And Charles, the lord of this low world, is gone; And all his wars and wisdoms past away; Lady Clarence. Nay, dearest Lady, That rest is all-tells me I must not think That I must rest-I shall rest by-and-by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs And maims himself against the bars, say ' rest': Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. Lady Clarence. Your Majesty has lived so pure a life, And done such mighty things by Holy Church, I trust that God will make you happy yet. Mary. What is the strange thing happiness? Sit down here: Tell me thine happiest hour. Lady Clarence. I will, if that I took it, tho' I did not know I took it, And put it in my bosom, and all at once I felt his arms about me, and his lipsMary. O God! I have been too slack, too slack; There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards Nobles we dared not touch. We have but burnt The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children. Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath, We have so play'd the coward; but by God's grace, We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up The Holy Office here-garner the wheat, And burn the tares with unquenchable fire! Burn! Fie, what a savour! tell the cooks to close The doors of all the offices below. Latimer! Sir, we are private with our women hereEver a rough, blunt, and uncourtly fellow Thou light a torch that never will go out ! Tis out-mine flames. Women, the Holy Father Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin Pole Was that well done? and poor Pole pines of it, As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, I have no power.-Ah, weak and meek old man, Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight Of thine own sectaries-No, no. No pardon ! Why that was false: there is the right hand still Beckons me hence. Look'd hard and sweet at me, it me. and gave Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason, Madam, you have but cut the canvas out; We can replace it. Mary. All is well then; rest I will to rest; he said, I must have rest. Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister? I will see none except the priest. Your [To Lady Clarence. arm. HAROLD: A DRAMA. TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON, Viceroy and Governor-General of India. MY DEAR LORD LYTTON,-After old-world records-such as the Bayeux tapestry and the Roman de Rou,-Edward Freeman's History of the Norman Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your father dedicated his Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself. A. TENNYSON. SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876. A GARDEN here—May breath and bloom of spring- O strange hate-healer Time! We stroll and stare But he and he, if soul be soul, are where Each stands full face with all he did below. Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham, Fishermen, &c. quidam partim Normannus et Anglus Compater Heraldi. (Guy of Amiens, 587.) |