University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I

—Holyrood; a distant apartment: Mary Seton and Mary Livingstone
Mary Seton
She is changed
As the dead change the morning and the eve
Of the first day. I bent to take her hood,
When we received her at the Castle-gate
After her guarded journey from Dunbar,—
Then dropped my hands and left her.

Mary Livingstone
Noisily
The earl dismissed us, with his truculent
And frowning carriage. Fast he drove his business,
And, being new-divorced from Lady Jane,
Announced himself the bridegroom of our queen,
With threats compelled the kirk to read their banns;
Then spent two straining hours of trouble lost
To win the English queen's ambassador
To look upon their union; at the council
He sat as king—

Mary Seton
Our mistress puts her hand
To any paper, will remit and pardon
The worst offences with a face as dull
And unconcerned as if men's good and evil
Were one to her.

Mary Livingstone
My rebel eloquence
Has kept the palace ringing with her wrong;
Traquair and Erskine listen with a blush
Across their brows, and Lady Lethington
Hints there will be deliverance. Could I fan you
Into my flame!

Mary Seton
I saw her first again
When late in afternoon she made him Duke
Of Orkney and the Shetlands, on the vigil
Of her reputed marriage-day. She gave
Her head a sportive and capricious arch,
As she were playing queenship and no queen;
Yet, when he entered, with a heaving bosom
She kept her ground so regnantly he bent
Irresolute, subjected.

Mary Livingstone
He is careful
To show the deference of bonnet off:
She laughs, I verily believe she laughs
When he uncovers.

Mary Seton
But the marriage-day!
There is no midnight in these summer nights;
It was not one o'clock when I awoke
To dress her for the dismal rites of dawn;
And, thridding the white darkness to her door,
Swung open 'gainst the bed, I found her wrapt
In her black widow's weeds from head to foot,
But yet apparelled in a sort of joy
That frightened me. To-day there will be feast
I broke out, prompted to the erring word:
Then she, the strangeness in her eyes and lips
Of one who is admonished to his death,
Answered, To-day there is no festival.
Where the tree falleth, Marie, it must lie;
It falls to northern dolour, stricken north—
Inclining south, to life and blessedness.
Thus in no jewels but her shining tears
She passed to her mock marriage.

Mary Livingstone
Worst of all
Was her consent to marry Protestant,
With preaching, not the mass.

Mary Seton
She took no heed
Of anything they said, and when the sermon
Was ended, as a creature from its sleep
Rises to wander through the night, with eyes
Vacant, unflickering, fearful, she stood up,
And paced of her own motion through the door.
No games nor any pastime! Not a flower
Was gathered to breathe forth its parable
Of Hymen's hours o'maying. Nature seemed
To turn aside, man to recoil, and time
To slight the circumstance. The very stars
Shone round the sky like candles at a wake.
Could you have borne it?

Mary Livingstone
Not as she has done;
But then she is a queen, and by surrender
She saves her title's honour—so was lofty
Through all the farce, and, withering at its rites,
She yet adorned them. How these Protestants
Have wrecked her like an abbey, and enslaved
Her altar to their schism, and yet she draws
Around such blasphemies compulsive grace
Lent by the true religion. Policy,
Great pride, and custom—not her conscience—vouched
This marriage; it will be annull'd, and then,
Sweet name-fellow, we two shall find a place
Beside her first approachable distress,
So much we love her still.

Mary Seton
So much? Ah, more,
With sorer love. If I might take her soul
And shroud it tight forever from her God!
He must not see her tarnish.—And these things
Are prattle of the court.

Mary Livingstone
Our earls and nobles
Troop northward to the cradle of the prince,
And arm themselves at Stirling.

Mary Seton
There is wrath
That does not move abroad as vengeance doth,
But perfects wickedness until it drop:
'Tis so she must be loosened of her curse.

Scene II

—Holyrood; the Queen's bed-chamber: the door is ajar, she overhears talk in the audience-chamber
Bothwell
(Within)
Fellows, have any passed to her?

Erskine
(Within)
The queen
Has been retired all day, and white beyond
Her girlhood's famous white. Her eyes look ill.

Bothwell
The devil! what ado about her health;
She is a very plague. I'll visit her,
When I have spoken further with the guard.

(Silence)
Queen
Can love be terror? I am almost sure
That hate can love . . . I feel it in myself.
God, keep my hatred single, let me be
A desolated woman, and my life
Like a burnt city salted by the foe;
Let not one leaf or blade be visible
This Maytime in my calendar! The man,
I loathe and wed, is growing dear as sin,
Precious as was my wrath the vengeful night
Of Riccio's murder, and beloved as are
Mere passions in their transit. He has handled
My soul unlawfully in forcing me,
His victim, to turn wife; yet very death
Withdrawing from my neighbourhood swift means
For its extreme of safety, joined with him
To work a second outrage, and to plant
His stain across my will. But more than this . . .
I have a fear; a monstrous hopelessness
Makes vision red before me. It was born
Of his embrace: I cannot now believe
That in his nature there is innocence,
Not any . . . Oh, I must not bide alone,
With this conception out upon the air.
(Calling)
Erskine!

Erskine
(At the door)
Dear madam.

Queen
Why is this?

Erskine
You called.
How lone you grow—one waiting-woman, scarce
A courtier, every passage and apartment
Ranged with steel arquebusiers. Are you free
As you declared, sweet queen?

Queen
You find I am.
No bolt across the door!

Erskine
I have not long
In which to speak my faith to you, who are
Beauty and consecration to my life;
But if my service could afford you comfort
'Tis yours, though all yon shifting points of iron
Were level to my heart.

Queen
(Apart)
Then shall I ask
For knife or sudden poison? Futile prayer!
For well I know he keeps me out of death
By fascinating blandishment, that has
The tiger in it, yet man's faithfulness,
And will not end, nor let me fail—until
God loose me of his mercy from the charm.
(To Erskine)
I thank you, brave esquire, for your confession
Of youth's devoutness, such as makes the spring
Show reverence to the twilight, offering all
Its sun-born, crescent virtues, and sweet breath
In eve's dim presence. I accept your vows,
Your constancy, your warmth with these dropped tears,
The bounty of my gratitude.

Erskine
Last year,
You had fresh eyes, and smiles that did not know
That they were in your face. It sends me mad
When splendour changes, and I almost turn
Apostate to my youth.

Queen
I heard the duke?

Erskine
He went to charge the guardsmen. But you called:
Madam, you lack some office?

Queen
Ah!—a draught
Of water pure and cold.

Erskine
Not wine?

Queen
No, no!
(Apart)
For when I drink the goblet he has filled
The vintage dyes my fancies.

Erskine
I will hasten
To bring a fountain-cup.

Exit
Queen
Tell me, Traquair,
If the duke mounts, for he has promised me
His presence by this hour.

(Traquair comes to her door)
Traquair
Lady, my faith!
I hear him swearing roundly in the court,
A growl full-formed.

Queen
I did not ask for this.

Traquair
Yea, if I heard him. He would spread a field
With thunder in his passion.

Queen
Sir, your tongue
Is master of your breeding.

Traquair
Pardon me,
I am too rash, and your displeasure is
A curb that makes me shiver.

Queen
I have left
A black hood on my daïs. Will you fetch it.
Traquair goes into the audience-chamber)
For I must put it out of sight; he tore
My sable widow-raiment from my bosom
Some days ago, that I should wear this dress
Of harsh and flaunting scarlet. (Traquair brings the hood)
Thanks, my knight!
(Apart)
A stormy noise of steps, a door! My nerves
Fly to some hole or cover . . . but retreat
Is earthed up by his presence.

Enter Bothwell.
Bothwell
Who is here?
Why do you coy it with this lad? I ordered
Your vile and hellish mourning to your chest,
Until you please to put it on for me.
(As if recollecting Traquair's presence)
Pardon, my sovereign lady. Do not visit
My rudeness with desert. Some deep concerns
Weight me till you give judgment. (To Traquair)
Leave the queen,
And see you keep your distance. Do you hear?

