart, Hark. From beneath is heard the Queen's voice, singing. Qui se fie A la vie A vau-l'eau va vers la mort ; Et que I'onde Rie ou gronde, Elle entralne loin du port. Darnky. She sings I know not what — a j esting song, A French court rhyme no graver than a flower, Fruitless of sense — this is no threat — a toy Queen (from beneath, sings). Sur I'opale Du ilot p^e Tremble un peu de jour encor ; Sur la plage Au naufrage Le haut vent Sonne du cor. Darnky. What is it she sings now? nay, what boots to hear? 1 will not hear ; speak to me — ^pray you, speak. Queen (from beneath). La mort passe Comme en chasse, Et la foudre aboie aux cieux ; L'air frissonne, La mer tonne, Le port se derobe aux yeux. SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 207 Plus d'etoile Que ne voile L'orage apre au souffle noir ; Pas de brise Qui ne brise Quelque vaisseau sans espoir. Noire et nue Sous la nue, La nef brisee ^ moitie Toume et vire Oil I'attire La sombre mer sans piti^. La nuit passe, Et la chasse S'est eteinte au fond des cieux ; Mais I'aurore Pleure encore Sur les morts qu'ont vus ses yeux, Ce qui tombe Dans la tombe Coule et s'en va sans retour ; Quand sous I'ombre Plonge et sombre Ou la vie ou bien I'araour. Robert Stuart. Why do you shake and hide your eyes ? take heart ; Let fear not be more swift to slay than hate. • Damley. I said, what hand — you bade me hearken — well, What say you now she sings not ? Robert Stuart. I have said. Darnley.' I will not be your baiting-stock ; speak plain ; Whence had you word of any plot on me ? ?o8 BOTHWELL Iact ii. Robert Stuart. If you will heed me, well ; if not, for me I will take heed yet that it be not ill. Weigh how you will my counsel, I am sure If my word now lie lightly in your ear It would not lie the heavier for my oath Or any proofs assurance. Whence I had This word you have of me, I am not bound To put the knowledge into trust of you Who trust not me in asking. Darnley. What, I knew There was no plot but yours to scare me, none — Your plot to get my favour, stay yourself On me as on a staff — affright me sick With bloodred masks of words and painted plots. And so take hold upon me afterward Having my strength again and state and power — A worthy friend and timely, — Nay, but, nay, I meant not so — I am half distraught — I meant I know you for my friend indeed and true ; For one thwart word in sickness cast not off Your friend that puts his trust in you, your friend That was nigh mad a minute, being sore sick And weak and fpll of pain and fear, and hath No friend to help and bear with him if you Will help nor bear not — by rny faith and life I do believe you love me, and in love Came, and in faith to me — if I believe not God give me death at once and hell to boot. I pray you pardon. SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 209 Robert Stuart. Sir, your faith and life Have neither weight enough to poise an oath As now they hang in balance. If you will, Take to your heart my words ; if not, be sure It shall not grieve me though you trust me not. Who never think to give you counsel more. \Exit. Darnley. Nay, but one word — how would you have me fly ? He goes and mocks me — would my hands had strength To dig his heart out for my dogs to feed ! He flies and leaves me weaponless alone In the eye of peril, coward and false heart — Should not the tongue be false too ? If he came To afiright me only with a fearful face, Blow but a blast of danger in mine ear. And make my faith as wax that in his breath Might melt and be reshapen of his hands — Nay, I will see the queen, and in her eye Read if his tongue spake truth, and from her lips Draw forth his witness ; if she mean me ill I cannot now but see it. Nelson ! — She hath No trick to keep her from mine instant sight, Knows not his errand to me ; and at once I take her unawares and catch her soul Naked, her mind plain to me, good or ill. Queen {sings from below). Lord Love went Maying Where J ime was playing, In light hands weighing Light hearts with sad ; P 210 BOTH WELL Yacsii. Crowned king with peasant. Pale past with present, Haish hours with pleasant, Good hopes with bad ; Nor dreamed how fleeter Than Time's swift metre, O'er all things sweeter How clothed with power. The murderess maiden Mistrust walks laden With red fruit ruined and dead white flower. Darnley. What sting is in that song to smite my heart And make the blood and breath come short in me ? God, I know it— his last year's song of death — They struck it on his lips who struck him through. Nelson ! I will not see her — I will not die Enter the Queen. Queen. I heard your call from under and came in — What aiis you, sir ? why stare you thus askance ? Darnley. I had a pang of sickness that passed by While you were singing. ' Queen. Is my brother gone ? Darnley. There was none here — ^your brother? what, the earl ? Doth not his wife lie at St Andrew's sick, Where he is gone to visit her ? Queen. For love. Why will you lie to me in jest ? you know Here was my brother Robert. Darnley. Ay, but now — 1 did not say he was not here but now. SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 211 Queen. Has he not moved you ? DartUey. Why should I be moved ? I am not lightly shaken of men's breath j What think you that he came to move me for ? Queen. In faith, I guess not. Darnley. Nay, though I be weak, I am no reed yet for him to blow and make What music of me shall best please his mouth. Queen. I think you are not, but for all winds blown Of fears and threats fixed and unshakeable. What said he to you that has moved you not ? Darnley. Nothing. Queen. What, you were moved then of his words ? Darnley. I say I was not. Queen. He said nothing then ? You held discourse but of days foul or fair, Skies wet or dry, seasons and accidents, All things and nothing ? Darnley. Would you not know that ? Queen. Even as you list or list not, so would I. Darnley. What if it please me you should know this not ? Queen. Why, you do wisely, seeing I love you not. Darnley. I did not say so ; I may hold my peace, Yet not for doubt that irks me of your love. Queen. Surely you may ; good reasons may stand thick As buds in April in your judgment's sight To cover both your counsels from mine eye p 2 212 BOTHWELL [act That has no lust to invade your secrecies. Damley. And if it please me show it, as now it shall, You will not dread I doubt your love of me. Queen. I have not heart to dread the doubt I know You have not heart to harbour of my love. Darnley. Why, he came here to warn me of my Ufe. Queen. Your life ? Darnley. Ay, mine ; and what now say you to him ? Queen. I say he spake as your good friend and mine. Darnley. Ay ? Queen. What more kindness could be shown of man Than in your ear to warn me of your life If it so stand in peril ? Darnley. What, you think He told it me to have me tell it you? Queen. It was done gently, brother-like, for fear The word of danger being first heard by me Should strike too sharp upon my slighter soul And pierce my woman's sense with such quick pangs As might dethrone my judgment, shake my wits To feminine confusion, and by force Disable my swift thoughts, now maimed with dread, From their defence and office ; he did well And my heart thanks him, showing you first his fear, Who are manlike of your mood and mould of mind And have but for your own life to take thought, Not for one dearer ; as, I know you well, By mine own heart I know, to have heard of mc Endangered would have killed your heart with fear, SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 213 That in your personal peril beats at ease With blood as perfect as I see you now, With pulse thus changeless and with cheek thus calm. Indeed I thank him for it, and twice I thank, That he would serve you and would scare not me. Where said he was this danger? Darniey. Nay, by God, That would he not say ; that I nothing know ; Save by some hint of shoulder or writhed lip That seemed to shoot at you ; and when you sang He bade me hearken, and would speak no more. Queen. At me ! but if such fire be on his tongue, It should be forked and set on fire of hell. At me ! but if he be not mad, to you He shaU approve it, instant face to face. Eye to confronted eye, word against word. He shall maintain or mark himself for har. With his own fire and iron brand the brow That burned not to belie me. Darnley. Sweet, not here — Would I could fight with him ! but being o'erthrown Of my disease already, to what end Should he come back now save to insult on me Who have no hand to strike at him again In championship of you? Queen. He shall come back. And twice shall oversay the word he said In your own ear, or else unswear it. What, Shall I be put to shame of mine own blood, To mine own lord in mine own love maligned. Stricken with. slanderous fangs of speech, and stabbed 214 BOTHWELL [actii. In my heart's core of honour, yet lie still And bleed to deatli dumb and dishonourable? Rather let come the deadliest of my kin, Mine enemies born, and bind and burn me quick. Or ever I die thus ; rather let all The false blood of my father in strange veins Be set on fire against me, and its heat Consume my fame with my frail flesh, and make My scaffold of my kingdom ; rather fall My naked head beneath the mortal axe, And with my blood my name be spilt and shed. Than this charge come upon me. Darnky. You are stirred Beyond all right of reason ; be not moved : You see how I believed him. Queen. And to see Is my soul's comfort ; but this wound that bleeds Here in my heart's heart cannot well be stanched Till by the tongue that smote me, as men say That by the anointing of the sword that hurt The wound it made finds comfort, I be healed. Darnley. Nay, let him come ; I will maintain it to him. Here, to his face, he warned me of my death Or present danger in you. Queen. He shall come. But lie now down and sleep ; I have wearied you. Darnley. I pray you sing me something then ; indeed I am weary and would forget ; but now you sang— Doth that French song break where you broke it off? Queen. No, there is more. Sleep, I will sing it you. \Sings. SCENE XVII.] BOTHWELL 215 ■ Sur la gr^ve Rien ne reve Aux naofrageS de la nuit ; A la trombe, Gouffre et tombe, Au flot qui frappe et qui fuit. Apaisee Et baisee Par les brises sans souci, Brille et vibre Au jour libre La belle mer sans merci. Taut que dure La nuit dure Sur la greve oil rit la mort. Sous I'orage Flotte et nage Le jour qui lutte et qui sort Pas de brume Que n'allume L'astre ou I'eclair des amours ; Fas de flamme Qui dan.s I'ame Brfile ou luise tous les jours. A I'aurore Tout se dore, Tout se fene avant la nuit ; Et que I'heure Chante ou pleure, Dans une heure tout s'enfuit Coeur sans crainte, CEil sans feinte, Quand I'amour met voile au vent, Sur la plage Sans naufrage £st-il revenu souvent ? 2i6 BOTHWELL [actu. L' ombre emporte La nef morte, Et la joie, et le beau jour; Trop profonde fitait I'onde, Et trop faible ^tait Tamour. \The scene doses. Scene XVIII. — Behind Kirk of Field. BoTHWELL, Ormiston, Hepburn of BOLTON, and Hay of Talla. Bothwell. If it be done to-morrow, we shall stand The surer that the queen slept here to-night. Cousin, bring you my knaves from Holyrood At nightfall to that hinder gate wherethrough We three shall give you passage with your charge To the strait garden-plot beyond the walls Whereto the door that opens from beneath Shall stand unbolted, and you entering spread Along the blind floor of the nether vault The train that shall set all these walls on wing. Ormiston. How said you, that his groom here had the keys ? • Bothwell. That under door which lets us down lacks none ; There is no lock to palter with ; it needs But leave the bolt undrawn ; and yesterday By the queen's order was the door removed At bottom of the stair, to be instead A cover for his bath- vat ; so there stands SCENE xviii.J BOTHWELL 217 But the main door now. Hepburn. That was well devised : She sleeps beneath his chamber here to-night? Bothwell. Ay, to the west. Hay. She has the stouter heart I have trod as deep in the red wash o' the wars ' As who walks reddest, yet I could not sleep, I doubt, with next night's dead man overhead. Bothwell. We are past the season of divided wills ; Where but one thought is, nothing to be done Has power to hurt the heart that holds it fast Or leave the purpose weaker by a wound Given it of doubt or afterthought : we have One thing to do, one eye to see it^ one hand To pluck it from the occasion ; what he wills None but a fool would mix his will to achieve With pain and fear ; the mind once shaped and set That works and yet looks back and weeps to do Is but half man's ; and all a man's hath she. Hepburn. Yet woman -moulded outward, clothed upon As 'twere with feminine raiment, touched with thoughts Of female-coloured fashion, woman's craft : She sees and thinks on what could touch not us Nor graze in passing even our skirts of sense : Takes order for the hangings of his bed Whom we must kill to her hand, lest water soil The sable velvet from his bath, and bids Pluck down and save them ; such slight things and strange 2i8 BOTH WELL [act h. As take the thought and hold the eye of girls Her soul, as full of great things as it is, As large and fiery, bright and passionate, Takes no less thought for, and hath heed of these No less than of high deed and deep desire Beyond where sight can scale or thought can dive Of narrower eye and shallower spirit than hers. Bothwdl. Most royal is she, but of soul not all Uncurbable, nor of all shafts that fly Scatheless, nor of all shots invulnerable ; She had no part else and no power in us. No part in all that mingling makes up man, No power upon our earth who are earthlier made ; She has the more might on men's ways of soul Not being almighty, nor from all man's moods Divided, but as passion-touched and mixed With all such moods as men are ; nay, not these, But such as bear the rule of these and lead Which way they will — women's j and being so mixed She is even the more entire, more whole and strong, Herself and no self other. She nor I Live now on thoughts and words ; the deed it is, Our deed alone we live by, till being done It leave us time for life that deals with these. I will be with you ere night fall again Within the town-wall ; thither get you now. And doubt not of us. Ormiston. Doubt not you to find All ready by the night and need : farewell. \Exeunt all but Bothwell. SCENE XVIII.] BOTHWELL 219 Bothwell. The time is breathless ; earth sees heaven as chill In the after air declining from high day. I would the winds would muster, or the sun Show half an eye-blink of his face that hangs Now downward to the sea, curbed in with cloud. And with a brief breath fire the rack that flies. Why should not flame break over Arthur's Seat This hour, and all the heaven with burning tongues Cry from the world's height to the under line That ends it for us gazing ? If the sky Had speech as it hath fire, or night or day Voice to declare God's pleasure or his wrath With their dumb lips of light, from moon or sun Or the mute mouths of stars, would earth that heard Take thought and counsel of the cause, to stir Men's hearts up for our deed's sake here ? J am wrought Out of myself even by this pause and peace In heaven and earth, that will not know of us Nor what we compass ; in this face of things, Here in this eye of everduring life That changes not in changing, fear and hope, The life we live, the life we take, alike Decline and dwindle from the shape they held, Their import and significance ; all seem Less good and evil, worth less hate and love. Than we would have them for our high heart's sake. How shall this day when all these days are done Seem to me standing where it sets my feet ? Nay, whence shall I behold it ? or who knows 220 BOTH WELL [act ii. What crest or chasm, what pit or pinnacle, Shall feel my foot or gulf my body down, Bear up or break me falling ? Fall or stand, At least I live not as the beasts that serve. But with a king's life or man's death at last Make all my travails perfect ; and a queen, The fairest face I have loved and fieriest heart. Shines with my star or sets. Enter Paris. What sends she now ? Paris. I came to know if you stand fixed indeed, Sir, for to-morrow. Bothwdl. For to-morrow, man ; What ails him at to-morrow ? Faris. My dread lord, Nought ails me but as part of your design ; But I beseech you by your trust of me, What says this while my lord of Murray ? Both-well. He ! He will nor help nor hinder — but all's one. Paris. He is wise. Boihwell. But is it to tell me he is wise That you bestow your own wise tongue on me ? Came you to advise me or to show my trust How cracked a casket I have closed it in Who trusted in so white a heart as yours ? Paris. I have a message Bothwell. • Well, the message, then ; And as you are wise, make me not wroth to-day. SCENE XVIII.] BOTHWELL azi Who am but foolish. Paris. Sir, the queen by me Wills you to know that from her husband's mouth She is assured there came here yesterday To him her brother, Abbot of St. Cross, To warn him of some danger. Bothwell. From his mouth ! Had ever mouth such hunger to eat dust ? Well, it shall soon be filled and shut ; what else ? Paris. She has taxed hereof her brother Bothwell. What, by word ? Paris. No, but by note she let him wist she knew it Now he denies again his word aloud Bothwell. Hedoes thewiselier j there your tongue struck right ; She has wise men to brethren, Paris. And desires To prove it on the accuser's body, being Once whole again to meet him. Bothwell. A fair proof: Doth either sword seek mine for second? Paris. Nay ; But the queen bade me tell you he should go To her lord's chamber for his challenge' sake ' And do that thing ye wot of. Bothwell. Tell the queen I will speak to him. We must not mar our hand ; Say I will see him before the morrow morn. Howbeit, it shall be well but for a night To put our present purpose back, and see 322 BOTHWELL [act ii. ,If chance or craft will mend our hand again. 