University of Virginia Library

ACT II

Scene I

—Holyrood; a room in the palace, on a brilliant August morning
Enter Darnley
Darnley
I fall into disuse; behind me lies
A ghost, a din of music; and before
An army of afflictions with no aim
But to descend on me. All fellowship
Drops from my haunt and from the August days,
That are grown old, immomentous, and dull.
Good God, what will become of me!
Enter the Queen
From her
I can command submission: if she gave
As soft compliance in affairs of state
As in my whims and pleasure it were well.—
Sweet madam.

Queen
Henry, to this document
Affix your signature. You truant boy,
I have been asking vainly for the king
From room to room.

Darnley
And I must sign this paper
Whate'er it breed? Doubtless your Lethington,
Though he seem banished, set it into shape.

Queen
He is forgiven, and now must be restored;
But this is no state-measure—a request
To Selkirk's sheriff and the Earl of Bothwell
To make all ready for a noble hunt
In Meggotsland. Dear, this conspiracy
Is mine; its single purpose to unite
Our severed lives, and give us sylvan days
Of reckless happiness: we two together
In the clear light will chase the stags, and then
Rest, and make love, and rest beneath the trees.
Will you not sign this letter?

Darnley
It is strange
You find no office for me in concerns
Of state necessity. I apprehend
As well as you; in business show despatch:
Yea, like the Spaniards, make one gallant charge,
That would be fatal in its energy
If long continued. To my cost I know
That Moray is a traitor, but you smile
And kiss me; I am certain Lethington
Is full of guile, my serpent enemy;
You lift your brows and kiss me. How I hate
Your kisses! You forget all ancient wrongs,
And each man has your ear—except your husband.

Queen
My prince's father! since our boy is born
I think of you across such innocence,
So sweet a favouring road, when I arrive
My soul is full of grace. I recognise
Your smiles, your dimples, the vexed way you veil
Your eyelids in so dear a delegate
Of your dread sovereignty that all offence
Is washed from recollection.

Darnley
'Tis in private
You fawn on me. James is your minister,
The Earl of Moray has your confidence.
But I will have his life and rid myself
Of your contempt. Faith, I can turn you pale
And red, although you think I am a puppet,
A king of rats and mice.

Queen
You do not threaten
The Earl of Moray?

Darnley
For I will not live
To see you wrecked by traitors. David knew
The way to cozen you.

Queen
Unspeak that word—
You shall not charge the dead.

Darnley
I will begone.

Queen
Return on your obedience to my feet.
Now Henry Stuart, give yourself the lie,
Confess your slander.

Darnley
You mistake my meaning;
For David Riccio was a better man
Than this vile, royal slip. Your testy humours
Will drive me mad.

Enter Moray
Queen
Now press your accusation.

Darnley
(With confusion)
My lord, I have been moved to say and threaten,
Through common rumour, things that otherwise
I had not thought of.

Moray
(To the Queen)
Mary, if my life
Be taken from you, you will be deprived
Of your one prop.

Queen
It is too true, and therefore
I warn you of the malice in men's hearts.
Had any given me warning there was plot
'Gainst David's life, he had not fallen a victim—
You shall not. Leave us, Henry, if your shame
Crave not an ampler pardon.

Darnley
I will keep
Away from you; it is not a light matter
To chide, and give dismissal to a king.
Exit Darnley

Queen
My brother

Moray
(Caressing her)
'Tis not fit that you should weep.
The kingdom prospers. Recollect, my sister,
I have the Stuart courage. . . . . Mr. Craig
Presents a fresh petition from the kirk,
If you can listen to it.

Queen
But your life—
I cannot think of business, when my heart
Is full of anxious care.

Moray
I cannot think
Of any private danger, when religion
May be advantaged by my constancy.
You wax in all men's favour through your kindness
To the true faith. Ah, were you in its pale!
I have two jarring cares—a Romish sister,
And God's elect. Come to the ante-room.

Exeunt together

Scene II

—A house in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh
Lethington and Elspeth Menteith
Lethington

Yes, Elspeth, 'tis the pleasure of my
sovereign to visit me in private. To-day she will stream
down to me in a vision. I am full of devoutness and
elation; a king's favour is as dew upon the grass.

Elspeth

Is that scripture?

Lethington

A proverb—truth's worldly discretion
tripping on the tongue; but, for your better contentment,
know that it is written within the covers of the
Holy Book.

Elspeth

I am too simple for controversy; I cannot
answer you back, as the Lord when Satan tempted Him.

Lethington

Elspeth!

Elspeth

But I am glad the Earl of Moray is your
friend.

Lethington

For he is of good understanding in the
fear of the Lord—nay, sweet Elspeth, cloud not—it is
the beginning of wisdom.

Elspeth

Do you think I may tarry till our sovereign
appear? She is a royal lady.

Lethington

She is a distracting woman. What is to
be done with that intolerable puppet, her husband? He
moves about the glass-house of diplomacy with the
violence of a bull. It must needs be that offences come,
as the Highest foretold, but woe very naturally falls on
that man who brings his swart wares to the light.

Elspeth

O brother, is this true religion? Dear Janet
ever found you talked too smartly of God.

Lethington

I speak of Him familiarly as my Friend—
with kindly criticism.

Elspeth

He will not suffer such irreverence. Mr.
Knox . . . .

