University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius

Scœna prima.

Countess of Nottingham, Burleigh.
Nott.
Now famous Cecil, England owes to thee
More than Rome's State did once to Cicero pay,
That crusht the vast Designs of Cataline.
But what did he? Quell'd but a petty Consul,
And sav'd a Common-wealth; but thou'ast done more,
Pull'd down a haughtier far than Cataline,
The Nations sole Dictator for Twelve years,
And sav'd a Queen and Kingdoms by thy Wisdom.

Burl.
But what the Roman Senate then allow'd,
Nay, and proud Cicero himself to Fulvia;
Fulvia the lovely Saver of her Countrey,
Must all and more be now Ascrib'd to you,
To the sole Wit of beauteous Nottingham;
But I will cease and let the Nation praise thee,
And fix thy Statue high, as was Minerva's,
The great Paladium that protected Ilium—
I came t'attend the Queen, where is she gone?

Not.
She went to her Closet, where, she's now alone
As she past by, I saw her lovely Eyes
Clouded in Sorrow, and before she spy'd me,
Sad Murmurs Eccho'd from her troubled Breast,
And straight some Tears follow'd the mournful Sound.
Which when she did perceive me, she'd have hid,
And with a pitteous Sigh she strove to wipe
The drops away, but with her hast she left
Some sad remains upon her dewy Cheeks.

Burl.
What should the Reason be!

Not.
At Essex answer,
What said she then?

Burl.
No doubt th'affront had stung her;
But kind Southampton faithful to his friend
In all things came, and with a cunning Tale,
Which she too willingly inclin'd to hear,
Turn'd her to mildness, and at his Request,
Promis'd to see the Earl, and hear him speak
To vindicate his Crimes, which bold Southampton
Declar'd to be his Enemies Aspersions;
And now is Essex sent for to the Court.

Nott.
Then I am lost, and my designs unravell'd.
If once she see's him, all's undone again—

Burl.
Behold the Closet opens—see the Queen—
'Tis dangerous to interrupt her—let's Retire.

Not.
Be you not seen; I'le wait within her call.

Enter the Queen alone as from her Closet, Exit Burleigh.
Quee.
Where am I now? Why wander I alone?
What drags my Body forth without a mind,
In all things like a Statue, but in motion?
There's something I wou'd say, but know not what,
Nor yet to whom—O wretched State of Princes!
That never can enjoy, nor wish to have,
What is but meanly in its self a Crime,
But 'tis a Plague, and Reigns through all the World.
Faults done by us are like licentious Laws,
Ador'd by all the Rabble, and are easier,
And sooner far obey'd, than what are honest;
And Comets are less dreadful than our failings—
Where hast thou bin?
I thought dear Nottingham, I'de been alone.

Nott.
Pardon this bold Intrusion, but my Duty
Urges me farther—On my Knees I first
Beg Pardon that I am so bold to ask it,
Then, that you wou'd disclose what 'tis afflicts you;
Something hangs heavy on your Royal Mind,
Or else I fear you are not well.

Quee.
Rise, pry'thee—
I am in Health, and thank thee for thy Love,
Only a little troubl'd at my People.
I have Reign'd long, and they'r grown weary of me;
New Crown's are like New Garlands, fresh, and lovely;
My Royal Sun declines towards it's West,
They'r hot, and tyr'd beneath its Autumn Beams—
Tell me, what say's the World of Essex coming?

Nott.
Much they do blame him for't, but think him brave.

Quee.
What, when the Traytor serv'd me thus!

Nott.
Indeed, it was not well.

Quee.
Not well; and was that all?

Nott.
It was a very bold, and heinous fault.

Quee.
I was it not; and such a base Contempt
As he deserves to dye for? less than that
Has cost a hundred nearer Favourites Heads,
Since the first Saxon King that Reign'd in England,
And lately in my Royal Fathers time,
Was not brave Buckingham for less Condemn'd,
And lost not Wolsey all his Church Revenues,
Nay, and his Life too, but that he was a Coward,
And durst not live to feel the stroak of Justice.
Thou know'st it too, and this most vile of men,
That brave Northumberland, and Westmerland,
For lesser Crimes than his were both Beheaded.

Nott.
Most true—Can Essex then be thought so guilty,
And not deserve to dy?

