University of Virginia Library

ACT I

Scene I

—Holyrood; a distant apartment
Bothwell paces to and fro
Bothwell
She banished me, she did not like my manners;
She banished me, and yet a time shall come
When the dire fetters of a marriage-bond
Shall keep us ever locked.—How coldly March
Whistles through every chink! I hear the tread
Of stealthy feet which seem to move along,
As surely and as soothingly as wind,
Upward to Darnley's room: while far away
I catch the twanging of an instrument—
’Tis Riccio's lute—and, as a door swings back,
Her laughter. I shall win her! Yesterday
I rode my horse straight down a steep decline
With a clear rush: when I came round again
There was a look within her eyes that never
Had graced the sleek Italian, nor the boy
She calls her husband; yea, her lips were void
Of life's least sigh. A second, and she smiled
A glinting smile, and turned away, and talked
Half gaily of light things. My manhood feels
The terror it encloses.—All is silent,
The noise is shut away that seemed to mount
Up yonder.
(Opening a door at back and calling)
Boy!

Enter Paris
Paris
My lord!

Bothwell
Go to the foot
Of the great stair and listen, for I heard
Some unfamiliar movements, yet as slight
As if a bird had thumped against the walls.
Exit Paris
That fiddler Riccio, that smooth vagabond,
With ribboned lute, and fat, complacent cheeks,
Has ceased, methinks, his strumming.

Re-enter Paris
Paris
I stood hearkening, sir: all seemed
As homely as most nights, until I heard
A shivering cry, and then a dull, hoarse roar,
With far-off cries repeated. I am certain
It is not in the court; it seemed to fall,
And fall from upper storeys on the ear.
What can it be?

Bothwell
Stand quietly! How it grows:
The doors are opened, and the turmoil leaps
On like a rush of heart-blood, deluging
The air. I will not meddle in the brawl,
For we but hear Lord Darnley in his cups;
This is a drunken bout; we will keep close
Till all is tranquil.

Paris
I have never heard
The king so loud.

Bothwell
Truly, to-night he seems
More quarrelsome than merry.

Paris
Now there rings
Great laughter through the darkness.

Bothwell
And I hear
Arms clanging like its echo: soon as steel
Is on the move a man may show his face,
Who hides it from mere riot. Quick, unbolt!

(He throws open the door at the back and discovers within the hall, Darnley, Morton, and the Conspirators dragging along Riccio's body)
Darnley
She loved him—hump and all. The foreign dog!
He had no manners when he came to die;
He whined and pulled her skirts. She does not know
A gentleman's true mark, has no perception
Of exquisite deportment. Why, this churl
Would chatter like an ape when I stood by,
Stretch his gay leg out—thus! and set his lute
To balance on his toe. It made me sick
Through all my body, and she only laughed,
And said the merry South was in his veins;
We have not left him much Italian blood
With which to smirk and wriggle.

Morton
As I set
My heel upon his clay, I feel my acres
Are sacred from spoliation.

Ruthven
Snuff and candles!
I feel my hatred eased, my lustful fire
Of vengeance on the flicker.

Darnley
All of you
Rejoice that your own injuries are ended,
Your fears assuaged, but no one thinks of me—
How they would talk together, till he made
Her lips shine with the ripple of her words,
She grew so fluent. When I dressed and came
To stand beside her, she would briefly give
Her eyes to admiration, and then seek
His place among the singers. He has curdled
My blood with spite, and, see! my hanger sticks
Midmost of all the weapons in his body.

Bothwell
(Apart to Paris)
Ker, Morton, yonder Ruthven, who is gaunt
As if the hollow night had yielded up
A ghost to do live crime—all are my foes;
And by the storm of feet about the courtyard
I fear they hold the palace. Their success
Might turn to my annoyance. And the queen!
Is she in safety? Call my Borderers—ho!

(Paris steals to the door and is stopped. Bothwell advances)
Darnley
These men are mine, and they protect my person,
While I do tardy justice for my wrongs.
This fellow kept from me my crown.

Morton
From us
He well-nigh took our lands. We could no more
Endure his watchful envy.

Ruthven
I have flung
A deadly sickness off, and from my bed
Risen to exact my vengeance. Detestation
Coursed through my frame like health, and I am here.

Bothwell
Is the queen safe?

Ruthven
Unwilling to be rid
Of one who had bewitched her, she called out
And sprang before him. I have never seen
Such sight except in hunting, when a creature
Stands up against the hounds.

Morton
But no rebellion
Is dreamt of toward our sovereign, for her husband
Is leader of our enterprise and sanctions
With bond and promise everything we do.

Ruthven
They feasted—how unconscious of their fate,
Caught in the web of that small supper-room . . .

Morton
You stumble, man; go up and have a draught
Of wine; the bottles in the cabinet
Are not all broken, and with you the king
Shall reascend to give his wife some comfort.

Darnley
Now I have served him out, I shall possess
The matrimonial crown, which she withheld
To please the fellow's malice. Oh, revenge
Can satisfy more utterly than love;
It kills its object, and the thing is dead,
And cannot reassert itself, nor once
Dispute our triumph. ’Tis a cleanly issue,
That wipes away all foulness and prevents
A lingering stink from the putridity
Of vain abhorrence.

Morton
Ay, we kill the vermin
That injures or betrays: you realise
The sweetness of destruction. By and bye
Return and tell us how the queen is faring;
We would not wish her troubled.

