University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Antichamber of Rizzio's Apartment at Holy-rood. The Stage crowded with Courtiers and Suitors.
Two of Rizzio's Gentlemen Ushers.
1 Gent.
Look how they press: their clamorous noise confounds me.
All suitors?

2 Gent.
Yes—You are but new in office—
'Tis ever thus: hither, at dawn of day,
All hasten, ere our Lord, high-honour'd Rizzio,
Goes forth to greet his sovereign—

1 Suit.
[Presenting a petition to the Gent. U.]
Sir—I pray—

2 Suit.
My suit is—

3 Suit.
And—sir—mine—

4 Suit.
Hear, I beseech you—

2 Gent.
Peace, sirs, such clamour would awake the dead—
Think you by thus outvoicing all the rest
To gain respect? You do forget yourself,
Nor pay due honour to Lord Rizzio's state.
This is no place for brawling—

1 Suit
To your kindness
Let me commend my suit: if you but whisper
The name of Ronald to lord Rizzio's ears,
Claim me for life your debtor—

2 Gent.
Silence—silence!
Lord Rizzio comes—

[Folding doors flung open. On Rizzio's advance, all in silence bow before him. After a pause, a Suitor speaks aside to the 2 Gent. Usher.]
1 Suit.
Forget me not—

2 Gent.
My lord,
This much-deserving man—

Riz.
[interrupting him.]
I ask'd not of him—
If justice urge his suit, 'tis freely granted,
If not, who pleads his cause, bears my displeasure.

Courtiers.
Freely command us.

Riz.
[Aside.]
Worthless all—I know them—
Deem they me proud? 'tis their servility,
And they must reap its bitter fruit—contempt.—
I thank your zeal, and, I beseech you, sirs,
Bear me not blame that I reject your service:
My gracious sovereign's bounty far o'erpays
His servant's utmost efforts.

Suitors.
[presenting petition.]
Deign to cast
On these our humble suits an eye of favour.

Riz.
[to a servant.]
Receive, and in my chamber duly place them.
They shall not be neglected—
Our gracious sovereign will each wrong redress:
Each merit recompense.— [Ruthven enters.

Earl Ruthven here!
'Tis an unlook'd for honour—

Ruth.
Bid these hence:
We must have secret conference.

Riz.
My friends,
Retire! [All but Rizzio and Ruthven depart.]
—My lord, I scarce can doubt the cause
Which brings you at this hour to Rizzio's roof;
Nor would I lightly hazard your displeasure:
But, if your word—I mean not to offend—
Breathe aught disloyal, aught that slightly touches
The honour, peace, nay pleasure of my sovereign,
Spare me the utterance—

Ruth.
If to reconcile
Her father's son, the brother of her blood
To his high-honour'd sovereign, if to bring
The sigh of deep repentance to her ear,
If to lay prostrate at her throne, the chieftain
Whose power has strength to shake it, deem you this
Disloyal or ungrateful, I will spare you
Th'unwelcome utterance—

Riz.
I entreat you, speak—

Ruth.
I will not idly dwell upon the past;
Fierce feuds, and civil wars that long have fill'd
The realm with woe.—Enough, that now Earl Murray,
Mov'd by just sense of his acknowledg'd error—

Riz.
[interrupting.]
His guilt—rebellion—

Ruth.
To his sov'reign's mercy
Submits, if Rizzio, by strong motives sway'd,
Will plead in his behalf—The hour's most urgent:
This day, the council meet, the states, to-morrow:
The ban and proclamation are gone forth;
Earl Murray must in person now appear,
Answering the accusation, or await
A traitor's doom. Your counsel, sir, all know it,
Much moves the sovereign—Name your terms, command them,
Wealth, office, honours—Here we are alone—
Take this rare gem, [offering a ring.]
sure pledge of Murray's friendship,
And mine, and Morton's favour.

Riz.
No, my lord;
I will not touch that pledge—yet, would to heav'n
That Rizzio's words had power to reunite
The realm in bonds of peace! But, how persuade
The queen to look on Murray? Tho' her soul
Incline to mercy, yet, too freshly bleeds
The wound inflicted by a brother's hand—
Deep weighs upon her heart that day, when Murray,
Her father's son, her once-lov'd brother, rais'd
His arm in battle, from her realm to drive
His sovereign, and with murderous hand unthrone
The youth her soul adores.

