One-Act Plays Part 90

MARY.

Because you cannot understand.

Alas, when all's unriddled, the charm goes.

HERBERT.

Come, you're not melancholy?

MARY. Nay, are you?

But should Nan Hughes have seen us, and spoiled all--

HERBERT.

How could she so?

MARY. I know not ... yet I know If she had met us, she could steal To-day, Golden To-day.

HERBERT. A kiss; and so forget her.

MARY.

Hush, hush,--the tavern-boy there.

[_To d.i.c.kON._] Tell me, boy,-- [_To HERBERT._] Some errand, now; a roc's egg!

Strike thy wit.

HERBERT.

What is't you miss? Why, so. The lady's lost A very curious reason, wrought about With diverse broidery.

MARY. Nay, 'twas a mask.

HERBERT.

A mask, arch-wit? Why will you mock yourself And all your fine deceits? Your mask, your reason, Your reason with a mask!

MARY. You are too merry.

[_To d.i.c.kON._] A mask it is, and m.u.f.fler finely wrought With little amber points all hung like bells.

I lost it as I came, somewhere....

HERBERT. Somewhere Between the Paris Gardens and the Bridge.

MARY.

Or below Bridge--or haply in the Thames!

HERBERT.

No matter where, so you do bring it back.

Fly, Mercury! Here's feathers for thy heels. [_Giving coin._]

MARY [_aside_].

Weights, weights! [_Exit d.i.c.kON._]

[_HERBERT looks about him, opens the door of the taproom, grows troubled. She watches him with dissatisfaction, seeming to warm her feet by the fire meanwhile._]

HERBERT [_apart_].

I know this place. We used to come Together, he and I ...

MARY [_apart_]. Forgot again.

O the capricious tides, the hateful calms, And the too eager s.h.i.+p that would be gone Adventuring against uncertain winds, For some new, utmost sight of Happy Isles!

Becalmed,--becalmed ... But I will break this calm.

[_She sees the lute on the table, crosses and takes it up, running her fingers over the strings very softly. She sits._]

HERBERT.

Ah, mermaid, is it you?

MARY. Did you sail far?

HERBERT.

Not I; no, sooth. [_Crossing to her._]

Mermaid, I would not think.

But you--

MARY.

I think not. I remember nothing.

There's nothing in the world but you and me; All else is dust. Thou shalt not question me; Or if,--but as a sphinx in woman-shape: And when thou fail'st at answer, I shall turn, And rend thy heart and cast thee from the cliff.

[_She leans her head back against him, and he kisses her._]

So perish all who guess not what I am!...

Oh, but I know you: you are April-Days.

Nothing is sure, but all is beautiful!

[_She runs her fingers up the strings, one by one, and listens, speaking to the lute._]

Is it not so? Come, answer. Is it true?

Speak, sweeting, since I love thee best of late, And have forsook my virginals for thee.

_All's beautiful indeed and all unsure?_ _"Ay"_ ... (Did you hear?) _He's fair and faithless? "Ay."_ [_Speaking with the lute._]

HERBERT.

Poor oracle, with only one reply!-- Wherein 'tis unlike thee.

MARY. _Can he love aught So well as his own image in the brook, Having once seen it?_

HERBERT. Ay!

MARY. The lute saith "_No."_ ...

O dullard! Here were tidings, would you mark.

What said I? _Oracle, can he love aught So dear as his own image in the brook, Having once looked_?... No, truly.

[_With sudden abandon._] Nor can I!

HERBERT.

O leave this game of words, you thousand-tongued.

Sing, sing to me. So shall I be all yours Forever;--or at least till you be mute!...

I used to wonder he should be thy slave: I wonder now no more. Your ways are wonders; You have a charm to make a man forget His past and yours, and everything but you.