University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

A Street in Cambridge.
Enter Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I have plunged too deep. The current of the times
Hath been ill-sounded. Frosty discontent
Breathes chilly in the face of our attempt:
And, like the dry leaves in November winds,
These summer-suited friends fly my nipped branches.
What's to be done? Time, like a ruthless hunter,
Tramples my flying footsteps! banned and baited
By my own pack, dogs fed from mine own hand
Gnash fangs and snarl on me! Palmer! what ho!
Enter Sir John Palmer.
Thine eyes are downcast—heavy falls thy step—
Sure token of bad tidings.

PALMER.
Ah! my Lord,
Let me advise—

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Advise me no advice!
Let me know facts. Will our men fight—or march?
At least will they disband? You shake your head.

PALMER.
Indeed, my lord, the signs of disaffection
Are manifold. Some stalk with sullen brow
Musing apart: some gather in pale knots
Whispering with sidelong glances: some stride boldly,
Attesting men and saints that you betray them.
In vain have I assayed all flatteries:
At threats they laugh.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Good Palmer, threaten not:
Sooth rather—We must change our course, my friend.

PALMER.
Too late!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
What other hope remains? I thought
To loose a tempest on the Tudor's head:
But like a summer shower it melts away.
Too bright the sunshine of true loyalty
Flames in our eyes. The sword fails: we must kneel.

PALMER.
You should have weighed this ere you goaded us
To this alternative. The lion's paw
Is terrible to those who fly, or grovel.
Are you not moved?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I have been Fortune's mate,
So long, my friend, I trust not in her smiles—
Fear not her frown. I tell thee, Fortune's wheel
O'er the subjected world of men and things
Shall yet roll onward, bearing Dudley's Fates.
If time hold out, at worst one friend remains—
Our Adversary's madness! That shall avail
More than our best of wit. I know this Mary:
But the world, knowing not, made her an Idol.
She shall be known ere long. I bide my time.
Here part we—save thyself.
[Exit Palmer.
Now wit befriend me!
These Malcontents!—still will I march their leader,
And be the first to hail her Queen. If spared,
With jibe for jibe I meet short-witted knaves:
He who would rise bends while the tempest raves.

Scene II.

Wanstead Heath.
Enter Mary, Elizabeth, Arundel, &c.
ARUNDEL.
Heaven smiles, my liege, upon the righteous cause.
Welcome thus far upon your prosperous way.
Here rest your wearied foot—your foes disperse
Frail as the dust before their giddy feet.

MARY.
How name you this fair prospect?

ARUNDEL.
Wanstead Heath:
By Epping chase.

MARY.
How blest these breezy downs,
With purple heath and golden gorse enamelled;
Each bosky bank with dewy windflowers strewn,
Each dell with cowslip and rathe violet—
And the sun-loving daisy on hill tops
Drinking the light! Ah, happy shepherd's life!
He this sweet solitude, without constraint,
Explores, his chosen damsel at his side:
Recounting tales of love and plighted faith:
Or from his pipe pours such delicious song
That the wild hare in the close bitten lane
Pauses with ear erect, and timorous deer
That down the labyrinthine forest glade
Goes bounding, starts aside, and turns to gaze.

ELIZABETH.
Old times return—discourse for ever thus.

MARY.
Beneath this chesnut canopy, sun-proof,
Cool as a cavern on the ocean shore,
I'll take my rest.

ELIZABETH.
Not new to me this scene.
Oft have I chased the red deer through these wilds,
With our loved Edward.

MARY.
Saints be with him now!
He loved you, Bess: not me the unbeloved!

ELIZABETH.
He loved you well till traitors edged between.
God pardon him.

MARY.
And them! Preserve me, Lord,
From the vindictive Fiend that tempts my spirit.

