University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

Enter Rutland and Southampton.
Rut.
'Twas bravely done, Southampton, to defend
My dearest Essex with such noble warmth,
Such Goodness in Excess: Oh may thy Soul
Still glory in its Truth, still firmly plead
The Merits of thy Friend, lest Death attend
On Cecil's Arts, and, while soft Mercy sleeps,
My Essex should become the Monster's Prey.

South.
Alas my Friendship pleads in vain, and Death
With all his Pomp already is in view.

Rut.
What can you mean my Lord? sure Essex lives,
And, if he lives, my Soul shall be at ease:
—But speak Southampton, in a Moment speak,
And cure the Anguish of my doubting Heart.
(Southampton continues silent.
What! not a Word! why then some Villain's Sword
Has ruin'd all my Joys, and Burleigh's Fraud
Prevails: O cure this Longing of my Soul,
And let me know the Rigour of my Fate,
That Death, or Madness may conclude my Pain.

South.
Be patient, Madam, for he lives. But yet—

Rut.
He lives! my Lord, yet lives! then welcome all
The Woes Mankind can feel: for, while he lives,
And mutual Passion flames in either Soul,
I'm guarded from their Rage.

South.
—He lives 'tis true,
But cannot long: for, on the brink of Fate,
He pauses now, and Burleigh is the Fiend
That urges on his Doom.—

Rut.
—Amazement chills me!
'Twas but the Moment past the Queen resolv'd,
In Justice to his Deeds, to guard his Life,
And save him from his Foes.

South.
—But his Return
Has made her Mercy vain—

Rut.
—What is my Lord
Return'd! Oh bear me quickly to his Arms,
That I may speak my Joy in Sighs, and Tears,
And all the moving Eloquence of Love.

South.
Alas! you talk as when auspicious Heav'n
Smil'd on your Vows, and Essex was ador'd
By half the World; but all those Hours are fled,
And Death, and Darkness are behind—

Rut.
Good Heav'n! Distraction and Despair confound
My troubled Sense, and baffle all my Thoughts;
What can be done to save him?—if he dies—
Oh horrible to think!—it must not be.
—What if you haste this Moment to my Lord,
And from us both, conjure him to return,
E're Fraud and Vengeance snatch him from the World!

South.
In vain! for envious Burleigh has the News,
And 'tis too late to struggle in the Snare.

Rut.
Then give me Way, this Moment I'll confess
Our Marriage to the Queen, and plead his Cause
In all the Strains of Love; the moving Tale
Shall sooth her Rage, and guard him from his Fate:
Or at her Feet I'll die to expiate his Crime,
And prove my Passion worthy of my Lord—.

[Offers to be gone.
South.
Oh, hold, or sure Destruction waits you both;
For, should the Queen imagine such a Band
Had join'd your Vows, not all his glorious Deeds
Can lengthen out his Days, nor all her Love
Commiserate his End; there's Nought remains
But to enlarge upon his Worth, and leave
The rest to Heav'n, and her—But see! she comes,
Like silver Cynthia sully'd o'er with Clouds,
Majestically sad.—Madam retire;
Unless your Soul's so constant as to bear
Your Lord's Disgrace unmov'd, or see him kneel
In vain.—

Rut.
Alas! you fright me with the Thought,
For sure my streaming Tears would speak my Pain,
And publish all my Love; sure I should fly
To his Embrace, and so encircled, dare
The utmost Rage of Fate; for 'tis in him
My Joys are center'd, and with him I lose
My Peace of Mind for ever.—

[Exit.
Enter Queen, Burleigh, &c.
Queen.
—Impossible!
Essex arriv'd! sure 'tis some base Design,
By Treason form'd, t'abuse our Royal Faith,
And cheat a Heroe of his due Rewards.

Bur.
Pardon me, gracious Queen, if I again
Attest th'ungrateful Truth, that Favourite Lord,
Despising your Command, has dar'd to leave
The War unfinish'd, and with Kingly Pomp
Now Marches to defend the haughty Deed.

Queen.
What will the Traytor insolently dare
To brave me to my Face? It cannot be;
For when he dares, he dies, tho' all Mankind
Should plead his Pardon, and my tortur'd Heart
Stream Blood in soft Compassion for his Fate.

Bur.
[Shout.

Queen.
And is it really thus? why then 'tis Time
T'assert the Throne, and crush him ere he soars,
Beyond the Reach of Pow'r; double my Guards,
And let each Soldier rest upon his Arms,
That none may dare to question our Commands,
Or justify the Traytor in his Guilt.

Bur.
Alas! my Sovereign! fruitless in your Care,
If once he enter these devoted Walls;
For with such Zeal the People are his Slaves,
That they will die with Joy in his Defence:
Then banish him the Court, 'till long Disgrace
Has render'd him obnoxious to their Hate,
And so he falls unhonour'd, and unmourn'd.