Lethington

He apprehends the Highest with the organs
of hatred. He hath handled Divinity wellnigh as roughly
as Dunfermline. What is left makes good stabling for the
herd; the creature of delicate nurture cannot lodge
there.

Elspeth

Yet you joined the Lords of the Congregation.

It was Janet's comfort on her death-bed you would not
serve idolatry.

Lethington

Serve! I am the servant of no man, save
Time; I wait on his shiftiness with the patience of a
lover. I flatter him, I defer to him: but, Elspeth, you
have nursed your grandmother's dotage; is not childishness
ever in the grasp of its attendant?

Elspeth

I am convinced you are an atheist. You
make me most unhappy.

Enter the Queen
Lethington
(Stooping and caressing Elspeth)

Poor,
pretty lass of the darkened conscience. (Looking up)

What, yonder! It is my royal mistress who enters, as
noiseless as the light and as welcome.

(He kneels; Elspeth, with a low reverence, goes out)
Queen
A silver voice! Alack, good Lethington,
Mine ears have been so dinned with ill-report
Of those who spend their labour to defame
And bring you to discredit, that I scarce
Know how to reckon you.

Lethington
A rigorous judge
To whatsoever mutinies against
Your grace's honour. Servant to your rashness,
The waywardness that mars your delicate
And swift discernment? Slaves must minister
In such unworthy offices; but when
My queen is most herself, at her right hand,
Breathing her pleasure, zealous in despatch,
Painstaking in expedience, she will find
Her sometime secretary, now her friend,
And true, untitled servant.

Queen
Lethington,
I live now but to pardon and make peace;
I am a mother.

Lethington
May your favouring gift
Breed amity a woman's silent way,
And set us in the sun.

Queen
Could I accord
The enmities betwixt my warring nobles,
I were most happy. In my child-bed sickness
I made it the sole pastime of my thoughts,
By gifts, by reconciling offices,
And frank partition of my gold and jewels
To lull contending hearts. 'Mong my bequests,
Your name, my Laird of Lethington, stands coupled
With the Earl Bothwell's, since I reckon you—
He for his valiance and rough honesty,
You for your subtle, extricating sense—
My two most weighty subjects . . . . and at war?
Nay, for my sake, to pleasure me, the breach
Must be closed up betwixt you.

Lethington
Haddington's
Fairy nunnery severs us.

Queen
You must divide
The apple of your discord.

Lethington

Madam, to divide the sweet cloister were
to sever Christ's seamless robe. Let us not rend it; let
it fall rather to my lot. But it is not, my sovereign
lady, by grants of land, nor even by the twinned bounty
of your gracious bequest that we can be accorded.
Those on the right hand and the left in the parable are
of opposed nature; and the office of the sovereign, so it
please you, is to set a great gulf betwixt them. James
Hepburn will make for your undoing and the enmity of
England wherever he meddle; my lesson, in the lenient
hours when you permit me to tutor you, hath been ever
deference to Elizabeth.

Queen

'Tis too palpable you woo England's queen.

Lethington

Not for her beauty. If for her possessions,
we covet one object, her crown, and for one head.
Boast of it in your dreams; but by day propitiate in
patience. Were I not your true servant, I should
scarcely dare to raise tempest on your brows by my
monition.

Queen
The English crown! It is my dearest hope:
I tell you, Lethington, one little hour
I felt the sense of glory and expanse,
The opening of my nature's very leaves.
'Twas on the day of the great tournament,
After the peace of Cambray, when the king
Trusted by aid of Spain to stablish me
Sovereign and Catholic on English soil.
I was but scarce sixteen. Oh, I remember
I shook all sickness from me in the bliss
Of my true dignity; the royal arms
Of England and of Scotland, with the crown
Of France above them, blazoned on my car.
Place for the Queen, and when the populace
Added of England, something changed in me,
As when the sky first kindled into stars.
Dreams should be sluggish, this encloses me,
And eddies me away. I cannot rest
Till I have crossed the Border; Halidon
Must feel the pressure of my feet, the guns
Of Berwick must salute me. Ah, the dream,
To wrap you in its current! I confide
To you the secrets that I dare not drop
In my soul's ear—if you could understand!
A cry for empire pierces up my heart
As sharp as murdered blood, spilled on the ground,
Presses for retribution. I receive
The sighs I breathe; if I am left alone
I catch across the vaults of ancestry
Reverberating sounds. I do not urge
My claims, a racial importunity
Leaves me no peace until its suit be stayed.
Does there not grow in kings a royal gift,
Tradition of the conscience?

Lethington
Better use
They make of time who let the travelled future
Determine their day's destiny, than those
Who give to ageing instinct and tradition,
That ever stays at home, a dominance
And derogating lure. My dearest queen,
Seek not the crown of England as a toy.
Be patient; set yourself to govern now
Sole as Semiramis, and be remembered
Hereafter, 'mong adoring men, a goddess
And heavenly Aphrodite.

Queen
Still the dream!
My Lethington, you are restored to all
Your ancient honours, and are free to pluck
Of any my possessions so you cease
Contention with Lord Bothwell for these lands.
Let me accord you; I will bring him down
With the Lord James to-morrow; for I pine
At the council-table for your lambent lips:
Our politics have no celerity,
Our embassies no state, our correspondence
No grace and candour while our flower of wits
Is absent from the court.

Lethington
There must be peace,
Peace and goodwill when angels condescend
To be the peacemakers.

