University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Enter severally CECIL and NOTTINGHAM.
NOTTINGHAM.
Ha! Cecil—well—and is he, is he taken?

CECIL.
Joy! joy! my Nottingham—he's sunk for ever,
Caught in the very act of broad rebellion:
Essex is fall'n, no more to rise. No more
Shall politicians set the gins of state,
Or nets of circumvention; for the lion,
In his blind rage has rush'd upon the toil,
Where he may roar, and tear, and gnash in vain,
But never shall get free.

NOTTINGHAM.
Oh, it o'erjoys me,
Feeds the keen hunger of my vengeful soul,
To see this pride, this insolence of manhood,
This scorner hurl'd down from his dazzling height;
To see him drop with all his train of glory,
And vanish in the dust—Ha! Cecil.

CECIL.
—Hold,
The Queen,—if possible conceal your transport.

Enter QUEEN and Attendants.
QUEEN.
What is he crush'd? This trampler on authority;
—The lofty one! and is he fall'n?

CECIL.
He is—
Thanks to the sacred power who guards your majesty!

QUEEN.
Then he is humbled at the last—This proud one!
The manner of it Cecil?

CECIL.
—When the earl
Withdrew from court, all mad, and chaf'd with passion,
He hurried to his house; and severally
Summoned the friends in whom he most confided.
A num'rous band they were of lawless spirits,
Whose joy is riot, and whose hopes take fire
From the wild spark of dazling novelty,
And gainful revolution. In their council
It was resolved, Southampton should attend
To form the numbers who were yet expected;
While the arch rebel march'd, as he did boast,
To raise the city.

QUEEN.
—What my faithful citizens!
Could he hope that?

CECIL.
—He did; and as he pass'd,
The vulgar, ever eager of events,
Pour'd in from every side, and swell'd the concourse.
To right, to left he bended, and as one
Train'd to the Areopagus of old,
Or Rome's prevailing rostrum, with smooth act
Of mute emotion, thro' the distant eye,
He sought to reach the heart. To all around,
His voice now sunk, now rais'd to exclamation,
Appealing to the wisdom of the mob,
Against state policy; much did he talk
Of crowns begirt with evil counsellors;
Of trust misplac'd—Good monarch's, but misled
By wicked ministers—Stale topicks all;
Yet these will gloss, and colour every cause,
While man shall kick at government—He then
Descended to himself; spoke piteously
Of suff'ring virtue; number'd o'er his wrongs,
And counted every scar; the time, the place,
The peril too of each; all borne he said
For them, and for their Children: then he wept,
And they wept too, soft souls! as tho' each gash
Had bled anew.

QUEEN.
—Alas! I wonder not,
That sight had melted even his queen to pity.
Proceed—

CECIL.
The earl perceiving in their eye
The work of passion—Straight he cry'd, arm, arm!
For truth, for liberty! arm ye my friends!
Off with your galling riders! down oppression!
If not for Essex, for your selves, your sons,
Your latest issue! what are you to feel,
If me they spare not? what must 'fall the fold,
When their great guardian's murder'd?—Here he paus'd:
But none reply'd; for tho' his mournful story
Had filled their hearts with sorrow, yet the close
Bore such a frightful face of dangerous treason,
That terror soon succeeded—One slunk off,
Another follow'd; 'till all soft and silent,
Like snow they melted from his side.

QUEEN.
—How then?
How look'd the rebel left alone?

CECIL.
—At once
Fear, guilt, and disappointment, rush'd upon him;
Amaz'd he hasten'd where his barge attended,
And reach'd his house by water, at the time
When your brave troops had forc'd the outward gate,
And made Southampton, and his faction pris'ners:
Then might you see the indignant rebel cast
A look of desperation at high heaven,
As one renouncing hope; forth flew his sword.
As he would rush on death; but sore begirt
At length he yielded to ignoble hands,
And clos'd the tale of Essex.

QUEEN.
—I once hop'd
His morning sun, that brightned as he rose,
Might also set with equal rays of honour.
Where is the earl?

CECIL.
—Under a sufficient guard
In order for his sending to the Tower.

QUEEN.
Ha! order'd to the Tower, whose orders, sir?

CECIL.
Madam, the earls are yet without.

QUEEN.
—'Tis well—,
To prison with Southampton—But for Essex,
I'll see him e'er he goes: let him appear—
And all withdraw.
[Exeunt all but the queen.
—Heavens! what a scene is this?
How shall I bear it? Be compos'd my heart!—
Can that be Essex?—The distrest, the fall'n,
The forlorn Essex!—What a state hears!
Still undiminish'd, still himself—Away
With pomp, and borrow'd lustre then; true greatness
Shall build a seat of lovelier majesty,
With Essex, and misfortune.
Enter ESSEX.
Essex is not thus we should have met—
You ought to know it is not—I did hope—
But 'tis no matter—You may speak, my lord,
If you have ought to offer.

