 | Mary, Queen of Scots |  |
39
ACT THE THIRD.
Scene I.
LEICESTER, BURLEIGH.LEICESTER.
Lord Burleigh! for by that fair title I
Must greet you now. Since Norfolk's death, the storms
That vex'd our turbid and unquiet state
Have ceased, and all is calm: he met his fate,
As brave men should, with manly fortitude
And resignation.
BURLEIGH.
Yet, we are not safe.
The captive Mary dictates from her cell
To subtle bigots and designing priests,
Who meditate our ruin. Much, I fear,
Deluded England will repent, too late,
Her fond indulgence to the sons of Rome,
Who still, like thankless children, have received
That kindness which they never will repay.
LEICESTER.
Then wherefore not alarm the zealous people,
Arm our brave freemen in the cause of truth,
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And rise vindictive?
BURLEIGH.
There, my friend, you err.
Religion is a dangerous instrument,
Is busy faction's hand, to stir up strife,
And urge the giddy multitude to acts
Of desperation. Let it rest in peace.
LEICESTER.
It may be prudent: but I own my fears
Of Mary's fatal influence, who, I hear,
Is not far off, and is importunate
To see the Queen, and lay her griefs before her;
To gain her long-lost freedom; to demand,
And have her rights proclaim'd to England's throne.
BURLEIGH.
Petitions, which the wise Elizabeth
Will never grant: nor is our royal mistress
Less anxious to behold her beauteous captive.
I know not why, but we are always pleased
To view the fountain whence our sorrows flow.
Nor will I thwart their purpose:—they shall meet.
LEICESTER.
It is a dangerous conference, my Lord,
And may be fatal to us both. Suppose
The Queen, o'ercome by tears and feign'd submission,
(For well thou know'st how smooth-tongued flattery bends
Her stubborn purpose,) should relent, should grant
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The crown she lost.
BURLEIGH.
Will that obliterate
The bitter memory of her sorrows past,—
Her years of bondage? benefits conferr'd,
My friend, are quickly buried in oblivion,
But injuries sink deep into the heart,
And will not be forgotten.
LEICESTER.
She has been
A captive long; and time, ere this, has spread
His healing balm o'er all her griefs.
BURLEIGH.
Not so:
For Norfolk's death hath open'd every wound,
And made them bleed afresh; her haughty soul
Thirsts for revenge: with all her sex's softness,
Her winning graces, and attractive mien,
She wants not spirit to resent her wrongs,
Nor cunning to dissemble: little minds
By adverse fortune bend to low submission,
But great ones rise unyielding to misfortune,
Repel the insult, and avenge the blow.
LEICESTER.
You are to act, my lord, as best beseems
Your wisdom; but to me th'experiment
Is full of peril: we may both repent it.
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O, I will trust to nature and the sex;
For never did two female rivals meet
To part in friendship: 'tis impossible!
But see already, our impatient mistress
Is hast'ning here.
LEICESTER.
To meet her bitterest foe.
BURLEIGH.
How strong is female curiosity,
That thus can conquer pride, subdue resentment,
And soften hate to smooth complacency!
When she shall know how Spain's ambassador
Hath stained his honour, and debased the name
And office which he bears; her pride will rise
Indignant! and Mendoza shall repent
His shameless perfidy: but see, she comes.
[Enter Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH.
Burleigh and Leicester here, my noble friends!
Whilst I have guards like you, I shall not fall
Beneath th'assassin's hands: well, good my lords;
Know we yet more of this conspiracy?
Who urged them on? what says the vile Throgmorton?
BURLEIGH.
Long time he bore the rack in sullen silence;
But has at length confess'd the deep design
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The crown of England: subtle Spain unites
Her power; 'tis all the work of that arch fiend,
Mendoza.
ELIZABETH.
Let him be secured.
BURLEIGH.
My liege,
He is; and papers have been found upon him,
Where every harbour, creek, and bay within
The realm, that favoured their descent, are traced
With subtle care: his letters to the queen,
And Mary's answers, touching every point
Of her releasement, we have now discovered,
And lodged with Walsingham. I've placed a guard
To watch his every step; who waits without
To know your grace's pleasure.
ELIZABETH.
Leicester, haste;
Conduct him hither straight: we shall expel
That poison soon.
[Turning to Burleigh.