Queen
I always was
Too credent, and must marvel at myself
Who love to listen to your eloquence
And fell persuasion, till I half-forget
This friend of Mary Stuart's is her foe's
Beloved ambassador, is Cecil's hope,
With Randolph has too frequent colloquy,
And soothes Elizabeth—Oh, I forgive;
It is my common office.

Lethington
Doubting queen!
But rank me very traitor to my brows
With those presageful eyes that look beyond
The sin to the appeasement, and remit
Still unconceived offences: such foredoomed,
Inevitable grace must draw transgressors
Repentant to itself.

Queen
There is a bond
Betwixt us twain.

Lethington
A bond no tragedies
Can snap.

Queen
Farewell.

Lethington
(Apart)
To think there was a time
I cared not if I never saw her face.

Exit, conducting the Queen

Scene III

—Holyrood; a room overlooking one of the entrances to the courtyard
Moray, Lethington, Argyle: on the table before them a letter
Lethington
(Taking up the letter)

The Earl of Lennox to
his sovereign. He threatens that his son will leave the
realm.

Huntly

Threatens! Such departure were most
seasonable.

Lethington

If the boat be leaky, and the start at the
equinox, our best wishes were answered.

Huntly

Yet the queen could not speak to us when
she came hither to impart her trouble.

Lethington

There was such a fit of weeping in the
clouds, I entreated her to retire to her chamber. We
must prosecute this business.

Moray

It is natural she should affect to be anxious to
detain him.

Lethington

It is unnatural he should essay to depart—blessed
beyond dreams by her clemency, honoured by her
in his dishonour, reasoned with when he should be
arrested. . . . .

Moray

Yet if there were anything serious in her conduct
at which he blushed! The queen's indiscretion is

not of a character to bear report. Her gestures and
freedom. . . .

Huntly

But to leave her! and that splendid boy on
her knees.

Moray

Well, we must question the king on this
matter. These unconfirmed imaginations profit nothing.

Lethington
(To Moray)

My lord, pursue the young
monarch with your prayers; but by no means intercept
him with your remonstrances. If heaven make straight
for our goal, counter-action is impiety.

Huntly

We must deal gently with the queen.

Lethington

In her widowhood. (Rubbing his hands)

I could drink to this crazy bark! May it be stuck round
with barnacles, invaded by the undying worm! The
solution, as ever, is to be looked for, as the pippin of an
apple, at the core. But listen! I am incautious in my
ecstasy. Gentlemen, there is noise in the courtyard—an
arrival.

Huntly

A thick, deep voice. Good Lethington, look out.

Lethington
(At the casement)

Into fairyland! For there
stands our sovereign-mistress, a white wonder of beauty
beneath the torches, and draws in her young prodigal
with golden arms—

Huntly
Why do you pause?

Lethington
Because he pushes her,
The brute—No, Huntly, put away your sword,
She is secure and militant, a creature
To hold the world in awe; he staggers back.

Huntly
He must be drunk.

Lethington
Now he is on again!
Intolerable braggart, mow and mow,
Can you not answer?

Moray
Let us hasten down
To smooth this rebel humour.

Lethington
(Turning from the casement)
She is gone!
Huntly, one need not be a Catholic
To bless this Lady Mary.

Enter Queen
Queen
Dear my lords,
We have to-night a truant at our doors,
Who will by no means enter, till we yield
To his enforcèd terms. As in a tale
Of fairy, we must give impossible
Commands, and look for such obedience as
The elfin-wands enforce. I am ashamed
To copy his rough manners; he insists
My doughty councillors should leave the palace,
Ere he will condescend to mount our stair.
'Tis late; I may not ask you to break up
A loyal concourse summoned to mine aid;
Yet I will pray you softly to adjourn
Till morning when ourselves will make you judge
Betwixt our warring royalties.

Lethington
Betwixt
You and a thankless rebel.

Moray
Since my presence
Offends him. . . .

Queen
'Tis a mood one must not question;
A private humour that in lesser place
By wifely tenderness were cleared away.
Is there a man among you dare confess
He ne'er came home impatient to his wife?
My Lethington, sweet-tempered bachelor,
Prepares a bright-lipped negative. But you,
Huntly,—and you?

Moray
Those whom the Lord hath joined
We will not put asunder. May your meekness,
Coupled with fear, remove his jealousy!

Lethington
(In a low voice to the Queen)
O Dea certe! (Aloud)
May your heavenly grace
Confound his churlishness. We will retire.

Exeunt
(The Queen beckons from the window; in a few moments Darnley walks in sulkily: she throws herself at his feet)
Queen
Nay, do not speak to me; it is enough
That you are come. What, put away to sea,
My prince; what, wilfully embark for death,
Leaving your own bright realm? Have you no treasure
At home that you must seek the Golden Fleece,
My wayward Jason? If indeed you should
Desert me, faithless, if you should desert,
Why, I might turn Medea; for there is
All magic bound in me that womanhood
Inherits, or makes rape of from the gods—
All good and evil herbs. I need to cull
No simples; closed in crystal prison-caves
I guard strange alchemy. If I were wronged
The fatal way—deserted—I would draw
My spells from Hecate: the poisoned robe,
The philtres that impoverish, the bright spectres
That dance before a victim to his doom,
Would all be mine; for I must be beloved,—
The goddess breathes in me; and if denied
My wedded lord, if he should once desert me,
I will ride boldly through the world, enchant
Its heroes, soften its great, reckless hearts,
Engage on ventures of high hardihood,
Visit strange lands and new—and at the last
Win of admiring Jove consent to marry
Achilles in Elysium.

