University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Enter Queen, Nottingham.
Queen.
Not taken yet!

Nottingham.
No, Madam, for the Earl
Of Essex leagu'd with desperate Friends, made strong
And obstinate Resistance; till at length
O'erpower'd by Numbers and encreasing Force,
He fled for Shelter to a small Retreat,
A Summer-house upon the Thames; resolv'd
To perish rather than submit to Power.

Queen.
O Wretch detested! O unheard-of Treason!
Conspire against my Life, within my View!
My Reach! so near my very Palace Gates!
Perfidious Monster!—What can Prudence do,
Or human Wisdom more than judge from Outside,
And flattering Likeness? Kings can see no farther.
High Heaven, alone, can read the Heart, in all
Its utmost Frauds, and mystic Characters.
O where shall Majesty bestow its Favours,
Since Essex has a Traitor prov'd to me,
Whose Arm hath rais'd him up to Power and Greatness,
Whose Heart hath shar'd in all his splendid Triumphs,
And feels ev'n now his trait'rous Deeds with Pity?
But hence with Pity and the Woman's Pangs;
Resentment governs, and the Queen shall punish.

Enter Burleigh.
Burleigh.
Illustrious Queen, the Traitors all are seiz'd.
Th'Intelligence was true. Their black Debates
Were held at Drury-house. The dire Result
Was this; that Essex shou'd alarm the Citizens
To open Mutiny, and bold Rebellion;
On this pernicious Errand went the Earl,
Join'd by his desp'rate and seditious Friends.
Their Purpose was to seize your Royal Palace,
And sacred Person; but your faithful People,
As by one Mind inform'd, one Zeal inspir'd,
Rose up at once, and with their Virtue quell'd them.

Queen.
Thanks to their honest, to their loyal Hearts.
But say, were any Persons else concern'd
Of high Distinction, or of noted Rank?

Burleigh.
Yes, Madam, many more, seduc'd of late:
'Mong whom the bold Southampton foremost stands,
Precipitate and rash; whose Pow'r, tho' great,
Lags far behind his Will to do you hurt.
They're now our Pris'ners and are safe secur'd;
But Essex with Southampton, and the rest
Of greater Note, I would not dare dispose of,
Without your Royal Mandate; and they now
Attend without, to know your final Pleasure.

Queen.
Is this the just Return of all my Care?
My anxious toilsome Days, and watchful Nights?
Have I sent forth a Wish, that went not freighted
With all my People's Good? Or, have I Life
Or Length of Days desir'd, but for their Sake?
The Public Good is all my Private Care.
Have I not ever thought the meanest Subject,
Opprest by Power, was, in his just Complaint,
Above a King? What British Bosom has
By foreign Tyranny been griev'd, whose Wrongs
I have not felt as mine, as mine redress'd?
Or have I justly made a single Man
My Foe? Then cou'd I think this grateful Isle
Contain'd one Traitor's Heart? But, least of all
That Essex' Breast should lodge it? Call the Monster,
And let me meet this Rebel, Face to Face.
Do you withdraw and wait within our Call.
[Exit Burl. &c.
Enter Essex.
You see we dare abide your dang'rous Presence,
Tho' Treason sits within your Heart enthron'd,
And on that Brow Rebellion lowrs, where once
Such boasted Loyalty was said to flourish.
How low the Traitor can degrade the Soldier?
Guilt glares in conscious Dyes upon thy Cheek,
And inward Horror trembles in thine Eye.
How mean is Fraud! how base Ingratitude!

Essex.
Forbear Reproach, thou injur'd Majesty,
Nor wound, with piercing Words, a Heart already
With Anguish torn, and bleeding with Remorse.
Your awful Looks, alone, are arm'd with Death,
And Justice gives them Terror.

Queen.
Hapless Man!
What Cause could prompt, what Fiend could urge thee on
To this detested Deed? Could I from thee
Expect to meet this base Return? From thee,
To whom I ought to fly, with all the Confidence
That giving Bounty ever could inspire,
Or seeming Gratitude and Worth could promise?

