University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Room in the Palace of Whitehall. Enter King Henry.
King Henry.
Too late, too late! I charged her openly;
The issue now lies between her and me,
And not between her innocence and guilt.
I am a villain, or the queen is false,
Since I became accuser of her truth:
If she escape conviction, on the crown
Descends the infamy of calumny,
And through our person England will be shamed
Before the jealous powers of Christendom.
So, so! we owe it to our people, then,
To prove our charge, or by conviction sure
Seem to attest it.—This is plain enough.
Besides, in what regard stands common life
Before our kingly honor? Julius said
That Cæsar's wife must be without a taint;
And, but suspecting, put Pompeia by.—
Wise Cæsar! 't was a solemn precedent
That kings should follow. Wherefore halt I now?
A limping purpose never reached its mark,
Though justice pointed. Should her guilt be proved?—
Should an impartial court of noble peers
Condemn her too? O, woful, woful thought!
How shall I pardon her gross treachery?
Their candid verdict will stop pity's ears,
And force conviction to my doubting mind.
She shall have trial, fair and open trial—
No honest men would wrong the innocent;
And if they do?—her blood but swells their crimes;
I escape stainless.
(Enter Sir Henry Norris in custody of Officer and Guard.)
Officer, withdraw;
But stand in hail. (Exeunt Officer and Guard.)
Ah! Norris, Henry Norris,
You have abused that open confidence
In which we held you.

Norris.
I! and how, my liege?

King H.
Nay, strive not, sir, to hide your secret guilt
With artful candor and affected starts.
Sin can put on the guise of innocence;
Nor ever cheats us with its ugliness,
But with its seeming beauty.

Nor.
On my life,
I know not to what sin your tongue directs.

King H.
Have you not wronged me?

Nor.
Wronged your majesty!

King H.
Yes; have you not, to swell your amorous triumphs,
And make yourself an envied libertine,
Seduced the virtue of our fickle queen?

Nor.
Your grace is merry. [Laughing.]


King H.
Merry! are you mad?
I say it can be proved.

Nor.
Proved! Set the hound
That howled this lying folly in your ears
Within the reach of my chastising sword,
And if I send him not to fiery hell,
With his foul tattle warm upon his lips,
Rack me to powder!

King H.
Acted to the life!

Nor.
O, no, my liege; 't is but the natural heat
That would boil over every English lip,
To hear their queen traduced.

King H.
Be calm, Sir Harry.
So much we hold the honor of our realm
Before the vengeance due to private wrongs,
That we have vowed to bury our own grief,
And grant free pardon to whatever man—
Even though he were her fondest paramour—
Will fix the crime upon her guilty head.

Nor.
I am not he. I thought, until this hour,—
Ay, and still think, and will, despite report,—
Our queen as loyal to your majesty
As the chaste moon is to her regal sun,
Drinking no other beams. What though she shine
Upon the darkness of our grateful earth,
To cheer the spirits of night-foundered men?—
That which she gives, she borrows from yourself;
Fruitful to her, but, when it falls on us,
The calm, cold splendor of reflected light.

King H.
Norris, beware! you carry this too far:
If you confess not, instant, shameful death
Awaits your stubborn spirit.

Nor.
Be it so:
I'll rather add a thousand stings to death,
Than give one pang to suffering innocence.

King H.
Then be it so, you contumacious boy!
Have I embraced you in my trusting heart,
To be denied when I demand return?

Nor.
Ha! do I hear? What saw your majesty,
Even in so poor a man as Henry Norris,
To make you hold me for a supple tool
To work your bloody purpose? You must go
A step below a knight and gentleman,
To find a villain fitted to your wish.

King H.
Poh! poh! coy virtue, is it villanous
To show obedience when your king commands?

Nor.
Is there no power in every honest breast,
Above the terrors of your threatening will,
'Neath whose fixed look my guilty memory
Shall cower in horror?

King H.
You must do this deed.—
Nay, I adjure you.

Nor.
O, my gracious liege—

King H.
No words, no words!

Nor.
Avaunt, damned hypocrite!
I here defy your utmost reach of wrath:
The cruelest death, your wickedness can shape,
Would be a joy to what you offer me.
Stretch your base tortures through all coming time,
And in the end they can but kill my clay;
But you would turn my hand to impious use,
And make me, like a frantic suicide,
Stab at the life of my eternal soul—
That, by God's blessing, shall outlast your hate,
And reign triumphant when your crown is dross!

King H.
Hold, villain, hold! or I will let the breath
Out of your treacherous body! [Draws.]


Nor.
Do, my liege,
And join assassination to the crimes
That blot your monstrous heart.—I will not hold:
I see you are bent upon destroying me,
And, as a reckless man, I'll know your worst.
O, woe to England, when this sinful king,
Grown hard in crime, shall reach the fearful height
That evil points him! Then shall—

King H.
Brazen traitor!
Dare you invoke our vengeance on your head?
Without, there! (Reënter Officer and Guard.)
See your prisoner to the Tower.
If he escape, you 'd better hang yourselves
Than live to tell it. Out, malignant traitor!
[Exit Sir Henry Norris, in custody of the Guard.]
O, the ingratitude of fickle man!
The shifting sand that tumbles in the tide,
Taking new form from every wanton surge,
Is not more changeful than his rootless heart.
He is a bark upon an angry sea,
Unballasted, yet ever crowding sail;
Careening now to passion's fiery gust,
Now to the other side prostrated flat
By self-styled reason's icy hurricane;
Yet never sailing on an even keel—
Ever extreme, and no extreme the best.
Who that had seen the favors I have showered,
As thick and prodigal as Spring's warm sun,
Upon the head of that remorseless wretch,
Could have foreknown the desert barrenness
Of his rude heart!—Pah! I am sick of it.
O, the ingratitude of wicked man!

[Exit.]