'Who.strikes most sure strikes deepest ; say I go To try this brother's edge ; if he be sure, He shall well serve us as a glove to wear T^jid strike, and have the whiter hands to show. \Exeunt snierally. Scene XIX. — Darnley's Chamber. Darnley and Nelson. Darnley. I never had such evil dreams as now. Save for the terror of them and after pain, I durst well swear I had not slept to-night. Nelson. You have slept seven hours. Darnley. I have been seven years in hell ; Mine eyes are full yet of the flames, my flesh Feels creep the fire upon it ; even my heart Is as a sere leaf shrunken. Nelson. Being awake, Let not it move you. Darnley. Nay, it shall not move. Yet were they dreams to shake with waking fear A sounder state than mine is. Nelson. Sir, what dreams ? Darnley. No matter what : I'll tell thee yet some part. That thou ma/st know I shrink not for no cause. I dreamed this bed here was a boat adrift Wherein one sat with me who played and sang, Yet of his cittern I could hear no note SCENE XIX.] BOTHWELL 223 Nor in what speech he sang inaudibly, But watched his working fingers and quick lips As with a passionate and loathing fear, And could not speak nor smite him ; and methought That this was David; and he knew my heart, How fain I would have smitten him, and laughed As 'twere to mock my helpless hands and hate. So drove we toward a rock whereon one sat Singing, that all the highest air of heaven Was kindled into Ught therewith, and shone As with a double dawn ; stars-east and west Lightened with love to hear her, and the sky Brake in red bloom as leaf-buds break in spring, But these bore fires for blossoms : then awhile My heart too kindled and sprang up and sang And made sweet music in me, to keep time With that swift singing ; then as fire drops down Dropped, and was quenched, and in joy's stead I felt Fear ache in me like hunger ; and I saw These were not stars nor overhead was heaven. But a blind vault more thick and gross than earth, The nether firmament that roofs in hell, And those hot lights were of lost souls, and this The sea of tears and fire below the world That still must wash and cleanse not of one curse The far foul strands with all its wandering brine : And as we drove I felt the shallop's sides, Sapped by the burning water, plank fi-om plank Severing ; and fain I would have cried on God, But that the rank air took me by the throat ; 224 BOTHWELL [act ii. And ever she that sat on the sea-rock Sang, and about her all the reefs were white With bones of men whose souls were turned to fire ; And if she were or were not what I thought Meseemed we drew not near enough to know ; For ere we came to split upon that reef The sundering planks opened, and through their breach Swarmed in the dense surf of the dolorous sea With hands that plucked and tongues thrust out at us, And fastened on me flamelike, that my flesh Was molten as with earthly fire, and dropped From naked bone and sinew ; but mine eyes The hot surf seared not, nor put out my sense; For I beheld and heard out of the surge Voices that shrieked and heads that rose, and knew Whose all they were, and whence their wrath at me ; For all these cried upon me that mine ears Rang, and my brain was like as beaten brass, Vibrating ; and the froth of that foul tide Was as their spittle shot in my full face That burnt it ; and with breast and flanks distent I strained myself to curse them back, and lacked Breath ; the sore surge throttled my tongueless speech, Though its weight buoyed my dipping chin, that sank No lower than where my lips were burnt with brine And my throat clenched fast of the strangling sea, Till I swam short with sick strokes, as one might Whose hands were maimed; then mine ill spirit of sleep Shifted, and showed me as a garden walled, Wherein I stood naked, a shipwrecked marf. SCENE XIX.] BOTHWELL 225 Stunned yet and staggered from the sea, and soiled With all the weed and scurf of the gross wave Whose breach had cast me broken on that shore : And one came like a god in woman's flesh And took mine eyes with hers, and gave me fruit As red as fire, but full of worms within That crawled and gendered ; and she gave me wine, But in the cup a toad was ; and she said, Eat, and I ate, and Drink, and I did drink, And sickened ; then came one with spur on heel Red from his horse o'erridden, smeared with dust, And took my hand to lead me as to rest. Being bruised yet from the sea-breach ; and his hand Was as of molten iron wherein mine Was as a brand in fire ; and at his feet The earth split, and I saw within the gulf As in clear water mine own writhen face. Eaten of worms and living; then I woke. Nelson. It was a foul and formless dream, my lord. With no soul in it Damley. Nay, I think it had not. And I did mind me waking how the queen Sang me a song of shipwreck, and strange seas. And love adrift by night, and fires burnt out That shine but for a song's length ; I did think It was this singing made up half my dream. For there was talk of storms in it, and stars, And broken ships, and death that rode in the air : So was there in my dream. What step comes here ? 226 EOTHWELL [act ii. Enter Robert Stuart. Robert Stuart. I come to change less than a word with you, And take my leave for all your rest of life. Darnley. I will not speak alone with you again : Stay by me there. Robert Stuart. Have you not armour on ? You should not sleep with sword ungirt on thigh, Lest one should fall upon you. For this time I come indeed to see if you be man Or ever knew beyond the naked name What grace and office should belong to man Or purpose to his sword. Reply not yet; I know you are sick, weak, pitiful, half dead. And with the ingrained infection of your soul Its bodily house grown rotten; all you will; You cannot swear yourself that piteous thing That I will not believe you wretcheder; No flesh could harbour such a worm alive As this thing in you taken for a soul. And 'scape corruption ; but if you shall live To stand again afoot and strike one stroke For your own hand and head, you shall fight with me Or wear the lie writ red upon your face With my hand's buffet, that you spake who said I had given you note of danger from the queen. Darnley. Is it a. plot, her plot upon me? Sir, By God, I never said so ; what I said I have heart and sword to uphold against all swords. SCENE XIX.] BOTHWELL 227 And kill you if I might as many times As you shall iterate on me this for true Which is most false. When I may stand and go Robert Sticart. Yea, then shall we see fighting. But as now You can but swear you said not this of me ? Darnley. I am not bound to swear it or unswear At any bidding ; but so much I will — That you may see no hot foul words of yours Have quenched in me the old thought of fellowship — As swear again I said but what I might With honour and clear heart : I spake no word To bring you in suspicion, or to turn Thwart eyes upon you of men's jealousies Or cast you out of favour with the queen ; I said biit you did warn me of my life. As being my fast friend still, I thanked you for it — I know not what she says I said — but this I know, I spake no treason of you. See, This is a foolish wind of wrath that shakes And wrecks your faith in me, mine own in you . Being firm and flawless ; what you have said, you have said; And what I have spoken of you was no more Than I had right to speak and rest your friend. Robert Sticart. Will you fight with me to maintain so much? Darnley. If I might rise I would put off my state To stand against you equal ; you did say it, That I was even as one the law damns dead Q2 228 BOTHWELL [act ir. And she was parcel of my peril. Robert Stuart. Ay ! You said so to her? Darnley. She will not say I did. Robert Stuart. Plight not your faith to that ; I am assured You said so, and so lied ; and this last time I bind you yet to meet me on this cause Or bear the lie about you as a badge. Darfiley. By God, I will grow strong to fight with you. Robert Stuart. If I shall see your living face again, It shall be as mine enemy's; foot to foot And hand to mortal hand we twain will meet, Or ere the day dawn I shall see you dead. Darnley. I am like to die, then? and your warlike words Haye so much iron in them, and your heart Such daring to provoke one wellnigh dead? I wist your tongue would move more tenderly If I had now my strength of natural hand And body to bear arms : but these shall come. And you change face and lower your look to see. Robert Stuart. I will abide my peril ; do you the like, You shall do wisely ; should I say farewell, It were to bid you fare not as they do Who are of your kind or of your fortune ; yet I bid you, sir, fare bett^ than I think. [Exit. Darnley. Ay, you think venomously. What hour to-day SCENE XX.] BOTHWELL 229 Should the queen come? Nelson. To-night your highness knows Her man Sebastian weds a maid of hers, And she makes feast for them in Holyrood With masque and music ; having early supped, She will be here some while with certain lords To visit you, and so pass back ere night. Darnley. She shall not make so much, when I am revived. Of outland folk and fiddlers, who should have Too much of them by this. I would she had come To see me turn the lie back on his lips. I did not answer as I might, being whole, But yet not like a sick man, ha? like one Whose wit and heart lie sick too with his flesh ? Nelson. Nay, with your natural spirit of speech you spoke. With the same heart and tongue you have in health. Darnley. I think I did; I would she had come betimes. Scene XX. — The Garden behind Kirk of Field. BOTHWELL, OrMISTON, HaV. Bothwell. Did I not bid them spare no speed ? the devil I think has maimed their feet in my despite, To keep a knave so piteous out of hell. By God, it will be moonrise ere they come. Ormiston. Tush, man ! the night is close. 230 BOTH WELL [act ii. Bothwell. Ay, close and safe As is the lock of a girl's maidenhood When the gold key turns in it. They halt like jades; God plague their laggard limbs with goads of fire ! Must they fall spavined now ? Hay. Here come they three, And with charged hands ; be not so outward hot. But as their charge is ere we give it fire. Bothwell. Teach your own tongue to take your tune, not mine. Enter Hepburn with Servants. Have you some devil's cramp in your bones, to crawl At this worm's race ? Set down your load and go. \Exeunt Servants. What lamed these knaves' feet or belated you. To hold us here thus till the moon were up ? Hepburn. 'Tis not yet risen \ and your own word it was Withheld us till the west should cast off red. Bothwell. Well, we have time. Ye three are hands enough To bear this down and strew it within the vault While I go help the queen here bide her hour Till you send Paris to me for a sign. Take heed there be no noise. Let but two stay To fire the train ; you, cousin, for my love Shall be one hand thereto. Pass in, and see Ye go down sure and softly. From this gate Ye know the passage under; go, and speed. \jExeunt. SCENE XXI.] BOTH WELL 231 Scene XXI. — Darnley's Chamber. The Queen, Darnley, .fiar/r ^Cassilis, Huntley, a7td Argyle. Queen. But I must chide you for one thing, my lord. That you would hold your servant Duram here Though it be for love you bear him ; he is sick. And should not sleep nor watch with you to-night , You do not well to keep him from the town Against his health, who should take physic there And come back whole to serve you. Darnley. Let him go. I did but bid him leave me not alone ; I will have one for service at my hand. Queen. Have you no more but just this young man gone Whom I bade go even where was best for him ? Let your page he at hand here. Darnley. Nay, I will. You sent off Alexander ? Queen. He was sick ; We should show care of them we take to grace More friendlike than by cherishing ourselves With their forced company ; the grace is more To take thought for them whom we hold in trust Than still to exact their service, tax their faith, Whose faith and service we that lean thereon Should put to no more toil and pain than needs, Requiting love with labour. 232 BOTHWELL [act ii. Darnley. You say well ; But what should ail him ? save that yesterday- He found his bed-straw here by chance afire And flung it out at window ; on which plea He would not lie to-night here, till I bade him Sleep with me as afojretime, being of all The man bound closest to my love and trust ; Then first he spake of sickness, as you heard Who sat between us. Nay, but let him go ; The boy shall serve to sleep here. Queen. Sickness makes All wills to serve it like necessity ; Witness my will to keep my brother here Whom his wife's sickness at St. Andrew's now Parts from our feasts and counsels, caught up hence As if a wind had rapt him. Darnley. She is sick too — The Lady Murray ? Qtteen. Nigh to death, he says ; I know not : who knows how near death he walks Who treads as now most upright in the sun ? Argyle. Why have we death and sickness in ov mouths Who come forth of a feast not ended yet That in good time recalls us ? Queen. Presently. I would you were in health to dance me down To-night but for the bride's sake ; for the groom, He may live easier that you grace him not Nor gall with favour or with jealousy. SCENE XXI. J BOTH WELL 233' Damley. We twain shall see this night out oth erwise. Queen. I am sure you shall see more of rest than I. Damley. Except I watch for sickness' sake all night. Queen. That shall you not ; I charge you on my love Sleep sound for my sake. Enter BothwEll. Are not you the bell That strikes the hour to sunder us, my lord ? Bothwdl. Madam, I strike not yet. Queen. The better ; sit. And make no sound of parting till your hour, No timeless note of severance. My fair lord. Have you no fair word for your noble guests ? Damley. I pray you, sirs, of your own gentleness, Lay it not to my discourtesy for shame That I can but thus sickly entertain The grace ye do me ; that I meet it so, Impute not to ray will that is myself But to my weakness that is none of me Save as our enemy may be part of us, And so forgive it. Huntley. Sir, we are fain to see 'Even in your gracious words that speak you ill Some spirit of health already. Cassilis. I would pledge My name and word you shall not long lie sick Who bear yourself thus lordhke, [Noise beloiv. Queen. Ah ! my heart — It wrings me here in passing ; pardon me. 234 BOTHWELL [act ii. Bothwell. God's lightning biim them ! will they mar me now ? \Aside, and exit. Darnky. Heard you no noise ? Argyle. Where ? Queen. Some one stirred below ; A chair thrown down or such-like. Darnky. Nay, I caught A rush and rattle as Cassilis. Of pebble-stones ? Darnky. Where is my lord gone forth ? Qu^n. Why are you moved ? Darnky. I am not moved ; I am no fearful fool To shake and whiten as a winter tree With no more wind than this is. Queen. Do you think It is your counsellor come back in wrath To warn again and threaten ? Darnky. Nay, for him I think he hath learnt a lesson of my rede To vex his soul and trouble me no more. Re-enter Bothwell. Queen, What deadly news now of what danger, sir ? Bothwell. Some fellow bearing faggots for the fire Slipt at the threshold : I have admonished him What din his knaveship made even in our ears As if he had the devil there in his hands. Queen (aside). It was of them ? Bothwell {aside). Ay, hell take hold on them. It was their din, God thank them for it with fire, SCENE xxi.J BOTHWELL 235 Our careful helpers ; but I have made them safe : The train is wellnigh laid now : what remains To strew I have charged them shed without more sound Than where the snow strikes. Damley. Must you part indeei 1 ? Queen. They look for us ere long. Damley. Now know I not What I would give to hold you here a night, Even half my life I think, and know not why. Queen. That were too much. I slept here yesterday; Were you the better for me ? Damley. Ay, and no ; I deemed I was the better till I slept. And then Queen. Why, did my being here break your sleep ? It shall not break to-night then. Enter Paris, and stands at the door. Bothwell {aside to Argyle). Time is come ; Touch him, and give the sign. Darnley. The air turns sharp ; Theire came a wind as chill as from the pit. Why do you fix your eyes so fast on me ? Queen. Not out of mind to mar your sleep again. Damley. I will not sleep alone. Queen. Ay, will you not ? The town looks like a smoke whose flame isouty Deformed of night, defaced and featureless. Dull as the dead fume of a fallen fire. There starts out of the cloud a climbing star, 236 BOTHWELL [act ii. And there is caught and slain. Darnley. Why gaze you so ? Queen. I looked to see if there should rise again Out of its timeless grave the mounting light That so was overtaken. We must part ; Keep with this kiss this ring again for me Till I shall ask it of you ; and good night. Darnley. A good night it may be to folk that feast ; I see not how it shall be good to me. Queen. It may be better. I must be some hour Again among the masquers : you that sleep Shall hear no noise and see no company. Enter Nelson. For this one night here comes your chamberlain : Good rest with you. 'Twas just this time last year David was slain. Darnley. Why tell you me of that ? Queen. This very time as now. Good night, my lord. [Exeunt all but Darnley and Nelson. Darnley. What folk remain by me ? Nelson. Sir, four of us : Myself and Se5Tnour, Taylor and his boy. Darnley. Let Taylor sleep here in my room to-night, You three ia the south gallery. Nelson. Well, my lord. Darnley. I am left here very lonely. She was kind, Most kind she was ; but what should make her speak Of David's slaying ? Nelson, A word that shot by chance ; SCENE XXI.] BOTHWELL 237 A shaft of thought that grazed her and flew by. Damley. Why should she tell me of it ? My heart runs low ; As if my blood b'feat out of tune with life, I feel the veins shuddering shrink in, and all My body seems a burden to my soul. Come, I will think not that way. Re-enter Paris. Paris. Sir, the queen,. Having forgot for haste in parting hence Her outer cloak of fur, hath sent me for it. Lest this night's weather strike-her blood acold. Damley. Take it and go. (Exit Paris.) I do not like their eyes. These foreign folk's that serve her. Is it cold ? I feel cold here. Nelson. A fair sharp night, my lord ; And the air less cumbered than it was with cloud. Darnley. I find no night of all nights fair to me ; I am sick here at my heart all the dark hours. Give me the book there. Ay, my book of psalms ? What day is this? Nelson. The ninth of February. ■ Damley. How says it of God's foes, they were afraid Where no fear was ? That am not I : my fear Dies without food. I am not as were these. I prithee tell me, of thine honest heart, Think'st thou I have no cause to feed my fear, Or keep the bitter life in it alive ? 238 BOTHWELL [act ii. Nelson. I knownot,sir ; but whatyougiveitof food Is so much taken fTotn your health of heart That goes to starve your spirit of h'kely life. Darnley. Why then I will not feed it with false thoughts. Call here my chamber-fellow. If the heart Enter Taylor. Be but the servant of chance cold and heat, And the brain bear not rule upon the blood, We are beasts who call us men. Thomas, good night. \Exit Nelson. What, shall we watch awhile ? Taylor. So please your grace. Darnley. I have more mind to sleep than power to sleep j Some unrest in me fights against my rest. Come hither, Will. Of all thy fellows here I think thou lov'st me; fain am I to think; I would not live unloved of all men bom ; I hope I shall not. Dost thou feel to-night Thy living blood and spirit at ease in thee ? Taylor. Surely, my lord. Darnley. I would thy lord did too. This is a bitter writing where he saith How in his prayer he mourns, and hath his heart Disquieted within him ; and again, The fear of death is fallen upon him, see. And fearfulness and trembling, as is writ, Are come upon him, and an horrible dread SCENE XXI.] BOTHWELL 239 Hath him o'erwhelmed : O that I had, saith i)e, Wings like a dove ! then would I flee away. And be at rest ; would get me then far ofif And bide within the wilderness, it saith, I would make haste to escape. Lo, here am I, That bide as in a wilderness indeed And have not wings to bear me forth of fear. Nor is it an open enemy, he saith, Hath done me this dishonour : (what hath put This deadly scriptiure in mine eye to-night ?) For then I could have borne it ; but it was Even thou, mine own familiar friend, with whom I took sweet counsel ; in the house of God We walked as friends. Ay, in God's house it was That we joined hands, even she, my wife and I, Who took but now sweet counsel mouth to mouth And kissed as friends together. Wouldst thou think, She set this ring at parting on my hand And to my lips her lips ? and then she spake Words of that last year's slaughter. O God, God, I know not if it be not of thy will My heart begins to pass into her heart. Mine eye to read within her eye, and find Therein a deadlier scripture. Must it be That I so late should waken, and so young Die ? for I wake as out of sleep to death. Is there no hand or heart on earth to help ? Mother ! my mother ! hast thou heart nor hand To save thy son, to take me hence away. Far off, and hide me ? But I was thy son. 240 BOTHWELL [act u. That lay between thy breasts and drank of thee, And I thy son it is they seek to slay. My God, my God, how shall they murder me ? Taylor. I pray you, comfort your own heart, my lord ; Your passion drives your manhood out of you. Dartiley, I know it doth ; I am hare-hearted, for The hunters are upon me. There — and there — I hear them questing. I shall die, man — die. And never see the sun more ; ay, this hour Will they come in and slay me. O great God, Sweet Jesus, will you have me die this death. Such death as never man before has died ? See how they will not let me pray to you To take my soul out of their fangs and hell — Will you not make the sun rise for my sake That I may see you in the dawn and live And know the grace that God hath ere I die ? Taylor. Sir, for God's love Damley. I say I hear their feet — Thou hast no ears — God hath no ears for me Nor eyes to look upon me — hands he hath, Their bloody hands to smite with, and her heart Is his toward me to slay me. Let them come ; How do men die ? but I so trapped alive — O, I shall die a dog's death and no man's. Mary, by Christ whose mother's was your name. Slay me not ! God, turn off from me that heart — Out of her hands, God, God, deliver me ! END OF THE SECOND ACT. ACT III. JANE G O R D b N. Time: from I-'eisrua-uy io to June u, 1567. ACT III. Scene I. — Bothwfxl's Apartment in Holyrood. BOTHWELL, OrMISTON, HePBURN OF BoLTON, and other Gentlemen. Bothwell. Is my knave sent for to me from the queen? Hepburn. Ay, my good lord. Both-well. I had happier thoughts of him Who served us but unhappily last night : This Paris had been faithful, and his tongue That might have struck a sting into my fame Had done me loyal service, and let fly No word to bring me in disgrace of men When I stood friendless ; for which cause ye know I gave him place with the queen's chamberlains And promise of more furtherance ; but this thing Has turned his six years' service into dust And made his faith as running water slip Between my hands that held it for a staif ; For since I first brake with him of the deed He hath been for fear besotted like a beast. Ormiston. 