Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, KING COPHETUA'S WOOING; A SONG DRAMA IN ONE ACT, by FORD MADOX FORD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

KING COPHETUA'S WOOING; A SONG DRAMA IN ONE ACT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Could I but keep my beggar's staff
Last Line: Blue and low.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hueffer, Ford Hermann; Hueffer, Ford Madox
Subject(s): Begging & Beggars; Courts & Courtiers; Plays & Playwrights ; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Dramatists


Dramatis Personæ

COPHETUA, King.
CHRISTINE, A Beggar Maid.

(Scene discovers COPHETUA, dressed as a beggar, seated beneath a thorn on
a hillside. In the distance, a road running down to the sea; at its verge a
small chapel. An early morning in May.)

COPHETUA.
COULD I but keep my beggar's staff,
And change my cares for my beggar's laugh,
And keep my gown with its sleeve and a half,
And just lay down my orb and crown,
I think my heart would weigh more light,
And I should sleep more sound at night.
But the day's come round, and sweet Christine
Must doff her robe of faded green
And know herself for a burdened Queen.

(To him enters the BEGGAR MAID.)

BEGGAR MAID.
Here am I in my bridal attire;
I sat all night by the fire
And stitched in the sheltered byre,
And the sun is so bright
And my heart is so light
It hasn't a care, and it's all your own.
It's yours, just yours, and yours alone.

COPHETUA.
Last night I dreamt a weary thing,
That you were you and I the King,
With a heart so sad I could not sing,
And I came pricking along the way
And you sat here beneath the may.

CHRISTINE.
Lay off your dreams, the church bell rings,
And were you ten times king of kings,
And ten times Kaiser, you could be
No more a king than you're king of me.

COPHETUA.
If I were King and made you Queen?

CHRISTINE.
And were I that, would the green-wood sheen
Be a whit less glad or the gay green sward
Less dear were you King and Over-lord?
Would you love me less? I trow not so.

I saw the King a while ago
Go pricking by with his haughty crew
While I sat here in the morning dew
Before I ever thought of you.

He cast me this rose noble. See!
And I thought, "This shall be my wedding fee
To the man I love and the man I wed."

(I've thought when I looked at the good King's head
That the noble bears, that he favours you
In the nose and the mouth and the forehead too.)

COPHETUA.
But if I made you Queen...

CHRISTINE.
What yet
I' the track o' dreams, see! I will set
My hawthorn crown upon your brow;
The dew hangs on it even now.
And where is there a fairer gem
Set in a fair queen's diadem
Than this one lustrous drop?

COPHETUA.
Christine,
What if I made you such a Queen?
There is a cloud doth dimn my mind
But if. ...

CHRISTINE.
Oh, love...
The bell sounds down the wind,
The priest will soon pass down the hill,
And we're to wed, and you are dreaming still.

COPHETUA (speaking after a long pause).
I love your face, I love your hands, your eyes
Are pools of rest for mine. I love your feet,
Your little shoes, the patches in your gown...

CHRISTINE.
I know your tongue now...

COPHETUA.
If I make you Queen...

CHRISTINE.
I would all "ifs" were sunk beneath the sea—
There is a proverb ties them to us beggars—
And make, why make, not made?

COPHETUA.
It was a thought,
A passing cloud—the shadow of a dream.

CHRISTINE.
Ah, love, no more of dreams, they frighten me.
The sun is up, look at the streak of sea
Between the hills. And love—no more of dreams,
The larks thrill all above the downs with songs
To shatter dreams. And there's a song about it:

(singing)
"If you and I were King and Queen,"
I'll sing it if you'll join me in the lilt;
I'd rather sing than dream the time away.

(she sings)
If you and I were King and Queen

(a silence)
Now join me if you love me, dream if not.

(she sings again)
She. If you and I were King and Queen—
He. Sweet Christine—
She. Would you come courting me?
He. You should see.
She. Would a crown spoil my face,
Or a throne mar my grace?
Would you keep me the same high place in your heart?
Must we still part to meet, should we still meet to part,
If we were King and Queen?
Together. Ah then! ah then!
How should we fare with our cates rich and rare,
We beggars, we lovers of roadsides, we rovers
Of woodlands and townlands and dalelands and downlands?
We lovers...
(COPHETUA is silent and the song ceases.)

CHRISTINE.
I think you do not love me any more,
Now you forget my songs.

