University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Enter CECIL and NOTTINGHAM.
CECIL.
No more—Bright Nottingham—We strive in vain—
Essex can only be subdu'd by Essex;
He stands impregnable to all beside:
And if his native pride, and proper passions,
Serve not to pull his own destruction on him;
He bids for perpetuity in favour.

NOTTINGHAM.
The queen, I fear, has motives for her favour,
Which queens may feel, but not avow; unmark'd
Within this hour I stole upon her privacy;
Her brow was sunk from royalty; and sad,
And desolate her aspect; as of one
Betroth'd to loneliness; in whom the pride
Of power, and beauty, was no more remember'd.
I listen'd—But her broken accents spoke
A voice suppress'd by grief; while down her check
Stole the pale tear, which ever as she wip'd,
A piteous heir succeeded.

CECIL.
—I perceive
She is much mov'd of late, and prone to starts
Of sudden passion, even beyond her temper.

NOTTINGHAM.
How did she brook the haughty earl's reply
To her last message?

CECIL.
—Never did I see her
So stung, so thoroughly enkindled—Straight
She issued hasty orders for impeachment;
When in the very stroke of instant fate,
Southampton came, and with a subtle tale
Calm'd all her rage: And now is Essex sent for,
To plead to what Southampton boldly stiles
The gall of false accusers.

NOTTINGHAM.
—Curs'd be his tongue!
For then the ground we've gain'd will all be lost.

CECIL.
I see the queen but seeks some thin pretext
To cover inclination; some smooth terms
Of so't submission, or acknowledg'd error,
To reinstate this minion of her fancy,
In wonted height of arrogance.—But see
Her closet opens—Let us not appear
To pry on her retirements.

NOTTINGHAM.
—You withdraw,
I'll wait within her call.

[Exit Cecil.
Enter QUEEN.
QUEEN.
The proud, insensible, ungrateful wretch!
The thankless, kindless, faithless, barbarous Essex!
False to his loving queen, his friend, his patron;
False to his—Hold thee there, for I will tear him
From my fond bosom, tho' the vital drops
Of my sad heart should follow,—Queen of Britain
To what art thou reduc'd? with not one friend;
Forlorn, and desolate, amidst a realm,
Whom as a parent bird, with hov'ring wings
Thy daily love has gathered in from danger,
And foster'd with thy life,—Ha! Nottingham!
I thought I had been alone.—

NOTTINGHAM.
—Pardon a duty
Perhaps too forward—Ah, my royal mistress!
All is not well—Upon my knees I beg—
Somewhat hangs heavy on your mind, or haply
Your precious health's in danger.

QUEEN.
Rise, my Nottingham—
I am in health, and thank thy tenderness;
Only a little troubled that my people
Grow weary of my love: I have reign'd long;
Such is the nature of inconstant man,
The purest ore of happiness below,
Without variety, will lose its value;
Whilst novelty can give the vilest dross
Both stamp and currency. Prithee my friend,
What say the people to this haughty man,
And his late conduct?

NOTTINGHAM.
—Please your majesty,
They seem to blame him highly.

QUEEN.
—Blame him, say'st thou?

NOTTINGHAM.
Indeed it was not well.

QUEEN.
—Not well—The Traytor!
And is that all? Come, come, speak plainly to me.
Is it thus tamely that my subjects see
This daring insult to my crown? Or warm'd
With duteous zeal, and loyal indignation,
Vent freely their reproaches?

NOTTINGHAM.
—Thus commanded,
I shall without disguise speak what I've heard
Of this imperious soldier.

QUEEN.
—Aye, pray do—
Be plain—What says the world of me, and Essex?

NOTTINGHAM.
Of you they never speak, but in a prayer
Of due thanksgiving, and of wishes breath'd
As incense up to heaven, for length of life,
And days of happy omen.

