King Lear's Wife; The Crier by Night; The Riding to Lithend; Midsummer-Eve; Laodice and Danaë. Gordon Bottomley

puts her cheek gradually closer and closer to Lear's cheek as she speaks: at length he kisses her suddenly and vehemently, as if he would grasp her lips with his: she receives it passively, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.

      Lear.

       Goldilocks, when the crown is couching in your hair

       And those two mingled golds brighten each other's wonder,

       You shall produce a son from flesh unused—

       Virgin I chose you for that, first crops are strongest—

       A tawny fox with your high-stepping action,

       With your untiring power and glittering eyes,

       To hold my lands together when I am done,

       To keep my lands from crumbling into mouthfuls

       For the short jaws of my three mewling vixens.

       Hatch for me such a youngster from my seed,

       And I and he shall rein my hot-breathed wenches

       To let you grind the edges off their teeth.

       Gormflaith, shaking her head sadly. Life holds no more than this for me; this is my hour. When she is dead I know you'll buy another Queen— Giving a county for her, gaining a duchy with her— And put me to wet nursing, leashing me with the thralls. It will not be unbearable—I've had your love. Master and friend, grant then this hour to me: Never again, maybe, can we two sit At love together, unwatched, unknown of all, In the Queen's chamber, near the Queen's crown And with no conscious Queen to hold it from us: Now let me wear the Queen's true crown on me And snatch a breathless knowledge of the feeling Of what it would have been to sit by you Always and closely, equal and exalted, To be my light when life is dark again. Lear. Girl, by the black stone god, I did not think You had the nature of a chambermaid, Who pries and fumbles in her lady's clothes With her red hands, or on her soily neck Stealthily hangs her lady's jewels or pearls. You shall be tiring-maid to the next queen And try her crown on every day o' your life In secrecy, if that is your desire: If you would be a queen, cleanse yourself quickly Of menial fingering and servile thought. Gormflaith. You need not crown me. Let me put it on As briefly as a gleam of Winter sun. I will not even warm it with my hair. Lear. You cannot have the nature of a queen If you believe that there are things above you: Crowns make no queens, queens are the cause of crowns. Gormflaith, slipping from his knee. Then I will take one. Look.

      She tip-toes lightly round the front of the bed to where the crown hangs on the wall.

      Lear.

       Come here, mad thing—come back!

       Your shadow will wake the Queen.

       Gormflaith.

       Hush, hush! That angry voice

       Will surely wake the Queen.

      She lifts the crown from the peg, and returns with it.

      Lear.

       Go back; bear back the crown:

       Hang up the crown again.

       We are not helpless serfs

       To think things are forbidden

       And steal them for our joy.

       Gormflaith.

       Hush! Hush! It is too late;

       I dare not go again.

       Lear.

       Put down the crown: your hands are base hands yet.

       Give it to me: it issues from my hands.