ESSEX.
Nothing, madam.

QUEEN.
'Tis well, and yet—perhaps 'twere better, sir,
You'd think again—Out meetings shan't be frequent.

ESSEX.
It might have been your majesty's good pleasure
To spare ev'n this—I sought it not.

QUEEN.
—I know it
Ungrateful man, I know it—But I hold
No longer parley with thee—It is finish'd—
Thou everlasting troubler of my quiet,
Soon, soon we shall be both at peace.

ESSEX.
—Enough—
I have my death, and you your wish—

QUEEN.
—I Essex!
I wish thy death! you know—But let me calmly
Demand of thee, what was it that could tempt thee,
To court, invite, and pull down on thine head
A ruin so reluctant? To o'erbear
All law, all order?

ESSEX.
—Is that yet to learn?
When every packet brought me fresh advices
Of the malicious plottings of my foes;
Yet I could o'erlook that, secure in innocence,
Could wait my time: but when I found my Queen
Had listen'd to their tales; under her hand
Confirm'd, soon as I saw that doubts and jealousies
Were deeply rooted—I no longer paus'd—
Law, order, even your own injunctions then
Were but as chaff before the wind; I flew
To see with my own eyes if it were true,
That I had lost your favour—That once gone,
The animating soul of all my hopes,
The end of all my thoughts, and all my actions;
The world had nothing in it worth my care,
And life or death were equally indifferent.

QUEEN.
Was that the motive? why was not I inform'd?

ESSEX.
Inform'd! which way? Was I once heard, regarded?
When prostrate I implor'd my Queen to hear me,
Was she not cold, and deaf, as thawless ice,
Or ears of adamant?—Rejected, spurn'd,
Cast to the rav'ning jaws of my pursuers,
Like the lone pard, I was at length compell'd
To turn upon my hunters. But had Essex,
Had Essex been the traytor he is deem'd,
He had not singly fac'd a host of foes,
But led up troops, inur'd to victory
Beneath his banner, to a man prepar'd
To fight, or fall for Essex.

QUEEN.
—There is some weight
In that, and I would fain believe your motive
Was such as you declare—Yet, Essex, Essex!
Oh thy rash pride! if thou had'st condescended
But to the light appearance of reproof,
From thy kind Queen—

ESSEX.
—Appearance, Madam?

QUEEN.
—Yes—
And when I would have colour'd to the world
Substantial favour, with a shew of chiding—

ESSEX.
A shew of chiding!—O my gracious mistress,
Did you not hate me? Did you not indeed
Abhor, detest your soldier?

QUEEN.
—No, too well—
Too well I lov'd thee, proud, unbending man!
Could I have hated thee, I had been happy.

ESSEX.
Ha! Lightning blast me first! my Queen in tears!

QUEEN.
Away thou hot, thou undiscerning Essex!
Could'st thou not trust a friendship, that had stood
Firm as th'irrevocable doom of fate,
Against thy enemies? their daily murmurs,
All their loud plaints, petitions, and impeachments
Dash'd back with indignation on the front
Of thy accusers—Might not such a friend
Expect some small concession? Did'st thou grant it?
Did'st thou not stand in haughty opposition?
Fly to the city, levy cruel war
Against thy Queen, against thy kind protector?
Who could almost have pray'd for thy success,
Altho' her crown, altho' her life perhaps,
Had been the barbarous forfeit.

ESSEX.
—O my mistress!
You have undone me—Your o'erpow'ring goodness
Has crush'd my heart—I see my folly now,
My crime broad staring in my face—O wretch,
Blind wretch!—Yet let me not be charg'd
Beyond my proper guilt—The weight of that
Alone will overwhelm me. It was pride,
Unparallel'd presumption, arrogance
Beyond example—But your crown!—Your life!
To attempt those—O no—In all the wilds
Of frenzy, such a thought could never enter
This loyal bosom.

QUEEN.
—Fain would I believe—

ESSEX.
Believe! ah, royal madam, can you doubt it?
By the dread secrets of that unknown world,
To which your servant hastens, no—His thoughts
Ne'er aim'd at such damnation—Then—Even then
When I did think your hatred of your Essex
Rose to a hostile loathing—I had then
Laid down my life to purchase to my Queen,
Access of days, and honour.

QUEEN.
—O! no more—
Enough, my soldier—I have been to blame;
We both have err'd, mistaking each the other.
Fatal mistake! how can it be repair'd?
What's to be done?—

ESSEX.
—Nothing for me, my frenzy
Has borne me far beyond the bounds, beyond
The reach of mercy: I must die—
Your fame, your peace, your future welfare, all
Demand this sacrifice, and I will go
A willing victim; 'tis the only way
To expiate my crime. Yet e're I fall
Thus on my knee let me implore—

QUEEN.
—Rise Essex,
I cannot see you thus.