Exeunt Darnley and Ruthven upstairs
(To Bothwell)
Bothwell
I will.

Porter
(Coming from the central door)
Strip off
These furs, these silks and velvets from the clay.
He was but dirt when he was shovelled here
From over seas. He lay upon this coffer
The night of his arrival. Heave him up!
And let the old oak be a bed for him
The night he goes away. How shabbily
He slept in rusty cloth! Off with the trappings!
He looks the stranger now.

(Bothwell and Paris return and shut the door behind them)
Bothwell
Paris, I never
Have felt before just what a body is:
We need be full of schemes, resolves, pursuits,
Reckless adventure, master-strokes of passion,
While yet we live; since death annuls all zest
In slavish unconcern. That Riccio, boy,
Was of a teeming mettle and contrived
To grow in honours—now he couches yonder,
And cares for nothing. Paris, what a face!
It makes me greedy to exhaust desire,
And pack the years with enterprise.

Paris
My lord,
I never saw such dagger-work in France
As that which pierced him. Six and fifty wounds!

Bothwell
I have so much to hope, so much to do!
O happiness! I only look on death
To feel life's manifold inducements grow
More glorious and hazardous than ever
They were before; my every appetite,
Each mighty muscle in me seems to shout
As through a lifted trumpet: I will live,
I will possess, and let the universe
Endure my depredations! Paris, we
Have carried slaughter over tawny moors,
The bog-indented borderlands, and snatched
Their prey from felons: thus from destiny,
The robber-goddess of the world, brave spirits
Must capture what she rifles as she runs.
I will at once to work, to opposition,
To covert enmity, to sudden flight.
Those men are false; they make their queen their captive,
And I alone can save her from her doom,
By saving first myself.

Paris
God shield us, sir!
That is the city-bell.

Bothwell
A demon-crash
Of terror up above us; the black air
Reverberates with action—cries and peals.
We must not lose the moment. Let us thrust
The window open. Can yon jump the height?
Your supple age will help you.

Paris
Give the word!

Bothwell
Leap! I will follow. (Paris springs down)
Darnley's thanklessness
Pushes in my direction: she will scorn him
With that sick scorn that only women know
Which wastes away all pity. I have felt
No being worth the trouble to my nature
That patience is, save her,—for whom I cherish
A fierce fidelity that means to cleave,
Until it grow to ownership. The winds
Rock about Arthur's Seat, and I could fancy
That in their sound my ancestors bewail
The unfulfilled ambition of their love
For queens—the high Jane Beaufort, and that Margaret
Whom Flodden made a widow. I will aim
Above their boldest mark, and will succeed
Because more mad. My race was amorous ever
Of sovereign figures. (Springs down)
From the little garden
Below, the lions are roaring through the wind,
Free-throated captives: on this further side
The tumult in the court is pigmy-toned,
And murder is unnoticed. To Dunbar!

Scene II

—Holyrood; the King's audience-chamber
Enter Darnley, Morton, Ruthven and others
Darnley
She braves me to my face; oh, worse! she lets
Her breath come like a poniard through her lips
In steely sighs; her glance is roused and dark,
Full of the levin and the thunder-rain.
She said she would not lie with me, nor come
And prattle in my chamber any more;
She broke from all obedience—ay, and promised
’T would be dear blood for some of us: her face
Flushed briefly as she said it. Let her threaten
And do her worst.

Morton
You do not care?

Darnley
Not I.
Care for a woman's anger!

Morton
Did she rage?

Darnley
Yes, silently; indeed, I never heard
Her voice so still: folk at a funeral
Have scarce a lower cadence. When she poured
The wine for Ruthven I could see she thought
Of blood, she moved so sudden to his side,
And held it ’gainst the flame.

Morton
You do not care?

Darnley
Why should you pester with your repetition?
Care, do you ask?—And yet she looked away,
Tears in the van of sight, and such a smile
Upon her lips, I tingled: while I stood
Fronting her heedless face, years came and went,
Before the moments forced me to retreat,
As she was turning toward me once again
With new-illumined wrath.

Morton
You do not care,
And that is well, for we must make clean breast
Of all our thoughts touching the queen, yourself,
And us, your sworn confederates. To the door
You shall not go. We executed murder
With you, and you must give us from henceforth
Protection and fidelity.

Darnley
My lords,
As I began . . .

Morton
Nay, that is not enough;
As you began you must continue. Now
There can be no retracing of the way;
You cannot climb again to the far verge
Of your attempt, and if you once look back
You are as good as dead.

Darnley
God's sake! You gather
Most rudely all about me. Of a truth
You are not courteous and you are not faithful;
You call me an assassin, when your swords
Slew Riccio. Sirs, I will not thus be baited.
Stand further off! Now what is your complaint
That you should stifle me with shoulders thus
Set round me, and intolerable speech?
Where have I failed to please you?

Morton
Nay, not failed;
We would instruct you, bid you recognise
Your destiny is welded into ours
By doom, by justice, by this written bond.
Do not shrink back, and do not misconceive
Our warning and entreaties. We exact
From you but courage; you must make yourself
Our leader, and our captain in affairs
From which you will not budge.

Darnley
I am your king.
What further do you want?

Ruthven
Good Lord! You wanted
The matrimonial crown.

Darnley
And have it now.

Morton
What is a crown derived, a crown that clips
The short curls of a man because he weds,
That owns the woman's rule!

Darnley
It irks my heart
To be her paltry follower, her mere shadow.

