University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Cecil, Davison.
Cecil.
Remember Davison, how much thou ow'st;
(For thou hast Wit, and Honour to be faithful,
As well as to be great) first to thy Mistress,
Then to my self, who took thee from thy Lowness,
And plac'd thee on this Height, whence to look down,
Men but appear like Birds or Insects to thee.
Remember too thou now art in a Sphere,
Where Princes to their Favours set no bounds,
And their Rewards, tho' large and bottomless,
Yet States men have no Meen 'twixt those and ruine:
For when Kings Eyes are like the Sun withdrawn,
Darkness and Scorn surround them on a suddain,
And straight, as Lucifer from Heav'n was thrown,
In thunder they're precipitated down.

Dav.
Wisest, and Justest that in Courts e're dwelt!
Great Oracle of Britain! Prince of States men!
Whom Men nor Angels scarce can praise enough;
Not divine Plato ever spoke like You,
Plato on whose sweet lips the Muses sung,
And Bees distill'd their Honey in his Cradle.

Cec.
No more. 'Tis worse than Death for me to hear
A fawning Cringer, or submissive Praiser.
I should suspect thee, did I not believe
Thou art as far beyond a Sycophant,
As I above the reach of Flattery.
Thou art my Equal now; nay, more my, Friend,
Thou art an honest Man of Parts, a Compound
That I have chos'n 'mongst the Race of Men
To make a Phœnix in the Court.

Dav.
The sacred Hoast of Heav'n, the Guard of Kings
Still place such men about her Royal Person.

Cec.
But now especially she needs their Aid,
Now when the madness of the Nation's grown
To such a height, 'tis to be fear'd—Death walks
In Masquerade, in strange and many shapes;
The Court, that was the Planet that shou'd guide us,
Is grown into Rebellion with it self;
Fears, Jealousies, and Factions crowd her Stage;
Two Queens, the like was never seen before,
By different sides maintain each others Right;
Our Virgin Constellation shines but dim,
Whilst Mary, Scotlands Queen, that Northern Star,
Tho' in a Prison, darts her Rival Light.

Dav.
The Champions of her Faction are not few;
Men of great Birth and Titles plead her Cause,
And daily urge the Queen for her Release;
'Mongst whom, the gallant Duke of Norfolk's chief,
A Prince that has no equal in his Fame;
A Man of Power and int'rest to be fear'd
For his own sake, as well as for the Queen's;
For shou'd h'ingage himself too deep in this,
England might chance to loose the best of Men.

Cec.
The Queen's peculiar safety be thy care;
Therefore the Secretaries Place is thine,
In-which high State, as from a Perspective,
Thou may'st discover all her forreign Foes,
And home Conspiracies, how dark soever;
But most of all, let Mary be thy fear,
And what thou learnst, inform me of; I'le act,
But in thy shape; be thou my Proxy still.

Dav.
Not Cromwell ever trod with so much care,
The subtle steps of his most famous Master,
As I the Dictates of the wiser Burleigh.
The Scottish Regent yesterday arriv'd
With new discover'd Plots t'accuse his Queen;
And since (to poise those heavy Articles)
The Duke of Norfolk is from Mary come,
And both are to have Audience straight—Behold
The Man I speak of.

Cec.
Wait you on the Queen.
(Exit Davison.)
Enter Norfolk.
Your Grace is welcome from the Queen of Scotland.
How fares that sad, and most illustrious Pattern
Of all Misfortunes?

Norf.
Dost thou pity her?
O let me fly and hold thee to my Bosom,
Closer and far more dear than ever Bride
Was held by hasty Bride-Groom in his Arms!
Who says thou art not straighter than the Pine,
Thy Visage smoother than Diana's Cheeks?
Who says this little Globe upon thy Back
Is not more beautiful than Natures World?

Cec.
My Lord, you give what Nature never lent me;
Blushes.

Norf.
Should the Hyenna thus bemoan,
And thus the neighbouring Rocks but eccho him,
My Queen, I wou'd devour the precious Sound,
And thus embrace him whose Lips it came,
Tho' wide and gaping as the Jaws of Hell—
My Lord, I came to seek you; I've a Secret
T'unfold, which while I keep, it weighs me down,
And when 'tis out, I fear it will destroy me.

Cec.
Then keep it in your Breast; let me not know
What is not fit for you to speak, nor me to hear.