Traquair
Yes, my lord duke.

Queen
(Softly)
Obey him.

Exit Traquair
Bothwell slams the door after him and turns gloomily to the Queen. A knocking is heard)
Bothwell
Who will dare
Knock at this door, I wonder. (Opens to Erskine)
Get you off!
Intrude upon our privacy again
You answer with your life.

Erskine
But I was sent
By madam for this goblet.

Bothwell
(Recollecting himself, seizing his cap and bowing to the Queen)
It is fitting
You do her service. Give the vessel here,
And keep your distance as your fellow does.

Erskine
I am a gentleman . . .

Queen
Sir Arthur, go.

Exit Erskine, with a deep bow to the Queen
Bothwell
Inconstant, as this water! You must fondle
Your equerry to bring it! By all devils,
You shall be plagued like thirsty Tantalus.
(Dashing it on the floor)
Cannot you rule your people, make your mobs
Obedient to my hand, instead of teaching
These amorous youngsters to be insolent!
I am half-mad with burthens. (Pacing frantically)
Sold, deserted,
Mocked and withstood, I have been made the dupe
Of mentionless deceit.

Queen
(Apart)
Within his eyes
What dreary menace!—Tell me of your grief.

Bothwell
And you false too. I know it by the way
You tempt these boys and let them wheel about
Your presence, damn you! They have courtly skins
And I these wound-creased brows. Death! I believed
I had a grasp like fate, and everything
Is slipping into limbo: first my state,
My coadjutors, and my squadrons vanish,
And then my queen slips like a phantom-shape
Of mist to others' bosoms.

Queen
(Wringing her hands)
Would that God
Knew I was not your slave! I burn to share
Your molten sorrows.

Bothwell
O my hand-fast wife,
Are you then heart-fast too?

Queen
I cannot say
What ties me to your will, that, like a horse,
Sweeps me through unknown empires. I should faint
To nothingness unless it governed me.
What must I do to help you?

Bothwell
Every one,
Oath-bound to join with me, is splitting off;
The folk are sullen; I have made them sports,
Shown them my deeds of arms, and you have watched
As if I were your rock of lode-stone, ever
A claim upon your sight: yet still they grumble.
There is but this to cheer them—you must sign
A revocation of all licenses
To use the Roman worship. You and I
Are Protestants . . . so lift no hesitation
Upon your lips to vex me. Take the pen,
And write your signature.

(Giving her a deed)
Queen
(Turning to a table mechanically and with despair)
(Apart)
No, holy Saints,
I cannot listen to your keen addresses—
This marriage-ring is seated on my hand;
It is too late to chide me. He has taken
The honour of my spirit, my religion;
I can forswear apostacy no more
Than rid my finger from its hoop of doom.
(She signs and hands the deed to him)
There, James; I almost fancy me a witch,
With Satan for my master.

(She laughs hollowly)
Bothwell
(Kissing her)
Done, brave heart!
Now let me have your child to keep and guard,
Or the false lords will seize him.

Queen
(Recoiling fiercely)
You have cast me
On nature, taken all my sacraments;
On nature I will stand, and as a mother
Be there invincible. You shall not have him.

Bothwell
What do you mean?

Queen
I have no force of thought
To understand it—I who have dissevered
My own, dear sapling from my breast.

Bothwell
The rebels
Will put the crown upon him, and convey
To him your royalties.

Queen
They all are his;
He has my blood within him, and my milk
Has bred him for a crownet.

Bothwell
O kneel down,
And do as Popish Mary to the Christ,
Acknowledge him your king.

Queen
My womanhood
Has often prayed before him; but the chrism,
The consecrating oil of sovereignty
Forbids it to his queen.

Bothwell
You go the way
To make me hate him, and you cannot measure
What hatred were in me, because your eyes
Transform its dull rock to a jewelled passion
With but one glance of light—Your bairn, however,
With fool-begotten stare, could fetch no kindness
Out of my detestation.

Queen
Oh, a sword,
A knife to end this bitterness, or else
Within St. Margaret's pool, so cold with winds,
To drown myself! You cannot hinder me,
If you dismay the wild, maternal pulse
Past nature's own insanity.—A sword!

Erskine
(Within)
Her cry at violence; what a haunting scream!
Help, beat the door down!

Traquair
(Within)
I shall hold you here.
He is her husband.

Bothwell
(Apart)
I have heard of storms
In which an unimpeded wind has stretched
The frantic sea-waves level, while it cries
Above the soundless plane: she sweeps my will,
My wrath down into silence.

Queen
(Coming near to him)
Have you thought
What utter hatred would be like in me?
How in my eyes it were a basilisk
Of frightful charm, and in my voice the song
Of syren from her seat among the bones?
Have you beheld the vision? Very soon
It will be actual, and face to face.

Bothwell
Ha!—Turn away! You do not understand
I pressed a policy, no despot whim—
A threat to make you reasonable—that
Was all my hot intent. The lords henceforth
Will rally round your son, anoint him king,
And leave you like the altar of the mass
In a purged Romish church; but if you rather
Will bear such violation than resist,
I cannot help it, and will never ask
To have your child again, although your madness
Should ruin our linked government.

Queen
You promise?

Bothwell
The devil seize you! What tormenting power
Is in your motions! But you cannot see,
For all your deep endowment, that this clash
Of quarrel strikes me haggard. By our God,
I swear to keep my peace about the boy:
Mar would not give him up. You wrong my aim;
On me you look adversely with an anger
Imperative, primæval, yet unjust
As it is blind and senseless. Houri-love,
My martial, witching star, if you should fail me,
I am alone and worsted. O bend down;
These raging tears fall over you.

Queen
Nay, nay!
What would you have?

Bothwell
Your pity, your approach—
Pardon!

Queen
A fellow anguish, as of rain
Meeting the torrent-sea has brought my head,
Where it now rests. (Sobbing on his shoulder)
James, do not ask forgiveness;
Between us by no possibility
There now can be exchange.

Bothwell
At least your lips,
My queen!

Queen
You need not ask—I am a ruin,
Your wishes pierce wherever they may list.
Leave me to sleep. My lord, I must not taste
This great, salt weeping as you kiss me.

Bothwell
So
We end this great unkindness.

Queen
Ay, even so.

(As he goes to the doorway of the private stair, he passes by the neighbouring tapestry)
Bothwell
Phaeton's red-harnessed horses, grey as doom,
And he himself 'mong their tumultuous hoofs . . .
Such picture by her bedside! He who owned
This stairway's rights before me fell in chaos:
I tread where he did, leaving her. What Fury
Set up this woful Gobelin!

Exit
Queen
When I hear
His feet within the turret, my whole frame
Remembers by degrees, and yet to-day
Perchance my doubts were false and passionate

Scene III

—Holyrood; a room in the palace: Lethington is discovered writing despatches
Enter Lady Lethington
Lethington

Well, Mary, will her grace be pleased to
sign these despatches?

Lady Lethington

I know not: you have the dreariest
brows.

Lethington

For I love her infinitely; this is the last
service I shall render her. It is plain I must resign my
stewardship and away to everlasting habitations!

Lady Lethington

What do you mean? You will not
die? I am sure you are ill; for you lie awake all night
without stirring. I must conclude you are ill.

Lethington

Do you conceive it possible to secure rest
in a palace tramped by barbarians? I tell you, Mary, the
voice of that homicide . . .

Lady Lethington

Then you imagine he is the king's
murderer?

Lethington

Tush, child, that were a small matter: he
makes onslaught on the delicate fabric of the mind; he
invades the region of alternatives and possibilities, and
crushes the tender shoots of inclination. I have not a
brain to bear predatory impairment. Sweet wife, there
were gentler housing for thy sick spouse at Stirling.

Lady Lethington

What! You will not leave the
queen?

