 | Mary Tudor |  |
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ACT I.
Scene I.
A Street in London.Enter Pembroke, Arundel, Wyatt, Jerningham, Bedingfield.
BEDINGFIELD.
Be well assured the King is sick to death.
PEMBROKE.
Tush, Sir, the King is young, and young blood fires
Like flax.
BEDINGFIELD.
And dies as quickly. I repeat it,
Even now the King lies at the point of death.
WYATT.
How can it be? But one short month it seems
Since I beheld him on his jennet's back,
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Charge up the hill side through the golden gorse,
Swallowing the west wind, till his cheeks glowed out
Like ripened pears. The whirring pheasant sprang
From the hedged bank; and, with a shout, in air
The bright boy tossed his falcon; then with spur
Pressed to his jennet's flank, and head thrown back,
And all the spirit of life within his eye
And voice, he drew not rein, till the spent quarry
Lay cowering 'neath the hawk's expanded wings.
ARUNDEL.
And what saith Sir John Cheke, his Grace's tutor?
That one so apt to learn, mature in judgment,
Ne'er hath o'erleaped the silken fence of childhood.
WYATT.
Too hotly from the deep well of his heart
Boils up his fevered blood.
BEDINGFIELD.
You miss the mark!
No fever pants upon King Edward's life;
Nor natural decay hath drained his heart.
PEMBROKE.
Then, by the Rood! John Dudley must be questioned
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With beldams, herberers, and wizard quacks?
BEDINGFIELD.
Too late! the axe, henceforth, shall answer make
To dangerous questioners.
WYATT.
He flies too high
This modern Dedalus!
ARUNDEL.
O royal seed
Of York and Lancaster, in Tudor blended,
How are ye fallen, when this base minion churl,
This felon-born, dares lift his ransomed hand
Against your sacred house—misrules your people—
Usurps your sceptre—decimates your peers—
Nay, holds the throne in his arbitrement!
BEDINGFIELD.
Aye—there you press the spring of his design.
No child of the eighth Harry shall be Queen
If Dudley's will be law.
ARUNDEL.
Pernicious Traitor!
Much hath he dared! but with plebeian hand
Dares he to clutch that crown the Norman rent
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Bore through the fields of Palestine redeemed,
At Ascalon, in the Crusaders' van?
O spirits of our old nobility!
Rise from your tombs and blast this upstart carle!
Mowbray is gone; but Thomas Howard lives!
The suns of Bohun and de Clare have set;
But Oxford's star beams brightly from his shield!
Nevilles there be, though Warwick's veins are cold!
Awake avengers! Bearders of kings arise!
And crush the caitiff!
BEDINGFIELD.
One and all we join
That cry, O Arundel! Well I remember
When from the midst of English Gentlemen
Great Somerset, the Uncle of the King,
Was, like some stag, the captain of the herd,
Torn down and throttled by this blood-hound Dudley!
How flashed your eyes above your half-drawn sword,
While muttered malisons hissed through your teeth!
WYATT.
Sirs, be ye calm, probing the kingdom's hurt.
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Descends, through Tudor, from Plantagenet:
And the two Roses on so fair a cheek
As Lady Jane's, the Duke of Suffolk's daughter,
Have never blended.
ARUNDEL.
The Duchess' mother lives—
PEMBROKE.
Nor she—nor any daughter of her house—
Not my son's wife, shall ever be my Queen!
WYATT.
Beshrew King Harry! had he loved one wife—
Or crowned no concubine—our course were plain.
But now—In sooth I trow not if to marry
One's brother's wife, be uncanonical,
But this I know, howe'er legitimate,
The Lady Mary's neither young nor fair,
But black Papistical. The Lady Bess
Loves the true Church, and is as fair withal
As her frail mother Boleyn.
BEDINGFIELD.
There's the rub.
Too sweetly Boleyn smiled on Harry's wooing
Ere he was severed by sufficient warrant
From the crowned Queen. But six short months divided
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May not be hailed legitimately Queen:
But who shall gainsay Mary?
WYATT.
That dare I?
Unless the sacred charter of our church
Be well assured. If not, the Suffolk line,
The blood of Grey, aye, Dudley's, I prefer.