'Faith, he was heavy enough of cheer last night. 244 BOTHWELL [act m. When you came forth, and the queen parted thence And hither to the bridal. Bothwdl. By this hand, I came upon him glooming and withdrawn Up in a nook with face as of one hanged. And asked what ailed him to put on that gloom Or make such countenance there before the queen ? And I would handle him in such sort, I said, As he was never in his life ; by God, I had the mind to do it ; and he, My lord, I care not what thing now ye do to me, And craved he might get thence to bed, as sick. But that I would not : then as ye twain saw When came the wind and thunder of the blast That blew the fool forth who took wing for death, Down my knave drops me flatlong, with his hair Aghast as hedgehogs' prickles, and Alas, My lord, what thing is this i and He had seen Great enterprises, marry, and many of them, But never one tJiat scared him so as this; And such a thing would never have good end, And I should see it; by God I had a will To have set my dagger here into him, but yet I drew it not forth. Ormiston. I doubt you did not well ; 'Tis of such stufif that time makes talebearers. Bothwell. I would not strike him for old service' sake. Were he more dangerous to me ; but, God help, What hurt here can he do us ? I tell you, sirs, SCENE I.] BOTHWELL 245 I think my star that was not swift to rise But hung this long time strangled in dead cloud Is even by this a fire in heaven, and hath The heat and light in it of this dead man's That it hath drunk up as a dew-drop drawn Into the red mid heat of its own heart ; And ye that walk by light of it shall stand With morning on the footless mountain-tops Crowned. Hepburn. There are crags yet slippery to be clomb, And scaurs to rend their knees and feet who rise. Bothwell. I have my hand here on the throat of time, And hold mine hour of fortune by the hair. Had I let slip this season I had fallen Naked and sheer to break myself on death, A cragsman crushed at the cliff's foot ; but now Chance cannot trip me, if I look not down And let mine eye swim back among slain fears To reckon up dead dangers ; but I look High up as is the light, higher than your eyes, Beyond all eagles' aeries, to the sun. Ormisfon. You will be king ? Bothwell. Was I not crowned last night ? The hand that gave those dead stones wings to fly Gave wings too to my fortune, and the fire That sprang then in our faces, on my head Was as the gold forefigured on a king's. 246 BOTHWELL [act hi. Enter Paris. What says the qneen ? why shak'st thou like a cur ? Speak, beast, or beastlike shalt thou fare with me j Hast thou not seen her? Paris. Ay, my lord. Bothwell, Ay, dog ? What said she to those gaping eyes of thine ? Paris. My lord, I found her in her mourning bed New-hung with black ; her looks were fresh and staid; Her fast being broken only with an egg. Ere she addressed herself again to sleep She spake but three words with me of yourself. How might you fare, and when she rose by noon You should come to her ; no more. Bothwell. So let her sleep ; There are that watch for her. For thine own part, I charge thee tell me one thing : in thy life Didst thou pledge ever promise or plight faith To that dead mask of kingship ? Paris. Nay, my lord. Bothwell. Seest thou not now these gentlemen my friends ? Not one of them but for troth's sake to me And loving service hath cast all things off To do as I shall and to fare as I ; And if thou think'st, whom no faith bound nor love To serve that fool or come 'twixt hell and him To buckler him from burning— if thou think'st, That art my servant, thou hast sinned toward God In our offence, this lies not to thy charge • SCENE 1.] BOTHWELL 247 But mine who caused thee do it, and all the lords' Who with me took this work in all their hands. And if now thou have will to go thy way, Thou shalt depart right soon with recompense ; But for all pains that can be put to thee Thou must not take this on thy tongue again. Paris. My lord, I will not. Bothwell. Sirs, with me it rests To take some order for the burial soon When the queen's eye hath dwelt upon him dead, As shall be, lest men say for shame or fear She would not see him ; then with all privy speed He shall by lught be given here to the worms. His raiment and his horses will I take By the queen's gift ; for being now highest in place I will present me kinglike to the time And come before men royal, who shall know I stand here where he stood in all their sight ; So seeing at once if I be lord or no He that shall hate me risen shall need take heart To strike betimes, or strike not. At this hour ' Bold heart, swift hand, are wiser than wise brain. ^ must be seen of all men's fear or hate, And as I am seen must see them and smite down Or lie for ever naked underfoot Down in the dark for them to triumph on. That will I not ; but who shall overthrow Must kill me kingly, sworded hand to hand, Not snared with gin or limetwig as a fool. Nor hurled by night up howling into heaven, But in the- sun's eye weaponed. Some of you 248 BOTRWELL [act in. Go forth and find what noise is in the streets, What rumours and how tempered on men's tongues : When I pass out among them I will take Some fifty with me to my guard, and ride As might their king ride. Be it proclaimed abroad In mine own name and Maitland's and Argyle's Two thousand pounds shall pay that good man's pains Who shall produce the murderers of our king for just and sudden judgment. In few days, If Mar be not mine unfriend and his own, Who holds the keys of Stirling, we shall pass With some of counsel thither, and there bide Till the first reek of rumour have blown by. Then call in spring our parliament again. Hepburn. Your heart of hope is great ; with God to friend, A man could speed no better than your hope. Bothwdl. I tell thee, God is in that man's right hand Whose heart knows when to strike and when to stay. I sWear I would not ask more hope of heaven Than of mine own heart which puts fire to me And of mine own eye which discerns my day. And seeing the hope wherein I go now forth Is of their giving, if I live or die. With God to friend or unfriend, quick or dead I shall not wake nor sleep with them that fear Whose lives are as leaves wavering in a wind. But as a man foiled or a man enthroned That was not fooled of fortune nor of fear. \ Exeunt, SCENE II.] BOTHWELL 249 Scene II. — Another Room in the same. T?ie body of Darnley lyh^ on a bio: Two men in attendance. First Attendant. There is no wound. Second Attendant. Nor hath the fire caught here ; This gown about him is not singed ; his face Is clenched together, but on hair nor cheek Has flame laid even a finger ; each limb whole And nothing of him shattered but the life. How comes he dead ? First Attendant. Tush, tush ! he died by chance. Take thou no pain to know it. For mine own mind, I think it was his sickness which being full Broke as a plague-spot breaks and shattered him And with his fleshly house the house of stone Whi:h held him dying ; his malady it was That burst the walls in sunder and sent up A ruin of flaming roofs and floors afire. Second Attendant. Was not his chamber-fellow's corpse as his ? First Attendant. Ay, woundless as they say and unconsumed ; I know not surely. But the blast that made The good town ring and rock here through her streets Shook not all sleepers in the house to death ; Three souls have crept forth of the wreck alive That slept without his chamber. Second Attendant. What say these ? 25° BOTHWELL [act in. First Attendant. What should they say, with thanks for their own hap, But that this chance is dire and this man dead ? There is no more yet for sage lips to say, That would not timeless be stopped up with earth. Enter the Queen and Bothwell. Queen. Leave us, and after take your charge again. First Attendant. We must forbear her till her moan be made. {Aside.) [Exeunt Attendants. Queen. Let me look on him. It is marred not much ; This was a fair face of a boy's alive. Bothwell. It had been better had he died ere man. Queen. That hardly was he yesterday ; a man ! What heart, what brain of manhood had God sown In this poor fair fool's flesh to bear him fruit ? What seed of spirit or counsel ? what good hope That might have put forth flower in any sun ? We have plucked none up who cut him off at root. But a tare only or a thorn. His cheek Is not much changed, though since I wedded him His eyes had shrunken and his lips grown wan With sickness and ill living. Yesterday, Man or no man, this was a living soul ; What is this now ? This tongue that mourned to me, These lips that mine were mixed with, these blind eyes That fastened on me following, these void hands That never plighted faith with man and kept^ Poor hands that paddled in the sloughs of shame. SCENE li.] BOTHWELL 251 Poor lips athirst for women's lips and wine, Poor tongue that lied, poor eyes that looked askant And had no heart to face men's wrath or love As who could answer either, — what work now Doth that poor spirit which moved them ? To what use Of evil or good should hell put this or heaven, Or with what fire of purgatory annealed Shall it be clean and strong, yet keep in it One grain for witness of what seed it was, One thread, one shred enwoven with it alive, To show what stuff time spun it of, and rent ? I have more pity such things should be bom Than of his death ; yea, more than I had hate, Living; of him. Bothwdl. Since hate nor pity now Or helps or hurts him, were we not as wise To take but counsel for the day's work here And put thought of him with him underground ? Queen. I do but cast once more away on him The last thought he will ever have of mine. You should now love me well. Both-well. Ay should I, sweet. Queen. I think you shall ; it were more hard than death You should not love me. Bothwell. Nay, not possible. Queen. I think God never set in flesh of man Such heart as yours would be to love me not. Bothwell. Will you give order for his funeral ? 252 BOTHWELL [act iir. Queen. Ay. But if you loved not — I would know that now That I might die even this day, and my hands Shed no more blood nor strive more for your sake ; For if I live whose life is of your love I shall take on them more of toil and blood, To stain and tire them labouring all their life. I would not die bloodguiltier than is need, With redder hands than these and wearier heart, And have no love to cleanse and comfort them. For this man, I forgive him. Bothwdl. For which fault ? Queen. That he touched ever and defiled my life With hfe of his and death. I am fain to know You do not love me for his sake the less Who so have soiled me with him. Bothwell. Shall I not Swear it with him for sponsor to mine oath ? Queen. Kiss me before his face here for a sign. Bothwell. You have strange doubts and dreams. Queeti. I will not have. When part we hence, and whither ? Bothwell. I have word Your careful warden, the grave lord of Mar, Will hardly give my followers at your prayer Place to come in to Stirling at 'Our back. Here now the streets begin to sound and swarm So that my guard is now for more than pride ; Wherefore I hold it well we take with us Some friends of our own counsel, as Argyle, SCENE iii.J BOTHWELL 253 Huntley, my brother-in-law that shall be none, With Maitland and the archbishop, and set forth To the lord Seyton's, who shall give us house Till this loud world fall stiller than it is. Queen. Be it where you will, and how j do you but lead. Would I not follow naked through the world ? For him of whose dead face mine eyes take leave -A.S my free soul of shameful thought on him, Let him have private burial some fit night By David whom he slew. I mind me now 'Tis not a year since I fled forth with him Even through the graves where he shall Ue alone. And passing through their dusty deadly ways For some few minutes of the rusding night I felt his hand quake j he will quake not now To sleep there all night long. See you to that. \Exeunt. Scene III. — Seyton Castle. Lord Herries atid Sir James Melville. Hemes. So stands it, sir ; she hath put into his hands Besides the lordship of the port of Leith The castle's government of Edinburgh, Of Inchkeith and Blackness, three master keys That- keep the doors o' the kingdom ; in Dunbar He sits now lord, and gathers men to hold By her next gift Dumbarton : while she sends A pnvy message for a priest to plead 2 54 BOTHWELL [act hi. With the French king, that by his mother's mouth And his own hand hath warned her, if her lord Sleep unrevenged, she being so shamed henceforth Must hold them for her enemies, and put off All thought to flee for fear into their guard From peril of mer subjects — even to him She sends for payment of her dower foregone Wherewith to levy hireling bands in France With but her babe for captain called, and be Fenced round at least with all of these she may. Of whose despatch none here must know before. Nor, if these fail her, of her frustrate aim ; Then, ere her mourning month be here played out With hound and horn and soldierlike delights To recreate her natural heart and life, . She must repass to Holyrood and meet The ambassador from England, Killegrew, Who comes to find folk sorrowing and in fear With counsel for our peril and our grief, And falls upon us feasting ; and to him She plights her faith that by this parUament Shall Bothwell have his trial, and the cause Be sifted clear in the eyes of all good men ; Wherewith content he parts, or discontent, I know not, but is gone ; and she come back Takes heed no more than of a harp unstrung What plaint or plea) what charge or menace comes From her lord's father, but to his demand For convocation of the nobles made Returns her word their house shall meet in spring, SCENE HI.] BOTHWELL 255 And puts his charge by lightly as she may. Of all this nothing in my mind goes well. Melville. Nor aught in mine. Your fellows of her faith Who stand as yet in England on her side Will fall off from her, hearing what I doubt All ears will hear too soon : I have shown it her By letter sent me from a faithful Scot That long hath wrought among them on her part And freely thence wrote all his fear for me To lay before her, and his grief to hear Such bruit of her intent as could but slay The opinion of her judgment, who must lose By such design God's favour and her fame. And in each kingdom that should kiss her hand Each man's heart bom her heritage, and miss The noble mark she shot at ; I, adjiured Of him that wrote to bring this in her eye, Gave her to read it, which she gave again. Silent ; then came the secretary to me A short while thence, and took me by the hand, Desiring me as by the queen's desire To let him see it, who had given him late to know I had shown her a strange letter, and devised By mine own counsel for Lord Bothwell's wreck ; And having read. What thing was in my mind, He said, to do this, which being known to the earl. As shortly there was need to fear it should. Would cause him surely seek my life ? and I, It was a sore thing for true men to see 256 BOTH WELL [act hi. So good a princess run on utter wreck And no man be so far concerned in her As to forewarn of peril : he replied As one who had newly left her wroth, I had done More honestly than wisely ; bade me fly Ere the earl came up from dining ; and being flo^vn I know he sought to slay me, who lay hid Till his main rage was slackened ; and the queen, Who had made him swear to seek no scathe of mine When at their meeting next she showed it him, Chid him as who would cause her to be left Of all her servants ; then he swore anew I should receive no harm ; whereof again Being advertised I spake with her, and showed She had never done me so much wrong as this, To make the letter a device of mine AVhich came even whence I had given her word ; and yet Had it not come, I had held me bound to speak Freely, with reverence and humility. My thought as did that letter, being of mind At one therewith ; but she would give no ear ; Nor is there force in counsel or man's wit To avert this ill she binds upon herself. Who breaks the bonds in twain that hold her friends. And fetters her own feet with gyves of steel. When she hath need of them to stand or flee Before the face of peril multiform That lightens on us flamelike : you, my lord, ■Whose love she hath proven, are not of me to learn SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 257 The immediate feature of it. Herries. Alas, not I ; I have taken too much note thereof, and stand Too near its fangs to Uve of them unscathed. Except I make haste hence. Melville. What haste, my lord ? Herries. I have spoken with her of their purpose blown From lip to lip already on men's breath, To loose the bonds that bind her lover yet By witness of the lady of Buccleucli, Who shall proclaim herself his paramour And precontracted to him by promise-plight. To prove his wife no lawful wife, but bound, Will she or no, and love him not or love, To sue divorce from him ; if all this fail. Then by remonstrance of their kindred blood Found some four cousinships away, this bond Shall melt or break that parts him from the queen. Melville. Why, ere his marriage with the Lady J ane She had her dispensation from the Pope, For the blood mixed between them, of all bars Which might have maimed it with impediment. Herries. So had she, but they think to cover it As with a veil of invalidity Pretexted for pretence, or with dumb show Darkly disclaimed ; this shall not cumber them ; And they will buy compliance and goodwill Of Huntley to his sister's putting off By restoration of his forfeit lands, s 258 BOTHWELL [act in. Melville. All tongues i' the land will as one mouth of fire Cry death and shame against it. Herries. So said I. Mehille. So said you to her ? Herries. I said so ; whereat she. As 'twere half smilmg in a wondering shame, Half mourning to be guiltlessly misjudged, With fervent eyes' fall and with scornful lips Protests me, never had she thought of it. Wherefore I hold it ill to tarry here. Melville. Your wisdom shall do well to spare no speed, But get it gone from eyeshot of them both. Herries. I know it ; yet would I plead again with her, For pity and honour of the imperilled state. That should be shaken with her fall to death And the crown shattered into shards of gold. For as a wolf anhungered and awaked That long hath slept and starved, with foodless dreams Assuaging its blunt fangs through bloodless hours. The common people, that in dumb dim rest, With heartless hopes assuaging its blind heart. Hath fed for ages on itself asleep. Shows now the keen teeth and the kindled eyes Of ravening heads innumerable, that gape And glare about the wide ways of the world, Seeking their meat of God ; and if he fail, Then of the devil that burtis in minds of men SCENE in.] BOTHWELL 259 Rebellious, whom their heat of heart eats up Till the fire fasten on authority ' To lay red hands of ruin on all state And leave in ashes empire ; as of late This Ket in England^ and his like that swarm At heel of the new creeds in Lutheran lands To pluck the sun out of the heaven of rule, And leave men dark and kingless. Hath not Knox Struck with his fangs of speech on monarchy No less than on the Church that first was stung, Preaching for all men knowledge equally And prostitute and perilous freedom shared With all blear eyes, brute mouths, and unwashed hands. That lust for change and take all fires for light. Except the sun's wherein their fathers walked ? And shall not these at any breach break in That flaws the sea-wall which forbade their sea To drown all banks that bound it ? She will make Of all that lived in Scotland hers and ours A ruin and republic of strewn wrecks. Ranks rent, bonds broken, all things orderless, A commonwealth of dead men's bones and dung, Dust, mire, and blood, and one red rank of beasts That rage and revel in equality. Melville. 