Lethington

Ay, haply for the moment, for the quieting
of my country, and the re-knitting of my mind.

Lady Lethington

You are not faithful?

Lethington

The chameleon, my pretty moralist, is
faithful to the light through variance—its susceptibility
changes its dyes. Faithful to what?

Lady Lethington

To be faithful is to be fixed and
constant. To be faithful in religion is to have ever the
same mind toward God.

Lethington

The fidelity of an imbecile! I must love
my God humanly, not with stiff constancy, but with every
mood I have—not a single devout strain—but with
jealousy, contrition, humbleness, and pride. Shall we give
all our heart to a mortal, and a few notes of piety to
our God? But your pardon, my rigorous philosopher; I
demand of you nothing better than the observance of your
own maxims. It is the glory of a woman to maintain the
creed of her espousals. How prospers the royal honeymoon
upstairs?

Lady Lethington

Most unhappily, to judge by the
queen's countenance. But she will not lose her senses, as
'tis reported. It is the duke who blocks up the passage, and
lets his hands drop.

(Bothwell is heard tramping above)
Lethington

He is insufferable—do but listen!—the
confusion of palaces. Mary, heaven arm thee with thy
lord's fell eloquence to bring down the queen.

Lady Lethington

I am ever your servant to perform
your behests. Your kisses are the bribe of my obedience.

You seek to make me an unhappy wife, that my fortunes
may equal those of my mistress.

Lethington

Nay, my spouse, you are mated with
wisdom, and the price of wisdom is above rubies. Be
not malcontent. Go, urge the queen. The ambassadors
start for England to-night. It may be I too shall be
absent. (Kissing her)
God be with you, dear.
Exit Lady Lethington
(Turning to the despatches)
The last service I shall perform
for her! The duke had slain me yesterday, but for
her intervention. I must leave her; it is the beginning
of my great attachment. Farewell to ideas, dreams,
policies; farewell to unity! The heir to the English
kingdom should be full of all comely conditions, and she
hangs as a blanched leaf on a bough. Yet it pierces me to
the heart to note how she keeps her queenship to me as I
were the single loyal subject in the world. Could she
recover! She must bide somewhere in prison (shrugging

his shoulders as he hears more noise)
till we get that barbarian
hanged. Afterwards . . . No, there is no restoration
possible; but I shall but seem to abandon her. I am
cursed by the tenacity of my affections. When I was a
boy they set me to keep watch over the dead. It was a
duty without issue; and there is in me a fund of patience
for a sort of posthumous religion.

Enter the Queen
(She takes a pen and bends over the despatches)
Queen
I do not ask
How you have told the truth of these last days
You have had vision of.

Lethington
(Apart)
She need not lower
Her lids, her wide, brimmed eyes are reticent;
And yet there is expansion on the lips
And brows—that luminous, poetic shine,
The presage of some great impolicy.

Queen
(Putting away the despatches)
Ay, I have signed them all; if dreamily,
Forgive me: for a peace comes down and softens
My sorrows when I dream. How bare the world
Would be without the dead!

Lethington
Of whom, dear queen,
May you be taking thought?

Queen
I think no more
Of one or two; they come in multitudes
Within me, down the currents of my blood;
And the great, outer host drawn in with breath.
There is no time in them; it is alike
If they fell ages back, or yesterday;
And Helen, shadowed by Ægyptus' shore,
Moves close to me; she clasps Theonoë
About the neck, and through the lotus-flowers
The women press together.

Lethington
Ay, the phantom,
Not the live Helen.

Queen
She who was a queen.
I love the legend that she never swerved
From wifely faith, that Paris' capture was
A spectre that dislimned into thin air
When Proteus from his shadow in the rocks
Rose, and restored his guarded fugitive
Unblemished to her husband. All those years
Of bloodshed and reproach she had been held
In sanctuary, and where her soul received
No sound of her ill-fame. It seems to me
One may be so withdrawn, even from the clamour
Of those who love and fight and suffer wrong
For the poor image of oneself, the clay,
Not the live creature, Lethington. I seek
To give you apprehension of the facts
That have been open to your ken these last
Tumultuous weeks—for you have still your queen
Preserved by mystic charity from taint
Of noisome accident, and overcome
Of none, being so secluded in herself,
Storms have no access to her.

Lethington
Can you doubt,
My sovereign, that my deepest faith is yours,
Though to pursue your pretty simile,
I hold the lovely Greek so deep in awe,
That when I see her injurers, almost
I perish of pure passion, as the elms,
Planted about Protesilaus' tomb,
Faded as fast as their aspiring shoots
Caught glimpse of Ilium.

Queen
Hush, that red Dunbar.
(Taking his hands and clasping them)
How many years
You were my mother's counsellor; how oft
By luring sagesse you have drawn me back
From folly: you can aid me now no more.
Wide ruin overhangs. 'Tis pitiful
To bear a name that in its overthrow
Carries fair kingdoms, and leaves tremulous
The pillars of the church: I bear such name,
I front such ominous fortune. Put away
These papers; it is plain that we must part:
God will not suffer me one comfort now.
I cannot see you murdered in my sight;
Therefore you must be gone. Yet stay awhile—
(Taking an ornament from her neck)
I have an oval ornament of gold,
Enamelled with a curious device
From Æsop's fable of the netted lion,
And his most nimble-toothed deliverer;
With these Italian words: non mancano
Le forze a chi basto l' animo
Written around it. I have often sighed,
Touching the trinket, ere I laid it by—
For see, the violet cord is worn with use—
O'er this entoiled, forsaken royalty,
And the persistent, liberating force
Beside it. Should there ever be occasion
For breaking the captivity, return
This gift; my cipher graven within its lid
Is pregnant as a pass-word to my love,
And closer than a signet. You have never
Signed any the vile bonds my enemies
Have published in their hate: receive this token
Of grace and benediction from your queen.

Lethington
Madam, this golden outbreak from the cloud . . .

Queen
My courtier! I shall lose so soon the voice
Whose every invocation was a spell,
And yet must break its music. We shall talk
No more together. Though I were content
To lie and let the waves fall over me,
As a wrecked barque that, when the storm is spent,
Suffers the soft mishandling of the tides,
I still am treasurer of the crown. How fares
My boy? You have much intercourse with Mar;
The lords are gathered in a camp at Stirling
Around his cradle.

Lethington
Have but patience, madam,
You too shall be delivered.

Queen
How is this?
It doth not need conspiracy to quench
Ambition such as his, so dissolute.
(Throwing herself on a seat and passionately weeping)
I cannot banish him; he would return.

Lethington
Ay, the light, spectral way of guilty souls:
You have your rosary.

Queen
It will be pastime
To count my beads on the dark swards of hell.
Maitland, my soul is ciphered Catholic,
And yet I have withdrawn the licences
At the duke's pleasure. I am slight of will.
Enter Bothwell
Leave us till dinner-time.

Bothwell
(Advancing)
What, closeted
With Lyd, your secretary—an old offence!
You shall not have another faithful servant
Like David Riccio. Ah, you whiten, sir.

Lethington
It is my wont at blasphemy. Proceed!
Are these for my revision?

(Attempting to take some papers from Bothwell)
Bothwell
(Grasping them)
I have writ
Brief record of my mind and purposes
To England. I can front Elizabeth
As you; I do not need your artifice.
(Turning to the Queen)
O Marie, would you see a borderer
Expend his hate, at last fall to the feast
Of long, unsated, devilish detestation?
(Relaxing his hold at the Queen's intercession)
Nay then, he shall be spared; but since you cast
On me your ravishment, and since you turn
The dun side of your beauty to my face,
Setting the wind of your hot sighs to blast
My rash, desirous moments, since you thwart me,
And magnify this pard—I will unfold
The smooth and cowardly creature you esteem.
This man heard Morton promise me your hand,
And to and fro he journeyed prospering
My heady plans; he is the sorcerer
To lure your mates to death, one after one;
He sits, and sees them drop away from you,
But yet he meddles not. Now chat together;
He will advise you how you may entoil
A second victim. I will leave you now.