Quee.
To dy! to Wrack,
And as his Treasons are the worst of all Mens,
So I will have him plagu'd above the rest,
His Limbs cut off, and plac'd to th'highest View,
Not on low Bridges, Gates, and Walls of Towns,
But on vast Pynacles that touch the Ske,
Where all that pass, may in Derision say,
Lo there is Essex, proud ingrateful Essex,
Essex that brav'd the Justice of his Queen—
Is not that well? Why dost not speak?
And help thy Queen to rail against this Man.

Nott.
Since you will give me leave, I will be plain,
And tell your Majesty what all the World
Says of that proud ingrateful Man;

Qu.
Do so. Prythee what says the World of him, and me?

Nott.
Of you they speak no worse, than of dead Saints,
And Worship you no less than as their God,
Than Peace, than Wealth, or their Eternal hopes;
Yet do they often wish with kindest Tears.
Sprung from the purest Love, that you'd be pleas'd
To heal their Grievances on Essex charg'd,
And not protect the Traytor by your Power,
But give him up to Justice and to Shame
For a Revenge of all your wrongs, and theirs.

Quee.
What, would they then prescribe me Rules to Govern!

Nott.
No more but with submission as to Heavn;
But upon Essex they unload Reproaches,—
And give him this bad Character,
They say he is a Person (bateing his Treasons)
That in his Noblest, best Array of parts,
He scarcely has enough to make him pass
For a brave Man, nor yet a Hypocrite,
And that he wears his Greatness, and his Honours
Foolish, and Proud as Lacquies wear gay Liveries:
Valliant they will admit he is, but then
Like Beasts precipitately Rash, and Bruitish,
Which is no more Commendable in him
Than in a Bear, a Leopard, or a Wolfe.
He never yet had Courage over Fortune,
And which too shews his natural Pride the more,
He Roars, and staggers under small Affronts,
And can no more endure the pain than Hell;
Then he's as Covetous, and more Ambitious
Than that first Fiend that sow'd the Vice in Heav'n,
And therefore was Dethron'd and Tumbl'd thence;
And so they wish that Essex too may fall.

Quee.
Enough, th'ast rail'd thy self quite out of Breath;
Ile hear no more—Blisters upon her Tongue.
[Aside.
'Tis baseness tho in thee but to repeat,
What the rude World malitiously has said;
Nor dare the vilest of the Rabble think,
Much less prophanely speak such horrid Treasons—
Yet 'tis not what they say, but what you'd have e'm.

Nott.
Did not your Majesty Command me speak?

Quee.
I did, but then I saw thee on a suddain,
Settle thy Senses all in eager Postures,
Thy Lips, thy Speech, and Hands were all prepar'd,
A, joyful Red painted thy envious Cheeks,
Malitious Flames flasht in a moment from
Thy Eyes like Lightning from thy O'recharg'd Soul,
And fir'd thy Breast, which like a hard ramm'd Piece,
Discharg'd unmannerly upon my face.

Nott.
Pardon bright Queen, most Royal and belov'd,
The manner of expressing of my Duty;
But you your self began and taught me first.

Queen.
I am his Queen, and therefore may have leave:
May not my self have priviledge to mould
The Thing I made, and use it as I please?
Besides he has committed monstrous Crimes
Against my Person, and has urg'd me far
Beyond the power of Mortal suffering.
Me he has wrong'd, but thee he never wrong'd.
What has poor Essex done to thee? Thou hast
No Crown that he cou'd hope to gain,
No Laws to break, no Subjects to molest,
Nor Throne that he cou'd be ambitious of—
What pleasure cou'dst thou take to see
A drowning man knock'd on the head, and yet
Not wish to save the miserable Wretch!

Nott.
I was too blame.

Qu.
No more—
Thou seest thy Queen, the World, and Destiny
It self against this one bad Man, and him
Thou canst not pity nor excuse.

