O dullard! Here were tidings, would you mark.
What said I? _Oracle, can he love aught
So dear as his own image in the brook,
Having once looked_?... No, truly.
[_With sudden abandon._] Nor can I!
HERBERT.
O leave this game of words, you thousand-tongued.
Sing, sing to me. So shall I be all yours
Forever;--or at least till you be mute!...
I used to wonder he should be thy slave:
I wonder now no more. Your ways are wonders;
You have a charm to make a man forget
His past and yours, and everything but you.
MARY [_speaking_].
_"When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white"_--
How now?
HERBERT.
"How now?" That song ... thou wilt sing that?
MARY.
Marry, what mars the song?
HERBERT. Have you forgot
Who made it?
MARY. Soft, what idleness! So fine?
So rude? And bid me sing! You get but silence;
Or, if I sing,--beshrew me, it shall be
A dole of song, a little starveling breath
As near to silence as a song can be.
[_She sings under-breath, fantastically._]
_Say how many kisses be
Lent and lost twixt you and me?
'Can I tell when they begun?'
Nay, but this were prodigal:
Let us learn to count withal.
Since no ending is to spending,
Sum our riches, one by one.
'You shall keep the reckoning,
Count each kiss while I do sing.'_
HERBERT.
Oh, not these little wounds. You vex my heart;
Heal it again with singing,--come, sweet, come.
Into the garden! None shall trouble us.
This place has memories and conscience too:
Drown all, my mermaid. Wind them in your hair
And drown them, drown them all.
[_He swings open the garden-door for her. At the same moment ANNE's
voice is heard approaching._]
ANNE [_without_]. Some music there?
HERBERT.
Perdition! Quick--behind me, love.
[_Swinging the door shut again, and looking through the crack._]
MARY.
'Tis she--
Nan Hughes, 'tis she! How came she here? By heaven,
She crosses us to-day. Nan Hughes lights here
In a Bank tavern! Nay, I'll not be seen.
Sooner or later it must mean the wreck
Of both ... should the Queen know.
HERBERT. The spite of chance!
She talks with someone in the arbor there
Whose face I see not. Come, here's doors at least.
[_They cross hastily. MARY opens the door on the left and looks
within._]
MARY.
Too thick.... I shall be penned. But guard you this
And tell me when they're gone. Stay, stay;--mend all.
If she have seen me,--swear it was not I.
Heaven speed her home, with her new body-guard!
[_Exit, closing door. HERBERT looks out into the garden._]
HERBERT.
By all accursed chances,--none but he!
[_Retires up to stand beside the door, looking out of casement.
Re-enter from the garden, ANNE, followed by THE PLAYER._]
ANNE.
No, 'twas some magic in my ears, I think.
There's no one here. [_Seeing HERBERT._]
But yes, there's someone here:--
The inn-keeper. Are you--
Saint Catherine's bones!
My Lord of Herbert. Sir, you could not look
More opportune. But for this gentleman--
HERBERT [_bowing_].
My friend, this long time since,--
ANNE.
Marry, your friend?
THE PLAYER [_regarding HERBERT searchingly_].
This long time since.
ANNE. Nay, is it so, indeed?
[_To HERBERT._] My day's fulfilled of blunders! O sweet sir,
How can I tell you? But I'll tell you all
If you'll but bear me escort from this place
Where none of us belongs. Yours is the first
Familiar face I've seen this afternoon!
HERBERT [_apart_].
A sweet assurance.
[_Aloud._] But you seek ... you need
Some rest--some cheer, some--Will you step within?
[_Indicating tap-room._]
The tavern is deserted, but--
ANNE. Not here!
I've been here quite an hour. Come, citywards,
To Whitehall! I have had enough of bears
To quench my longing till next Whitsuntide.
Down to the river, pray you.
HERBERT. Sooth, at once?
ANNE.
At once, at once.
[_To THE PLAYER._] I crave your pardon, sir,
For sundering your friendships. I've heard say
A woman always comes between two men
To their confusion. You shall drink amends
Some other day. I must be safely home.
THE PLAYER [_reassured by HERBERT's reluctance to go._]
It joys me that your trials have found an end;
And for the rest, I wish you prosperous voyage;
Which needs not, with such halcyon weather toward.