Morton
Then from our hands receive the crown itself;
Be more than leader, sovereign: then we march
Wherever you shall list, as you command
Will do . . . But play the coward!—

Darnley
My senses whirl:
You seem to threaten and you seem to offer
Kingship and service. Do not press around
With good and evil meanings. To your wishes
I give a strained attention.

Morton
I will use
The plainest words: if once you waver, once
Forsake our company, you will not find
That we are jesters who make light of speech;
You will be met by earnest, silent men,
Who handle an irrefragable bond,
And care not how they punish the offence
Of breaking its least claim.

Darnley
You do me wrong,
And your distrust is harsh and insolent.
Admit my father to this colloquy;
I am alone ’mong many counsellors,
And need more judgment than my youth possesses.
You dazzle me and trouble, for you talk
With fervid, strange unkindness.

Morton
We admit
Lennox; he joined in our conspiracy.
Summon the earl.

Exit one of the Conspirators
Ruthven
My head, my head!

Morton
You suffer!

Ruthven.
Regard me not,—as yet my wits are mine
To listen to your motions.

Morton
Look at him!

Ruthven
Check-mated.

Morton
Ay.

Darnley
(Apart)
Enter Lennox

Morton
My lord, our triumph you have heard;
The villain is despatched, the queen is weeping
Within her room, our prisoner, and the palace
Is by our men invested. This your son
In modesty is fearful to receive
From us the title which his wife has lost,
Ruler of Scotland.

Lennox
He were best contented
With what his marriage gave him.

Morton
Folly, man!
He must secure our lives and liberties
By the indemnity of that great name
That makes ill-doing loyal.

Ruthven
For he is king,
Crowned by our voices, sceptred by the dagger
He left in Riccio's flesh! And if our king—
What of the queen?

Morton
She has but one defence:
The fate of giving birth is on her now;
That is her nearer destiny. Methinks
No blossom that has fruited brags of life,
Or tarries for the winter. Well-a-day,
Destruction has a future.

Darnley
(Apart)
They are cruel,
My blood is warm with fear.

Ruthven
In high-set Stirling
The woman shall be happy; she can rock
Her bairnie's cradle, sing the lullaby,
Or strain her bow-string on the garden plot:
While with their sovereign-king her faithful nobles
Do the man's work and govern.

Morton
Will her chicken
Prove boy or lass?

Ruthven
A tetchy, female thing;
Its dam is weak in colour. Of myself
I wager it is feminine.

Morton
Perchance
Some will denounce us.

Ruthven
At their least attempt
To wrest the queen away, we mince her up,
And toss her from the terrace.

Morton
All is even
And straight for our advantage. Let us part;
Long counsel hinders consequence. (To Darnley)
Heigh there!

Darnley
What is it. . . . What?

Morton
A warning! Cleave to us,
Or fear the quake of ruin.

Exeunt the Lords
Darnley
Are they gone?
All is upturned and fiery in my head;
I might be dying, for the arras-trees
Tumble together toward me, and the walls
On yonder strip lean o'er me rockily
As if to crush.

Lennox
My boy, you must remember
We share a common peril.

Darnley
Hold your peace!
A murder is not cruel when the stab
Is brisk and of the moment. Riccio fancied
No coming wounds, while threat of yiolent chance
Heaves through my brain. I am a minor still,
And downy on the cheek; they are old men
Whom death confronts if they but look at time,
For me it is unnatural and shocking
An end should haunt my morrow.

Lennox
We were cozened,
And are undone.

Darnley
A pack of murderous wolves!
My desolation stuns me; if I lay
Within the lonesome chapel down below
I could not be more single. How I fume
With projects of escape!—but I must ponder
Less hurriedly. That stairway is my access
To her, to extrication.

Lennox
Up! she is
Your wife, and yonder passage you command.

Darnley
True, and there is a pliant afterthought
In her excessive rage, a lull to catch.
She loved me once, and in her disposition
Once to have loved holds fast against all strain:
I have a bosom-link if I can reach it,
That will not let me drop.

Lennox
God's sake, ascend.

Darnley
What noises sough and scurry through the air,
And beg for victims; the whole darkness seeks
A prey. My auguries are horrible,
And I am deadly faint. These little steps
Now seem such weary stones.

Exit
Lennox
He will not triumph
Without humiliation—that the goal
A woman's anger drives at. He is knocking.

Darnley
(Within)
My Mary!

Lennox
Now he pauses.

Darnley
(Within)
Let me in!

Lennox
Silence and wind! . . . I cannot hear him, yet
He speaks—

Re-enter Darnley
Darnley
She will not open. Go away.
If we are found together they will deem
We hatch some private business. It is fearful
To be alone, but better than with you,
For that is dangerous.

Lennox
Why so it is.
Bid me good-night for courtesy, my son.
What will you do?

Darnley
Go up again at dawn.

Lennox
Plead for your father.

Exit
Darnley
I but called to quiet
Beyond that door—no answer and no breath;
Only one secret movement as one might
Hear a live body stir within the coffin . . .
A lunge, then noiseless time.

Scene III

—Holyrood; the Queen's bed-chamber, in dawn-light. She sits by a chill fire, with her women round her
Queen
(Shuddering)
The wind has dragged my wimple from the spot;
His bloodstains are uncovered.

Mary Seton
Turn away!
(Replacing the veil on the floor)
Now all is cloaked.