ELIZABETH.
Forswear sad thoughts. In fancy let us rove
These downs and coverts. From yon breezy brow,
Like a monk's head close-shaven, with boscage fringed,
Oft have I watched Paul's steeple, o'er the smoke
Of the great City glistering like a pyre.
Along the horizon spread the billowy tops
Of Hainault's forest oaks: nor far uprears
The Fairlop tree his huge trunk, grey and bossy;
A mighty shade, where village maids at eve
In dance and song with rural archers sport.

[A distant Trumpet sounds.
ARUNDEL.
The hart is near the toils. Thoughtless of fate,
I hear his wanton belling on the wind.

Enter Winchester and Pembroke.
MARY.
You are welcome.

PEMBROKE.
On our knees we sue for pardon:
For that, long hampered in false Dudley's meshes,
We stood aloof, in mock disloyalty.
Praise be to God! the summer Sun hath risen
To dry our tearful cheeks. God save the Queen!

MARY.
Well have I known your hearts were dutiful
Albeit your outward carriage was unliegeful.
Let worthy posts, Lord Marshal, be assigned them!

[Great shouting heard.
ARUNDEL.
Fortune comes bounding on a flowing tide.

MARY.
What means this tumult?

ARUNDEL.
Dudley's ill-sorted Bands
Have flung their arms aside; and hither rush,
Frenzied with loyal zeal.

Enter Northumberland with Soldiery in disorder.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Hold back! this ardour
Shall fright the Queen, not please her! Thus, my men!
[Throwing up his cap.
God save Queen Mary!

MARY.
Down with your sword! what mean you?
Me thou can'st neither frighten nor cajole.
Kneel, traitor, kneel!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Lowly to earth abased,
A penitent sincere, I crave your mercy!
I might have lived an exile; but prefer
To stoop my forfeit head and trust your pity.
Too well my momentary treason (yea
Treason it seems till you have read my soul)
Deserves death. Yet considerately judge
Confessed infirmity; remembering mercy,
That best prerogative of Royalty!
The common herd—

[Pauses.
MARY.
Nay, let your say be said.
You have license, Sir; proceed.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I cannot harm you—
But can well serve. For I have piloted
The state so long that all its perilous leaks
And privy treasons are to me revealed,
And shall to your Grace if this poor life be spared.

MARY.
My Lord, I muse much at your strange appeal:
And shall take counsel on it.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Not with my foes!
So were I crushed to screen their double treason.
Your gracious nature knows not to delude.
Trust your own wisdom. Give me hope!

MARY.
To live
In righteous hope needs hope beyond this world.
They only who serve God in his true Church
Partake that blessing. Sir, you should have hope:
But you have served, till now, whom hope disowns.
I shall revolve your suit. My Lord, retire.
Keep him in ward, not rigorous, but observant.
[Exit Queen Mary, attended.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My title she withholds not. That is well.
And when she lectured of the hope men feel
Who serve in the true Church, her eye had meaning,
Beyond her words. True Church? there's food herein
For cautious meditation.

ARUNDEL.
Please you, my Lord,
We must proceed. Time presses. Forward, my men!

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

The Great Hall of the Tower.
Enter Jane with Guilford.
JANE.
Midnoon—yet silent as midnight! my heart
Flutters and stops—flutters and stops again—
As in the pauses of a thunder storm;
Or a bird cowering during an eclipse.
Alone, through these deserted halls we wander,
Bereft of friends and hope. Speak to me, Guilford.

GUILFORD.
Thy heart-strings, Jane, strengthened by discipline,
Endure the strain.

JANE.
Say rather, my Religion
Hath taught this good. Nor lacks our female nature
Courage to meet inevitable woe
With a beloved one shared.

GUILFORD.
I cannot bear this!
Is no one near? My throbbing brain will burst!
Not one of all those courtling servitors
Who thronged this hall but yesternight? Heaven's curse
Palsy their servile souls—smirkers and cringers!
Where are they now? Gone like foul fogs to choke
The morn they hail.

JANE.
Such is men's deem of us.
We have obscured a dawn! If spared, God grant
We may make bright the Queen's triumphant way
Like clouds that glorify the wake of noon.

