Locrine: A Tragedy

SCENE I.—_The banks of the Ley_.

_Enter_ ESTRILD _and_ SABRINA.

Sabrina. But will my father come not? not today, Mother?

Estrild. God help thee! child, I cannot say. Why this of all days yet in summer’s sight?

Sabrina. My birthday!

Estrild. That should bring him—if it may.

Sabrina. May should be must: he must not be away. His faith was pledged to me as king and knight.

Estrild. Small fear he should not keep it—if he might.

Sabrina. Might! and a king’s might his? do kings bear sway For nought, that aught should keep him hence till night? Why didst thou bid God help me when I sought To know but of his coming?

Estrild. Even for nought But laughter even to think how strait a bound Shuts in the measure of thy sight and thought Who seest not why thy sire hath heed of aught Save thee and me—nor wherefore men stand crowned And girt about with empire.

Sabrina. Have they found Such joy therein as meaner things have wrought? Sing me the song that ripples round and round.

ESTRILD (_sings_):—

Had I wist, quoth spring to the swallow, That earth could forget me, kissed By summer, and lured to follow Down ways that I know not, I, My heart should have waxed not high: Mid March would have seen me die, Had I wist.

Had I wist, O spring, said the swallow, That hope was a sunlit mist And the faint light heart of it hollow, Thy woods had not heard me sing, Thy winds had not known my wing; It had faltered ere thine did, spring, Had I wist.

Sabrina. That song is hardly even as wise as I— Nay, very foolishness it is. To die In March before its life were well on wing, Before its time and kindly season—why Should spring be sad—before the swallows fly— Enough to dream of such a wintry thing? Such foolish words were more unmeet for spring Than snow for summer when his heart is high; And why should words be foolish when they sing? The song-birds are not.

Estrild. Dost thou understand, Child, what the birds are singing?

Sabrina. All the land Knows that: the water tells it to the rushes Aloud, and lower and softlier to the sand: The flower-fays, lip to lip and hand in hand, Laugh and repeat it all till darkness hushes Their singing with a word that falls and crushes All song to silence down the river-strand And where the hawthorns hearken for the thrushes. And all the secret sense is sweet and wise That sings through all their singing, and replies When we would know if heaven be gay or grey And would not open all too soon our eyes To look perchance on no such happy skies— As sleep brings close and waking blows away.

Estrild. What gives thy fancy faith enough to say This?

Sabrina. Why, meseems the sun would hardly rise Else, nor the world be half so glad of day.

Estrild. Why didst thou crave of me that song, Sabrina?

Sabrina. Because, methought, though one were king or queen And had the world to play with, if one missed What most were good to have, such joy, I ween, Were woful as a song with sobs between And well might wail for ever, ‘Had I wist!’ And might my father do but as he list, And make this day what other days have been, I should not shut tonight mine eyes unkissed.

Estrild. I wis thou wouldst not.

Sabrina. Then I would he were No king at all, and save his golden hair Wore on his gracious head no golden crown. Must he be king for ever?

Estrild. Not if prayer Could lift from off his heart that crown of care And draw him toward us as with music down.

Sabrina. Not so, but upward to us. He would but frown To hear thee talk as though the woodlands there Were built no lordlier than the wide-walled town. Thou knowest, when I desire of him to see What manner of crown that wreath of towers may be That makes its proud head shine like older Troy’s, His brows are bent even while he laughs on me And bids me think no more thereon than he, For flowers are serious things, but towers are toys.

Estrild. Ay, child; his heart was less care’s throne than joy’s, Power’s less than love’s friend ever: and with thee His mood that plays is blither than a boy’s.

Sabrina. I would the boy would give the maid her will.

Estrild. Has not thine heart as mine has here its fill?

Sabrina. So have our hearts while sleeping—till they wake.

Estrild. Too soon is this for waking: sleep thou still.

Sabrina. Bid then the dawn sleep, and the world lie chill.

Estrild. This nest is warm for one small wood-dove’s sake.

Sabrina. And warm the world that feels the sundawn break.

