Kent. Now, Eleanor, wilt prove thee saint, or devil?
Wilt mend this breach, or must I perish in it?
Too well I know that soul's dark history
To think it may breed light. The moment globes
The years' full character; a whole life's face
Peeps out in smallest deeds. Yet wonders are.
And Eleanor may prove false to herself
To once keep faith with Heaven.
[Listens] Glaia? Ay!
[Goes to curtains rear, parts them softly, looks within and returns]
She did not call. I'll watch all night. 'Twill be
No added task since there's no sleep for me.
My Margaret is safe. They dare not touch
A princess of the blood. But I am down.
'Tis said and sung there is no greater pain
Than wrenches Fortune's nurslings when she flies.
Not so. False lady of the wheel, take all!
But O, to see my king yield to the wolves
Now fang-close to his heart—there is my death!
[Sits on a couch, his head bowed. Margaret enters, advances softly and embraces him. He looks up, returning her caress]
Now let the world go on, I'll rest me here.
Why should I keep my hand proud on the helm,
War with the unsated surge, nor know the pause
That is the spirit's silent growing time?
Ah, Margaret, how little will content thee?
No more nor less than love and poorest me?
Mar. No more, my lord. Nor will aught less make full
My greedy cup. Thou wert the king's, but now
Thou art all mine. All mine, my love? Or is
That little "all" my greatest flatterer?
Kent. You know my heart. Where have you been so long?
Mar. With Eleanor. I brought her home with me.
Kent. She's here?
Mar. Yes, Hubert. Ah, she loves you well.
Kent. She loves me?
Mar. Better than you thought.
Kent. [In sudden hope] Then ... Speak!
What has she told you?
Mar. Nothing. What, my lord,
Should she have told me?
Kent. [Dully] Nothing.
Mar. I have heard
So much of this—this nothing.
Kent. Margaret,
Thou hast my soul. Wilt keep it true for me?
Mar. I keep it? No, I doubt myself.
Kent. Thyself?
Then trust my trust in thee, which meets thy love
As swallows meet the waking winds of Spring
And know where life is.
Mar. Doubt or trust, I love thee!
O Hubert, let us go this night to lands
That know how to be kind and smile on lovers.
Kent. Dost hope by flying England to fly pain,
That everywhere encircles man as fire
To shape his soul in fashion of his God?
Mar. For love and life I beg! Why do I say
For love and life, since there's no life for me
Without thy love? O, you will go with me!
Leave thy ungrateful king to wed at will——
Kent. Leave Glaia to the king? The thought is flame!
Mar. [Standing before him, suddenly tense]
Who is this maiden that you guard as she
Were the one drop of blood that in your heart
Makes living centre? Who?
Kent. [After a pause] You heard my answer.
Mar. Ay, to the king, but not to me—thyself—
Nay more, for when thou takest away thyself,
Though in the smallest part, so much I die,—
And by this secret that divorces us
Am wholly slain. But tell it to me, Hubert,
And 'twill become another blessed bond,
To second union closer than the first
Re-sanctioning our souls.
[He is silent. Her rage overcomes her]
Unseal thy lips,
Or by the fires that flit now through my brain,
By the ancestral wrongs within my blood
That start suspicion where there is no foe,
I shall begin to doubt thee! Who is she
To thee who art my husband?
Kent. Margaret,
Go to the maiden lying yon and look
Once more upon her vestal face, then ask
If she know aught of guilt.
[Margaret looks silently toward the curtains]
Mar. [In subdued tone] She's there?
Kent. Poor child!
I thought you'd be her gentle, elder sister,
And help me still her woeful flutterings.
[Turns away]
Where's now the proud, sure strength that made discount
Of Heaven's arm? O, reed-propped vanities,
Swelling usurpful till ye seem our life,
Ye must come down that we may find ourselves
And God.