Exit
Queen
To think that you were with me at Dunbar!

Lethington
You saved my life.

Queen
(Looking toward the door)
He cannot be a king;
They wither, or are murdered, or grow mad
Who link themselves with me in sovereignty.
Twilight and ruin settle on us both!
Oh, might we be forgotten; could we lie
In the blank pardon of oblivion! That,
Alack, can never be; there is no man
Can give me safety, or protection, or
Peace from vicissitude; I have no lover,
Servant or friend; and yet I am beloved
Even to marvel. I can pray no more,
I have no more dependence upon God;
And none on any of His creatures, none.
Go, tell my story as you learnt it, add
New matter. If I sat beside the fire,
In prison with my maids, and never spoke,
While you put forth fresh libels, or confirmed
The common talk, you could not injure me:
My silence would have privilege.

Lethington
Your pardon;
My task is now to write an epitaph:
So I unclasp my shackles.

(Unclasping the ornament)
Queen
(Looking steadfastly at Lethington)
By consent
He seized me at Dunbar? The Tolbooth gauged
The pressure of my passions; and the cartels
Will pass me truly to posterity,
While you admit the portrait?

Lethington
Libellers
Are sure of popularity. My brain
Treasures a rare, untarnished miniature;
With that I shall not part. (She gazes at him, sobbing)
Nay, pardon now,
Full pardon, great, obliterating sea,
Of love o'erwhelm me! You have heaven's own measure:
The seventy-times-and-seven is in your eyes,
Immeasurable grace. There is no need
Of this slave's token; but I put it back.
(Kissing the gold ornament)
God shield you from dishonour! May He draw
Blood of me, when my life has other use
Than to protect your titles.

Queen
It was thus
I dreamed of you. Farewell.

Scene IV

—Borthwick; the battlements, with a courtyard below
Enter on to the battlements Blackadder and the Castellan
Blackadder
This flight from Holyrood, because 'twas mooted
The lords were on the march, is argument
To sure disaster.

Castellan
Though the duke is gone
Among the border ridges to collect
An army at Melrose, I have no faith
That he can draw the commons after him;
For her black weeping has estranged men's hearts
Acutely from his service.

Blackadder
She is restless
As any creature that has lost its mate,
Since he has left her side: she does not sleep,
Nor sit, nor feed, nor use her supple hands
In needlework or music, but grows thin
With pacing, and distempered meditation.
Crookstan, this fidget of a woman's soul
Sets me distraught. I cannot understand
The weeping and constraint of her behaviour
At Holyrood, and this sharp pining now.
She hates him or she loves him: but which horn
Of this dilemma she is pitched upon
No son of woman knows.

Castellan
Hold! Here she comes,
Untended 'mid that gaiety of dress
She flaunts in since he took her.

Exit Blackadder
Enter Queen
Queen
Castellan,
Are troops in sight? The twilight thwarts mine eyes.

Castellan
There is a rumour that the earls of Mar,
Morton, Montrose, are pressing to our keep
With Lindsey, Hume.

Queen
(Stamping impatiently)
In answer to my summons?

Castellan
Madam, your proclamation is as waste.

Queen
I look forth on a kingdom that is mine,
Yet stand here helpless as a country-lass.
Peace, peace! Bring me an army. Scan the space;
Is there no moving colour on the verge?

Castellan
I have been out twice to the mound and shouted;
The hills were deaf—it is an evil sign.

(Moving to the other side)
Queen
If I should pray!
Below there is soft frolic in the fields,
Summer and grassy harvest. God, instead
Plant me an army for his marshalling;
Remount his courage, lest the last disdain
Come o'er me, tempting me to fling him off!
Enter the Maries.
How now! What, women, treble voices—tush!
Well, girls, your service? Are there no relays?
You have sharp, shining eyes: look to the west.

Mary Livingstone
Madam, we come to alter your attire;
For if the duke . . .

Queen
O frippery! Your husbands should be grooms;
Break your lords' anger with a string of pearls!
Away with you, you puppets of the court!
There are no pages here to find delight
In your small modes.
Exeunt
The leaflets of this rosebush
Are plucked away; how desperate I am!
Do I not hear his step? My ardours grow
With fear and with despair.

Enter Blackadder
Blackadder
My lord returns,
Is solitary, changed, a very devil.
Leave us to brave him.

Queen
But I never dread
The open air, the vehemence, the storm
Of a man's nature. (Apart)
'Tis his underground
Fidelity of force that holds me down,
As Plutus kept hell-closed Proserpina;
I should enjoy his rage.

Enter Bothwell: he passes the Queen without notice and stares over the country
Blackadder
(To Castellan)
Look there!

(Pointing to Bothwell)
Castellan
My God!

(A deep pause)
Blackadder
(To Castellan)
Is not that movement to the north a band
Of riders?

Castellan
Slip round by the other side;
So let us reach the stair. I may not venture
To question our commander, but I think
Some peril is approaching. Come away.

Blackadder
(Watching the Queen and Bothwell)
They stand against that cloud as still as towers
Stand through the night.

(Blackadder and the Castellan pass round the further battlement, and the Castellan descends; as Blackadder is descending Bothwell turns)
Bothwell
Tell them to make my bed.

Blackadder
Yes, yes, my lord.

Bothwell
Strip all the covers off;
'Tis hot.

Blackadder
My lord, I will.

Exit
Bothwell continues to gaze out, and takes no notice of the Queen
Queen
(Apart)
It is not safe
To guard this solitude. (Aloud)
What, perdu, love—
So weary and dishevelled? You are dumb
And trembling . . . . (Apart)
Still no answer. All the world
Becomes a silence. Stars, stars, break the heat
With some swift declaration; nightingale,
Sing through your gurgling blood to us!

Bothwell
(Suddenly moving to the stair)
I'll go,
I will be off to couch me.

Queen
(As he passes)
Are you ill?

Bothwell
Damned by your love. Ha, ha, I have been king
A month or so, have swayed it in good earnest,
And made my queen my vassal. 'Tis all done!
I have had royal quarters . . . At Melrose
There is no army. I have torn the crown
In haste to seize it, pulled the throne on me;
But when I sit and whistle on my prow . . .

Queen
James, James, you dare not leave me?

Bothwell
Those famed eyes
Have learned to make entreaty to my will.
When I sit whistling on my prow at sea,
Among my buccaneers, I shall make boast—
Of what, my sovereign dame?
(The Queen starts towards the battlements' edge; Bothwell violently pushes her back against the roof)
Oh, you have courage!
Your old trick at Dunbar,—it awed me then.
You cannot give me pleasure any more
With your stained, dripping face. 'Tis over, girl,
This play at kings and queens. Will you not come
Aboard with me? I had a Danish wife,
Whom I left stranded on the Netherlands
When she had served my turn. Your resolution?
Ay, handy-dandy with me, up and down—
I will not be your jailor; you are free:
The lords are gathering for your rescue: open,
Let them burst in and murder me. To-night
I'll sleep—destruction!—sleep with open window,
And let all go to rack.

Exit
Queen
Within my head
There is a clang as if great gates of iron
Shook, and then opened to a breeze. My limbs
Quaver as do the hill-curves in the heat.
Nothing is altered—only he is gone,
Oppressive in his insolence and gross
As manhood is when it descends beneath
A woman's foot. Darnley and Lethington
And Moray—so I have been taught contempt
From note to note: the compass now is reached;
I cannot stretch beyond to-day the limit
Of scorn, for it is full and perfect, striking
This man I reckoned faithful as the seasons,
My horoscope, or death. A loosed possession!
And I am that—cast off with lack of love
By an insensate hand! O God, the light
That pours unblinking inward—and how large
A difference in my heart!

Enter Castellan and Blackadder in the courtyard below
Castellan
(To Blackadder)
Go fetch my lord;
A troop without say they are hunted friends,
And I must open.