Nott.
Madam—

Queen.
Begone, I do forgive thee; and bid Rutland
[Exit Nottingham.
Come to me straight—ha! what have I disclos'd?
Why have I chid my Woman for a fault
Which I wrung from her, and committed first?
Why stands my jealous and tormented Soul
A Spie to listen, and divulge the Treasons
Spoke against Essex?—O you mighty Powers!
Protectors of the Fame of Englands Queen,
Let me not know it for a thousand Worlds,
'Tis dangerous—But yet it will discover,
And I feel something whispering to my Reason,
That says it is—O blotted be the Name
For ever from my Thoughts. If it be so,
And I am stung with thy Almighty Dart,
I'll die, but I will tear thee from my Heart,
Shake off this hidious Vapour from my Soul,
This haughty Earl, the Prince of my Controul;
Banish this Traytor to his Queens repose,
And blast him with the malice of his Foes:
Were there no other way his guilt to prove,
'Tis Treason to infect the Throne with Love.
Enter Countess of Essex.
How now my Rutland? I did send for you—
I have observ'd you have been sad of late.
Why wearest thou black so long? and why that Cloud,
That mourning Cloud about thy lovely Eyes?
Come, I will find a noble Husband for thee.

C. Ess.
Ah mighty Princess, most ador'd of Queens!
Your Royal Goodness ought to blush, when it
Descends to care for such a Wretch as I am.

Queen.
Why sayst thou so, I love thee well, indeed
I do, and thou shalt find by this 'tis truth—
Injurious Nottingham, and I had some
Dispute, and 'twas about my Lord of Essex—

C. Ess.
Ha!

[Aside.
Queen.
(Aside)
So much that she displeas'd me strangely,
And I did send her from my sight in anger.

C. Ess.
(Aside...)
O that dear Name oth' sudden how it starts me!
Makes ev'ry Vein within me leave its Channel,
To run, and to protect my feeble Heart;
And now my Blood as soon retreats again
To croud with blushes full my guilty Cheeks— (...Aside)

Alas I fear.

Queen.
Thou blushest at my Story!

C. Ess.
Not I, my Gracious Mistress, but my Eyes
And Cheeks fir'd and amaz'd with joy, turn'd red
At such a Grace that you were pleas'd to shew me.

Queen.
I'll tell thee then, and ask thee thy Advice.
There is no doubt, dear Rutland, but thou hear'st
The daily Clamours that my People vent
Against the most unhappy Earl of Essex,
The Treasons that they wou'd impeach him of,
And which is worse, this day he is arriv'd
Against my strict Commands, and left Affairs
In Ireland desp'rate, headless, and undone.

C. Ess.
Might I presume to tell my humble mind,
Such Clamours very often are design'd
More by the Peoples Hate than any Crimes
In those they wou'd accuse.

Queen.
Thou speak'st my sence;
But oh dear Rutland, he has been to blame.—
Lend me thy Breast to lean upon—O 'tis
A heavy Yoke they wou'd impose on me
Their Queen, and I am weary of the Load,
And want a Friend like thee to lull my Sorrows.

C. Ess.
Behold these tears sprung from fierce Pain and Joy,
To see your wond'rous Grief, your wond'rous Pitty.
O that kind Heav'n wou'd but instruct my thoughts,
And teach my Tongue such soft'ning, healing Words,
That it might charm your Soul, and cure your Breast
For ever.

Queen.
Thou art my better Angel then,
And sent to give me everlasting quiet—
Say, is't not pitty that so brave a Man,
And one that once was reckon'd as a God,
That he should be the Author of such Treasons!
That he, that was like Cæsar, and so great,
Has had the Power to make, and unmake Kings,
Shou'd stoop to gain a petty Throne from me.

C. Ess.
I can't believe 'tis in his Soul to think,
Much less to act a Treason against you,
Your Majesty, whom I have heard him so
Commend, that Angels words did never flow
With so much Eloquence, so rare, so sweet,
That nothing but the Subject cou'd deserve.

Queen.
Hast thou then heard him talk of me?

C. Ess.
I have,
And as of so much Excellence as if
He meant to make a rare Encomium on
The World, the Stars, or what is brighter, Heaven.
She is, said he, the Goddess of her Sex,
So far beyond all Woman-kind beside,
That what in them is most ador'd, and lov'd,
Their Beauties, Parts, and other Ornaments,
Are but in her the Foyls to greater Luster,
And all perfections else, how rare soever,
Are in her Person but as lesser Gleams,
And infinite Beams that usher still the Sun,
But scarce are visible amidst her other Brightness.
And then she is so good it might be said,
That whilst she lives, a Goddess reigns in England:
For all her Laws are register'd in Heaven,
And copy'd thence by her—But then he cry'd,
With a deep sigh fetch'd from his loyal Heart,
Well may the World bewail that time at last,
When so much Goodness shall on earth be mortal,
And wretched England break it's stubborn Heart.