Queen
You need not fear, my girls,
That I shall moan again. Light makes the past
Grow strange. Your hand, my Seton.

Mary Seton
To the window?

Queen.
Yes. It is really dawn! Ah, I must pray,—
(Falling suddenly and passionately on her knees)
Poor soul, for he was faithful.

Mary Seton
(To Mary Fleming)
When last even
She suffered, sharp and rigid, I was sure
Her throes would come, or death.

Mary Fleming
King Henry's voice
Pierced her instead.

Mary Seton
She never stirred for it;
Her eyes grew sable, and I felt her frame
Like iron within my arms.

Mary Fleming
We stood by her
After for many hours.

Mary Seton
You fell asleep.

Mary Fleming
Nay, I remember . . .

Mary Seton
When you woke again
You found her sitting by the fire alone,
With a wild flicker on her open lips.

Mary Fleming
I fear she is not praying. (The Queen rises)
Madam, leave
The window. You have faithful friends below.
The secretary—

Queen
Your Lethington?

Mary Fleming
My queen's
True servant, who will hasten to relieve
Our fortunes, soon as known.

Queen
What does he count
Against my brutal enemies? A jar
Grates in my memory with every pulse
That gives me clearer consciousness: the shine
Of daybreak lies so broad upon the fact,
The outrage, the malevolence. Alas,
Entangled night could better be endured
Than this discernment. Mary Mother, vainly
The matin beauty chastened me.

Mary Seton
I hear
Steps, noisy through their earliness, but fast
And upward by the sound.

Mary Fleming
It is the king;
He knocks again.

Queen
Unbar, my Seton. Pass,
Chères amies, to my audience-room awhile.
[Apart]
My very blood flies from him.

Mary Seton
(Opening)
Enter Darnley
(Apart)
He looks as flagging as if hoary age
Had caught him in the dark.
Exeunt Mary Seton and Mary Fleming within Queen (Preventing Darnley)
You shall not kneel.
(A pause of silence)

Darnley
My Mary, ’tis confession, and I come
Acknowledging my fault, though late sincerely,
With prayers for your indulgence. I am stricken
To see you stand like this, an attitude
For which no line is fashioned. Turn to me
Only a little. I have been decoyed,
And dragged into conspiracies against
Myself as much as you.

Queen
Sire, you may ask
Forgiveness, but I never can forget
The wrong you did me; ’tis indelible
As what I saw in childhood, and will haunt
My deepest, far, old age. My memory is
Most jealous in its pain: you have forgotten
The kiss of tender Judas quality
You gave me—there is snake-bite on my cheek
When I recall its print; you have forgotten
The violence of your hands upon my frame
A moment after; yea, you have forgotten
The bloodshed at my feet, and at my breast
The pistol of a comrade; yet more cruel,
You had forgotten I was near such state
As has its kindly privilege wherever
Man is conceived of woman.

Darnley
(Apart)
Oh, her face!
I hate her shaming lip.—Is all affection
Lost for your husband?

Queen
’Tis impossible
To search my heart just yet; it is too ruined
For any answer. In the sleepless night
No stir save that of my endangered babe
Has touched me to a feeling or a hope
For any soul that lives. You shall not speak
Thus nearly of our tie, since you confess
That you have been both thankless and disloyal
To what in me is sovereign, and the source
From which derive your honours.

Darnley
Would you die
A butchered captive?

Queen
Did you purpose this?
Unbosom frankly.

Darnley
I have been distraught;
Ambition has beguiled me. My true princess,
I will be traitor to these miscreant lords,
Who terrify and threaten. Take these bonds.

(Giving her some papers)
Queen
Unfold them; let me read the articles.
Stand off! I will interpret. (After reading)
There is mention
Here of my ruin, of the overthrow
With your connivance of the Catholic,
True faith, of your sole kingship: trivial thoughts
And weighty matters here are strangely mingled;
An enterprise of most malignant folly
And mounting, blasphemous intent set down
With childish unconcern. Where is the plan
Of David's murder?

Darnley
Do not fix me so
With your dead eyes. I think you have no feeling;
You are all wan and dry. ’T was the proposal
Of these confederate renegades to kill
Your servant, and they jeered at me the way
A husband cannot brook; but I repent—
You do not listen.

Queen
(Staring at the papers)
I have read enough.
Take back the papers.

Darnley
What a grievous sigh
Breaks from you! I am surely a lost man,
Except I tender pardon to these rebels.
Grant them forgiveness; do not let me perish
For my first, wanton error.

Queen
Stay, you are the father
Of Scotland's king, in that respect you claim
My tenderest vigilance. Put by your fears.
That you could so have used me! You will make
Amends for this, I hope. Discharge the watch.
Exit Darnley
So much to do, so thick a knot to break!
(Bending, she writes in her Book of Hours)
O Lord, avenge me of my enemies.
I set it down; make Thou a bond with me!
Have we not common cause? These hypocrites
Pull down all holy things. My sturdy mood
Bides not the click of rosaries: receive
This sentence writ across the martial psalms,
And levy for me from the ends of heaven
Thy laggard legions; make me, in thy stead,
Victor and sovereign.
There is stir without
I'the courtyard.
(Looks out)
’Tis my brother; he has ventured
From England for my succour. Ho, my girls!
Re-enter Maries

Mary Fleming
What comfort?

Queen
(Pointing to Moray)
Enter Moray

Moray
For your sake
In sooth, my sister, duteously emboldened,
I came from Berwick.

