Locrine - A Tragedy | Page 8

thine hands were free.
GUENDOLEN.
These hands, now bound in wedlock fast to thine?
LOCRINE.
Yet were thine heart not then dislinked from mine.
GUENDOLEN.
Nay, life nor death, nor love whose child is hate, May sunder hearts
made one but once by fate. Wrath may come down as fire between
them--life May bid them yearn for death as man for wife - Grief bid
them stoop as son to father--shame Brand them, and memory turn their
pulse to flame - Or falsehood change their blood to poisoned wine - Yet
all shall rend them not in twain, Locrine.
LOCRINE.
Who knows not this? but rather would I know What thought distempers
and distunes thy woe. I came to wed my grief awhile to thine For love's
sake and for comfort's -
GUENDOLEN.
Thou, Locrine? Today thou knowest not, nor wilt learn tomorrow, The
secret sense of such a word as sorrow. Thy spirit is soft and sweet: I
well believe Thou wouldst, but well I know thou canst not grieve. The
tears like fire, the fire that burns up tears, The blind wild woe that seals
up eyes and ears, The sound of raging silence in the brain That utters
things unutterable for pain, The thirst at heart that cries on death for
ease, What knows thy soul's live sense of pangs like these?
LOCRINE.
Is no love left thee then for comfort?
GUENDOLEN.

Thine?
LOCRINE.
Thy son's may serve thee, though thou mock at mine.
GUENDOLEN.
Ay--when he comes again from Cornwall.
LOCRINE.
Nay; If now his absence irk thee, bid him stay.
GUENDOLEN. -
I will not--yea, I would not, though I might. Go, child: God guard and
grace thine hand in fight!
MADAN.
My heart shall give it grace to guard my head.
LOCRINE.
Well thought, my son: but scarce of thee well said.
MADAN.
No skill of speech have I: words said or sung Help me no more than
hand is helped of tongue: Yet, would some better wit than mine, I wis,
Help mine, I fain would render thanks for this.
GUENDOLEN.
Think not the boy I bare thee too much mine, Though slack of speech
and halting: I divine Thou shalt not find him faint of heart or hand,
Come what may come against him.
LOCRINE.
Nay, this land Bears not alive, nor bare it ere we came, Such bloodless
hearts as know not fame from shame, Or quail for hope's sake, or more
faithless fear, From truth of single-sighted manhood, here Born and
bred up to read the word aright That sunders man from beast as day
from night. That red rank Ireland where men burn and slay Girls, old
men, children, mothers, sires, and say These wolves and swine that
skulk and strike do well, As soon might know sweet heaven from
ravenous hell.
GUENDOLEN.
Ay: no such coward as crawls and licks the dust Till blood thence
licked may slake his murderous lust And leave his tongue the suppler
shall be bred, I think, in Britain ever--if the dead May witness for the
living. Though my son Go forth among strange tribes to battle, none
Here shall he meet within our circling seas So much more vile than

vilest men as these. And though the folk be fierce that harbour there As
once the Scythians driven before thee were, And though some Cornish
water change its name As Humber then for furtherance of thy fame,
And take some dead man's on it--some dead king's Slain of our son's
hand--and its watersprings Wax red and radiant from such fire of fight
And swell as high with blood of hosts in flight - No fiercer foe nor
worthier shall he meet Than then fell grovelling at his father's feet. Nor,
though the day run red with blood of men As that whose hours rang
round thy praises then, Shall thy son's hand be deeper dipped therein
Than his that gat him--and that held it sin To spill strange blood of
barbarous women--wives Or harlots--things of monstrous names and
lives - Fit spoil for swords of harsher-hearted folk; Nor yet, though
some that dared and 'scaped the stroke Be fair as beasts are
beauteous,--fit to make False hearts of fools bow down for love's foul
sake, And burn up faith to ashes--shall my son Forsake his father's
ways for such an one As whom thy soldiers slew or slew not--thou Hast
no remembrance of them left thee now. Even therefore may we stand
assured of this: What lip soever lure his lip to kiss, Past question--else
were he nor mine nor thine - This boy would spurn a Scythian
concubine.
LOCRINE.
Such peril scarce may cross or charm our son, Though fairer women
earth or heaven sees none Than those whose breath makes mild our