Ruth.
Rizzio, reflect,
Tho' keen your glance, and vers'd in courtly ways,
It cannot read the heart. Those worshippers,
Light flutterers in life's sunshine, on whose lip
Insidious flattery speaks in borrow'd smiles,
Will in your need forsake you.—Sir, Earl Murray
Has powerful friends, while you, in this rude realm,
By jealousy and hate encompass'd, dwell
A solitary stranger?

Riz.
Courts Earl Ruthven
A solitary stranger?

Ruth.
Hear, rash man!
Take Ruthven's proffer'd hand, or dread his vengeance.
Rizzio, the choice is thine—

Riz.
No—honour, duty,
Faith, gratitude, forbid—The Earl's return
Would but revive a flame that must be quench'd
In royal blood.

Ruth.
Art thou resolv'd?

Riz.
I am.

Ruth.
Ill-fated man! be Murray now restor'd,
Or, I forewarn thee, slave, when next we meet,
Beware of Ruthven.

[Ruthven goes.
Riz.
Ha!

Messenger enters.
Mes.
My lord—the man—
His name I know not—He, who oft, in secret,
By night here meets you, seeks admittance.

Riz.
Go
Conduct him hither— [Mess. returns with Lindsay.

Hence— [to the Mess.

We are alone— [to Lindsay.

Speak freely, faithful Lindsay—

Lind.
Look on this, [a paper.]

My lord, ere yet you seek the royal presence,
Strictly peruse this statement: it concerns
More than yourself: a kingdom's weal's at hazard.

Riz.
[perusing the statement.]
Earl Murray, and Elizabeth conjoin'd!
[Reads on.]
Morton and Randolph leagu'd!—Perfidious traitors!

Lind.
Soon shall their guilt be manifest.

Riz.
Good Lindsay!
Thro' all their wiles pursue them, and expose
To the clear light of day the dark recesses
Of Morton's guileful mind—Trace out this plot,
And claim of me large recompense—

Lind.
My lord;
My friends, tho' few, are firm and eagle-ey'd.
There are, 'neath Morton's roof, men gained by gold,
Who move at my disposal.—If I err not
You shall obtain, ere night, ere close of council,
Sure proofs of their conspiracy.

[Lindsay goes.
Riz.
Farewell—
How? how escape their vengeance?—I must perish—
My spirit is o'erpower'd: guile after guile,
Treason on treason—Here, designing Randolph,
Fit instrument of dark Elizabeth,
In compact with insidious Morton, labours
My sov'reign's vow'd destruction: daring Murray
There meditates fierce inroad on her kingdom.
Without, impending horrors, and within
Factions and feuds and treachery—Barbarous realm!
Farewell! Where'er I pass, hate, envy, malice
Pursue my step, and every blameless deed
Brand with unjust detraction.—I'll depart—
But how bid thee farewell; thou, o'er whose sceptre
In vain sweet Mercy bends, attempering justice:
Thou, who o'er this dark realm in vain pour'st forth
The bright illumination of thy soul,
A sun that gleams on frozen solitudes,
Lighting up tracts of horror: gracious mistress!
How leave thee to their wiles? Yet—Rizzio's murder
Beneath thy palace roof would fill thy soul
With horror and deep anguish—Be thou spar'd
That aggravated woe! I'll quit the realm—
Yet, ere I go for ever, tho' each word
Will pierce her heart, yet must I bear, perforce,
The king's contemptuous answer—much-wrong'd sov'reign!
How will the scene which ends thy suff'rings close?

