University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

Great Hall of the Tower, as a Court.
Enter Queen Mary, attended by Gardiner as Chancellor, Norfolk as High Steward, Arundel as Earl Marshal, Cranmer, Pembroke, Winchester, &c. After these, Jane Grey and Lord Guilford Dudley, with Duke of Northumberland, as prisoners, preceded by the Headsman carrying the axe with its edge from them. Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, &c.
MARY
[from the Throne.]
Open the court! Norfolk, High Steward presiding.

GARDINER.
I stand before your Highness and your Barons
Accuser of these Lords, and this sad Lady,
Of treasons, so notoriously sustained
By overt acts and speech we need not witness.
But something I must say touching the root
Of these offences. I have somewhere read
That in the Indian isles there grows a tree
Of goodliest aspect, spreading to the sun
A canopy of shade so redolent
Of odours, and attractive in that clime
By its inviting coolness, that the unwary
Are tempted to their ruin: for within
The beauty of that bower lurks Death: the air
Draws poison from its bloom, and all its shelters
Die! in that tree behold this criminal!
He in young Edward's court fatally flourished!
Our nobles sat within his shade, and perished!
Witness for me that princely Somerset,
The King's own uncle, noblest of the land!
What need to sum his wiles, rapacities?
Ye exiles, and extinguished hearths, make answer!
Sprung from a tainted stock, behold him leap,
As at a bound, even to the height of all!
From knighthood to a dukedom—favourite—
Sole minister of the inexperienced King:—
Managing all, responsible for all—
(Ah there we touch you, Sir,—responsible!)
Alone in power, alone you must account.
But why waste breath on petty crimes like these?
To mount the throne for him were past all compass:
But Sire of Kings he might be. Therefore he matched
His son to Lady Jane, a royal maiden;
Threatening the throne with dangerous approach.
The King might die? the royal sisters fall
By monstrous fictions of wrenched law o'erpowered!
The King might die! Alas! the King did die!
Died opportunely!—But I abstain. Not now
Is that foul deed in question—

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Foully you strike!
Hinting my life away, branding my fame
With rumours vile, and lying as the lips
That utter them!

NORFOLK.
You must be silent, Sir,
You shall be heard in your defence.

GARDINER.
That question
May well be pretermitted: but the fact
Is not, and cannot be, denied, he made
Or sought to make his son's wife Queen of England.
How he so practised on the dying King
I show not forth. The matter, not the manner,
Was the sufficient crime. Nor moot we here
The royal right to alter the succession.
Enough, the late King was deceived, enforced;
And, in the very agony of death,
Knew not his acts. My Lord of Canterbury!
You, who were present, know that this is true.
But why to you, or meaner personages,
Refer? The Queen saw; and can testify.

MARY.
I witnessed at the death-bed of my brother
Scenes of foul fraud and force; the prisoner present,
A busy agent—he will not deny it.

GARDINER.
My Lords! Religion was the plea for this.
Religion, a wide cloak for godless knaves!
What, knew they not the apostolick rule
That men are bound to obey even sinful Princes?
Who dares insinuate that our Queen's right rule
Shall be a snare for conscience? Hypocrites!
Why claim ye toleration, yet refuse it?
Faith your perpetual cry, yet would ye stifle
That Faith which is the trust of other hearts.
Your Bible is your Idol: all must bow
Before your exposition of its sense,
Or forfeit all—the very throne!—blind plotters!
To shun pretended dangers ye have plunged
Into assured destruction. Now, behold!
Irrevocable crime stands up for judgment!
My Lords, I claim your sentence!

NORFOLK.
Lady Jane,
And you, Lord Guilford Dudley, are you guilty?

JANE.
Strengthen me Thou who helpest all in trouble!
Flush my pale lips with truth—let fear not sully
My royal blood, fount of perpetual sorrow!
I wake from the vain dream of a blind sleep,
Nothing to hide, nothing extenuate.
My Lords, reverse to me this good hath brought,
That I who dimly saw, now plainly see,
And seeing loathe my fault, and loathing, leave it.
The bolts of heaven have split the aspiring tower
Of my false grandeur; and through every rent
The light of heaven streams in. Bear with me further—
I am ashamed to speak in such a presence—
But there is one—my dear, dear husband,—spare him!
One victim should suffice. My great offence
Needs expiation: I am here to make it.
My Lords, this day shall stand in English annals
For ever memorized; establishing
The law's dominion and the rightful rule.
In time to come it shall be known, ambition
Was not my nature though it makes my crime.
I waste your leisure—pardon me—I've done.
One grace alone I crave—in mercy weigh
My husband's sore temptation—spare my husband!

