Mary Stuart Read Online

'Faith,

How say'st thou? did I well?

MARY BEATON.

Ay, surely well

To keep that back you did not ill to write.

MARY STUART.

I think so, and again I think not; yet

The best I did was bid thee burn it. She,

That other Bess I mean of Hardwick, hath

Mixed with her gall the fire at heart of hell,

And all the mortal medicines of the world

To drug her speech with poison; and God wot

Her daughter's child here that I bred and loved,

Bess Pierpoint, my sweet bedfellow that was,

Keeps too much savour of her grandam's stock

For me to match with Nau; my secretary

Shall with no slip of hers engraft his own,

Begetting shame or peril to us all

From her false blood and fiery tongue; except

I find a mate as meet to match with him

For truth to me as Gilbert Curle hath found,

I will play Tudor once and break the banns,

Put on the feature of Elizabeth

To frown their hands in sunder.

MARY BEATON.

Were it not

Some tyranny to take her likeness on

And bitter-hearted grudge of matrimony

For one and not his brother secretary,

Forbid your Frenchman's banns for jealousy

And grace your English with such liberal love

As Barbara fails not yet to find of you

Since she writ Curle for Mowbray? and herein

There shows no touch of Tudor in your mood

More than its wont is; which indeed is nought;

The world, they say, for her should waste, ere man

Should get her virginal goodwill to wed.

MARY STUART.

I would not be so tempered of my blood,

So much mismade as she in spirit and flesh,

To be more fair of fortune. She should hate

Not me, albeit she hate me deadly, more

Than thee or any woman. By my faith,

Fain would I know, what knowing not of her now

I muse upon and marvel, if she have

Desire or pulse or passion of true heart

Fed full from natural veins, or be indeed

All bare and barren all as dead men's bones

Of all sweet nature and sharp seed of love,

And those salt springs of life, through fire and tears

That bring forth pain and pleasure in their kind

To make good days and evil, all in her

Lie sere and sapless as the dust of death.

I have found no great good hap in all my days

Nor much good cause to make me glad of God,

Yet have I had and lacked not of my life

My good things and mine evil: being not yet

Barred from life's natural ends of evil and good

Foredoomed for man and woman through the world

Till all their works be nothing: and of mine

I know but this – though I should die to-day,

I would not take for mine her fortune.

MARY BEATON.

No?

Myself perchance I would not.

MARY STUART.

Dost thou think

That fire-tongued witch of Shrewsbury spake once truth

Who told me all those quaint foul merry tales

Of our dear sister that at her desire

I writ to give her word of, and at thine

Withheld and put the letter in thine hand

To burn as was thy counsel? for my part,

How loud she lied soever in the charge

That for adultery taxed me with her lord

And being disproved before the council here

Brought on their knees to give themselves the lie

Her and her sons by that first lord of four

That took in turn this hell-mouthed hag to wife

And got her kind upon her, yet in this

I do believe she lied not more than I

Reporting her by record, how she said

What infinite times had Leicester and his queen

Plucked all the fruitless fruit of baffled love

That being contracted privily they might,

With what large gust of fierce and foiled desire

This votaress crowned, whose vow could no man break,

Since God whose hand shuts up the unkindly womb

Had sealed it on her body, man by man

Would course her kindless lovers, and in quest

Pursue them hungering as a hound in heat,

Full on the fiery scent and slot of lust,

That men took shame and laughed and marvelled; one,

Her chamberlain, so hotly would she trace

And turn perforce from cover, that himself

Being tracked at sight thus in the general eye

Was even constrained to play the piteous hare

And wind and double till her amorous chase

Were blind with speed and breathless; but the worst

Was this, that for this country's sake and shame's

Our huntress Dian could not be content

With Hatton and another born her man

And subject of this kingdom, but to heap

The heavier scandal on her countrymen

Had cast the wild growth of her lust away

On one base-born, a stranger, whom of nights

Within her woman's chamber would she seek

To kiss and play for shame with secretly;

And with the duke her bridegroom that should be,

That should and could not, seeing forsooth no man

Might make her wife or woman, had she dealt

As with this knave his follower; for by night

She met him coming at her chamber door

In her bare smock and night-rail, and thereon

Bade him come in; who there abode three hours:

But fools were they that thought to bind her will

And stay with one man or allay the mood

That ranging still gave tongue on several heats

To hunt fresh trails of lusty love; all this,

Thou knowest, on record truly was set down,

With much more villainous else: she prayed me write

That she might know the natural spirit and mind

Toward her of this fell witch whose rancorous mouth

Then bayed my name, as now being great with child

By her fourth husband, in whose charge I lay

As here in Paulet's; so being moved I wrote,

And yet I would she had read it, though not now

Would I re-write each word again, albeit

I might, or thou, were I so minded, or

Thyself so moved to bear such witness; but

'Tis well we know not how she had borne to read

All this and more, what counsel gave the dame,

With loud excess of laughter urging me

To enter on those lists of love-making

My son for suitor to her, who thereby

Might greatly serve and stead me in her sight;

And I replying that such a thing could be

But held a very mockery, she returns,

The queen was so infatuate and distraught

With high conceit of her fair fretted face

As of a heavenly goddess, that herself

Would take it on her head with no great pains

To bring her to believe it easily;

Being so past reason fain of flattering tongues

She thought they mocked her not nor lied who said

They might not sometimes look her full in face

For the light glittering from it as the sun;

And so perforce must all her women say

And she herself that spake, who durst not look

For fear to laugh out each in other's face

Even while they fooled and fed her vein with words,

Nor let their eyes cross when they spake to her

And set their feature fast as in a frame

To keep grave countenance with gross mockery lined;

And how she prayed me chide her daughter, whom

She might by no means move to take this way,

And for her daughter Talbot was assured

She could not ever choose but laugh outright

Even in the good queen's flattered face. God wot,

Had she read all, and in my hand set down,

I could not blame her though she had sought to take

My head for payment; no less poise on earth

Had served, and hardly, for the writer's fee;

I could not much have blamed her; all the less,

That I did take this, though from slanderous lips,

For gospel and not slander, and that now

I yet do well believe it.

MARY BEATON.

And herself

Had well believed so much, and surely seen,

For all your protest of discredit made

With God to witness that you could not take

Such tales for truth of her nor would not, yet

You meant not she should take your word for this,

As well I think she would not.

MARY STUART.

Haply, no.

We do protest not thus to be believed.

And yet the witch in one thing seven years since

Belied her, saying she then must needs die soon

For timeless fault of nature. Now belike

The soothsaying that speaks short her span to be

May prove more true of presage.

MARY BEATON.

Have you hope

The chase to-day may serve our further ends

Than to renew your spirit and bid time speed?

MARY STUART.

I see not but I may; the hour is full

Which I was bidden expect of them to bear

More fruit than grows of promise; Babington

Should tarry now not long; from France our friends

Lift up their heads to usward, and await

What comfort may confirm them from our part

Who sent us comfort; Ballard's secret tongue

Has kindled England, striking from men's hearts

As from a flint the fire that slept, and made

Their dark dumb thoughts and dim disfigured hopes

Take form from his and feature, aim and strength,

Speech and desire toward action; all the shires

Wherein the force lies hidden of our faith

Are stirred and set on edge of present deed

And hope more imminent now of help to come

And work to do than ever; not this time

We hang on trust in succour that comes short

By Philip's fault from Austrian John, whose death

Put widow's weeds on mine unwedded hope,

Late trothplight to his enterprise in vain

That was to set me free, but might not seal

The faith it pledged nor on the hand of hope

Make fast the ring that weds desire with deed

And promise with performance; Parma stands

More fast now for us in his uncle's stead,

Albeit the lesser warrior, yet in place

More like to avail us, and in happier time

To do like service; for my cousin of Guise,

His hand and league hold fast our kinsman king,

If not to bend and shape him for our use,

Yet so to govern as he may not thwart

Our forward undertaking till its force

Discharge itself on England: from no side

I see the shade of any fear to fail

As those before so baffled; heart and hand

Our hope is armed with trust more strong than steel

And spirit to strike more helpful than a sword

In hands that lack the spirit; and here to-day

It may be I shall look this hope in the eyes

And see her face transfigured. God is good;

He will not fail his faith for ever. O,

That I were now in saddle! Yet an hour,

And I shall be as young again as May

Whose life was come to August; like this year,

I had grown past midway of my life, and sat

Heartsick of summer; but new-mounted now

I shall ride right through shine and shade of spring

With heart and habit of a bride, and bear

A brow more bright than fortune. Truth it is,

Those words of bride and May should on my tongue

Sound now not merry, ring no joy-bells out

In ears of hope or memory; not for me

Have they been joyous words; but this fair day

All sounds that ring delight in fortunate ears

And words that make men thankful, even to me

Seem thankworthy for joy they have given me not

And hope which now they should not.