Queen.
Did he say all this?

C. Ess.
All this! nay more,
A thousand times as much, I never saw him
But his discourse was still in praise of you;
Nothing but Raptures fell from Essex Tongue:
And all was still the same, and all was you.

Queen.
Such words spoak Loyalty enough.

C. Ess.
Then does
Your Majesty believe that he can be
A Traytor?

Queen.
No, yet he has broak the Laws,
And I for shame no longer can Protect him;
Nay, durst not see him?

C. Ess.
What not see him say you!
By that bright Star of Mercy in your Soul,
And listening through your Eyes, let me intreat:
'Tis good, 'tis God-like, and like Englands Queen;
Like only her to pitty the Distress'd—
Will you not grant that he shall see you once?

Queen.
What he
That did defie my absolute Commands,
And brings himself audaciously before me!

C. Ess.
Impute it not to that, but to his danger,
That hearing what proceedings here had past
Against his Credit and his Life, he comes
Loyal, tho unadvised, to clear himself.

Queen.
Well, I will see him then, and see him straight—
Indeed my Rutland, I would fain believe
That he is honest still, as he is brave.

C. Ess.
O nourish that most kind belief, 'tis sprung
From Justice in your Royal Soul—Honest!
By your bright Majesty, he's faithful still,
The pure and Virgin Light is less unteinted;
The glorious Body of the Sun breeds Gnats,
And Insects that molest its curious Beams;
The Moon has spots upon her Christal Face,
But in his Soul are none—And for his Valour,
The Christian World Records its wond'rous Story.
Baseness can never mingle with such Courage.
Remember what a Scourge he was to Rebels,
And made your Majesty ador'd in Spain
More than their King, that brib'd you with his Indies.
And made himself so dreadful to their Fears,
His very Name put Armies to the Rout;
It was enough to say here's Essex come;
And Nurses still'd their Children with the Fright.

Queen.
Ha! she's concern'd, Transported!
I'll try her further—Then he has a Person!

C. Ess.
I in his Person, there you sum up all.
Ah Lovelyest Queen, did you e're see the like?
The Limbs of Mars, and awful Front of Jove,
With such a Harmony of Parts as put
To blush the Beauties of his Daughter Venus,
A Pattern for the Gods to make a perfect Man by,
And Michael Angelo to frame a Statue
To be ador'd through all the wondring World.

Queen.
I can indure no more—Hold Rutland,
Thy Eyes are moist, thy Senses in a hurry,
Thy words come crouding one upon another.
Is it a real Passion, or extorted?
Is it for Essex sake or for thy Queens,
That makes this furious Transport in thy mind?
She loves him—Ah, 'tis so—What have I done?
Conjur'd another Storm to Rack my Rest?
Thus is my Mind with quiet never blest,
But like a loaded Bark finds no repose,
When 'tis becalm'd, nor when the Weather blows.

Enter Burleigh, Countess of Nottingham, Rawleigh, Lords, Attendants and Guards.
Burl.
May't please your Majesty the Earl of Essex
Return'd by your Command, intreats to kneel
Before you.

Queen.
(Aside...)
Now hold out my Treacherous heart,
Guard well the breach that this proud Man has made— (...Aside.)

Rutland, we must defer this Subject till
Some other time—Come hither Nottingham.

Enter the Earles of Essex and Southampton Attended.
Ess.
Behold your Essex kneels to clear himself
Before his Queen, and now receive his Doom.

Queen.
I must divert my Fears—I see he takes the way
To bend the sturdy temper of my Heart—
Well my Lord, I see you can
Withstand my Anger, as you lately boasted
You did your Enemies—Were they such Foes
As bravely did resist, or else the same
You Parly'd with? It was a mighty Courage.