Darnley
Do not mock me!
I care not for your fondling; you shall learn
Obedience to my government. You prate
Of that same Colchian dame—she cut in pieces
The brother who fled after her and threatened
To part her from her love; she minced him up
To collops: do you so with the Lord James,
Or I will do it for you. Let me have
The state you gave me when we first were married.

Queen
Oh never! You have forfeited your place
Beside me on my throne; in every act
Of kingship you have shown yourself a traitor,
Dissolved my Parliament, imprisoned me,
And, not to quicken into light your prime,
Obliterated infamy, endeavoured
To set yourself usurping in our stead;
Touch not our royalties, or, if you touch,
Kneel and adore them: 'tis to them you owe
Your life, your pardon. Henry, think awhile
What I have overlooked. The tender ties
That knit us in our honeymoon, before
Your mad ambition, are fast-knotted still.
I made you knight, and by the accolade
Of knighthood you are sworn to my defence,
To loyalty, to truth. Ah, if your eyes
Had not been fixed on the investiture
You would have known there was no further honour
Left for my distribution. Earl of Ross
I think I belted you, and then you smiled;
Your vow was to remain my chevalier,
And at the word I gave my very soul
Away—I cannot revocate the gift.
If you should go to sea, I fear such pressure
Of recollection, mingling with desire,
Would work on me, I should put after you
One day in a lone vessel. Promise me
You will remain?

Darnley
With Moray, Lethington,
Your circling Protestants?

Queen
I am so tired,
I cannot reason with you. For to-night
Will you not tarry with us? There are many
Who hate you in the palace . . . .

Darnley
I can take
My rights, although you make yourself so coy
And condescending.

Queen
You are safe with me.
Come to my room; you will not?

Darnley
As I please.

Queen
Why then, good-night. To-morrow we shall meet
Before the lords; you shall recount to them
Your fault or mine; if you have planned this voyage
With just occasion, or set out to sea
As any wanton runaway. Good-night.

Exit
Darnley
St. Andrew, but I will not follow her,
Nor ever do her bidding any more;
At Jedburgh she shall hold her justice-courts
Alone; her solitude will grow acute,
And she will sue me to return to her.
And yet she has such carriage when she sweeps
Before me! and I cannot say what ails,
If she should bring me to the council-room.
(Listening)
She has not put the traitors out of doors;
They plot a storey off—I will retire,
And rate her for transgressing my commands.

Exit

Scene IV

—Jedburgh; a room in the Queen's lodging: Mary Seton, Mary Livingstone, and Mary Fleming at work.
Mary Seton

Is it not happy that our queen is
restored to us? Since the Lord Darnley hath denied
her his company, she is as fond and familiar as in her
teens.

Mary Fleming

Or when, a widow of twenty, she took
us in turn to be bed-fellows. And we watched her
waking in the early light; it was more regal than a sunrise.

Mary Livingstone

As you repeated to the Lord
Châtelar in your foolishness. But they were merry days,
and our queen the queen of frolic. Then came the
pretty stripling of Lennox—her Maries were clean out
of credit; she required no service, but remained shut up
in her chamber with her winsome cousin for warden.

Mary Fleming

She is terrible in love: no compromise
betwixt ecstasy and death. She lay rigid on her bed for a
day after the king, in presence of her nobles, first cleared
her of fault, and then bade her contemptuously adieu.

Mary Seton

She has rallied quickly, though a fit of
passion broke over her when she heard she must hold the
justice-courts alone. Oh, that we could hear of the
embarkation of this Sit-in-the-Sulks at Glasgow! No one
regards him further than he is agreeable to the queen.

Mary Livingstone

But she, poor lady, still loves him.
She will look out from the window at the birds, wheeling
about the heavens, and fear they will have stormy
passage.

Exit Mary Seton
Mary Fleming

Why will you torment poor Seton with
your tattling? When a woman sets her heart upon a
woman she is inexorable in jealousy.

Mary Livingstone

Too true! Shall I suffer and be
silent?

Mary Fleming

I am glad I have a lover of my own.

Mary Livingstone

You forget, I have a husband; but
that mars not my constancy—a man needs so little of
one's nature. It suffices him if one's complexion be fair.
But there is not a balmy nook in one's soul undiscovered
of her; she desists not from divining till she hath access
to the honey-cells. I have had brave thoughts since
she questioned me, and I will love her to my life's end.

Re-enter Mary Seton; she resumes her embroidery
Mary Fleming

Well, I grant her incomparable in her
blue Highland mantle.

Mary Seton

You mistake; in her red camlat, rayed
with the broken pearl broidery.

Enter the Queen
Mary Fleming

Fie, fie! and her crown somewhat
rusted! But hither she comes in her passamented
cramoisie.

Mary Livingstone

With her silks and chenille.

(They rise to greet the Queen, and lead her to a canopied chair.)
Mary Seton

Dear Madam, you are wondrous patient
in your stitchery.

Queen

I can take my sewing, Marie, into the council
chamber, scarcely into the assize court. To-day there
is a brief respite from official cares. . . . I must close
the bud of this tulip with my silks. The work, you
remember, is for the king.

Mary Seton

I marvel you have even this leisure.

