 | The Earl of Essex |  |
14
ACT II.
Enter Countess of RUTLAND and SOUTHAMPTON.RUTLAND.
Is he arriv'd? I shall run mad with joy!
Is my Lord come indeed?
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Too sure, too sure!
But Oh! that gulphs, far sunk beneath all fathom,
And wide as ocean flows, were now betwixt you!
RUTLAND.
Now by the sudden transports of my heart,
Which bounds, and kindles, spite of thy foreboding,
What mean those fears? what ill hath chanc'd, what change,
Since late the Queen, like circling providence,
Planted her heav'nly guardianship around him,
And screen'd him from his envious foes?
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Alas!
His rashness has undone us. His return,
Against the appointment of his high commission,
And in the palpable and conscious breach
Of the Queen's absolute commands; hath forfeited
All his proud titles, honours, offices—
Perhaps his precious life.
15
—O where, where is he?
Fly, thou dear friend! stop, intercept, conjure him
Quick back to Ireland, ere the blabbing wind
Can whisper his arrival. Tho' the world,
For one lov'd look, were short and poor of purchase,
What's world, or looks, or I, or all to Essex?
Fly, thou dear Friend—
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Alas! 'tis now too late—
He's just at hand—Fame says within this hour
He enters London. As I hasted hither,
I met the haughty Cecil, envious Raleigh,
And treacherous Nottingham in close cabal:
From ear to ear death murmur'd, and askance
They cast a smile of scorn, and with their eyes
Bid me defiance as they pass'd.
RUTLAND.
—Ah friend!
I sink beneath my fears, my heart dies in me.
I'll to the Queen this moment; fly, fall prostrate,
Cling to her royal feet, declare our marriage,
Weep, pray, conjure her, yet—if not for Essex,
Not for her Rutland's sake to save him, yet
Even for the little trembling pledge I bear him,
For whose most precious safety she stands charg'd
To her whole people.
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Stop—beware of that,
There's not another step 'twixt that and ruin.
Time—prudence checks my tongue—Let it suffice,
All other treasons would appear as loyalty
To that dread secret! that alone is wanting
To seal the doom of Essex—Soft, the Queen!
Severe and slow she comes; upon her brow,
16
I read her inward tumult—You had best retire.
[Exit Rutland.
Enter QUEEN, CECIL, RALEIGH, NOTTINGHAM, and Attendants.
QUEEN.
Is Essex then return'd?
CECIL.
—He is.
QUEEN.
—What hither?
To London? 'tis impossible—
CECIL.
Just now arriv'd.
QUEEN,
—Are law and loyalty but names?
Arriv'd against our personal injunctions!
'Tis treason but to think it.
CECIL.
—Will your Majesty
Be pleased to see him?
QUEEN.
—No!—
CECIL.
—Shall I then publish
Your royal will, forbidding him the court?
QUEEN.
Neither—How dare you, Sir? What, must I still
Be guided, nor allow'd my proper judgment?
Must every saucy minion call'd to council
Straight arrogate controul? and claim to be
Dictator to his Queen?
17
First, best, and brightest
Regent of hearts! whose voluntary throne
Rises supreme, amid the blissful tracts
Of liberty and reason! at your feet
A faithful subject falls. O royal Mistress,
I tremble to excuse my valiant friend:
He may be rash, impetuous, of a temper
Not tun'd to each occasion; for the Earl
Has artful foes, who studiously provoke
The faults for which they ambush. But that he
Is firm, and loyal; that his heart o'erflows
With fulness of his Queen; with truth, and faith,
And wondrous gratitude; I would stake down
The worth of my eternal soul to warrant.
Enter a Gentleman, who whispers SOUTHAMPTON.
QUEEN.
Whate'er Southampton may be as a subject,
I see he is a friend—at least to Essex.
SOUTHAMPTON.
May it please your Majesty, the Earl is come,
And waits your royal pleasure.
QUEEN.