Queen.
How can'st thou think that I would sooth a Croud?
Or trifle with my Wrongs? What Soul is thine
That trembles to confront the Man it hates?
For 'tis thy Dread of Essex, and his Rage,
That move thee thus to lengthen out his Doom.
But know, thou Coward! that when I resolve
'Tis done, and Fear is foreign to my Nature.

South.
Madam, my Friend this Moment will appear
To vindicate his Fame; I hear the Sounds
[Shout.
Of his Approach; yet, while this Moment lasts,
Permit me to assert his Innocence,
And plead in his Behalf: The Earl is brave,
And stands the foremost in the Lists of Fame,
But envious Souls have studied his Disgrace,
And toil incessant to eclipse his Deeds:
Such Burleigh is, and such have been his Schemes;
I dare avow this Truth, and when your Grace
Shall view the General bleeding on the Earth,
Deserted by his Friends; deform'd with Death;
And branded with Disgrace, I'm sure you'll mourn
A brave Man lost.—

Queen.
—O dreadful Scene of Things!
Ye heavenly Pow'rs! instruct my dubious Mind
To strike with Justice, or with Mercy save—
—This is the State of Kings; we sit enthron'd
With Pomp and Majesty, and proudly take
The Homage of the World; We bear the Wealth
Of Nations on a Robe, and feed the Sense
With Delicates unknown to vulgar Tastes:
But finds the Soul Contentment in a Crown
Or all the Dignity it boasts? Ah no!
That Jewel is deny'd to glitter there,
But shines unheeded in the humble Field,
Where Peasants toil for the Support of Life.
—Oh had my Soul but known no higher State,
I had been happy too!

Enter Essex.
Essex.
—Long live the Queen!
[Kneels.
Your Essex, from the Rage of War return'd
Again in Safety, bends beneath your Feet,
And consecrates the Trophies of the Field
To you, the Guardian Genius of his Fate!
Oh may your wonted Grace reward my Toil
And I am bless'd indeed!—
—Why looks the Queen
With such a scornful Brow, and turns away
With such disdainful State? 'Tis then too true
[Rises.
That I'm undone—Some base designing Slave,
While I was fighting in my Country's Cause,
Has wrong'd my Deeds, and with the meanest Arts
Shed Poison on my Name, or I had held
My dear-bought Glory still, and still possess'd
A Title to your Grace.

Queen.
—How canst thou dare
Pretend that Fraud has tarnish'd o'er thy Fame,
Or studied thy Disgrace? Has not thy Pride
Assum'd a Regal Power, and in effect
Deny'd Obedience to our Laws? Forbear
The trifling Charge, and, if thou canst, defend
The bold Commission of thy trait'rous Deeds.

Essex.
My Deeds, dread Sovereign! have been ever such
As need not a Defence; such as will shine
With native Light, and shed a Glory round:
Such as were acted in the open Day,
And prove an honest Soul that scorn'd a Thought
Of private Int'rest, or a single Wish
The least injurious to the publick Good.

Queen.
Whence then this base Desertion of thy Troops
Against our strict and absolute Command?

Essex.
If, to return victorious from the Field
Be base, I glory in the Deed: 'Tis true,
Your sacred Order ought to be obey'd;
But where's the Man who can with Patience bear
The hellish Arts of such a Thing as this?
An hoary Traitor! who, with secret Guile,
Marks out for Ruin all who bravely serve
Their Sovereign, and the Realm; who builds his Rule
Upon the Vices of a venal World;
And flatters Princes into lawless Rule.

Queen.
Patience good Heav'n! or I shall burst with Rage;
Insulted to my Face! my Friends abus'd,
And Majesty defy'd!—But I'll no more—
The Ruin thou deserv'st must be thy Fate
[Exeunt Queen, &c.

Manent, Essex, and Southampton.
Essex.
The Ruin I deserve!—'tis well; yet once
There was a Time when Essex was receiv'd
On milder Terms; when, seated by her Throne,
The greatest Glories of the Realm were mine;
When, deaf to all the Babblings of the World,
She listen'd to my Voice the live-long Day,
And scarce the midnight Hour could end the Tale:
But now—she storms at my Approach, and Death
Must be my Doom. My Reign has been too long,
And Cecil's Grandeur rises on my Fall.
Ah my Southampton! leave me to my Fate,
And court the rising Sun.

