How soft the silk is-gracious color too; Violet shadows like new veins thrown up Each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green Where the wrist lies thus eased. I am right glad I have no maids about to hasten me-- So I will rest and see my hair shed down On either silk side of my woven sleeves, Get some new way to bind it back with-yea, Fair mirror-glass, I am well ware of you, Yea, I know that, I am quite beautiful.

How my hair shines!-Fair face, be friends with me And I will sing to you; look in my face Now, and your mouth must help the song in mine.

Alys la chatelaine Voit venir de par Seine Thiebault le capitaine Qui parle ainsi!

Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more But the comb drawn through half my hissing hair Laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it.

Dans ma camaille Plus de clou qui vaille, Dans ma cotte-maille Plus de fer aussi.

Ah, but I wrong the ballad-verse: what's good In such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to make Their broken burden lag with us? meseems I could be sad now if I fell to think The least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady's fool, Fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyes For a small thing. Nay, but I will keep glad, Nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me.

But my first wedding was not like to this-- Fair faces then and laughter and sweet game, And a pale little mouth that clung on mine When I had kissed him by the faded eyes And either thin cheek beating with faint blood.

Well, he was sure to die soon; I do think He would have given his body to be slain, Having embraced my body. Now, God knows, I have no man to do as much for me As give me but a little of his blood To fill my beauty from, though I go down Pale to my grave for want--I think not. Pale-- I am too pale purely--Ah!

[See him in the glass, coming forward.]

CHASTELARD.

Be not afraid.

QUEEN.

Saint Mary! what a shaken wit have I!

Nay, is it you? who let you through the doors?

Where be my maidens? which way got you in?

Nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard; By God's fair body, if you but breathe on them You are just dead and slain at once. What adder Has bit you mirthful mad? for by this light A man to have his head laughed off for mirth Is no great jest. Lay not your eyes on me; What, would you not be slain?

CHASTELARD.

I pray you, madam, Bear with me a brief space and let me speak.

I will not touch your garments even, nor speak But in soft wise, and look some other way, If that it like you; for I came not here For pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will, Let me look on you.

QUEEN.

As you will, fair sir.

Give me that coif to gather in my hair-- I thank you--and my girdle-nay, that side.

Speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone, Why, you shall go, because I hate you not.

You know that I might slay you with my lips, With calling out? but I will hold my peace.

CHASTELARD.

Yea, do some while. I had a thing to say; I know not wholly what thing. O my sweet, I am come here to take farewell of love That I have served, and life that I have lived Made up of love, here in the sight of you That all my life's time I loved more than God, Who quits me thus with bitter death for it.

For you well know that I must shortly die, My life being wound about you as it is, Who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet, But tell me wherein I came short of love; For doubtless I came short of a just love, And fell in some fool's fault that angered you.

Now that I talk men dig my grave for me Out in the rain, and in a little while I shall be thrust in some sad space of earth Out of your eyes; and you, O you my love, A newly-wedded lady full of mirth And a queen girt with all good people's love, You shall be fair and merry in all your days.

Is this so much for me to have of you?

Do but speak, sweet: I know these are no words A man should say though he were now to die, But I am as a child for love, and have No strength at heart; yea, I am afraid to die, For the harsh dust will lie upon my face Too thick to see you past. Look how I love you; I did so love you always, that your face Seen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tears For pure delight in you. Why do you thus?

You answer not, but your lips curl in twain And your face moves; there, I shall make you weep And be a coward too; it were much best I should be slain.

QUEEN.

Yea, best such folk were slain; Why should they live to cozen fools with lies?

You would swear now you have used me faithfully; Shall I not make you swear? I am ware of you: You will not do it; nay, for the fear of God You will not swear. Come, I am merciful; God made a foolish woman, making me, And I have loved your mistress with whole heart; Say you do love her, you shall marry her And she give thanks: yet I could wish your love Had not so lightly chosen forth a face; For your fair sake, because I hate you not.

CHASTELARD.

What is to say? why, you do surely know That since my days were counted for a man's I have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense, Whatever thing was bitter to my love, I have loved you; how when I rode in war Your face went floated in among men's helms, Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords; Yea, and I never have loved women well, Seeing always in my sight I had your lips Curled over, red and sweet; and the soft space Of carven brows, and splendor of great throat Swayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one have To wind his arms about a lesser love?

I have seen you; why, this were joy enough For God's eyes up in heaven, only to see And to come never nearer than I am.

Why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood, Bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writ All my heart over: if I would lie to you I doubt I could not lie. Ah, you see now, You know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love, Let me kiss there.

QUEEN.

I love you best of them.

Clasp me quite round till your lips cleave on mine, False mine, that did you wrong. Forgive them dearly As you are sweet to them; for by love's love I am not that evil woman in my heart That laughs at a rent faith. O Chastelard, Since this was broken to me of your new love I have not seen the face of a sweet hour.

Nay, if there be no pardon in a man, What shall a woman have for loving him?

Pardon me, sweet.

CHASTELARD.

Yea, so I pardon you, And this side now; the first way. Would God please To slay me so! who knows how he might please?

Now I am thinking, if you know it not, How I might kill you, kiss your breath clean out, And take your soul to bring mine through to God, That our two souls might close and be one twain Or a twain one, and God himself want skill To set us either severally apart.

O, you must overlive me many years.

And many years my soul be in waste hell; But when some time God can no more refrain To lay death like a kiss across your lips, And great lords bear you clothed with funeral things, And your crown girded over deadly brows, Then after you shall touch me with your eyes, Remembering love was fellow with my flesh Here in sweet earth, and make me well of love And heal my many years with piteousness.

QUEEN.

You talk too sadly and too feignedly.

CHASTELARD.

Too sad, but not too feigned; I am sad That I shall die here without feigning thus; And without feigning I were fain to live.

QUEEN.

Alas, you will be taken presently And then you are but dead. Pray you get hence.

CHASTELARD.

I will not.

QUEEN.

Nay, for God's love be away; You will be slain and I get shame. God's mercy!

You were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet.

Oh, I do love you more than all men! yea, Take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast, So you leave hold a little; there, for pity, Abide now, and to-morrow come to me.

Nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat-- Dear God! what shall I give you to be gone?

CHASTELARD.

I will not go. Look, here's full night grown up; Why should I seek to sleep away from here?

The place is soft and the lights burn for sleep; Be not you moved; I shall lie well enough.

QUEEN.

You are utterly undone. Sweet, by my life, You shall be saved with taking ship at once.

For if you stay this foolish love's hour out There is not ten days' likely life in you.

This is no choice.

CHASTELARD.

Nay, for I will not go.

QUEEN.

O me! this is that Bayard's blood of yours That makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay.

I do not understand. Mind, you must die.

Alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me; I shall be deadly to you.

CHASTELARD.

Yea, I saw that; But I saw not that when my death's day came You could be quite so sweet to me.