Queen
You have heard the fate
Of David?

Moray
Such disorders must be quelled.
Rely on me, and I will promise you
They shall no more recur.

Queen
Recur—a murder,
The murder of my servant at my feet!
I have no terror of such repetition
Now you are here to help me to take vengeance
On David's slaughterers.

Moray
Speak more tranquilly.
It may be that your husband is not clear
Of this conspiracy; to shelter him,
Best summon these unmannered noblemen,
And, with due censure, pardon. Do not break,
So vehement!—from my embrace. Your safety
Necessitates a politic disguise.

Queen
(Apart)
Then I will feign to him, the palterer!
He shall not help me.—James, we will consent
To hear you plead for all of those who seek us
With reverence on their knees as guilty men.
Go, to confer with them.

Moray
I will remonstrate,
And bring them to avowal of their fault:
Meanwhile take rest. How haggard are your eyes!
You give me anxious thoughts.

Exit, after embracing her.
Queen
Re-enter Darnley
(Apart)

Darnley
I hate him.

Queen
You have reason; he is heir
Through his ambition to your foster-crown.
Shall you retain in trust my chancellor?
Will Ruthven be in favour?

Darnley
Do not mock me!
Mary, I am entreated as a slave,
Threatened with instant ruin, thwarted, bribed;
I will do anything to break away
From this besetting insolence. I suffer;
My life, I fear, is put in jeopardy.

Queen
Then for sweet life's sake—your's, my lord, I mean,
The life you value—trust yourself to me;
Go to your chamber, bid Traquair and Erskine
Thither to instant colloquy, on show
Of some official duty, then dispatch them
Hither in secret; I already weave
A plan of exit through the Abbey vaults.
You look bewildered. Almost I incline—
At least I am most covetous to hope
This handsome, boyish face has been a witness,
A mere vexed witness, of these infamies.

Darnley
Believe it, Mary; I am still so young . . .

Queen
In tutelage, remember, then to me.
Now we must separate. The open door!

(She motions to him to leave her by the main staircase, not the tower-stairs)
Darnley
Your hand!

Queen
Enter Erskine and Traquair

Erskine
We shall not fail.

Scene IV

—Holyrood; the vaults under the ruined Abbey
Enter the Queen and Darnley
Darnley
What whiffs of air! The place is like a skull,
A stony cap for draughts. Some ancient king
Plays tick-and-touch with me. Zounds, it is jolly
To feel the creeps o' Time.

Queen
There is an echo;
Move quietly . . . wherefore do you gasp and sigh?

Darnley
I cannot get along; this broken pavement
Keeps tripping me. So! We have passed the place
Of the raw grave.

Queen
It swelled across my heart
That he was yonder—David!

Darnley
My true servant,
I shall regret him every day I live.

Queen
And with good cause. Speak low! Here is the issue,
The moonlight, faithful Erskine. (To Erskine)
To your croup,
My squire! What heat there is about your face!
Traquair, you give me courage. I am safe.

Scene V

—Dunbar; the great hall of the castle at dawn. Servants stirring about; some lighting a fire
Enter Darnley
Darnley
Why how now, fellows, do you know your place?

1 Servant
Have you some tidings of the queen?
Despatch!

2 Servant
Who is arrived?

Darnley
Arrived! The king—thank God!

1 Servant
Is he below?

Darnley
He'll kick you down the stairs
Unless you mend your manners. Get a fire.

3 Servant
Who may this be, a muffled, slinking man?

1 Servant
We doubt his purpose. (Mockingly)
Save your majesty!
How fares the queen?

Darnley
Out of my sight, you knaves!

2 Servant
’Tis growing light enough to track the course
Of horsemen. Quench the torches.

Darnley
Let them be;
It was the wild and streaky dawn that set
My wits a-shaking. Will you bring me food?
What, am I unsubstantial? They shall pay
Who give me insult.

2 Servant
Have good patience, sir;
We wait the queen's arrival.

Darnley
Let her dawdle
Till Ruthven overtake her: I am safe.
To see her laugh and gossip on the croup
Of Erskine's gelding! My good Naples courser
Would not be kept her paces.—Look you, varlets—
I hate their sneering eyes about my face—
Get to the stable, groom my horse, for then
You'll serve me humbly.—That last bit of travel,
After the queen grew sluggish and I tore
Alone across the stony country-side,
What was it that encountered me, that shape
Of straggling insolence that caught my reins,
While the wind burst in laughter at my back,
Coarse-lunged as these attendants? ’Tis not meet
For royal persons to endure the air,
Exposed to such temptations. How these creatures
Peer at the doorways!—Pile the faggots up!
I say I will have warmth! You, Blackadder,
I know your hang-dog face. Where is Earl Bothwell?
Cannot you speak?

Blackadder
He rode with certain lords,
Huntly and Seton, Fleming, Livingstone,
In the late starlight to receive the queen.
Hark! There is bustle in the court below;
You may espy their troop.

Exeunt Servants
Darnley
(Looking out)
No languor now!
A lusty woman blushing like a bride
Soon as that thick-limbed earl bends over her.
I will crouch sulky by the fire and note
What care she shows me.

Enter Bothwell, leading in the Queen, accompanied by Erskine and other nobles
Bothwell
Safe, my sovereign, safe—
Since in my custody.

Queen
Earl, at Dunbar
I put all troubles from me; though a queen
Without a country, I am gay at heart
For sight of your true faces. Erskine, see
How bright a blaze!

