Locrine - A Tragedy [18]
ford
He thought to traverse, till the floods increased
Against him, and he perished: and Locrine
Found in his camp for sovereign spoil to feast
The sense of power with lustier joy than wine
A woman--Dost thou mock me?
MADAN.
And a fair
Woman, if all men lie not, mother mine -
I have heard so much. And then?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost not dare
Mock me?
MADAN.
I know not what should make thee mad
Though this and worse, howbeit it irk thee, were.
Art thou discrowned, dethroned, disrobed, unclad
Of empire? art thou powerless, bloodless, old?
This were some hurt: but now--thou shouldst be glad
To take this chance upon thee, and to hold
So large a lordly happiness in hand
As when my father's and thy lord's is cold
Shall leave in thine the sway of all this land.
GUENDOLEN.
And thou? no she-wolf whelps upon the wold
Whose brood is like thy mother's.
MADAN.
Nay--I stand
A man thy son before thee.
GUENDOLEN.
And a bold
Man: is thine heart flesh, or a burning brand
Lit to burn up and turn for thee to gold
The kingship of thy sire?
MADAN.
Why, blessed or banned,
We thrive alike--thou knowest it--why, but now
I said so,--scarce the glass has dropped one sand -
And thou didst smile on me--and all thy brow
Smiled.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost love then, thou, thy mother yet -
Me, dost thou love a little? None but thou
There is to love me; for the gods forget -
Nor shall one hear of me a prayer again;
Yea, none of all whose thrones in heaven are set
Shall hear, nor one of all the sons of men.
MADAN.
What wouldst thou have?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou knowest.
MADAN.
I know not. Speak.
GUENDOLEN.
Have I kept silence all this while?
MADAN.
What then?
What boots it though thy word, thine eye, thy cheek,
Seem all one fire together, if that fire
Sink, and thy face change, and thine heart wax weak,
To hear what deed should slake thy sore desire
And satiate thee with healing? This alone -
Except thine heart be softer toward my sire
Still than a maid's who hears a wood-dove moan
And weeps for pity--this should comfort thee:
His death.
GUENDOLEN.
And sight of Madan on his throne?
MADAN
What ailed thy wits, mother, to send for me?
GUENDOLEN.
Yet shalt thou not go back.
MADAN.
Why, what should I
Do here, where vengeance has not heart to be
And wrath dies out in weeping? Let it die -
And let me go.
GUENDOLEN.
I did not bid thee spare.
MADAN.
Speak then, and bid me smite.
GUENDOLEN.
Thy father?
MADAN.
Ay -
If thus it please my mother.
GUENDOLEN.
Dost thou dare
This?
MADAN.
Nay, I lust not after empire so
That for mine own hand I should haply care
To take this deed upon it: but the blow,
Thou sayest, that speeds my father forth of life,
Speeds too my mother forth of living woe
That till he dies may die not. If his wife
Set in his son's right hand the sword to slay -
No poison brewed of hell, no treasonous knife -
The sword that walks and shines and smites by day,
Not on his hand who takes the sword shall cleave
The blood that clings on hers who gives it.
GUENDOLEN.
Yea -
So be it. What levies wilt thou raise, to heave
Thy father from his seat?
MADAN.
Let that be nought
Of all thy care: do thou but trust--believe
Thy son's right hand no feebler than thy thought,
If that be strong to smite--and thou shalt see
Vengeance.
GUENDOLEN.
I will. But were thy musters brought
Whence now thou art come to cheer me, this should be
A sign for us of comfort.
MADAN.
Dost thou fear
Signs?
GUENDOLEN.
Nay, child, nay--thou art harsh as heaven to me -
I would but have of thee a word of cheer.
MADAN.
I am weak in words: my tongue can match not thine,
Mother.
Voices within] The king!
GUENDOLEN.
Hearst thou?
Voices within.] The king!
MADAN.
I hear.
Enter LOCRINE.
LOCRINE.
How fares my queen?
GUENDOLEN.
Well. And this child of mine -
How he may fare concerns not thee to know?
LOCRINE.