I hate these legal spies,
Who style themselves ambassadors; who bear
In one deceitful hand the olive branch
Of public peace, and, in the other, grasp
A dagger to destroy us. O, my friend,
A thousand darts are pointed at my heart;
But Cecil's wisdom, like an ample shield,
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But see Mendoza comes.
[Enter Mendoza, guarded.
MENDOZA.
Unhand me, sirs:
In me revere the Majesty of Spain,
Nor dare to violate the sacred law
Of nations, which, in every clime, supports
The image of its sovereign.
ELIZABETH.
Is it thus,
You represent him? Did the mighty Philip
Send you so far to play a ruffian's part,
To tamper with my honest subjects here,
My loyal peers, and teach them to betray me?
MENDOZA.
We but return the injuries we received:
Did you not keep the Spanish treasure, seized
By your usurping subjects, and relieve
Your darling Anjou?
ELIZABETH.
O, I blush for you,
And for your Prince: there was a time when Spain
Was jealous of her honour; when, nor threats
Nor stronger bribes could urge the brave Castilian
To break his holy faith; ere fraudful arts
Had linked her thus with perfidy and France.
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'Tis not perhaps far off, when she shall rue
Her shameless league, and curse the guilty compact.
MENDOZA.
Ere that shall happen, Spain perchance may take
The vengeance due to her insulted king;
May claim her right to ocean's wide domain,
So long usurped, and o'er the British sea
May ride triumphant.
ELIZABETH.
Ay; if Drake and I
Shall give him leave: meantime remember this,
Thy crime is treason of the deepest dye,
And merits death: we will not take the forfeit,
Nor wish to stain our scaffolds with the blood
Of such ignoble slaves; but mark me, sir,
If three days hence thou shou'dst be found
Within this realm, thy head shall answer for it.
My lord, we recommend him to your care;
See that our orders are obeyed. Away!
Be thankful for this mercy, get thee hence;
And let the master thou hast thus disgraced,
Find out a proper punishment: be gone.
[Exeunt Leicester and Mendoza.
BURLEIGH.
Such ever be the fate of Briton's foes.
To trace that mystery to its poisoned spring
Cost me some days of anguish and disquiet;
But I'm rewarded: and whilst Cecil lives,
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Which he deserves.
ELIZABETH.
Such zeal for England's welfare
Deserves a nation's thanks; and yet there are
Who blame this just severity, and call you
A proud oppressor. I am grieved in truth,
My lord, to find that you have lost of late
The public favour.
BURLEIGH.
Thanks to heaven, I steer not
By that uncertain compass, but rely
On better guides; the wonder-loving crowd
Is ever fickle, changeful, and capricious,
Pleased without cause, and without reason angry:
One venial error, one unguarded moment,
Blots from their memories an age of service,
And to-day's idol is to-morrow's scorn.
ELIZABETH.
And yet, my lord, without the public voice
To aid our zeal, to give stability
And sanction to our councils, the clogged wheels
Of government move slowly on, and want
That strength and power which can alone secure
A nation's happiness.
BURLEIGH.
But ours, we know,
(What pains soe'er we take to make them happy,)
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Meantime, my liege, the upright minister
Will serve with zeal, his country, and his king;
Nor heed the murm'ring multitude; alike
Superior to their censure or applause,
He keeps the even tenor of his purpose,
And acts as honour and as conscience guide him.
ELIZABETH.
Would they were all like thee; but say, my Cecil,
Shall I not meet the Scottish queen?
BURLEIGH.
My liege,
She will be here to-night.
ELIZABETH.
I wonder much
What spells this fair enchantress hath to boast,
That thus can alienate my people's love.
Would it were past! O, how I long to see
This peerless beauty, whose resistless charms
Melt every eye, and conquer every heart:
Yet Melvil said, and Melvil knew her well,
She was not fairer than Elizabeth.
BURLEIGH.
Would she were half so virtuous, wise, and good:
But not the noisome pestilence that breathes
Contagious death o'er Afric's sultry plains,
Spreads more destruction through the tainted air,
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Of thy deluded subjects.
ELIZABETH.
I have felt
Its fatal blast; and when I think of her,
I know not why, but my affrighted soul
Shrinks back with horror.
BURLEIGH.
