the man shifts hands--
It must be for a show: because she sits
And hardly moves her head this way--I see
Her chin and lifted lips. Now she stands up,
Puts out her hand, and they fall muttering;
Ah!
MARY BEATON.
Is it done now?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
For God's love, stay there;
Do not look out. Nay, he is dead by this;
But gather up yourself from off the floor;
Will she die too? I shut mine eyes and heard--
Sweet, do not beat your face upon the ground.
Nay, he is dead and slain.
MARY BEATON.
What, slain indeed?
I knew he would be slain. Ay, through the neck:
I knew one must be smitten through the neck
To die so quick: if one were stabbed to the heart,
He would die slower.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Will you behold him dead?
MARY BEATON.
Yea: must a dead man not be looked upon
That living one was fain of? give me way.
Lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had;
The doomsman gathers it into his hand
To grasp the head by for all men to see;
I never did that.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
For God's love, let me go.
MARY BEATON.
I think sometimes she must have held it so,
Holding his head back, see you, by the hair
To kiss his face, still lying in his arms.
Ay, go and weep: it must be pitiful
If one could see it. What is this they say?
So perish the Queen's traitors! Yea, but so
Perish the Queen! God, do thus much to her
For his sake only: yea, for pity's sake
Do thus much with her.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Prithee come in with me:
Nay, come at once.
MARY BEATON.
If I should meet with her
And spit upon her at her coming in--
But if I live then shall I see one day
When God will smite her lying harlot's mouth--
Surely I shall. Come, I will go with you;
We will sit down together face to face
Now, and keep silence; for this life is hard,
And the end of it is quietness at last.
Come, let us go: here is no word to say.
AN USHER.
Make way there for the lord of Bothwell; room--
Place for my lord of Bothwell next the queen.
EXPLICIT
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chastelard, a Tragedy, by
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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