 | Mary Stuart |  |
SCENE I.
A Court Yard before Morton's House.Enter Morton, followed by Lindsay.
MORTON.
So! Maitland not yet come? no letter! no
Dispatch! not even a message!
LINDSAY.
None, my Lord,
But what I've told you.
MORTON.
That was nothing! nothing!
Forgive me, Lindsay; but my mind's so harass'd
I cannot speak in measured-courtesy:
To think that he should loiter at a time
Like this, when Scotland's fate is in the balance!
Nay, let me hear again what 'twas he said,
If he said ought.
LINDSAY.
The words would signify
That pressing business called him for awhile
Another way; but I should scarce have time
To tell you so, when he'd be here himself—
And look!—
10
MORTON.
'Tis he! Well, Maitland! what success?
What tidings from the West?
MAITLAND.
Throughout the track
I've measured in my journey, discontent
Was every where—the storm-cloud fills the sky:—
From every pulpit loud anathemas
Are thundered at the Queen:—her enmity
To the true worship shakes the crown upon
Her head: nor is her love of foreigners
Forgotten, nor her deadly hatred of
The banished Lords: in short, some dire explosion
Is ripening fast; we must direct it, or
Be swept away by 't.
MORTON.
Well; and what have you
Done for our cause?
MAITLAND.
What every honest man
Would wish to see were done. I urged the People
To send in strong petitions for the pardon
Of Murray.
MORTON.
That was well: 'tis the sole hope
Of Scotland now. His pardon and return
Would still controul the headlong course of ruin
The Queen seems bent on. Did they promise you?
MAITLAND.
All—to a man: there's noble stuff amongst 'em.
Before yon sun shall dive into the West
I'll have some score of grave remonstrances
11
But how have matters prospered in my absence
With you at home?
MORTON.
E'en as you left 'em—badly.
The King is still estranged from us; the Queen
As much as ever in the hands of Rizzio.
French counsels are the fashion, and we hear
Nothing of England but abuse. The Pope,
In spite of all John Knox's rhetoric,
Builds up his Church anew, and sees it prosper,
While murmurs, half suppressed, tell of the ire
That's bursting for an outbreak.
MAITLAND.
Then, the more
Our need of Murray's presence: let us strive
For its accomplishment: his influence,
As brother to the Queen, combining with
His other qualities, gives him great power.
LINDSAY.
Look, my good Lord,
A scion of your noble house approaches.
MORTON.
An offshoot from the stem. Young George was born
Of some fair sinner to a Douglas, who
Besought and won us to acknowledge him.
But here he is. Well, George!
Enter George Douglas.
DOUGLAS.
Not well, my Lord,
If I may judge. Ha! noble Maitland, welcome
To Edinburgh once more.
12
Thanks, gallant friend.
But how is this? you spoke complainingly
As you came in—I know you're not a croaker:
What is the latest news?
DOUGLAS.
A pageant, Sir:—
I stopped upon the way to see it move;
And who, d'ye think, led on the bright array,
Shining like stars before it?
MAITLAND.
Why, the King
And Queen, of course.
DOUGLAS.
There was another still:—
Guess who that other was.
MAITLAND.
Not Bothwell?
DOUGLAS.
No.
MORTON.
Nor Lenox?
DOUGLAS.
Nor yet Lenox.
MAITLAND.
Was it Sir James?
I mean the Queen's adviser, prudent Melville?
DOUGLAS.
You cannot, or you will not, look so low
As truth must drag you. What would'st say if Rizzio
Made up the third?—King, Queen, and David Rizzio!!
MAITLAND.
Impossible!
13
Not to those eyes that saw him.
MORTON.
And how did Rizzio seem to bear his state?
DOUGLAS.
Like one who had a ponderous weight to carry—
His own importance: and i' faith he carried it
With a high head. The King spoke little to him,
But the Queen smiled, and that was all he cared for.
MORTON.
'Tis through his artifice that Rome prevails—
Through him that bigot's plot, the Bayonne league,
Which binds 'em to extirpate Protestants,
Finds favour with the Queen!—all his contrivance.
MAITLAND.
Well, let's succeed in bringing Murray back.
DOUGLAS.
Would we could put your project to the proof!
But that's impossible:—the only man
Whose boldness might accomplish such an end
Is dying.
MORTON.
Ha! you speak of Ruthven?—What!
Is he—
DOUGLAS.
There's not an hour of breath in his lungs.
MORTON.
Your evidence? What is your evidence?
He's of the Titan breed, in mind and body:
A mountain of the North.
14
Mountains have fallen;
And rocks have sunk; and Ruthven's race is run—
I left his chamber but an hour ago;—
He looked a corpse.
MORTON.
How could you waste the time
In talking of a foolish pageant, when
You had a fact like this to tell?
DOUGLAS.
Because
My hate of Rizzio, and my scorn of folly,
Were greater than my fear.
MORTON.
You think too much
Of your own wrongs;—all's lost, if Ruthven's lost.
DOUGLAS.
Well, here comes Chalmers; he was with him too;
Consult this judgment, as you question mine.
Enter Chalmers.
MORTON.
You come from Ruthven, Chalmers; is it life,
Or death, with him?
CHALMERS.
While there's a spark of life,
I'll not despair;—besides, he mends.
MORTON.
Hear that
From an old soldier: One who has seen death
Do many a hard day's work!
15
And so have I
Seen death, without the sexton at his heels,
In many a battle:—though my years are few,
They fell on a good fighting time, thank fortune!
MORTON.
Still you must grant us Chalmers' right to judge
As well as your's; and ours to judge between you.
But, to cut short all difference, I'll go
Myself. As you say, Ruthven's tongue alone
Can plead the cause of Murray; and his cause
Is our's, and Scotland's.—If I find a stir
Of life-blood in his pulse, I'll raise it to
A throb shall beat with passion.
DOUGLAS.
Then you'll work
A miracle!
MORTON.
I'll wake him from the sleep
Of death itself, to plead his country's cause.
DOUGLAS.
We'll see you to the gate, and wish you well.
MORTON.
Then let's not creep, while time is galloping.
[Exeunt.
| Mary Stuart | |