Too sad, but not too feigned; I am sad That I shall die here without feigning thus;And without feigning I were fain to live.
QUEEN.
Alas, you will be taken presently And then you are but dead. Pray you get hence.
CHASTELARD.
I will not.
QUEEN.
Nay, for God's love be away;
You will be slain and I get shame. God's mercy!
You were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet.
Oh, I do love you more than all men! yea, Take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast, So you leave hold a little; there, for pity, Abide now, and to-morrow come to me.
Nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat-
Dear God! what shall I give you to be gone?
CHASTELARD.
I will not go. Look, here's full night grown up;Why should I seek to sleep away from here?
The place is soft and the lights burn for sleep;Be not you moved; I shall lie well enough.
QUEEN.
You are utterly undone. Sweet, by my life, You shall be saved with taking ship at once.
For if you stay this foolish love's hour out There is not ten days' likely life in you.
This is no choice.
CHASTELARD.
Nay, for I will not go.
QUEEN.
O me! this is that Bayard's blood of yours That makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay.
I do not understand. Mind, you must die.
Alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me;
I shall be deadly to you.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, I saw that;
But I saw not that when my death's day came You could be quite so sweet to me.
QUEEN.
My love!
If I could kiss my heart's root out on you You would taste love hid at the core of me.
CHASTELARD.
Kiss me twice more. This beautiful bowed head That has such hair with kissing ripples in And shivering soft eyelashes and brows With fluttered blood! but laugh a little, sweetly, That I may see your sad mouth's laughing look I have used sweet hours in seeing. O, will you weep?
I pray you do not weep.
QUEEN.
Nay, dear, I have No tears in me; I never shall weep much, I think, in all my life; I have wept for wrath Sometimes and for mere pain, but for love's pity I cannot weep at all. I would to God You loved me less; I give you all I can For all this love of yours, and yet I am sure I shall live out the sorrow of your death And be glad afterwards. You know I am sorry.
I should weep now; forgive me for your part, God made me hard, I think. Alas, you see I had fain been other than I am.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, love.
Comfort your heart. What way am I do die?
QUEEN.
Ah, will you go yet, sweet?
CHASTELARD.
No, by God's body.
You will not see? how shall I make you see?
Look, it may be love was a sort of curse Made for my plague and mixed up with my days Somewise in their beginning; or indeed A bitter birth begotten of sad stars At mine own body's birth, that heaven might make My life taste sharp where other men drank sweet;But whether in heavy body or broken soul, I know it must go on to be my death.
There was the matter of my fate in me When I was fashioned first, and given such life As goes with a sad end; no fault but God's.
Yea, and for all this I am not penitent:
You see I am perfect in these sins of mine, I have my sins writ in a book to read;Now I shall die and be well done with this.
But I am sure you cannot see such things, God knows I blame you not.
QUEEN.
What shall be said?
You know most well that I am sorrowful.