JERNINGHAM.
Sir Thomas Wyatt, you presume too far;
Disparaging the royal Mary's claim—
Which I aver—
ARUNDEL.
O peace! the time needs union.
Waste not in idle brawls your generous ardour.
But lift your swords, and swear, kissing the hilts,
That England shall not be a Traitor's prey—
Nor Tudor's heritage adorn a Grey!
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
Greenwich—the King's Bedchamber.King Edward on a Couch: Lady Jane reading.
JANE.
How fares your Highness now?
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Thy sweet voice, Jane,
Soothes every pain. A film grew o'er mine eyes;
A murmur, as of breezes on the shore,
Or waters lapping in some gelid cave,
Coiled round my temples; and I slept.
JANE.
Ah cousin!
Not in my voice the charm. Within this volume
A sanatory virtue lives enshrined,
As in Bethesda's pool.
EDWARD.
By an angel stirred!
I slept—methought the merry, chiming birds
Were round me, and the bleating of the lambs,
And cheerful harmony of hounds and horn.
And murmuring winds, and waters among trees,
Making the diapason of our Earth;
While by my side dear Uncle Somerset
Rode, stately with grave smile. Where is he now?
Ah, fatal falsehoods! fatal credulity!
Look at this hand! health withered in its veins
Signing the unnatural warrant.
JANE.
Judge less hardly.
You were the instrument, but not the doer,
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EDWARD.
I am too young—too young
For sorrow and remorse; yet both are here!
I yearn for freedom, like some callow scholar
Over his task perplexed; and it will come.
Soon shall I leap forth like the lark at morn
Into the pathless sky—and through the gates
Of light, on—on—to heaven! Hark! some noise.
Who thus disturbs the last rest of a King?
Enter Northumberland and Cranmer.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
We come, my liege, deputed by the Council,
To lay before your Grace the realm's sad state
Thus widowed of your presence; and abashed
By the frowns of coming wrong. Am I permitted?
EDWARD.
Permitted? ah my Lord, custom permits—
You seldom tread the paths of ceremony.
Say on—my soul is sad, but I will hear you.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
My Lord Archbishop will explain how far
Zeal strengthens us to stem the tide of evils
Which, should it please high heaven to take your Grace,
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CRANMER.
May I speak?
We pray you judge, should harm befall your Grace,
The dangers of the Church; no pious Prince,
Versed in true doctrine of our Faith, succeeding.
How ill the Lady Mary stands affected
Unto the Church is known. Elizabeth
Gives, peradventure, better hope; but here
Their claims make up a tissue so perplexed
The undoing of the woof destroys the web.
We must eschew both, or hold fast to both.
And thus by right of primogeniture
The Lady Mary at our peril succeed.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Mark well! to England's and the Church's ruin!
CRANMER.
Now well we know, a wise Prince and religious,
God's glory and his kingdom's weal endangered,
Will put aside all weak respects of blood—
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Else would God's vengeance mete out doom hereafter!
CRANMER.
But other hope remains. Three noble daughters
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Most near, and by their virtues well commended.
Through these—
JANE.
Nay! I must speak. My Lord Archbishop,
I must protest—
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Be silent: the church speaks!
CRANMER.
Through these nor persecutor of our faith,
Nor foreign yoke, through marriage may be feared:
For these have been brought up with spiritual food;
Suckled with christian doctrine undefiled;
And matched with husbands zealous for the truth.
That these, firm pledged the true Church to maintain,
Should be successively the kingdom's heirs
Most humbly we advise: and for this Lady,
Eldest of that illustrious house, Jane Grey,
If all her virtues, which speak trumpet-tongued,
Suffice not, we, her father, all the Council,
The Peers of England, yea the Realm itself,
Impledge our lives to back her constancy!
JANE.
O no! not me! This remediless wrong
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Great Harry's daughter's—England's manifest heirs.
Leave right its way, and God will guard His own!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The manifest heirs of England! tush! you see not
The very point at issue. Counsellors
Learned in the laws, hold the king's heir to be
Whom the king's testament shall nominate.
Besides, the child of the incestuous Katherine
May not be Queen: nor wanton Boleyn's daughter.
CRANMER.