Queen

A languor has crept over our courts. The
aggrieved make no charges, and it is rumoured we must
to-morrow to Hermitage, to my Lord Bothwell, for
further material on which to execute justice.

Mary Seton

Methinks, Madam, you take your Lord
Justicier's grievous sickness too light-heartedly.

Queen

My good warden! But it vexes me to think
how he has blundered. I ordered him to Liddesdale to
make a strong jail of his fortress, and lodge in its dungeons
the offenders for whom my justice-course had
been prepared. He left the castle slenderly attended,
was cruelly assailed by strapping Elliot, and, when Robert
of the Shaw brought him home senseless on a litter, was
not permitted to pass the gates till he had promised life
and liberty to the masterful garrison of miscreants.

Mary Seton
Think! He was wounded.

Queen
Yes, but was it not
A reckless sortie that has set at large
The lairds of Whitehaugh and of Mangerton,
With sundry of the Armstrongs? I am here
To break the strength of such, and find my powers
And office ineffectual through his fault.

Mary Fleming
My sweet queen, you are growing rigorous
As the Lord James. 'Tis these six busy days
That have so hardened you.

Queen
Ay, every morning
I have ta'en counsel with my tapestry—
This brave, blue arras! Have you noted it?
The judgment of King Solomon. How finely
He extricated truth, beneath the clamour
Of clinging, wild affections: sentence these,
And guilt will blab you out the truth as free
As fluent honesty.

Mary Fleming
The Border courts
Had been a fair state-progress if the king
Had not so waywardly forsaken you.
At the mere hint of this my Lethington
Comments with bitter tongue; the people marvel
To see so wondrous, solitary, white
A justice. Why, at Stirling you would sit,
Peruse, and sort your jewels by the hour,
Making such pretty presents and bequests
As set us weeping. 'Tis the deep affront
Of being thus abandoned . . . .

Queen
Marie, Marie,
Your tongue runs to disorder, and must suffer
A moment's durance. Rim this slip with gold,
And work in silence. (Rises and walks apart)
I am strangely sick
To-night, and with that wanton loneliness
And dizzy solitude that lengthen out
The vacancy at bottom of my heart.
It may be even now that boy of mine,
Cruel as Cupid's self, and capable
As he of smiting inward, has ta'en flight
For ever from my shores. He said to me
It should be long, so long before I saw
His face again; and all my humbleness
But strengthened his resolve. My love, my love!
(Returning to Mary Fleming)
Ah, you have done your task, and gentle eyes
Pardon my admonition.

Mary Fleming
Dearest queen,
You tremble.

Queen
Haply I have caught disease
From the close air and crowding of the courts;
Or it may be the rancour that one leaves
In human hearts, howe'er one govern them,
Sets me in this despondency.

Mary Fleming
The ride
To Hermitage will freshen you. I trust
You will set forth to-morrow.

Queen
That must be
As the Lord James determines; he directs
Our every step.

Mary Seton
(Looking at the Queen's work)
It is a pretty sleeve.

Queen
If it might give contentment! Every stitch
Is a caress. Well, we must drop no tears
Across the burnished broidery. Take your lute!
Nay, give it me! If music is played soft
At amorous, dusky hour,—why, poets say,
It draws reluctant lovers to its course,
As a lone, female dove with luring note,
Draws her mate homeward on firm, open wings.
(Sings)
Enter Lethington
Is Lethington a listener?

Lethington
Almost wearied
With your good brother's anxious colloquy,
Who would in my executive be mate,
I came, my gentle princess, to your door
For such refreshing as your happy wit,
Clouded with mildness, ofttimes doth bestow
On your taxed servant! But, alack! the matter
Of this rare song, the tears that break it off,
Forbid me to find comfort in the voice,
Or in the picture (Bending low to the Queen)
though 'tis ravishing
As museful Clio should forget her scrolls
With Euterpe to passion on the flute.
Why do you sicken thus of sovereignty,
Who, capable and sole, can bind in one
The jarred and restless factions of your realm?

Queen
Du Croc has been with me.

Lethington
And he reports
The king still obdurate. To sulk at Glasgow—
Believe me, he will find it sorry sport.
Have but a little patience, like the man
Your swerveless equity confesses you,
And all will be amended.

Queen
You are gay,
You soon will be a bridegroom.

Lethington
From a rose
Though one may pluck a cluster-bud, one bows
Before the air-impregning majesty
Of the mid-fragrance with a lingering joy.
My buoyancy is for no private hope,
'Tis simple exultation in your clear
Supremacy, and excellent discretion.
Be mirthful, dearest princess.

Queen
If amendment . . . .

Lethington

Verily, madam, if we look closely, the
policy of God is ever directed toward amendment; one
can discover in it nothing of a destructive cast. The
eating of the apple was in all likelihood but partial, as
Proserpina, for devouring a few seeds of the pomegranate,
abode in hell, yet in consideration of the undevoured
mesh of vermilion had leave to open half her nature to
the light. All is not lost, though Lord Darnley devote
himself to folly. Consider, fair governor, what is the
office of justice with regard to folly. Does she water it
with her tears?

Queen
I will not write to him; I will keep silence.

Lethington
For a love-ditty would but swell his presumption.
Have confidence!

Queen

I will immediately to rest. Yes girls, you may
carry me bedward. Do we travel to-morrow?