ESSEX.
—Permit me, madam!
The hour's at hand, when all you see of Essex,
Shall be restor'd to dust; say, my blest mistress,
Say, if my blood may wash my stains away?
Will you then drop your heavenly pardon down
Upon the guilt, and folly of your Essex?
And when forgot by others, may he hope
To find some place within his Queen's remembrance?

QUEEN.
I cannot speak to this—down swelling heart!
May heaven bestow on both, a pardon free
And full, as that which now I grant to thee.
Can Essex too forgive his Queen the blow,
Her rashness gave him.

ESSEX.
—'Tis too much?—Too much
This condescension! 'tis a cruel goodness,
It pierces to my soul.

QUEEN.
—Our time is short—
Soon will the lords, your judges be assembled
For life, or death—You stand upon the brink!
I fear—I would do much—'Tis true my fame
Is dear—The pleasure of my people too,
'Tis peril unto both—Yet Essex—Yet—
I cannot see thee lost—Here is my gage—
Take it, and with it take my royal word,
That whensoever you return this ring,
Whate'er be your request, it shall be granted,
To my crown's value.

ESSEX.
—On my knee I take it—
A radiant token, like the showery bow,
When first the patriarch hail'd it in the heavens;
Bless'd envoy of divinity appear'd,
And grace to wayward man!

QUEEN.
Farewel!—Who waits?
Enter Lieutenant of the Tower.
There take your pris'ner hence, and guard him safe,
Until his hour of trial.
[Exeunt ESSEX and Lieutenant.
—Now I feel
My heart more easy, all may yet be well.

Enter RUTLAND and Ladies.
RUTLAND.
Where is my Queen?—Where is my royal mistress?
Yet hold—Recall your sentence—At your feet
I throw myself for mercy—Mercy!

QUEEN.
Ha!—What do'st thou mean?

RUTLAND.
—O! never will I rise,
But take root, the very plant of sorrow,
'Till you will hear, and grant; 'till I've implor'd,
Obtain'd my full petition.

QUEEN.
—This is frenzy!
Thou do'st amaze me Rutland—Rise.

QUEEN.
—No, no.
Thus will I kneel, and weep, hold for ever;
Cling to your feet, incumber all your steps,
For pity—'Till you do relent—For pardon!
Pity, and pardon!—

QUEEN.
Quick, declare your meaning.

RUTLAND.
I fear—And yet I must—The worst is silence—
Will you then promise?—Will you then prepare?—
It is a story that may start your patience.
My lord—Your servant—Your ill-fated soldier—
Your Essex—Save him—Save him!

QUEEN.
—Ha! what said'st thou?
O my prophetic soul!—Is't thy concern?
How? Whereby?

RUTLAND.
—Save him!
Save my lost lord—Your Essex—Save his life,
And save the life of Rutland—O! he is—
He is—my husband—

QUEEN.
—Heavens! thy husband!

RUTLAND.
—Yes:—
A dear, a fatal name it is—I see it,
By the dread spark that quickens in your eye,
We were in secret married, a short while
Before my hapless lord set out for Ireland,
On his last expedition.

QUEEN.
—Serpents! vipers!
My curse it is to bosom such alone!
And all my fost'rings, all my nourishments,
Are paid me back in poison—Married! married!
Then thou art wedded to thy death.

RUTLAND.
—My death!
Alas! that's nothing; would my death appease you—
His life is all I ask—O royal madam!
You cannot know—You never had a husband;
You cannot feel how dreadful are the terrors,
The agonizing pangs of a fond wife,
Who fears to lose the husband of her heart,
Her first, her only love!

QUEEN.
—O! I am rack'd!
Off, off! I say with those detested hands!

RUTLAND.
I will not, cannot—E're you cast me from you,
Think, feel, how I am torn—My throbbing heart,
My frantic pulses, how they start, and beat,
To break their limits—My affrighted infant
Who know no guilt, yet trembles at your fury,
And starts, as conscious of his father's danger.

QUEEN.
Quick, tear her from me—Drag her from my sight—

RUTLAND.
O if you are woman, born of woman—First
Say but that he shall live—Shall he not live?
My love, my Essex, my life's lord.

QUEEN.
Why am not I obey'd?—Hence—Tear her hence—

RUTLAND.
Oh, these inhumane creatures!—I'm too weak,
My last of strength forsakes me, and I sink
Into despair's deep gulph.

QUEEN.
—Be that thy portion!
May comfort never find thee! may thy offspring,
If it should see the light, prove a fresh source
Of torment to thee—May we never meet!
Be our appointments wide as pole from pole,
Nor let that hated aspect shock me more.
[Exit Queen.

RUTLAND.
Yet stay, return—And Rutland shall assist
To frame new curses on herself—She's gone—
His doom is seal'd—He dies—Then welcome all,
The blackest plagues, that ever clung to misery!
May woes, on woes be heap'd, 'till the full measure
O'erwhelm my soul, and crush me into rest.

[Exit.