University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

CECIL, DAVISON.
CECIL.
No more, my friend; it looks like flattery,
Which I abhor: in raising thee I have done
But what I ought; thou hast deserved it all:
The queen has judgment to discern thy merit,
And power thou know'st most amply to
Reward it.

DAVISON.
Yet I have heard, you'll pardon me, my lord,
She is not over lavish of her bounties, but
Deals her favours with a scanty hand.

CECIL.
O blame her not for that, good Davison;
A thrifty sov'reign makes a wealthy people:
She will not scatter all the nation's strength
In idle splendour, but with prudence keep
The public treasure for the public need.

DAVISON.
Frugality indeed is now become
A necessary virtue, which we all
Should learn to practise.

CECIL.
Yet I blush to think
How many idle great ones, in this hour
Of common peril, wanton in the arms
Of heart enfeebling luxury, and waste,
In the gay round of fashionable follies,
The wealth that should support their falling country.
Elizabeth is prudent, wise, and good;
In penetration, deep sagacity,
And persevering fortitude, she soars
Above her sex.

DAVISON.
And yet there are who say,
She is no stranger to her sex's weakness,
And condescends sometimes to be a woman.

CECIL.
There is a female frailty in her nature,
That sometimes takes the rein; but, thanks to heaven,
She has affections of a nobler kind,
To damp its fire; her prudence and her pride
Have saved her oft; and when deluding love,
With wily softness, steals into her heart,
She calls the ruling passion to her aid,
And bids ambition check the bold intruder.

DAVISON.
Her conduct there, my lord, is much indebted,
Or I mistake, to Cecil's kind advice;
His honest zeal with caution watches o'er
Her every action.

CECIL.
'Tis the statesman's duty
To mark his sov'reign's passions as they bend
Their rapid course, and guide the wand'ring stream
Of his affection towards his country's welfare;
To make his virtues useful, and direct
His faults, and failings to the public good:
Such, Davison, hath been thy friend's ambition,
And be it thine; already thou hast gain'd
The queen's regard: be careful to preserve it.

DAVISON.
That is a lesson I must learn from you,
Who by persuasive gentle arts can soothe
The tranquil mind as with a silken cord,
May lead her on and mould her to his purpose:
But if with open violence you thwart
Her will, then all the blust'ring Harry's rage
Glows in her cheek and sparkles in her eye.
In truth, my lord, you have an arduous task;
For if report say true, Elizabeth
Is wayward, proud, dissembling, and inconstant.

CECIL.
She has her faults, my friend, and follies too,
But I have veil'd them from the public eye,
And so bewitch'd opinion in her favour,
That, dazzled with the glories of her reign,
Eager to praise, posterity shall lift
Th'admiring eye and wonder at her virtues.

DAVISON.
How much we owe to thy paternal care,
Thou art the great, the actuating spring
That moves the whole machine; on Cecil's wisdom,
And Cecil's counsels, hangs the fate of England.

CECIL.
Oppressive burthen: never envy him
Who holds the reins in this uncertain state;
It is a sea for ever vex'd with storms:
If, by long labours and successful service,
We steer the ship entrusted to our care,
The master seizes on the golden freight,
And we are soon forgot: but if, perchance,
The hapless vessel split on rocks unseen,
When danger threats the crew tumultuous rise,
And dash the guiltless pilot from his helm
To sink unpity'd,—such may be my fate.

DAVISON.
Forbid it heaven, forbid it gratitude
And great Elizabeth: for sure, my lord,
With all her faults, she holds her people dear.

CECIL.
As life and being: 'tis her noblest pride,
Her pleasure, her delight, to make them happy;
There is a sweet enthusiasm in her love
For England, that with me atones for all
Her venial errors: when she talks of it
'Tis with such warmth, such energy of speech,
As if a lover's rapture fired her soul.

DAVISON.
What must she feel then for its present state,
When Mary's subtle and delusive wiles
Have well nigh shaken this devoted realm
To its foundation?

CECIL.
That pernicious woman
With baleful influence blasts my every purpose:
I tremble at her power, for whilst she lives
Elizabeth can never reign in peace.

DAVISON.
She is most beauteous still, and still, I hear,
Can boast her fond admirers; how succeeds
The gallant Norfolk in his am'rous suit
To that fair captive?

CECIL.
Much I fear too well:
Their union would be fatal to the queen,
To England fatal; but if I have art
Or power to prevent, it shall not be.

DAVISON.
The duke is warm, precipitate, and bold,
For ever in extremes, whate'er he hates
He hates with bitterest rancour, what he loves
He loves to madness!

CECIL.
There are those, my friend,
Who weave themselves the net that must ensnare them,
Rush headlong on and seem to court destruction:
Such Norfolk is: I know his foolish passion
Ere long will urge him to some desp'rate purpose,
That must involve them both in certain ruin.

DAVISON.
I've seen him oft of late in conference deep
With those I like not.

