2D CITIZEN.

What saith he now?

THE PREACHER.

The mercy of a harlot is a sword; And her mouth sharper than a flame of fire.

SCENE II.--In Prison.

CHASTELARD.

So here my time shuts up; and the last light Has made the last shade in the world for me.

The sunbeam that was narrow like a leaf Has turned a hand, and the hand stretched to an arm, And the arm has reached the dust on the floor, and made A maze of motes with paddling fingers. Well, I knew now that a man so sure to die Could care so little; a bride-night's lustiness Leaps in my veins as light fire under a wind: As if I felt a kindling beyond death Of some new joys far outside of me yet; Sweet sound, sweet smell and touch of things far out Sure to come soon. I wonder will death be Even all it seems now? or the talk of hell And wretched changes of the worn-out soul Nailed to decaying flesh, shall that be true?

Or is this like the forethought of deep sleep Felt by a tired man? Sleep were good enough-- Shall sleep be all? But I shall not forget For any sleep this love bound upon me-- For any sleep or quiet ways of death.

Ah, in my weary dusty space of sight Her face will float with heavy scents of hair And fire of subtle amorous eyes, and lips More hot than wine, full of sweet wicked words Babbled against mine own lips, and long hands Spread out, and pale bright throat and pale bright breasts, Fit to make all men mad. I do believe This fire shall never quite burn out to the ash And leave no heat and flame upon my dust For witness where a man's heart was burnt up.

For all Christ's work this Venus is not quelled, But reddens at the mouth with blood of men, Sucking between small teeth the sap o' the veins, Dabbling with death her little tender lips-- A bitter beauty, poisonous-pearled mouth.

I am not fit to live but for love's sake, So I were best die shortly. Ah, fair love, Fair fearful Venus made of deadly foam, I shall escape you somehow with my death-- Your splendid supple body and mouth on fire And Paphian breath that bites the lips with heat.

I had best die.

[Enter MARY BEATON.]

What, is my death's time come, And you the friend to make death kind to me?

'T is sweetly done; for I was sick for this.

MARY BEATON.

Nay, but see here; nay, for you shall not die: She has reprieved you; look, her name to that, A present respite; I was sure of her: You are quite safe: here, take it in your hands: I am faint with the end of pain. Read there.

CHASTELARD.

Reprieve?

Wherefore reprieve? Who has done this to me?

MARY BEATON.

I never feared but God would have you live, Or I knew well God must have punished me; But I feared nothing, had no sort of fear.

What makes you stare upon the seal so hard?

Will you not read now?

CHASTELARD.

A reprieve of life-- Reprieving me from living. Nay, by God, I count one death a bitter thing enough.

MARY BEATON.

See what she writes; you love; for love of you; Out of her love; a word to save your life: But I knew this too though you love me not: She is your love; I knew that: yea, by heaven.

CHASTELARD.

You knew I had to live and be reprieved: Say I were bent to die now?

MARY BEATON.

Do not die, For her sweet love's sake; not for pity of me, You would not bear with life for me one hour; But for hers only.

CHASTELARD.

Nay, I love you well, I would not hurt you for more lives than one.

But for this fair-faced paper of reprieve, We'll have no riddling to make death shift sides: Look, here ends one of us.

[Tearing it.]

For her I love, She will not anger heaven with slaying me; For me, I am well quit of loving her; For you, I pray you be well comforted, Seeing in my life no man gat good by me And by my death no hurt is any man's.

MARY BEATON.

And I that loved you? nay, I loved you; nay, Why should your like be pitied when they love?

Her hard heart is not yet so hard as yours, Nor God's hard heart. I care not if you die.

These bitter madmen are not fit to live.

I will not have you touch me, speak to me, Nor take farewell of you. See you die well, Or death will play with shame for you, and win, And laugh you out of life. I am right glad I never am to see you any more, For I should come to hate you easily; I would not have you live.

[Exit.]

CHASTELARD.

She has cause enow.

I would this wretched waiting had an end, For I wax feebler than I was: God knows I had a mind once to have saved this flesh And made life one with shame. It marvels me This girl that loves me should desire so much To have me sleep with shame for bedfellow A whole life's space; she would be glad to die To escape such life. It may be too her love Is but an amorous quarrel with herself, Not love of me but her own wilful soul; Then she will live and be more glad of this Than girls of their own will and their heart's love Before love mars them: so God go with her!

For mine own love-I wonder will she come Sad at her mouth a little, with drawn cheeks And eyelids wrinkled up? or hot and quick To lean her head on mine and leave her lips Deep in my neck? For surely she must come; And I should fare the better to be sure What she will do. But as it please my sweet; For some sweet thing she must do if she come, Seeing how I have to die. Now three years since This had not seemed so good an end for me; But in some wise all things wear round betimes And wind up well. Yet doubtless she might take A will to come my way and hold my hands And kiss me some three kisses, throat, mouth, eyes, And say some soft three words to soften death: I do not see how this should break her ease.

Nay, she will come to get her warrant back: By this no doubt she is sorely penitent, Her fit of angry mercy well blown out And her wits cool again. She must have chafed A great while through for anger to become So like pure pity; they must have fretted her Night mad for anger: or it may be mistrust, She is so false; yea, to my death I think She will not trust me; alas the hard sweet heart!

As if my lips could hurt her any way But by too keenly kissing of her own.

Ah false poor sweet fair lips that keep no faith, They shall not catch mine false or dangerous; They must needs kiss me one good time, albeit They love me not at all. Lo, here she comes, For the blood leaps and catches at my face; There go her feet and tread upon my heart; Now shall I see what way I am to die.

[Enter the QUEEN.]

QUEEN.

What, is one here? Speak to me for God's sake: Where are you lain?

CHASTELARD.

Here, madam, at your hand.

QUEEN.

Sweet lord, what sore pain have I had for you And been most patient!--Nay, you are not bound.

If you be gentle to me, take my hand.

Do you not hold me the worst heart in the world?

Nay, you must needs; but say not yet you do.

I am worn so weak I know not how I live: Reach me your hand.

CHASTELARD.

Take comfort and good heart; All will find end; this is some grief to you, But you shall overlive it. Come, fair love; Be of fair cheer: I say you have done no wrong.

QUEEN.

I will not be of cheer: I have done a thing That will turn fire and burn me. Tell me not; If you will do me comfort, whet your sword.

But if you hate me, tell me of soft things, For I hate these, and bitterly. Look up; Am I not mortal to be gazed upon?

CHASTELARD.

Yea, mortal, and not hateful.

QUEEN.

O lost heart!

Give me some mean to die by.