Essex.
Alas, I own my Crimes, and feel my Treasons;
They press me down beneath the Reach of Pity.
Despair alone can shield me from myself.
Oh let the little Space I live be curs'd
With countless Woes; let Death unpitied, come;
My Name be mention'd with the utmost Scorn!
If all my Life can feel, or Fame can suffer,
May serve to mitigate my Queen's Displeasure.

Queen.
My Pride forbids me to reproach thee more:
My Pity rather would relieve thy Sorrow.
I see Conviction, and severe Remorse,
Within thy Mind, at work. But much I fear
That Death alone can calm the raging Conflict.
The People's Clamours, and my special Safety,
Call loud for Justice, and demand your Life.
But if Forgiveness from an injur'd Queen
Can make the few short Hours you live more easy,
I give it freely from my pitying Heart;
And wish my willing Power could grant thee more.

Essex.
O Sounds angelic! Goodness undeserv'd!
My swelling Heart can keep no Bounds, my Soul
Flows o'er.—And will my gracious Queen forgive me?
Oh let me prostrate thus be ore you fall,
My better Angel, and my Guardian Genius!
Permit me, royal Mistress, to pronounce
My faithful Sentiments, my Soul's true Dictates;
Vouchsafe your Essex but this one Request,
This only Boon, he'll thank you with his last,
His dying Breath, and bless you in his Passage.

Queen.
Rise, my Lord.
If aught you have to offer can allay
Your Woes, and reconcile you to your Fate,
Proceed;—and I with patient Ear will listen.

Essex.
My real Errors, and my seeming Crimes,
Would weary Mercy, and make Goodness poor:
And yet the Source of all my greatest Faults
Was Loyalty misled, and Duty in Extreme.
So jealous was my sanguine Heart, so warm
Affection's Zeal, I could not bear the least
Suspicion of my Duty to my Queen.
This drove me from my high Command in Ireland,
This too impell'd me to that rude Behaviour
Which justly urg'd the shameful Blow I felt.
And this (O fatal Rashness!) made me think
My Queen had given her Essex up, a Victim
To Statesmen's Schemes, and wicked Policy.
Stung by that piercing Thought, my Madness flew
Beyond all Bounds, and now alas has brought me
To this most shameful Fall; and, what's still worse,
My own Reproaches, and my Queen's Displeasure.

Queen.
Unhappy Man! My yielding Soul is touch'd,
And Pity pleads thy Cause within my Breast.

Essex.
Say but, my gracious Sov'reign, ere I go
For ever from your Presence, that you think me
Guiltless of all Attempts against your Throne,
And sacred Life. Your faithful Essex ne'er
Could harbour in his Breast so foul a Thought.
Believe it not, my Queen. By Heav'n I swear,
When in my highest Pitch of Glory rais'd,
The splendid Noon of Fortune's brightest Sun-shine,
Not Ages of Renown, could yield me half
The Joy, nor make my Life so greatly blest,
As saving yours, tho' for a single Hour.

Queen.
My Lord, I think you honest. Nay, I own,
Whatever Coldness I put on, was meant
To save you from the Malice of your Foes
I judg'd your Crimes, what you yourself pronounc'd 'em,
The rash Effect of an intemp'rate Zeal.

Essex.
Was ever Wretch like Essex, thus undone
By Goodness in Excess, and lavish'd Grace!
Oh I could tear my erring Heart with these
Revenging Hands!—What Blessings have I lost!
What Clemency abus'd!—Now could I wish
For lengthen'd Life—indeed, for endless Years.
A whole Eternity's too short, to shew
My pious Sorrows, and attone my Folly.

Queen.
Too well the Passage to my Heart he finds;
And Pity's Hand lets in the dangerous Guest.
How weak is Reason, when oppos'd to Nature!
[Aside.
My Lord, I would convince you that I still
Regard your Life, and labour to preserve it;
But cannot screen you from a public Trial.
With Prudence make your best Defence; but should
Severity her Iron Jurisdiction
Extend too far, and give thee up condemn'd
To angry Laws, thy Queen will not forget thee.
Yet, lest you then shou'd want a faithful Friend,
(For Friends will fly you in the Time of Need)
Here, from my Finger take this Ring; a Pledge
Of Mercy; having this, you ne'er shall need
An Advocate with me; for whensoever
You give, or send it back, by Heav'n I swear,
As I do hope for Mercy on my Soul,
That I will grant whatever Boon you ask.