Mar. O, take me back! I did not know
This spirit dwelt in me. One of my race,
A woman, long ago, stabbed through a heart
That played her false, yet she was gentle too,
And died for what her hand had done. May be
The unquiet dead come back to live in us.
O, it was she stirred this strange passion in me.
Twas not myself. Speak to me, Hubert! Say
'Twas not myself.
Kent. [Embracing her] Sole angel of my love!
Mar. You'll take me back? Let Time begin his count
One minute past, and leave the last one out.
O, say a word will sponge it from the day,
Or all my future must turn back its face
And live with gazing on that minute's point.
Kent. It was not you, my heart. But say it were,
Should I pull down my heaven because a bird
Makes flying blot against it? 'Tis the doubts
That darkly flitting show love's constant sky
Forever radiant.
Mar. O me! O me!
And this is shame!
Kent. Nay, sweet! Weep, if you must,
But let thy tears be rain upon the soul
Making a fair new season.
Mar. Let me die!
Kent. So overwrought? Thou who hast been my strength?
Mar. If I were dead then you——
Kent. Should be as thou!
'Tis not thy death but Glaia's that would be
The sad solution of these woes.
Mar. Not her,
So fair ... and dear to us.
Kent. [Kissing her] My gentle love!
... 'Twere best she died, who now must drink the cup
That makes death sweet in coming. I myself
Almost could guide the knife unto her heart
And cut off ruder visitors.
Mar. O, veil
The thought. Its nakedness has chilled my soul.
Kent. Ay, she is God's, not mine. Leave her to him.
And now, my life, you, too, must go to rest.
Mar. You'll not to bed?
Kent. The king may send for me.
He will not sleep, for in his face was woe
Will quiet not to slumber.
Mar. O, my love,
How can I leave thee now? If thou wert held
By softest sleep on pillows of content
I could no less than weep to go from thee,
And yet these tears are all I have when thou
Art left to sad, despairing watch. I'll stay,
For I've no words to part with, none to tell
How breaks my heart in going.
Kent. Nay, I must work,
And you will call my wits to otherwheres;
Then in the morn these eyes, undewed with sleep,
Will show me not the light that must be mine.
Mar. Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes,
But in my heart burns thy unfailing torch,
And if you find it dim it is thy secret
Casts shade between us, not a lack in me.
Kent. If I should speak then oaths were straws in fire.
Mar. O, no, I would not have thee speak. That's past.
'Tis our misfortune that we are divided
In this most pitchy hour that in itself
Were nothing if our hearts could meet and melt
In unreserved touch. In every life
There comes a watch the soul must keep alone.
The hour has struck for thine. And mine I feel
Is not so far away. Now, now I go,
My lord. Because I help you best in going.
Our hearts would rush together, and the pain
Grows in them baffled. Dearer than life, good night.
I leave my prayers like candles set about you,
And as they fail think of me on my knees
Renewing them from Heaven. [Exit, right]
Kent. Margaret!
[Pauses, slowly takes up the light and goes off, left, leaving the room in darkness. Curtain]

Scene 2. The same room in darkness. Margaret enters, right, carrying a taper.

Mar. I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein
The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then
The conscious warder holding up the mask
Before the secret self bares all defence
Unheedful of approach. I'll look, and pray
To find the lineaments so pure by day
Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday—Sweet
yesterday—when I knew not nor guessed
The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's!
O, knowledge, rude defiler of our dreams,
How oft we'd give thy hard, substantial store
To build again with bright illusion's eye
Our happy towers on the inconstant clouds:
[Sees a light through curtains]
She's up! No ... who is there?
[Veils her taper. Kent comes from the inner room. He carries a candle]
Kent. She does not move.
O, Eleanor, how could thy heart give blood
To one so pure that he who loves her best
Would send her back to Heaven?
Mar. [Unheard by Kent] Eleanor!
Her child! Her child!
Kent. Fair Glaia, may'st thou rest,
Not ever wake till angels call thee up.
[Looking back] Ay, ay, she sleeps.
