University of Virginia Library

A Chamber in the Tower.
QUEEN.
Oh! Heaven! will they keep up this heavy din
For ever, mocking me with hope, that now
For me they're knolling—roll on roll and clash
On clash!—Oh! music most unmusical!
That never soundest but when graves are open,
And widows' hearts are breaking, and pale orphans
Wringing their hands above a silent bier.—
Four knells have rung, four now are dust—thou only
Remain'st, my Brother! thou art kneeling now,
Bare thy majestic neck—A pause—more long
Than wonted; hath the mercy of the King—
The justice rather?—shalt thou rush again
To our poor Mother's arms, and tell her yet
She's not all childless?—Still no sound!—alas!
It may be that the rapture of deep pity,
And admiration of his noble bearing,
Suspends all hands at their blood-reeking work,
And casts a spell of silence o'er all sounds.—
Ha! thou low-rolling doubling drum—I hear thee!
Stern bell, that summon'st to no earthly temple!
Thou'rt now a worshipper in Heaven, my brother,
And thy poetic spirit ranges free
Worlds after worlds, confest th'immortal kindred
Of the blest angels—for thy heaven-caught fire,
Still like that fire sprang upward, and made pure
Th'infected air of this world as it pass'd.
My child—my mother—they've forbidden me
To see once more on earth your dear lov'd faces;
There's mercy in their harshness—here's no place
To entertain the future Queen of England,
And God hath given me courage to keep down
The mother in my heart; thou too, my parent,
What hadst thou done but torn my heart asunder,
And all distracted my calm thoughts of Heaven.

Enter Sir William Kingston .
QUEEN.
Now all is o'er with those brave gentlemen—
They died, I know, Sir, as they lived, right nobly.

KINGSTON.
They gave their souls to their Redeemer, Lady,
With protestations of your Highness' innocence,
'Twas their sole care and thought in death; they dared
Heaven's utmost vengeance if they falsely swore.

QUEEN.
And that false youth, clear'd he our honour?

KINGSTON.
Loud
He shrieked and struggled, not with fear of death,
But with the burthen of some painful secret
He would unfold—the rapid executioner
Cut short his wailing.

QUEEN.
Most unrighteous speed!

KINGSTON.
Your Majesty's prepar'd?

QUEEN.

KINGSTON.
We rejoice
To see your Highness meet your doom thus calmly.

QUEEN.
I am to die—what's that?—why, thou and I
And all of us die every night; and duly
Morn to our spirits' resurrection comes
With rosy light, fresh flowers, and birds' sweet anthems;
But when our grave's our bed, that instant comes
A morning, not of this world's treacherous light,
But fresh with palms, and musical with angels.
Oh! but a cruel, shameful, public death—
There's no disease will let the spirit loose
With less keen anguish than the sudden axe;
And for the shame—the sense of that's within!
I've thoughts brook no communion or with that
Or fear. My death the Lord may make a way
T'advance his gracious purpose to this land:
There'll be, will see a delicate timid woman
Lay down her cheerful head upon the block
As on a silken pillow; when they know
'Twas Christ that even at that dread hour rebuk'd
Weak Nature's fears, returning home, they'll kneel
And seek that power that turns our death to triumph.—
Sir, are you ready?—they'll allow me time
To pray even there.—Go forward, Sir, we'll follow.

The Scaffold.
QUEEN.