Ess.
Well, well, you cruel Fates! well have you found
The way to shock the Basis of a Temper,
That all your malice else cou'd ne're invent,
And you my Queen to break your Souldiers Heart.
Thunder and Earth-quakes, Prodigies on Land
I've born, Devouring Tempests on the Seas,
And all the horrid stroaks beside
That Nature e're invented; yet to me
Your scorne is more—Here take this Traytor,
Since you will have me so; throw me to Dungeons,
Lash me with Iron Rods fast bound in Chains,
And like a Fiend in Darkness let me roar,
It is the nobler Justice of the Two.

Queen.
I see you want no cunning skill to talk,
And daub with words a Guilt you wou'd evade—
But yet my Lord if you wou'd have us think
Your virtues wrong'd, wash off the stain you carry,
And clear your self of Parlying with the Rebels—
Grant Heav'n he does but that, and I am happy.

[Aside.
Ess.
My Parlying with the Enemy?

Queen.
Yes, your secret treating with Tyrone I mean,
And making Articles with Englands Rebels.

Ess.
Is that alledg'd against me for a Fault,
Put in your Royal Breast by some that are
My false Accusers for a Crime? Just Heaven!
How easie 'tis to make a Great Man Fall,
'Tis Wise, 'tis Turkish Policy in Courts,
For Treating!
Am I not yet your General, and was
I not so there by virtue of this Staff?
I thought your Majesty had giv'n me Power,
And my Commission had been absolute
To Treat, to Fight, give Pardons, or Disband:
So much and vast was my Authority,
That you were pleas'd to say as Mirth to others,
I was the first of English Kings that Reign'd
In Ireland.

Queen.
(Aside...)
O how soon wou'd I believe,
How willingly approve of such Excuses,
His Answers which to all the Croud are weak— (...Aside.)

That large Commission had in it no Power,
That gave you leave to Treat with Rebels,
Such as Tyrone, and wanted not Authority
To Fight 'em on the least Advantage.

Ess.
The Reason why
I lead not forth the Army to the North,
And fought not with Tyrone, was, that my Men
Were half consum'd with Fluxes and Diseases,
And those that liv'd, so weaken'd and unfit,
That they cou'd scarce defend them from the Vultures
That took 'em for the Carrion of an Army.

Queen.
(Aside...)
Oh I can hold no longer, he'll not hide his Guilt.
I fear he will undo himself and me— (...Aside.)

Name that no more for shame of Thee the Cause,
Nor hide thy Guilt by broaching of a worse;
Fain I wou'd tell, but whisper it in thy Eare,
That none besides may hear, nay not my self:
How vitious thou hast been—Say was not Essex
The Plague that first infected my poor Soldiers,
And kill'd 'em with Diseases? Was't not he
That Loyter'd all the year without one Action,
Whilest all the Rebels in the North grew bold,
And Rally'd dayly to thy Queens Dishonour;
Mean while thou stood'st and saw thy Army Rot
In Fenny and unwholsome Camps—Thou hast
No doubt a Just Excuse for coming too,
In spite of all the Letters that I sent
With my Commands to hinder thee—Be silent—
If thou makest more such Impudent Excuses,
Thoul't raise an Anger will be fatal to thee.

Ess.
Not speak! Must I be Tortur'd on the Wrack,
And not be suffer'd to discharge a Groan!
Speak! Yes I will were there a thousand Deaths
Stood ready to devour me; 'tis too plain
My Life's Conspir'd, my Glories all betray'd:
That Vulture Cecil there with hungry Nostrils
Waits for my Blood, and Rawleigh for my Charge,
Like Birds of Prey that seek out Fighting Fields,
And know when Battail's near: nay, and my Queen
Has past her Vote, I fear, to my Destruction.

Queen.
(Aside...)
Oh I'me undone! How he destroyes my Pitty!
Cou'd I bear this from any other Man!
He pulls and tears the Fury from my Heart
With greater grief and pain, than a fork'd Arrow
Is drawn from forth the Bosom where 'twas lodg'd.
Mild words are all in vain, and lost upon him— (...Aside.)