[Exit, left]
Mar. How gracious art thou, God,
To bless me so! O, wicked Eleanor!
This was the fire that maddened thee to-night.
Not fear for Hubert. How couldst make his life
The priceless cloak of thy own worthless shame?
But I can save him! I will make thee speak,
Unsistered woman!
[Draws back the curtains, leaving them open, showing the inner room and bed on which Glaia lies]
Glaia, now I'll look,
Nor all thy grace shall hide the lines that mark
Thy cruel mother. Can this be the face
That breeds such misery? Fair heaven-case
Of innocence!... My Hubert's niece, so mine.
How lily-cold in sleep! And still ... so still.
A kiss will not awake thee—one as light
As my own heart. So cold? O, cold as death!
[Draws back the coverlet]
Blood! Blood! A dagger here! O Heaven,
That this smooth coverlet should hide so much!
[Stands a moment in silent horror]
And Hubert thought she slept. "Rest well," he said,
"Nor ever wake till angels call thee up."
Nor wilt thou wake till then, poor Glaia. O,
How can I call him here to look on this!
[Takes up the dagger]
Strange that the slayer left his dagger here.
He in whose heart the thought of murder lives
Has more of cunning in him.
[Drops dagger suddenly]
Hubert's! O!
[Staggers away from bed and holds herself up by the curtains. Buries her face for an instant, then looks up blanched and determined]
I must act quickly. O, at once—at once!
One pause may be the grave of resolution.
[Starts toward bed, but stops]
"She does not move," he said ... and "ay, she sleeps,"
As though she slept eternally.
[Goes to bed, and takes up the dagger]
His dagger.
Oft has it pleased me to regard this hilt.
Pearls winding like a milky way about
A turquoise heaven. Even then my fate
Lurked in the blade. Why do I talk, and beg
A vile delay? Pain is sole merchant here,
And with each moment amplifies his profit.
... I will not pray, for prayer is softening,
And I must be too stern to pity self.
I was a princess. I'll not think of that,
For now I am a wife. And for my lord
Must die. They'll find me here, and say the deed
Was mine. My jealous hand avenged my wrong.
... O gentle Heaven, he is not worthy this!
Nay, nor no man, and yet for every man
There lives a woman who would die for him.
[Lifts the dagger]
I can not strike. [Drops her arm] I must ... ere I go mad
And leave the event to chance.
[Lifts dagger, grows faint and falls with a cry to the floor. Kent enters, left]
Kent. Twas Margaret's voice. My love?
[Advances and sees Margaret on the floor]
O, life of mine!
[Looks toward bed]
Glaia! Uncovered—bleeding—dead! Put out
My eyes! Out ... out. What cruelty yet lives
In Heaven to show me this? O, Eleanor,
Come, come and see how thy one sin has grown
To widest hell! Thy Glaia dead ... even cold ...
And Margaret ... not dead ... but would she were!
[Bends over her]
Yea, I could love thee then. My Margaret,
Couldst do this thing? Thy hand was ever tender,
And oft thou coveredst even guilt with mercy.
... She could not do it.... Ay, she could ... she could.
For her ancestral steps are marked with blood,
And but to-night her eye flashed with a look
That like an evil star did point to this.
[Knocking without, and opening of gates]
My summons from the king. Ho, Rufus?
[Draws coverlet over Glaia's form] Glaia,
Thou wert the bud of earth; infinity
Shall wear thy blossom and be proud.
[Enter attendant]
Att. My lord?
Kent. Your mistress faints. Call up her women. Haste!
[Exit attendant. Kent takes Margaret in his arms and bears her off, right. Re-enters, goes to curtains and draws them, concealing Glaia's bed]
O, Henry, now thy heart is struck.
[Enter an attendant]
Who comes?
Att. Your grace, I do not know. Strange men who give
No name, but say that they must see you.
Kent. Must?
Admit them.
Att. Here, your grace?
Kent. Ay, here.