HERBERT [_apart_].
It cuts: and yet he knows not. Can it pass?
[_To him._] Let us meet soon. I have--I know not what
To say--nay, no import; but chance has parted
Our several ways too long. To leave you thus,
Without a word--
ANNE. You are in haste, my lord!
By the true faith, here are two friends indeed!
Two lovers crossed: and I,--'tis I that bar them.
Pray tarry, sir. I doubt not I may light
Upon some link-boy to attend me home
Or else a drunken prentice with a club,
Or that patched keeper strolling from the Garden
With all his dogs along; or failing them,
A pony with a monkey on his back,
Or, failing that, a bear! Some escort, sure,
Such as the Borough offers! I shall look
Part of a pageant from the Lady Fair,
And boast for three full moons, "Such sights I saw!"
Truly, 'tis new to me: but I doubt not
I shall trick out a mind for strange adventure,
As high as--Mistress Fytton!
HERBERT. Say no more,
Dear lady! I entreat you pardon me
The lameness of my wit. I'm stark adream;
You lighted here so suddenly, unlooked for
Vision in Bankside.... Let me hasten you,
Now that I see I dream not. It grows late.
ANNE.
And can you grant me such a length of time?
HERBERT.
Length? Say Illusion! Time? Alas, 'twill be
Only a poor half-hour [_loudly_], a poor half-hour!
[_Apart._] Did she hear that, I wonder?
THE PLAYER [_bowing over ANNE's hand_]. Not so, madam;
A little gold of largess, fallen to me
By chance.
HERBERT [_to him_].
A word with you--
[_Apart._] O, I am gagged!
ANNE [_to THE PLAYER_].
You go with us, sir?
[_He moves towards door with them._]
THE PLAYER. No, I do but play
Your inn-keeper.
HERBERT [_apart, despairingly_].
The eagle is gone blind.
[_Exeunt, leaving doors open. They are seen to go down the walk
together. At the street they pause, THE PLAYER, bowing slowly, then
turning back towards the inn; ANNE holding HERBERT's arm. Within, the
door on the left opens slightly, then MARY appears._]
MARY.
'Tis true. My ears caught silence, if no more.
They're gone....
[_She comes out of her hiding-place and opens the left-hand casement
to see ANNE disappearing with HERBERT._]
She takes him with her! He'll return?
Gone, gone, without a word; and I was caged,--
And deaf as well. O, spite of everything!
She's so unlike.... How long shall I be here
To wait and wonder? He with her--with her!
[_THE PLAYER, having come slowly back to the door, hears her voice.
MARY darts towards the entrance to look after HERBERT and ANNE. She
sees him and recoils. She falls back step by step, while he stands
holding the door-posts with his hands, impassive._]
You!...
THE PLAYER.
Yes.... [_After a pause._] And you.
MARY. Do you not ask me why
I'm here?
THE PLAYER.
I am not wont to shun the truth:
But yet I think the reason you could give
Were too uncomely.
MARY. Nay;--
THE PLAYER. If it were truth;
If it were truth! Although that likelihood
Scarce threatens.
MARY. So. Condemned without a trial.
THE PLAYER.
O, speak the lie now. Let there be no chance
For my unsightly love, bound head and foot,
Stark, full of wounds and horrible,--to find
Escape from out its charnel-house; to rise
Unwelcome before eyes that had forgot,
And say it died not truly. It should die.
Play no imposture: leave it,--it is dead.
I have been weak in that I tried to pour
The wine through plague-struck veins. It came to life
Over and over, drew sharp breath again
In torture such as't may be to be born,
If a poor babe could tell. Over and over,
I tell you, it has suffered resurrection,
Cheating its pain with hope, only to die
Over and over;--die more deaths than men
The meanest, most forlorn, are made to die
By tyranny or nature.... Now I see all
Clear. And I say, it shall not rise again.
I am as safe from you as I were dead.
I know you.
MARY. Herbert--
THE PLAYER. Do not touch his name.
Leave that; I saw.
MARY. You saw? Nay, what?