South.
—'Tis true, my Lord,
That I have long admir'd the Virtues you possess,
And held the Honour of your nearest Thoughts;
Yet, while your Grandeur needed no Support,
And Thousands offer'd everlasting Love,
I only silent check'd the struggling Vow
Of needless Service, and unquestion'd Faith;
But, now your Days of Sorrow are arriv'd,
I give it Way, and, by yon azure Heav'n,
Devote my Life and Fortune to my Friend.
Receive them from my Soul, and, when my Zeal
Shall cool in thy Defence, may all thy Woes,
And twice ten Thousand more distract my Thoughts,
And I become the Scorn of all Mankind!

Essex.
And is there still such Goodness here below?
Oh my brave Friend what Gratitude is due
To thy Desert? more than Expression knows,
Or Friendship can describe.—

Enter Burleigh and other Lords.
Bur.
—The Queen, my Lord,
Hath sent us to dismiss you from the Court:
The Offices you held are now bestow'd
On other Lords, and tho' I grieve t'unfold
Her stern Command, it is her Royal Will
That you remain a Pris'ner in your House,
'Till her Indulgence grant you a Release;
And that, to prove your Loyalty, you send
The Gen'ral's Staff, wherewith she grac'd your Arms,
And sent you to the Field.

Essex.
—So then this Wretch
Dissembles Sorrow for my Fate, and hopes
That I'm deceiv'd; yet, in malicious Smiles,
Can speak my Ruin, and with eager Joy
Redouble all my Woes.

Bur.
My Lord, we wait for your Resolve, and hope
'Twill be as mild as Mercy, calm as Peace.

Essex.
And wilt thou then be faithful to thy Charge,
And tell her to beware of secret Foes?
Such as in humble wise aspire to Rule,
And with dissembled Piety betray;
Such as, like Serpents in the flow'ry Field
Sit brooding Death, yet wonder at the Wound:
Such, whose insatiate Avarice of Gold
Is like the Whirlpool, whose devouring Wheel,
With giddy Circles, turns the Vessels round,
Then swallows them for ever.—

South.
—Dar'st thou tell
Her Majesty such Truths; and that thy self
Art he, the Serpent for destructive Guile;
The greedy Whirlpool for Desire of Gold?

Bur.
I dare the utmost of Southampton's Hate,
And scorn at once his Dictates and his Rage—
But yet I'm calm—my Lord I've waited long
Expecting your Reply, and should rejoice,
In spite of all my Wrongs, to serve a Man
Whose matchless Virtues are the Boast of Fame.

Essex.
Away! my Soul disdains thy fawning Arts,
And, conscious of untainted Faith, denies,
With sordid Awe, to bend beneath a Throne,
And beg forgiveness of imagin'd Crimes
To lengthen out the Pageantry of Life.

Bur.
Is this then all the Sovereign Pow'r deserves
For such unbounded Instances of Love?
This all th'Obedience which your stubborn Soul
Can deign to offer to redeem her Grace?

Essex.
Hold Statesman! nor presume with impious Tongue
To doubt my Loyalty, or Gratitude;
'Tis thou alone that I disdain to court,
And from thy wicked Arts appeal; the Queen!
The Queen shall be my Judge: Who, ever Good
And Gracious, ne'er condemns a Slave unheard;
To her alone, who made me what I am,
I shall resign the Offices I hold,
And, if she seeks my Life, without a Groan
I die at her Command.

Bur.
—'Tis well, my Lord!
Ev'n as you wish the Queen shall be your Judge.
[Exeunt Burleigh, &c.

Essex.
O my Southampton! Oh my Friend! a Name
More worth than all the Empires of the Globe!
You see my Fate's at Hand, and Cecil dares
To glory in the Deed: Must I be led
Then tamely to the Block? nor once attempt
To ward the fatal Blow? yet not for Life,
Or all the Honours that a Prince can give,
Would I desire to lengthen out its Date:
But still there hangs a Wish upon my Soul
For Rutland's sake, my charming lovely Bride!
Who scarce had bless'd me with a Lover's Joy,
Ere Arms, and Glory call'd me to the Field;
And now, arriving eager to restore
Her ravish'd Bliss, and banish all her Woes,
My Death ensues to break her tender Heart,
And sink her down with sorrow to the Grave.

South.
It must not be—but lest our Foes prevail,
I'll go this Instant to defend your Cause,
And plead your Merit with unbated Zeal;
Perhaps the Queen relents, and then, my Friend!
Your Life and Honours are again your own.