'Tis true, the commons are as waters chafed Since this wind blew amongst them : wave by wave It lifts their heads up, and the murmuring air Breathes hard and blackens with the blast of chancre. 26o BOTHWELL [act hi. Herries. And were none touched with danger but herself, This yet were pity enough for tears of blood, So fair she is and less by place than kind Royal, so high and so assured of spirit, So full of all things all men love or fear, Heart's light and fire, a soul bom winged, with eyes That mate the sun's eye and the lightning's ; yea, It were past count of pity, past men's thought. That she should fall for love's light sake self-slain. Melville. There were one way to serve her that would be Most thanldess, being thankworthiest ; but none else. Herries. That were no way for feet that would not walk Red as her enemies' did, whose passage shook With its near sound her life and fame ; such ways Let Morton take or Maitland's weaponed wit, Whose words are swords. Melville. It may be so they will. Herries. . Death ? Melville. Nay, who knows when death may come ? Herries. Why, they Who strike the spur into his fleshless side. Who prick him forward with their craft for goad. Or put for sword their hatred in his hand. They have done deeds of deadUer policy Than make submissive show toward Bothwell here, Then snare and slay him or put the queen in ward : Would they do this they might be serviceable SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 261 But perilous must be, putting hand to work That treads nigh treason though for loyalty. Melville. Whoso may know their mind, it is not I. Herries. She hath sent for Murray hither ; in his eye We may take note which way their faction looks. If yet toward violence and red-handed craft. This mood of hers will strip her for their strokes Naked, and leave us handless that would fight On her just side against them. God mend all ! Enter the Queen, Bothwell, Seyton, the Maries, and Attendants. Queen. The wind has moved my blood like wine ; I am fuU Even to the heart's root of its spirit of life. Flew not my hawk the last flight well, that sent The tumbling hem down from her highest ? I think You have none better. Is our brother come ? Seyton. He is now alighting, madam. Queen. By this hand, I would when we must 'light from horse we might Take wing instead, and so what time we live Live ever at glad speed save when we sleep. It points and edges the dull steel of life To feel the blood and brain in us renew By help of that life hfting us, and speed That being not ours is mixed with us and serves. I would hold counsel and wage war and reign Not in walled chambers nor close pens of state. But or in saddle or at sea, my steed 262 BOTHWELL [act hi. As a sea-wave beneath the wind and me, Or the sea serving as a bitted steed That springs like air and fire. Time comes, they say. When we love rest, house-keeping sloth, and calms ; To me I think it will not come alive. Herries. Madam, I would change yet one word with you Ere I go hence or others take your ear. Queen. So shall you," sir ; yet is my heart too light, And its live blood too merry from the chase. And all my life too full of the air of joy Whereon it mounts up falcon-like for prey And hovers at its wings' viddth ere it strike. To give wise words wise welcome ; yet what grace I may to your grave counsels will I show And modesty of audience. Tell my brother I shortly will receive him. \Exeunt all but the Queen and Herries.] My good lord, It is for that old honour and true love I bear your -high name and your flawless faith That yet mine ear makes way now for your words. In trust they will not wound" it for its pains With any timeless or intemperate breath. Herries. Had I no heart, or in the heart I have No love to serve you, madam, and no faith, I had parted hence without more toil of tongue Or strife of speech unpalatable and harsh In ears made wide for music; but in me Is heart enough to burn with fire of pain. If not to lighten with that fire their eyes SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 263 For whose sake it consumes me, when I see Danger and death masked as true men and bold Attend about them with sheathed knives in hand And shut mouths as of serpents. Let me not Incense again your flame of spirit and scorn With faint and void reiterance of dead words That spent in vain their spirit before : I speak - Not now so much to move you as would God I had the might to move, but of myself Rather to save my soul of faith alive And my deep heart of duty toward your grace By speech though fruitless and by love though lost That will not pass forth silent and give way To loud-tongued ruin that shall speak too high For ears to close against it. Queen of Scots, Lady that have the loftiest life in hand Even yet that ever was of queen on earth, Last hope of men that hope through you in God, Last comfort of his Church, light of his lamp That men have nigh blown out with blasts of night ; O you to whose fair face and hand uplift The treble-kingdomed islands should turn back Out of the shadow of storm to follow them And in the shadow of faith instead lie down Beneath the wings that covered your crowned head. Even hers that brood above her fold and yours, The Church your mother's, that by no hand else Looks yet to gather three lands in and save — Who have the heart and the eye and the hour for this Which to none other God may give again j64 BOTHWELL [act hi. So as you have them — you that should be writ 111 all the royal records of the world Saviour, the light and the right hand of God Shown in a woman, to bring back and build What was blown down or shed as dust on the air — You that have spirit and mind to apprehend And to that apprehension put swift hand, . Nor slow of soul nor fearful — you, our queen. And England's heir, that should make higher on earth The name of Scot than any star in heaven, And on the cleft growth of two thorny stems Bid one rose flower of Cathohc royalty Not to be plucked or trampled — O, will you, So great, so fair and fearless as you are. That were you no queen, or such other one j\.s no such high cause calls on, you would seem Not less a thing made to heroic end, A creature crowned and armed by God to bear His witness to his work, and in man's eye Stand signal-wise lighting the beaconed sea — Will you put all this as a garment off And change it like a vesture ? By your life Which is the Ufe of this land's majesty, And your high soul which is our spirit of hope, Slay not all these ; help them tliat trast in you ; Help God, lest we believe him for your sake Ill-minded toward us for our sin, to turn This empire to a populous wilderness, A riotous desert where things vile are crowned. And high made low and low things set on high. SCENE in.] BOTHWELL 265 And rule trod under with foul feet and bare, And. kingdom parcelled by hard hands and red ; pity this people ; give not up your realm To its own madness that takes fire at yours And hghts its ruin at your own ruin, to run By that blind light darkling to death and hell ; Cast not your name down under foot of men For such ill cause as loveless love that is Light lord of foolish women, or such will As wherewith men self-slaughtered gird themselves. For shame and pity and peril shall be they Who shall attend and wed you to your will, And the ring broken of the kingdom's peace That is yet whole and circular as a crown Shall be the new ring on your wedded hand. Queen. Have I not said I never thought of it? Herries. I but beseech you keep from thought of it, Or from such show as puts it in men's minds. Queen. If this be all your coimsel or your care, You crave but what you have ; I have given no cause By favour shown to faith and loyal hearts For the evil-witted world to tax me of love. Twice have you had mine ear now to this tale, And thrice I pray you that you seek it not. Herries. I shall no more. God keep your grace in joy! Enter Bothwell and Murray. Queen. Good morrow, brother ; and you, my lord, good day. 266 BOTHWELL [act hi. Since you go hence. Bothwell. Goes my lord from us yet? Herries. Even now 1 take my leave. Farewell, my lords, And God be with your counsels. \JE,::it. Bothwell. Nay, he s"hall. The queen was fain to have your voice, my lord. Ere she go back to the distempered town. Murray. That shall she have, sir. Queen. Brother, we hear word How the good town is troubled of lewd men With libels writ and hung about the streets That in our servants' name deface our own With fierce invention : wherefore I desired Your counsel with my lord here and good help For satisfaction of well-willing men. Murray. Even such will tell you it mislikes the- town That Lennox, as they say, should be debarred From entrance save with six men and no more To hold his cause up on the trial day. And the main witness on his part refused As under charge of treason for his words Set forth in writing on the Tolbooth gates : This makes them doubt of justice to be done And brood or babble of devised delay, With tongues and minds diverse and dangerous. Queen. What, Shall one proclaimed our traitor pass unscathed To bear again false witness, for whose sake SCENE III.J BOTHWELL 267 The ports are guarded, and the skipper marked For death who helps him from this kingdom forth To mock the judgment whence he stands attaint Of foregone treason, and must now stand free, And the law loose him and receive his word As a true man's and taintless ? What are they Whom by such witness Lennox would impeach Besides my lord here who shall answer him ? Murray. James Balfour, and your outland servings- folk, Sebastian, Joseph Rizzio, with two French, John of Bordeaux, and Francis, of your train. Queen. They shall have trial, and answer it. Murray. 'Twere best They did so soonest ; time grows full of tongues ; There was one late went through the streets by night With four or five accompanied for guard That would let none take knowledge of him, crying Of his own guilt most lamentably on God, Lord, open heaven and pour down of thy wrath Vengeance on me and them thai have cut off The innocent blood; whom the chief magistrates Have seized and cast into the four thieves' pit ; But still his cry hangs in the common ear. Queen. Some traitor hired or madman : but I sent To seek the comfort of your hand and help For weightier cause than of such tongues. Murray. What cause ? Queen. That shall he show who bears most part therein ; 268 BOTHWELL [act hi. Yet are you parcel of it, and I myself For love of both and honour toward you. Speak. \T0 BOTHWEI.L. Bothwell. My lord, I doubt not but your heart con- ceived Never that thing whereto being done you feared To set your hand in sign ; I therefore pray you To look upon the charge for which I stand I-n the land's eye accountable, as one That was consenting with the rest our friends To what for my poor profit was not done Nor only plotted for no end but mine ; And for the part your honour has herein To underwrite the bond that writes me safe And set your name for seal upon my side. Queen. So much would I beseech you too ; the bond By you subscribed here in my lord's defence Shall be the signet of your faith and love Set on my heart and his that honour you. Murray. I would my duty might in all things serve No less your honour than maintain mine own ; But I will set no hand to any bond Shall bind me to defence or fellowship Of deeds whereof I know myself no part. I gave consent to no more than divorce Between two hands mismated, king's and queen's, Whereby the kingdom's heart was rent in twam, And reconcilement found not where to stand ; But of no red and secret bond of blood- SCENE III.] BOTHWELL 269 Heard I the bruit before the deed took fire. Bothwdl. Will you so swear? what, none? Murray. \ have said ; and you That reft your kinsman Balfour by device Out of my hand and thwarted judgment, see Your heart be set not now to climb too high A stair whereon the foot that slips grows red And stumbling once in blood falls whence nor wing Nor hand can lift it from the pit again. Queen. Vex not yourself lest he should fall or stand With whom you stand or fall not. Bothwell. My desire Was toward no help of riddling counsellors, But of such friends as speak with hand for tongue And acts for parables ; your wit, my lord. Is nothing of the queen's need nor of mine. Murray. It may be, no ; but to make trial of that, Ere I take ship for France, the ways being barred By force and strife through Flanders to the south And those fair towns that with her highness' leave Shall call me guest awhile in Italy, I am bound for London, where I fear and hope My tongue may serve her more than here your hands If it make fair her cause in English eyes. Bothwell. What hath her cause to do with their bleared sight. Or with her name their judgment ? who need care What colour we that breathe with our own lips Wear in the mist made of their breath far oif? Murray. The ambassador that bore her last word back 270 BOTHWELL [act ii. Hath but made way for one at point to come Whose message, canying weight as in wise ears It needs must carry, will take form and force From present witness of his eye that reads What mind is borne here and what work is done, What judgment or what counsel most bears weight ; Which it imports us for this land's great sake That the English queen raisknow not nor misread For fault or fraud of darkling evidence. Bothwell. And you it is must give those blind eyes sight, Shape to the shadows of that ignorance, form To their loose judgment of us ? What have we. What hath our Scotland here or queen of Scots To do with English tongues ? can we not strike Nor stand nor walk alone, but for our need Must use their hands and feet, their wits and eyes, To help us live or live not ? By my life. Which is not held in pawn yet of their leave, T had rather be an English horse or ass Than on these terms a Scot, to square my will By their inscribed conditions. Murray. At your will Lies your own way of life ; not yet this land's, Nor theirs that living should be lords of it. Madam, to God's care I commend your grace Who take with careful heart my leave of you. Lest you too much should lack the care of men. Queen. Be not too careful for my sake ; your leave Was given ere you could take it. Sir, farewell. SCENE HI.] BOTHWELL 271 Murray. Farewell, as you shall will it. \_Exit. Bothwell. God be with you ! Your wisdom shall not be so hot of foot But it may be outspeeded. If it lay Plots with the .stranger, our prevention here Must pluck the fangs out of its craft ; and first With his own hand shall Huntley draw the bond Whereto will we set ours in pledge ere long To make them fast by contract, I being free To plight mine own, as by consent unbound From hers that was my wife pretended ; you. Being by this troublous time bent and inclined To seek some stay in wedlock and put off The weak estate of widowhood, yet loth For worthy reasons of grave strength to choose Again a stranger subject, have made choice Of me desertless for my fair deserts. And purpose even on heel of my divorce For their good cause to wed me ; this subscribed Shall in my keeping be laid up, and straight Hence must we back to that loud town of yours And take our danger by the throat ; proclaim At once my trial ; if it be possible. Before word come from England ; let the post That brings you counsel of Elizabeth's Find the cause judged and the cry fallen again And no link hanging of the gyves of law Round our free feet and steadfast. Queen. Ah, not mine, That are fast bound and yet can stand not fast 2 72 BOTHWELL [act iii. Except my love's strength hold them up, and strike These iron toils in sunder. If the bond Could bind and loose indeed, knit and unknit Hands that must part from hands that are to meet, With force of more than writing, all my heart Should bleed glad drops to sign and seal it. Sir, Here was again our enemy in mine ears Forewarning me of marriage ; the same tongue That was before a serpent at your heel Shot out anew to sting it ; but you know The craft of this state horseleech, that by fraud Takes pleasure to bear all the world in hand That no one can be sure of him, and we May least of all be by such lips allured To trust and find them dangerous. Bothwell. Nay, by God, I mind me how he left his neighbour friends In his faith's name to hang for hostages Whose necks paid forfeit of his broken bond And made his oath a halter for the Lairds Of Lochinvar and Garlics. By my life That this keen tongue would strike at, in my mind It were the best work worth a good man's hand To quit them on Lord Herries. Qtteen. No, let be ; You will unpeople me this land of friends ; Mine he must live, or lose his name, and yours For my name's sake he shall be. Bothwdl. So might I Find at his hands such friendship as they twain SCENE in.] BOTHWELL 273 Whose throats for him were writhen ; and such a friend Is he that stands behind our deed, and says He never heard of manslaying, fie, not he, Our darkling brother with close lips and clean, The blood was no part of his bond, he says, That his eyes winked on while his hand was dry; He will not bear us witness nor take part With me that have done more than blink at blood. He will to London, but to speak for you, That will he, being a kindly man of kind. Whole-blooded in his love and faith to you, God wot, no bastard in his brotherhood. I would give God a year out of my life That I have kinglike hope to live with you For one sweet breath of time to strike at him And let my sword's lip drink his body dry And with one deep kiss drain his flesh of blood. Who smells not by the savour of his faith On what close nest of foul and fledghng hopes His trust sits brooding to build up himself By overthrowing of that crowned head which keeps His misbegotten forehead bare of gold — And with my hand shall keep it ? Queen. Ay, though all That breathe on earth mine enemies at his beck Rose by the light of his ambiguous eyes With his sheathed hand to strike, and leave ungirt This forfeit head with empire : but I know A stronger hand bared for my help and stay, This that I touch, this that I Icve ; the star T 274 BOTHWELL [act hi. That points my feet on pilgrimage, the staff That stays my steps back to that troublous town Whereof they are weary, yet would halt not now, But tread more fleet than fire their fiery way To that fair end where they were fain to be. We wiU set forth to-morrow. Bothwdl. Ere we go, I will take order that men's tongues be dipt Who show too broad their conscience of remorse ; There was a knave of Balfour's in our trust That hath by this, being found unsure of mouth. Resigned it to the counsel-keeping worm. If more there be that live not stingless yet. The same dumb mouth that has nor lips nor tongue Must open for them privily ; the grave Hath gorge enough for all such secret food, And will not babble of the hands that feed. For them that being in blood of our own kind Will stand elsewhere against me than in court, I will make present proffer of myself To answer them in arms. Queen. You shall not fight. Bothwell. Not if no need be. Queen. There shall be no need. Not in this cause, you shall not need to fight. We will set on the trial presently, And after we may sleep with no blood more. SCENE iv.J BOTHWELL 275 Scene IV. — The Upper Chamber in Holyrood. The Queen and Mary Beaton Qtceen. Is it not hard on ten ? Mary Beaton. At point to strike. Queen. This forenoon will outlast the night for length. How looks the morning ? Mary Beaton. Like the time of year ; The heaven is red and full of wind ; the clouds Are rent and routed of the striving sun Like a lost army. Queen. Is there no noise abroad ? Mary Beaton. The throngs grow thick in rumour ; faces scowl, Eyes bum, brows bend, and all the cry o' the crowd Waits to break forth but till a fire-flaught fall To make the dumb brands speak and shoot out flame When he shall pass for whom it waits to burn. Yet have I seen as great a thiong from hence As frets there now. Queen. I would he had thought to-day To ride with doubled guard. What brawl is there ? Mary Beaton. The messenger from Berwick, as I think, That would have entrance to you, and is thrust back By the lord Bothwell's kin that keep the gates. Queen. What, here so soon ? I will not see him till night. 