CECIL.
There is cause, my friend,
For strong suspicion. I already know
Much more than I could wish; and so I mean
To tell him; to be open and sincere,
Give him my honest counsel as a friend,
Alarm his fears, and warn him of his danger;
If after that he swerve from loyalty,
And league with England's foes, the peril then
Be on his head; Cecil shall stand acquitted.
But see he comes.
I know his errand; Davison, retire,
Summon the council: we have business there
Of highest import; let 'em be prepared,
The queen will meet them—watch Ridolphi close.

DAVISON.
I will, my lord.

CECIL.
Farewell.

[Exit Davison.

Scene II.

NORFOLK AND CECIL.
NORFOLK.
Good morrow, noble Cecil;
Health and success attend you! May I ask
When last you saw the queen?

CECIL.
This very morn,
My lord, I had some private conference with her,
Touching affairs of moment to the state.

NORFOLK.
Did you prefer my humble suit, and plead
For injur'd innocence? The captive queen—

CECIL.
My lord, I wish to serve you, but the times
Are full of danger, and at such a crisis
I dare not urge it to her.

NORFOLK.
Dare not! What!
The mighty Cecil, whose directing hand
Presides o'er all unrivall'd; shall he deign
To crouch beneath offended majesty,
And tremble at its frown? By heaven, I think,
Whate'er a faithful subject hath to offer
That tends to public good, howe'er in thought
He err, 'tis fit a sovereign should hear.

CECIL.
But may there not be something, good my lord,
'Twould ill befit a subject to request,
Or sovereign to bestow? I could not ask it.

NORFOLK.
Not ask it? Cecil is not Norfolk's friend.

CECIL.
I am a friend to all who love their queen
And wish their country's welfare; foe to none
But those of England and Elizabeth.

NORFOLK.
Cecil, you wrong me with unjust suspicions,
For know I love and honour both. There lives not
A warmer patriot.

CECIL.
Good my lord, repeat not
That awful, sacred, prostituted name.
There was a time when such a character
Was not unknown amongst us; but 'tis past:
'Tis now no more than the poor flimsy veil
Of sordid avarice, or of mean self-love;
A mere convenient, threadbare habit, worn
By every idle brawler in the senate,
Who talks of public good, and means his own.

NORFOLK.
I thank you, Cecil, for the kind suggestion,
And only wish the brawlers you despise,
With all their zeal could make a statesman just,
Or teach a callous minister to feel.
For me, I own I have a foolish weakness,
A fond, believing, sympathetic heart
That melts with pity at another's woe.

CECIL.
In truth, my lord, you have been wondrous kind
To the distress'd. No doubt the grateful fair one
Will make you ample retribution.

NORFOLK.
Wherefore
Doth gracious heaven impart its bounties to us,
Or give us power, but to relieve the wretched?

CECIL.
Ay, but when guilt inherits the reward
Of innocence, the giver but partakes
The crime which he supports: nay, more, my lord;
Know, to assist a traitor is—rebellion.

NORFOLK.
If 'tis rebellion to protect the weak,
To shelter weeping beauty from the storm
Of proud oppression, and redeem the captive
From chains and death, I am indeed a rebel.
And if to sigh, to strive for years in vain
(Who would not strive?) for precious liberty,
If this be treason, Mary is a traitor.
There is a crime indeed, as well thou know'st,
A crime which woman never can forgive:
Superior beauty. There my Scottish queen
Is against yours most eminently guilty.

CECIL.
Long hath her peerless beauty stood confess'd;
So long indeed, that there are those, my lord,
As I have heard of late, who wonder much
She should have met in her declining years
With such a suitor as the gallant Norfolk
To crown her conquests.

NORFOLK.
Mary's setting sun,
Low as it is, shines forth with brighter rays
Than proud Elizabeth could ever boast
In her meridian lustre.

CECIL.
Proud, my lord?
If she has pride, 'tis of a nobler nature
Than that which triumphs in th'exulting eye
Of transient beauty: 'tis the pride of reason,
Of honour, wisdom, learning, martial spirit,
With all the fair perfections of the soul
That make a people happy. Would to heaven
Each murm'ring subject who defames his prince
Would imitate the virtues he condemns,
Would place the fair original before him,
And strive to copy well the bright example.

NORFOLK.
I grant her all you wish, but there is still
One virtue which she wants—Humanity:
She would not else have kept a noble princess
In shameful bondage, and so oft deceived her
With hopes of promised freedom. O 'twas mean,
Unworthy of a monarch to dissemble.

CECIL.
Norfolk, restrain your bold licentious tongue,
Nor urge me further: you forget, my lord,
That I am bound by every sacred tie,
By honour, duty, gratitude, and love,
To hide no secret from my sov'reign's ear.

NORFOLK.
Nor would I wish it; no, I would proclaim
My honest passion to a list'ning world.
When next your council meet, I shall avow it,
Tho' venal courtiers should oppose my suit;
I stand resolv'd to shield an injured queen
From her oppressors, or to share her fate.