Erskine
Beseech you, madam, rest.

Queen
Ay, after breakfast. Had you met us, warden,
Ere the last watch, our roistering company
Had put you to your guard. The midnight faintness
Wore off, and my young squire encouraged me
So loyally, I could put all fear away,
And prop my drooping head against his shoulder
To watch the moon winning the adverse clouds
To wear her colours. Sooth, we moralized . . . .

Bothwell
Well, rest you.

Huntly
And be bounteous of your smiles
To faithful subjects.

Bothwell
We are soldiers all.

Queen
O Huntly, would I were myself a man
To carry my own vengeance in my hand!
I envy you your swords. Within a day
This treason shall be flying fast to England,
To France, to Spain . . . and if Elizabeth
But listen to these calumnies—

Erskine
No need
Of foreign princes.

Queen
Nay, my bonny captain,
While there are hearts like yours. (To Bothwell)
Beseech you, host,
To give us breakfast.

Bothwell
If you be not dainty.
We have no dishes. Oaten bread, and milk,
Eggs—raw.

Queen
Then, Erskine, in your next campaign
Boast that your queen herself set forth your meats.
Good gentlemen, I have an appetite
That will not bide delay: let me be cook,
And I will quickly put you in such stomach
To fight as shall regain my ravished kingdom.
Do not be so amazed, or watch my face
As I were not in earnest; spread the board.
Still lost! And is it verily such art
To pass from shell to broken shell the yolk,
Nor mar the spheral yellow in the change?

Erskine
The marvel, madam, is the ministry
Of those translucent hands.

Queen
The admiration
That hinders you from service we disdain.
You shall play courtier when we have a court,
Meanwhile you rein our horse, and, at command,
(Giving him a dish of eggs)
Fry these upon the fire. Such sputtering dread
Make havoc with our foes! I cannot rest
With traitors in my palace.

Bothwell
In two days
You shall wipe clean the rooms, if with their blood
The surer cleansing. I will furnish you
A body-guard, fierce men of Liddesdale,
Full of the border virtue; while you rest
From that mad, midnight gallop and its pains,
An army will engird you silently.

(The Queen approaches Darnley as she breaks an egg)
Queen
My husband, surely you will credit now
I can afford protection? (To Lords)
You would deem
That I belied our consort if I told you
That he forsook us in the mid-distress
Of our too laboured journey. I, you see,
Have something of the cares of motherhood,
Which he who has occasioned them forgets.
How do you, Henry? An uneasy brow
Even in the ingle-nook?

Darnley
(Rising)
I would be private. I am disesteemed,
My Mary. Do you wish that we should lodge
Together? None will credit I am king.
Speak to them.

Queen
Nay, our host assigns our rank
And disposition.

Bothwell
(To Servants)
Give this gentleman
A lodging in the north, beside my chamber.
(To Darnley)
I will convey you to your solitude,
And then attend the queen.

Exeunt Bothwell and Darnley
Queen
Now we will feast.
(To Erskine, who offers to help her in cooking the eggs)
Captain, I'd trust you with a thousand lives—
Had I a thousand—not these housewife's toys.
Were I but let alone
I could do all things perfectly, the least,
The greatest. Erskine, was not the young air
Of ravishing, strong freshness? Oh, I feel
This is the daybreak of my fortunes. Sit!
Re-enter Bothwell

Bothwell
(Rising)
We pledge
Triumphal entry into Holyrood;
Health to the queen—God's grace that she is safe!

(They drink)
Queen
My lords, ’tis very life to me to breathe
Where no suspicion is. With openness
I ever give my favours, fellowship
To those of mating wisdom. . . . My dear servant,
Whose office none can fill, shall be avenged:
In ’midst of this hot grief ’twere hazardous
To mingle retribution—punishment
Shall be allotted presently: meanwhile
We crave your patience with our erring husband,
As with a man entangled in the toils
Of evil counsellors; we condescend
Ourself to pity him; and for our sake,
Beseech you, eye his faults with lenience.

Erskine
(Starting up)
Madam,
Before my face . . . .

Bothwell
You are too young a witness.
How say these noblemen?

Huntly
’Tis not his murder
Of Riccio that we stick at—the assault
And hurt he did your majesty provoke us.
A sneaking, vile poltroon!

Bothwell
My prisoner.

Queen
True,
We both lie at your mercy.

Bothwell
Renegade!

Huntly
A royal pensioner—no king of ours.

Bothwell
He shall have justice at our hands.

Queen
If I
Can hope to pardon, an imperilled mother,
An injured wife, a broken-hearted friend,
You can be dumb, till with my utmost patience
I seek to make him sorry for the past.
He is much spent. Myself will bear him food.

Bothwell
You shall not visit him. (To Erskine)
Captain, your service;
Diet Lord Darnley as his state requires.
Huntly and Seton, Fleming, Livingstone,
A hasty council must be held at noon;
Our troops keep pouring in: until that hour,
Madam, you must repose. There is a chamber
Full, to the east, of sunshine and of sea,
There will I lead you: not an anxious thought
Should cloud your brows.

Queen
My lord, when you are near
I feel my throne impregnable. Alas,
My weariness comes over me, but simply
As a tired child I shall just turn to rest,
And think of sweet to-morrow. We have yet
Our throne to climb, our unborn king to save:
All, all is in your keeping.

Bothwell
Be content.