FAKENHAM
[aside].
She rises from the sea of her great trouble,
Like a pure infant glowing from the bath!

GUILFORD.
I too, my Lords, am guilty. Nought but youth,
And sad misguidance, and connubial love
Extenuate my guilt. I kneel for mercy!

NORFOLK.
Does my Lord Duke plead as his son hath pleaded?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
No! he hath pleaded as his fate constrains:
Albeit my limbs thereby are doubly shackled.
Madam! to you I turn. Trial by peers
Cannot to me be just. Of those who judge
How many are my noted foes!

PEMBROKE.
Not I!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ha! the vexed adder hisses! Well, my Lords!
If this be treason (which if rightly construed
By motives, as sure documents shall prove,
Might bear a milder name) shall men sit there,
There on that bench, once my accomplices?
It was no treason at the King's command,
To stablish the King's will by force of Law!
If treason, then it was not mine alone,
Who joined what all approved—

PEMBROKE.
You prompting them!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Are you both judge and witness? Sacred honour!
Can such things be? That act of council bears
Its attestation in its signatures.
Give me the instrument. What names are here?
Some before mine. Here Thomas Cantuar;—
Here Marquis Winchester, Lord Treasurer,—
Here—worthy—Pembroke; and his son Lord Herbert,
The captain of the guard to Lady Jane.
Why, my Lords, sit you there, if I stand here?—
The reverend Prelate, labouring with dark tropes,
Spake of a poison tree—pointing at me
His sorry wit: if he implies by this
That in my heart this plot had origin,
I will not say he lies—my poor condition,
His office, bar that taunt—but I say this,
He wrongs me. Fanatick I have not been;
Nor disputant: too little versed am I
Even in the grammar of the science divine,
To make theology rebellion's text,
Or for my flag hang out a preacher's gown!
Too much my youth, devoted to my Prince,
And later life to labours of the State
Have turned my thoughts from heaven. Now on life's verge
With aching heart I stand, bound to clear up
Doubts that have long oppressed me. I have done.
Well know I that these judges will condemn me—
But thou, most pious Queen, pity my soul!

NORFOLK.
Barons of England you have heard. How say you?
Are these who stand accused before you guilty?

PEMBROKE.
Guilty, upon my honour!

ALL.
Guilty, guilty!

NORFOLK.
What doth her Grace award?

MARY.
The Law says—Death!

JANE.
O mercy for my husband!

MARY.
Jane, my People—
This realm of England—must have peace. Alas!
Too clearly I foresee peace and thy life
Are inconsistent things. Nathless, thy doom
Shall not be hurried. Time for thee—for me—
Must be reserved. Let sentence be recorded.
Against this hapless pair—no warrant written.
Sir John of Dudley! titles, wealth, domains,
Henceforth you forfeit: which may yet be shared
Among your worthier sons. That conscience-stricken
You do repent your spiritual misdeeds
We much rejoice to learn. The dean of Paul's
Our confessor shall yield you ghostly counsel.
Break up the court! you are released, my Lords!—
Come hither, Exeter! I would confer
With thee some half hour hence—in private—take
My hand. Adieu! till then.

[Exeunt Mary, Elizabeth, Nobles and others.
NORTHUMBERLAND
[aside to Guilford.]
Did you mark that?
My Lords, if one yet mindful of old times
Can heed a fallen man's prayer, I crave short audience:
Lord Exeter, you are no foe, I think—
Will you vouchsafe brief speech?

EXETER.
I am your servant.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Courtenaye—you owe no wrong to me—nay, rather,
Friendship—well, call it service, if you will.
Service I claim, and you can yield. Observe me:
I hailed you once Plantagenet; you are so;
Heir of the house of York: and what of that?
I move you to no treason—start not, Sir!
We are watched—stand nearer. The Queen loves you, Courtenaye!
Tut man! I know it. Hear me patiently.

