Locrine - A Tragedy [20]
GUENDOLEN.
Dost thou mourn
For that? Too careful art thou for my good,
Too tender and too true to me and mine,
For shame to make my heart or thine his food
Or scorn lay hold upon my fame or thine.
Art thou not pure as honour's perfect heart -
Not treason-cankered like my lord Locrine,
Whose likeness shows thee fairer than thou art
And falser than thy loving care of me
Would bid my faith believe thee?
LOCRINE.
What strange part
Is this that changing passion plays in thee?
Know'st thou me not?
GUENDOLEN.
Yea--witness heaven and hell,
And all the lights that lighten earth and sea,
And all that wrings my heart, I know thee well.
How should I love and hate and know thee not?
LOCRINE.
Thy voice is as the sound of dead love's knell.
GUENDOLEN.
Long since my heart has tolled it--and forgot
All save the cause that bade the death-bell sound
And cease and bring forth silence.
LOCRINE.
Is thy lot
Less fair and royal, girt with power and crowned, -
Than might fulfil the loftiest heart's desire?
GUENDOLEN.
Not air but fire it is that rings me round -
Thy voice makes all my brain a wheel of fire.
Man, what have I to do with pride of power?
Such pride perchance it was that moved my sire
To bid me wed--woe worth the woful hour! -
His brother's son, the brother's born above
Him as above me thou, the crown and flower
Of Britain, gentler-hearted than the dove
And mightier than the sunward eagle's wing:
But nought moved me save one thing only--love.
LOCRINE.
I know it.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou knowest? but this thou knowest not, king,
How near of kin are bitter love and hate -
Nor which of these may be the deadlier thing.
LOCRINE.
What wouldst thou?
GUENDOLEN.
Death. Would God my heart were great!
Then would I slay myself.
LOCRINE.
I dare not fear
That heaven hath marked for thee no fairer fate.
GUENDOLEN.
Ay! wilt thou slay me then--and slay me here?
LOCRINE.
Mock not thy wrath and me. No hair of thine
Would I--thou knowest it--hurt; nor vex thine ear
With answering wrath more vain than fumes of wine.
I have wronged and yet not wronged thee. Whence or when
Strange whispers rose that turned thy heart from mine
I would not know for shame's sake, Guendolen,
And honour's that I bear thee.
GUENDOLEN.
Didst thou deem
I would outlive with thee the scorn of men,
A slave enthroned beside a traitor? Seem
These eyes and lips and hands of mine a slave's
Uplift for mercy toward thee? Such a dream
Sets realms on fire, and turns their fields to graves.
LOCRINE.
No dream is mine that does thee less than right:
Albeit thy words be wild as warring waves,
I know thee higher of heart than shame could smite
And queenlier than thy queenship.
GUENDOLEN.
Dost the know
What day records to day and night to night -
How he whose wrath was rained as hail or snow
On Troy's adulterous towers, when treacherous flame
Devoured them, and our fathers' roofs lay low,
And all their praise was turned to fire and shame -
All-righteous God, who herds the stars of heaven
As sheep within his sheepfold--God, whose name
Compels the wandering clouds to service, given
As surely as even the sun's is--loves or hates
Treason? He loved our sires: were they forgiven?
Their walls upreared of gods, their sevenfold gates,
Might these keep out his justice? What art thou
To make thy will more strong and sure than fate's?
Thy fate am I, that falls upon thee now.
Wilt thou not slay me yet--and slay thy son?
So shall thy fate change, and unbend the brow
That now looks mortal on thee.
LOCRINE.
What is done
Lies now past help or pleading: nor would I
Plead with thee, knowing that love henceforth is none
Nor trust between us till the day we die.
Yet, if thy name be woman,--if thine heart
Be not burnt up with fire of hell, and lie
Not wounded even to death--albeit we part,
Let there not be between us war, but peace,
Though love may be not.
GUENDOLEN.
Peace? The man thou art
Craves--and shame bids not breath within him cease