University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Duke of Suffolk's Palace. Enter Duke of Suffolk. Duke of Norfolk, Marquis of Exeter, and Earl of Arundel, followed by Mark Smeaton and Ralph Loney.
Norfolk.
I tell you, fellow, you have not a hope,
Save by agreeing to forswear the queen.
Your guilty boastings, urged against yourself,
Will bring you to the gallows—

Arundel.
Ay, and shall.

Nor.
Unless before the Council you appear,
And there denounce your royal paramour.

Smeaton.
But will that save me?

Nor.
'T is your only hope.

Smea.
But 't is a lie—a gross, atrocious lie—
And I am a villain if I uttered it.
Curse on the wine! It was the babbling wine,
And not my tongue, that forged the calumny.

Suffolk.
The boast you made was heard by witnesses,
Who say you were but warmed, not drunk with wine.

Smea.
'T is false, 't is false! Have mercy on me sirs!
I am but an humble man, of no account;
My death at this time, or a century hence,
Could make no difference to such mighty lords.
If noble mercy stoops not to the low,
At least be just to me.—

Arun.
Cease, whining cur!
The game we are playing is to check the queen;
What care we for a pawn?

Smea.
She is innocent.
The words I dropped were from a foolish whim,
To see myself admired by simple men:
I never thought to injure her, nor hear
My harmless folly rigidly explained
By noblemen. Ah! Loney, you did this;
And 't is the foulest act you ever did,
Though you have committed murder.

Loney.
Help yourself.
Be not a double fool, first to get trapped,
Then lack the art to burrow out of harm.
Forget my deeds; they are my own concern;
Nor stand there moralizing on the past.
Seize on to-day—perchance 't is golden, man.

Smea.
“Perchance, perchance!” but not one promise given,
Even by you.

Lon.
The course they offer you
Is bright with hope; despair and frightful death,
By wrenching tortures and heart-shrivelling fires,
Threaten you darkly from all other ways.
I know your courage. When you have been racked
For one short fortnight, or a month at most,
You'll yield perforce. Why not confess at once,
And gain the hope of pardon and reward?
Pray did you ever see a felon racked,
Even for an hour?

Arun.
Come, fellow, will you speak?
Or shall I sound your carcass with my sword,
To find your tongue?

Exeter.
The valiant gentleman!

[Aside.]
Smea.
O, horror, horror! Have compassion, sirs!
O my poor mistress! Is there not a hand—
Now, while I shut my eyes—so merciful
As to despatch me, and deliver her?
She is my maker,—she created me,
From my vile dust, to be whate'er I am;
As well might I blaspheme as stain her honor!
Good sirs, have pity!

Suf.
Cease your agonies,
You foul-mouthed slanderer of Heaven's majesty!
Speak to the point—will you comply or not?

Smea.
But will that save me?

Suf.
Are we prophets, fool?
What else can save you?

Smea.
But her majesty—
What will befall her?

Nor.
What is that to you?
Have you the power to influence her fate?

Arun.
Are we the answers in your catechism,
That you so glibly question?

Smea.
I will not!

Suf.
Loney, prepare the rack.

[Exit Loney.]
Smea.
Forgive me, Heaven!
I will do anything: but spare my life!
O, this is awful! I, that never dared
To touch her robe, or raise my fearful eyes
To the full glory of her angel face—
When her twin orbs of conquering majesty
I felt upon me—now, with stubborn front,
To stand before the gaze of frowning Heaven,
And call its host to register a lie,
A black, soul-killing lie! O, urge it not!
There 's not an honest man, in England's realm,
Who will not sicken at my perfidy,
Or cram the falsehood down my caitiff throat
Ere I half utter it! This is too foul,
And useless for the end to which you urge it.

Suf.
Loney, the rack.

(A curtain is drawn, and the rack disclosed, with Attendants standing near it.)
Arun.
Look there, Sir Constancy!
There 's what shall move you, every joint and limb—
There 's what shall stretch you more than you'll stretch truth.
You'll strain a point for this—hey! hey! my boy?

Smea.
O, nerve me, Heaven!—uplift my faltering heart!
Give me the strength to foil these sinful men,
And here assert thy might!

Arun.
Away with him!

[Attendants seize Smeaton.]
Smea.
I yield, I yield!

Suf.
Then sign this paper, Mark,
And wait the issue.

[Smeaton signs.]
Ex.
There an angel fell!
Here is a wretch who damns his endless soul
To save his mortal body. I had hoped,
For the poor cause of frail humanity,
To see yon fellow win a martyr's crown,
And give the Calendar of our new creed
Its first accomplished sainthood. [Aside.]


Suf.
It is done.

Nor.
In the king's name, Mark Smeaton I arrest
For treason manifest.

[Attendants seize Smeaton.]
Smea.
Is this your mercy?

Suf.
Traitor, no words! Away with him, away!

[Exeunt.]