THE PLAYER. The whole
Clear story. Not at first. While you were hid,
I took some comfort, drop by drop, and minute
By minute. (Dullard!) Yet there was a maze
Of circumstance that showed even then to me
Perplext and strange. You here unravel it.
All's clear: you are the clue. [_Turning away._]
MARY [_going to the casement_].
[_Apart._] Caged, caged!
Does he know all? Why were those walls so dense?
[_To him._] Nan Hughes hath seized the time to tune your mind
To some light gossip. Say, how came she here?
THE PLAYER.
All emulation, thinking to match you
In high adventure:--liked it not, poor lady!
And is gone home, attended.
[_Re-enter DICKON._]
DICKON [_to MARY_] They be lost!--
Thy mask and muffler;--'tis no help to search.
Some hooker would 'a' swallowed 'em, be sure,
As the whale swallows Jonas, in the show.
MARY.
'Tis nought: I care not.
DICKON [_looking at the fire_].
Hey, it wants a log.
[_While he mends the fire, humming, THE PLAYER stands taking thought.
MARY speaks apart, going to casement again to look out._]
MARY [_apart_].
I will have what he knows. To cast me off:--
Not thus, not thus. Peace, I can blind him yet,
Or he'll despise me. Nay, I will not be
Thrust out at door like this. I will not go
But by mine own free will. There is no power
Can say what he might do to ruin us,
To win Will Herbert from me,--almost mine,
And I all his, all his--O April-Days!--
Well, friendship against love? I know who wins.
He is grown dread.... But yet he is a man.
[_Exit DICKON into tap-room._]
[_To THE PLAYER, suavely._] Well, headsman?
[_He does not turn._]
Mind your office: I am judged.
Guilty, was it not so?... What is to do,
Do quickly.... Do you wait for some reprieve?
Guilty, you said. Nay, do you turn your face
To give me some small leeway of escape?
And yet, I will not go ...
[_Coming down slowly._]
Well, headsman?...
You ask not why I came here, Clouded Brow,
Will you not ask me why I stay? No word?
O blind, come lead the blind! For I, I too
Lack sight and every sense to linger here
And make me an intruder where I once
Was welcome, oh most welcome, as I dreamed.
Look on me, then. I do confess, I have
Too often preened my feathers in the sun
And thought to rule a little, by my wit.
I have been spendthrift with men's offerings
To use them like a nosegay,--tear apart,
Petal by petal, leaf by leaf, until
I found the heart all bare, the curious heart
I longed to see for once, and cast away.
And so, at first, with you.... Ah, now I think
You're wise. There's nought so fair, so ... curious.
So precious-rare to find as honesty.
'Twas all a child's play then, a counting-off
Of petals. Now I know.... But ask me why
I come unheralded, and in a mist
Of circumstance and strangeness. Listen, love;
Well then, dead love, if you will have it so.
I have been cunning, cruel,--what you will:
And yet the days of late have seemed too long
Even for summer! Something called me here.
And so I flung my pride away and came,
A very woman for my foolishness,
To say once more,--to say ...
THE PLAYER. Nay, I'll not ask.
What lacks? I need no more, you have done well.
'Tis rare. There is no man I ever saw
But you could school him. Women should be players.
You are sovran in the art: feigning and truth
Are so commingled in you. Sure, to you
Nature's a simpleton hath never seen
Her own face in the well. Is there aught else?
To ask of my poor calling?
MARY. I deserved it
In other days. Hear how I can be meek.
I am come back, a foot-worn runaway,
Like any braggart boy. Let me sit down
And take Love's horn-book in my hands again
And learn from the beginning;--by the rod,
If you will scourge me, love. Come, come, forgive.
I am not wont to sue: and yet to-day
I am your suppliant, I am your servant,
Your link-boy, ay, your minstrel: ay,--wilt hear?
[_Takes up the lute, and gives a last look out of the casement._]
The tumult in the streets is all apart
With the discordant past. The hour that is
Shall be the only thing in all the world.
[_Apart._] I will be safe. He'll not win Herbert from me!
[_Crossing to him._]
Will you have music, good my lord?
THE PLAYER [_catching the lute from her._] Not that.