276 BOTHWELL [act hi. I am asleep ; if there be brawls i' the court, Call out the troopers, bid my French guard forth To quell all rioters. Mary Beaton. They are of your own part That make the brawl, my lord's men and your guard That press about the gateway. Queen. The cry sinks ; Is he not come, that so their noise is fallen ? Mary Beaton. And Maitland with him ; he signs them silent, takes From the Enghsh messenger a letter sealed. And leaves all still. Queen. I prayed him see me first Before he rode to trial. All will be well, If he have stayed their storm, and keep his heart High as his fortune. Enter Bothwell. Is that brawl at end ? Bothwell. Here is a letter by a hot-foot post Brought from Sir William Drury, that his queen Through him commends her counsel in to you And bids you, or my thought belies it, show All favour and furtherance to your enemy's plea, Lennox, whose cause she finds most fair, and would not For your own sake see slighted or put by. Lest your fame bleed j look if she say not so ; Else I know nothing of her maiden mind. Who sometime lived her prisoner. Queen. Let that rest ; SCENE IV.] BOTH WELL 277 But tell me what the spring was of this noise That shook our hearing j would he speak perforce, This English post, though bidden back, with me ? Bothwell. But that our fellows thrust him from the gate; My captain of the castle, a stalwart guard, The Laird of Skirling, that I put in charge, Called to the guide aloud, he should be hanged For bringing EngUsh villains through to us here, And hands were there to reive the rope to him ; Then drew your guard together and our troops, Whose musters line the straitened streets with steel That holds embanked their muttering multitudes Till I ride through ; and those within the gates Hurtied together with blind cries and thrusts, But at my sight fell silent as a sea SettUng, that growls yet with the sunken wind, And holds its peace with unslaked wrath ; then I Took from the pressed and labouring messenger His letter for your hand, who were not risen And should ere night receive him ; so I said. And thus it shall sufiSce you do, so be it We bear the bell to-day in parliament. Where I should be by this at bar, to stand And make mine answer. Queen. I am not sick of fear, Yet my heart loathes its burden of this hour And beats and drops like a bird wounded. Nay, I do not hold you ; go ; 'tis but my hand Fastens on yours ; my heart would have you gone, And here again to assure me of good speed. 278 BOTHWELL [act iii. Whom have we of the judges on our siJe, Tell me once more, whom doubtful-coloured, whom Our enemies certain ? let me know it again. That I may read the bede-roU of their names Here over in my heart while you are gone To make it sure and strong, come evil or good, That neither find me heartless. Bothwell. Of our part The lord of Arbroath for the Hamiltons Is as his father's person, Chatelherault, And Cassilis a mainstay safe as steel ; Caithness and Herries are such friends of yours As love me less for your sake, yet I think Must strike to-day beside us ; one man most I would we might have razed out of the roll. Which is the assessor, Lindsay ; who shall be As poison to us ; and evil is our chance That Morton being of kin to your dead man Should not sit here to help, as but for this I would perforce have bound him to our side ; But let this be ; we shall bear bravely through For all their factions and fierce policies As knives ensheathed against us, or being foiled Find surer issue than they wot of. So, With such good hope as grows of a good heart, Give me God-speed. Queen. God speed you as I pray You may speed ever ; all my prayer is spent, I can no more of wishing ; what 1 would, That must you will, having my heart in you. SCENE IV.] BOTHWELL 279 That beats but with your blood, thrills with your sense, Thinks with your thought, desires with your desire, And lives upon your living. Where you go You bear me with you ; where your face is set Mine eye takes outlook, and where falls your foot I tread beside you silent. O, this day Shall be to us as the crown o' the wave that turns And bears inshore the lading of our lives With all the might of its great heart that breaks And brings us into harbour ; we shall stand High on the beach where it was spent, and praise The faithful hour that served us j yea, even this Shall be a dear one to us, held fast at heart When all the pain and doubt of it is dead. And lovingly remembered ; you shall look From your high place beside your humble love With kingly eye on this dead day, and think How she that set her crown about your head And put her own beneath your foot, as now Bade you fare forth, and kissed you. Bothwdl. I am returned, Ere I pass forth, already in my heart. With my cause crowned ; I cannot doubt of speed Who have your face before mine eyes as fire And keep your words' heat in mine ear to burn If I should shrink, and sting my spirit alive For love's and shame's sake. When we meet at night, A king's kiss will I set upon these lips That seal me royal ere I part. Farewell. \ExU. Queen. I would mine eye were in my heart to go 2 So BOTHWELL [act hi. With that beside him ; but the heart it is Sits now in the eye and follows where it may, But a street's length ; then part they, and the sight Turns back, but not the thought ; such wings it hath As the sight hath not, and is subtler nerved Than the swift spirit of the eye. O my life's light, This is not I that looks forth after you To feed her eyesight, but who leaves you not. Who rides beside you, breathes out of your lips, Ijooks through your eyes and triumphs in your heart, That unseen and inseparate thing is I. Look, he is up ; how royally he rides. As no king else on earth ! and waves to me As who should say, Be glad ; and glad I am, Who have the lordliest lover in the world And the most heart to love him. Ay, that steed Should be the higher of heart that feels him stride And moves the merrier-mettled ; by none such Was it before bestridden. Mary Beaton. Was not this Lord Darnley's horse ? Queen. Ay, when Lord Damley was. Mary Beaton. The horse he loved of all the rest and fed Ere he bestrode it ever ? Queen. Like enough ; What ails it yet to have eaten of his hand ? It bears not now the worse a better man. Mary Beaton. Nay, so it seems : it bounds not as in wrath, SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 2S1 For aught I see, beneath him, but heaves up A sidelong head toward his new hand, and turns The light back on him of a joyful eye. So is it with only beasts that are beloved ; They have not hearts like ours. Queen. What need they have ? I would have nothing love him as I love, And had it heart it would ; yet I do think All beasts and men are mad that love him not As I should surely were I beast or man. He can no longer see my handkerchief; Let us go in : I will not sit and wait With the street's hustling faces in my sight. \Exeunt, Scene V. — The High Court of Justice in the TOLBOOTH. BOTHWELL, with Ormiston and others attending, at the iar; Kvsi'nx, presiding as Ijird Justice ; lAnDSAY as assessor ; Caith- ness, Cassilis, Rothes, Arbroath, Maxwell, Herries, and others, as jury ; Robert Cunningham as spokesman for Lennox. Ormiston (aside to Bothzvell ). Fie, look not down so at your feet, my lord ; What devil is this that irks you ? in your face A fool might read you what you are ; why, so Might a man look that were now going to death. Hold up your face for God's sake and look blithe ; Alas and aye woe worth them that devised The thing that shall make all us mourn, I trow, For you that now look sadly. 2§2 BOTHWELL [act hi. BothwelL Hold your peace ; I would not yet it were to do ; I have An outgate any way wherfeby to pass, As ye shall know, and sooii. Trouble me not. Argyle. My lords, ye have heard how to the indict- ment read The accused who stands at his own instance here Returns his plea of guiltless ; and thereon The accuser next invoked to approve his charge, N or answering nor appearing, leaves no cause For us to judge ; but here in his default Is risen his servant to sustain his part And unawares among us unrequired Take up this charge here fallen, or stretch at least Some form across of pretext wide enough To cover with excuse this lack of charge, Which else might seem with emptiness of cause To mock your judgments ; wherefore, if ye will, He stands to plead before us. Caithness. We are content. Robert Cunningham. My lords, I am here but in my master's name. The earl of Lennox, to declare what cause This day constrains his absence ; which in brief Is first the brief time given for so great work. Next that he stands now naked of his friends And fellowship of servants to maintain His honour with the surety of his life ; And having help of no friend but himself, He hath laid on me commandment to desire SCENE V.J BCTHWELL ?.%. o A day sufficient for that weight of cause Which he shall have to keep it ; and if hence Your lordships at this present shall proceed, Here I protest that if the assize to-day, By their twelve persons that upon this charge Shall enter now on panel, speak him clear Wlio stands accused for murder of the king, It shall be wilful error in men's eyes And not abuse of ignorance, by this cause That all men know him for murderer ; and hereto Upon tliis protestation I require Of your high court a document to stand And set my lord's right here on register And those men's wrong who put it by to-day. Argyle. This is some reason if the ground be good Whereon his protest is built up, to excuse Default of witness by defect of time ; But here that ground is shaken, that we find, By letters of his own writ to the queen, My lord of Lennox earnest to bring on With forward expedition as of fire This cause for trial, and by all pleas intent To enforce this court make haste, and being convoked Despatch with breathless justice and short stay The work wherein he seems to accuse us now For too much heat to move too fast, and mar The perfect end of trial with force of speed, Preventing him of witness. Wherefore then Was his own will so keen, his plaint so loud, So strong his protestation, to procure 234 BOTHWELL [act hi. The speed too late reproached, too soon required ? Here are we met for judgment, whom himself Bade the queen summon,with insistent heat And sharp solicitation urged of wrong. Nay, with the stroke of an imperative tongue, As though to impel some loth or laggard heart. And found instead a free and forward will In her to meet his own ; here sits the court, There stands the man of him or his impeached To give them loyal answer ; where sits he ? ^Vhere speaks his proof? where stand his witnesses ? What sentence of what judges shall be given Where none stands forth to accuse ? Here are but words. Surmises, light and loud and loose, that blow In the air of nameless lips and babblers' breath From ear to ear about the wide-mouthed world ; These are not for our judgment. Caithness. We sit here To find if there be proof or likelihood More than of common tongues that mark a man Guilty, and know not why this man or that. But some name they must have to feed upon ; And in my mind, where witness there is none Nor prosecution of a personal cause, Even should we err to find the accused man free, It were no wilfiil error, nor this court In any just man's sight accountable As for unrighteous judgment, being cut off From evidence that it was met to hear ; SCENE v.] BOTHWELL 285 Which we reject not, but require indeed, Yet can by no soUcitous mean procure. Moreover, sirs, one flaw there is to note More evident than these proofs invisible Even in the letter of die charge, which bears, Ye see, the ninth day's date of February, AVhen all we know that on the tenth it was This violence, by what hand soe'er, was done : So that I see not, for my simple part, How any man, for that which no man did. Should stand condemned; for at this date assigned Was no such deed as this done in the world. Max7veU. Why, let the charge be drawn again, and straight ; The court is mocked in this. Caithness. How mocked, my lord ? It is necessity of law, to keep Pure hands by perfect heed of flawless words ; And that you stood the dead man's friend alive Gives you not right nor reason to rise up And tax the reason or the right of law. Maxwell. Right ! where is right in all this circum- stance. Or aught but wrong and broken judgment ? where Justice or shame or loyalty, to try The truth whereon red fraud and violence tread And smother up the tongueless cry of blood ? Are we not here to judge of murder done. And either from an innocent brow take off The spot of its suspicion, or convince 286 BOTHWELL [act hi. The branded forehead of bloodguiltiness ? Is there no counsel on the part accused Nor answer of defensive argument But of close-lipped evasion ? and the court In this forsooth is mocked not ! We shall stand The shameful signs of laughter to the world And loathing to men loyal, if this pass With no more trial but mockery, and the land Sit silent and attaint of innocent blood Before the face of all men that expect For our own sake what justice we shall show Or be defamed for ever. Arbroath. Sirs, meseems Where no charge is that no response can be, Where none impeaches, none can stand accused : And of what mouth what challenge is put forth, And on what witness what impeachment hangn, To implead of guilt the man we sit to try ? Herein I say it is the court is mocked. Even all of us, and all the baffled land, And most this noble man that unaccused Stands at our bar and finds not to confront One witness, nor one enemy to beat back, But only as 'twere a wind that sounds, a breath That shifts and falters in the face of proof, A blast that envy blows and fear breaks off. Disabled of its nature, by itself Frustrate and maimed of its own evil will. Lindsay. Who talks of envious or of fearful heart ? We hear the general judgment of the land SCENE V.J BOTHWELL 287 Cry out for trial, and from foreign tongues Reproach cast on us that we cast off heed ; What should we do for shame if in this cause, For doubt of one man's friends or of what power Might stand behind to buckler him at need, We durst not move, nor, though the world looked on, Show but a face of justice ? Cassilis. Must we set Our judgments by the common tongue that strikes And knows not what the hour is? or become Thralls to the praise and bondmen to the blame Of men by no tie blood-bound to our love. To make our lives look in their foreign sight Fair, lest they speak us evil ? By my head. No Scot I hold him, but a strange man's knave. Whose spirit is shrunk or swollen, by their breaths. Argyle. Well, let the votes be given, and each man's doom Affirm if in his true and equal mind The charge be proven upon my lord or no. How go the voices ? Lifuisay. By one half their dooms The lords here of the jury speak him free With clear acquittal of bloodguiltiness ; One half is voiceless. Argyle. He then is proclaimed Of this high court not guilty, and the charge On trial stands not good against him. Sir, The court upon this plea declares for you You are found free of blood. 388 BOTHWELL [act hi. Bothwell. My noble lords, Being proved thus in your judgments clear of crime, Here on this door will I to-day set up My personal challenge in mine honour's right To meet in arms, before what judge he will, What gentleman soever undefamed Shall take upon him to confront my cause. For their lewd mouths who threat and wear no sword, Your judgment given to acquit me shall abash The malice it puts power into mine arm With might of right to baffle. Sirs, good day. \Exit with Ormiston and his followers. Argyle. Break up the court; the cause is judged. Maxwell {to Lindsay). Is judged ? I know not of such seed what stem will spring. But that fruit sour as gall and red as blood For men's false mouths must of this judgment grow I. would I saw less surely than I see. Scene VI.. — The High Street. Burgesses and People. First Citizen. What more of shame is laid up for us ? when Will heaven put forth a hand to touch with fire These naked sins and shrivel ? Have you heard What last lies bare for judgment ? Second Citizen. Why, the last Is not this half-hour's shame ; each stroke each day SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 289 Strikes out a fiesh one, that five minutes old Dies of the next forgotten. Yesterday- Some talk was of the challenge yet, which now No man casts thought on, though by two good swords Was battle proffered: by the stout Laird first Of TuUibardine, in that brother's name Whom they for fear have taxed of treason, so To eschew his proof and peril ; he defies The challenger to combat, and requires England and France for judges of the field In person of their sovereigns ; this refused, On such new plea as craven craft may find, With his queen's leave the ambassador himself Of England gladly with his own heart's will Would take the personal cause upon him. First Citizen. What ! Is it for fault of Scots to match and mate The pride in Bothwell swoln with innocent blood None but Sir William Drury may be held Worth his sword's wrath that walks by night ? Third Citizen. Perchance As for his queen he stands here deputy. And for our own her champion opposite Afield with swords' play or abed with lips', They hold the match more equal. Fourth Citizen. Nay, this news Is grey of beard already ; hear you not How by this priestly parliament of otirs, That to beguile us and for no goodwill Hath in the queen's name passed its act to affirm u 290 BOTEWELL [act hi. God's present gospel stablished in this realm, The murderer lives now twice absolved of blood And has by voice of prelates and of earls The assize allowed for good that purged him first, And shall be loosened of his marriage bond That twelve months since was tied ? his brother-in-law Shall have again his forfeit lands, and see His sister from her married bed thrust out, And stir no finger ; then without more stay Who sees not where the adulterer's foot shall climb And by what head his own be pillowed ? nay, These papers hung against our walls by night Are tongues that prophesy but truth ; ye saw That likeness of a hare enringed with swords And of a mermaid crowned with burning eyes Who drove the hounds off with a two-thonged scourge That coursed him trembling ; and her hand indeed Is found not slow to smite ; a law now lives Denouncing on his head no less than death Who shall set up, or seeing shall pluck not down. Such placards writ : the first soe'er who finds And leaves the writing tha,t defames her friend To pass among the people, at her will Shall lie in bonds ; but if this brand herself, Then must the man that spared it or that set Die ; so the fire-eyed queen of shipwreck sings Death in their ears who sail this dangerous sea Whereon the ship reels of our staggering state. And with the flame shot from her eyes puts out The light of theirs that were as lightnings turned SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 291 On her hare-hearted lover. Third Citizm. Yet they lack The power with boast or menace to seal up The lips of poor men ; but three days ago As she rode through the Grassmarket I heard How from their stalls the women cried on her, God save your grace ! but with this added word That smote the smile upon her lips to death, If ye be spotless of the dead kin^s blood. Second Citizen. Such words and souls mount nigher God's ear and eye Than theirs who lent this man their hands to slay And tongues to purge him of their general sin. He of St. Andrew's and his under priest, Bishop of Ross, Leslies and Hamiltons Whose lips are bloody, and that double soul Argyle, that steers their faction ; and this crew Masked here as mouthpiece of the loathing land Must hide the people's heart and true