—Tell the rebel—
Yet hold—I have better thought—Yes, I will see him—
But it shall be to sting his haughty soul:
Anger would give him consequence—Contempt
Is what he least can bear. Give him admittance.
18
ESSEX.
Health to the virgin majesty of England!
Your servant, your true soldier, Queen of monarchs!
For the first time now trembles to approach you,
As being here in conscious disobedience
Of your dread orders. Yet, when I have shewn
That 'twas the last necessity compell'd me
(Thanks to the artful malice of my foes)
To this now seemingly unduteous act;
When I have shewn that no alternative
Was left me, but to seem or disobedient,
Or bear a traytor's name; I shall rely
Upon your majesty's accustom'd grace,
Weighing the jealous honour of the soldier,
To palliate, if not clear, the subject's fault.
—I'm charg'd with guilt, with being false, disloyal,
False to my Queen, to England false; could Essex
Bear such a charge, and live? No—swift as thought,
And bold as innocence, fearless of danger,
Of death, or what is worse—His Queen's displeasure—
He comes to front his foes; even to the teeth
Of malice comes he, to assert his honour,
And claim due reparation of his wrongs.
QUEEN.
Cecil, are those petitions answer'd yet,
Which late I gave in charge?
CECIL.
They are, an't please you.
ESSEX.
What not a word, a look?—not one bless'd look
Of wonted influence, whose kindly warmth
Might chase these envious, and malignant clouds
With which your servant is begirt? Nay then—
19
The birds of dark and evil omen round me;
Cecils, and Raleighs: how they scent their feast—
Sagacious ravens, how they snuff from far
The promis'd carcass—Be it so—for Essex
Is but the creature of imperial favour,
By his Queen's voice exalted into greatness,
And by her breath reduc'd again to nothing.
QUEEN.
Ha! that's mournful—
I must not listen to that well known voice;
I feel the woman rising in my breast
—But rouse thee, Queen of Britain, be thyself.
What, does the traytor still abide our presence?
All who have truth, or fealty to their Queen,
Follow me straight.
[Exeunt all but Essex.
ESSEX.
Ha! is it then so?
What spurn'd, contemn'd, insulted!
Not heard, scarce seen; contemn'd! how, how feels that?
Contempt and Essex pair'd
Enter SOUTHAMPTON.
—What, one friend left?
Then Essex still is rich.
SOUTHAMPTON.
—My soul's elect,
Be firm! be all yourself! see from the throne
Proud Cecil comes, commission'd to discharge
Its thunder at thy head.
ESSEX.
—I see, my brother—
Never did that Leviathan appear,
20
Foretasting ill, and writhing in his nostrils
The promise of a tempest.
Enter CECIL and RALEIGH.
CECIL.
—Hear ye, Sir,
What the unquestion'd majesty of England
With gentlest mercy tempering awful justice,
By us pronounces—Robert Earl of Essex,
She here divests you of your trusts, and offices;
Your dignities of governor of Ireland,
Earl marshal, master of the horse, prime general
Of all her forces, both by land, and sea;
And lord lieutenant of the several counties
Of Essex, Hereford, and Westmoreland.
ESSEX.
Then I'm divested—well—what more? for these
Are but the lightness of a summer's robe,
The gauds and outward trappings of her Essex.
What farther?
CECIL.
—That you instantly depart
The Court, and stir no farther than your house,
Without an order from the Queen, and council.
And lastly, 'tis her pleasure, that you send
Your staff by us.
ESSEX.
—Ha! that indeed requires
Some pause—
CECIL.
—What say you? What may we return
In answer to her Majesty?
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—But wilt thou—
Wilt thou be sure expressly to deliver
What Essex gives in charge?
CECIL.
—I will most truly.
ESSEX.
Then tell her, treason never harbour'd yet
In bold blunt truths, or openess of action:
It seeks close covert in the smiles of courts,
Fleers in the cringe, and skulks behind the vizard.