Scene VI

—Holyrood; the library. Lethington is discovered, leaning back on a couch, a small dog across his lap, in his hands “The First Buik of Rolland Amoreuse.”
Lethington

By the special providence of the love-god mine eyes have been turned aside from beholding ought but vanity. While the wicked devised mischief on their beds, my deepest solicitude hath been to remove the mockage from my auburn eyes, to extrude from them the keenness of the politician, the coolness of the cynic, the dancing valour of the wit, and to fill them with that lonesomeness of fasting desire that is mortal to women. [Reading]
This incomparable princess of Albracca! I will dote on her perfections, till the Lord James look in on me; then—but The Manuel of Morall Vertewis is at hand (Turning over the books)
Romance and theology— it is all one. The head, as the heart, hath its ferment, its aspirations, its disease. Tales of the nursery! yet I mock not at man's childishness. His imaginations affright him; the heavenly ministrants protect. Bairns must have bogles, though they dwell in their father's house.

(Reading)

Enter Mary Fleming
Mary Fleming

Mr. Secretary.

Lethington

Yes, Angelica.

Mary Fleming

You are so distraught, you do not even recollect my name.

Lethington

Divine one, I called you by your proper name, my angel.

Mary Fleming

I care not for your flatteries. Let me look into the history. Is it thus written?

(Trying to snatch the book)

Lethington

I am reading, Angelica, of one in love, one who encountered a marvellous disdain. (Reading)
Le bon Renaud—

Mary Fleming

Is that the name of your hero?

Lethington

You mistake; ’tis a lady who suffers this extremity of love—ebbed from roses to lilies in a day: you yourself, my sweet Fleming, look not paler on the instant.

Mary Fleming

You have been playing tricks with the story; you are like the good Renaud himself.

Lethington

Heaven forbid! yet he was a comely youth; auburn eyes, and, I doubt not, auburn hair that crept into the laces of his collar. Finding this delicate Adonis asleep one day by a fountain, it is written the lady was so ravished with his beauty she fell to sprinkling him with flowers. Imagine the dismay of the pauurette, when, despite her courteous salutation, he shook himself free of her dainty prickles, mounted his horse, and fled.

Mary Fleming

Le bon Renaud! Had she a visage so prodigious as to make him afraid?

Lethington

The freshness of a rose of the orchard.

Mary Fleming

Then you belie her.

Lethington

It is written, she kissed the very flowers ’gainst which he had slumbered, thus accosting them: (Reading)
ô herbes verdoyantes! que vous estes heureuses d'auoir touché un visage si aggreable! Que je porte d'enuie à vostre felicité. ’Twas, sweet Fleming, her weakness to desire un beau garcon in marriage. The lad had yellowish hair and she worshipped him.

Mary Fleming

She was a fool.

Lethington

Nay, the fool saith in his heart there is no God. She would have fallen under the censure of good Mr. Knox; call her rather an idolator.

Mary Fleming

If it so please our “great god the Secretaire”—an idolator.

(Curtseying low to him)

Lethington

Yet I would never have suffered the beautiful creature to pass away unsaluted. For it is written, on his awakening she made him a deep reverence.

Mary Fleming

Then you find not Angelica in fault; though like lady Venus she raved over her mortal, it was in his sleep, or at worst, after his departure. It is rumoured, Mr. Secretary, you are about to retire from the palace.

Lethington

If I presently ride away . . . . .?

Mary Fleming

Que je porte enuie à vostre félicité! For who would linger in Holyrood under the nose of the Lord James? Though he perch demure as a hooded falcon his dreams are of bloodied feathers. I fear me

even now he is devising some ill to my mistress. But you—can you not rescue her? Did you know of this?

Lethington
Pretty one,
None told me of it; knowledge, recollect,
Must enter by the ear.

Mary Fleming
If I believed—

Lethington
You loved me, I would let these sovereigns run
Amuck at their own ruin.

Mary Fleming
Do not think
Of me; in sooth, it scarcely is a time
For private thoughts.

Lethington
Yet the whole universe
They say is swayed by love. Shall politicians
Treat Cupid as an interloping god?
He is my bosom-counsellor, and teaches
My pen to rally Cecil on his rheum;
For never, as I tell the minister,
Do state-affairs so trouble me, but one,
One of the four and twenty hours I give
To merriment; for those that are in love
Are ever set upon a merry pin.

Mary Fleming
Not if their lady scorn them.

Lethington
Pardon, sweet!
For my romance instructs me that fair ladies
Faint for our noble beauty—while at will
We take them or we leave.

Mary Fleming
But does your heart
Instruct you it is wise and chivalrous
To leave the queen uncomforted? You love her?

Lethington
Ay, some day I shall haply die for her.

Mary Fleming
You are so dreamy. I will go away.

Lethington
Report me of the queen!

Mary Fleming
Am I your spy?

Lethington

Never, my girl; my own wits shall piece the evidence of my senses. How shall a man deal with rumour? ’Tis the question of the hour.

Mary Fleming

It were best you should not anger me—we are parting.

Lethington

Nay, if I leave you angry, I leave you to a long remorse. You will have no peace till the wronged exile's return. Mary, there is but one thing I trust in a woman, and that is the certainty of her unreason. She will give herself a month's penance for a moment's unkindness. So adieu, sweet Fleming, unsaluted. Exit Mary Fleming
If I could give my sovereign liberty! She sent for me, and, lifting up her eyes, Put in them such a world of trust, I promised— We promise children the impossible— All should be well. A noise upon the stairs! Tumult, affright!