Why, well I see my boy fares well.
He thought to traverse, till the floods increased
Against him, and he perished: and Locrine
Found in his camp for sovereign spoil to feast
The sense of power with lustier joy than wine
A woman--Dost thou mock me?
MADAN.
And a fair
Woman, if all men lie not, mother mine -
I have heard so much. And then?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost not dare
Mock me?
MADAN.
I know not what should make thee mad
Though this and worse, howbeit it irk thee, were.
Art thou discrowned, dethroned, disrobed, unclad
Of empire? art thou powerless, bloodless, old?
This were some hurt: but now--thou shouldst be glad
To take this chance upon thee, and to hold
So large a lordly happiness in hand
As when my father's and thy lord's is cold
Shall leave in thine the sway of all this land.
GUENDOLEN.
And thou? no she-wolf whelps upon the wold
Whose brood is like thy mother's.
MADAN.
Nay--I stand
A man thy son before thee.
GUENDOLEN.
And a bold
Man: is thine heart flesh, or a burning brand
Lit to burn up and turn for thee to gold
The kingship of thy sire?
MADAN.
Why, blessed or banned,
We thrive alike--thou knowest it--why, but now
I said so,--scarce the glass has dropped one sand -
And thou didst smile on me--and all thy brow
Smiled.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou dost love then, thou, thy mother yet -
Me, dost thou love a little? None but thou
There is to love me; for the gods forget -
Nor shall one hear of me a prayer again;
Yea, none of all whose thrones in heaven are set
Shall hear, nor one of all the sons of men.
MADAN.
What wouldst thou have?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou knowest.
MADAN.
I know not. Speak.
GUENDOLEN.
Have I kept silence all this while?
MADAN.
What then?
What boots it though thy word, thine eye, thy cheek,
Seem all one fire together, if that fire
Sink, and thy face change, and thine heart wax weak,
To hear what deed should slake thy sore desire
And satiate thee with healing? This alone -
Except thine heart be softer toward my sire
Still than a maid's who hears a wood-dove moan
And weeps for pity--this should comfort thee:
His death.
GUENDOLEN.
And sight of Madan on his throne?
MADAN
What ailed thy wits, mother, to send for me?
GUENDOLEN.
Yet shalt thou not go back.
MADAN.
Why, what should I
Do here, where vengeance has not heart to be
And wrath dies out in weeping? Let it die -
And let me go.
GUENDOLEN.
I did not bid thee spare.
MADAN.
Speak then, and bid me smite.
GUENDOLEN.
Thy father?
MADAN.
Ay -
If thus it please my mother.
GUENDOLEN.
Dost thou dare
This?
MADAN.
Nay, I lust not after empire so
That for mine own hand I should haply care
To take this deed upon it: but the blow,
Thou sayest, that speeds my father forth of life,
Speeds too my mother forth of living woe
That till he dies may die not. If his wife
Set in his son's right hand the sword to slay -
No poison brewed of hell, no treasonous knife -
The sword that walks and shines and smites by day,
Not on his hand who takes the sword shall cleave
The blood that clings on hers who gives it.
GUENDOLEN.
Yea -
So be it. What levies wilt thou raise, to heave
Thy father from his seat?
MADAN.
Let that be nought
Of all thy care: do thou but trust--believe
Thy son's right hand no feebler than thy thought,
If that be strong to smite--and thou shalt see
Vengeance.
GUENDOLEN.
I will. But were thy musters brought
Whence now thou art come to cheer me, this should be
A sign for us of comfort.
MADAN.
Dost thou fear
Signs?
GUENDOLEN.
Nay, child, nay--thou art harsh as heaven to me -
I would but have of thee a word of cheer.
MADAN.
I am weak in words: my tongue can match not thine,
Mother.
Voices within] The king!
GUENDOLEN.
Hearst thou?
Voices within.] The king!
MADAN.
I hear.
Enter LOCRINE.
LOCRINE.
How fares my queen?
GUENDOLEN.
Well. And this child of mine -
How he may fare concerns not thee to know?
LOCRINE.
Why, well I see my boy fares well.