[Exit attendant. Kent picks up dagger from the floor] 'Tis mine.
I'll wear my own. [Hangs dagger at his belt]
Now is the earl of Kent
A murderer. How feels it with you, sir?
[Enter officers and attendants]
Officer. My lord of Kent, you are our prisoner.
Kent. By whose command?
Off. The king's.
Kent. O, April heart,
Dost think 'twill ne'er be winter? What the crime?
Off. You're charged, on pain of death, to show the son
Of Adelais, of France.
Kent. That sin is old
And faded now. I know another blots
O'er that. I'll burn your ears with 't as we go.
[Exeunt. Curtain]

ACT III

Scene 1. A small altar room, adjoining the king's apartment. Henry bowed and kneeling. Enter Winchester and attendant.

Att. Since morning he has knelt, and sees no one.
You are the first admitted.
Win. Dear my lord——
Hen. [Rising and turning to Winchester]
Will you, too, tell me she is dead?
Win. Alas——
Hen. O, not that word—the pretty mask of woe.
That never hid a tear. If she is dead,
Weep and be dumb, or find some word that rends
The heart in uttering it.
Win. My lord——
Hen. My lord!
You're too polite a mourner, by my faith!
O, Glaia, Glaia, Glaia, art thou dead?
Canst thou then sleep, O, God?
Win. That he does sleep
This deed is proof.
Hen. What deed? 'Tis false! She lives.
'Twas blessed yester morn I held her here,
And heard her laugh and say my kisses were
Like Maythorn blossoms dropping on her hair.
And can her voice be still? Nay, fiends themselves
Love music, and would spare to put so much
To silence. O, in her tongue the nightingale
Was dead, having no sweeter cause to live.
She could not die. A thousand thousand angels
Would rush to save her and with silvery wings
Beat back the assaulting devil.
Win. Would I could say
She lives! You drain my heart with every tear
You drop upon this woe. Loved majesty,
Look up and weep no more.
Hen. Stop not my tears.
They shall pour sea-like till my body lies
An isle o'erwhelmed. My eyes could lend the skies
Another flood yet lack not moisture.... Glaia!
It was my kiss that slew thee. But for me
Thou hadst been living still. So Winter springs
To clasp his blushing Autumn love, then spends
His weary season burying her dead leaves.
Win. Rouse you, my lord. The creature is alive
That slew her.
Hen. He is found?—and lives—and you
Stand here to tell me?
Win. Hear my story, sire.
When we arrested Kent——
Hen. Arrested Kent?
You could not wait? Well, we shall see, my lord,
My Glaia loved him and he shall not die.
Win. The moment he was taken he confessed
That he had slain the maid——
Hen. What is 't you say?
Now, by my life, I thought you said that Kent—
I'll not repeat it—'twas so strange a thing—
I'm numb since this dark news, and what I hear
By insurrection of my wits becomes
What I hear not.
Win. Recall yourself, my lord.
Your wits are loyal, and inform you rightly.
I said 'twas Kent——
Hen. Ha! Now the devil speaks
In his own person. You've thrust the cloven foot
Too far from 'neath the bishop's gown.
Win. My lord——
Hen. Now I read back and take the hellish measure
Of all your lies!
Win. Your majesty——
Hen. Sir, I have loved this man, and when I felt
Too weak for England's throne, I laid my head
Upon his breast and there grew strong as he.
And you dare say——
Win. I do not say, my liege,
The crime is his, but he confessed it so.
Here are the words in which he damns himself.
[Gives the king a paper]
Hen. Drop from the world, O sun! Make all the air
Dark as my heart, that from this hour shall know
No re-ascending star! Leave me, my lord.
All's as you please. Do what you will. The world
No more shall draw me forth to look upon it.
Yet I am young, and had but learned to smile.
[Enter attendant]
Att. The earl of Pembroke begs to see my lord
Of Winchester.
Hen. Admit him here. I'll pray.