EXETER.
You try my patience, I confess.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
So be it.
Yet had I marvelled, if the man I spake to
In presence of yon headsman—you remember?—
Had checked me harshly. You, Plantagenet,
Loved by the Queen (ay, marry, and the Princess)
Must blend your pure blood with her doubtful strain.

EXETER.
Sir, this is idle.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Not a whit—if you
Spurn not kind fortune: trample not your friends.
Your ear. The Queen, I grant you, is “no beauty
Unless age makes one!”—The Arragonian wears
A diadem, what though she be “a whelp!”
You mark?—or say you, take “chaste Boleyn's babe”—
She suits you best, and you affect her most—
But she is not the Queen. Take Mary Tudor!

EXETER.
My Lord! I see your drift.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ha! ha! you speak
With due respect once more. Fair be the omen!

EXETER.
What can I do?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
When, ere an hour hath passed,
You shall receive her troth-plight, think of me.
Obtain—she'll not deny it then—my pardon.
Thenceforth am I your serviceable friend.
Farewell! I wait her Grace's confessor.
Ere I unload my grief 'twere wise to send me
Good tidings. On your conduct I mould mine.

EXETER.
I'll hope the best for you.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
And to the best?

EXETER.
I'll do it.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Princely Exeter! For this
These halls shall echo yet thy Dudley's shout—
God save King Edward of that name the seventh!

[Exeunt severally, Exeter &c. and the prisoners, preceded by the headsman, carrying his axe's edge towards them.

Scene II.

The Queen's Cabinet.
Enter Mary alone.
MARY.
But that my day hath passed its matin prime,
And timeless sorrow withered all my bloom,
I should not yield my heart to these blank doubts.
How shall a subject dare approach his Queen
With love unbid?—I cannot live alone.
This heart, so long beset with panther passions,
Yearns for the trusty countenance of love.
I cannot live alone. Our woman nature
Doth need support, and loves the hand that guides it.
O miserable Mother—doomed to creep,
With blasted heart, to a dishonoured grave!
Terrible Father! Must I from each inherit
Your separate Nemesis—predestined woes?
And dare I dream of love? never for me
Shall that sweet bud unfold its perfect flower.
I have loved—it is past—O Reginald!
Thou art avenged, my early love, my only!
Yet why, why take the irrevocable vow?
Fruitless repinings hence! In such a mood
I must not meet this youth. Forgotten blush!
Dost thou come back? let me consult thee, mirror.
Plain-spoken Monitor! what dost thou teach?
That eye alone retains its glance of power;
Dark as a caverned well, profound, pelucid;
Quick to flash back all gleams of angry light,
Or softer radiance. But where hast thou fled,
Bloom of young health—life's vernal tide, that like
The sap, developes the sweet wealth of flowers?
Those knitted brows—that forehead scored with lines—
Those lips compressed and stern—those pallid cheeks—
Ay—Time, and blighting Care have done their work!
I'll look no more! what if he loath—reject me!
Or—fearful thought!—accept and hate? or stoop
In meretricious spirit to caress
The hand that gives a sceptre?

[She covers her eyes with her hands.
After a pause enter Exeter, who kneels beside her.
EXETER.
Queen! sweet mistress!
Your too presumptuous cousin dares approach
This fair hand with a kiss. Hope, like the lark,
Warbles too high for ears on earth to hear it.

MARY.
Too quickly, palled with courtly blandishments,
Doth Royalty to dangerous power admit
False favourites. What, Courtenaye, wouldst thou be?

EXETER.
Your true Knight: sworn to reverential love!

MARY.
You talk of love! Well know I that true love
Visits not thrones. The lonely sitter there
Finds flatterers, lip-worshippers, but not
True love: true love must be baptized in tears;
Must bow, and weep before the chastener Time;
And grow by self-abasement purified.
Being a Queen, I tremble at this love—
Being a woman, tremble to refuse it.

EXETER.
Accept it, noblest lady! wanting love,
We miss all hope of the chief blessedness
Of life; all nuptial comforts; joys of offspring;
The ornaments of youth, and props of age.
Choose then—but worthily.

MARY.
Oh Edward, Edward!
I know thy wish—

[Pauses.
EXETER.
Speak on, sweet Saint, speak on!

MARY.
At least what thou would'st have me think thy wish—

EXETER.
Can you suspect?