Norf.
O 'tis o're charg'd, and can no more be held,
Than Thunder when the Lightning has giv'n warning!
Now, only now's the time; the Traytor Morton,
The false usurping Regent is return'd
With all the Magazine of Hell about him;
The Queen, my lovely Alban Queen's in danger,
And if thou hear'st not to advise thy Norfolk,
There ne're will come a time for after-Counsel.

Cec.
What is't, my Lord?

Norf.
First wear the Looks of Mildness,
Such as forgiving Fathers do to Sons,
And hear, and speak me gently for thy Soveraign;
Yet 'tis no Treason, unless Love be Treason.

Cec.
Out with't my Lord.

Norf.
I love the Queen of Scotland.

Cec.
Ha! Love her! How?

Norf.
How should she be belov'd?
But as mild Saints do to their Altars bow,
And humble Patriarchs kiss the Copes of Angels.

Cec.
Love her! for what?

Norf.
Not for a Crown, I swear.
O hadst thou seen her in that Plight as I did.
And hast been Alexander, thou hadst kneel'd,
Thrown all thy Globes and Scepters at her feet,
And giv'n a Crown for every tear she shed.

Cec.
I dare not hear you out.

Norf.
By Heav'n you shall;
Nor shall your Ears be deaf alone, nice States man!
And see, yon Christal Pavement of the Heav'ns
With Angels swarm'd more numerous than Stars,
Whose Voices, louder than the breath of Thunder,
And swifter than the Winds, proclaim to Earth
Bright Mary's Wrongs, and my eternal Love.

Cec.
My Lord, y'ave said too much; I dare not hear you.

Norf.
Is pitying the distress'd, and loving Her
Whom none but Envy hates, a sin to hear?

Cec.
What Reason has your Passion? You'd not marry her?

Norf.
Not marry her! Wou'd not a Saint choose Bliss,
A starving Creature rather eat than dye?
By Heav'n, were she on Acheron's t'other side,
And charm'd me by my Love, to overtake her,
Ide swim the burning Lake to grasp her thus.

(Embraces him.
Cec.
For Pity recollect your banisht Reason.
Consider what y'ave said, it must undo you.
The Danger's greater far than you can feign.
Do you not know that she's accus'd of Treason?
That for the Royal Crown our Mistress wears,
She yet stands Candidate against all Force,
And hopes to snatch it from her rightful Head?

Norf.
By the eternal Beams that bless the World,
'Tis false thou know'st, false as the Sun is clear.
O Cecil! tell me what thou truly think'st:
Thou hast a Soul with shining Wisdom crown'd,
Whose virtuous, honest steps whoever tracks,
May challenge to be sav'd; O tell me then,
Can Scotland's Queen be any but a Goddess?

Cec.
I dare not utter every thought that pains me,
Nor can I longer with my Oath dispence,
An Oath that charges me for Life to hold
No dang'rous Secret from the Queen—Farewel.
Repent my Lord, and urge this thing no more,
For 'twill be fatal, should our Mistress know it.

Norf.
The Queen must know it, you shall tell her too;
Therefore I came, that thou shou'dst intercede,
You, from whose Mouth the Queen takes nothing ill.

Cec.
Not for the Crown she wears wou'd I acquaint her.

Norf.
You must, you shall.

Cec.
Beware Ambition Sir.
The Queen has Jealousie to giv't a Name;
Disloyalty, Ambition is the least.

Norf.
By Heav'n, you wrong the faithful'st of her Subjects;
I'de touch a Scorpion rather than her Scepter;
Her proud Regalias are but glittering Toys,
And the least Word or Look from Scotlands Queen,
Is worth whole Pyramids of Royal Lumber.
We only ask but Love and Liberty,
Give us but those, we'll quit her all the rest:
For where Love Reigns so absolute as here,
There is no room for any other thought.

Cec.
My Lord, consider what you'd have me say—
I dare not speak—not think of it—Farewel.

Norf.
Tell her, or by my desperate Love I swear,
I'le fly and do't my self, were she hemm'd in
With Basilisks, or were she Queen of Furies,
Love, mighty Love should lead me and protect me;
Else by the Throne of Thrones that aws the World,
If she'l not hear me, I'le proclaim aloud,
And hollow in her Ears the hated Sound
Of Royal Mary's Wrongs;
And that it is, because she has more Right
And Title to her Crown, as she has greater
Virtues, Wit, Fame, and Beauty more than she.

Cec.
My Lord, my Lord, come back—To save you,
(For nought but Death can follow such a Rashness)
Restrain your Passion but a few short moments,
And I'le acquaint my Lord of Leicester with it,
'Twill be more proper from his Mouth than mine.
Him I will arm with Reasons for your sake,
As shall the least incense the Queens displeasure—
Behold she comes; the Scottish Regent too.