Not that! By heaven, you shall not.... Nevermore.
MARY.
So ... But you speak at last. You are, forsooth,
A man: and you shall use me as my due;--
A woman, not the wind about your ears;
A woman whom you loved.
THE PLAYER [_half-apart, still holding the lute_].
Why were you not
That beauty that you seemed?... But had you been,
'Tis true, you would have had no word for me,--
No looks of love!
MARY. The man reproaches me?
THE PLAYER.
Not I--not I.... Will Herbert, what am I
To lay this broken trust to you,--to you,
Young, free, and tempted: April on his way,
Whom all hands reach for, and this woman here
Had set her heart upon!
MARY. What fantasy!
Surely he must have been from town of late,
To see the gude-folks! And how fare they, sir?
Reverend yeoman, say, how thrive the sheep?
What did the harvest yield you?--Did you count
The cabbage heads? and find how like ... nay, nay!
But our gude-wife, did she bid in the neighbors
To prove them that her husband was no myth?
Some Puritan preacher, nay, some journeyman,
To make you sup the sweeter with long prayers?
This were a rare conversion, by my soul!
From sonnets unto sermons:--eminent!
THE PLAYER.
Oh, yes, your scorn bites truly: sermons next.
There is so much to say. But it must be learned,
And I require hard schooling, dream too much
On what I would men were,--but women most.
I need the cudgel of the task-master
To make me con the truth. Yes, blind, you called me,
And 'tis my shame I bandaged mine own eyes
And held them dark. Now, by the grace of God,
Or haply because the devil tries too far,
I tear the blindfold off, and I see all.
I see you as you are; and in your heart
The secret love sprung up for one I loved,
A reckless boy who has trodden on my soul--
But that's a thing apart, concerns not you.
I know that you will stake your heaven and earth
To fool me,--fool us both.
MARY [_with idle interest_].
Why were you not
So stern a long time since? You're not so wise
As I have heard them say.
THE PLAYER [_standing by the chimney_].
Wise? Oh, not I.
Who was so witless as to call me wise?
Sure he had never bade me a good-day
And seen me take the cheer....
I was your fool
Too long.... I am no longer anything.
Speak: what are you?
MARY [_after a pause_].
The foolishest of women:
A heart that should have been adventurer
On the high seas; a seeker in new lands,
To dare all and to lose. But I was made
A woman.
Oh, you see!--could you see all.
What if I say ... the truth is not so far,
[_Watching him._]
Yet farther than you dream. If I confess ...
He charmed my fancy ... for the moment,--ay
The shine of his fortunes too, the very name
Of Pembroke?... Dear my judge,--ay, clouded brow
And darkened fortune, be not black to me!
I'd try for my escape; the window's wide,
No one forbids, and yet I stay--I stay.
Oh, I was niggard, once, unkind--I know,
Untrusty: loved, unloved you, day by day:
A little and a little,--why, I knew not,
And more, and wondered why;--then not at all:
Drank up the dew from out your very heart,
Like the extortionate sun, to leave you parched
Till, with as little grace, I flung all back
In gusts of angry rain! I have been cruel.
But the spell works; yea, love, the spell, the spell
Fed by your fasting, by your subtlety
Past all men's knowledge.... There is something rare
About you that I long to flee and cannot:--
Some mastery ... that's more my will than I.
[_She laughs softly. He listens, looking straight ahead, not at her,
immobile, but suffering evidently. She watches his face and speaks
with greater intensity. Here she crosses nearer and falls on her
knees._]
Ah, look: you shall believe, you shall believe.
Will you put by your Music? Was I that?
Your Music,--very Music?... Listen, then,
Turn not so blank a face. Thou hast my love.
I'll tell thee so till thought itself shall tire
And fall a-dreaming like a weary child, ...
Only to dream of you, and in its sleep
To murmur You.... Ah, look at me, love, lord ...
Whom queens would honor. Read these eyes you praised,
That pitied, once,--that sue for pity now.
But look! You shall not turn from me--
THE PLAYER. Eyes, eyes!--
The darkness hides so much.
MARY. He'll not believe....
What can I do? What more,--what more, you ... man?
I bruise my heart here, at an iron gate....