MARY.
Suspicion comes of sorrow.
Pain, wrong, oppression breed distrustful thoughts.
I cast them from me! Can I have read in vain
The language of thine eyes, thy lips, thy heart?
Long since, and oft, thy prisoned sighs have reached me—
But then we met not. Were such sighs sincere?

EXETER.
Thy matchless constancy—thy fearless truth,
Won love from all.

MARY.
From all? I wished but one!

EXETER.
Since we have met have not plain words been spoken?
Have I dissembled?

MARY.
Then were I wronged indeed!

EXETER.
O Mary, doubt no more!

MARY.
Then, take me, Edward!
To trifle were unworthy of a Queen—
Unworthier of a woman. Take me, Edward!
I will be thine. I choose thee from the noblest,
A fitting mate for England. Princely blood,
Tempered by nurture, purified by sorrow,
Should be the Nation's safeguard. Take me, Edward!
[She drops her head on his shoulder.
Let me look on thy face—God bless thee, Youth!
A sad heart thou hast touched with new-born joy;
And lured back self-esteem, so long estranged.
Now part we for a space: yet ere thou goest,
Ask'st thou no boon? I yearn to make thee happy!
Some favour I shall find a grace in giving—
Thou, honour in receiving.

EXETER.
There is a man—
He served me—therefore, loathing him as I do,
I would serve him, though guilty, in return.

MARY.
What guilt would I not pardon at thy suit?

EXETER.
Then grant me Dudley's pardon.

MARY.
Dudley's pardon?
Well, be it so! His doom shall be remitted.
No more of him? This hand is yours—now lead me
To my sister's chamber. She must share our joy.

[Exeunt together.

Scene III.

An Apartment in the Tower.
Enter Mary and Exeter.
MARY.
Not here? then we must seek her in the pleasance.
Go thou—our Chancellor claims audience first.
Go seek my sister—tell her what thou wilt.
I follow, and shall ratify the tale.

EXETER.
Delay not, gentle mistress. Slowly creeps
The sand of Time when watched by love-sick eyes!

MARY.
Send Gardiner—so adieu—adieu!
[Exit Exeter.
How noble
His aspect! and how full of grace his port!
I shall be happy yet!—Not here we'll dwell,
Within these doleful turrets. Windsor's shade
Suits happy lovers. There we'll stray together
Unseen, but by the wild deer's timid eye—
I shall be happy yet! This fluttering heart
Shall ache no more with fearful expectation.
No cares but wife-like cares shall cloud my brow—
As thus—why lingers his wind-footed steed
So long upon the chase? How in the tourney
Fares his unshivered lance; his spotless plume?
Wherefore his appetite is dull—cheek pale—
His spirit chafed? Or, peradventure, all
That throng of sweet solicitudes that stir
Maternal bosoms for their infant charge.
Why woeful tears from ready laughter start—
And what caress can soothe such fragile hearts.
Sweet cares! delicious dreams!—But I awake!
Enter Gardiner.
Gardiner, I greet you well! My heart is light!
Why look you grave—you bring no heavy news?

GARDINER.
The christian mourns when but a sinner dies.
I bear the warrant for a sinner's death:
Dudley's. Wil't please you sign?

MARY.
I have changed my purpose.
Prepare a pardon: traitor though he be.

GARDINER.
Pardon, my liege? Have you considered this?

MARY.
My Lord of Exeter hath shown good cause—
You smile—

GARDINER.
I had forboded this. My Lord
Is light of thought, and, so he gains his end,
Weighs not the issue.

MARY.
Edward Courtenaye, Sir,
Deserves not censure.

GARDINER.
Dudley visited
Lord Exeter in prison.

MARY.
We know well
He served him: therefore Courtenaye serves him now.

GARDINER.
After the trial they had private converse:
And a quick ear caught words—touching the Princess—

MARY.
My sister?

GARDINER.
Yes—his love for her—so said,
Or seemed to say, this Dudley.

MARY.
Seemed to say?
There's some mistake—I tell thee, it is false!
Give me a chair—

GARDINER.
You are very pale, my liege—

MARY.
Sir, I am well. It is a lie, I say!
As you shall learn. Report our grace to Dudley:
Then join us in the gardens. There you'll find
Our sister, and much cherished Exeter;
Whom thou, Lord Chancellor, must learn to honour,
Not to malign.