Blackadder
He is laid a' bed,
Or just undressing. I shall have a thud
Of passion for my message.

Castellan
Go.

Exit Blackadder
Queen
(Listening)
A tumult
Against the bank!

Re-enter below Bothwell and Blackadder
Blackadder
Your doublet is not on.

Bothwell
Curses! I'll not be touched—Just pull this down—
Where is that madman Crookstan? Blast your wits!
Lock, lock and hold! It is a stratagem.
Fool, must I slumber to be caught alive
For durance through your softness? All is up!
We have no food or arms to meet a siege,
Scarcely a dozen men within the walls
For sortie or repulse.

Cries
(Outside the gates)
Assassin, out!
Butcher, come forth!
(Confused execrations)

Bothwell
I have not one resolve.
(Apart)
The mast is broken, and the striving sail
Falls down it in a heap. There is such rage
Of hopeless circumstance about my ears,
It desolates my force as if I heard
The water-kelpie howl—a sweating panic.
Had I but slept an hour!

Cries
Ha, ha, come forth—
A murderer, a regicide!

Bothwell
Confound
Their vile abuse, dishonourable noise!
Who would have thought this grey and silent hour
Would hoot outrageous titles, and besiege
My sense with clamour?

Castellan
You will never let
Their ribald anger put you out of heart.
My lord, I wait directions.

Cries
Ravisher!

Bothwell
I cannot stay. Crookstan, I know all voices
That reach this earthly life of ours; the shout
Of battle and the predatory din,
Woman's soft-worded breath, the hurling stream
In flood and hate, the sorrow of the wind
When ghosts are in its tide—all, save this cry
Round a defenceless castle, round about
Our unprotected conscience. Send your son
To meet me at the postern.

Castellan
For escape?

Bothwell
For anything, for peace—I cannot stay,
Hedged in by such offence,
Exit Castellan
drawn on to flight
By something voiceful, and by such distraction
As turns all ways to menace me. Ay, yell
Below there in the pit! This midsummer,
Far sky is cavernous above my head,
Huge, full of wondrous passes through the stars:
It looked so from the hole at Lindisfarne
They put me in; and when I choke at night,
Wrung with a nightmare, 'tis not Kirk o' Field
That sets me gasping; but a low, arched room,
With iron trellis and a muffled door,
Where I must hold my breath till they have clamped
His bonds about a captive who begins
A fairy thrall of twenty thousand years!
(More cries)
Howl up your execrations! Guilty, lords,
To every charge.

Cries
Adulteress!

Bothwell
Let alone
That cry, confounding her with my misdeeds.
She shall not hear it—infamy! (Turning in the direction of the execrating lords)
To sweep
Across you as the north wind on the bents,
Clean from the verge to tear you in my transit,
Then boom triumphant of the scath behind!
A regicide, a rex! It bursts again—
Their shriek that whirrs and eddies like the cry
Of sea-fowl at the base.

Cries
Come down to us;
Yield yourself prisoner!

Bothwell
Ay, to be shut up
As a big, precious relic! If these men
Should act my vision on me, I would loose
My thoughts out in a wolfish multitude;
I would betray them.
Re-enter Castellan
Crookstan, muffle me,
Push me along the passage; I am blind—
Your boy there? O the mountains! I am safe!
And yonder the wan water. Let us out.

Exeunt
Queen
(Who has caught snatches of the talk below)
Fidelity! But now he has no claim,
No share in any regal attribute;
He drops to the unsingled multitude
Of craven rebels. And I stand alone,
Full of great, mounting courage; in my veins
The blood that buffets fortune and endures.
I will go wander forth into the night,
And breathe my freedom. I am free as air,
As Dian in the woods. I wedded him
By promises heretical and void
As is his heart who leaves me. Out, away,
I go, I go! The wife of Hepburn slips
Into her boyish hose and doughty cloak
To disappear for ever. In the cots
Are faithful subjects, charitable hands:
My people love their pity-dealing queen,
The daughter of their goodman, whom they called
King o' the Commons merrily. I wish
Bad dreams had all such issue: I am light
As when I danced upon the palace-floors
In dearest France, and irresponsible
As when I strayed at Inchmahome. My youth
Rushes in front of memory; all my pain,
My plight in fresh disguise, are smart as joy;
And there is nature in me that persists
In hoping, loving; for the rain and dew
I cry, for seed-time and the harvest-fields:
The dead, unsightly things that have been cast
By alien forces on me presently
Must disappear. I leap into my realm
Without a thought—God speed me!

Exit

Scene V

—Crichton Muir; a wild, marish country, lighted by glow-worms, in the distance a saddled horse
The Queen enters, dressed as a cavalier, and throws herself on the grass
I have lost,
Quite lost my way, and with it every grief.
Ah, here is freedom, here is quietness;
Myself's own mystery closes round my soul
Once more, and I am healed. I have no prayer,
Nor any hopes or fears. To penetrate
Still further on, to learn more of this June,
This deep, midsummer midnight! I have touched
The roses, and have felt the fanning wind:
There is a kingdom where these royalties
Are more than faintly dreamed. Oh, if what stirs
In sleep, what palpitates with blessedness,
Would carry me away in trancèd arms!
(She puts her hands through the turf)
I have no mind for death. What gaiety
There is across the banks—a showery track
Of glow-worms; the whole grass is full of them,
And on beyond they thicken toward the moor.
I can be very wakeful with delight,
And watch the change and flitting of these lamps,
The passing and re-passing to and fro,
A luminous, slow load. How heavily
One drags behind, and now they all are gone.
One, two—I cannot count them.
(She sleeps)
[OMITTED] (Waking)
Day-break—ho!
The hills are built again,
And yonder is a castle. God, it seems
The sullen country that I saw before,
As I had made an orbit in the dark,
And come round to my starting. Silently
The light is creeping through; from point to point
It passes and gives judgment: on the verge
The barren hills expose their solitude,
The marsh yields up its rank and heavy pools,
While at my feet these silky filaments
(Gathering sedges)
Shake their untarnished tufts athwart the wind.
In this hard dawn I find no comforter;
It is too just, it spreads impartially,
Shooting no dazzling signature across
The wide, accessible, untrodden ways.
I cannot choose or wander any more,
I can but bow me to my misery,
And take the pensive journey of a spirit,
That walks from hollow torture to its tomb,
To clothe itself in flesh that shall receive,
Foster, prolong, diversify its pangs.
There is a tramp of footsteps.

(Turning, she sees Bothwell close to her)
Bothwell
Marie!—What,
You wanton! But you flitted for my sake
Across the brae?

Queen
No matter—for we meet.

Bothwell
Ho, lad! This change of vesture almost might
Win manhood to adopt you; yet, my faith!
We have no room among our qualities
For wild, exciting pallor, and such gaze
As would make civil war within our sex,
If once admitted . . . . Why, there is a change—
Turn me your face!—there is a change beyond
The youngster's cap about your wrung-up hair,
The boots and spurs. I madden! If you mean
To punish me you could not use me worse
Than mumming in these clothes with face of sorrow,
And climax of strange loveliness that makes me
Half-dread you are a spirit in disguise,
And mine no more.

Queen
Where are we, on what road?

Bothwell
She wanders still. Black Castle stands to left
That hid me in my flight. Ah, you are changed!

Queen
A terrible perfection has been growing
In every sense of good and pain I feel.
No wonder I turn lovelier—I am young,
Not adverse as the old are toward their griefs,
But lithe to chastening.

Bothwell
Talk less foolishly.
My Thespian, O my buskined love, this stage,
This moor, is not for interludes. The foe
May any moment seize us. I was sick,
Short-tempered when we parted.

Queen
You are wrong,
We did not say goodbye.

Bothwell
O pardon!

Queen
Whither
Does foredoom take us?

Bothwell
Hasten to Dunbar
With me: then are you safe.

