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SCENE IV.
—An Apartment.Enter Walsingham and Gifford, hastily.
WALSINGHAM.
Mark me, I say. This issue is the last.
If 'tis thine errand to equivocate,
To shuffle, and put forth mysterious riddles,
Thy time's gone by. Speak out, knave, at thy peril!
GIFFORD.
My lord—my lord!—
WALSINGHAM.
Thou sayest there is a foul conspiracy,
And that thou sayest sooth, I well believe.
Name the conspirators—or be content
To pass for one thyself. I will just give thee
Five minutes, for confession, or the rack.
My lord, they shall be named, though not by me.
WALSINGHAM.
By whom, then?
GIFFORD.
By my master.
WALSINGHAM.
Who is he?
GIFFORD.
I know not.
WALSINGHAM.
Where is he?
GIFFORD.
I know not.—But
I know where he shall be within six hours.
WALSINGHAM.
Where?
GIFFORD.
Here!
WALSINGHAM.
This subterfuge shall not avail thee.
This is a train to ope thy passage out:
It shall not help thee. If that thou canst sink
Or make the bolts and bars leap at thy bidding,
Then thou shalt go. If not, thou may'st remain.
—Within, there!
GIFFORD.
Hush! my lord. Hush! Will you mar all for a minute's
impatience? Bolts! keep your fangs upon me, and
welcome. Set me i' the stocks an you will, only grant
that which I ask. It is my last request, my lord—save
one—and that, I trow, ye'll grant without the asking, if
a saved throat may ensure gratitude.
WALSINGHAM.
Then, sirrah! should'st thou grateful be, indeed,
That I have saved thee thus far from the gallows.
But now thine hour is come. Speak out, or—hang!
GIFFORD.
Sir, I will be plain with you. 'Tis my cue. I wish not
to escape your custody. Give me the escort of a troop of
horse. Let them take me whither I choose to go. 'Tis
but a ten hours' journey; and if ye be not satisfied ere I
return, let one of your men-at-arms unlace me like a coney,
with his toledan for a carving-knife.
Whither would'st thou go?
GIFFORD.
To the vipers' nest. In ten hours will I bring ye what
they have been these ten months a hatching; and, ere I
return, ye shall have every head of them on Temple-Bar,
if ye like. Read that, sir.
(Giving a paper.)
WALSINGHAM.
A sealed packet!—What is it?
GIFFORD.
It shall tell you what my master is, though I know it
not myself. Now, will ye let me begone?
WALSINGHAM.
I am satisfied.—Within there, Sir Amias.
Enter Sir Amias Paulet.
Saddle a squadron of your chiefest horse,
And take the guidance of this gentleman;
But, ere ye go, send orders to Lord Pembroke,
Between this and to-morrow, to post troops
Upon the road to Fotheringay. Instruct him
To be alert; the time is full of peril.
Begone—Come back—Give orders to the sentinels,
Writ on this paper, bring him to me straight,
And ask no questions.
SIR AMIAS.
I shall do't, my lord.
[Sir Amias and Gifford go.
WALSINGHAM.
Even as a man that wields a two-edged sword
Will oft-times wound himself; were treason not
A traitor to himself, what state could stand
The shot of his fell malice? Yet, what's treason?
A game by passion and by envy play'd
Against the winner, losing which, he doubles
The odds, then plays again.
Mistaken men!
As for this coil in hand, their culverin,
So cunningly though levell'd, e'en shall burst
With th' venom of its loading, and so mar
The hand that pointed. I must in to council.
It must be look'd to.
[He retires.
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