[Turns to altar. Enter Pembroke]
Win. What news, your grace?
Pem. 'Tis strange enough, my lord.
Kent's wife, the princess Margaret, now swears
'Twas she who took the maiden's life, and speaks
With so much care and proof of circumstance
I scarce can doubt her.
Win. Margaret!
Pem. No other.
She says 'twas she alone, and not her husband.
Win. This fortune wears our colors. Give it welcome.
I feared she'd rouse all England,—Scotland, too,—
In Kent's defence. You know her blood of old.
But now her hands are bound.
Pem. Then you've no doubt
'Twas she?
Win. I wish to have none, that's enough
To shape my looks by.
[Henry rises and comes toward them]
Ah, my liege, we hear
That Margaret is author of the crime
We now bewail, not Kent.
Hen. That it was either
I can not whip my senses to believe.
Win. She has confessed.
Hen. Why, so did Kent. This shows
A gap in proof.
Win. Kent thought to shield his wife.
Hen. Then he must love her well, and yet your tongue
Struck hard another way. Nay, it is she
Who thinks to save her lord. Poor Margaret,
Thou hadst done better to have wed the king.
Win. My lord, we can not doubt Kent loved this maid.
'Twas as apparent as the light to eyes;
And he would pause ere put her from his arms
To bed with worms; but this same love would be
Poor Margaret's bitter cause to wish her dead;
And Jealousy, we know, is page to Murder,
Holding the candle for the hellish stroke.
Hen. But why should Kent confess?
Win. With all his sins,
He has the grace of chivalry, and thought
By his confession to save Margaret,
Not caring for his fate since he was doomed
For other crime.
Hen. I'll hear no more, my lord.
A woman ... and that woman—Margaret.
Win. My liege——
Hen. No more. Here is my seal. 'Tis yours.
And now I beg you go. Nothing is dear
But grief, sole link 'tween me and love. Leave me,
I pray. [Turns to altar]
Win. [Aside, gloating] Weep, fool, my star is in my hand!
Pem. God send you comfort, sire.
[Exeunt Winchester and Pembroke]
Hen. [To attendant] Let none approach me.
[Exit attendant.]
Henry sings]
I laid a rose upon my heart,
Ay me!
Soon 'gan its beauty to depart,
Ay, ay me!
I nursed it with desire,
Still did its beauty go.
For O, my heart was fire,
Cruel fire!
Ay me, I did not know,
I did not know.
[Enter a friar through panel door behind altar]
Art thou a shadow come to say
All men are shadows and naught living is?
Friar. I come to give God's help and ask for thine,
My son and king.
Hen. 'Tis death, sir, thus to steal
Into my presence.
Friar. So I prove my love
For thee, your highness, venturing life to reach
Thine ear's seclusion.
Hen. What wouldst tell me, father?
I've heard your voice before and found it honest.
By that, mayhap, we'll prove old friends. Come in.
[Exeunt]

Scene 2. A prison corridor. Kent alone.

Kent. Is this the end of Kent? The block and axe
His porters to throw ope the sealed gate?
I thought a good wife's prayers had ushered me,
And weeping peers had held my garments back
Until the soul disdained to hide therein.
... What value's in this world that men will buy 't
With so much groaning? This strange human chaos
Where vice is often merit, merit vice,
Or if they be themselves so change deserts
That wisdom is clapped to gallows, folly to thrones.
And innocence lifts up thin, fettered hands
While guilt walks angel free. Where palsy shakes
The pen from the seer's hand, and crowing health
Bids fools to write; where Fame forgets to blush
At Flattery's board, and Honor, pendulous
'Twixt bribe and faith, dwindles inert and like
A withered finger shames the hand of state.
... Where Margarets can stripe their souls' pure white
With guileless blood. She, she that was a dove
To falcon turn and rend a fledgling's breast!
It casts a doubt on Heaven, makes of faith
A leper scourged from man's hale faculties,
And love a monster of diseased minds!