QUEEN.
—Well, proceed—
Of Essex then—

NOTTINGHAM.
—Of him they utter terms
Of due reproach, and plenteous imprecation.
His popularity, they give to pride,
That cringes to be courted; his beneficence
To niggard bribes for flattery; his high courage
To bear-like brutal rashness; his atchievements
To a mean fondness for the blab of fame:
And all his acts stil'd patriot, all his labours,
His risques, his wounds, his conquests for his country;
To close and treacherous plottings on her rights,
And sacred liberties.—For he's ambitious,
Dark, dreadful, and aspiring, as the fiend
Who first rais'd war in heaven, and tumbling thence
Unpeopled Paradise; and so they wish
The fall of Essex may be quick, and—

QUEEN.
—Hold—
No more—Thou hast rail'd thyself quite out of breath.
In thee 'tis base, 'tis barbarous insolence
To echo thus the vileness of the rabble.
Unhappy Essex! truly hast thou serv'd
A false base world, and now hast none to friend,
Save her thou hast offended.

NOTTINGHAM.
—Please your majesty
Your own express command—

QUEEN.
—Away, away—
Thou see'st thy queen, misfortune, and the world
All bent against one man, and yet can'st find
Within that ruthless and obdurate breast,
No room for pity.

NOTTINGHAM.
—Madam, I hope—

QUEEN.
Well, well, no more of it—
'Tis past, and I forgive—Send Rutland hither.
[Exit Nottingham.
What has my passion done? Perhaps unfolded
The very secret it attempts to cover;
What I would hide from thought. Why stands my soul
Upon the watch to listen and enquire
Tydings, which most it dreads to learn, the faults,
And errors of my Essex? Why my heart,
Why art thou prone to utter terms of blame
Against the cruel troubles of thy quiet?
Yet can'st not bear the slightest censure drop'd
From any other Tongue, as tho' all crimes
Against myself were light, and what is spoke
Against my Essex, stood alone for treason.
Enter RUTLAND.
My Rutland, I did send for thee my girl;
I have observ'd that thou art sad of late.
Why are thy lovely eyes depress'd with sorrow?
Can I do aught that may dispel the cloud,
That envious cloud, which hangs upon thy beauties,
And robs me of my friend?

RUTLAND.
—Ah, queen of grace!
And heavenly goodness! you oppress your servant,
With this excess of condescension.

QUEEN.
—Why—
I love thee well, my Rutland, well, and warmly;
Trust me I do.—Injurious Nottingham,
Hath held displeasing conversation with me,
Touching my lord of Essex; insomuch
That I did send her from my sight in anger.

RUTLAND.
Ha! that dear name, starts every pulse within me!

QUEEN.
Thou blushest, Rutland.

RUTLAND.
—At the wond'rous grace,
The wond'rous goodness of my queen.

QUEEN.
—Indeed
Thou'rt of a grateful nature, ever sweet,
And kindly temper'd. Come then to my Bosom,
And share its warmest love.—Tell me, my Rutland,
Is it not pity that so brave a man,
So form'd for gallant acts, and upright honour,
That Essex should be false, should prove a traytor?
And goaded by ambition, should attempt
The sceptre of his queen; to whom he owes
A countless debt of favours; by whom raised
Beyond a subject's state, he proudly now
Would grasp the crown, which seems within his reach.

RUTLAND.
It cannot be, it is impossible;
The soul of Essex is above such baseness,
Such black ingratitude. Ah! royal mistress!
Had you but heard him, on the breath of praise
Lift up the exalted name of England's queen,
As I have often heard him!—

QUEEN.
—Say'st thou Rutland,
Hast thou heard Essex talk of me?

RUTLAND.
—Of you?
He owns no other theme. In courts I grant
He is no minion, but a soldier bold,
And jealous of his honour: but when his truth
Is free to heaven, and honest ears, 'tis then
He vents the swell of gratitude, and tunes
His words to loyalty, his voice to love.
Your acts, your laws, your virtues, and your beauties,
Your every excellence of mind and person,
Vary his numbers thro' a ceaseless round
Of untir'd praise; and all is of his mistress,
And all of England's virgin majesty,
And all is full of you.

QUEEN.
—Indeed my Rutland,
I would fain hope that Essex still is honest:
But then he's so ungovern'd, rash, so headstrong,
Nor law, nor duty hold him: I do fear,
I greatly fear, with safety to my fame,
I may no more protect him.