Enter the Queen's Ladies distractedly
Mary Seaton
O, Mr. Secretary!
We are in great amazement.

Lethington
What is this?
Good gentlewomen—your discomfiture?

Mary Seaton
The queen is fled; ’tis rumoured to Dunbar;
And the king's rooms are empty. There is noise
The palace will be sacked.

Lethington
Fled to Dunbar!
Take comfort, ladies; she is in the care
Of loyal subjects.

Mary Seaton
But the earl is frenzied,
And full of oaths.

Lethington
I will assuage his fears.
Let me not see the Maries falling fast
As apple-flowers in a late gale of May.
Cheerly, sweet damsels! Ere the week be ended
Your mistress will return.

Lennox enters as the Ladies retire
(To Lennox)
My lord the earl!
Lennox
He saved his life and left me in the lurch;
Curse the deserter, the unnatural,
Ill-hearted son! He casts me to his foes
As easily as an abandoned mistress
Is thrown to raging kindred. Succour me,
A father stripped of filial affection,
An old, unrooted man, whose enemies
Are closer than his child.

Lethington
Be calm, my lord,
And all things cease to dance—most chiefly fear,
Pale whirligig of our intelligence;
Go you to Glasgow, wait until your springal
Return to nature; he will fly his parent
In vain; the stars wink, and my prophecy
Is on the road betimes.

Lennox
The boy I cherished
In every whim and appetite.

Lethington
Be certain,
Good father, you will catch him at your side,
If you go pray the weather-cock, an idol
Set up in God's high places.

Lennox
Curse him!

Enter Morton, Ruthven, and Moray
Morton
Ay,
We curse him with mailed fingers.
Exit Lennox
That old traitor
Is withered by a threat.

Lethington
Our chancellor
Can make his glistening eyes as terrible
As terrier's teeth. I marvel not, my lord,
That Lennox is affrighted. Why, your anger
Starts from you as a sweat.

Morton
No parrying now,
No playing fast and loose. You own this flight
Is of your provocation.

Lethington
Did you trust me
With carriage of your business? For my part
I had been well content that destiny
Should muster slowly as Elijah's rain
From hand-breadth cloud to blackened firmament.

Morton
You have no zeal, you never would have thrust
Your hanger in that damned idolator.

Lethington
Well, for religion, I confess the trickle
Of precious ointment adown Aaron's beard
Attracts me; I discern a fascination,
A charm about its unctuous descent.
Man's worship as it furthers the accord
And unity of nations touches me.
(To Moray)
Lord James, your honest brows are malcontent;
When good men cloud I feel solicitude.
The queen, ’tis said, is safe.

Morton
And we undone.
She will disburthen Darnley of our treasons,
As cunning as a whore. Our instrument!—
You keep a polished smile—do you not hate him?
The young deserter!

Lethington
Hate! With circumspection.

Morton
I hate him, but with all the pains of heaven
And hell, with God's great rancour against sin,
And with the petty fiends' malevolence.
’Tis the slipped victim rounds the lion's breast
To his great, wailful bay. Maitland, I suffer,
If I have cast desire upon a deed,
Immeasurable pangs.

Lethington
No action yet
Is possible. Take horse—

Morton
To banishment!

Lethington
To brood at Newcastle
How best to undermine this arrogant
And towering house of folly.

Morton
In my brain
The bloodhounds are already on his trail.
To think a female should unhug my grip
Of heritage and spoil! That great Tantallon,
Those stretching churchlands!

Lethington
Grudge not God his own
Fair acreage!

Morton
But I wanton with the lands
Of these fat priests; they are my buxom dames,
Put to rank purpose by idolatry:
No scruple of the conscience in their use;
With them I ease my lust.

Ruthven
Shall we not fly?
There is a draught. Can you not shut the door?
It blows up that dark passage. Blood can freeze
I tell you. Quick! To England.

Morton
(Shaking Ruthven off)
You are fevered.
(To Moray)
Let's hold one thought in common in the dark.
Moray, your policy?

Moray
I shall not budge.

Lethington
Faith, we must keep him stainless; he must proffer
Our humble loves to the fair Amazon
Now girding for the battle.

Morton
(To Moray)
Since I go
South to your empty lodgings by the Tweed,
A bond betwixt us twain! I thought on you
Mewed up in England, and the forfeitures
Of your estates if Riccio's parliament
Had looked upon your treason. ’Tis your time
To prove your mettle. (To Lethington and Moray)
Who first summons me
Home to my honour shall not lack support
In any private end.

Moray
I shall not fail Exeunt Morton and Ruthven
(To Lethington)

Your further counsel. I who treated her
As something of a prisoner am exposed,—
Or shall be, for already there is bruit
Of a swift-mustering army at Dunbar,—
To shattering reprisals; yet to flee
Would argue guilt.

Lethington
Flight were insane in you,
Since you are clear of fault. Let us despatch
Straightway her faithful Melvil to the queen,
Bearing a letter that professes you
A dunce at these devices and offended
At that which must offend her to the quick.
Show yourself hurt, yet patient to endure
Unjust suspicion; then abide her coming
As confident and lowly as the just
Await the day of judgment. Morals, Moray,
Are your peculiar portion. See, my desk
Is at your service.

(Moray sits at the desk and writes. Lethington surveys him, pacing up and down)
Moray
(Rising with letter)
This will tutor her.