[_She regards him half gloomily without rising._]
Yet there is one thing more.... You'll take me, now?--
My meaning.... You were right. For once I say it.
There is a glory of discovery [_ironically_]
To the black heart ... because it may be known
But once,--but once....
I wonder men will hide
Their motives all so close. If they could guess,--
It is so new to feel the open day
Look in on all one's hidings, at the end.
So.... You were right. The first was all a lie:
A lie, and for a purpose....
Now,--[_she rises and stands off, regarding him abruptly_],
And why, I know not,--but 'tis true, at last,
I do believe ... I love you.
Look at me!
[_He stands by the fireside against the chimney-piece. She crosses to
him with passionate appeal, holding out her arms. He turns his eyes
and looks at her with a rigid scrutiny. She endures it for a second,
then wavers; makes an effort, unable to look away, to lift her arms
towards his neck; they falter and fall at her side. The two stand
spellbound by mutual recognition. Then she speaks in a low voice._]
MARY.
Oh, let me go!
[_She turns her head with an effort,--gathers her cloak about her,
then hastens out as if from some terror._]
[_THE PLAYER is alone beside the chimney-piece. The street outside is
darkening with twilight through the casements and upper door. There is
a sound of rough-throated singing that comes by and is softened with
distance. It breaks the spell._]
THE PLAYER.
So; it is over ... now. [_He looks into the fire._]
"_Fair, kind, and true." And true!_... My golden Friend.
Those two ... together.... He was ill at ease.
But that he should betray me with a kiss!
By this preposterous world ... I am in need.
Shall there be no faith left? Nothing but names?
Then he's a fool who steers his life by such.
Why not the body-comfort of this herd
Of creatures huddled here to keep them warm?--
Trying to drown out with enforced laughter
The query of the winds ... unanswered winds
That vex the soul with a perpetual doubt.
What holds me?... Bah, that were a Cause, indeed!
To prove your soul one truth, by being it,--
Against the foul dishonor of the world!
How else prove aught?...
I talk into the air.
And at my feet, my honor full of wounds.
Honor? Whose honor? For I knew my sin,
And she ... had none. There's nothing to avenge.
[_He speaks with more and more passion, too distraught to notice
interruptions. Enter DICKON, with a tallow-dip. He regards THE PLAYER
with half-open mouth from the corner; then stands by the casement,
leaning up against it and yawning now and then._]
I had no right: that I could call her mine
So none should steal her from me, and die for't.
There's nothing to avenge ... Brave beggary!
How fit to lodge me in this home of Shows,
With all the ruffian life, the empty mirth,
The gross imposture of humanity,
Strutting in virtues it knows not to wear,
Knave in a stolen garment--all the same--
Until it grows enamored of a life
It was not born to,--falls a-dream, poor cheat,
In the midst of its native shams,--the thieves and bears
And ballad-mongers all!... Of such am I.
[_Re-enter TOBIAS and one or two TAVERNERS. TOBIAS regards THE PLAYER,
who does not notice anyone,--then leads off DICKON by the ear. Exeunt
into taproom. THE PLAYER goes to the casement, pushes it wide open,
and gazes out at the sky._]
Is there naught else?... I could make shift to bind
My heart up and put on my mail again,
To cheat myself and death with one fight more,
If I could think there were some worldly use
For bitter wisdom.
But I'm no general,
That my own hand-to-hand with evil days
Should cheer my doubting thousands....
I'm no more
Than one man lost among a multitude;
And in the end dust swallows them--and me,
And the good sweat that won our victories.
Who sees? Or seeing, cares? Who follows on?
Then why should my dishonor trouble me,
Or broken faith in him? _What is it suffers?
And why?_ Now that the moon is turned to blood.
[_He turns towards the door with involuntary longing, and seems to
listen._]
No ... no, he will not come. Well, I have naught
To do but pluck from me my bitter heart,
And live without it.
[_Re-enter DICKON with a tankard and a cup. He sets them down on a
small table; this he pushes towards THE PLAYER, who turns at the
noise._]
So...? Is it for me?
DICKON.
Ay, on the score! I had good sight o' the bear.