Queen
Not to Dunbar!

Bothwell
Why, 'tis the only refuge.

Queen
(Apart)
Back to Hell
God's power dismisses lost ones on the day
Of their accompt; back, back to Hell—Dunbar!

Bothwell
You speak with half a voice and hollowly.
Come, you are not yourself and must be led;
I sweep my arm around your shoulders, boy!
I am the stronger man, and shall prevail
If you entice my sinews into work.
And yet the deepness of your eyes affrights,
And is unlawful. I forbid the folly
Which thus delays escape.

Queen
Yes, I must come;
It is my sentence.

Bothwell
What, you are offended?
Then let me kiss the frown away.

Queen
No, no!
Shame not my venturous gait.

Bothwell
You shall no more
Pause in a gleaming stupor, but enlinked
Fly to your husband'e castle, and there pay
The sweet embraces due to him. On oath,
I will not plague your lips, my traveller,
Till you have altered guise.

Queen
You do not well
To take me to your sea-fort, with my clear
Aboding that we go there to divide
Who left it to be wedded: 'tis the end,
A bare, unblest extreme.

Bothwell
The damps have entered
Your health, the fiendful desolation driven
Your wits into the moon.—You have not slung
Your sword aright. As fair as beaten gold
Your neck shines out above the heavy wrap;
There's no imperfect place in you, except
This error of accoutrement.

Queen
Dunbar!

Bothwell
You shall not speak it on a burning pant.
Its red towers are not answerable for
The rare effects that bind us. By God's blood,
We must put in for haven from revolt
There where my cannon are, my guns, and strength.
At last an army gathers.

Queen
Oh, to spend
Warlike, not over-solitary hours!
To toil, inspire, and marshal. Will you promise
An army?

Bothwell
By my life, I will.

Queen
Lead on!
There are affairs to settle by the sea:
Waves welter and cry out, but I shall hear
The press of faithful squadrons. (To Bothwell)
Loose my neck,
Then I will follow.

Bothwell
(Apart)
She is changed. O fate,
Re-make her into woman once again,
For she is gone from underneath my hand.

(Exeunt)

Scene VI

—Carberry Hill; the camp of the Lords: Lethington looks across the valley in the direction of the Queen's army on the opposite height
Lethington

Will it be thus, I wonder, hereafter: the
borders of the great gulf ranged with ironical faces. Could
the sheep and goats but front, would they not blink at one
another like the unsound augurs of old? Sheep and goats,
sheep and goats! A disastrous partition, for man is of his
nature indivisible, and can have but one destiny. It is the
misplacing that irks! What pleasure can I have among
these precise Protestants, who see a street before their

noses, whatsoe'er the pied landscape discover? How I
pine for that rare, lyrical creature I have abjured! When
they roused me from my rest in the city to come march
against her to Musseburgh, I rubbed my eyes long, and
lay listening to the blare of the trumpets, as it were in a
stupor. May it be my portion some day from the housetops
to proclaim what these men are, and to see them
degraded one by one. For what I fainest would do is to
have my mistress in estate, in person, in honour; and when
these miscreants take her to their keeping, I doubt not I
shall have to labour for her very life . . . Du Croc has
passed to parley with her, but who can reason under this
inexorable sun. Not to budge deserves a palm-branch.
(To a soldier arranging a banner)
At work, ho! And on
the Sabbath made for man! I marvel at you. Come,
unfurl your canvas.

Soldier

This banner, sir, is to flap before our army.

Lethington

Tut, my man, it will not pay to fight in
this dazzle; we must stand still like cows in the heat.
(Nodding, as the soldier unfurls the flag)
Ay, it is pretty
and most scriptural! We have here a marvellous sweet
babe, pious as the infant Samuel, praying the voiceful air;
and in the midst is murdered Abel under a green growing
tree. But where is Cain? Here you should figure him,
Lord Bothwell, in this corner, with his rumpled brow and
villainous, hot face. See, good fellow, they are buying
food yonder from the country people. Get to your dinner;
I will watch the stuff.

Soldier

Surely, for his pieces will buy cheese.—That
picture, sir, must make the harlot wince.

Exit
Lethington
To eat and drink
And be religious is all one to them;
I have no superstition; when a man
Is gross in sanctity it gives me qualms.
I wonder is she sitting on the hill,
Or speaking full of kindness to Du Croc,
This tedious summer day. A gallant soul!
And birds, they say, sing sweeter in the cage,
For then they sing of freedom. I must wait
A time to do her good. These fleecy clouds
Of bosomed thunder dull at least the heat.
Enter Morton
Ho, Morton, do you answer to this charge?

(Pointing to the banner)
Morton
Is it not bravely pictured? Thus heaven writes
Across the walls of conscience; I would sooner
Be burned alive than leave this infamous,
Vile murder unavenged. My blood grows hot;
God knows I share His hatreds. Riccio first,
Then the limp Catholic, and now this pair
Of married liars. Would that I saw them stretched
Dead at my feet, like those two subtle ones
Who thought upon the value of their land
When bartering for their souls. I have been patient,
The long, slow way God deals with his elect,
Although He will avenge them speedily.
Since Kirk o' Field I kept this orphan-babe
Firm in my thoughts, and stand here now in arms
To compass retribution.

Lethington
That shall fall
On me, on you, on that frail innocence,
The earl of Moray?

Morton
On the queen herself.
We are but instruments in heaven's high hand.
For better station we must cross the stream,
And take the ridge of Cowsland where the sun
Will not molest us. Grange is with the queen
And there is talk of ending this affray
By single combat of the duke with some
Selected nobleman; but I will stripe
The devil, if he dare to fight with us.

Exit
(Lethington lies down, pulls his cap over his brows and listens to the sky-larks)
Lethington
How sunnily they sing!—About their business
In the deep blue. I give religion up,
It is all controversy; but to flute
One's happiness, get wings to it, and fly;
Leaving the realm of question, to create;
Listen, create and listen—in one's bosom
An inexhaustive fount, and from the brain
An ever finer conduit to the ear:
That were felicity that, in the nest,
The twitter of the young ones would not mar.
If this rude canvas did not flap my face
With such a stinging stroke, these battlefields,
That give a statesman leisure in the midst
Of march and counter-march for reverie,
Were not without advantage. I will pen
A new, rare counsel of perfection while
Insurgent passions parley. (To soldier who re-enters)
Fold it up!
Exit soldier with banner
And so till the sundown settle all.

Scene VII

—Carberry Hill. The Queen's army about her; she wears a countrywoman's dress. Her horse is near. She speaks with Kircaldy of Grange
Queen
I cannot be so murderous in my soul
To shed my people's blood; while I was sitting
On yonder stone beneath the hawthorn-tree,
I thought of every kind device to shelter
My faithless subjects from their punishment.
But I am dazed; the sun all afternoon
Has streamed upon my head, I cannot hold
Firm converse with myself, and seem to grow
Confused as in a swoon. This long, slow day
Labours with tangled issues.

Grange
I am come,
Madam, at your request, and on my knees
Attend your will.

Queen
I hear that friends of mine
In parley with your leaders have declared
Their wish for single combat.

Grange
To prevent
The slaughter that you dread.

Queen
'Tis very strange!
They gave me to a husband, whom they now,
Because I love not bloodshed, would destroy
Before my eyes.

Grange
Have you so little trust
In your good cause and his that you should look
For death as God's award if he should fight?

Queen
Sir, he has borne his trial, and the voice
Of law has called him pure.

Grange
I wish all men
Believed the judgment.

Queen
We are much offended
By any words dishonourably spoken
That touch our husband's honour.

Enter Bothwell
Bothwell
Is it I
With whom they pick a quarrel? Let them say
What harm I ever did them. I have injured
Not one among them, but have simply wrought
As they desired. I tell you, laird of Grange,
'Tis envy brings them to the field: they see
My eminence and grieve. They never knew
That fortune, like a woman, sits and waits
Longing to feel her conqueror. I won
By sudden rape, I handled destiny
As if she were a prey.