GUILFORD.
Away this specious wisdom! it but goads me!
Kiss me, sweet Jane! Soothe me with loving words—
Breathing warm fancies, nectared as thy breath!
One passionate embrace may stifle thought.
But this cool meekness stings me.

[Embracing her.
JANE
[withdrawing hastily].
Ah, for pity!
Is this a time? We should concentrate thought,
Not dissipate—make strong our hearts, not weaken.

GUILFORD.
What would you have?

JANE.
Be all a man should be—
A Christian man, a loyal gentleman!

GUILFORD.
And you?

JANE.
I am content to die with you.

GUILFORD.
Jane! I'm not worthy of you.

JANE.
Nay, dear Love,
Say not so—think not so. I am too bold—
Indeed I was too bold: and 'twas not wife-like
So to repulse you—See, my father comes.
What news, my father?

Enter Duke and Duchess of Suffolk.
SUFFOLK.
Dudley too falls from us.
He was the first of all that craven crew
In Epping Chase to cry “God save Queen Mary!”
Foul Traitor!

JANE.
O my Husband! I forgive him.
And thou—resent not that my Father chafes.

SUFFOLK.
Daughter, the time is come when you must doff
This regal style and ill-beseeming state:
The ceremonials, now the exequies,
Of your departed greatness.

JANE.
Sir, far better
Brook I this order, than my forced advancement.
Too dutiful a daughter, I forgot
A subject's duty, when, at your behest,
Reluctantly, yea sinfully, I wore them.
Take back the crown. Even yet a prompt submission
May quit my great offence. Go then, my Father,
Seek out the Council. In our names renounce
This treason. Plead, while the Queen's gracious heart
Melts in this summer solstice of success.

DUCHESS.
Simple as wise, thy counsels now shall guide us.
Haste we! the growing tumult in the street
Heralds the Queen.

SUFFOLK.
Beloved Jane! pray for us.
For thou alone art fit to call on God!

[Exeunt Duke and Duchess.
Enter Fakenham, who approaches Jane.
FAKENHAM.
Daughter, your hand!—Excuse a poor monk, Sir,
Who not unused to royalty, makes bold
To pity one who must lay down a crown:
To reverence one whose virtues would have graced it:
To comfort one who, having worn it wrongly,
Bows her meek spirit to the chastisement.
I take your hand: and—what I would not do
In your prosperity—with bended knee,
Kiss humbly; paying to your spiritual brightness
That homage which your grandeur could not win.

JANE.
Fakenham! true minister of Christ art thou!
Fearless of danger in discharge of duty;
And to the mourner prodigally kind.

FAKENHAM.
Perhaps I can be serviceably kind.
I am your witness that your will was thrall
To ever-blinding love; mistaken duty.
You both are very young—you and your husband:
And he so wrought on that his dazzled eyes
Saw haloes and mock suns where'er they turned.
I who have known the world, and knowing, spurned it,
Who for myself would dare, for others invoke,
The worst of temporal suffering if thereby
Fruition might be won of joys immortal,
I warn you, by no quibble seek to ward
Right judgement. Plead your kindred: sue for mercy—
God give you light and grace!

JANE.
My conduct, Sir,
Shall be to your advice conformable.

FAKENHAM.
The council freed me; rendering all the captives
Unto my charge. Ah, precious were those souls
That pined so long for the pure air of heaven!
These have I called to meet the Queen: and thus
Make Liberty the first fruits of her reign.
Enter Exeter, Gardiner, Bonner, Tonstall, &c.
O worthy gentlemen! I greet you well!

GARDINER.
Thee first, O Lord! we bless for this great mercy!
Through intercession of good saints vouchsafed!
To thee too, blessed Virgin! we give thanks,
For life, for liberty, for heaven restored;
And holy Church thus justified in us!
Good Fakenham—chosen instrument—receive
The Church's benediction!

FAKENHAM.
I am thankful.
Thine this peace-offering, Lady! May the Queen
Accept the precious gift with spirit appeased!