CECIL.
So hot, so confident! then fare you well,
For we can never meet on terms like these:
Yet ere we part, remember, Cecil gives
This kind advice to Norfolk as his friend;
Subdue this idle passion, think no more
Of Scotland's queen, nor hold rash converse with her.
Beware of evil counsellors, retreat
In time: be wise, be cautious, and be happy.
[Exit Cecil.

Scene III.

NORFOLK ALONE.
NORFOLK.
Be cautious! caution is a coward's virtue,
And I despise it, the mean sordid habit
Of low and little minds: it ill becomes
The hero or the lover: when my soul
Was all on fire with beauteous Mary's charms,
Was that a time for this cold blooded statesman
To preach his dull morality? I hate
The lifeless pedant!
Ha! Ridolphi here?
He comes in happy hour.

[Enter Ridolphi.

Scene IV.

RIDOLPHI AND NORFOLK.
NORFOLK.
Well, my friend,
What news? you gave my letters to the queen?

RIDOLPHI.
I did, my lord.

NORFOLK.
But say, hath honest Thickford
Transmitted safe the treasure which I sent
To Mary's Scottish friends?

RIDOLPHI.
Ere this I doubt not
Lord Herries hath received it; but whence, my lord,
That down-cast eye, and melancholy aspect?
You look as if yon haughty minister
Had just been chiding you.

NORFOLK.
And so in truth
He hath, and with such rude asperity
As Norfolk's spirit brooks not; but the time
May come when I shall hope—

RIDOLPHI.
To be revenged.

NORFOLK.
Give me the means.

RIDOLPHI.
The means, my lord, are found.
Already England's discontented nobles
Are ripe for a revolt, and only want
A brave and valiant leader; need I add
To thee they look, on thee an injured people
Calls for redress, conjures thee to protect
A beauteous queen, who offers thee a throne,
Her kingdom, and herself.

NORFOLK.
The last, Ridolphi,
The last is all I ask of bounteous heaven:
I would not wish for honour, riches, fame,
Or empire, but to share it with my love.

RIDOLPHI.
She shall be thine, and soon: the noble houses
Of Percy and of Nevil are our friends;
Pembroke and Arundel: Northumberland,
With all the busy spirits of the north
Is rising for us: first we have resolved
By force of arms, to free the Scottish queen.

NORFOLK.
O, 'twill be glorious triumph. Yes, Ridolphi,
Methinks I see the gloomy Cecil knit
His angry brow, and threat the trembling slaves,
Who come to tell him, that his lovely prey,
She who so long had struggled in the toils,
Has broke the snare and fled to Norfolk's arms.
But say, my friend, when we have gain'd the prize,
What blest asylum shall we find to place her
In peace and safety?

RIDOLPHI.
Where shall beauty shine
In brighter lustre than on England's throne?
And who shall share it with her? who so fit
As her deliverer, the noble Norfolk?

NORFOLK.
Ha! Mary and a throne! 'twere happiness
Too great for man: ambition, tempt me not
With thy deceitful lure; it cannot be,
We must not hope.

RIDOLPHI.
We'll not despair, our cause
Will gather strength and numbers every hour;
Alva hath promised to support it; France
Will join us soon; and Philip's restless spirit
Would gladly set the crown on Mary's head.
Ross hath advised, that with a chosen band,
(Soon as the royal pris'ner is restored
To liberty) we hasten to the palace,
And seize Elizabeth.

NORFOLK.
Ha! seize the queen,
Impossible! th'attempt were rash and vain;
But grant it done, what then?

RIDOLPHI.
Why then, my lord,
We might dispose of her as best may suit
Our purpose.

NORFOLK.
Whither wouldst thou lead me? blind
Ambition stop: I'll follow thee no further;
I am not so far lost to every sense
Of honour, duty, and obedience. No:
We'll not disgrace the cause of liberty,
Or stain our noble enterprise with blood.
Forbid it, Heaven! Ridolphi, we will talk
Of this hereafter; fare thee well: to-morrow
After the council we will meet again.

RIDOLPHI.
Meantime remember, Mary's liberty
Depends on your resolves; remember too,
In crimes of state, who shares but half the guilt
May meet with more than half its punishment.
[Exit Ridolphi.

Scene V.

NORFOLK
Alone.
'Tis well advised—these zealous sons of Rome
Will hazard all to propagate the faith
Which they espouse, and falsely think the end
Will justify the means, how base soe'er:
Pernicious maxim! but I'm link'd so fast
With these new friends, that to advance with them,
Or to retreat, alike is full of danger;
I'll to the council, and there urge my suit.
O for an angel's eloquence to plead
An angel's cause! perhaps Elizabeth
May yet repent, may yet be merciful;
May free the captive queen, and make us happy.
If not, Ridolphi, I am thine, whate'er
The consequence; I cannot live without her:
The choice is fixed, a prison or a crown,
Mary or treason, liberty or death.