Queen
You give no heed
To present business. (Apart)
As he rode along
High-mounted, with the lion upon my banner,
Flapping about his cheek, I loved him—now
An evil coldness strikes me.

Bothwell
Give command,
I am your common soldier, and your will
The only motion in me.

Queen
You must fight,
And prove before the armies your acquittal
Was veritable innocence.

Bothwell
My sword
Is ready, sir.—Marie, you gave your order
More strictly than you need.

Queen
The time is short,
The enemy impatient.

Bothwell
(To Grange)
Step aside.

(They converse)
Queen
How dim it is about the woodland's edge;
The twilight seems to rise up from the earth;
I never felt so cheerless. I could wish
To take a needle at my tapestry,
And at an open window sit and sing;
It would be less monotonous by far
Than this uncertainty that stuns my head,—
All the vague action that has circled me,
And made me like a stranger to myself
Hour after hour. Although the evening grows
More intimate and nearer I can watch
Our weary soldiers, parting from their ranks
In search of food and drink; the army sunders
In tired confusion. I shall let him fight,
Though I refused this morning. I am hard,
His fires have burnt me hard as in the oven
The soft, responsive clay. He ever was
To me a faithful subject, and my soul
Was built upon his loyalty, until
I found that as a lover he could do
Stern treason, and could wrong me in such sort
As turns affection marble. It is fearful
To have this vile disease within the heart,
This cold paralysis, to long for cure,
Yet to remain inveterately dead
Just where you once were loving and divine,
And soft compassion pained you.

Bothwell
(To the Queen)
All is settled.
The laird of Grange would bid adieu.

Queen
God speed!
I will receive the lords if they repent,
And turn away my anger.

Grange
Our condition
The duke of Orkney grants—that he should meet
A peer, and prove his cause.

Bothwell
I will.

Queen
Adieu.

Exit Grange
Bothwell
(Unsheathing his sword)
It shines a confident, fine-tempered blade
As ever did good work. You tremble, Marie,
Yet not the wifely way. This pensive lip,
These dreaming eyes! O lass, I wield the sword
To keep you ever mine, to hold from foes
My prize, my love, my crown. Before I smite
And triumph, kiss me with warm mouth, and breathe
Success! between the kisses.

Queen
Ha, I am
Too tired and anxious to encourage you;
And, James, you are so bravely made, so doughty,
You need no pricking words. Turn, I will fasten
Your scarf more firmly; you have ever loved
The gayest colours, fie!

Bothwell
They are more royal,
More wealthy than all others, have the front
To capture sight. Well, these are perfect hands
Knotting my plaid, but in an hour, I tell you,
They will be busy with my corpse, if thus
You send me forth to battle. Do you care
That I should win, or are you so estranged
You will give welcome to the laird of Grange
If with soft manners he report me slain,—
Curse him!—and lead you to a widowed throne?

Queen
James, if my love is dead, it is your hand
Hath murdered it, and all that now is left
Is a long night of mourning. Oh, I feel
Stricken and hopeless as a mother bird
Covering her callow brood when there's no warmth,
No twitter in the nest; the use of loving
Was over long ago.

Bothwell
The wanton birds
Get them new mates.

Queen
The linnet, broken-winged,
Dies in a bright-eyed silence 'neath the bush.
Think not, if death should take you, any more
There can be mirth in Mary Stuart's heart,
But fond with her old fondness, she will build
Her life upon some relic of the past,
As many stately priories have been founded
Over a heap of long-since mouldered bones.
All will be recollection.

Bothwell
Must I fight
For a mere shade?—Confound their trickery!
They move their squadrons; I must hasten yonder
Before they snatch advantage.

Exit
Queen
(Looking anxiously over the field)
Is it so?
I will awake and reason, win his safety;
And then—O God! there is another knot
I must untie, release him from myself.
(She hastily writes a message and gives it to a Soldier)
Bear this to the encampment.
Exit Soldier
I must act
For him—then take possession of my sole,
Unflawed estate, my sovereignty, and draw
Down slowly on base, unsuspecting heads
Such retribution as God pays for wrongs
Done to His honour; I will lift myself
Among the kings and punish.
A rare love
Sustains me: wheresoe'er I lie to-night
He will be safe, I shall not have a care.
I think I shall sleep on through many days
And nights just dreaming that I do not dream;
There is no other comfort.
Re-enter Grange
Kircaldy,
Hear my brief terms: if you are willing now
To take me to your ranks I will return
In single royalty, bespeaking mere
Safe-conduct for my husband, no pursuit.

Grange
Most just conditions. Madam, you have won
To-day a signal triumph.

Re-enter Bothwell at a distance.
Queen
Leave me, Grange;
While you make final parley with the lords
I will convey my pleasure to the duke,
And speed him from my presence.
(Seeing Bothwell bidding an arquebusier aim at Grange)
Haste, the guard
About me is provoked at your delay,
Repression, change of front. God's peace! they shoot
Unless you leave the ground.
Exit Grange
(Angrily to Bothwell)
You know he lies
Beneath my great protection: would you slur
My queenly faith, and 'gainst an embassy
Level your lawless weapons?

Bothwell
A dull face
Watched me away; the lights are burning now
Athwart your lips and eyes. O Marie, Marie,
I know that you are false; you have made terms
To hand me to the headsman. Give the news!
And so you never meant that I should fight,
You have been busy fooling me all day,
Wrecking and fooling. May you never know
The agony of loving with such hate.

(He covers his face with his hands, she moves toward him, then controls herself, turns back, and stands apart)
Queen
The steep and rending moment comes at last,
Comes with the sunset. (To Bothwell)
I have fixed my will;
You cannot win the day now day is done.
I am a queen, and must resume the rule,
And heed the counsel of my subjects: therefore
I pass across the valley to the lords,
And you in safety ride back to Dunbar.
'Tis so I have determined.

Bothwell
Earth and sea!
How dare you speak like this? Impossible,
Exclusive voice, that smites like ugliness,
As if a magic woman had been changed
To dragon in a second. At Dunbar
My walls were round you; now, in open air,
You look out on that army of your foes,
And my poor, melted ranks.

Queen
We must be brief.
Imperial guidance in my nature draws me
Over the valley: I must follow it,
And part with you.

Bothwell
The impulse is a fool's!
Those men are traitors, and their crime is greedy
For its occasion. Love, return, return
To yon siege-proof Dunbar, and I will fight
To the last drop of blood to keep you mine;
To-day I should have conquered, if the battle
Had not been struck with paralytic sun.

Queen
Grange brings me pledge of loyalty. My lord,
Where you have used me ill I have forgiven,
And signed away your treason: if my realm
Raise charges of another dye against you,
With claim for scrutiny more liberal
Than what acquitted you, I stand your help
And your protection, until innocence
Is reconfirmed.

Bothwell
I might as well be dead,
A ghost in my despair. I find but ice,
When I have reached the summit o' the world,
And thought its poles were mine.

Queen
O James, I freeze,
Because so much is dying in my heart
Ere we can kiss and sever.

Bothwell
Come along,
Break from this stagnant hill-side, where I feel
As if the fates in yonder setting sky
Prepared for us imprisonment. My swift,
Free-tempered wife, come with me to Dunbar;
I will defend you, while beneath your feet
Will sway the chainless waters. I implore,
Not as the consort of your sovereignty,
But as a man who loves you. Do not sweep
The great brim of your hat across your face,
And leave me but that crystal ball, your chin,
For divination of my future lot;
Grant me your eyes.

Queen
We have short space of time,
Short moments; Grange is coming from the camp.

Bothwell
You often longed to leave your kingdom, sail
For liberty away; to greet the foam
By loosened hair on wind-washed cheek; to slip
Within revolving, spheral influence,
To wayfare through the world. We will escape
Aboard—

Queen
Ah, let me think of you at sea;
Have joy in taming what you cannot tame,
The pliant, dauntless swell.