Lethington
Almost with the first sunbeam. (She gives him her hand.)
Sheltering sleep
Soothe these storm-swollen eyelids!
Exeunt Queen and Mary Seton
It becomes
A simple, pious action to remove
The worm at festering havoc 'mid the leaves
Of this incomparable flower. My hand
Is delicate in surgery. (To Mary Fleming as she passes out)
Dear, good night.

Scene V

—Hermitage Castle; an upper room: Bothwell stretched on a couch. He turns, with closed eyes, to Paris.
Bothwell
The water seems to rustle round my head.
Why should our stream move as in fresh attire—
The silk hiss of a woman?

Paris.
It is not
Hermitage Water rippling by your tower,
But . . . wake, my lord! . . . the queen.

Bothwell
I cannot move,
With all these hurts that kneel upon my frame,
Nor rise to bid her welcome to my haunt.
O red-cap Soulis, my predecessor once
Within this fort—old witch, endow my bed,
My sickness, with a strength of conjuration
Satanic and delicious to her sex
Who visits me—thus prostrate.
Enter the Queen, Moray, and Lethington
Gracious form,
I cannot show allegiance; fates forbid
That I should kneel to you, or bow beneath
The proffer of your hand. You do me grace,
And I receive it merely.

Queen
We forgive.
How does our Lord Lieutenant? Moray, see,
These bandages are wounds that in our service
Were taken deep . . . But will the leech reprove,
Boy, if your master talk with us?

Paris
No, madam,
My lord is mending well.

Queen
Untoward Justicier,
Your courage has deprived us of your counsel,
Which in our need we seek. I pray you, Laird
Of Lethington, prepare the questions weighty
That hinder law, unanswered. (To Bothwell)
For a while
We must discourse of various things—your gashes,
The exploit that entrenched them where they are,
And of my savage ride. The unwarmed breeze
Took influence from the earth, and smelt of moss
Till it was sweet as keen; the moorland region
Shone grey and swelling, stud on hilly stud,
Like a gigantic shield; nor were there any
Among us who could find a certain track
To this sequestered castle.

Bothwell
Our strong winds,
And unyoked, grassy uplands never served
Such office as to-day—enamelling
Your silver beauty thus. It is a sight
Would sting death to revival.

Queen
My warm colour
Is new-lit by our speed, so dangerous
Your countryside is held, so dedicate
To felon outrage.

Lethington
'Tis a sorry tract
On which to venture forth; one almost might
As well put out to sea in ignorance
Of compass, shoals, and weather-signs. My lord,
Among these moors, these billows marked in turf,
The queen was well-nigh lost.

Queen
You see this stain
Along my habit . . . .

Bothwell
Ha, the bogs are deep—
My neighbourhood has sullied you with mud;
Shame on the black disloyalty!

Queen
We christened
The stumbling-place Queen's Myre.

Moray
I understand
That grave discourse will not afflict the earl;
Is it not time for business?

Queen
Nay, the claims
Of courteous gratitude are sparely paid
Until we hear the tale of that brave day,
Which wellnigh cost us our lieutenant. Moray,
Fetch me a seat. (To Bothwell)
Ah, look not self-aggrieved;
You, who have slain our traitors, must not chafe
Forbidden slighter service to ourself.
(Aside)
The weakness of his voice and hue, for all
The muscle-corded arms, is piteous matter
For any woman's heart. (Aloud)
Your story first;
Let deeds approve good counsel.

Bothwell
(Apart)
Magic help me!
Wild, local wizardry be on my speech!
(Aloud)
This fortalice was crowded as a prison
With foresters and dalesmen, violent thieves
Reserved for justice, when, eight days ago,
Leaving my loutish servants far behind,
I crossed yon wood of alders.

Lethington
Folly, folly!
The subtle value of that everything
Called life escapes attention. I had held
My safety dearer.

Queen
Spendthrift gallantry,
Adorable misdeed!

Bothwell
Among the stems
And tangle of dusk branches, face to face,
I met the outlaw Elliot—hereabouts
Called John o' the Park—a shaggy man, who paused,
And asked his life as if it were a coin
I carried in my pocket. Merrily,
For scorn will make us merry when we hate,
I told him of my heart-felt satisfaction,
If justice set him free. The snaky villain
Slipped from his saddle down, and stole away
Behind the brushwood: with a pistol shot
I brought escape to earth, and from my horse
Sprang to secure the prey. Another moment,
And I had pinned him! but an unseen stump
Must stretch me o'er its lumber in a fall
That shattered sense. The miscreant from his brake
Crawled forth and struck me, body, head, and hand,
With three, vindictive blows that bit so fiercely
They woke my spirit; and with such a vengeance
As that we deal in dreams I plunged my dagger
Twice through the craven breast: swoon overcame
My rage, I lay in quietness blind as night's,
When lifted by my vassals.

Queen
Oftentimes
A page of Plutarch has more swept my heart
Than has the valorous air which I have breathed
This morning, like a bird: your story, earl,
Eclipses both in prevalence. Continue!
The man was straightway slain?

Bothwell
His body lay
A mile off on a little, open hill.

Queen
Is there no more to hear? It was a fight
Like those upon the famous sands of Troy,
And ended scarcely otherwise—a cloud
Came on the wounded hero as a god
Saved him from death. Is there no more to hear?