RUTLAND.
—Not protect him!
By the bright star of mercy in your soul,
That shines on the distrest—Oh say you not
That he is honest? Yes he still is loyal,
Faithful, and firm: the virgin light of heaven
E're yet it mingles with our grosser elements,
Is not more pure. O will you not remember
His worth, his truth, his toils, and his atchievements?
A wond'rous story all! high deeds of fame
That gird the crown of England's queen with glory.
His valour too! his valour royal madam!
It foils the heroes of romance: a name
So formidable to the foes of Britain,
It spares our English host, and of itself
Discomfits armies.

QUEEN.
—Ha! this heat is more
Than friendship's warmth; 'tis from a stronger fire—
She loves him—Aye, 'tis so—And is herself
Too lovely! wretched chance!—What have I done?
Just conjur'd up a second storm to wreck me.
Leave me.—

[Exit Rutland.
Enter CECIL, RALEIGH, NOTTINGHAM, &c.
CECIL.
May it please your majesty, my lord of Essex,
Return'd by your command, entreats admittance.

QUEEN.
—Let him appear.
Now queen of Britain, now support thy state!
Now guard thy treacherous heart, but for this once,
Against its dear, its insolent controuler,
And fear no future foe—Come hither Nottingham.

Enter ESSEX, and SOUTHAMPTON.
ESSEX.
Before I plead my cause, permit me thus,
Most gracious mistress, thus in due prostration,
To pay my grateful thanks, for this last favour
In granting me a hearing; that once ended,
To my queen's justice I submit my life,
And what is dearer to me far, my honour:
Implicity to your tribunal bow,
Humbly prepar'd, and equally resign'd
To either sentence.

QUEEN.
My lords, what suppliant's this? Can this be he,
Our late imperious subject? He, who holds
A staff of independence, and a state
That scorns to yield to our supremacy?
O, these are gallant acts! and well become
The boasted name of our all conquering Essex!
Who bravely turns his courage on his queen;
But where his duty calls him to the combat,
Can coolly condescend to terms of peace,
And gentle treaty.

ESSEX.
—Is it come to this?
To be a term of ridicule, and mockery,
Where most I would be priz'd? cast by my Queen
To public scorn, and mean contempt?—Then Essex—
Then art thou fallen indeed! Why this, my mistress?
Are there not chains, and dungeons; blocks, and axes?
These had been fitter instruments of royalty,
And done a nobler justice on your soldier—
I think your majesty was pleas'd to speak
Touching some treaty, as a charge against me
Of something criminal.

QUEEN.
—Yes, with Tyrone,
Your parley; and your truce—Discharge those stains,
Your covert articles with England's rebels.

ESSEX.
Alas, how soon pretences may be found
To make the envy'd fall—Of treaty—Yes—
I do avow it. Am not I your general?
Impower'd for war, for peace, to treat, to fight,
Levy, disband, to punish, and to pardon.

QUEEN.
And should the mighty Essex have confin'd
These powers to peace alone, even when rebellion
Led forth his hosts, and dar'd him to the combat?
Whilst he—

ESSEX.
—Shrunk like a coward—Is't not so? Ha! madam!
Essex, and cowardice!—let those stand forth
Who dar'd to match them—Ask your ministers
Why they witheld my army from the North,
By keeping back my due recruits, and subsidies.

QUEEN.
You grow too bold—You are call'd here to plead,
Not to impeach—Your army was sufficient.

ESSEX.
No, royal madam, it was not sufficient
To war with heaven, to fight against Omnipotence!
It was consum'd with fevers, and diseases;
For Essex could have fear'd no other foe.
There's not a casuist in Rome's artful school,
Or Cecil's darker council, who can mark
The slightest lapse of duty in your servant;
And shall he not retaliate, shall he not
Unwind the subtle clue, which leads his Queen
To cruel sarcasm, and unjust resentment.

QUEEN.
Unjust, and cruel! hold—no more—I charge you!

ESSEX.
Not speak, not speak! madam, I am your subject;
The world contains not one more duteous; yet
Here I must not be silent—Thoughts to slaves,—
But speech to Britons—Yes I will assert it,
The freedom of my native land, tho' death
Did cross me to the teeth—A criminal debar'd
His priviledge to plead! 'tis evident
My life's conspir'd, my glories all traduc'd;
These bosom'd snakes, and ear-informing sycophants
Gape for my plenteous heirship; even my Queen
Foredooms her subject, and gives up her soldier,
A sacrifice to faction.