Bothwell
In hearing of
The ocean's sough, we yet can hold Dunbar—
Those stout and ruddy stones that dye with red
The swinging tides. Be dominant, recall
Black Agnes and her feminine defence,
My Amazon!—You will not turn your eyes,
Your indiscoverable, watchful eyes;
I know they weep within the orbs, while mine
Are wet with anguish.

Queen
(Half-apart)
How the worst of wrong
Is the new wrong one does to set it right!
Even God, our God, must make a hell to chasten
The evil He permits: O heart, this voice
Will break me into ruin!

Bothwell
For one night
Turn back to refuge,—that the Hamiltons
May find us with their strength. You ever loved
A cool, dawn-ended gallop.

Queen
For my crown
I fled this way these eighteen months long passed.

Bothwell
For that fly now.

Queen
Grange renders me allegiance,
An oath of loyalty.

Bothwell
The very grain
And compass of my nature questions you—
Will you not come?

Queen
I cannot.

Bothwell
This wild stroke
Dashes my hopes out.

(He casts himself down on a rock. Grange rides up; the Queen meets him)
Grange
Let me kiss your hand;
The lords, your honest subjects, welcome you
Whom they alone obey.

(She bows and motions Grange to go further off; then returns to Bothwell, who springs fiercely up)
Queen
We must not think,
No, not even speak . . . but kiss.

Bothwell
I will not come
To trial, if invited. I have more
Of fiendish pride than that. Shall murderer
Be judged by fellow-murderer? Ha, ha!
That were fine reformation in the state;
I'm for old ways of justice anyhow.
Look here, my lady!

(Holding out a parchment)
Queen
How his swollen, white lip
Is terrible!—Explain!

Bothwell
I let you choose
The company you are so sweet upon.
Here in this bond are stainless signatures,
Morton and Moray, Lethington, Argyle.
See, see! And for the purpose—what is that?
The king's destruction.

Queen
And you hold the bond,
Then . . . .

Bothwell
You shall make no blab. I throw myself
Upon your honour in extreme attempt
To save you. In the mitigating light
Of your sweet face, and kneeling as to one
White in the heavens, I now confess my guilt;
Yet though you walked aloft so clean and proud,
It was your will that wrought at Kirk o' Field,
Your will that made me a black, blasted devil:
You have not a frank, amorous face for naught—
To watch the change of climate on your cheek
Is all-sufficing. Do not turn from me,
As if a statue took possession of
Your breathing frame. O Marie! I am lone
As Adam on the sod before his bliss,
His woman girt him, if you turn away.
All I have done is horror in my nights,
And follows day like pestilence—all, all,
Was done for you: demoniac and lovely
You came to rule me; do not start; I plead
That when you entered me you were no more
The queen, the lady—but a temptress love;
It was no fault of yours; we cannot tell
How we drop down in other natures. I
Was born half-wizard on my southern hills.
A bandit like my sires, a worshipper
Of rich, exalted women . . . and you set
My elements a-flame. Such wrought desire
Will murder, ravish, spell-bind. I shall grasp
Your wrists until you soften.

Queen
Loose! Farewell!
There is no circle of God's ire for pain
Like this horizon; yet I stay alive—
The wonder breath provides for. And this bond . . ?

Bothwell
Keep it with care, it is my testament;
And I am for the whirlwind—for no bonds
Of marriage or of fellowship henceforth.
The falsehood of the universe is gathered
In vow and pact; goodbye to them, goodbye
To you! There stands my horse, there are my towers!
You know your men, you know how merrily
They will receive you. We shall never meet
Again. At least I catch your hand and kiss
Where Grange has kissed the finger that I ringed.
Death, I must go!

Queen
We write to you our will.
(He leaps on his horse)
Be strong in me, my terror; hold me up
From where a gulf has opened! My whole life
Will see that form a' riding to the glare
Of far-off sunset. (Dropping the parchment)
Laird of Grange, I come.
We have what is the calm of sovereignty,
That faith it has in subjects.

Grange
See, the lords
Advance their arms and ranks to compass you,
As with a land's embrace.

(He stoops and snatches the bond up)
Enter Morton, Argyle, Lords, and Army
Queen
(To Morton)
We had no will
To shed enfiefèd blood; and therefore freely
Join you, our earls and nobles, that together
We may unravel discord and present
To foreign gaze accompt.

Morton
(Kneeling)
You find yourself
Where you pertain, among your lieges, madam,
And we will hold you fast!

Cry
Burn her!

Queen
(Apart)
His lips
Are far away. What is it that is thrown?
I am not wholly queen above myself;
I have unsettling fancies. Lead me on,
Deep to your trusty centre. There are smiles,
Though I am over spent. When I have rested
I shall breathe olden life in all I do.
Ah, my good people! . . . . . . Mercy, what is this!
Why flap this buried man? Would I had never
Seen him before! I know he looked like that—
So long in his long coffin—and the child!
I've clapped those chubby fingers in my palm
That point to point beg vengeance of the Lord;
For once I heard a little, lonesome cry,
And then a voice that said I had a son.

Cries
The murderess, ha, the murderess!

Queen
I would rather
Hear of the evil that I have not done,
Than do the evil of which nought is heard,
So greater far is my respect for God—
Whom no man can deceive, who sees the drop
Of light at the well-bottom—than for man,
The misconceiving witness. I have never
Worn mask to God; before Him I could lie
As a white effigy, and let Him probe
Through to my soul. I have great need of pardon
For sins of which you cannot take account.

Cries
Burn her—the witch, the harlot!

Queen
(Wildly)
Is it hell?
Why this is Morton, Grange is striking out
To stop the spume. Look yonder, noblemen,
Strike down that standard . . . . Will it never cease
To write its libel on yon wall of sky?
Have I not made an edict that no words
Shall be set up for scandal morn or eve?
Are queenship and executive gone too?
Have they been ravished from me? I am sinking
To impotence amid such scrannel whirr
As ship whose helm and birthright government
Are taken by a sea. How strange and deep!
Kneel down, repeat your oaths of fealty—Down,
Down!

(She faints)
Morton
We have worked most manifest detection.
Press on, for darkness loads the west, a rabble
Is waiting to give cheer of Christian voices
To this high-browed adulteress, in the town.
Her hat falls off—St. Bride! her clothes are short;
Her face is blurred with evil and with tire;
She looks a thing to put away; and shortly
There must be talk of prison or of death
For her, and for her lawful son the honours
She trails into the dust. Her shameless eyes
Open, grow hot, dilate: she raves and throbs.

Queen
(In frenzy)
God speed him over seas, my lawless love;
God stop that small, defaming, pious cry,
Blazon the deed of Kirk o' Field as just,
And set the great Lord Warden o'er the world!
Would we not judge together, he and I,
Uproot these trembling, vile hypocrisies,
Recall untempered love from banishment,
And make a progress down the Canongate,
Constraining all men to our gaiety!
How vile was our false wedding, vile the banns,
The ritual—dear the rape, the ride along
The High Street with my king at bridle rein;
So should Queen Mary flaunt upon a banner
Subject, subjecting. I would follow him
In my wild, woman-scanted Highland dress
Across the world. Has he yet reached the shore,
My rough free-booter? Who craves audience now?
I choke with wrath; these scalding, vengeful tears,
Breed in my head; they cast a torchlight glare
Athwart the past, and fall in fiery sparks.
We pay for truth by madness. Give your hand,
Morton, and your's, Argyle, to squeeze in mine:
We have been fellows in deception, boldly
Wearing false hearts; but when I am a queen
Again, the axe shall split them into ruin,
And I shall swing the axe, for I am saved
Through foam and horror. I have still myself
To set within myself and crown, the true
Religion to give faith to, a lost love
To weep for through the long captivity
Of unenjoying years, and the whole earth
To gain, when I have repossessed my soul.