Bothwell
Of combat nothing, of disaster still
A trifle: when my bearers to the door
Brought me, no soul would open, for the keep
Was under capture of the bandits lately
My prisoners, who refused with brutish mouths
To let me have a resting-place until
My servants, in my name, would swear that nothing
Should hinder their departure or imperil
Their forfeit lives.

Moray
So justice for this year
Was mangled in these parts, vile Liddesdale
Re-fortified with villains.

Lethington
True, I smelt
Impolicy in hardihood.

Queen
(Rising)
One act
Of daring feeds a scantness in the land
Ten penal judgments cannot. (Apart)
How is this?
He has my hand; his lips are free with it,
As was October's climate on these steeps
Awhile gone by. I do not recollect
Intending such a favour. (Aloud)
Is there not
Legend of hidden terrors in a place
So stern as this and desolate?

Moray
Time flies;
One third part of the first hour of the two
That we can spare for consultation passes.
Shall we not put our questions?

Queen
Brother, wait!
Mine is not answered.

Bothwell
From remotest years
Has this great, silent country known of things
That talismanic, dire, implacable,
Have been conceived and done within these walls.

Queen
Ah, the streams sang so eerily, as if
They knew but time-worn ballads. To my shame,
I feel a strangeness here. The exercise
Has stunned me with delight; my limbs are tired,
My head asleep—only my heart is strong
With effort in my side.

Bothwell
They say at noon
The midnight elves are vigilant, as deeming
The zenith sun broad Luna; in the light
They weave unearthly bondages with chaunt
That rings in destined ears.

Queen
Beseech you, lay
Some food and wine within the ante-room.
I cannot cope with law until refreshed,
And trembling less from haste.

Bothwell
Go, Paris, set
Our oldest bottles forth.

Queen
I will return.
You must advise me quickly, for we ride
To Jedburgh in full afternoon, so rough
And pathless is our journey. We are glad
To find you better, for believe the truth—
That we are sorry for your hurts.

Bothwell
Ah, Madam,
Fate struck me for this bliss. I am content
To bleed, if you will come to me.

Queen
(Apart)
O God,
His glances pierce defence. I must not stay.
(To Moray)
Lead me to entertainment. (Apart)
I am ill.

Scene VI

—Jedburgh; the Queen's Chamber. She lies, straight on her bed in a trance. Moray and Lethington
Lethington
A crisis! You are rarely in at crises:
Lord Moray finds they tax the stoutest nerves,
Their mere approach dictates a change of air,
A distance from their neighbourhood.

Moray
My friend,
Face my position: the invidious chance
That gave me access to all state and grandeur—
Propinquity, no right—attaches blame
And ill-surmise to every word or movement
With which I wait on fortune. Oftentimes
To be away is the sole cleanness I
Can show to gaping libellers.

Lethington
You miss
The fine attractions of uncertainty,
Unless you wait upon her fluctuant face,
A-wooing her in person.

Moray
'Tis a service
Too warm for me till now. (Going up to the bed)
Is this a corpse?
The lids are stony; in the opened mouth
The air stays idle.

Lethington
Ah, poor sovereignty!
A husband's little cruelties have brought her
Thus subject unto death. It startled me
When, like a snowdrift loosening from a wall,
She slipped adown her horse into my arms.
A heavy faint—such whiteness!

Moray
I had noticed
But slight indisposition as she rode;
It came on at the journey's end.

Lethington
The air
Was dark and bitter when we reached the town;
I caught a cold, a swimming rheum. For that
I have to thank his Lordship of the Marshes,
Whose wounds are quickly better, for they say
He rides here from his den.

Moray
To find her gone.

Lethington
A mirror, hasten! From her cap take out
That grouse's feather, which she blew upon,
And tucked into the velvet rim to please
Page Bastian who had found it. Bring it here.
Quick! A fair image, and some breath would soften
Its climate. Just a tremble on the plume,
The edge where down is lightest.

Moray
Did you find
A strange behaviour in her at the castle?

Lethington
He played to make her woman's sentiment
Dance soft attendance on him.

Moray
And the lead
Was taken; she was gracious and reserved,
Stung and yet frightened. All this comes about
Through hardness to God's word. I scarce may speak
What I believe of her. Adultery. . . .

Lethington
Preposterous conclusion! They have been
Indifferent and dissevered all the year;
What you have lately seen within her manner
Is but such stuff as turns all women poets
When sons of Adam bleed. The root of this
Her sickness is her sore fidelity
To that young fool who daily injures her
With taunts, neglect, and scandals. I have had
A sobbing confidence that so it is.

Moray
And you believe her word? Then must you swallow
That she and David, closeted for hours,
Talked only correspondence, and the turns
Of language in her letters.

Lethington
She had been
An idiot to have circumscribed discourse
To business, for her wit is fanciful,
And of familiar charm. We watch for hours,
And yet no stir. The noble creature shows
A fine persistency in life; she seems
Like one assaulted traitorously, and struck
With evil from without.

Moray
It will be safe
At last to make announcement of her death;
Let the attendants come to lay her out,
And I meanwhile will straighten her.

Lethington
Beware!
Still the firm knot of life secures her features,
In her expression there is unity;
Have patience and observe.

Moray
It is important
That you, her secretary, acquaint at once
The foreign courts with her decease, and further
With her entreaty that I take the rein
Of government.

Lethington
That was a private prayer;
I caught it not, a politic suggestion.
Her son? She made a sisterly request
You would befriend the lad. . . . I take your cue;
But should this be a catalepsy?