[Exit.
Scene changes to Bothwell's House.
Bothwell.
Both.
Deem they, dull fools, that Bothwell tamely labours
To work their petty ends? A crown I grasp at,
And her who wears it: no light acquisition,
Nor by light deeds achiev'd—day after day
Matures my high-rais'd hopes—Can Scotland's queen,
Whose peerless charms and rare accomplishments
From the wide world claim homage, still submit
To cold neglect, and the capricious humours
Of a vain stripling? who now likes, now loaths,
Shifting his fancies with each transient moment.
Where now his haunt? not with his beauteous consort
In royal palaces: yon lonely roof
Conceals this phantom king: his guards, the grooms
That wait on his low sports; the hawk and hound,
And the field's idle labours.—Crafty Morton!
I know thee well, that thou canst sound the heart
And draw its secrets forth:—thou dost suspect
My daring aim: thine too has not escaped me—
My power must aid them: Bothwell's pow'r must compass
Earl Murray's pardon, yea, and their advancement.
Shall I then meanly limit the reward
That waits such service?—They shall crown my hope
To its o'erflowing height.

Page enters.
Page.
My lord—

Both.
Well, boy!

Page.
The masque but waits your word—I hear the prelude,
Shrill pipe and tabret temper'd to the ring
Of harp and cymbal, and melodious swell
Of the sweet-voic'd recorders—

Both.
Go, my boy,
Away—and like wing'd Zephyr quaintly rob'd,
Lead the gay masque, and on the Queen's approach
These rhymes present: [gives him a letter:]
and say, “the crowned Moor
Who yesterday, at tournay, in her presence,
Unhors'd the giant Frenchman, and proclaim'd
Proud Scotland's Queen the peerless flow'r of beauty,
Making the challeng'd field confess her charms,
Now, as a slave, sues at her feet to lay
The envied prize.” Away.

Page.
[Running off.]
This will delight her.

[Exit.
Both.
Were it but this, it were an easy task—
But not by sports and revels, not by show
And mimicry of combat, tilt and tournay,
Must Scotland's Queen be won: by ruthless war,
By deeds more fell than battle, deeds of murder,
That prize must be achiev'd, if true the beldam
Who watch'd my fated birth, and o'er my cradle
Mutter'd strange horrors.
Hepburn enters.
Hepburn!—Wherefore here?
Why thus uncall'd?

Hep.
The cause, my Lord, I trow,
Will more than justify my bold intrusion.
The gray-hair'd man, the shepherd, that fam'd seer,
Whom you in vain so oft have sought to question,
Is once again return'd.

Both.
Mean you hoar Donald?
Is it indeed gray Donald?

Hep.
'Tis that shepherd,
He whom we call the Prophet of the Isles.
His beard is whiter than the new-fall'n snow.
He is once more return'd: all flock around him!
And some bow down before him: yet there are
Who cannot bear his aspect, when he fixes
His broad eye on them.

Both.
Why not here?—You knew
How anxiously I sought him.

Hep.
Good, my Lord,
I did entreat him earnestly; I said,
A Lord of pow'r—I did not name Earl Bothwell,
Would lavishly reward him. He replied not,
But shook his silver locks, and seem'd to smile
Half pitying, half in scorn.

Both.
Bid Hay close watch
His path—Prepare my Moorish robes; and, Hepburn,
Let all my train be summon'd to attend me
In Eastern pomp—Away [he goes.]
—That seer, hoar Donald,
All know it well—the kingdom far and near
Yet rings of it—did speak of Beaton's death,
Yea, and the manner of the cardinal's murder,
Ere he who shed his blood had plann'd the deed.
He comes in happiest hour: he shall unfold
Th'uncertain issue of these dark events,
Morton enters unperceived.
Shall speak of Bothwell's crown, of Bothwell's wedlock
With his soul's sovereign.

Mor.
[overhearing him.]
Ha! 'tis as I thought.
I'll break the charm—Health to the brave Earl Bothwell.

Both.
Earl Morton! Pardon my uncourteous seeming—
Forgive—I heard you not—

Mor.
No, you were list'ning
To your own words: words that the heart disclose—
Beware—

Both.
My lord, how mean you?

Mor.
Nay—but this,
That Bothwell's inmost thoughts are known to all.

Both.
Are they so common that the public tongue
May freely descant on?

Mor.
The very stones
That pave our city ring of gallant Bothwell—
Ask them whose trumpet summons to the tournay,
Enquire who gives the festival, who leads
The gay carousal, whose fleet maskers flash
Like sun-beams up and down the dazzled streets?
One answer cries, “Lord Bothwell.”—

Both.
Truce, my lord,
No more of this—'Twas not for this, I know,
To waste the idle hour, and loosely prattle
Of revelry and feast, and gay carousal,
You brake upon my privacy.

