 | Anthony Babington |  |
Scene III.
—A terraced garden with an ivied wall. Shrubs near it, amongst which Walsingham's Messenger conceals himself on hearing the Queen and Mary Beaton.Messenger
(aside).
A goodly lady, eyes that might have graced
The brows of Egypt's queen; a royal air,
And such a voice as leads men to their doom.
At last these eyes have seen the Queen of Scots,
She that hath made such turmoil in the land!
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(to Mary Beaton).
This is the place, here where the bulging buttress
Doth seem as though it totter'd. Here, to-day,
If friends are lurking near, I shall behold
A handful of gray pebbles from the sea
Scatter'd amongst the ivy. They are here.
Now was I bade to droop in careless wise
Over the masonry, as tho' to scan
The distant landscape. One will come 'ere long,
Who, climbing up the shadow'd side of wall,
Will slip into my hanging hand the cyphers,
Telling if all goes well. If seen by any,
Well, 'tis some yokel who hath made a vow
To see the Queen of Scots and touch her hand,
For the king's evil. He will act the clown
To those who set upon him. You will watch,
And at the sound of coming voice or footfall,
Trill gently that old song I made in France.
Now leave me, Mary.
Messenger
(aside).
Ha! it seems to me
I witness some conspiracy. Strange chance!
Now to observe and listen.
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(hearing someone on the other side of the wall, over which she is leaning).
Is't a friend?
Voice of Babington.
A friend who sayeth from his inmost heart,
“God speed the harvest.”
Queen.
Babington himself!
Our page at Sheffield. We had known your face
Amongst a thousand! For all service done
And doing for us, we desire to thank you.
We are alone, so you are free to speak.
Babington
(showing himself, disguised as a rustic).
Madam, my most dread sov'reign and my liege,
To this dear moment hath my wingèd hope
Travell'd till now unbless'd. I kneel, abash'd,
Before my one anointed queen of queens!
[Kneels.
Queen.
Arise our truest friend, nor kneel to one
So fetter'd and abased: in all your land
There bides no beggar is as poor as we—
Bereft by sland'rous tongues of honour, crown,
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Bereft of all we women-folk hold dear.
Rise, Babington, nor kneel to such an one—
Yet could these few poor unconsider'd words
Of broken English—(it is hard your tongue)—
Tell you but faintly all our thanks to you
And those your brave companions, we could speak
Indefinitely. Time encroaches, friend,
Give us the cyphers. Ah! and not so changed
As when our pretty page!
[Strokes his cheek.
[Babington kisses her hand and gives the cyphers, which the Queen conceals in her sleeve.
Queen
(scornfully).
And so they thought
To cage for ever in their cobweb cage
A Queen of Scotland and a Queen of France!
Babington.
Madam, a Queen of England—prais'd be God!
Some noble hearts beat only to that end.
Queen.
We thank those noble hearts, and bid them beat
Till our sad heart cease beating. There is hope
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Flows without sign of flinching. Fare you well!
Babington.
Your highness leaves me happiest of slaves.
Like Moses, may the glory of my face
Illuminate the souls of those who wait.
Adieu my dear liege-lady!
[Kissing both her hands.
Queen.
Fare you well!
[Mary Beaton is heard singing in the distance, to warn the Queen of approaching footsteps.
| Anthony Babington | |