Moray
No,
Her sad physician prayed us not to hope
She could revive. The Lord has smitten her!
I am the queen's most near of kin, and stay
To render her my cold, fraternal duty.
Her face is rigid.

Lethington
Death has signed no bond
About it; for more certainty, before
I spread your tidings, I will fetch her leech
To touch her and give verdict.

Exit
Moray
The man-child
Of James the Fifth! Through all these stubborn years
What waiting and what triviality,
Waiting with perfect faculties and power!
A male—and without blemish. Margaret, dear
My mother, soon thy contract shall be published,
And the Guise offspring illegitimate.
Stewards and lawful stewards!—I was born
A king of as deep royalty as Christ:
Now, Scotland, will I cast in thee such seeds
As in their crescence will transform the land!
The godly shall find refuge in the branches
Which now are tender slips. From the beginning
I knew that she must perish, as a lie
Betwixt God's thumb and finger must be crushed;
Therefore abode His pleasure. Though there seemed
A moment when by gentle intervention . . .
Heaven would not suffer the least spot to fall
Across my conscience. (Going up to cupboard)
There is goodly plate
Within this cupboard, comfort that may swell
My English gold, and rings . . her stones will tempt
Elizabeth. If I can bribe her women!
Where are her pearls? This cloth can be applied
In gifts by which my precedence will shine.

(The Queen wakes)
Queen
How far at ebb I feel, how deep withdrawn!
Some one is moving slowly on a stage;
Methinks if he should come and handle me,
And stretch me for my burial, I should watch
As a mere witness; yet there is a pain
Beneath this solstice, for I long to speak.
Come hither! Wherefore do you leave my side?
How long ago I made request to you
When I lay dying to hold fast my hand.
Rub me a little.

Moray
Doth God give you speech?
Be not deceived, good sister, you are far
Beyond my ministry. Below they give
The order for your funeral.

Queen
Is it so?
'Tis well! For, dearly as I love my life,
I am content to die, so excellent
Seems now God's every motion with my soul.
Poor watcher, do I trouble you?

Moray
Prepare
To look upon your Judge. You must not lie
And smile as you were dying but in sport.

Queen.
I am so weak; God gives me leave to enter
His kingdom softly as a little child.
There are no thrones, no sceptres. But my breath
Returns, not like a flicker, pressing deep
Up from my heart. If you would give me wine.

Moray
I dare not.

Queen
Would it overcloud my brain?
The dizziness returns; you are too fearful.
Go, summon Huntly, Bothwell, Lethington;
And fetch my women: death has granted me
A little grace to bid a last farewell.
Exit Moray
What love is in my heart! God finds the sole,
The royal use of love is clemency,
Remittance, pardon: it should be enough.
Re-enter Moray with Huntly and Lethington
There is a golden light before my eyes
That hinders me from seeing; pray for me,
I have short time to live.

Moray
Then will we pray
You be delivered from idolatry.
Abjure your Popish errors.

Queen
I will die
In my religion; 'tis the tempered way
To heaven—one cannot change one's habitude.
Let all men have free access to their God;
'Tis my desire for Protestants and those
Of my own faith, so sweet is liberty.
Put no enforcement on them.

Moray
You forget
Straight is the narrow way.

Queen
From east and west
They come who traverse it.

Moray
I shall not fail
To rear the prince, your son, in sanctitude.

Queen
Who keeps the child?—Your number is not full.
Where is the lord of Bothwell?

Lethington
He is riding
Across the hills to see you.

Queen
So I rode,
Through such a country as is that wherein
Our vague dreams are enacted: I grew dizzy;
And he has wounds.

Moray
You do appoint me regent,
And guardian of your son?

Queen
Plague me no more
To put my honours from me; you were ever
For abdication—I shall die a queen.
Huntly, the king has knowledge of my illness,
And yet forbears? Have you no kindly words
Of parting, James, my brother?

Moray
I await
Your trust and testament.

Queen
To live in peace
Is all the charge I lay on you. I heard
A footstep. Is it Henry come at last
To take my free forgiveness?

Enter Bothwell
Lethington
He refuses
Stoutly to come; you must not look for him.

Queen
I have a dying kiss I must deliver,
A message to him.

Moray
Sister, give it me!

Queen
Nay, you would poison it. When we were lovers—
Ah me, I hung on him as he lay sick—
You strove to part us.

Bothwell
(Aside)
Shall death ruin me
Before my very eyes, and turn my kingdom
To dust upon a bed? Prodigious loss!
Whom could I serve but her? How could I breathe,
My life's occasion gone, my forecast shrivelled,
My dower of fortune!

Queen
Who will mind my babe?
None answer me—then let them fetch my servants.
(Bothwell kneels, and takes her hand)
What, Hepburn? Will you lift my pillow up?
So! let me lean on you.

Bothwell
You are not wrapt
Warmly; your cheek is cold. (To the Lords)
Bid Arnauld come.
(To the Queen)
I swear you will recover. (In a low voice)
Dare you die?
(To the Lords)
The queen lacks tendance; I will be her leech,
Till she have finer aid; fetch me her women—
No moment to be lost. (To the Queen)
Give me your lips
To damp with wine, and swear that you will live;
My queen, a token!

Enter the Maries
Queen
Girls, take care of me,
For if you keep me with you through this day
I shall not die. Be comforted, my earl.