Tell her—my honest Cecil! tell thy mistress,
That treason is a statesman, near her throne,
Who holds his Queen besieg'd, and calls it guardianship;
Who seals th'imperial sense; cuts the dear ties
'Twixt sovereign and subject; fills her church
With proselytes to vice, and sets corruption
Aloft, even on the seats of injur'd justice:
For guilt seeks fellowship, and league with guilt,
And vice supports his kindred.
CECIL.
—I shall remember.
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Tell her too,
That while she slumber'd, that arch felon, Cecil
Scal'd her high seat, and seized the reins of empire;
Thence bids the dews descend, and thunders roll
To his direction; sheds her bounties down
Where his vile minions for vile ends may prosper:
But ever plants the bolt, and deadly blast,
Where worth, or wisdom flourish—Wretched Britons!
Is there a patriot, is there yet a man,
Whose blood, whose toils, whose virtues have acquir'd
Aught to his country's service; 'tis a crime
22
Fretting the eye of envy, and of Cecil.
But O! the brave, the valiant never scape him,
For cowards still are cruel.
CECIL.
—Well observ'd—
This I shall tell, and that Southampton said it.
RALEIGH.
My Lords, in speaking thus, you tax her majesty
Of weakness, and injustice both.
ESSEX.
—I care not—
Suggest whate'er your malice may devise,
'Tis equal all to Essex.
CECIL.
—May we then
Presume your answer summ'd in this?
ESSEX.
—You may.
CECIL.
You'll not return your staff by us.
ESSEX.
—I will not.
From my Queen's hand did I receive that staff,
Nor will I yield it back to any other.
CECIL.
Fare ye well, lords—
[Exeunt Cecil and Raleigh
SOUTHAMPTON.
—Now are they fraught with venom,
Which they will strait discharge, with all the force
Of spiteful rage, into the royal ear.
I must away to counteract their poison.
23
Yes my Southampton, haste, say to the queen
That Essex now adjures her by his services,
If ever they found favour in her sight,
To grant him but a hearing, a short hearing;
From her own lips let him receive his doom,
To her own hands restore his offices,
And he will yield unmurmuring to his fate.
SOUTHAMPTON.
I sly, my lord, and doubt not yet to gain
An interview—Oh! may its end be prosperous.
[Exit Southampton.
ESSEX.
Where now is Essex? Where the late rebuke
Of nations, hostile to the peace of Britain?
Who spread their lands with rout, their seas with terror!—
Deminish'd—shrunk—As tho' he had never triumph'd;
As tho' he ne'er had conquer'd for his country.
O hard earn'd glory! long wrought pile of greatness!
Are your enchanted works no more than so,
A word, and vanish?—Now—Where are they now?
The rushing mob—The shouting multitude—
The sweeping levee and the bending circle?
All fled, all mute, and lonesome now around me!
As tho' I walk'd o'er graves and charnel ground;
As tho' I carried famine in one hand,
And pestilence in t'other.
Enter RUTLAND.
RUTLAND.
—My Essex!
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—Rutland! O, my better angel!
How has thy presence fill'd this solitude!
And like a beam from heaven dispers'd the gloom
That overspread my soul.
RUTLAND.
—I could not bear
To think you were so near me, and not rush
To snatch one look—But I must haste—
ESSEX.
—Fear nothing.
RUTLAND.
We shall be seen.
ESSEX.
—No eye is bent this way,
No footstep turn'd; for a discarded favourite,
Shun'd like the plague, makes every place a desert.
RUTLAND.
May I then look! indulge my longing eyes?
I cannot speak to thee, my heart's too full.
Essex! you turn away!
ESSEX.
—Alas my love
What object now is Essex for thy eyes?
Stripp'd of his honours, all his glories wither'd,
A bare, and sightless trunk!
RUTLAND.
—O Essex, Essex!
