QUEEN.

As you will, sweet. But if you held me hard You did me grievous wrong. Doth he wait there?

Men call me over tender; I had rather so, Than too ungracious. Father, what with you?

[Enter FATHER BLACK.]

FATHER BLACK.

God's peace and health of soul be with the queen!

And pardon be with me though I speak truth.

As I was going on peaceable men's wise Through your good town, desiring no man harm, A kind of shameful woman with thief's lips Spake somewhat to me over a thrust-out chin, Soliciting as I deemed an alms; which alms (Remembering what was writ of Magdalen) I gave no grudging but with pure good heart, When lo some scurril children that lurked near, Set there by Satan for my stumbling-stone, Fell hooting with necks thwart and eyes asquint, Screeched and made horns and shot out tongues at me, As at my Lord the Jews shot out their tongues And made their heads wag; I considering this Took up my cross in patience and passed forth: Nevertheless one ran between my feet And made me totter, using speech and signs I smart with shame to think of: then my blood Kindled, and I was moved to smite the knave, And the knave howled; whereat the lewd whole herd Brake forth upon me and cast mire and stones So that I ran sore risk of bruise or gash If they had touched; likewise I heard men say, (Their foul speech missed not mine ear) they cried, "This devil's mass-priest hankers for new flesh Like a dry hound; let him seek such at home, Snuff and smoke out the queen's French--"

QUEEN.

They said that?

FATHER BLACK.

"--French paramours that breed more shames than sons All her court through;" forgive me.

QUEEN.

With my heart.

Father, you see the hatefulness of these-- They loathe us for our love. I am not moved: What should I do being angry? By this hand (Which is not big enough to bruise their lips), I marvel what thing should be done with me To make me wroth. We must have patience with us When we seek thank of men.

FATHER BLACK.

Madam, farewell; I pray God keep you in such patient heart.

[Exit.]

QUEEN.

Let him come now.

MARY SEYTON.

Madam, he is at hand.

[Exit.]

[Enter CHASTELARD.]

QUEEN.

Give me that broidery frame; how, gone so soon?

No maid about? Reach me some skein of silk.

What, are you come, fair lord? Now by my life That lives here idle, I am right glad of you; I have slept so well and sweet since yesternight It seems our dancing put me in glad heart.

Did you sleep well?

CHASTELARD.

Yea, as a man may sleep.

QUEEN.

You smile as if I jested; do not men Sleep as we do? Had you fair dreams in the night?

For me--but I should fret you with my dreams-- I dreamed sweet things. You are good at soothsaying: Make me a sonnet of my dream.

CHASTELARD.

I will, When I shall know it.

QUEEN.

I thought I was asleep In Paris, lying by my lord, and knew In somewise he was well awake, and yet I could not wake too; and I seemed to know He hated me, and the least breath I made Would turn somehow to slay or stifle me.

Then in brief time he rose and went away, Saying, Let her dream, but when her dream is out I will come back and kill her as she wakes.

And I lay sick and trembling with sore fear, And still I knew that I was deep asleep; And thinking I must dream now, or I die, God send me some good dream lest I be slain, Fell fancying one had bound my feet with cords And bade me dance, and the first measure made I fell upon my face and wept for pain: And my cords broke, and I began the dance To a bitter tune; and he that danced with me Was clothed in black with long red lines and bars And masked down to the lips, but by the chin I knew you though your lips were sewn up close With scarlet thread all dabbled wet in blood.

And then I knew the dream was not for good.

And striving with sore travail to reach up And kiss you (you were taller in my dream) I missed your lips and woke.

CHASTELARD.

Sweet dreams, you said?

An evil dream I hold it for, sweet love.

QUEEN.

You call love sweet; yea, what is bitter, then?

There's nothing broken sleep could hit upon So bitter as the breaking down of love.

You call me sweet; I am not sweet to you, Nor you-O, I would say not sweet to me, And if I said so I should hardly lie.

But there have been those things between us, sir, That men call sweet.

CHASTELARD.

I know not how There is Turns to There hath been; 't is a heavier change Than change of flesh to dust. Yet though years change And good things end and evil things grow great, The old love that was, or that was dreamed about, That sang and kissed and wept upon itself, Laughed and ran mad with love of its own face, That was a sweet thing.

QUEEN.

Nay, I know not well.

'T is when the man is held fast underground They say for sooth what manner of heart he had.

We are alive, and cannot be well sure If we loved much or little: think you not It were convenient one of us should die?

CHASTELARD.

Madam, your speech is harsh to understand.

QUEEN.

Why, there could come no change then; one of us Would never need to fear our love might turn To the sad thing that it may grow to be.

I would sometimes all things were dead asleep That I have loved, all buried in soft beds And sealed with dreams and visions, and each dawn Sung to by sorrows, and all night assuaged By short sweet kissed and by sweet long loves For old life's sake, lest weeping overmuch Should wake them in a strange new time, and arm Memory's blind hand to kill forgetfulness.

CHASTELARD.

Look, you dream still, and sadly.

QUEEN.

Sooth, a dream; For such things died or lied in sweet love's face, And I forget them not, God help my wit!

I would the whole world were made up of sleep And life not fashioned out of lies and loves.

We foolish women have such times, you know, When we are weary or afraid or sick For perfect nothing.

CHASTELARD.

[Aside.]

Now would one be fain To know what bitter or what dangerous thing She thinks of, softly chafing her soft lip.

She must mean evil.

QUEEN.

Are you sad too, sir, That you say nothing?