men's truth With craft of prattling prelates ; yet such mouths As are unlocked and locked again with gold But gape till God shall pluck their tongues out. Fifth Citizen. Yea, Ye hear but this, and have to burn your ears No hotter news of these men, or what bond Bears written broad and brave such names as these Of earls and bishops ? this is strange yet, sirs, That fires my cheek to tell you ? Second Citizen. Why, men said There was a knot that met of these to sup u 2 292 BOTHWELL [act hi. Shut in with Bothwell's hackbutters for guard That drew round Ainslie's Tavern where they sat Like a strait hoop of steel to bind them safe And hold them fast from starting ; and some bond Of these his guests at Bothwell's prayer subscribed There was that bound them to him, against all foes That might impeach him of the crime discharged By the open court's acquittal, from this day To take his part upon them and stand fast ' As to their own cause, being made subject all To slander and suspicion that but grows Of honour and high credit held with kings : So much we heard, and found not strange. Fifth Citizen, Nay, this Was but the grace that served their banquet in Of meats as strong as poison ; there ensued A pledge more mortal of a bond more base j Considering this time present, how the queen Stood husbandless, and how the general weal Might let her not long live so, should her mind By thought of his true services be moved To take the earl Bothwell to her loving lord, They and each man there met of them should plight His honour, truth, and heart's fidelity To advance this marriage with all furtherance given Of counsel, satisfaction, and good help As soon as law might give it leave to be. And as their common enemy should esteem What man soever of evil will to them Might seek its hindrance j and to this were set SCENE VI.] BOTHWELL 293 More than those names ye spake of; be it for fear, For craft or vantage, none of these fell off Save Eglinton that slipped for shame away. And Morton with the secretary, that gave Their voice yet for this marriage, but would seal No general bond of service on his side : Save these, no priest or peer of them but lives His servant pledged ; their hands, tongues, counsels, hearts, His or not theirs, and all they manswom men. Third Citizen. I have assurance of a true man's faith That word was writ of this confederacy To the English council from the Laird of Grange, Desiring knowledge with what ear their queen Shall take these tidings ; and albeit of late In all our trouble being found slow to help She hath lost the love here borne her, if her grace For this late murder will pursue revenge. She shall win all the hearts of all the best Again, he says, in Scotland ; who should be. With her good help and favour, swift to take This vengeance on them, and redeem from fear Their prince's life now trembling in the reach Of hands that slew his father ; for our queen Hath sworn she cares not for her lover's sake To lose France, England, and her natural land. And would go with him to the wild world's end Stript to her smock ere leave him. Second Citizen. Has he writ 294 BOTHWELL [act hi. So much to the English court of her ? being ours, He should let shame keep silence of her shame. First Citizen. What shame or silence can shut up for shame That which at noon walks clamorous of itself And boastful to be naked ? They will wed. Though thunder sound forth sin, and while God speaks Will kiss in sight of lightning. Fourth Citizen. Was there not Some noise of strife arisen for fault of pay Among their crew of Bothwell's villains here That hold by force of hand the palace gates ? Second Citizen. Such rumour was, for certain ; and himself Strode in among the middle mutiny Like a thieves' captain, and being braved of them Caught by the throat one that was lord o' the brawl And would have slain but for the throng that cried And drove upon him shouting, till for fear He was even fain to stop with promises Their mouths who clamoured ; which to see fulfilled Needs must he sit no lower than doth a king. Third Citizen. So then the gates are open, and the queen By leave of these her guards and him their chief May part in peace for Stirling now to see Her son in ward there of the castellan ? Where we, God knows, may give him thanks that one So wise as the earl of Mar and stout of heart Hath our born king in covert, who might sleep SCENE VI,] BOTHWELL 29s On that sweet breast that bore him not so safe As in a hand so honest. First Citizen. Ay, God help, There is no surety in such housekeeping As thunder comes forth of the sky by night To fall upon and bum it, yet no storm Save of men's making seen, nor fire in heaven Save what rose up firom under. Verily, Our good lord Bothwell spake but truth who said To good James Melville how so strange a thing On earth was never known of : pity 'tis He could not come to look upon the corpse Though Bothwell bade him, seeing it was removed ; It was his hapless chance to find it gone And in safe keeping of some secret hand That waited on it living ; such things are : The worse hap his. They say it had no woimd ; So if by some mischance, as God forbid. The prince were reft unluckily of life, I think he should have none for eye to see That might read evil. Third Citizen. Who shall ride with her ? Second Citizen. Why, no great train, lest being within the walls She take the child into her hand and give For better care to Bothwell's, with the keys That keep this castle too ; but yet I think His hand nor hers shall put God's judgment back That waits to take them triumphing, and turn To tears their laughter and our grief to joy. S96 BOTHWELL [act hi. Scene VII. — Stirling Castle. The Queen and Huntley. Queen. Will you go back from us ? Huntley. I like it not ; I do not see how this may be made good. Queen. There is no flaw but in your fainter heart ; The way is fair and even ; I cannot think What seed is in men's hearts that brings forth fear Out of all season. Why are you so sad ? The thing is no more dangerous than it was When our first plot was laid ; nay, so much less By how much these are ours whose names and bonds Speak on our side inscribed. Huntley. Madam, not so ; The earl of Sutherland, whose forfeiture Your grace but now remitted with mine own. When we shall meet my brother's men in arms. Will die before he yield you to their hands. Queen. My lord, you have no brother of him now That was your sister's husband. I will write To bid him bring up men enough to outmatch All that ride with us homeward, and so far That none the hardiest shall but think on fight. Three hundred hath your earl ? then in his rank There shall be more than of our company, That I to spare men's blood may yield myself. Huntley. It is too gross and foolishly devised ; When I spake last with him, he laid on you SCENE VII.J B07HWELL 297 The charge to say where we should meet and when, And what should by contrivance plead for me, To save my name though you be yielded up Who ride with me for escort ; all this charge He lays on you, and bids me write again MTiat you shall say by letter ; of himself He moves not yet ; and I beseech you think. Before you move him, in what enterprise You put to pledge your honour, that can never With honour wed him who being wedded man By force and violent hand hath borne you off ; Nor will my folk endure it, I wot well, But it must come to trial by hap of fight With doubt and accident of answering arms ; Where if we fail on our part, then on his Shall be the blame and bloody note of war Made on your personal guard ; but if .we win That ride with you as followers, then is he The most forlorn of men revolted ; else, I shall be called of all that sin on earth The most unthankful traitor, who being now But newly of your grace remade your man Shall yield you up by treason without blows Into a rebel's handling ; and the lords, I doubt, when they shall see yau in his hold. Will think not much to unswear their oaths, deny Their words and hands as given through force or fear, And signed not of their hearts ; I pray, think of it. And take some other counsel to your mind. Queen. My lord, if you bear back my word to him, 298 BOTHWELL [act hi. It shall be this : that seeing I am come so far, If of his own will he withdraw him not. For no persuasion nor for death itself Will I be brought to break my faith with him. For this you say of them that follow you And of your fear to bear a thankless name- For my supposed betraying, you should by now With him have taken counsel of the chance, And not have thrown it here across my way Who have no choice to pass not over it, Seeing I may turn not back for life or death, For fear or shame or love of any man. As for the place, he doth not well to cast On me too even the election ; let him choose, And send me word, with pardon that herein I tax my lord of too much negligence. For those your followers whom you most misdoubt. You shall be wise to weed our train of them If any wise mean be to draw them forth. This is my counsel, of a simple wit And womanish, but not so vile at heart As to go back for danger from its faith. I pray you so report of me, and say, When he shall ask you of my mind again, No more but this word only ; and farewell. \Exit Huntley. This faint-heart honesty with half a hand Is falser found at need than falsehood's self, And ever was of me more hated. O, That I might take these hours as in my hand SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 299 And men that yet divide us, with one grasp To gripe them dead and pluck his fang from time That waits to fasten on us unawares And make love mortal with the kiss that kills ! A day and night are as a long life's length That part the hungering from the perfect hour, The void from the fulfilling.— Nay, come in. Enter Mary Beaton and Paris, Mary Beaton. Here waits my lord of Bothwell's messenger To bear your word back of Lord Huntley's mind. Queen. Ay, that I found it trustless. Tell my lord He makes me mad to put his faith in him And to mistrust that which is wholly his. Even her true heart to whom he should have sent Word every day what she should do for him, And hath done nothing of it. I did say He should take heed of that false brother-in-law. Of whom his negligence and heedless faith Have put us in the danger ; on my part There has lacked nothing toward the work in hand. And had he not more changed his mind than I Since I went from him, he should need not now By stranger's lips inquire of my resolve. Say how you see me, and till he send me word That I will here lie sick, as God he knows What health I have at heart ; would I were dead. For all I see goes ill ; but tell your lord This was not in his promise that I find, 300 BOTHWELL [act hi. Nor no such matter ; but he lets me see What power has absence on him, to whose bow His hand has yet another string than mine. And look you warn him of this brother-in-law That he hath babbled of our enterprise Wherein he puts but forth a heartless hand, And in what great men's ears he well may guess Who knows which most are dangerous ; yet methinks If still we have need to flatter them, so much Might naturally be pleaded on his part, That his good service and long amity Might well deserve his pardon and their love If past a subject's duty he put forth, Not to constrain me but assure himself Of such place nigh me that no foreign tongue May by strange counsel hinder my consent To that whereto he trusts his service shall Make him one day to attain \ with such excuse Shall he persuade them that he stands compelled To make pursuit against his enemies : And he may find fair words at will to say To Maitland most of all, through whose keen tongue We hold the rest by the ear ; but if at last The deed of our device mislike him now. Let him send word and leave not on my head The blame of all ; and if it like him yet, Say I beseech him for the honour of God To come with no less force accompanied Than of three hundred men ; rather with more, For that is all the main part of my care ; SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 301 Seeing as for Huntley, I assure myself He in our play shall henceforth bear no part But of an honest and a fearful man Whose thought and all his toil of heart it is To keep the load of treason from his name. Therefore I would not have my lord in all Trust or mistrast him, but be circumspect . And take more power unto him. Paris. So shall I say ; Your highness hath no message more for me ? Queen. God wot no time it is for us to change Tokens and toys of love ; yet I would send For very sorrow something but in sign That of my heart's grief I accuse not him For his cold writing or forgetfulness, His little memory of me and little care, And least of all his promise-breach, being now So far made his that what thing pleases him Is acceptable to me, and all my thoughts To his so willingly subdued, that all That comes of him proceeds of no such root, In mine esteem, as loveless negligence Nor any love's lack, but such only cause As I desire, being just and reasonable. Which is the final order he should take For his own surety and honour, who alone Is my life's stay for which I only will Preserve it, and without which in this world My soul desires not but a sudden death. Bear therefore to him for testimony of me 302 BOTHWELL [act hi. How lowly I submit me to his law In sign of homage this that I take off Of my head's ornament, which is the chief And guide of other members, as to say How being possessed of that as of a spoil Which is the principal he needs must have The remnant subject to him with heart's consent. And for that heart, that seeing I have left it him liOng since I have not now in hand to give. This stone instead I send him, painted black And sown with tears and bones, a sepulchre Wliereto my heart is likened, being as it Carved like a tomb or certain receptacle To harbour his commandments in, and hold More fast than all his memory and his name Therein enclosed as in the ring my hair. To come forth never till the grant of death Shall let him rear a trophy of my bones. As is the ring full of them, set therein For sign he has made fiill conquest of my heart, That even the bones must be to him bequeathed For memory of his victory and my loss That was so sweet to me : tell him but this. And say that by the enamelling of black He shall discern her steadfastness who sends. And by the tears my fears innumerable Lest I displease him, and those tears I shed For his dear absence and for heart's disdain That I may not in outward shape be his As with full strength and heart and spirit I am, SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 303 And with good cause ; for were my merit more Than hers of all born ever for men'^s love Found worthiest and most perfect, and as much As I desire it might be in his eye, Well might I so rest ever, and shall strive Still to maintain me in his government As worthily as I may. Say, I beseech him That is mine only good, in as good part To take it at my hand as I at his With extreme joy received our marriage bond, That till the marriage of our bodies be Made publicly shall part not from my breast, Which keeps it now in sign of all the bliss I can or hope for or desire on earth : And that my letter here brake off for dread Lest this as much should weary him to read As I took joy to write it ; therefore, say. Here did I set a kiss as on his hand With such devotion as I pray to God To give him long and blessed life, and me That only good of all which I desire And only may pretend to in the world, His love and his good favour who doth hold Alone my Ufe up ; and this trust I showed To you in whom I know the trust he hath As I shall for his sake whose wife I am, His humble and obedient lawful wife, To whom my heart and body are dedicate And shall in no wise unto death be changed Nor goqd nor evil make me go from it. 304 BOTHWELL [act hi. So tell him, and despatch. \Exit Paris. What said Lord Mar Touching the child's charge to you? Mary Beaton. But thus much ; That lie would never let it from his hand Save with assent of the three several states, And on condition there shall be proclaimed Some honest lord and worthy such a charge As captain of the castle of Edinburgh, Where only may the prince, he says, lie safe From them that slew his father. Queen. Ay, so brave ? There speaks a man of trust, found honourable ; I had as lief be dead as see such men Stand so at point to thwart me : by my life, I hold it not a straw's worth in the scale If I must live so shackled. WTiat, and now. When my life trembles on the top of fate. And all my days hang from this edge of time 'Twixt night and light suspended, whence one hour May hurl all hopes down breathless to the pit And cast me brokeil at the mountain's foot Or set me sure and steadfast in the sun. To be so crossed of cozening honesties, And honours made of craft, and fraudulent faith, Would spur a blood more sluggish than my sleep And prick a drowsier passion. Well, let be ; Our time will come to take all these in hand. What may doubt deem then I would do with .him That am his mother? Nay, I know their thought ; SCENE VII.] BOTHWELL 305 It is their fear and hatred of my lord That glares askant on me ; and the child's self, I think, as little loves me as he need, Knowing in what love I held his father. Come, I will yet see, before I take my leave. If there be such a nature in our blood As can command and change the spiritual springs And motions of our thought, advance or check The pulse of purpose in the soul that moves Our longings and our loathinp to their end By mere control and force unreasonable Of motiveless compulsion ; if such blind And sensual chances of the stirring veins . That feed the heart of child or mother may Divert and dull the mind's design, or turn The conscience and the current of the will From its full course and action. I believe. Albeit I would not hurt the hfe I bare Nor shed its blood, it is not possiblie Such love should live between my child and me Who know what source he came of more than mine, And how that part of me once mixed therewith Was sullied thence and shamed in mine own sight. That loathes to look upon it, yet must see In flesh and blood the record writ and sealed As oft as I behold him : and you saw He would not lie within mine arm, nor kiss, But like a fox-cub scratched and strove, to be Free of my hands again. Mary Beaton. I see no need X 3o6 BOTHWELL [act hi. In heaven or earth why you should love him. Queen. No ? They say such law there is to enforce such love On either part ; I know not : but I think Love should but flower from seed of love, and this Was but a tare sown timeless and in hate ; Yet so much am I mother in my mind That, be it for love or loathing, from my heart, When I perforce commend him to that care Which will not yield him naturally to mine, Fain would I parting know if soon or late Mine eyes shall turn upon that face again Which out of me was moulded, and take note. When each on each looks equal-eyed, and sees His crown a shadow that makes mine a shade. What king must this be and what queen shall I. Scene VIII. — Dunbar. A Room in the Castle. Maitland and Sir James Melville. Melville. What, have you seen them since we came from horse? How looks she now? Maitland. Disquieted and strange ; And he so hot and high of mood, I think We have no safeguard from him but in her ; And Huntley that at Stirling spake with me Of this their counsel, and must now suspect It was by me discovered to the lords, SCENE VIII.] BOTH WELL 307 Will turn perforce his fear of Bothwell's wrath Into a sword to strike as straight as he Even at my life, it may be ; which her grace Shall easilier from fear of them redeem Than her own fame from evidence of men, That seeing her prisoner see too if she came By force or no, and led by heairt or hand, To bonds indeed or freedom. Melville. Nay, myself Was warned of him that rode in charge of me, The Laird here of Blackadder, how his lord Was of our lady's counsel ; and but now As they rode in I heard him swear, and laugh, Who would soe'er or would not, in their spite. Yea, though herself she would not with her will. Yet should the queen perforce now wed with him. Maitland. The deed has flushed his brain and blood