Coward or mad?
Which might one call thee rather, whose harsh heart Envenoms so thy tongue toward one that had No thought less kindly--toward even thee that art Kindless--than best beseems a kinsman"s part?
MADAN.
Lay not on me thine own foul shame, whose tongue Would turn my blood to poison, while it stung Thy brother"s fame to death. I know my sire As shame knows thee--and better no man knows Aught.
CAMBER.
Have thy will, then: take thy full desire: Drink dry the draught of ruin: bid all blows Welcome: being harsh with friends, be mild with foes, And give shame thanks for buffets. Yet I thought - But how should help avail where heart is nought?
MADAN.
Yet--thou didst think to help me?
CAMBER.
Kinsman, ay.
My hand had held the field beside thine own, And all wild hills that know my rallying cry Had poured forth war for heart"s pure love alone To help thee--wouldst thou heed me--to thy throne.
MADAN.
For pure heart"s love? what wage holds love in fee?
Might half my kingdom serve? Nay, mock not me, Fair uncle: should I cleave the crown in twain And gird thy temples with the goodlier half, Think"st thou my debt might so be paid again - Thy sceptre made a more imperial staff Than sways as now thy hill-folk?
CAMBER.
Dost thou laugh?
Were this too much for kings to give and take?
If warrior Wales do battle for thy sake, Should I that kept thy crown for thee be held Worth less than royal guerdon?
MADAN.
Keep thine own, And let the loud fierce knaves thy brethren quelled Ward off the wolves whose hides should line thy throne, Wert thou no coward, no recreant to the bone, No liar in spirit and soul and heartless heart, No slave, no traitor--nought of all thou art.
A thing like thee, made big with braggart breath, Whose tongue shoots fire, whose promise poisons trust, Would cast a shieldless soldier forth to death And wreck three realms to sate his rancorous l.u.s.t With ruin of them who have weighed and found him dust.
Get thee to Wales: there strut in speech and swell: And thence betimes G.o.d speed thee safe to h.e.l.l.
[Exeunt severally.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--The banks of the Ley.
Enter LOCRINE and ESTRILD.
LOCRINE.
If thou didst ever love me, love me now.
I am weary at heart of all on earth save thee.
And yet I lie: and yet I lie not. Thou - Dost thou not think for love"s sake scorn of me?
ESTRILD.
As earth of heaven: as morning of the sun.
LOCRINE.
Nay, what thinks evening, whom he leaves undone?
ESTRILD.
Thou madest me queen and woman: though my life Were taken, these thou couldst not take again, The gifts thou gavest me. More am I than wife, Whom, till my tyrant by thy strength were slain And by thy love my servile shame cast out, My naked sorrows clothed and girt about With princelier pride than binds the brows of queens, Thou sawest of all things least and lowest alive.
What means thy doubt?
LOCRINE.
Fear knows not what it means: And I was fearful even of clouds that drive Across the dawn, and die--of all, of nought - Winds whispering on the darkling ways of thought, Sunbeams that flash like fire, and hopes like fears That slay themselves, and live again, and die.
But in mine eyes thy light is, in mine ears Thy music: I am thine, and more than I, Being half of thy sweet soul.
ESTRILD.
Woe worth me then!
For one requires thee wholly.
LOCRINE.
Guendolen?
ESTRILD.
I said she was the fairer--and I lied not.
LOCRINE.
Thou art the fairest fool alive.
ESTRILD.
But she, Being wise, exceeds me: yet, so she divide not Thine heart, my best-beloved of liars, with me, I care not--nor I will not care. Some part She hath had, it may be, of thy fond false heart - Nay, couldst thou choose? but now, though she be fairer, Let her take all or none: I will not be Partaker of her perfect sway, nor sharer With any on earth more dear or less to thee.
Nay, be not wroth: what wilt thou have me say?
That I can love thee less than she can? Nay, Thou knowest I will not ill to her; but she - Would she not burn my child and me with fire To wreak herself, who loved thee once, on thee?