Mary Tudor An Historical Drama |
 | 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
Scene II.
|
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
 | Mary Tudor |  |
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.
95
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—
96
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
97
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.
98
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,
99
[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.
| Mary Tudor | |