Come, dearest Death, and mis-shaped world away!
[Margaret is admitted, left, by a turnkey]
Turnkey. You're honest? All your jewels, ma'am?
Mar. Ay, all!
They have been praised, but had no worth till now
When each one buys a minute with my lord.
[Exeunt turnkey, locking door]
[Margaret comes down corridor toward Kent, her hands behind her]
Kent. [Looking up] What devil drove you here?
Mar. Did Hubert speak?
Kent. What do you want? Why hold away your hands?
Fear not that I'll embrace thee!
Mar. What art thou?
Kent. Nothing to thee, whatever else I am.
Away! For Death and I have just locked hands.
One moment more and I had cozened him
Of all his pain. But you, dear, damned foe,
Take up his weapons and re-gash my wounds.
Mar. Is this my lord?
Kent. Go. I command you. Go!
Eternity drops on me, and lightfoot Time
Hies like a ghost to nothing. What dost here?
Mar. I die.
Kent. You die? No fear of that. You are
Too great a lover of this life that vaunts
A bloated bubble 'twixt immortal shores.
Mar. If once 'twere true—if once I loved this world—
Thy bitter words have sucked desire to live
From all my senses. As a god I held thee,
Now mocking gods bid me look on whilst thou
Deport'st thyself 'neath mortal. Sir, what plague
Hast met? What conjuration of the skies
Disfigures thee?
Kent. The same that made thyself
A woman. Back unto your world!
Mar. O, true
I loved this life, and held a heart not dead
To music, beauty, sweet and warm delights,
An interest in the season-robing earth,
An entertained eye for fortune's chance,
And too pretentiously I sighed to leave
The unfollowed steps of fair and flying Truth,
And last, poor woman, shrank to change thine arms
For the cold circlet of Elysian clouds;
But you, pervert and monstrous, work my peace,
Unto my eyes deforming all the world
And making the unknown more dear than dream.
Kent. I monstrous? O, thou shame! To've died for you
Were scarcely more than's done each day for love;
But I for you have heaped my name with crime,
Crime that will damn my reputation's snow
While lasts the world and men recount old tales!
Mar. 'Twas for my sake you did it! Ah, I know.
You loved me well. Would you had known me better,
Or loved me less! O, how couldst think my life
Would flower with happiness when sacrifice
Of one as dear to Heaven as myself
Lay burning at its root? Nay, I must wither
Unto this world, but as I fall thy name
Grows fairer, for I have confessed 'twas I.
For love of me you sinned. The punishment
Is mine.
Kent. Confessed? You have confessed? No, no!
Mar. I shall be soon forgot, but your great name
Will live, and since it must, or dark or bright,
I would remove as much of foulness from it
As blood of mine will cleanse.
Kent. You have confessed!
O, God of truth, let man trust to thy mercy,
Not hope to cheat thy justice! You confessed?
Already I was doomed, but you—you might
Have lived. Ay, and you shall!
[Comes near her and sees that her hands are fettered]
In fetters? You?
By holy Heaven, though giants forged these on
I'd strip them off! [Breaks her fetters]
Mar. O, let me wear them, sir!
My bond of blessedness—for I am blest
In dying for your sin!
Kent. That word again?
My sin?
Mar. Forgive me, Hubert. 'Twas no sin.
Indeed, 'twas none. For you were not yourself.
'Twas madness. Heaven must forgive it thee.
Kent. God help thee, Margaret! Wouldst say I did it?
Mar. Not you, but heavy, secret woe that bred
A demon in your blood to strike poor Glaia,—
And too-dear love of me which vainly hoped
To give me peace where never peace could be.
O, look not so! At God's own throne 'twill be
Forgiven thee, for surely thou wert tried
As Heaven tries its own.
Kent. Art mad at last?
Thy crime confessed to all the world, and yet
Denied to me, the only heart that knows? [She gazes at him, bewildered]
Poor soul, her madness has been slow enough.
