Small hurt, meseems, my husband, had it been Though British hands had haled a Scythian queen -If such were found--some woman foul and fierce -To death--or aught we hold for shame's sake worse.
LOCRINE.
For shame's own sake the hand that should not fear To take such monstrous work upon it here, And did not wither from the wrist, should be Hewn off ere hanging.Wolves or men are we, That thou shouldst question this?
GUENDOLEN.
Not wolves, but men, Surely: for beasts are loyal.
LOCRINE.
Guendolen, What irks thee?
GUENDOLEN.
Nought save grief and love; Locrine, A grievous love, a loving grief is mine.
Here stands my husband: there my father lies:
I know not if there live in either's eyes More love, more life of comfort.This our son Loves me: but is there else left living one That loves me back as I love?
LOCRINE.
Nay, but how Has this wild question fired thine heart?
GUENDOLEN.
Not thou!
No part have I--nay, never had I part -
Our child that hears me knows it--in thine heart.
Thy sire it was that bade our hands be one For love of mine, his brother: thou, his son, Didst give not--no--but yield thy hand to mine, To mine thy lips--not thee to me, Locrine.
Thy heart has dwelt far off me all these years;Yet have I never sought with smiles or tears To lure or melt it meward.I have borne -I that have borne to thee this boy--thy scorn, Thy gentleness, thy tender words that bite More deep than shame would, shouldst thou spurn or smite These limbs and lips made thine by contract--made No wife's, no queen's--a servant's--nay, thy shade.
The shadow am I, my lord and king, of thee, Who art spirit and substance, body and soul to me.
And now,--nay, speak not--now my sire is dead Thou think'st to cast me crownless from thy bed Wherein I brought thee forth a son that now Shall perish with me, if thou wilt--and thou Shalt live and laugh to think of us--or yet Play faith more foul--play falser, and forget.
LOCRINE.
Sharp grief has crazed thy brain.Thou knowest of me -GUENDOLEN.
I know that nought I know, Locrine, of thee.
LOCRINE.
What bids thee then revile me, knowing no cause?
GUENDOLEN.
Strong sorrow knows but sorrow's lawless laws.
LOCRINE.
Yet these should turn not grief to raging fire.
GUENDOLEN.
They should not, had my heart my heart's desire.
LOCRINE.
Would God that love, my queen, could give thee this!
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost not call me wife--nor call'st amiss.
LOCRINE.
What name should serve to stay this fitful strife?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost not ill to call me not thy wife.
LOCRINE.
My sister wellnigh wast thou once: and now -GUENDOLEN.
Thy sister never I: my brother thou.
LOCRINE.
How shall man sound this riddle? Read it me.
GUENDOLEN.
As loves a sister, never loved I thee.
LOCRINE.
Not when we played as twinborn child with child?
GUENDOLEN.
If then thou thought'st it, both were sore beguiled.
LOCRINE.
I thought thee sweeter then than summer doves.
GUENDOLEN.
Yet not like theirs--woe worth it!--were our loves.
LOCRINE.
No--for they meet and flit again apart.
GUENDOLEN.
And we live linked, inseparate--heart in heart.
LOCRINE.
Is this the grief that wrings and vexes thine?
GUENDOLEN.
Thy mother laughed when thou wast born, Locrine.
LOCRINE.
Did she not well? sweet laughter speaks not scorn.
GUENDOLEN.
And thou didst laugh, and wept'st not, to be born.
LOCRINE.
Did I then ill? didst thou, then, weep to be?
GUENDOLEN.
The same star lit not thee to birth and me.
LOCRINE.
Thine eyes took light, then, from the fairer star.
GUENDOLEN.
Nay; thine was nigh the sun, and mine afar.
LOCRINE.
Too bright was thine to need the neighbouring sun.
GUENDOLEN.
Nay, all its life of light was wellnigh done.
LOCRINE.
If all on thee its light and life were shed And darkness on thy birthday struck it dead, It died most happy, leaving life and light More fair and full in loves more thankful sight.
GUENDOLEN.
Art thou so thankful, king, for love's kind sake?
Would I were worthier thanks like these I take!
For thanks I cannot render thee again.
LOCRINE.
Too heavy sits thy sorrow, Guendolen, Upon thy spirit of life: I bid thee not Take comfort while the fire of grief is hot Still at thine heart, and scarce thy last keen tear Dried: yet the gods have left thee comfort here.
GUENDOLEN.
Comfort? In thee, fair cousin--or my son?
LOCRINE.
What hast thou done, Madan, or left undone?
Toward thee and me thy mother's mood to-day Seems less than loving.
MADAN.
Sire, I cannot say.
LOCRINE.
Enough: an hour or half an hour is more Than wrangling words should stuff with barren store.
Comfort may'st thou bring to her, if I may none, When all her father quickens in her son.
In Cornish warfare if thou win thee praise, Thine shall men liken to thy grandsire's days.
GUENDOLEN.
To Cornwall must he fare and fight for thee?
LOCRINE.
If heart be his--and if thy will it be.
GUENDOLEN.
What is my will worth more than wind or foam?
LOCRINE.
Why, leave is thine to hold him here at home.
GUENDOLEN.
What power is mine to speed him or to stay?
LOCRINE.
None--should thy child cast love and shame away.
GUENDOLEN.
Most duteous wast thou to thy sire--and mine.
LOCRINE.
Yea, truly--when their bidding sealed me thine.
GUENDOLEN.
Thy smile is as a flame that plays and flits.
LOCRINE.
Yet at my heart thou knowest what fire there sits.
GUENDOLEN.
Not love's--not love's--toward me love burns not there.
LOCRINE.
What wouldst thou have me search therein and swear?
GUENDOLEN.
Swear by the faith none seeking there may find -LOCRINE.
Then--by the faith that lives not in thy kind -GUENDOLEN.
Ay--women's faith is water.Then, by men's -LOCRINE.
Yea--by Locrine's, and not by Guendolen's -GUENDOLEN.
Swear thou didst never love me more than now.
LOCRINE.
I swear it--not when first we kissed.And thou?
GUENDOLEN.
I cannot give thee back thine oath again.
LOCRINE.
If now love wane within thee, lived it then?
GUENDOLEN.
I said not that it waned.I would not swear -LOCRINE.
That it was ever more than shadows were?
GUENDOLEN.
- Thy faith and heart were aught but shadow and fire.
LOCRINE.
But thou, meseems, hast loved--thy son and sire.
GUENDOLEN.