MARY BEATON.

Nay, who knows?

The less they have given of joy, the more they may;

And they who have had their happiness before

Have hope not in the future; time o'erpast

And time to be have several ends, nor wear

One forward face and backward.

MARY STUART.

God, I pray,

Turn thy good words to gospel, and make truth

Of their kind presage! but our Scotswomen

Would say, to be so joyous as I am,

Though I had cause, as surely cause I have,

Were no good warrant of good hope for me.

I never took such comfort of my trust

In Norfolk or Northumberland, nor looked

For such good end as now of all my fears

From all devices past of policy

To join my name with my misnatured son's

In handfast pledge with England's, ere my foes

His counsellors had flawed his craven faith

And moved my natural blood to cast me off

Who bore him in my body, to come forth

Less childlike than a changeling. But not long

Shall they find means by him to work their will,

Nor he bear head against me; hope was his

To reign forsooth without my fellowship,

And he that with me would not shall not now

Without or with me wield not or divide

Or part or all of empire.

MARY BEATON.

Dear my queen,

Vex not your mood with sudden change of thoughts;

Your mind but now was merrier than the sun

Half rid by this through morning: we by noon

Should blithely mount and meet him.

MARY STUART.

So I said.

My spirit is fallen again from that glad strength

Which even but now arrayed it; yet what cause

Should dull the dancing measure in my blood

For doubt or wrath, I know not. Being once forth,

My heart again will quicken.

Sings.

And ye maun braid your yellow hair

And busk ye like a bride;

Wi' sevenscore men to bring ye hame,

And æ true love beside;

Between the birk and the green rowan

Fu' blithely shall ye ride.

O ye maun braid my yellow hair,

But braid it like næ bride;

And I maun gang my ways, mither,

Wi' næ true love beside;

Between the kirk and the kirkyard

Fu' sadly shall I ride.

How long since,

How long since was it last I heard or sang

Such light lost ends of old faint rhyme worn thin

With use of country songsters? When we twain

Were maidens but some twice a span's length high,

Thou hadst the happier memory to hold rhyme,

But not for songs the merrier.

MARY BEATON.

This was one

That I would sing after my nurse, I think,

And weep upon in France at six years old

To think of Scotland.

MARY STUART.

Would I weep for that,

Woman or child, I have had now years enough

To weep in; thou wast never French in heart,

Serving the queen of France. Poor queen that was,

Poor boy that played her bridegroom! now they seem

In these mine eyes that were her eyes as far

Beyond the reach and range of oldworld time

As their first fathers' graves.

Enter Sir Amyas Paulet.

PAULET.

Madam, if now

It please you to set forth, the hour is full,

And there your horses ready.

MARY STUART.

Sir, my thanks.

We are bounden to you and this goodly day

For no small comfort. Is it your will we ride

Accompanied with any for the nonce

Of our own household?

PAULET.

If you will, to-day

Your secretaries have leave to ride with you.

MARY STUART.

We keep some state then yet. I pray you, sir,

Doth he wait on you that came here last month,

A low-built lank-cheeked Judas-bearded man,

Lean, supple, grave, pock-pitten, yellow-polled,

A smiling fellow with a downcast eye?

PAULET.

Madam, I know the man for none of mine.

MARY STUART.

I give you joy as you should give God thanks,

Sir, if I err not; but meseemed this man

Found gracious entertainment here, and took

Such counsel with you as I surely thought

Spake him your friend, and honourable; but now

If I misread not an ambiguous word

It seems you know no more of him or less

Than Peter did, being questioned, of his Lord.

PAULET.

I know not where the cause were to be sought

That might for likeness or unlikeness found

Make seemly way for such comparison

As turns such names to jest and bitterness;

Howbeit, as I denied not nor disclaimed

To know the man you speak of, yet I may

With very purity of truth profess

The man to be not of my following.

MARY STUART.

See

How lightly may the tongue that thinks no ill

Or trip or slip, discoursing that or this

With grave good men in purity and truth,

And come to shame even with a word! God wot,

We had need put bit and bridle in our lips

Ere they take on them of their foolishness

To change wise words with wisdom.