Too harshly spoken! Hold him up! he faints—
So—he revives—Sir, look upon this Lady,
This Angel that shall win a crown in heaven,
Worthier than all of Earth! King Edward! hear me!
Uphold your people in her!
EDWARD.
God be my guide!
Now and forever! Sense and thought forsake me.
O sisters! ye desert me! yet I love ye—
How much I love!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
They come not at your bidding.
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EDWARD.
Ah yes—my People!
To them, and to my God—be duty done!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Sign then—
JANE.
Sign not!
EDWARD
[signing].
Come weal, come woe—'tis signed!
Now take me, Lord, from this calamitous life!
Yet if to live and suffer be thy will,
And to thy chosen People serviceable,
I am contented to abide, and serve.
Enter from the side, the Princess Mary, followed by Bedingfield, Jerningham and Fakenham.
At last—and yet too late—I bless thee, sister!
Why comes not Bess?
BEDINGFIELD.
She lay, my Liege, too far
From Framlingham, and time, so rumour ran,
Pressed hardly on your Grace.
MARY
[kissing Edward].
How wan! how wasted!
My dear, lost brother!
[Northumberland attempts to pass out.
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Go not forth, my Lord,
While here her Highness stays.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How, Varlet, how?
Who shall debar my way?
BEDINGFIELD.
I will—
JERNINGHAM.
And I.
EDWARD.
What means this timeless brawl? Northumberland,
I deemed my sister's visit due to thee:
Whence then this heat? I am too weak to bear it.
MARY.
My Lord of Lisle! or—pardon me—Lord Duke!
(To such a height your style hath grown, I learn)
Your message came—and I am here! but not
Without precaution that secures return.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Madam, you err: know your friends better.
MARY.
Yes.
I know them at their worth.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Lady, you mark not
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And fear no foe.
MARY.
God's death! my Lord, nor I!
I bid you silence, Sir.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What? menace me?
BEDINGFIELD.
Beware this sword—if you advance, it strikes!
JANE.
O peace, good father, peace! the King sinks fast.
MARY.
Perils beset me—scorning all I come:
Shall I abide with thee?
EDWARD.
This gentle Jane
Hath been a sister in my sister's absence.
MARY.
Why was I bade to go? He bade me fly,—
Ah Traitor!
[pointing to Northumberland.
EDWARD.
It is now too late—too late!
I have done what it were well had ne'er been done.
JANE.
O would to God that act might be recalled!
MARY.
What act?
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That makes me Queen.
MARY.
Thou Queen! O never
Shall regal crown clasp that unwrinkled brow!
Thou Queen? go, girl—betake thee to thy mappets!
Call Ascham back—philosophize—but never
Presume to parley with grey counsellors,
Nor ride forth in the front of harnessed knights!
Leave that to me, the daughter of a King.
EDWARD.
I have wronged thee to save the state from wrong.
I had much to say; but faltering thought and tongue
Forbid. Never shall foreign Prince or Prelate
Bear sway in England. So my father willed.
Cranmer, speak thou.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Nay, I speak now. The King
Still, madam, proffers hope, on penitence.
The crown may yet be your's—this act annulled;
If here before this dying Saint, in presence
Of this most holy Prelate, and this Lady
Wise past her years, your errors you renounce.
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Sir, have you done? simply I thus reply.
Not to drag England from this slough of treason—
Nor save this lady's head—nor your's, Archbishop;—
Not even my brother's life—would I abjure
My faith, and forfeit heaven!
CRANMER.
Pause, proud Lady!
The end hath come. Lo! one among us stands
Chainer of every tongue! queller of Princes!
One moment more, and penitence were vain.
[All kneel by the King's couch.
EDWARD.
Lord! keep thy People steadfast in the Faith!
I die—bless all—Jesus receive my soul.
[Dies.
CRANMER.
He's dead!—and never passed a purer spirit,
Stored with more graces of humanity,
More fraught with truths divine, than this lost King.
For he was grave, as well beseemed a King,
Though joyous in his spirit as a child.
Of wit so keen, that all expectancy
Of nature was outstripped: and thus he dies
Consumed in his own brightness. Had he lived
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Had won all good men's love, as they have long
The hope of all the learned: for he began
To favour learning ere he knew it fully;
And knew, ere time remained to use it well.