Proud and ingrateful Wretch, how durst thou say it!
Know Monster that thou hast no Friend but me,
And I have no pretence for it but one,
And that's in Contradiction to the World,
That Curses and abhors thee for thy Crimes.
Stir me no more with Anger for thy Life,
Take heed how thou dost shake my wrongs too much,
Least they fall thick and Heavy on thy Head.
Yet thou shalt see what a rash Fool thou art—
Know then that I forgive thee from this Moment
All that is past, and this unequall'd Boldness,
Give thee that Life thou saidst I did Conspire against—
But for your Offices—

Ess.
I throw 'em at your Feet.
[Layes his Generals Staff down.
Now Banish him that Planted strength about you,
Cover'd this Island with my spreading Lawrels,
Whilest your safe Subjects slept beneath their shade.
Give 'em to Courtiers, Sycophants and Cowards
That sell the Land for Peace and Childrens Portions,
Whilest I retreat to Africk in some Desart,
Sleep in a Den and Heard with Valiant Brutes,
And serve the King of Beasts, there's more Reward,
More Justice there than in all Christian Courts:
The Lion spar'd the Man that freed him from
The Toyl, but Englands Queen abhors her Essex.

South.
My Lord—

C. Ess.
Ah what will be th'Event of this!

[Aside.
Queen.
Audacious Traytor.

Ess.
Ha!

South.
My Lord, My Lord, recall your Temper.

Ess.
You said that I was bold, but now who blames
My Rage? Had I been ruff as Stormes and Tempests,
Rash as Cethegus, mad as Ajax was,
Yet this has ramm'd more Powder in my Breast,
And blown a Magazeen of Fury up—
A Traytor! Yes for serving you so well;
For making England like the Roman Empire
In Great Augustus's Time, renoun'd in Peace
At home, and War abroad; Enriching you
With spoils both of the Wealthy Sea and Land,
More than your Thames does bring you in an Age,
And setting up your Fame to such a height
That it appears the Column of the World;
For tumbling down the proud Rebellious Earles,
Northumberland and Westermland, which caus'd
The cutting both their Heads off with an Axe
That sav'd the Crown on yours—This Essex did,
And I'll remove the Traytor from your sight.

Queen.
Stay Sir, take your Reward along with you—

[Offers to go]
the Queen comes up to him and gives him a Box on the Ear.
Ess.
Ha! Furies, Death and Hell! a Blow!
Has Essex had a Blow!—Hold, stop my Arme
[Layes hand on his Sword.
Some God—Who is't has giv'n it me? The Queen!

South.
What do you mean my Lord!—

Queen.
Unhand the Villain—
Durst the vile Slave attempt to Murder me!

Ess.
No, Y'are my Queen, that Charmes me, but by all
The subtilty, and Woman in your Sex
I Swear, that had you been a Man you durst not,
Nay, your bold Father Harry durst not this
Have done—Why say I him? not all the Harry's,
Nor Alexander's self were he alive,
Shou'd boast of such a Deed on Essex done
Without Revenge.

Queen.
Raile on, despair, and Curse thy Foolish breath,
I'll leave thee like thy Hopes at th'hour of Death,
Like the First Slayer wandering with a Mark,
Shuning the Light, and wishing for the Dark,
In Torments worse than Hell, when thou shalt see
Thou hast by this Curst Chance lost Heav'n and me.

Exeunt Queen, &c. Manent Essex & South.
South.
What have you done my Lord! Your haughty Carriage
Has ruin'd both your self and all your Friends—
Follow the Queen, and humbly on your Knees
Implore Her Mercy, and confess your Fault.

Ess.
Ha! And tell her that I'll take a Blow!
Thou wou'dst not wish thy Friend were such a Slave—
By Heav'n my Cheek has set on Fire my Soul,
And the Disgrace sticks closer to my Heart,
Than did the Son of Old Antipater's,
Which cost the Life of his proud Master—Stand off,
Beware you lay not hands upon my Ruine,
I have a Load would sink a Legion that
Shou'd offer but to Save me.

South.
My Lord let us retire,
And shun this Barbarous Place.

Ess.
I, there thou say'st it—
Abhor all Courts if thou art brave and wise,
For then thou never shalt be sure to rise;
Think not by doing well a Fame to get,
But be a Villain, and thou shalt be Great.
Here Virtue stands by't self, or not at all,
Fools have Foundations, only brave Men Fall,
But if ill Fate, and thy own Merits bring
Thee once to be a Favourite to a King,
It is a Curse that follows Loyalty,
Curst in thy Merits, more in thy Degree,
In all the sport of Chance its chiefest Aim,
Mankind's the Hunt, a Favourite is the Game.

Exeunt.