Rosamund | Page 6

be, here. And yet For you it may be--Hildegard and thee. God give
you joy.
ALMACHILDES.
God give thee comfort, king. [Exeunt.

ACT II

A room in the Queen's apartments.

Enter ROSAMUND.
ROSAMUND.
I am yet alive to question if I live And wonder what may ever bid me
die. But live I will, being yet not dead with thee, Father. Thou knowest
in Paradise my heart. I feel thy kisses breathing on my lips, Whereto
the dead cold relic of thy face Was pressed at bidding of thy slayer last
night, And yet they were not withered: nay, they are red As blood
is--blood but newly spilt--not thine. How good thou wast and sweet of
spirit--how dear, Father! None lives that knew thee now save one, And
none loves me but thou nor thee but I, That was till yesternight thy
daughter: now That very name is tainted, and my tongue Tastes poison
as I speak it. There is nought Left in the range and record of the world
For me that is not poisoned: even my heart Is all envenomed in me.
Death is life, Or priesthood lies that swears it: then I give The man my
husband and thy homicide Life, if I slay him--the life he gave thee.
Enter HILDEGARD.
Girl, I sent for thee, I think: stand near me. Child, Thou art fairer than
thou knowest, I doubt: thou art fair As the awless maidenhood of
morning: truth Should live upon thy lips, though truth were dead On all
men's tongues and women's born save thine. Dawn lies not when it
laughs on us. Thy queen I am not now: thy friend I would be. Tell Thy
friend if love sleep or awake in thee Toward any man. Thou art silent.
Tell me this, Dost thou not think, where thought scarce knows itself -
Think in the subtle sense too deep for thought - That Almachildes loves
thee?
HILDEGARD.
More than I Love Almachildes.
ROSAMUND.
Thus a maid should speak. Dost thou love me?
HILDEGARD.
Thou knowest it, queen.
ROSAMUND.
It lies Now in thy power to show me more of love Than ever yet hath
man or woman. Swear, If thou dost love me, thou wilt show it.
HILDEGARD.
I swear.
ROSAMUND.

By all our fathers' great forsaken gods Who smiled on all their battles,
and by him Who clomb or crept or leapt upon their throne And signed
us Christian, swear it, then.
HILDEGARD.
I swear.
ROSAMUND.
What if I bid thee give thyself to shame - Yield up thy soul and
body--play such parts As shameless fame records of women crowned
Imperial in the tale of lust and Rome?
HILDEGARD.
Thou couldst not bid me do it.
ROSAMUND.
Thou hast sworn.
HILDEGARD.
I have sworn. Queen, I would do it, and die.
ROSAMUND.
Thou shalt not. Yet This must thou do, and live. Thou shalt not be
Shamed. Thou shalt bid thine Almachildes come And speak with thee
by nightfall. Say, the queen Will give not up the maiden so beloved -
And truth it is, I love thee--willingly To the arms of one her husband
loves: but were it Shame, utter shame, that he should wed not her, The
shamefast queen could choose not. Then shall he Plead. Then shalt thou
turn gentler than the snow That softens at the strong sun's kiss, and
yield. But needs must night be close about your love And darkness
whet your kisses. Light were death. Hast thou no heart to guess now?
Fear not then. Not thou but I must put on shame. I lack A hand for mine
to grasp and strike with. His I have chosen.
HILDEGARD.
I see but as by lightning. Queen, What should I do but warn the
king--or him?
ROSAMUND.
Thou hast sworn. I hold thee by thy word.
HILDEGARD.
My Christ, Help me!
ROSAMUND.
No God can break thine oath in twain And leave thee less than perjured.
Thou must bid him Make thee to-night his bride.

HILDEGARD.
I could not say it.
ROSAMUND.
Thou shalt, or God shall smite thee down to hell. What, art thou
godless?
HILDEGARD.
Art not thou?
ROSAMUND.
Not I. I find him just and gracious, girl: he gives me My right by might
set fast on thine and thee.
HILDEGARD.
For love of mercy, queen--for honour's sake, Bid me not shame myself
before a man - The man I love--who gives me back at least Honour, if
love he gives not.
ROSAMUND.
Ay, my maid? And yet he loves thee, or thy maiden thought Errs with
no gracious error, more than thou Him?
HILDEGARD.
Art thou woman born, to cast me back My maiden shame for shame
upon my face? I would not say I loved him more than man Loved ever