Estrild. But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill?

Sabrina. No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make.

Estrild. Plead not against thine own glad life: the plea Were like a wrangling babe’s that fain would be Free from the help its hardy heart contemns, Free from the hand that guides and guards it, free To take its way and sprawl and stumble. See! Have we not here enough of diadems Hung high round portals pillared smooth with stems More fair than marble?

Sabrina. This is but the Ley: I fain would look upon the lordlier Thames.

Estrild. A very water-bird thou art: the river So draws thee to it that, seeing, my heart-strings quiver And yearn with fear lest peril teach thee fear Too late for help or daring to deliver.

Sabrina. Nay, let the wind make willows weep and shiver: Me shall nor wind nor water, while I hear What goodly words saith each in other’s ear. And which is given the gift, and which the giver, I know not, but they take and give good cheer.

Estrild. Howe’er this be, thou hast no heed of mine, To take so little of this life of thine I gave and would not see thee cast away For childishness in childhood, though it shine For me sole comfort, for my lord Locrine Chief comfort in the world.

Sabrina. Nay, mother, nay, Make me not weep with chiding: wilt thou say I love thee not? Hark! see, my sire for sign! I hear his horse.

Estrild. He comes!

Sabrina. He comes today!

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.—_Troynovant_. _A Room in the Palace_.

_Enter_ GUENDOLEN _and_ CAMBER.

Guendolen. I know not, sir, what ails you to desire Such audience of me as I give.

Camber. What ails Me, sister? Were the heart in me no higher Than his who heeds no more than harpers’ tales Such griefs as set a sister’s heart on fire—

Guendolen. Then were my brother now at rest in Wales, And royal.

Camber. Am I less than royal here?

Guendolen. Even here as there alike, sir.

Camber. Dost thou fear Nothing?

Guendolen. My princely cousin, not indeed Much that might hap at word or will of thine.

Camber. Ay—meanest am I of my father’s seed, If men misjudge not, cousin; and Locrine Noblest.

Guendolen. Should I gainsay their general rede, My heart would mock me.

Camber. Such a spirit as mine Being spiritless—my words heartless—mine acts Faint shadows of Locrine’s or Albanact’s?

Guendolen. Nay—not so much—I said not so. Say thou What thou wouldst have—if aught thou wouldst—with me.

Camber. No man might see thine eyes and lips and brow Who would not—what he durst not crave of thee.

Guendolen. Ay, verily? And thy spirit exalts thee now So high that these thy words fly forth so free, And fain thine act would follow—flying above Shame’s reach and fear’s? What gift may this be? Love? Or liking? or compassion?

Camber. Take not thus Mine innocent words amiss, nor wrest awry Their piteous purpose toward thee.

Guendolen. Piteous! Who lives so low and looks upon the sky As would desire—who shares the sun with us That might deserve thy pity?

Camber. Thou.

Guendolen. Not I, Though I were cast out hence, cast off, discrowned, Abject, ungirt of all that guards me round, Naked. What villainous madness, knave and king, Is this that puts upon thy babbling tongue Poison?

Camber. The truth is as a snake to sting That breathes ill news: but where its fang hath stung The very pang bids health and healing spring. God knows the grief wherewith my spirit is wrung— The spirit of thee so scorned, so misesteemed, So mocked with strange misprision and misdeemed Merciless, false, unbrotherly—to take Such task upon it as may burn thine heart With bitterer hatred of me that I spake What, had I held my peace and crept apart And tamed my soul to silence for thy sake And mercy toward the royal thing thou art, Chance haply might have made a fiery sword To slay thee with—slay thee, and spare thy lord.

Guendolen. Worse had it done to slay my lord, and spare Me. Wilt thou now show mercy toward me? Then Strike with that sword mine heart through—if thou dare. All know thy tongue’s edge deadly.