GARDINER.
Pardon my heedlessness.
It was a fault. I shall be circumspect.

MARY.
Be so and prosper. Join us presently.

[Exeunt severally.

Scene IV.

The Tower Gardens.
Enter Elizabeth from an Arbour, hurriedly: followed by Exeter. He kneels.
ELIZABETH.
Miscreant! how have you dared to speak such language
To a daughter of England?

EXETER.
Mercifully judge me.

ELIZABETH.
This is no case for mercy, but avengement.
Dare you to trifle thus with royal hearts?
You proffered love forsooth! ventured caresses!
But, Sir, I checked you, as was your desert—
And spurn and trample on you as a scorpion.
Begone, I say, once more!

Enter from behind Mary with Gardiner unobserved.
EXETER.
Will you not pardon
A victim, not offender?

ELIZABETH.
Not offender?
What, wed a Queen—and privily woo her sister?
Out on thee! hence! I spit upon thee, caitiff!

EXETER.
I had no choice—strangely she wrought on me.
You know her—in her passions terrible—
Dared I repulse her? Madness held us both.
I loving thee—thee only, pledged my troth—
Yea, pledged my troth, and must be—

ELIZABETH.
King of England!

EXETER.
Have you no heart for pardon?

ELIZABETH.
None for thee!
Elizabeth of England never pardons.
A heart like hers, above the common shafts
Of hope or fear, indifferently regards
Unworthy suitors: treats them as light toys,
To be cast aside, contemptuously forgotten.

EXETER.
Have you a heart?

ELIZABETH.
No heart, Sir, to betray me:
No heart forgetful of my dignity:
No heart the slave of sensuous weaknesses:
No heart that blinds to duty!

EXETER.
Precious time
Is passing—promise me one boon, at least—
If not forgiveness, silence. She whom I loathe—
Whom I must wed—will soon be here—

MARY
[staggering forward].
Is here!—
O God! O God!

ELIZABETH.
What have you heard? whate'er
I said, I am prepared to reavow.
No plotter I—no spier out of plots!

MARY.
O God! O God!

ELIZABETH.
I spake in haste—forgive me!
My poor, poor sister! only be calm and hear me.
Nay, pluck not at your throat—stare not so wildly!
Will no one fetch some water? she will choke.

MARY.
What's this? where am I? the earth reels—the wind
Howls through my ears—your hand, Sir, or I fall!
Elizabeth! you weep—something has happened—
What? what? Has any one assailed my life?
My brain is wounded.

GARDINER
[aside].
We must change her thoughts—
Or she will straight go mad. I bring, my liege,
False Dudley's pardon.

MARY.
Ha!—a pardon—Dudley—
Yes, I remember. Give it—quickly, quickly—
Give it—Thus, thus, like my poor heart, I rend thee!
I crush thee! Thou shalt die—O pandering Fiend!
There was another paper—give it to me—
Warrant of doom!—a pen—there—let him die—
[Signs the warrant.
Stabber of hearts!—ere sunset. Hear ye? vengeance!
A vulture gnaws my heart—food, food, for vengeance!
Soft: there was yet another—where is he?
And she, my loving sister—Boleyn's child!—
Seize on the false ones!

GARDINER.
She is innocent.

ELIZABETH.
My Lord, I pray you, peace.

MARY.
Who dares oppose me?
Obey me, Sir—or—or—obstruct me not—
Or I will do such deeds as shall make pale
The Angel of the Record! Ha! still here—
Thou wretched, wretched man? yet, let me look
One moment on the face I loved.
[She catches Exeter's arm, gazes wistfully in his face, then suddenly kisses his forehead.
The last—
Passion's last weakness! I am weak no more!
Henceforth I root all softness from my heart.
Away with him—with her!
[Exeunt Elizabeth and Exeter, severally, in custody.
Enter Page, bearing a cup.
What's this? some wine?
Ay—let me taste—I need it—I am faint.
[She lifts the cup.
I take this as a sacramental pledge!
Henceforth am I a dedicated creature
To my country; to my God! I rend all weakness
Forth from my bleeding heart. Nor kin, nor love
Shall warp me. If I live, I'll rule this land
For pious ends severe, not happiness—
For duty—for my People, for the Church!
[She drinks, making the sign of the Cross.
The Church for England! England for the Church!

[Exeunt.