Essex.
O Grace surprizing! most amazing Goodness!
Words cannot paint the Transport of my Soul.
Let me receive it on my grateful Knees,
At once to thank and bless the Hand that gives it.

Queen.
Depend, my Lord, on this; 'twixt you and me
This Ring shall be a private Mark of Faith
[Gives the Ring.
Inviolate. Be confident, chear up,
Dispel each melancholy Fear, and trust
Your Sovereign's Promise; she will ne'er forsake you.

Essex.
Let Providence dispose my Lot as 'twill,
May watchful Angels ever guard my Queen;
May healing Wisdom in her Counsels reign,
And firm Fidelity surround her Throne;
May Victory her dreaded Banners bear,
And joyful Conquests crown her Soldiers Brow;
Let every Bliss be mingled in her Cup,
And Heaven at last become her great Reward.

[Exit.
Queen.
Who waits there?
Enter Burleigh and Officers.
Guard your Pris'ner safe. 'Tis done;
And yet foreboding Tremors shake my Heart.
Something sits heavy here, and presses down
My Spirits with it's Weight. What can it mean?
Suppose he is condemn'd, my royal Word
Is plighted for his Life; his Enemies
No doubt will censure much.—No Matter,—let 'em.
I know him honest, and despise their Malice.
Unhappy State, where Mercy and Compassion
Too often meet with Clamour and Reproach;
But Princes must endure, for public Good,
The narrow Censures of misguiding Crowds.

Enter Countess of Rutland.
Rutland.
Where is the Queen? I'll fall before her Feet
Prostrate, implore, besiege her royal Heart,
And force her to forgive.

Queen.
What means this Frenzy?

Rutland.
O gracious Queen, if ever Pity touch'd
Your gen'rous Breast, let not the cruel Ax
Destroy his precious Life; preserve my Essex,
Preserve, from shameful Death, the noble, loyal,
O save the brave,—the best of Subjects.—Save
My Life! my Hope! my Joy! my All! my Husband!

Queen.
Husband! What sudden deadly Blow is this!
Hold up, my Soul, nor sink beneath this Wound.
You beg a Traitor's Life!

Rutland.
O gracious Queen!
He ever lov'd,—was ever faithful, brave.—
If Nature dwells about your Heart, O spurn
Me not; my Lord! my Love! my Husband bleeds!

Queen.
Take her away.

Rutland.
I cannot let you go.
Hold off your Hands.—Here on this Spot I'll fix,
Here lose all Sense; still let me stretch these Arms,
Inexorable Queen, he yet may live.
O give him to my poor afflicted Heart!
One pitying Look, to save me from Distraction.

Queen.
I'll hear no more. I'm tortur'd—take her hence.

Rutland.
Nay, force me not away.—Inhuman Wretches!
O Mercy! Mercy!—Then to thee, good Heav'n,
(My Queen, my cruel Queen, denies to hear me)
To thee I call, to thee for Mercy bend.
Melt down her Bosom's frozen Sense to feel
Some Portion of my deadly Grief, my fell
Distraction. Turn, O turn, and see a Wife,
A tortur'd Wife.—

Queen.
Why am I not obey'd?

Rutland.
Nay, do not thus
Abandon me to fell Despair. Just Heaven,
That sees my Sorrows, will avenge the Wrong,
This cruel Wrong, this barbarous Tyranny.

[Forc'd off.
Queen.
Wedded to Rutland! Most unhappy Pair!
And Oh ill-fated Queen! Never till now
Did Sorrow settle in thy Heart it's Throne.
Now black Despair it's cloudy Curtain draws
Around thy setting Peace, where, Joy, alas
No more shall dawn, nor smiling Hope return.
Recal my Pledge of Safety from his Hands,
And give him up to Death!—But Life or Death
To me is equal now. Distraction dwells
Within my tortur'd Soul, and Furies rend it.
Unhappy State, where Peace shall never come!
One fatal Moment has confirm'd my Doom,
Turn'd all my Comfort to intestine Strife,
And fill'd with mortal Pangs, my future Life.

[Exit.