University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Near the Kirk of Field.
Bothwell.
Both.
[Pointing to a lone house.]
There his lone roof—fit haunt for such a sovereign!

King.
[Behind the scenes.]
Begone, dull fool!

Both.
He speaks as one in rage.

King.
[Behind the scenes.]
Begone—fail not to find him.

Both.
Whence this fury?
His roan, perchance, is lame, or favourite falcon
'Scap'd from the mews. And must I calmly witness
This boy-king's humours? yes, I like this mood:
The easier shall my words pour in his soul
The venom that empoisons it.

The King enters, habited like a hunter, with attendant Falconers, &c.
King.
[Speaking to one of his Attendants.]
Away.

Atten.
I do entreat forgiveness.

King.
By my crown
I swear—

Atten.
Oh, pardon.

King.
If you fail to find him,
Expect no mercy. Seek me here ere sun-set,
Or never more the sun shall find you out,
In the dark dungeon where your days shall close.
Hence, all, and aid his search.

[His Attendants depart.
Both.
What moves your highness.

King.
Dull, senseless wretch! that noble animal,
With untir'd foot throughout the summer day
From sun-rise to the setting of the moon,
Searching drop after drop the tainted soil,
O'er marsh and moor, thro' the long forest glades,
And the dark windings of the under-woods,
Would trace the wounded deer, and singly hold
At bay the antler'd stag. [To Bothwell.]
You know my favourite,
The far-fam'd blood-hound, which the king of France,
My brother, when he deck'd me with this order,
Sent with Lord Rambouillet: his choicest breed,
The staunchest of his pack: that senseless churl
Loos'd him, but now, in very wantoness:
He's gone, and none know whither. By my faith,
I shrewdly do suspect some purse-proud abbot,
Far fonder of the chase than matin pray'r,
Has brib'd the villain.

Both.
Pray you, be compos'd,
The loss, I grant, is heavy: but there are
Objects of weightier moment that demand
Your deepest thoughts: and—if your majesty—

King.
[Interrupting him.]
Bothwell.

Both.
My liege.

King.
Was it your masks whose revels
Rung thro' our streets this morn?

Both.
I pray attend.
This day the council meets. The cause imports
The honour of your crown: and if the king
But grant my suit, here on my knee, I swear,
Your hand shall wield the sceptre. We will free you
From the harsh yoke of a capricious woman:
And—more degrading than that yoke—no longer
Shall the king's will be thwarted by a slave,
That sycophant—that minion.

King.
Ha!

Both.
Your pardon—
Her favourite, Rizzio—one—

King.
You seem confus'd,
You have close access to her, haunt her palace.
Know you why Scotland's queen no more, as once,
Yields to my will observance?

Both.
Who can trace
The mazes of a woman's varying fancy?
This mood, and that inclines it: and the sex,
From mutability itself, extract
Strange pleasure. Your fair consort can assume
All characters at will, and seem in each
As born for that alone. Have we not seen her
In the brief compass of a day, at council
Wise as Jove's sapient daughter: then, at court
In grace and gait a Juno: now, at banquet
Like Love's gay goddess crown the cup with joy:
Anon on her war-steed like arm'd Bellona,
Wielding no woman's weapon? But—there reigns
Thro' all this pliability of mood,
Fix'd in her heart—How shall I rightly name it?
Taste—instinct—sympathy?

King.
Nay, speak.

Both.
My liege,
It cannot have escap'd you. If the queen
Catch the sweet concord of harmonious sounds,
Or wild note of a natural melody,
A reed soft-breathed, or lightly-finger'd lute,
How will the sound draw forth her very soul,
Till every sense, as touch'd by strange enchantment,
Dissolves in sweet forgetfulness: the while
On her soft-heaving bosom tears will glide,
Shed in delicious agony. My liege,
I have forgot the time, tell me, I pray,
Since when, the man from Savoy, the musician,
Came to this court a stranger.

King.
[Aside.]
Means he that?
Sometimes—it came across me—I confess—
If it be so, not hell itself can hold
The fiend that rages here. Nay—give it vent.

Both.
Your wealthiest nobles envy that man's treasure.

King.
Give it at once the utterance. Is she false?

Both.
Who loves the lute or smoothly-breathed reed,
Or warble of a dulcet voice, no doubt
Cannot dislike the hand which tunes the chord,
Or scorn the lip that lends the flute and song
Their modulated melody,

King.
'Tis clear.

Both.
What?

King.
Thou hast said that Darnley's wife loves Rizzio.
Give me thy dagger.

Both.
Not in that hot mood.
First, be assured—the king hath friends. But, sire,
Were it not better, first by soothing flattery,
Once more to win your way into her heart?
You have of late neglected her. My liege,
Your looks—your smiles—a smile from one so grac'd,
May fire the coldest bosom—then demand,
As proof of love, this Rizzio's exile.

King.
[Interrupting him.]
Life.

Both.
And—if denied—there are bold fiery spirits,
Men, whom the minion's insolence and scorn
Have grievously offended. One I know,
A chief of daring valour.

King.
Who?

Both.
Bold Ruthven:
Nor hard the task, my liege, to gain his aid.
Vouchsafe a gracious look on these: [the Bonds.
these bonds,
Devis'd by cautious Morton. This secures
Your rightful claim, and on your brow encircles
The matrimonial crown: and, if th'offence
And the king's wounded honour urge the deed,
Here, in this bond, shall Ruthven pledge his faith,
At thy command, to free th'indignant realm
Of that base minion. This, my liege, when sanction'd
By your authority, to Murray grants
Free grace and pardon.

King.
Rizzio shall not live.

Both.
Sign this,—the minion dies. Be this but sign'd
The banish'd lords shall kneel before thy throne,
Guilt flings the woman on her husband's mercy,
And thou art—sov'reign.

King.
[Takes the bond.]
At the council's close,
At entrance of the queen's apartment meet me.
The slave shall die: my word shall give the warrant.

[Exit.
Both.
The hope that hung upon my gifted birth
In golden prospect, opens fair before me.
'Tis fated—'tis decreed—I wed the queen.
Let me but grasp the sceptre, fiend of darkness!
Nor fraud nor force shall hurl me from the throne.

[Exit.