University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Before the Gate of the Tower. Enter Queen Anne, in custody of Sir William Kingston and Guard, Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Suffolk, and Lords of the Council.
Queen Anne.
Pause here a moment.

Norfolk.
Tut, tut! move along!

Queen A.
Did you not, sir, insult your queen enough,
Before the Council, with unmanly taunts
And slanders, rivalled in their gross excess
But by the words in which you uttered them,
Without disgracing thus your victory?

Nor.
It ill beseems my noted chastity
To hold discourse with ladies of your stamp
Stop, if you list; I 'd rather grant your wish
Than parley with you.

Queen A.
Aid me, gracious Lord,
To bear unmurmuring! (Aside.)
Listen, gentlemen.
'T is the last time, perchance, that I may stand
Beneath the open blessings of the sky;
And here, before the majesty of heaven,
Gazing unshaken in the face of God,
I solemnly avow these horrid crimes,
With which my enemies have vested me,
To be most foul and baseless calumnies;—
Or God forsake me in my strictest need!

Nor.
What monstrous perjury! I dare not hear
This woman's self-damnation.

[Going.]
Suffolk.
Come, my lords;
Our part is done.

[Exit with Norfolk and the Lords.]
Queen A.
Their scorn foreshows my doom:
I am convicted ere the court be met.
Think you I shall have justice?

Kingston.
Without doubt:
The poorest subject of the king has that.

Queen A.
Ha! ha! poor man! (Laughing.)
Loyal credulity!
O, yes, at last—in heaven. Where go I, sir?—
Into a dungeon?

Kings.
No, your majesty;
You lie in the state chambers.

Queen A.
In which rooms?

Kings.
Where you were lodged on Coronation-Day.

Queen A.
This is too cruel!

Kings.
Is splendor cruelty?

Queen A.
O, you are gracious! They are far too good
For such a wretch—so abject, so forlorn,
A prisoned felon;—were it not that they
Will taunt my memory with a pleasant dream,
That there once practised on my facile hopes,
While reason slept. Alas, alas, for me!
Time, like a mocking showman, turns the picture,
To teach on what coarse stuff my fancy wrought.

Kings.
Time may relent, and make all well ere long.
Your slight constraint shall not seem bondage to you.

Queen A.
It matters not, if we are prisoners,
Whether our walls be marked by feet or miles:
I may be cramped and tethered in my will,
While my clay roams the starry universe;—
What but free will is freedom?

Kings.
Shall we enter?

Queen A.
Your pardon, sir, if I have wearied you
With my complaints. But you have heard to-day
Things that might break a prouder heart than mine.
I do confess, my slanderers have wrought
More on my spirits than I once believed
Mere malice could.—Was it not vile?

Kings.
Poor queen, poor queen! (Aside.)
I cannot judge, your highness.

Queen A.
I should not ask you to o'erstep discretion.
Where is the king?

Kings.
At Whitehall, I believe.

Queen A.
Will you convey his majesty a note?

Kings.
I cannot.

Queen A.
Cannot! but a message, then?
Tell him—

Kings.
Indeed, I dare not.

Queen A.
Then, good sir,
Pray bear a letter to the Chancellor.

Kings.
I am prohibited.

Queen A.
Are you a tool?

Kings.
Ay, but a feeling one.

Queen A.
Forgive me, pray!
Sir, you are kind, most kind! My hasty spleen
Must be abated to my present state.
Come, let us in. I may be dull, perchance;
But, as I live, I cannot realize
That he, the father of my little child,
Could so far banish all regard for me
As to afflict me with deliberate wrong.
No, no; I have been schooled to fearful thoughts,
But this, this cannot enter Come, set on!

[Exeunt into the Tower.]