Norf.
Confusion seize the Fiend.

Cec.
Be sure, my Lord,
What ere you see and hear, contain your self.

Enter to them Queen Elizabeth, Officers of State, Morton, Davison, Women and Guards. Queen sits down.
Qu. Eliz.
Alas! my Lords, when will you cease complaining?
And when shall this poor Bosom be at rest?
To see you still thus persecute my Soul,
My Sister, Cousin, every thing that's dear.
No, rather sink me instantly to Hell,
Or, by some Magick, turn me into Stone,
Then fix me like a Statue high as Heav'n,
Round me such gaping Monsters as your selves,
And underneath be this Inscription writ,
Lo, this was once the curst Elizabeth,
The Queen of Wolves and Tygers, not of Men.

Norf.
What is't I hear? 'Twas some Immortal spoke.
Down all ye Stars, and every gaudy Planet,
And with your Lambent brightness Crown her Head,
[Aside.
She shall be Queen of Saints and Cherubins.

Mor.
The Parliament of Scotland, gracious Queen!
(Begging protection of their Infant King)
Have sent me to your Majesty—

Qu. E.
What King? What Queen have you but Royal Mary?—
Ha! I am told you can produce a Law
To justifie your Nation has a Right
To question Kings—you boldest, vilest Rebels!
The far less barbarous Picts, your ancient Sires
Ne're taught it you—Go home, and tell your Masters,
And the crown'd Property their Cradle Prince,
That here his Mother Mary shall be own'd
His Queen, and absolute, while I am so.

Mor.
Most mighty Queen!

Qu. E.
You shall be heard—My Lord,
Y'are welcome, welcome as you most deserve,
(To Norfolk.)
The noblest Subject, and the gallant'st Friend
That any Monarch claims—How does the Queen?
How fares my excellent and Royal Sister?
O tell me quickly.

Norf.
Desolate she is.
Alas, I tremble, fearing 'tis a sin
To stab your Ears with such a doleful Tale;
Cou'd I draw half that Pity from her Foes,
Hearing me count her miserable Plaints,
As she extorted from her Prison Walls,
Then she might hope; for they would eccho them,
And sometimes weep at the Relation.

Mor.
I beg your Royal Hearing now, before
That Duke has charm'd you with a Syrens Story:
By the Impartial Right of Embassies,
And justice that still waits upon your Throne,
I humbly claim first to be heard.

Qu. E.
You shall.
Say what you please, my Lord, you have my leave,
But let there 'scape no malice from your Tongue.

Nor.
Heav'n grant my Hopes, as there is nought but truth
And grounds most just in what shall be alleadg'd.
Our Queen, most mighty Princess, Europe knows
Has long been wrapt in such a Cloud of Crimes
That have eclips'd the lustre of a Crown.
Who sees into her Life—

Qu. E.
My Lord, I do command you cease: for if
You speak one word again to blot your Queen,
I shall suspect, as all the world has done,
You had a hand in that vile Regicide,
Else why are Angus and the false Argile,
Suppos'd to be Contrivers of the Murther,
By you protected from the Cry of Justice?
If y'ave nought else to say, be dumb for ever.

Norf.
Let Justice now be silent, Angels too
Look down and wonder at her Oracle!

(Aside)
Mor.
Your Majesty must give me leave to speak,
And plead the Right of Nations for my Guard—
Your Subject I am not.

Norf.
Audacious Villain!

(Puts on his Hat.)
Mor.
If Innocent, why is she then a Prisoner?
If Guilty, why against the Law of Heaven,
And Clamours of a Kingdom your Ally,
D'you bar the Gates of Justice and secure her?

Qu. E.
Ha! am I dar'd! brav'd by a Slave! a Snake!
Crawl'd from the frozen Corner of my Land,
But warm grown by my Beams of Majesty,
To hiss me to my Face! Malicious Rebel!—
Quick, take him, bind him, gag him, bore him through
The Tongue, this haughty Scot!—
I'le tame you Sir—Nay, I will use thee worse
Then once a King serv'd such a saucy Post,
Who daring to be cover'd in his Presence,
Nail'd his proud Bonnet to the Villains Head,
And made him feel the Reverence due to Crowns—
Away with him.