like wine ; He is wroth and merry at once, as a man mad. There will no good come of it. Melville. Surely, sir, Of such loose crafts there cannot : all this land Will cry more loud upon her than on him If she be known consenting. Maitland. If she be ! How shall not all ears know it on earth that hear ? But two miles out of Edinburgh at noon, Accompanied of all her guard and us, She, meeting in mid road at Almond Bridge The unthought-on Bothwell at his horsetroop's head, 3o8 BOTHWELL [act tii. Who with twelve men lays hand upon her rein, Yields herself to him for fear our blood be spilt, Or theirs or ours, for tenderness of heart Submits her to his violent masterdom. Forbids our swords, ties up all hands with words, And doglike follows hither at his hand For pure surprise and suddenness of fear That plucks the heart out of resistance ; then. Riding beneath the south wall of the town, On show of summons to the castle sent For help of us enforced thus of our foes. We get but fire of guns charged full of sound With hay stuffed in for powder ; and God knows Balfour knew naught of this, the governor, Who was forewarned not first of their design. How by no means to cross but further it With forecast of his office ; nay, all this Was undevised and on the sudden wrought To take her by swift stroke of simple hand ; And so astonied were we all, and so The castellan, and most of all the queen. Why, though the world be drunk 'with faith in lies, Shall God make this too gospel ? From this day Shall she begin her ruin ; with rent heart r see the ways wherethrough her life shall lie, And to what end ; for never henceforth more Shall she get good or comfort of men's love, Nor power nor honour that a queen should have, Nor hap nor hope renewed in all her days. She has killed herself to take her kingdom off And give into strange keeping. SCENE VIII.] BOTHWELL 309 Enter the Queen, Bothwell, and Huntley. Bothwell. Here he stands ; This was the knave that was to baffle me ; He shall die here. Huntley. I will not lose the part My sword should have in him : this hour and hand Shall cut off craft and danger. Stand, and die. Maitland. Is it the queen's will that pursues my life? Then let it strike, and end. Queen. I charge you, hold ; I will not foully twice be forced of men To stand and stain mine eyes with sight of blood Shed of a friend, and guiltless. Hold, I say. Bothwell. Stand by, for I will slay him. Queen. Slay me then, For I will fling my body on their points Before your swords shall find him ; hark you, sir, \To Huntley. Whose father died my traitor in my sight, If one hair perish of my servant's head. You that had back your lands and goods but now Again shall lose them with your forfeit life For boot of this man's blood. Bothwell. Woman, give way. Queen. Give all your swords way toward me ; let me bleed Ere this my friend that has been true to me : I swear he shall not. 310 BOTHWELL [act iii; Maitland. Madam, for God's love, Come you not in their peril ; I am armed, If both not run upon me. Bothwdl. Fool, I say. Give place, or I shall know not what I do ; Make me not mad. Queen. I cannot fear you yet. Will you strike now ? Bothwell. I should but do you right. Why tiirust you in between me and this man Whom your heart knows for traitor, and whose tongue Crossed and betrayed our counsel to the lords ? Had he his will, we should not stand to-day Here heart to heart, but you in ward of them. And I divided from you. Queen. My sweet lord. Let not your wrath confound my happiness ; Stain not my fair and fortunate hour with blood Shed of a good man who shall serve us yet. It shall more help to have him live our friend Than fiftyfold slain of our enemies. Bothwell. Have your will's way : he cannot cross us now ; I care not if he live. Maitland. I am bounden to you For so much grace. Qiceen. Vex not his mood again. To-morrow shall all friends be reconciled ; To-night rest here in surety. Bothwell. Be it so. [Exeunt. eCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 311 Scene IX. — The same. The Queen, Bothwell, and the Archbishop of St. Andrew's. Queen. What counsel, father? if their league be made. So soon and strong at Stirling, we had need Surely by. this be .fast in Edinburgh; We have sent thither freely as our friends Lord Huntley and James Melville, who were here As in our ward, not prisoners ; every day Here lingering makes our enemies bitterer-tongued And our strange state more hazardous ; myself More taxed for willing bondage, or my lord For violence done upon me. Archbishop. In my mind, There is no mean of policy now but speed Nor surety but short counsel and stout heart. The lords at Stirling, while you put off time, Athol and Mar, and Morton with Argyle, Are sworn to crown the prince, and of his name Make to their cause a standard, if you cleave Still to my lord here, from whose violent hand With your own leave they fain would pluck you forth ' And keep your honour hurtless ; but they see You will have no deliverance at their hands From him who, as they say, doth boast himself. If he may get your child once in his ward, To warrant him for ever in good time 312 BOTHWELL [act in. From all revenging of his father's death. Nay, it is bruited of them all about How you at parting would have given the boy An apple poisoned, which he put away, And dogs that ate it after swelled and died. Bothwell. The devil is in their lips ; had I free way, Fire should seal up and sear them. Archbishop. So they talk ; The very children's tongues are hot. on you. And in their plays your shadowy action staged And phantoms raised of your presented deed ; Boys that in Stirling streets had made their game To act again the slapng of Damley, so Were rapt with passion of the pastime feigned They wellnigh slew the player that took on him Your part, my lord, as murderer, and came off Half hanged indeed and breathless : this I hear, And more much weightier daily from that part Pointing the same way on you ; sure it is, From France and England messengers desire To have the prince delivered to their charge As to be fostered for his surety's sake Of one or other, safelier so bestowed In foreign harbourage of a stranger court Than at the rough breast of his natural land ; Such offer comes there of Elizabeth To those unquiet lords, but other aid They must of her not look for to their part Who stand against their sovereign. Now, since these Aie dangers evident, and every day SCENE ix.] BOTHWELL 313 Puts more in them of dangerous, best it were, I think, to meet them warlike point to point, Your hands and powers made one, and multiplied By mutual force and faith ; or you must part And each lose other, and yet be neither saved, Or presently with one sole face confront The many-mouthed new menace of the time. With divers heads deformed of enmities That roar and ravin in the night of state Made dim with factions ; only majesty With light of bared and kindled brows and eyes Can face them to consume ; do you but show Your soul as high as is your crown, and power As plain ag is your cause, you shall enforce By resolution and a forthright will The obedience and the allowance of these men That would constrain you by the fear of them Within the limit of their leave. I say. Proclaim at once the fore-ordained divorce Between his sometime lady and my lord And hard thereon your marriage, as compelled By perilous instance of necessity At once to assure you of a husband's help And present strength in this your need, who stand Fenceless and forceless with no man for stay. And could desire none truer and worthier trust Than him whose service done and vaUant name May warrant your remission of such fault As men lay on him for the seeming force With which unwillingly he stood constrained 314 BOTHWELL [act in. To save you even for love's sake from their hands Whence had not he redeemed you as by might They had done you worse wrong than he seemed to do. This shall excuse the speed that you put on And leave their hands no time to rise that would Prevent you, being unmarried ; and your own, Forestalling them, shall take again and steer The helm of this land's general weal, else left To their cross guidance and false pilotage. Bothwell. By God, well said and counselled. Queen. All is well, Or shall, if but one thing be ; and in you That lies alone of all men. Nay, you know it ; Wrong me not now to ask. Bothwell. Wrong you not me. To cross my wit with riddles, which you know From no man's lips I love. Queen. I know not yet If there be nought on any lips that live Save mine that you love better : I can tell Too Uttle of your likings. Bothwell. Be not wroth That tlius much of them I desire you learn, And set your heart .to it, once being schooled — fair queen, These are no chambering times, nor sit we here To sing love's catches counter-changed with words That cross and break in kisses : what you will, Be swift to speak, or silent. Queen. What I will? SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL ,315 I will be sure there hangs about your heart No thought that bound it once to one cut off And yet may feed it with desire to share What is my treasure and my right to have With her most undeserving ; which in you Were more than Jason's falsehood was, that gave To his new wife such vantage of his old As you give her of me, whose narrower heart Holds not a third part of the faith and love That my obedience bears you, though she wear Against my will such vantage in your sight, By my hard hap ; yet would I think not so, Nor liken you to such a trustless man And miserable as he was, nor myself To one so wronged a woman, and being wronged In suffering so unpitiful as she. Yet you put in me somewhat of her kind That makes me like unto her in anything That touches you or may preserve you mine To whom alone you appertain, if that May be called mine by right appropriated Which should be won through faithful travail, yea, Through only loving of you as .God knows I do and shall do all my days of life For pain or evil that can come thereof : In recompense of which and all those ills You have been cause of to me, and must think That I esteem no evils for your sake, Let not this woman with her heartless tears Nor piteous passion thrust me out of door 3i6 BOTHWELL [act iii. Who should sit sole and secret in your heart. What hath she borne or I not borne for you, And would not bear again ? or by what gift Have I set store or spared it that might go To buy your heart's love to me ? have I found Empire or love of friends or pride or peace Or honour or safe life or innocence Too good things to put from me, or men's wrath, Terror or shame or hatred of mine own, Or breach of friends, or kingdom's wreck, or sin, Too fearful things to embrace and make them mine With as good will and joyous height of heart As hers who takes love in her prosperous arms And has delight to bridegroom ? Have I not Loved all these for your sake, and those good things. Have I not all abhorred them ? Would I keep One comfort or one harbour or one hope. One ransom, one resource, one resting-place. That might divide me from your danger, save This head whose crown is humbled at your foot From storm that smote on yours ? Would I sleep warm Out of the wind's way when your sail was set By night against the sea-breach ? Would I wait As might your wife to hear of you, how went The day that saw your battle, and hold off Till the cry came of fallen or conquering men To bid me mourn or triumph ? Hath my heart Place for one good thought bred not of your good Or ill thought not depending on your ill ? What hath she done that yours hath place for her SCENE IX.] BOTHWELL 317 Or time or thought or pity? Bothwell What have I, That yours should fix on her untimely ? Nay, Last year she was my wife and moved yqu not, And now she is turned forth naked of that name And stripped as 'twere to clothe you, comes this heat, And fear takes fire lest she turn back or I To thrust you forth instead : you are fair and fool Beyond all queens and women. Queen. There spake tnith, For then you said, most loving. But indeed This irks me yet, this galls with doubt and fear, That even her plea to be divorced from you On some forepast adulterous charge, which proved. She wins her asking, leaves your hand not loose By law to wed again, but your same deed Frees her from you and fetters you from me ; Then stand we shamed and profitless j meseems God's very hand can loose not us and join. Who binds and looses ; though Buccleuch make oath She was contracted to you first, and this No righteous marriage ; though she plight her soul As she made proffer for our hope's sake ; yea, Though you should bring a hundred loves to swear They had the firstUngs of your faith, who kept No faith with any, nor will keep with me, God knows, and I, that have no warrant yet In my lord's word here which unweds you, being Matched with your cousin in the fourth degree. And no proof published if the Church's grace 31 8 BOTHWELL [act m. Were granted for it, or sought ; no help of this, If your love give not warrant ; and therein If she hath half or I have less than all, Then have I nothing of you. Speak to him ; Bid him not break his faith, not this now mine ; Plead for me with him, father, lest he lie And I too lose him ; God shall pardon, say, What sin we do for love, or what for wrath. Or to defend us from the danger of men, But to me, me, say, if he be forsworn. That God shall not forgive it him nor I. Archbishop. Be not too careful to confound yourself ; Those bonds are broken by God's leave and law ; Make no fresh bonds of your own fears, to do What harm these do no more ; he hath put her ofif : Rest there content. Queen. Nay, why should I then trust He shall not put off me in heart for her ? Bothwdl. Why, have your choice then, and mis- trust ; God's death ! I had deemed I had learnt of women's witlessness Some little learning, yet I thought no more Than that it was but light as air, snow, foam, And all things light, not lighter. I would know ^Vhat men hold foolish yet that hold you wise, If not your fear. Queen. Doth she not love you ? Bothwdl. Ay. Queen. Hath she not cause to hate, and doth not hate, SCENE X.] BOTH WELL 319 Who sues to be put from you, for your fault Craves leave to be cut off, as I crave leave To take you from her hands, her gift ? Bothwell. God knows ; She may love, hate, or hate not neither love, Or both alike ; I know not. Queen. But I know That you can love not. Nay, then help me, God ! If I did know this I would kill myself Yet to more proof I would I had put your heart Ere I gave up to it all the might of mine — Which IS but feebleness. Well, we will go ; There is no better counsel. Pardon me If my fear seem to wrangle with my faith ; They are parts but of my love, that with itself Strives to be master of its grief and joy Lest either overbear it, and therewith Put out my life. Come ; all things shall be well. Scene X.^-Holyrood. Enter Herries and Sir James Melville. Hemes. Is the work done ? Melville. They are wedded fast ; and now I think would one of them to free herself Give the right hand she hath given him. Herries. What, so soon ? Came she as loth into the council-hall Or were hSr answers as compelled and strange ? 320 BOTHWELL [act hi. Melville. I have not seen for any chance till now So changed a woman in the face as she, Saving with extreme sickness. She was wed In her old mourning habits, and her face As deadly as were they ; the soft warm joy That laughed in its fair feature, and put heart In the eyes and gracious lips as to salute All others' eyes with sweet regardMhess, Looked as when winds have worn the white-rose leaf; No fire between her eyelids, and no flower In the April of her cheeks ; their spring acold. And but for want of very heart to weep They had been rainier than they were forlorn. Herries. And his new grace of Orkney? Melville. The goo'd duke Was dumb while Adam Bothwell with grave lips Set forth the scandal of his lewd life past And fair faith of his present penitence. Whose days to come being higher than his past place Should expiate those gone by, and their good works Atone those evil ; hardly twitched his eye Or twinkled half his thick lip's curve of hair, Listening ; but when the bishop made indeed His large hard hand with hers so flowerlike fast. He seemed as 'twere for pride and mighty heart To swell and shine with passion, and his eye To take into the fire of its red look All dangers and all adverse things that might Rise out of days unrisen, to bum them up ' SCENE X.] BOTH-WELL 321 With its great heat of triumph ; and the hand Fastening on hers so griped it that her hps Trembled, and turned to catch the smile from his, As though her spirit had put its own life off And sense of joy or property of pain To close with his alone ; but this twin smile Was briefer than a flash or gust that strikes And is not ; for the next word was not said Ere her face waned again to winter-ward As a moon smitten, and her answer came As words from dead men wickedly wrung forth By craft of wizards, forged and forceful breath Which hangs on lips that loath it. Herries. Will you think This was not haply but for show, to wear The likeness as of one not all constrained Nor all consenting, willingly enforced To do her will as of necessity ? That she might seem no part yet of his plot. But as compelled by counsel of those lords Who since her coming have subscribed by name The paper of advice that in his cause Declares what force of friends has Bothwell here In Lothian and on all the border's march To keep good order, and how well it were She should for surety wed him whom she needs Must wed for honour or perforce live shamed By violence done upon her. Melville. No ; there hung Y 322 BOTHWELL [act hi. Too much of fear and passion on her face To be put off when time shall be to unmask ; The fire that moved her and the mounting will While danger was and battle was to be, Now she hath leapt into the pit alive To win and wear the diamond, are no more ;. Hope feels the wounds upon its hands and feet That clomb and clung, now halting since the hour That should have crowned has bruised it. No, 'tis truth; She is heart-struck now, and labours with herself. As one that loves and trusts not but the man Who makes so little of men's hate may make Of women's love as Uttle ; with this doubt New-bom within her, fears that slept awake, And shame's eyes open that were shut for love. To see on earth all pity hurt to death By her own hand, and no man's face her friend If his be none for whom she casts them ott' And finds no strength against him in their hands. Herries. Small strength indeed or help of craft or force Must she now look for of them ; and shall find, I fear, no stay against men's spirits and tongues Nor shelter in the observance of their will That she puts on, submitting her own faith To the outward face of theirs, as in this act Of marriage, and the judgment now enforced Against the allowance of the mass, albeit With a bruised heart and loathing did she bow That royal head and hand imperious once SCENE X.] BOTHWELL 323 To give so much of her soul's trust away ; And little shall it stead her. Melville. So fear I ; 'Tis not the warrant of an act affirmed Against the remnants of her faith, nor form Of this strange wedlock, shall renew to her Men's outworn love and service ; nay, and strife Lies closer to her than fears from outward j these Whose swords and souls attend on her new lord, Both now for fault of pay grown mutinous, From flat revolt they hardly have redeemed With the queen's jewels and that English gift Of the gold font sent hither for the prince That served him not for christening, melted now To feed base hands with gold and stop loud throats, Whose strength alone and clamour put such heart In Bothwell that he swore to hang the man Who would not speak their banns at first, and now But utters them with lips that yet protest Of innocent blood and of adulterous bonds By force proclaimed, and fraudful ; and this Craig The townsmen love, and heed not that for craft Each day will Bothwell hear men preach, and show To them that speak all favour, and will sit A guest at burghers' boards unsummoned ; yet Men's hate more swells against him, to behold How by the queen he rides unbonneted And she rebukes his too much courtesy ; So that their world within doors and without Swells round them doubtfully toward storm, and sees Y2 324 BOTHWELL [act hi. This hot-brained helmsman in his own conceit Even here in port, who drifts indeed at sea. Herries. Short time will wind this up : the secretary, Whose blood the queen would see not shed of him, Is slipped away for Stirling, there to join With Lindsay and the lords ere this combined. From whom I may not now divide myself, On the child's party. Not a hand wiU stay Nor heart upon this side ; the Hamiltons, For their own ends that set this marriage on, Will for those ends with no sad hearts behold At others' hands her imminent overthrow. Melville. This was the archbishop's counsel, that annulled Last year's true marriage to procure the queen's And even therein betray her. God mend all ! But I misdoubt me lest the sun be set That looked upon the last of her good days. ScENK XI. — The same. The Queen and Bothwell j Mary Beaton and Arthur Erskine in attendance. Queen. Are you yet wroth ? Bothwell. Are you yet wise ? to know If I be wroth should less import than this Which I would fain find of you. Queen. By my life, I think I am but wise enough to know SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 325 That witless I was ever. Bothwell. Ay, but most, You mean, to wed me, that am graceless more Than witless you that wedded, in men's eyes Who justliest judge of either ; yet, by God, Had I not grace enough to match with you, I must have less than in their minds I have And tongues of them that curse me ; but what grief Wrings now your heart or whets your tongue, that strikes When the heart stirs not ? Queen. Nay, no grief it is To be cut off from all men's company. Watched like a thief lest he break ward by night, My chamber door set round with men-at-arms. My steps and looks espied on, hands and feet Fettered as 'twere with glances of strange eyes That guard me lest I stray ; my ways, my words. My very sleep their subject, Bothwell. You were wont To walk more free ; I wot you have seen fair days When you lived large i' the sun, and had sweet tongues To sing with yours, and haply lips and eyes To make song sweeter than the lute may ; now 'Tis hard that you sit here my woeful wife. Who use you thus despitefuUy, that yet Was never queen so mated with a groom And so mishandled ; have you said so ? Queen. I ? Bothwell. Who hath put these words else in men's mouths, that prate 326 BOTHWELL [act ir. How you lie fast in prison ? I did know A woman's tongue keen as her faith was light, But faith so like the wind spake never yet With tongue so like a sword's point. Queen. No, my lord ? 