A little written book of Ronsard's rhymes, His gift, I wear in there for love of him-- See, here between our feet.

CHASTELARD.

Ay, my old lord's-- The sweet chief poet, my dear friend long since?

Give me the book. Lo you, this verse of his: With coming lilies in late April came Her body, fashioned whiter for their shame; And roses, touched with blood since Adon bled, From her fair color filled their lips with red: A goodly praise: I could not praise you so.

I read that while your marriage-feast went on.

Leave me this book, I pray you: I would read The hymn of death here over ere I die; I shall know soon how much he knew of death When that was written. One thing I know now, I shall not die with half a heart at least, Nor shift my face, nor weep my fault alive, Nor swear if I might live and do new deeds I would do better. Let me keep the book.

QUEEN.

Yea, keep it: as would God you had kept your life Out of mine eyes and hands. I am wrong to the heart: This hour feels dry and bitter in my mouth, As if its sorrow were my body's food More than my soul's. There are bad thoughts in me-- Most bitter fancies biting me like birds That tear each other. Suppose you need not die?

CHASTELARD.

You know I cannot live for two hours more.

Our fate was made thus ere our days were made: Will you fight fortune for so small a grief?

But for one thing I were full fain of death.

QUEEN.

What thing is that?

CHASTELARD.

No need to name the thing.

Why, what can death do with me fit to fear?

For if I sleep I shall not weep awake; Or if their saying be true of things to come, Though hell be sharp, in the worst ache of it I shall be eased so God will give me back Sometimes one golden gracious sight of you-- The aureole woven flowerlike through your hair, And in your lips the little laugh as red As when it came upon a kiss and ceased, Touching my mouth.

QUEEN.

As I do now, this way, With my heart after: would I could shed tears, Tears should not fail when the heart shudders so.

But your bad thought?

CHASTELARD.

Well, such a thought as this: It may be, long time after I am dead, For all you are, you may see bitter days; God may forget you or be wroth with you: Then shall you lack a little help of me, And I shall feel your sorrow touching you, A happy sorrow, though I may not touch: I that would fain be turned to flesh again, Fain get back life to give up life for you, To shed my blood for help, that long ago You shed and were not holpen: and your heart Will ache for help and comfort, yea for love, And find less love than mine--for I do think You never will be loved thus in your life.

QUEEN.

It may be man will never love me more; For I am sure I shall not love man twice.

CHASTELARD.

I know not: men must love you in life's spite; For you will always kill them; man by man Your lips will bite them dead; yea, though you would, You shall not spare one; all will die of you; I cannot tell what love shall do with these, But I for all my love shall have no might To help you more, mine arms and hands no power To fasten on you more. This cleaves my heart, That they shall never touch your body more.

But for your grief--you will not have to grieve; For being in such poor eyes so beautiful It must needs be as God is more than I So much more love he hath of you than mine; Yea, God shall not be bitter with my love, Seeing she is so sweet.

QUEEN.

Ah my sweet fool, Think you when God will ruin me for sin My face of color shall prevail so much With him, so soften the toothed iron's edge To save my throat a scar? nay, I am sure I shall die somehow sadly.

CHASTELARD.

This is pure grief; The shadow of your pity for my death, Mere foolishness of pity: all sweet moods Throw out such little shadows of themselves, Leave such light fears behind. You, die like me?

Stretch your throat out that I may kiss all round Where mine shall be cut through: suppose my mouth The axe-edge to bite so sweet a throat in twain With bitter iron, should not it turn soft As lip is soft to lip?

QUEEN.

I am quite sure I shall die sadly some day, Chastelard; I am quite certain.

CHASTELARD.

Do not think such things; Lest all my next world's memories of you be As heavy as this thought.

QUEEN.

I will not grieve you; Forgive me that my thoughts were sick with grief.

What can I do to give you ease at heart?

Shall I kiss now? I pray you have no fear But that I love you.

CHASTELARD.

Turn your face to me; I do not grudge your face this death of mine; It is too fair--by God, you are too fair.

What noise is that?

QUEEN.

Can the hour be through so soon?

I bade them give me but a little hour.

Ah! I do love you! such brief space for love!

I am yours all through, do all your will with me; What if we lay and let them take us fast, Lips grasping lips? I dare do anything.

CHASTELARD.

Show better cheer: let no man see you mazed; Make haste and kiss me; cover up your throat Lest one see tumbled lace and prate of it.

[Enter the Guard: MURRAY, DARNLEY, MARY HAMILTON, MARY BEATON, and others with them.]

DARNLEY.

Sirs, do your charge; let him not have much time.

MARY HAMILTON.

Peace, lest you chafe the queen: look, her brows bend.

CHASTELARD.

Lords, and all you come hither for my sake, If while my life was with me like a friend That I must now forget the friendship of, I have done a wrong to any man of you, As it may be by fault of mine I have; Of such an one I crave for courtesy He will now cast it from his mind and heed Like a dead thing; considering my dead fault Worth no remembrance further than my death.

This for his gentle honor and goodwill I do beseech him, doubting not to find Such kindliness if he be nobly made And of his birth a courteous race of man.

You, my Lord James, if you have aught toward me-- Or you, Lord Darnley--I dare fear no jot, Whate'er this be wherein you were aggrieved, But you will pardon all for gentleness.

DARNLEY.

For my part--yea, well, if the thing stand thus, As you must die--one would not bear folk hard-- And if the rest shall hold it honorable, Why, I do pardon you.

MURRAY.

Sir, in all things We find no cause to speak of you but well: For all I see, save this your deadly fault, I hold you for a noble perfect man.

CHASTELARD.

I thank you, fair lord, for your nobleness.

You likewise, for the courtesy you have I give you thanks, sir; and to all these lords That have not heart to load me at my death.

Last, I beseech of the best queen of men And royallest fair lady in the world To pardon me my grievous mortal sin Done in such great offence of her: for, sirs, If ever since I came between her eyes She hath beheld me other than I am Or shown her honor other than it is, Or, save in royal faultless courtesies, Used me with favor; if by speech or face, By salutation or by tender eyes, She hath made a way for my desire to live, Given ear to me or boldness to my breath; I pray God cast me forth before day cease Even to the heaviest place there is in hell.

Yea, if she be not stainless toward all men, I pray this axe that I shall die upon May cut me off body and soul from heaven.

Now for my soul's sake I dare pray to you; Forgive me, madam.

QUEEN.

Yea, I do, fair sir: With all my heart in all I pardon you.

CHASTELARD.

God thank you for great mercies. Lords, set hence; I am right loth to hold your patience here; I must not hold much longer any man's.