[Exit.
Essex.
My Life and Honours are again my own!
Must Essex then descend to sue for Life?
And beg those Titles which his Sword atchiev'd
With Years of Toil, amid the Rage of War?
O Patience aid me—'tis too great a Load
[Enter several Courtiers passing over the Stage, who scornfully smile on Essex and depart.
For Constancy to bear—
—Ha! is it so?
Am I become the laughing Stock of Fools?
Why 'twas but now that thousands such as these
Liv'd on my Breath, and, studious of my Will,
With hasty Zeal prevented my Command;
But all those Days are gone, and envious Time
Has chang'd the golden Scene. Why this is Life,
And such the Friends of Pow'r: Oh who would wish
To dwell in Courts, or study to be great?
Alas! I'm sick of all its empty Joys
And in the silent Grave alone expect
To be at Ease—Earth will receive her Son,
And Deaths cold Hand for ever be my Guard
From all the Miseries Mankind endure.
Enter Countess of Essex.
Ha! art thou come, thou Charmer of my Soul?
To mourn my Ruin, and with streaming Eyes
Attend thy Essex to his Tomb, for there
The bridal Bed's prepar'd, and only there
Must we embrace.

C. Essex.
—Oh my lov'd Lord! how sad,
How mournful is the Welcome I receive!
Alas! I'd chear'd my Soul with other Thoughts,
And gayly fancied that our future Years
Would all be spent in Happiness, and Love;
But now those Dreams are vanish'd all away,
And one black Scene of Misery's to come.

Essex.
Come to my Arms, thou fairest of thy Sex!
Thou purest Excellence! come to my Arms,
And think of Danger and of Grief no more.
By Heav'n! thy Angel Voice has hung Delight
Upon the tragick Tale, and made e'en Death
Look pleasing; I'd forgot that Ruin waits
To sweep me from the World, and, lost in Love,
Indulg'd the rising Transports of my Soul:
Then let's embrace, and talk such tender Things
As will deceive our Woes, and gently charm
Our mutual Anguish into Peace.

C. Essex.
—Alas!
My dearest Essex! I would gladly talk
Of blissful Scenes, and long revolving Joys:
But when the kindling Warmth begins to glow,
And infant Pleasure flutters round my Heart,
Sad apprehension of our future Woes
Darkens my Soul, and all the Hopes of Bliss
Vanish at once from my deluded Thought.

Essex.
“Ah why my lovely Mourner should we grieve
“For distant Evils, and refuse the Joys
“Which yet are in our Pow'r? Oh had my Fate
“Depriv'd me of thy Charms, I'd been a Wretch
“Indeed! but now the keenest of my Wrongs
“Shall dart their Stings in vain:” 'Tis true that Courts,
And all the noisy Pleasures they bestow
Are ours no more; yet, bless'd with purer Joys,
We'll live retir'd from all their gawdy Pomp;
The Woodland Shade shall be our future Haunt,
Where, lost to all Mankind, our Years shall roll
In Love and Peace away.

C. Essex.
—Oh happy State!
Too happy for a Doom like ours!—in vain
My dearest Lord you Image to your Soul
Such golden Dreams of Happiness to come;
For cruel Cecil keeps you still in View,
And with eternal Malice racks his Brain
To hasten on your Fate: Ah! should Success
Attend his Arts, where, where must I retreat
T'indulge my Sorrows, till retreating Life
Should ebb in Tears away? Alas my Lord!
The Woodland Shades would give me no Relief,
Nor all the Pleasures of the rural World;
No, weeping o'er your Tomb, in dumb Despair,
I'll watch the silent, melancholy Hours,
Till friendly Death, in Pity to my Woes,
At last dismiss my pensive Soul to Heav'n.

Essex.
O Burleigh! now, 'tis now alone I feel
The curst Effect of thy malignant Deeds;
The loss of Honour, and my Prince's Love,
Nay e'en the Prospect of approaching Death
I could have suffer'd with a dauntless Soul;
But when thy Woes, my lovely Charmer, rise
Before my troubled Thought, in all that Pomp
Of silent Anguish, and extreme Distress,
I grow a Coward, and with streaming Tears,
Lament that Innocence like thine should know
Such miserable Fate.

C. Essex.
—Alas my Lord!
To mourn becomes familiar to me now,
Black Melancholy seizes on my Soul,
And hangs her deepest Gloom on ev'ry Sense—

Essex.
Come let's forget that we have Cause to mourn,
And give unbounded Loose to Love and Joy.
—By Heav'n she weeps, and, down her crimson Cheek
The pearly Tears descend, like morning Dew
Upon the new-blown Rose; oh, say my Fair!
My Life! my Soul! why this o'er flowing Stream
Of sudden Sorrow gushes from your Eye,
When Love and Joy are nam'd?

C. Essex.
—O talk of Love
And Joy no more—the Queen, the jealous Queen!
With cruel Hand, will banish both away
For ever: O my dearest Lord, we stand
Upon the Brink of Fate; around us watch
A thousand Devils who, with eager haste,
Long to immerge us in the Gulph beneath;
O think! if one should, with malicious Joy,
Betray our secret Marriage to the Queen;
I die with Terror of the Thought—Farewell
My Lord—good Heav'n defend you from her Rage,
And I shall be at Ease.—

Essex.