University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

The Hall of Framlingham.
Enter Queen Mary Tudor attended.
MARY.
Why is Elizabeth not here to greet me?
Command her to the Presence. Bedingfield
These midnight ridings, imminent escapes,
Make the heart quiver, and flushed temples throb.
To the chapel, Fakenham: I would fain disburthen
This sinful heart, and tortured brain, of all
The imp-like fancies of this perilous night—
Night, that with penitence must be atoned.

JERNINGHAM
[entering].
Sir Thomas Wyatt craves immediate audience.

MARY.
Religion claims us first. Let Wyatt wait.

JERNINGHAM.
He will not move his power, until assured
The Church as stablished by the late King's law,
Shall be upheld.

MARY.
May God assoilzie him!
And mend Sir Thomas Wyatt! Bid him wait.

JERNINGHAM.
My liege—

MARY.
Sir Henry Jerningham, I have said.

Enter Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH
[kneeling].
Queen, Sister!

MARY.
To my arms! Pardie! sweet Bess,
You daily grow more stately. Your great brows,
Like our Cathedral porches, double-arched,
Seem made for passage of high thought.

ELIZABETH.
Regard me
Only as a sister: yet, if you need, or seek
My counsel, it is thine,

MARY.
Nay, nay, fair girl,
My counsel is with bearded warriours,
And grey-cowled wisdom.

ELIZABETH.
Be it as you will.

MARY.
Yet never was kind counsel needed more
By aching heart. Little you know my trials.
The fleetness of my horse scarce saved my life;
And I am Queen in nothing but the name!
Go friends—I would be lonely in my sorrow—
O Sister! canst thou love me? thou her child—
Beautiful Boleyn's daughter! who destroyed
My mother—hapless Queen—dishonoured wife!
Thou too—my brother—spurned from thy throne, thy deathbed.
O no! I shall go down into my earth
Desolate—unbeloved—I wound thee, sister!
Pardon! I rave—I rave—

ELIZABETH.
Abate this passion!
In very truth I love you—fondly pity—

MARY.
Pity! not pity—give me love or nothing!
I hope not happiness: I kneel for peace.
But no: this crown traitors would rive from me—
Which our great father Harry hath bequeathed
Undimned to us—a righteous heritage—
This crown which we, my sister, must maintain
Or die; this crown true safeguard of our People—
Their charter's seal—crushes our peace for ever.
All crowns, since Christ wore his, are lined with thorns.
Elizabeth! that book-demented Jane
Dares mount our father's throne: these base new lords
(Sprung from our house's fatal policy)
Turn from our nurturing hand to kiss her feet!
Elizabeth! though thousands back the upstart,
With hundreds, only, round us, we will smite her!

ELIZABETH.
I love, and will maintain in front of battle,
This spirit, as befits our house.

MARY.
Ha! ha!
The cross shall lead our battle! In the van
Shall flame the holy sign! Elizabeth!
Thou shalt be with me—thou! albeit thy mother
Bequeathed her misbelief to thee. Beneath
The Cross Pontifical we'll tread to dust
Those sordid Puritans: thou lov'st them not.
Enter Fakenham.
Lo, in good time thou comest to register
My vow.

ELIZABETH.
This rage o'ermasters you: yet pause;
Pause 'till with calmer reason—

MARY.
Am I mad?
Think you I'm mad? I have been used to scorn—
Neglect—oppression—self-abasement—aye,
My mother's scorching heritage of woe!
Ha! as I speak, behold—she visits me—
With that fair choir of Angels trooping round her,
And cherub faces, with expanded wings
Upbearing her! O blessed saint! depart not!
Breathe on my cold lips those still cherished kisses
Which thine in death impressed! Sigh in my ear
Those half articulate blessings, unforgotten,
Which made my childhood less than martyrdom!
I'll clasp thee—Mother!

[Totters forward and falls.
ELIZABETH.
Soft: she revives again.
Give no alarm. Observed you this before?

FAKENHAM.
Not thus demented.

ELIZABETH.
You mistake. Her spirit
Though masculine as well becomes a Tudor,
Yet will her fragile body bend in storms.
Already she revives: be prudent, Sir.

MARY
[recovering].
Good father, why this look of grief? My sister,
A grave rebuke looks coldly from your eye.
Ah well, you smile! you love me in my weakness.
Give me your arm—I need refreshment—sleep.

[Exeunt.