JANE.
O Guilford, hope!

GUILFORD.
It may not be: this man
Deceives himself, or us; the very captives,
Whom we had spared, pass us with looks averted.
Jane, we must brave the worst!

JANE.
Endure it, Guilford!

A salute of trumpets: acclamations: the castle gate is opened. Enter Queen Mary in warlike habiliments, with Elizabeth: preceded by a large golden cross. Also Arundel, Winchester, Pembroke, Suffolk, with his Duchess. Other Lords, Heralds, and Soldiers.
MARY.
Here plant the Cross—staff of our pilgrimage!
The pillared cloud at noon, and flame by night,
That cheered my fainting heart, and made me fearless.
[She kneels before the Cross.
Type of our Faith! awful expositor
Of mysteries unspeakable! thou leading,
Have I not followed with untiring hope,
Taintless fidelity? Have I not dared
Dangers from open foes, from friends estranged,
Hateful suspect even on my household floor,
Perils of death, perils of mine own heart—
And in my brain—threatening my very soul?
Yet do I not for this, O Virgin Mother!
Arrogate glory. Honour to thee! who hither—
Even to my Father's hall, hast led me victor;
Calm, though much moved; exulting yet not proud:
By triumph undebased. [Rising].
Fakenham—good father!
Servant of the Most High, in his name, hail!
These are thy liberated captives? Well
Hast thou performed thy dangerous offices.
Bid them come near. O venerable Prelates!
Scarce less than Martyrs, ye I first salute.
Gardiner! uplift the cross once more in Winton.
Tonstall! take back thy staff to Durham. Bonner!
Be mitred chief of this proud city again.
My Lord of Norfolk, with much joy I greet you;
First of our English Barons. You, fair cousin
Of Exeter, come hither—Ha! long years
Of durance have not dimmed thy soft brown eyes,
Nor streaked with silver thread thy chestnut curls.
I marvel at thy freshness, gracious youth,
Young as thou art; for prisoned years count double.
Lead me, dear cousin, to my throne: now kneel.
Rise up, Sir Edward Courtenaye, Knight of St. George!
Fakenham, what wouldst thou say?

FAKENHAM.
Receive, my Liege,
These captives from a hand, that, seeming guilty,
Is yet most pure. From this unhappy Lady
Accept this priceless boon.

JANE.
Pardon, sweet Cousin!
Pardon, wronged Queen! Let my compunction wake
Pity, yet slumbering in your woman's heart.
You turn away!—then God be my support!

FAKENHAM.
Beware!

JANE.
Ah Sir! too gently have you judged me.
Usurper of the consecrated crown,
The sacred sceptre, how can I be pure?
Welcome Adversity, lifter up of veils!
Before me, naked as a soul for judgement,
Stands up my sin. 'Tis well! the worst is o'er!
Suffer I must; but I will sin no longer!
Can you forget?—dare you forgive? If not
I bow, a penitent resigned.

FAKENHAM.
Great Queen!
At this most hallowed moment shed not blood!
Do I presume?

MARY.
Sir, you presume. Your station
Is our confessional. There, as a daughter,
I stand submiss—your Sovereign here. These nobles,
These prelates are my lawful council. These
I can rely on, and my proper self.
Who dreamed I was athirst for blood? God's death!
An if I were—or if the general weal—
Or if the people's cry—or if the Church,
Uttering the voice of Heaven, demanded,—who
Should stay my hand?

FAKENHAM.
Alas! I say no more.

MARY.
You have said too much. Competitors for thrones
For ever lose the rights of privacy.
If tools of faction, what avail their virtues?
They represent opinion; are its leaders—
And must confront the peril they provoke;
The penalty that gnaws the heart of treason;
Promethean pangs which the roused Majesty
Of Heaven inflicts on those who grasp its fires!

FAKENHAM
[aside.]
The demon wakes within her heart: yet hope.
I wait a milder moment.

