So be it.What levies wilt thou raise, to heave Thy father from his seat?
MADAN.
Let that be nought Of all thy care: do thou but trust--believe Thy son's right hand no feebler than thy thought, If that be strong to smite--and thou shalt see Vengeance.
GUENDOLEN.
I will.But were thy musters brought Whence now thou art come to cheer me, this should be A sign for us of comfort.
MADAN.
Dost thou fear Signs?
GUENDOLEN.
Nay, child, nay--thou art harsh as heaven to me -I would but have of thee a word of cheer.
MADAN.
I am weak in words: my tongue can match not thine, Mother.
Voices within] The king!
GUENDOLEN.
Hearst thou?
Voices within.] The king!
MADAN.
I hear.
Enter LOCRINE.
LOCRINE.
How fares my queen?
GUENDOLEN.
Well.And this child of mine -
How he may fare concerns not thee to know?
LOCRINE.
Why, well I see my boy fares well.
GUENDOLEN.
Locrine, Thou art welcome as the sun to fields of snow.
LOCRINE.
But hardly would they hail the sun whose face Dissolves them deathward.Was thy meaning so?
GUENDOLEN.
Make answer for me, Madan.
LOCRINE.
In thy place?
The boy's is not beside thee.
GUENDOLEN.
Speak, I say.
MADAN.
God guard my lord and father with his grace!
LOCRINE.
Well prayed, my child.
GUENDOLEN.
Children--who can but pray -
Pray better, if my sense not err, than we.
The God whom all the gods of heaven obey Should hear them rather, seeing--as gods may see -How pure of purpose is their perfect prayer.
LOCRINE.
I think not else--the better then for me.
But ours--what manner of child is this? the hair Buds flowerwise round his darkening lips and chin, This hand's young hardening palm knows how to bear The sword-hilt's poise that late I laid therein -Ha? doth not it?
GUENDOLEN.
Thine enemies know that well.
MADAN.
I make no boast of battles that have been;But, so God help me, days unborn shall tell What manner of heart my father gave me.
LOCRINE.
Good.
I doubt thee not.
GUENDOLEN.
In Cornwall they that fell So found it, that of all their large-limbed brood No bulk is left to brave thee.
LOCRINE.
Yea, I know Our son hath given the wolf our foes for food And won him worthy praise from friend or foe;And heartier praise and trustier thanks from none, Boy, than thy father pays thee.
GUENDOLEN.
Wouldst thou show Thy love, thy thanks, thy fatherhood in one, Thy perfect honour--yea, thy right to stand Crowned, and lift up thine eyes against the sun As one so pure in heart, so clean of hand, So loyal and so royal, none might cast A word against thee burning like a brand, A sound that withers honour, and makes fast The bondage of a recreant soul to shame -Thou shouldst, or ever an hour be overpast, Slay him.
LOCRINE.
Thou art mad.
GUENDOLEN.
What, is not then thy name Locrine? and hath this boy done ill to thee?
Hath he not won him for thy love's sake fame?
Hath he not served thee loyally? is he So much thy son, so little son of mine, That men might call him traitor? May they see The brand across his brow that reddens thine?
How shouldst thou dare--how dream--to let him live?
Is he not loyal? art not thou Locrine?
What less than death for guerdon shouldst thou give My son who hath done thee service? Me thou hast given -Who hast found me truer than falsehood can forgive -Shame for my guerdon: yea, my heart is riven With shame that once I loved thee.
LOCRINE.
Guendolen, A woman's wrath should rest not unforgiven Save of the slightest of the sons of men:
And no such slight and shameful thing am IAs would not yield thee pardon.
GUENDOLEN.
Slay me then.
LOCRINE.
Thee, or thy son? but now thou bad'st him die.
GUENDOLEN.
Thou liest: I bade thee slay him.
LOCRINE.
Art thou mad Indeed?
GUENDOLEN.
O liar, is all the world a lie?
I bade thee, knowing thee what thou art--I bade My lord and king and traitor slay my son -A heartless hand that lacks the power it had Smite one whose stroke shall leave it strengthless--one Whose loyal loathing of his shame in thee Shall cast it out of eyeshot of the sun.
LOCRINE.
Thou bad'st me slay him that he might--he, slay me?
GUENDOLEN.
Thou hast said--and yet thou hast lied not.
LOCRINE.
Hell's own hate Brought never forth such fruit as thine.
GUENDOLEN.
But he Is the issue of thy love and mine, by fate Made one to no good issue.Didst thou trust That grief should give to men disconsolate Comfort, and treason bring forth truth, and dust Blossom? What love, what reverence, what regard, Shouldst thou desire, if God or man be just, Of this thy son, or me more evil-starred, Whom scorn salutes his mother?
LOCRINE.
How should scorn Draw near thee, girt about with power for guard, Power and good fame? unless reproach be born Of these thy violent vanities of mood That fight against thine honour.
GUENDOLEN.
Dost thou mourn For that? Too careful art thou for my good, Too tender and too true to me and mine, For shame to make my heart or thine his food Or scorn lay hold upon my fame or thine.
Art thou not pure as honour's perfect heart -Not treason-cankered like my lord Locrine, Whose likeness shows thee fairer than thou art And falser than thy loving care of me Would bid my faith believe thee?
LOCRINE.
What strange part Is this that changing passion plays in thee?
Know'st thou me not?
GUENDOLEN.
Yea--witness heaven and hell, And all the lights that lighten earth and sea, And all that wrings my heart, I know thee well.
How should I love and hate and know thee not?
LOCRINE.
Thy voice is as the sound of dead love's knell.
GUENDOLEN.
Long since my heart has tolled it--and forgot All save the cause that bade the death-bell sound And cease and bring forth silence.
LOCRINE.
Is thy lot Less fair and royal, girt with power and crowned, -Than might fulfil the loftiest heart's desire?
GUENDOLEN.
Not air but fire it is that rings me round -Thy voice makes all my brain a wheel of fire.
Man, what have I to do with pride of power?
Such pride perchance it was that moved my sire To bid me wed--woe worth the woful hour! -His brother's son, the brother's born above Him as above me thou, the crown and flower Of Britain, gentler-hearted than the dove And mightier than the sunward eagle's wing:
