Queen monologue (Act 2) — Chastelard, a Tragedy

Alas, my side! It hurts right sorely. Is it not pitiful Our souls should be so bound about with flesh Even when they leap and smite with wings and feet, The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes, Turns them to tears and words? Ah my sweet knight, You have the better of us that weave and weep While the blithe battle blows upon your eyes Like rain and wind; yet I remember too When this last year the fight at Corrichie Reddened the rushes with stained fen-water, I rode with my good men and took delight, Feeling the sweet clear wind upon my eyes And rainy soft smells blown upon my face In riding: then the great fight jarred and joined, And the sound stung me right through heart and all; For I was here, see, gazing off the hills, In the wet air; our housings were all wet, And not a plume stood stiffly past the ear But flapped between the bridle and the neck; And under us we saw the battle go Like running water; I could see by fits Some helm the rain fell shining off, some flag Snap from the staff, shorn through or broken short In the man's falling: yea, one seemed to catch The very grasp of tumbled men at men, Teeth clenched in throats, hands riveted in hair, Tearing the life out with no help of swords. And all the clamor seemed to shine, the light Seemed to shout as a man doth; twice I laughed-- I tell you, twice my heart swelled out with thirst To be into the battle; see, fair lord, I swear it seemed I might have made a knight, And yet the simple bracing of a belt Makes me cry out; this is too pitiful, This dusty half of us made up with fears.-- Have you been ever quite so glad to fight As I have thought men must? pray you, speak truth.