QUEEN.
Oh, he'll be lost!—Undo himself, and me!
What, I conspire, traduce, foredoom thy sentence!
Know, thou proud wretch, thou hast no other friend:
Thou who art so observant! who didst spurn
My orders, letters, messages—But hold,
Beware how thou dost shake my wrongs too much,
Lest they fall thick, and heavy on thy head.
Rash fool, and undiscerning;—Yet thus far
I do forgive thee; pardon thee that life,
I did conspire—But for thy offices—

ESSEX.
—I throw them at your feet—and proud indeed
To be acquitted of all debt to majesty!
Now give them up to cowards, courtiers, parasites;
And dub them champions; in whose doughty guardianship
Your Essex can't be miss'd; whilst he is banish'd,
And bears no mark of royal gratitude,
But wounds for toils, for dangers ignominy,
And sufferings for allegiance: haply sent
To desarts, or to herd with savages—
There he may find more equity, and honour,
Than in the faith of princes.

SOUTHAMPTON.
—My lord, my lord!
Recall your temper.

QUEEN.
The audacious traytor!

ESSEX.
—Traytor! ha, traytor! yes, because I fenc'd
Your throne; this breast, this scarr'd breast still its bulwark;
For covering England with my spreading laurels,
Whilst your safe subjects slept beneath the shade;
For humbling Spain, your proud, and dreaded rival,
And wafting all their India to your Thames;
For building up the fame of England's Queen
So high, it flames a beacon to the world.
Said I your fame? Your life—your life—kind mistress!
For saving that, and cutting bold Northumberland,
And hostile Westmoreland, short by the head:
This did the faithless, and degraded Essex—
But I'll remove the traytor from your sight.

QUEEN.
Hold, Sir—
Go not without reward—

[Strikes him.
ESSEX.
Death! hell! from whence? my Queen—

[Half draws his sword.
QUEEN.
—What would the villain?
Dares he attempt my life?

ESSEX.
—Rash woman!
Were you a man, you durst not—Your hot father,
Bold Harry, durst not risque it.—What talk I
Of Harries? not young Ammon, as whose nod
The servile Earth fell prostrate, had surviv'd
To boast this desperate deed.

QUEEN.
May the mark flick like Cain's, for thy rebellion!
Thou madding wretch, untam'd, and dangerous ever.
I give thee up I will no more against
Thy own outrageous folly, strive to save thee.
Like thy last hopes, I leave thee to the stings
Of guilt and desperation—now cast forth,
Unpitied and unblest of earth, and heaven,
And thy too partial queen.

[Exeunt all but Essex and Southampton.
SOUTHAMPTON.
What have you done? ruin'd yourself and friends
By your high carriage.—Fly, my lord, yet fly,
Follow the Queen, intreat, implore her pardon.

ESSEX.
Away!—The spot of infamy is on me!—
The blow has fir'd my soul, and all within,
Is deafning uproar—Never 'till this hour
Was Essex fit for treasons, cruel joys,
And glutting horrors! Get thee hence, Southampton,
For I'm the tumbling of a thousand towers,
Ruins that threaten far, to involve all
Who sap, or prop, within a like perdition.

SOUTHAMPTON.
I fear no ruin, when my friend's in danger;
If thou must fall, thou shalt not fall alone:
Southampton never will forsake his Essex,
But share his adverse, as his prosperous fortune.
Away then, let us fly this dang'rous place.

ESSEX.
Aye, there thou say'st, my friend, avoid all courts,
The bane of native dignity, and greatness.
But shall it be? Shall drones, and wasps alone
Devour the treasur'd sweets of all the land,
And drive the bees from their long-labour'd mansion?
No—let us purge, or overturn the hive—
There yet is feeling—yet is fire in England!—
I'll to the streets, the city, wake, alarm,
And kindle every spark of slumb'ring virtue:
Rouze ev'ry Briton to his country's call,
And in her freedom stand, or perish in her fall.

[Exeunt.