Can'st thou think so meanly of thy Rutland,
As to believe the gaudy pageantry,
The trappings of ambition, ever made thee
More lovely in my sight? No, Essex, no,
25
Thy splendid dignities, commands in war,
I look'd upon as my worst enemies,
Which interpos'd, and held me from my lord.
Are they remov'd? then there's no obstacle
Between his Rutland, and her soul's elect;
And thus she claims him, thus she folds him in,
From war, and from ambition, cruel rivals!
For all she wedded, all she ever wish'd,
Her wealth, her every want, her world is here,
And scorns addition.
ESSEX.
—Heaven make me worthy,
Of so much tenderness! yes, I will own
Ambition had its charms; but 'twas in hopes
To raise my love as high above her sex
In dignity, as she transcends in merit:
Else had I never barter'd one blest hour
Of thy society for what the world,
Thro' a proud life of conquest, and dominion,
Could yield in absence.
RUTLAND.
—And will you then
No longer listen to delusive fame?
No more be guided by the witching sires
Of wand'ring glory? Homeward wilt thou turn,
Where love, and Rutland, have prepared the seat
Of humble rapture, and of inward peace?
A little empire of serene delights,
Of guardian virtues, and observant smiles,
All ready, waiting for their lord's arrival.
ESSEX.
O, my fantastick folly, that could listen
To the enchantments of that syren fame!
26
Shall vain ambition tempt me to forego
My soul's substantial bliss. Adieu false splendours!
My rest is fix'd even here—We'll find some spot
Secluded from the world, like that fair garden,
Where first the princely parent of mankind,
Blest in his consort's sweet society,
Wish'd for no other pleasure: there we'll live,
Far from the haunts of men, from vice, and folly;
Reign in each other's hearts with mutual sway,
The noblest royalty! Be love our treasure,
We shall be wond'rous rich! love our ambition,
And who exalted like us?
RUTLAND.
—O my Essex!
What a new paradise were there! to know
No pangs of parting; see thee every day,
And sometimes all the day—Sweet holiday!
Peace round my pillow; and my morning sun
Cheer'd by thy presence; and thine eyes to speak
Love's language; and thy smiles to interfuse
The swell of cordial joy—O, my lov'd Essex,
That life indeed were blest!
ESSEX.
—Ha! who comes here?
Be not alarm'd my love, it is my friend.
Enter SOUTHAMTON.
Well, my Southampton—
SOUTHAMPTON.
Heavens, what madness this!
Sould any eye behold you—And the queen
Has just enquired for you—Fly with speed.
27
Alas! from what a happy dream of heaven,
Hast thou awak'd me! what is human bliss?
A moment's meeting, a long age of absence!
One rich, and precious drop of cordial joy,
Drench'd in a current of insipid time,
Or deep affliction.
ESSEX.
—Light, and life of Essex,
From thee be evil far: we soon shall meet
To part no more.
RUTLAND.
Farewel—Remember, Rutland
Knows not one happy hour, when thou art from her.
[Exit Rutland.
SOUTHAMPTON.
The queen to my importunate request
Has granted you a hearing, be prepar'd:
You must command your temper, for believe me
'Tis on the warmth of that, the generous warmth,
(Which still accompanies the noblest natures)
Your foes rely, to fire the subtle train,
Which they have laid to blast your hopes for ever.
ESSEX.
Well, I will try—altho' 'tis wond'rous hard
Calmly to bear th'envenom'd shafts of malice;
And pois'nous tooth of foul mouth'd calumny!
Yet I will try—Be truth my only weapon,
Patience my shield. But no dissimulation
Shall with its base alloy, bring down the ore,
The pure, rich ore, of which the noble mind
By nature's hand is form'd, below truth's standard.
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Infect, and leaven that Integrity
Of soul, in which man's dignity consists.
Had I the choice to make, I swear by heaven,
I should esteem it far more eligible,
To fall with honour, than to rise by baseness.
[Exeunt.
The END of the SECOND ACT.
| The Earl of Essex | |