'Tis well that I should hear so first of you Who best may know the truth of your worst word. Both-well. Is it no truth that men so speak, and you, By speech or silence or by change of face, By piteous eyes or angry, give them cause To babble of your bonds ? What grace you show Toward others is as doubt and hate of me In these our enemies' sight, who see it and swear Vou are kept in ward here of my will, and made, < Jut of no trust or love but force and fear, Thrall to my hand. Why, being but two days wed, Must there be cause between us of dispute For such a thing as this man, in whose name I am crossed and slighted of your wanton will ? Queen. If he be worth no more than you conceive. What grace I do him can hurt you ? Bothweil. I conceive ! Why, what worth is he with you, that I should Conceive the least thought of him ? Were I hurt, Assure yourself it would be to his death ; Lay that much to your heart. Qtieen. My heart is killed. I have not where to lay it. Bothweil. ' Pray you, no tears ; I have seen you weep when dead men were alive That for your eye-drops wept their hearts' blood out ; SCENE XI.] BOTH WELL 327 So will not I. You have done me foolish wrong And haply cast your fame for food to hounds Whose teeth will strip it hour by hour more bare Whereon they have gnawed before. Queen. What have I done ? Speak. Bothwell. Nay, I will, because you know not ; hark, You are even too simple and harmless ; being man's wife, Not now the first time, you should buy more wit Though with less innocence ; you have given a gift, Out of your maiden singleness of soul And eye most witless of misconstruing eyes. Where you should not : this is strange truth to you, But truth, God help us ! that man's horse who was Your husband, and whose chattels, place, and name Lie in my hold I think now lawfully Whence none is like to wring them, have you given Out of my hand to one of whom fame saith That by the witness of a northland witch He when I die must wed you, and my life Shall last not half a year ; for in your bed Must lie two husbands after me, and you Shall in your fifth lord's lifetime die by fire. Now, being but third and least in worth of these, I would not have you die so red a death, But keep you from aU fresh or fiercer heat Than of my lips and arms ; for which things' sake I am not bUthe, so please you, to behold How straight this lay lord abbot of Arbroath 3-8 BOTHWELL [act hi. Sits in your husband's saddle. Pardon me That with my jealous knowledge I confoimd Your virginal sweet ignorance of men's minds, 111 thoughts and tongues unmannerly, that strike At the pure heart which dreams not on such harm ; It is my love and care of your life's peace Makes me thus venturous to wage words with you, And put such troublous things in your fair mind. Whereof God wot you knew not : and to end, Take this much of me ; live what life you may Or die what death, while I have part in you. None shall have part with me ; nor touch nor word Nor eye nor hand nor writing nor one thought The lightest that may hang upon a look Shall man get of you that I know not of And answer not upon him. Be you sure I am not of such fool's mould cast in flesh As royal-blooded husbands ; being no king Nor kin of kings, but one that keep unarmed My head but with my hand, and have no wit To twitch you strings and match you rhyme for rhyme And turn and twitter on a tripping tongue. But so much wit to make my word and sword Keep time and rhyme together, say and slay. Set this down in such record as you list. But keep it surer than you keep your mind If that be changing : for by heaven and hell I swear to keep the word I give you fast As faith can hold it, that who thwarts me here Or comes across my will's way in my wife's, SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 329 Dies as a dog dies, doomless. Now, your pleasure ; I prate no more. Queen. Shall I be handled thus ? Bothwell.- You have too much been handled other- vise ; Now will I keep you from men's hands in mine, Or lack the use of these. Queen. What, to strike me ? You shall not need ; give me a knife to strike That I may let my life out in his eye. Or I wUl drown myself. Bothwell. Why, choose again ; I cross you not. Queen. Give me a knife, I say. Arthur Erskine. Make not our hearts bleed, madam, as they burn To hear what we hear silent. Bothwell. Comfort her ; You were her chamber-knight on David's day. -Arthur Erskine. My lord, the reverence that the queen's sight bears And awe toward her make me thus slow to set My hand to do what work my heart bids ; else I would not doubt to stand before your grace And make such answer as her servant may. Queett. Forbear him, Arthur ; nay, and me ; 'tis I On whom all strokes first fall and sorest smite, Who most of all am shieldless, without stay. And look for no man's comfort. Pray you, sir, If it be in your -yvill that I cast off 330 BOTHWELL [act iit. This heavy life to lighten your life's load That now with mine is laden, let me die More queenlike than this dog's death you denounce Against the man that falls into your hate : Though not for love, yet shame, because I was A queen that loved you : else you should not seem So royal in her sight whose eyes you serve, Nor she when I am dead with such high heart Behold you, nor with such glad lips commend As conqueror of me slain for her love's sake And servant of her living in your love. Let me die therefore queenlike, and your sword Strike where your tongue hath struck ; though not so deep, It shaU suffice to cleave my heart and end. Bothwell. Hear you, my queen; if we twain be one flesh, I will not have this daintier part of it Turn any timeless hand against itself To hurt me, nor this fire which is your tongue Shoot any flame on me; no fuel am I To bum and feed you ; not a spark you shed Shall kindle me to ruin, but with my foot Rather will I tread out the light that was A firebrand for the death of many a man To light the pile whereon they burnt alive. What, have I taken it in my hand to scorch And not to light me ? or hath it set fire To so few lives already that who bears Needs not to watch it warily and wake SCENE XI.] BOTH WELL ^31 When the night falls about him ? Nay, the man • Were twice the fool that these your dead men were, Who seeing as I have seen and in his hand Holding the fire I carry through the dark To be the beacon of my travelling days And shine upon them ended, should not walk With feet and eyes both heedful at what hour By what light's leading on what groimd he goes. And toward what end : be therefore you content ' To keep your flame's heat for your enemies' bale. And for your friend that large and liberal light That gave itself too freely, shot too far. Till it was closed as in a lantern up To make my path plain to me ; which once lost, The light goes out for ever. Queen. Yea, I knowj My life can be but light now to your life. And of no service else ; or if none there. Even as you say, must needs be quenched ; and would The wind that now beats on it and the sea Had quenched it ere your breath, and I gone out With no man's blood behind me. Bothwell. Come, be wise ; Our sun is not yet sunken. Queen. No, not yet ; The sky must even wax redder than it is When that shall sink ; darkness and smoke of hell, Clouds that rain blood, and blast of winds that wreck, Shall be about it setting. Bothwell. What, your heart 332 BOTHWELL [act hi. Fails you now first that shrank not when a man's Might well at need have failed him ? Queen. Ay, and no ; It is the heart that fired me fails my heart, And as that bows beneath it so doth mine Bend, and will break so surely. Bothwell. Nay, not mine ; There is not weight yet on our adverse part, Fear not, to bend it. Queen. Yet it fails me now. I have leant too much my whole life's weight on it With all my soul's strength, and beneath the firaught I hear it split and sunder. Let me rest ; I would fain sleep a space now. Who goes there ? Mary Beaton. A suitor to behold your majesty Queen. I will not see him. Who should make suit to me ? Who moves yet in this world so miserable That I can comfort ? or what hand so weak . It should be now my suppliant, or uplift Id prayer for help's sake to lay hold on mine ? What am I to give aid or alms, who have Nor alms nor aid at hand of them to whom I gave not some but all part of myself ? I will not see him. Mary Beaton. It is a woman. Queen. Ay ? But yet I think no queen ; and cannot be But therefore happier and more strong than I. Yet I will see what woman's face for grief SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 333 Comes to seek help at mine ; if she be mad, Me may she teach to lose my wits and woes And live more enviable tnan ye that yet Have wit to know me wretched. Enter ] A.'U'E. Gordon. Who is this? Are you my suitor? jf^ane Gordon. I am she that was Countess of Bothwell ; now my name again Is that my father gave me. Queen. Ay, no more ; You are daughter yet and sister to great earls. And bear that honour blameless ; be it enough ; And tell me wherefore by that name you come And with what suit before me. 'yane Gordon. Even but this. To look once on you and to bid farewell Ere I fare forth from sight. Queen. Farewell ; and yet I know not who should in this world fare well. Is the word said ? jFane Gordon. A little leave at last I pray you give me : that I seek it not For love or envy toward my sometime lord Or heart toward you disloyal now my queen, Let me not plead uncredited. I came Surely with no good hope to no glad end, But with no thought so vile of will as this. To thrust between your hearts the care of me, 334 BOTHWELL [act hi. Claim right or challenge pity, melt or fret Your eyes with forced compassion : I did think To have kissed your hand and something said for sign I had come not of weak heart or evil will, But in good faith, to see how strong in love They stand whose joy makes joyless all my life. Whose loving leaves it loveless, and their wealth Feeds full upon my famine. Be not wroth ; I speak not to rebuke you of my want Or of my loss reprove you, that you take My crown of love to gild your crown of gold ; I know what right you have, and take no shame To sit for your sake humbled, who being bom A poor mean woman would not less have been By God's grace royal, and by visible seal A natural queen of women ; but being crowned You make the throne imperial, and your hand Puts power into the sceptre ; yea, this head Of its gold circlet takes not majesty. But gives it of its own ; this may men see, And I deny not ; nor is this but just. That I, who have no such honour bom or given, Should have not either, if it please you not. That which I thought I had ; the name I wore, The hand scarce yet a year since laid in mine. The eye that burned on mine as on a wife's. The lip that swore me faith, the heart that held No thought or throb wherein I had no part, Or heaved but with a traitor's breath, and beat With pulse but of a liar. SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 335 Bothwell. Ay, swore I so ? Why, this was truth last year then. Queeri. Truth, my lord ? What does the fire of suph a word as this Between such lips but burn them, as mine ears Bum that must hear by your device and hers With what strange flatteries on her prompted lips This dame unwedded lifts her hand unringed To abash me with its show of faith, and make Your wife ashamed at sight of such a love As yet she bears you that is not your wife ? Bothwell. What devil should prick me to such empty proof And pride unprofitable ? I pray you think I am no such boy to boast of such a spoil As chamberers make their brag of. Let her speak And part not as unfiriends. Queen. Madam, and you That thus renumber and resound his vows, To what good end I know not, in our ear, What would you have of him whom your own will Rose up to plead against as false, to break His bonds that irked you and unspeak the word That held you hand in hand ? Did you not pray To be set free from bondage, and now turn To question with the hand that you put oif If it did well to loose you ? yane Gordon. Truly, no ; Nor will I question with your grace in this, Whether by mine own will and uncompelled .336 BOTHWELL [act iii. I only would have put that hand away That I will say would yet have held mine fast But for my frowardness and rancorous mind ; Let all this even be so ; as he shall say Who will say nought but with your queenly will, Why, so will I. Yet ere I am gone, my lord — O, not my lord, but hers whose thrall am I — My sometime friend and yet not enemy, If this thing not offend you, that I crave So much breath of you as may do me right, I pray you witness for me how far forth And for what love's sake 1 took part with you Or gave consent to our devised divorce. And if this were for hate ; for you should know How much of old time I have hated you. How bitter made my heart, what jealous edge Set on mine envy toward you ; spare not then To say if out of cold or cankered heart I sought, or yielded shamefully for spite. To be divided from you. Nay, forbear ; Speak not, nor frown on me ; you cannot say I was your loveless or disloyal wife. Or in my void bed on disconsolate nights Sought comfort but of tears : nor that I held Mine honour hurt of that which bruised my heart, And grudged to help you to mine own most wrong And lend you mine own hand to smite myself And make you by mine own mouth quit of me. This that I did, and wherefore I did this, And if for love's or hate's sake, verily SCENE XI.] BOTHWELL 337 You shall not say you know not, and the queen Shall blame me not to put you yet in mind^ Nor think it much that I make- record here Of this that was between us : wherefore now I take no shame at this my leave-taking To part as one that has not eured herein, To love too little ; this shall not be said When one bethinks him such a woman was, That with poor spirit or with contracted heart I gave myselif to love you, or was found Too mean of mind or sparing of my soul To cast for love the crown of love away, And when you bade refiise you for my lord, Whom, had you biddieni with' my whole heart's blood I had thought not much to purchase for my love : But seeing nor blood nor all my body's tears Might buy you back to love me, I- was fain That you should take them and my very life To buy new love and life with. Sir, and now Ere we twain part Queen. What, are ye parted not ? Between his lover and my lord I stand And see them weep and wrangle ere they part. And hold my peace for pity ! jFane Gordon. God shall judge If with pure heart and patience, or with soul That bums and pines, I would have said farewell; I crave but this much of your grace and God's, Make me at last not angry. Queen. Have you held z 338 BOTHWELL [act iil No counsel or communion with my lord Since 1 am shamed that take upon my lips Such inquisition. If you have aught yet, speak ; I bid not nor forbid you. yam Gordon. Nought but this ; To unpledge my faith, unplight my love, and so Set on his hand the seal by touch of mine That sunders us. Queen. You shall not take his hand. Jane Gordon. I think not ever then to touch it more, Nor now desire, who have seen with eyes more sad More than I thought with sorrowing eyes to see When I came hither ; so this long last time Farewell, my lord j and you, his queen, farewell. \Exit. Queen. Hath she made end ? While I have part in you. None shall have part with me; was this my lord. Was this not you that said so ? Bothwell. Come, enough; I am bound not to be baited of your tongues. Queen. Bid her come back. Bothwell. What, are you foolish? think You twain shall look in either's eyes no more. Queen. Why should I look in yours to find her there? For there she sits as in a mirror shown By the love's light enkindled from your heart. That flashed but on me like a fen-fire lit To lure me to my grave's edge, whence I fall SCENE xi.] BOTHWELL 339 Deep as the pit of hell ; but yet for shame Deny not her to me as me to her, Me that have known this ever, but lacked heart To put the thing to use I knew ; and now For both our sakes who have loved you, play not false But with one love at once ; take up your love And wear it as a garland in men's sight, For it becomes you ; if you love me not, Youhave liedbythis enough ; speak truth, shake hands, Loose hearts and leave me. Bothwell. Vex not me too long, Vexing your own heart thus with vanity ; Take up your wisdom that you have at will. And wear it as a sword in danger's sight That now looks hard upon us. Mine you are, Love me or love not, trust me not or trust. As yours am I ; and even as I in you. Have faith in me, no less nor further ; then We shall have trust enough on either part To build a wall about us at whose foot That sea of iron swayed by winds of war Shall break in foam like blood ; and hurled once back. The hearts and swords of all our enemies fallen Lie where they fell for ever. Know but this, And care not what is unknown else ; we twain Have wrought not out this fortune that we have Nor made us way to such an hour and power To let men take and break it, while as fools We kiss and brawl and cry and kiss again. And wot not when they smite. For these next days. 340 BOTHWELL [act iti. We will behold the triumph held at Leith And pageant of a sea-fight as set forth With open face and spirit of joyousness To fix this faith in all men's eyes and minds, That while life lives we stand indissoluble ; Then shall you send, out for your child ag?,in Forth of Lord Mar's good keeping, that your heart May here have comfort in his present sight ; So shall all these who make his name their ?wor