Mor.
Nay then I will be heard.
If your Confederates Danger will not wake you,
Then your own kingdom's must—Behold a Letter
By Navus wrote, and sign'd with her own Hand
Sent to the Noble Men her Friends in Scotland,
Wherein she does asperse your Majesty
With Treachery and breach of Promise to her;
But bids e'm be of Courage, and expect her,
For she is now assur'd of other Means,
Some mighty Man, your Subject, by whose Aid
She hopes to be releas'd, and suddenly.

Norf.
Most wise discerning Princess! did you hear?
Hear this bold man, how loud he barks at Princes.
The base degenerate Coward dreading you,
Now turns his Back, but worry's still a Queen.

Qu. Eliz.
Let him be heard.

Norf.
O stop the Traytors Mouth!
Hear not a Monarch by her Rebel stain'd.
By that bright Throne of Justice which you fill,
'Tis false, 'tis forg'd, 'tis Lucifer's Invention.

Q. E.
Ha! you will give me leave to judge of it?
If not, sit you where I am—Pray my Lord
No more.

Mor.
We'ave Letters too, and Witnesses,
To prove that All in, Inglesfield, and Ross,
More cunning Devils than deluded Eve,
Have bargain'd with the Pope, and King of Spain,
To Excommunicate her Son, and You;
And giv'n a Resignation of both Crowns
To that most Catholick Tyrant for his Service.

Q. E.
Defend me Heaven! This is a Mountain Treason!

Norf.
Prodigious Villain!

Q. E.
Are you not amaz'd!
My Guard, my faithful Cecil, more, my Friend!
Thou art my Delphos, to what Oracle?
Where shall I have recourse but unto thee,
Whose Bosom is my Rest, whose Breast my Counsel?
What think you now, my Lord?

Norf.
'Tis all Conspiracy.

Cec.
Rest and refer this Matter to your Council.
Something may be in this, but more Design.

Mor.
If all's not true, Ile give my Body up
To Torments, to be Rack'd, and dye a Villain,
Or stand the Test with any He that dares.

Norf.
Quick, let me take him at his Word.
O that I had thee on some Desart's Cliff,
Where shoud'st thou stir one step, on one hand stood
Tigers, fierce Wolves, and Dragons to devour thee,
And on the other, endless Waves to catch thee,
I'de crush the Treason from thy venom'd Throat,
As I wou'd do its Poyson from a Toad.

Mor.
My Lord—

Qu. E.
My Lord of Norfolk, y'are too bold.

Norf.
I beg your Majesty grant his Request;
And I, as Champion for that Saint and Heaven,
I Thomas Norfolk with this Arm will prove
That Mary Queen of Scotland is abus'd,
That she is innocent, and all is forg'd
By that base Monster, Villain, Traitor, Morton;
Nay, till I've made him own to all the World
That he's not born of noble Blood, but that
Some Russian mingl'd with his Fathers Lust
And more than half begot him.

Mor.
Gracious Queen!—

Q. E.
How dare you utter this before my face
What, have my Favours plac'd you so aloft,
That y'are become my Equal?—Is it so?
Yet know, proud Duke, that I can pull you down;
Nay, were you Duke of all your fancy'd World,
Your Head as high as your aspiring Thoughts—
Confess y'are mad; if so, go home and sleep;
But take this Caution, Sir, along with you,
Beware what Pillow 'tis you rest upon.

Norf.
If to proclaim the Innocence of her
Who has no liberty to do't her self
Be such a Crime, take then my Life and Honours,
Th'are more your Majestie's than mine that wear'em;
But while I breath, I'le hollow to the Clouds,
Nay, Hell shall eccho from the deep Abyss,
Queen Mary's wrong'd, Queen Mary's innocent.

Qu. E.
Patience kind Heav'n! must I indure all this?
Take him away.

Norf.
They need not, I will go—
You'l hear an Answer first from that sad Princess—
Here is a Letter from that guilty Fair One.
She bids me thus present it on my Knees.

Qu. E.
Before I read it, you may speak my Lord.

Norf.
Mark but the Superscription—Is't not to
Her dearest Sister, Queen Elizabeth?

Qu. E.
It is.

Norf.
But had you seen her write it, with what Love!
How with a Sigh she perfum'd ev'ry Word,
Fragrant as Eastern Winds, or Garden Breezes,
That steal the sweets of Roses in their Flights.
On ev'ry Sillable she rain'd down Pearls,
And said, instead of Gemms, she sent you Blessings,
For other Princely Treasure she had none.

Qu. E.
Alas! What mean'st thou Norfolk?

Norf.
Then she sigh'd and cry'd,
Go to the Queen, perhaps upon her Throne.
Tell her, mine is an humble Floor, my Palace
An old dark Tower, that threatning bore's the Skye,
And seems at war with Heav'n to keep Day out.
For eighteen years of Winters I ne're saw
The Grass embroider'd o're with Icy Spangles,
Nor Trees Majestick in their snowy Robes;
Nor yet in Summer, how the Fields are clad,
And how soft Nature gently shifts the Scene,
Her hoary Vestment to delightful Green.

Qu. E.
O Duke, enough; thy Language stabs my soul.

Norf.
No feather'd Chorister of chearful Note
Salutes my dusky Grate to bring the Morn,
But Birds of frightful Omen, Scriech Owls, Batts,
And Ravens, such as haunt old ruin'd Castles,
Make no distinction here 'twixt Sun and Moon,
But joyn their clattering Wings with their loud croaks,
And sing hoarse Midnight Dirges all the Night.

Qu. E.
O horror! Cecil, stop thy ears and mine—
Now cruel Morton, is she guilty now?
She cannot be ambitious of my Crown,
For tho'it be a glorious thing to sight,
Yet like a gaudy Serpent round it sits
Wreathing about a Prince's tortur'd Brow,
And O! it has a thousand stings more fatal—
Thou hast no more to say.

Norf.
I found this mourning Excellence alone,
She was asleep, not on a Purple Bed,
Or gorgeous Pallet, but upon the Floor
Which a mean Carpet clad whereon she sate,
And on a homely Couch did lean her Head.
Two winking Tapers at a distance stood;
For other Light ne're blest that dismal Place,
Which made the Room look like some sacred Urne,
And she the sad Effigies of her self.

Qu. E.
Alas! have done; I cannot hear thee out.
Pray rise, my Lord.

Norf.
O never till y'ave Pity!
Her Face and Breast, I might discover bare,
And looking nearer, I beheld how tears
Slid from each crevice of her scarce clos'd Eyes,
And every Breath she fetch'd turn'd to a Sigh.

Qu. E.
O I am drown'd, I'me melted all to Pity!

Norf.
Quickly she wak'd, for Grief ne're rested long,
And starting at my sight, she blush'd and said,
Yon find me full of Grief; but know, my Lord,
'Tis not for Liberty, nor Crowns I weep;
But that your Queen thinks me her Enemy,
And will not hear the Voice of Innocence,
But stops her Ears 'gainst Nature's and my Cries;
The worst of Villains may be heard to pray,
And at the Altar plead; but me she banishes,
And hears my Foes, but will not hear her Sister.

Qu. E.
My Breast like a full Prophet's is o'recharg'd,
The God of Pity rages toget our,
And must have way—Rise Norfolk, and haste all,
Fly with the Wings of posting Angels, fly,
Swift as the merciful Decrees above
Are glided down the Precepice of Heaven,
When the Almighty is resolv'd to save—
Quick, take your Queens own Chariot, take all my Love,
And bring this mourning Goddess to me straight:
Fetch me that warbling Nightingale, who long
In vain has sung, and slutter'd in her Cage,
And lay the panting Charmer in my Breast,
This Heart shall be her Jaylor, and these Arms her Prison.

Norf.
O run and execute the Queen's Commands,
Prepare her golden Coach and snow white Steeds
The Pattern of that Innocence they carry,
And fly more fast than Venus drawn by Doves.
Shou'd all the Clouds pour down at once upon you,
Make your quick passage through the falling Ocean,
Not it's dread Thunder let it stop, nor Lightning stay you.

Mor.
Madam—

Qu. E.
No more, you shall have Justice Sir.
If you have bravely urg'd the truth, fear not,
For Majesty is always the severest
And truest Touchstone of a Rebels Heart.
Why Heaven have you perplext me with a Crown,
Now when the World is such a Monster grown?
When Summer freezes, and when Winter springs,
When Nature fades, and Loyalty to Kings.
Once such Respect to Judah's Prince was shown
Ten thousand Lives were prov'd to save his own;
Then, as the Lyon to the Fox look'd grim,
Kings first were awful, now they lesser seem.
What makes such Rebels? what makes Monarchs poor,
But giving Slaves too large a taste of Power;
(To Morton.)
'Tis for the Royal Furr you hope to win,
The Ermine might be safe but for her Skin;
If Kings have any fault, 'tis but the Name,
And not who wears it, but the Crown's to blame.

[Exeunt Omnes.