Too soon he dies! yet not without memorials
That shall be storied long and treasured fondly.
He lacked but time to leave the world example
Of all a King, so trained and graced, might be!
MARY.
And thou art gone! hast left me unforgiven!—
O brother! was this righteous? gloomier now
This dreary world frowns on me, and its cares.
Womanly dreams, farewell! stern truths of life
Stamp on my heart all that becomes a Queen!
Dudley, you have dared much; yet, standing here
By my poor brother's clay, I can forgive.
Will you kneel, Dudley?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Never to thee—but here—
To Jane, true Queen I kneel. God save Queen Jane!
BEDINGFIELD.
Ha! traitor!
MARY.
Sheath your swords! here, in Death's chamber,
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NORTHUMBERLAND.
No traitor I. I spurn
Your favour, even with these odds—away!
Keep from my path, Fakenham and Bedingfield,
Or by my surging hopes I strike you dead!
Ho! Guards, without! Guilford! your wife to rescue!
MARY.
Again I say—here shed no blood for me!
JERNINGHAM.
I hear thick beating footsteps on the stair—
My liege, 'tis time to fly.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I stay you not—
Begone!
[Exit Mary attended.
FAKENHAM.
We meet hereafter!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Out, vile worm!
No deed of mine mates me with thee hereafter.
FAKENHAM.
I spake not of that judgement. We shall meet
In this world—by the scaffold—at the grave.
[Exit.
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GUILFORD.
What means this tumult—thy distracted bearing?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The king is dead.
GUILFORD.
By you?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
He died by nature.
The Queen hath scaped.
GUILFORD.
The Queen! my Jane is Queen.
What mean you?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Tush—the tongue misquotes the mind.
I spake of Mary Tudor.
GUILFORD.
Mary—here?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Aye—Traitors are within these gates: look round.
I like not Pembroke's mien—nor Winchester's.
I am glad she stayed not here. Urge no pursuit.
The eighth Harry's soul lives in her voice and eye.
It were not well if she had stayed—and lived.
[He muses for a time.
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We lack but time—time satisfies all scruples—
Silence in treason is complicity:—
Whoso connives conspires. [Aloud]
You know, my Lords,
The late King's testament. It pleased the Council.
Pembroke, your son stands on the throne's first step.
PEMBROKE.
Which yours doth mount.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Holding it safe for your's.
We'll talk of this hereafter: now our cares
Attend the late king's obsequies. My Lord
Of Winchester, be pleased to marshal forth
The sad procession to the Tower. Within
The chapel lay the body, near the altar;
Light tapers, and let solemn psalms be sung.
Guilford, attend the Queen. Pembroke, we'll talk
Of these things privily. Herbert already,
As next of blood, is Captain of the guard:
Suffolk Lord Constable: you—dear friend! choose.
What Pembroke asks can grateful Jane refuse?
[Exeunt severally.
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Scene III.
Chamber in the Tower.Enter Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
These branching passages, and tortuous stairs,
And dark, low chambers (ghostly dens) confound me.
Methought the way to Courtenaye's cell was plain.
I have missed the clue: I'll rest me here awhile.
The Race of Dudley mounts—Had Jane no scruples—
Were Guilford wise as he is plausible,
Then were this new-cemented fabric firm,
And founded for endurance. Not so now.
Yet 'twas a glorious sight! Jane crowned and plumed,
On her proud palfrey—my fair son beside her—
Scarce less even now than King—England's broad banner
Flouting the wind before—a goodly sight!
But something lacked there: and that something grows
Ghost-like on questioning thought. From that great host
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The pageant drew the people, brought no hearts.
Therefore I seek young Courtenaye's cell; last heir
Of the Plantagenets and line of York.
He owes no grudge to me. Harry the Eighth
Loved not so fair a kinsman near the throne;
So slew his father, stout King Edward's grandson.
With Courtenaye then make I compact alliance.
The man is fair, nor overwise; and rumour
Whispers that Mary Tudor likes him well.
If Fortune fail, this princely fool my friend—
A woman for my foe—What light is that?