Come, bruised darling, with thy blood-stained hands!
Thou 'rt mine, my only love! [Embracing her. She moves from him]
Mar. 'Tis you that speak
Wild words. My blood-stained hands? They're free of blood
As the pure angel's who writes golden down
The saintliest deeds of men!
Kent. Whate'er thy words,
Thine eyes are true, and there's no madness in them.
But, Margaret, I found thee by her side——
Mar. 'Twas there I swooned——
Kent. The dagger in thy hand——
Mar. Yes, in my hand, but, Hubert—hear me, Hubert!
I saw you come from Glaia's curtained bed,
Slow and despairing, murmuring "She sleeps,"
As though you said she slept to wake no more.
I entered, saw her pale, drew back the coverlet—
There ran the stream that drained her beauty's rose—
There lay your dagger—yours. And then I thought
By dying there to save your life and name,
But fainted, O, too soon——
Kent. My heart, my heart!
O, had I done such deed would I have left
My dagger to confess it? Glaia called—
Not so—I dreamed she called—and going there,
Found her in deepest sleep—or thought I found
Her so—and touched her not lest she should stir
And know her woes again.
Mar. It was not you?
Kent. That question makes your tongue a dagger's point,
And yet my doubt of you was deeper wrong,
Measuring all the difference between
Man's grosser soul and woman's altar-lit.
O, Margaret, some serpent heart planned well
To do this deed and leave the guilt with me.
Mar. Who—who, my Hubert? Nay, it matters not,
Since 'twas not you—not you! In two small words
My heaven is built again!
Kent. We ne'er shall know.
I've foes enough, and one of them perhaps
So sought to cast me deeper by this crime,
And we shall wear his foul and scarlet mark
Even unto our graves,—for we must die.
Mar. Enough that we die sinless.
Kent. O, my love,
Who would have died for me!
Mar. And you, dear lord,
Who took such shame upon you for my sake!
Kent. Death was already on me, and 'twas naught
To make addition to my guilt. But you,
Your heart not pausing, leapt from safety's shore
Into the flood. O, might I live for thee!
A blessed bondman to thy merest wish,
From hour to hour to watch thy graces bloom
As various as Flora when she loves,
And in each furrow of thy brow that writ
Thee mortal set a new April mocking Time!
Then when no more I could dispute his doom,
Enter with thee a star-lit, sweet old age,
The fane of rest, and sanctuary where
All sorrows take their ease.
Mar. Think thou of Heaven.
Kent. But O, how dear this life! The immortal world
Is shrunk to shadow of a single thought,
And this contemned earth is sudden grown
Past circumscription of the mind's fond eye.
No-no—we must not die!
Mar. Wouldst tremble now?
When thou hast love beside thee? Nay, my lord,
Be yet the man of men, whose virtue drew
My wild resisting heart into its sun.
Kent. O, must we leave it all?—the gracious earth
Where we have loved, and heard the robins sing,
And built our nest that song might never cease?
Ah, I am weak, my sweet, and shine but in
The doting tear that dims a true wife's eye.
Mar. 'Tis not my love that paints thee radiant,
But thy own light illumes my eyes to love,
O, lord of mine, the kings of earth in vain
May hope to be thy shadowy parallel,
And where we go, in any court of air
Or cloud or heaven, still must thou be the one
Excelling star.
Kent. [Clasping her] Heart of the sun, beat here!
O, thy immortal fire will make Death warm
Ere he can make thee cold.
[The turnkey opens door at end of corridor]
Mar. My life, my soul!
Kent. O, God! Celestial marshaller of chance
To some far end of good, let me believe
Thy hand is here, and even on our heads.
[The turnkey comes down]
Ah, kiss me, kiss me, Heaven's Margaret.
Could I my life concentrate in one beat
I'd dwarf it so and give it in this kiss.
[Curtain]

Scene 3. A room in the earl of Albemarle's palace. A friar, and the king in friar's dress, but uncowled, waiting.