Camber. Guendolen, Thou seest me like a vassal bound to bear All bitter words that bite the hearts of men From thee, so be it this please thy wrath. I stand Slave of thy tongue and subject of thine hand, And pity thee. Take, if thou wilt, my head; Give it my brother. Thou shalt hear me speak First, though the soothfast word that hangs unsaid As yet, being spoken,—albeit this hand be weak And faint this heart, thou sayest—should strike thee dead Even with that rose of wrath on brow and cheek.

Guendolen. I hold not thee too faint of heart to slay Women. Say forth whate’er thou hast heart to say.

Camber. Silence I have not heart to keep, and see Scorn and derision gird thee round with shame, Not knowing what all thy serfs who mock at thee Know, and make mirth and havoc of thy name. Does this not move thee?

Guendolen. How should aught move me Fallen from such tongues as falsehood finds the same— Such tongues as fraud or treasonous hate o’erscurfs With leprous lust—a prince’s or a serf’s?

Camber. That lust of the evil-speaking tongue which gives Quick breath to deadly lies, and stings to life The rottenness of falsehood, when it lives, Falls dumb, and leaves the lie to bring forth strife. The liar will say no more—his heart misgives His knaveship—should he sunder man and wife? Such, sister, in thy sight, it seems, am I. Yet shalt thou take, to keep or cast it by, The truth of shame I would not have thee hear,— Not might I choose,—but choose I may not.

Guendolen. Shame And truth? Shame never toward thine heart came near, And all thy life hath hung about thy name. Nor ever truth drew nigh the lips that fear Whitens, and makes the blood that feeds them tame. Speak all thou wilt—but even for shame, forsooth, Talk not of shame—and tell me not of truth.

Camber. Then shalt thou hear a lie. Thy loving lord Loves none save thee; his heart’s pulse beats in thine; No fairer woman, captive of his sword, Caught ever captive and subdued Locrine: The god of lies bear witness. At the ford Of Humber blood was never shed like wine: Our brother Albanact lived, fought, and died, Never: and I that swear it have not lied.

Guendolen. Fairer?

Camber. They say it: but what are lies to thee?

Guendolen. Art thou nor man nor woman?

Camber. Nay—I trust— Man.

Guendolen. And hast heart to make thy spoil of me?

Camber. Would God I might!

Guendolen. Thou art made of lies and lust— Earth’s worst is all too good for such to see, And yet thine eyes turn heavenward—as they must, Being man’s—if man be such as thou—and soil The light they see. Thou hast made of me thy spoil, Thy scorn, thy profit—yea, my whole soul’s plunder Is all thy trophy, thy triumphal prize And harvest reaped of thee; nay, trampled under And rooted up and scattered. Yet the skies That see thy trophies reared are full of thunder, And heaven’s high justice loves not lust and lies.

Camber. Ill then should fare thy lord—if heaven be just, And lies be lies, and lawless love be lust.

Guendolen. Thou liest. I know my lord and thee. Thou liest.

Camber. If he be true and truth be false, I lie.

Guendolen. Thou art lowest of all men born—while he sits highest.

Camber. Ay—while he sits. How long shall he sit high?

Guendolen. If I but whisper him of thee, thou diest.

Camber. I fear not, if till then secure am I.

Guendolen. Secure as fools are hardy live thou still.

Camber. While ill with good is guerdoned, good with ill.

Guendolen. I have it in my mind to take thine head. Dost thou not fear to put me thus in fear?

Camber. I fear nor man nor woman, quick nor dead: And dead in spirit already stand’st thou here.

Guendolen. Thou darest not swear my lord hath wronged my bed. Thou darest but smile and mutter, lie and leer.

Camber. I swear no queen bore ever crown on brow Who meeklier bore a heavier wrong than thou.

Guendolen. From thee will I bear nothing. Get thee hence: Thine eyes defile me. Get thee from my sight.

Camber. The gods defend thee, soul and spirit and sense, From sense of things thou darest not read aright! Farewell.

[_Exit_.

Guendolen. Fare thou not well, and be defence Far from thy soul cast naked forth by night! Hate rose from hell a liar: love came divine From heaven: yet she that bore thee bore Locrine.

[_Exit_.