COPHETUA.
I cannot think of songs, nor hear the lark,
Nor feel the glad spring weather. In my ears
Is nothing but the tramping of the hoofs,
And in my eyes the flash of swords and silks
Of a proud cavalcade that comes a now
To bear us hence.

CHRISTINE.
Oh, God, your mind is sprung,
Your thoughts, gone wand'ring into other fields,
Have left poor me in mine.

COPHETUA.
Not so, not so;
My mind's come back from long sweet sojournings
In a free land of hill and down and sea,
To a sad world of walled towns and courts
And carks and cares.

CHRISTINE.
No, no, the sun's there yet.

COPHETUA.
He shines no more on me—no more on me,
I am a King again—a King—and you
Must either leave the life you love, to lead
With me the life I loathe, or let me live
Alone, unaided, all alone and sad,
The life that leads a King.

CHRISTINE.
There is a weary horror in your eyes,
And I must needs believe you. I'm a beggar,
So were my sire before me and his sires,
For generations and for ages past
We've lived free lives and breathed the good free air
You came among us in a free man's guise
And wooed me—wooed me—and I gave my heart
To you a freeman.

COPHETUA.
Oh—a weary King...
For a short breathing space I doffed my crown,
Laid down my cares and walked without a load.
The task remains myself did set myself
Duly to reign, to shape a people's ends.
As I deem just. Here have I neither end
Of travel, nor an aim for life to hit,
Or miss i' the shooting.

CHRISTINE.
Could we not live free?

COPHETUA.
Not free, not free, my task would call me back.
It calls me now. It calls me, calls me now.

CHRISTINE.
Is this all true, no summer morning's dream?
Oh, here is then that parting of the ways
I dreamt of yesternight.

COPHETUA.
There lie the roads,
Here travel I.

CHRISTINE.
And I must choose, must choose
Between my love and life, the old free life.

Then choose I this, in good or evil weather,
Up hill or down, on moorland and in fen,
On white sea sand or 'mid the purple heather,
To travel on with you, and where or when
The mists o'erwhelm us, meet them, and together
Uphold with you the burden and the pain.

Oh, all the love I bore you and still bear you
Make light our feet, and temper time and tide,
And each day's setting out shall find me near you,
And each day's close shall find me at your side.
(A long pause. At last)

CHRISTINE.
And it was you rode by upon the horse?

COPHETUA.
And you it was sat there upon a stone—
But hark, ah hark, there wind the distant horns,
They come, they come, the old free life is passing.

CHRISTINE.
Oh, hide me from their eyes, such cruel eyes
They had that rode with you that day of days.

COPHETUA.
Those are the eyes must look upon us now
For ever and for ever till the end.

CHRISTINE.
The horns, the horns, the old free life is passing.

COPHETUA.
Oh, yonder, there's the glimpse of sun on steel,
And there's my oriflamme. And there,
Beyond the chapel, is another band
Comes trooping from the ships.

CHRISTINE.
They come, they come,
The old free life is passing.

COPHETUA.
It is past,
The bell has ceased to toll.

CHRISTINE.
Oh, let us wait,
I could not bear their eyes. Oh, clasp me round,
And let me die to-day.

COPHETUA.
You must be bold,
And there, before the altar, shame them all.

CHRISTINE.
Ah, there, before the altar, I'll be proud,
And show them all a brow serene and clear
For love of you. But now I'm what I am,
And needs must tremble for the time to come.

COPHETUA.
The horns have played their last and we must go.

CHRISTINE.
You know the old lament they sing at sea
When the last rope's cast off. My dear dead father
Would have us sing it just before he died.
We'll never sing again, for brooding hearts
Cry, "Silent, voices, hush," and now we sail,
And sing to drown our thoughts and singing, die.
So now set sail, set sail. Loose the last rope
That binds us to the past.
(As they go, she sings "The Farewell of those that go away in ships.")

(CHRISTINE sings)
Fare thee well, land o' home
(Oh, the sea, the sea's a foam)
Fare thee well, land o' home,
Blue and low.
Fare thee well, house o' home, where the mellow wall-fruits grow,
Old fields, fields o' home, where the yellow paigles glow.
Fare thee well, land o' home,
Blue and low.

Fare thee well, pleasant land
(Ah the foam beats on the strand)
Fare thee well, my forbear's land
Blue and low.
Fare thee well, mother mine, with the pure pale brow,
Fare ye well, quiet graves, fare ye well who rest below.
Fare thee well, land o' home,
Over miles and miles of foam,
Fare thee well, land o' home,
Blue and low.





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