Look, here's a sprig was stuck on him with pitch;--
[_Rubbing the sprig on his sleeve._]
I caught it up,--from Lambeth marsh, belike.
Such grow there, and I've seen thee cherish such.
THE PLAYER.
Give us thy posy.
[_He comes back to the fire and sits in the chair near by. DICKON gets
out the iron lantern from the corner._]
DICKON. Hey! It wants a light.
[_THE PLAYER seems to listen once more, his face turned towards the
door. He lifts his hand as if to hush DICKON, lets it fall, and looks
back at the fire. DICKON regards him with shy curiosity and draws
nearer._]
DICKON.
Thou wilt be always minding of the fire ...
Wilt thou not?
THE PLAYER. Ay.
DICKON. It likes me, too.
THE PLAYER. So?
DICKON. Ay....
I would I knew what thou art thinking on
When thou dost mind the fire....
THE PLAYER. Wouldst thou?
DICKON. Ay.
[_Sound of footsteps outside. A group approaches the door._]
Oh, here he is, come back!
THE PLAYER [_rising with passionate eagerness_].
Brave lad--brave lad!
DICKON [_singing_].
_Hang out your lanthorns, trim your lights
To save your days from knavish nights!_
[_He plunges, with his lantern, through the doorway, stumbling against
WAT BURROW, who enters, a sorry figure, the worse for wear._]
WAT [_sourly_].
Be the times soft, that you must try to cleave
Way through my ribs as tho' I was the moon?--
And you the man-wi-'the-lanthorn, or his dog?--
You bean!...
[_Exit DICKON. WAT shambles in and sees THE PLAYER._]
What, you sir, here?
THE PLAYER.
Ay, here, good Wat.
[_While WAT crosses to the table and gets himself a chair, THE PLAYER
looks at him as if with a new consciousness of the surroundings. After
a time he sits as before. Re-enter DICKON and curls up on the floor,
at his feet._]
WAT.
O give me comfort, sir. This cursed day,--
A wry, damned ... noisome.... Ay, poor Nick, poor Nick!
He's all to mend--Poor Nick! He's sorely maimed,
More than we'd baited him with forty dogs.
'Od's body! Said I not, sir, he would fight?
Never before had he, in leading-chain,
Walked out to take the air and show his parts....
'Went to his noddle like some greenest gull's
That's new come up to town.... The prentices
Squeaking along like Bedlam, he breaks loose
And prances me a hey,--I dancing counter!
Then such a cawing 'mongst the women! Next,
The chain did clatter and enrage him more;--
You would 'a' sworn a bear grew on each link,
And after each a prentice with a cudgel,--
Leaving him scarce an eye! So, howling all,
We run a pretty pace ... and Nick, poor Nick,
He catches on a useless, stumbling fry
That needed not be born,--and bites into him.
And then ... the Constable ... And now, no show!
THE PLAYER.
Poor Wat!... Thou wentest scattering misadventure
Like comfits from thy horn of plenty, Wat.
WAT.
Ay, thank your worship. You be best to comfort.
[_He pours a mug of ale._]
No show to-morrow! Minnow Constable....
I'm a jack-rabbit strung up by my heels
For every knave to pinch as he goes by!
Alas, poor Nick, bear Nick ... oh, think on Nick.
THE PLAYER.
With all his fortunes darkened for a day,--
And the eye o' his reason, sweet intelligencer,
Under a beggarly patch.... I pledge thee, Nick.
WAT.
Oh, you have seen hard times, sir, with us all.
Your eyes lack luster, too, this day. What say you?
No jesting.... What? I've heard of marvels there
In the New Country. There would be a knop-hole
For thee and me. There be few Constables
And such unhallowed fry.... An thou wouldst lay
Thy wit to mine--what is't we could not do?
Wilt turn't about?
[_Leans towards him in cordial confidence._]
Nay, you there, sirrah boy,
Leave us together; as 'tis said in the play,
'Come, leave us, Boy!'
[_DICKON does not move. He gives a sigh and leans his head against THE
PLAYER's knee, his arms around his legs. He sleeps. THE PLAYER gazes
sternly into the fire, while WAT rambles on, growing drowsy._]