[Pushes a door open: finds a Headsman sharpening his axe.
HEADSMAN.
Plague on you—you disturb my trade.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How now?
HEADSMAN.
God save you, good my Lord. I knew you not.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why look you on my throat so fixedly?
HEADSMAN.
Pardon, my Lord, it is a trick grew on me
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NORTHUMBERLAND.
What came, what came?
HEADSMAN.
Ah Sir! you'll not believe me.
'Twas but a double dealing of the eye,
Feigning a red line round a shapely throat.
I saw Anne Boleyn thus when she was crowned—
And she was done to death—was it not strange?
So Katherine Howard seemed at her last feast—
And she was done to death—and by this hand.
So seemed, when standing by his nephew's throne,
The great Protector Somerset—and he—
NORTHUMBERLAND.
No more of this. I seek Lord Devon's cell.
HEADSMAN.
This way, my Lord.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Portents and warnings mock us—
Away! light omens shake not this firm heart.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Exeter's Cell in the Tower.EXETER.
Steps—not my warders—hearken—two are coming,
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Trumpets and ordnance. What's to me who reigns
Or dies, or marries? all the sorry chances
Of courtly life! mayhap a King is murdered:
'Tis probable—the commonest accident!
Or Queen beheaded: well, if none but Queens,
I might not quarrel with the royal pastime.
Enter Northumberland and Headsman.
Ha! I should know that face; and lackeyed thus
By yon grim doomster, guess my coming fate.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I greet you well, Lord Marquess Exeter!
Noble Plantagenet!
EXETER.
Hey! what means this?
The half-forgotten name—and fatal heritage!
Sir John of Dudley—bear and ragged staff!—
Or memory fails me.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Now, Northumberland.
EXETER.
Indeed? excuse me: prisoners limp behind
The vaulting world. You are welcome.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I would greet you
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EXETER.
Long strangers here!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I take your hand: nor coldly, thus, hereafter
Will you, perchance, vouchsafe it. I have power;
(In Edward's time I only had the will)
To serve you.
EXETER.
Ha! how well I guessed the truth!
One King the more is dead! who now rules England!
Chaste Boleyn's babe—or the Arragonian whelp?
No beauty I'll be sworn, unless Time makes one.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The House of Grey is of the royal lineage.
To that King Edward's will bequeaths the crown.
EXETER.
My lady Duchess Queen?—Now God forbid!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
All cry amen to that—Her Grace of Suffolk
Yields to her wiser daughter—Lady Jane—
My son, Lord Guilford's wife; now Queen of England.
EXETER.
O now I do begin to read the stars,
And note what constellation climbs. My Lord,
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The obsolete posterity of Kings,
Lowly should bend to Kings' Progenitors.
Sir Headsman! art thou married?
HEADSMAN.
Nay, my Lord.
EXETER.
Get thee a wife then, in good haste: get sons!
Full-bosomed honour, like a plant in the sun,
Plays harlot to the hour. Lo! thistles burgeon
Even through the red Rose' cradle!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
My good Lord,
Unseasonable wit hath a warped edge,
Whereby the unskilful take unlooked for scars.
Good night—may fancy tickle you in dreams,
In which nor Boleyn's babe (I quote your phrase)
Nor whelp of Arragon—kind Heaven forfend!
Nor our grim friend here, with uncivil axe,
Dare mingle. Good night, Courtenaye!
EXETER.
Stay, Sir, stay—
NORTHUMBERLAND.
If at your bidding—yet bethink you well,
This trick of irony is dangerous.
Had you not guessed me for a friend, 'twere fatal
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“Chaste Boleyn!” What if blood of these shall chance
To grace, or blot,—(the thought was your's) the throne?
Were Dudley not a friend, these words might slay you!
EXETER.
Be blisters on my lips!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The rather salve them:
And for your best physician know John Dudley.
Henceforth we are as one—nay—mark me, Devon—
Or friends or foes! Are we as one? Why now,
This hand I clasp, and to my living heart
Fold it; in pledge of lasting amity.
So for short space, farewell! I go to plead
Your cause before the Council, and my daughter'
Queen Jane—your loving kinswoman. Good night!
[Exit.
| Mary Tudor | |