MARY.
Duke of Suffolk!
Your case—and yours, madam, my cousin, differ
From your bad daughter's. We commit to you
Her custody—beware you break not trust—
But separate from her husband.

JANE
[kneeling].
Part us not!

MARY.
Separate from her husband; and confined
Within these walls. What grace soe'er we yield
To you, extends not to this guilty couple.
They answer their offence. No more. Depart.
[Exeunt Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, Lady Jane, and Lord Guilford Dudley.
Your hand, my Sister. Exeter, take this
Your Sovereign's hand; and this her fairer sister's.
Lead forward: be henceforth our chamberlain.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

A Street in London.
Enter Bedingfield and Jerningham.
JERNINGHAM.
The Queen hath won her own: the kingdom peace.
May both wax prosperous! but to that end
Means must be found agreeable to Heaven.
I do not think her Grace assured in health.
What if she die—die childless?

BEDINGFIELD.
Heresy
Will triumph with reaction terrible.
Not Jane, nor yet Elizabeth will spare.

JERNINGHAM.
She should be urged to marry.

BEDINGFIELD.
Whom?

JERNINGHAM.
I know not.
Some English gentleman—say Exeter,
From prisoned boyhood grown to gracious manhood.

BEDINGFIELD.
Her father slew his father. Blood cements not
Fabricks of love. Besides, captivity
Hath left him scant of knowledge.

JERNINGHAM.
Comely he is,
And stately in his presence—gracefully bows—
Talks nothings airily—is affable—
He lacks not what shall please a woman's eye.

BEDINGFIELD.
A Queen who loves her people, seeks in wedlock,
A counsellor to guide her troubled hours.
Will Exeter be such?

JERNINGHAM.
There is a man,
Whose royalty of soul outstrips his birth—
Whose youthful graces pleased her maiden fancy
Long years agone; ere yet an honest frankness
Drove him, a fugitive, from Henry's hate—
Reginald de la Pole.

BEDINGFIELD.
The Cardinal?
Alas that one word clips the wings of hope!

JERNINGHAM.
No. The last vow, which bars him from the world,
He hath not ta'en. Pole would adorn a crown.

BEDINGFIELD.
Religion fills his heart. No room for love!
Courtenaye is near; and opportunity
Feathers Love's arrow. She will take the wound.

JERNINGHAM.
Has ta'en—if I see rightly. Marked you not
Her mien—her eyes—her smiles—her gracious words—
When first they met.

BEDINGFIELD.
Yes—he will be her choice.

JERNINGHAM.
What if he choose not her? Have you not marked
His eyes are on the Princess, while his tongue
Waits on the Queen.

BEDINGFIELD.
Thou hast the trick of courts.
The double dealer still sees double meanings.

JERNINGHAM.
May all end well! But much my mind misgives me.
Equals in age, Time, as it flies, endears;
But pairs ill-matched, dispart with parting years.

Scene V.

The Queen's Cabinet.
Enter Mary, Arundel, Gardiner.
MARY.
These orders expedite. I shall preside
At this great trial.

ARUNDEL.
Doth it please your Grace
That all shall be arraigned to-day—or each
Called separately to plead?

MARY.
Each separately:
But all confronted. Hark you—there are rumours
Of tumults in the city; gatherings
Of sottish malcontents in hostelries;
And fanatick preachments in the Queen's highway.
Let the Queen's Sheriffs look to this. I brook
No nightmare wonderments—no babbling brooders
Over small plots: wring off the heads of such.
It is reported that Sir Thomas Wyatt
In Suffolk speaks great things: admonish him:
And that one Captain Brett his mouth enlarges,
Among swash-bucklers, prentices, and gownsmen,
Against our rights. Cut me this license short.
I know this Brett; a dangerous man, who parleys
With treason, and consorts with hereticks;
A man without respect for forms or persons.
Your office puts into your hand a sword
To smite such evils. Let it be done.

GARDINER.
Dread Madam,
The voice that I shall speak with to offenders,
Pitched at your tone, shall make the guilty tremble!

[Exeunt.