 | Plays and Poems |  |
SCENE I.
A Room in Whitehall Palace. Enter Jane Seymour.Jane Seymour.
A queen, a queen! a real anointed queen,
With trains of maids and smiling courtiers,
Diamonds like stones, and softest velvet pall
To grace the shoulders of my majesty!
All eyes on me, my beauties sung in verse;
Each feature—ay, the tithe of any one—
More than enough to swell a rondeau up!
My wishes fairies, flying at a sign
To bring the substance of my latest thought!
My kin ennobled to the last degree;
My son a king, my daughters wed to kings;
My name the pith of gravest history!
This is too much! I cannot, if I would,
Put by the crown which fortune offers me.
But, then, the queen?—The queen o'erruns with pride;
Last Tuesday week she cruelly rated me.
What mercy showed she to poor Katharine?
I am but the instrument of justest Heaven
To make requital for her own misdeeds.
The king abhors her, and inclines to me—
Lo! nature points the path which I should take.
Just as I mount, so must the queen descend;
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My faith is plighted to the king, and I
Will dare the issue for the glittering prize!
(Enter King Henry.)
King Henry.
All joy befall you, darling!
[Embraces her.]
Jane S.
Welcome, sir!
King H.
Are you still constant?
Jane S.
Can you ask me that?
You have descended from your royal state,
And deigned to honor one so low as I;
Chosen me, unworthy, from the common throng,
Nor cast your eyes upon the maiden hands
Of princesses that wait outstretched for you:
As well might the dull earth reject the sun,
That changes its grimed face to virgin gold,
As I refuse the glory of your love.
Henceforth my person is a sacred thing,
A common vessel turned to holy use;
And should you now disdain my little worth,
All your great kingdom holds no mate for me.
King H.
Tut! mistress, with your gloomy fantasies;
And be not jealous of my love so soon.
Ours is a mere exchange of heart for heart;
Crowns and such baubles enter not our trade.
That which I have, the sceptre of a king,
Possession makes nigh worthless in my eyes;
That which I have not, your own beauteous self,
O'er all stale toys of royalty I prize.
Jane S.
Then be content; my heart is yours alone.
As virgin as the breast wherein it beats.
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On level with your own.
King H.
By Heaven, I will!—
But how, but how? Let us to counsel, love.
[Seats himself, with Jane Seymour on his knee.]
There 's Norfolk, eager at our first design;
But he is a Papist; to restore the Pope
Part of his creed;—a doubtful counsellor.
If I retrieve the Pope's authority,
Upon the act my marriage is annulled,
And I am free. True, true; but pause we here:
How shall we satisfy the plundered monks
Whom we have ousted from their fat domains?
How our good nobles who possess them now?
Jane S.
And how the people?
King H.
Let them fight it out.
They are half and half, Papists and Protestants,
And so divided, easily subdued.
I mainly fear to reinstate the Pope;
His holy finger is in every dish;
I must be king within my own domain;
Yet if the thing must be—'Ods wounds! my love,
This matrimonial knot was hard to tie;
But 't was mere pastime to undoing it.
Would that the Grecian's sword might cut it—Ha!—
Jane S.
What mean you, sir? Why do you glare around?
And pale as death!
King H.
As death!
Jane S.
Ay, and as fearful.
Rouse, rouse, sir! You are ill—I'll call relief.
King H.
Nay, sit you down again.
Jane S.
But are you well?
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'T was but a passing thought that tortured me,
As one may feel who murders. Clasp me tight;
Pain would be comfort to such awful visions.
(Enter Queen Anne, behind.)
Queen Anne.
Ha!
Jane S.
O, good heavens! the queen!
Queen A.
In luckless time
For you, base minion, treble traitoress,
False to yourself, false to your state and me!
The foulest sin that woman may commit
Made doubly hideous by the circumstance!
What! in the palace that contains your queen,
The very seat of England's dignity,
Whence virtue, as the simple commons deem,
Springs to illumine this majestic realm!
Have you no shame? Wear you that brazen front
When I hold up a mirror to your crime?
Is not your Gorgon nature turned to stone,
At the bare glimpse of your own ugliness?
King H.
Peace, sweetheart, peace! all shall be well for you;
Your maid is guiltless.
Queen A.
Have you found a tongue?
What sorcery bestowed this power of speech?
Or has poor shame, bedazzled at her glory,
Shrunk from the world?
King H.
This foully-slandered maid
Is half distraught at your mad violence.
Queen A.
And dare you, sir, before your injured queen—
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Protect yon wanton?
King H.
Dare I, dare I, madam!
'Ods wounds! who 's king in England? Hold your tongue,
You rank defier of your sovereign's power!
Have you not learned whose presence you are in?
Or must I teach you by some sterner means?
Queen A.
O! shameless husband!
King H.
She is pure, I say:
And, by high Heaven, as pure shall you remain
From touch of mine, till malice gnaw you up!—
This is forever. Come, sweet mistress Jane.
[Exit, leading off Jane Seymour.]
Queen A.
O, God! O, God!—The king—Nay, Harry, Harry,
Come back; I will—O! killing agony!
Is there no pity in the heart of man?
Plead for me, girl—he loves you—plead for me!
I am his wife, your queen, your loving mistress.
I will forgive you, I will cherish you,
I'll love you dearer than my dearest friend.—
Gone, gone forever! Said he not, forever?
Kind Heaven, have mercy on my feebleness!
If this be trial of my strength, I yield;
I do confess my utter helplessness;
I bow me prostrate, a poor nerveless woman—
A queen no more. I'll trample on my pride,
And follow meekly where thy finger points.
By Heaven, not so! This is a grievous wrong,
By man inflicted. Devils ordered this,
And they shall pay it!—Hear me, writhing souls,
That minister around sin's ebon throne!
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A child be born, may she, in that sweet time
When infant babble opes all heaven to her,
Feel the cold hand of death draw, day by day,
The clinging spirit from her! May her child
Live in the vexings of a troubled time,
And, issueless, die young! May he—O God,
I cannot bid a curse light on the head
Of him my child calls father! Bless him, Heaven!
Give him the peace which he has stolen from me!
[Exit.]
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