King Edward the Third | Page 8

Her voice to music or the nightingale-- To music every summer leaping swain Compares his sunburnt lover when she speaks; And why should I speak of the nightingale? The nightingale sings of adulterate wrong, And that, compared, is too satyrical; For sin, though sin, would not be so esteemed, But, rather, virtue sin, sin virtue deemed. Her hair, far softer than the silk worm's twist, Like to a flattering glass, doth make more fair The yellow Amber:--like a flattering glass Comes in too soon; for, writing of her eyes, I'll say that like a glass they catch the sun, And thence the hot reflection doth rebound Against the breast, and burns my heart within. Ah, what a world of descant makes my soul Upon this voluntary ground of love!-- Come, Lodowick, hast thou turned thy ink to gold? If not, write but in letters Capital My mistress' name, and it will gild thy paper: Read, Lord, read; Fill thou the empty hollows of mine ears With the sweet hearing of thy poetry.
LODOWICK. I have not to a period brought her praise.
KING EDWARD. Her praise is as my love, both infinite, Which apprehend such violent extremes, That they disdain an ending period. Her beauty hath no match but my affection; Hers more than most, mine most and more than more: Hers more to praise than tell the sea by drops, Nay, more than drop the massy earth by sands, And sand by sand print them in memory: Then wherefore talkest thou of a period To that which craves unended admiration? Read, let us hear.
LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades,'--
KING EDWARD. That line hath two faults, gross and palpable: Comparest thou her to the pale queen of night, Who, being set in dark, seems therefore light? What is she, when the sun lifts up his head, But like a fading taper, dim and dead? My love shall brave the eye of heaven at noon, And, being unmasked, outshine the golden sun.
LODOWICK. What is the other fault, my sovereign Lord?
KING EDWARD. Read o'er the line again.
LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste'--
KING EDWARD. I did not bid thee talk of chastity, To ransack so the treasure of her mind; For I had rather have her chased than chaste. Out with the moon line, I will none of it; And let me have her likened to the sun: Say she hath thrice more splendour than the sun, That her perfections emulate the sun, That she breeds sweets as plenteous as the sun, That she doth thaw cold winter like the sun, That she doth cheer fresh summer like the sun, The she doth dazzle gazers like the sun; And, in this application to the sun, Bid her be free and general as the sun, Who smiles upon the basest weed that grows As lovingly as on the fragrant rose. Let's see what follows that same moonlight line.
LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades, More bold in constance'--
KING EDWARD. In constance! than who?
LODOWICK. 'Than Judith was.'
KING EDWARD. O monstrous line! Put in the next a sword, And I shall woo her to cut of my head. Blot, blot, good Lodowick! Let us hear the next.
LODOWICK. There's all that yet is done.
KING EDWARD. I thank thee then; thou hast done little ill, But what is done, is passing, passing ill. No, let the Captain talk of boisterous war, The prisoner of emured dark constraint, The sick man best sets down the pangs of death, The man that starves the sweetness of a feast, The frozen soul the benefit of fire, And every grief his happy opposite: Love cannot sound well but in lover's tongues; Give me the pen and paper, I will write.
[Enter Countess.]
But soft, here comes the treasurer of my spirit.-- Lodowick, thou knowst not how to draw a battle; These wings, these flankers, and these squadrons Argue in thee defective discipline: Thou shouldest have placed this here, this other here.
COUNTESS. Pardon my boldness, my thrice gracious Lords; Let my intrusion here be called my duty, That comes to see my sovereign how he fares.
KING EDWARD. Go, draw the same, I tell thee in what form.
LODOWICK. I go.
[Exit Lodowick.]
COUNTESS. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad: What may thy subject do to drive from thee Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholy?
KING EDWARD. Ah, Lady, I am blunt and cannot straw The flowers of solace in a ground of shame:-- Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged.
COUNTESS. Now God forbid that any in my house Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice gentle King, Acquaint me with your cause of discontent.
KING EDWARD. How near then shall I be to remedy?
COUNTESS. As near, my Liege, as all my woman's power Can pawn it self to buy thy remedy.
KING EDWARD.