Summon all thy powers,
And be collected; let not her fair form,
Her smooth delusive tongue, and artful smiles
Betray you to forgiveness.
ELIZABETH.
Look yonder, is not that
The fair deceiver? See, she glides along
In solemn sorrow: what a noble aspect!
And yet it seems deform'd with sullen pride
And fierce resentment; you will leave us here
Together; when the conference is past,
Be ready, Cecil, to conduct her back
To Tewksbury.
BURLEIGH.
(Aside.)
To chains, I hope, and death.
[Exit Cecil.
Enter MARY.
MARY.
At length admitted to your royal presence,
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That ever fell before them: look on me;
I am a queen, and yet, Elizabeth
Would grieve to find within her spacious realm
A subject half so wretched: O! if e'er
I have offended, let the ling'ring years
Of sad captivity, the bitter sorrows
That have oppress'd my wearied spirits, plead
For pardon and for liberty.
ELIZABETH.
No more:
It grieves me much, fair princess, to refuse
The boon you ask, but 'tis not mine to give;
You have reign'd long enough yourself already
To know that princes are but slaves of state,
Condemn'd by cruel policy to grieve
For many a bleeding wound they must not heal,
And pity sorrows which they cannot cure.
Heaven is my witness, since the luckless hour
That drove you from your own distracted kingdom
To seek for refuge in my poor dominions,
My wish has been to serve you, and to act
As best became a sister and a queen.
MARY.
Alas! my sufferings tell another tale.
When on my passage to that seat of woe,
My wretched kingdom, humbly I implored
Safe conduct and protection: to refuse
My poor request, and send a hostile fleet
To intercept me?—Was it like a queen,
When Murray and his vile associates rose,
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Abet their councils, and exert your power
To foster fraud, and patronize rebellion?
ELIZABETH.
Was there no cause for this, my fair complainer?
Who sow'd dissension through my quiet realm?
Who tempted Norfolk to assist my foes?
Who gave commission to the subtle Guise,
To raise his sacred band of holy ruffians,
And lead them on beneath the mask of zeal,
To trample on the rights of half mankind,
By falsehood's lips to plead the cause of truth,
And serve a God of peace with war and slaughter?
MARY.
The war, my liege, was never waged for me,
Nor was the slaughter mine; I only ask'd
Your kind indulgence to the suff'ring saints
Of persecuted Rome, who fell beneath
Your grace's keen displeasure.
ELIZABETH.
I forgave,
And I relieved them: what was my reward?
Did they not burn the rev'rend page that holds
The sacred charter of our common faith,
Dispute my rights, and boldly mutter o'er
Their midnight masses in a tongue unknown?
Was I not scorn'd, insulted, and defied,
By your arch-priest, your proud mock-monarch there,
The papal king, who sent his deep-mouth'd bulls
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From their allegiance, teach disloyalty,
And make the fools believe it was—religion!
MARY.
Bitter reproach! but manners change with times:
There was a period when Elizabeth,
Ere she was seated on the English throne,
Swam with the current, and profess'd that faith,
Those holy tenets, which she now abhors:
Might I not say, were I disposed to censure,
She was not then, or is not now, sincere.
ELIZABETH.
There was a period too, as well thou know'st,
When persecution with my bloody sister
Ruled o'er this land, when honest truth gave place
To falsehood, and sincerity was death;
Then did I mark the colour of your faith,
It glared upon me through the horrid flame
Of dying martyrs, when religious zeal
Brandish'd the torch of discord, loosed the bands
Of nature, and disgraced humanity.
MARY.
And must I suffer still for others' crimes?
I came for succour, but I met with chains,
And, from a sov'reign, sank into a slave.
In vain I sent, intreated, wrote in vain
To be admitted to your royal presence,
And yet you saw my base apostate brother,
Saw him, and granted to an impious rebel
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Refused by her to whom alone I wish'd
To owe my freedom, whither, and to whom
Could a defenceless woman flee for succour?
ELIZABETH.
But wherefore turn thee to my deadliest foe?
What couldst thou hope for from perfidious France,
The land of falsehood and inconstancy;
That faithless people, whom no ties can bind,
No treaties e'er confine within the pale
Of honour; who, the more she promises,
Deceives the more, and smiles but to betray?
MARY.
Because a nation breaks its public faith,
And bigot princes shed their subjects' blood,
I am a captive.
ELIZABETH.
There is yet a path
That leads to pardon, liberty, and peace.
MARY.
O, name the terms; and if they do not wound
My honour and my truth, how harsh soe'er,
I'll not refuse them.
ELIZABETH.
Mark them, and comply:
Ne'er henceforth assume the arms of England,
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Eliza lives.
MARY.
Alas! I claim no empire,
No rights but what my subjects all enjoy,
The privilege of nature, to be free.
ELIZABETH.
Yet more:—henceforth, to check the bold designs
Of foreign friends, who labour in your service
With such unwearied zeal; you must renounce
The empty titles you so long have borne,
Your regal power, and to its lawful prince
Deliver up the crown of Scotland.
MARY.
Never!
I am not fallen so low, though you have bent
My harass'd soul beneath the galling yoke
Of proud oppression; though you have reversed
Great nature's law, and given a mother's right
To her usurping son, I'll not resign
The throne bequeath'd me by my ancestors
But with my life; and the last words I utter
Shall be the words of Mary, Queen of Scotland.
ELIZABETH.
Indeed! I thought affliction was the school
Of patience and humility; but I find
It only swells the vice it should subdue;
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The native pride of conscious innocence,
Though ill it suits with rank and circumstance
Like yours, with one who bends beneath the rod
Of justice.
MARY.
Justice! I have sought her long,
But sought in vain; long since she left this world,
And fled with virtue to her native skies.
ELIZABETH.
The fairest wreath that binds a crown is virtue;
Adorn'd with that, it claims respect from all,
Howe'er ill fortune may obscure its lustre;
But know that guilt, like death, throws down distinction:
That there are crimes which can degrade the noble,
And level princes with their meanest subjects;
Of such you stand accused.
MARY.
Of such! by whom?
By those who have bereaved me of my kingdom;
Who now would rob me of my life, and, what
Is dearer far to every virtuous mind,
My honour and my fame. Or prove me guilty,
Or hold me innocent.
ELIZABETH.
Heaven knows, I wish
To find you so; but there are dark suspicions,
Confirm'd, I fear, too well by certain letters
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Of dreadful deeds, I shudder but to think of.
MARY.
The artifice of base designing foes,
To stain my honour, and degrade my love.
A poor attempt, in low and vulgar phrase,
To paint the genuine feelings of the heart;
I should not thus have written, nor would you,
But that you wish'd to find the fiction true,
Have e'er believed the ill-concerted tale.
ELIZABETH.
We know a letter may be forged, but facts
Are stubborn proofs; nor are we now to learn
What past at Kirk o'Field, nor at Dunbar,
Darnley's sad fate, or Bothwell's shameless nuptials.
MARY.
(Aside.)
That was a cruel stroke; but I'll return it,
Whate'er it cost me.—I had fondly hoped
My youthful follies might have claim'd at least
Your pity and forgiveness; crimes which sprang
From that soft passion whose resistless sway
We all acknowledge,—heart-subduing love:
Nor did I think its errors would have met
Reproof so bitter from Elizabeth;
From one who knows its influence, and, if fame
Belie her not, hath often felt its power.
ELIZABETH.
Whence learnt you that, my fair interpretress?
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Have I betray'd such unbecoming weakness?
MARY.
O, a long train of wooers to your grace;
From haughty Philip, Spain's imperious lord,
And France's monarch, to the whining subject
Proud Arundel, and Alençon the gay,
And modest Leicester, whom your royal bounty,
After long trial of his services,
In kind compassion had bequeath'd to me.
ELIZABETH.
Audacious woman! insolence like this
Shall never pass unpunish'd. When I wish
To have my faults and follies known, I'll send
For you, my kind instructive monitor,
Who know them all so well; meantime, retirement
And stricter residence will suit you well,
Where you may learn to speak with more respect
Of England's sovereign, and of Henry's daughter.
MARY.
I shall obey you, madam:—but remember,
Fall'n as I am, I look with scorn on her
Whose unrelenting heart to misery thus
Can add reproach, and insult to oppression.
Farewell for ever!—since the hour is come
When you no more can feign, nor I believe;—
Since flatt'ring hope no longer can deceive,
Expect my deep resentment, and prepare
To meet the last sad efforts of—despair.
| Mary, Queen of Scots | |