Mor.
'Tis true.
You know the wish that day and night here weighs.

Both.
Yes—to recal Earl Murray.

Mor.
And in this
I seek, my lord, your powerful aid. In fame,
In wealth, in arms, what chieftain equals Bothwell?
Whose voice more sways our sovereign queen?

Both.
Whose? Rizzio's.

Mor.
At the approach of Bothwell's foot, that worm
Shall shrink beneath the earth.

Both.
But first 'twill sting me.

Mor.
If by unmanly terror you invite it.

Both.
Unmanly terror! are those terms well weigh'd?
Is it Lord Morton's wish to rouse my anger?

Mor.
Yes, to its utmost swell: till it o'erflows,
And like a flood resistless sweeps away
All that obstructs its fury.

Both.
Cease this trifling.
What would you with Lord Bothwell?

Mor.
That Lord Bothwell,
As friend to friend, would bare his heart to Morton;
Do but confide in me, and I will steer you
To your soul's haven.

Both.
Plainly speak.

Mor.
The king
Affects you much.

Both.
The king, my Lord, 'tis true,
For that I love the chase, and with him commune
In well-bred phrases of the hunter's craft,
Of goss-hawk and of grey-hound, and can wind
Smoothly the bugle horn, and know the coverts
Where harts are harbour'd, and the roe-buck bedded,
Frequents my company. What then!

Mor.
My Lord,
Look on these bonds. I every word have weigh'd
With cool and cautious foresight. This confirms
Ambitious Darnley's high-rais'd hopes, and binds us
To fix and guard the matrimonial crown
On his boy-brow: this we must sign. The other
By Darnley sign'd, assures the exile's pardon,
And to Earl Murray, all his former honours,
And princely pow'r. The rest, of course, ensues,
Our favour and advancement. Move, thou canst,
The king to sign it.

Both.
Well we know, that crown
Is Darnley's fix'd desire: but how persuade him
To fetter his free hand, and here be branded
Our titled slave?

Mor.
One artful word—'tis done,
A look would fire him. Teach his eye to glance
On Rizzio's favour—and—if hints avail not,
Dwell on his fair queen's minion. To procure
That minion's murder—if I rightly reckon—
The king would sign the bond.

Both.
His hand shall sign it.
To Murray and his friends I am inclined:
You shall not doubt my zeal. With this good sword,
At hazard of my life, I would make smooth
His way to all his pow'r, so, in return,
Earl Murray and his friends would—

Mor.
[interrupting.]
Favour Bothwell.
I am his pledge, I answer for Earl Murray.
What are thy views?

Both.
When Darnley enter'd Scotland,
What was his wish?

Mor.
To wed the queen.

Both.
No doubt.
And is it not, I pray, most right and fitting,
That he who weds the queen, e'en at his pleasure
Should rule the kingdom, if his rule restore
The Earl and his adherents, and advance
To pow'r and honours those who hold your faith:
And—further—by the royal seal assure
To you, my good Lord Morton, and your followers,
The abbies rich possessions. Is not this
Fit rule and government? and such a ruler
The idol of your worship?

Mor.
Such a ruler
Would prove a nation's blessing.

Both.
Further—say,
Should death untimely sweep this Darnley off,
Would you not kindly urge my suit to sooth
The beauteous mourner's woe, and her fair hand
Ease of the sceptre's weight?

Mor.
The crown and sov'reign,
If Ruthven's, Morton's, Murray's pow'r avail,
Shall grace Earl Bothwell.

Both.
Hand to hand, my lord,
We understand each other. Now—farewell—
I now in eastern pomp—such this day's sports—
Seek whom my soul adores.

[Bothwell goes.]
Mor.
'Tis death thou seek'st—
Bothwell—beware. Beneath thy flow'ry path,
On watch, with gasping throat, and eye of fire,
A gilded serpent lies. There shalt thou perish,
Proud man! and on thy ruin Murray tow'r.