University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene 1.

A room in the Palace, London. Enter, meeting, Count d'Aubespine, Kent, and Leicester.
D'AUBESPINE.
How fares her gracious majesty? My lords,
You see me fill'd with terror and dismay.
How fell this out? What! in the very midst
Of her loving subjects!

LEICESTER.
Ay, sir, but it fell out
Through a subject of your king's. The ruffian's French.

D'AUBESPINE.
Some wretched madman—

KENT.
No, my lord, no madman;
But a papist.

[Enter Burleigh, speaking to Davison.
BURLEIGH.
Let the sentence be forthwith
Produced; the seal appended. When 'tis ready,
Let it be brought for the queen's signature.
Go—lose no time.

DAVISON.
It shall be done, my lord.
[Exit Davison.

D'AUBESPINE
(going towards BURLEIGH).
My lord, with the truest heart of loyal friendship,
I share the joy of your whole land; and praise
The Heavens that have parried the foul blow
And saved that sacred head.

BURLEIGH.
We praise Heaven, sir,
That it has brought our treacherous foes to shame.

D'AUBESPINE.
God's curse alight upon the caitiff murderer!

BURLEIGH.
Yea, on the murderer and the deviser too.

D'AUBESPINE.
My Lord High Marshal, may I be bold to crave
That you'll conduct me to her majesty?
That at her royal feet I lay my duty,
And my lord and master's hearty gratulations.

BURLEIGH.
Oh, my good lord, you may spare yourself the pains.

D'AUBESPINE.
Sir, I do know the privilege of my duty.

BURLEIGH.
It shall be well, that, at your speediest,
You carry it out of England.

D'AUBESPINE.
How shall I
Understand you, sir?

BURLEIGH.
Briefly, my lord. Your office
Shields you to-day; to-day you are inviolate,
For your high office's sake, but not to-morrow.

D'AUBESPINE.
The right of a French ambassador, my lord—

BURLEIGH.
Will not excuse high treason, sir.

KENT AND LEICESTER.
How now!

D'AUBESPINE.
Lord Burleigh, have a care—

BURLEIGH.
Count d'Aubespine, a pass,
Sign'd by your hand, was found upon the murderer.

KENT.
Is't possible!

D'AUBESPINE.
That may be true—what then?
I do not know the hearts and thoughts of those
For whom I daily sign a hundred passes.

BURLEIGH.
The villain ate at your house.

D'AUBESPINE.
My house is open—

BURLEIGH.
To all the enemies of England.

D'AUBESPINE.
I demand
Enquiry into this matter.

BURLEIGH.
Sir, believe me
'Twere best you let it pass.

D'AUBESPINE.
Not so; in me
The faith of my royal master is attainted;
This scarce will solder our new ties of amity.

BURLEIGH.
The queen, sir, hath already cast them from her;
England will not ally herself with France.
My Lord of Kent, to you it now belongs
Safe convoy to afford Count d'Aubespine.
The furious mob have storm'd his house, and found
An arsenal of weapons stored therein.
Their threats are loud; and should he show himself
He'll scarce 'scape outrage. You must answer for him.

D'AUBESPINE.
I shall depart, lords, from your lawless land,
Where mobs tread under foot the rights of kings,
And the people make a jest of the prince's plight.
But be ye sure of this, my king will have
A bloody reckoning for this contumely.

BURLEIGH.
Let him come for it, sir,—it shall not fail him.

[Exeunt Kent and D'Aubespine.
LEICESTER.
Thus with one hand you violently tear
The bond, that with the other you 'd scarce knit up
So busily. Your pains, my lord, are hardly
Worth England's thanks.

BURLEIGH.
My purpose, sir, was good;
It fares not ill with those who dare say that.

LEICESTER.
Now must we look for the mysterious bearing
Of Cecil, hunting out conspiracies;
Now shall your lordship reap a good fat harvest
Of the kind you love. A desperate deed is done,
And darkness mantles up the doer. Now
Shall we have a bloodier than Spain's Inquisition;
And words, and looks, and thoughts be sternly dragg'd
To your tribunal; for indeed you are
A mighty man! an Atlas! on whose shoulders
All England sits.

BURLEIGH.
And yet, I freely own you
My master, my good lord; for such a victory
As that your cunning yesterday achieved
Ne'er graced my best endeavour.

LEICESTER.
What means that?

BURLEIGH.
Indeed 'twas politic, behind my back,
To coax and wheedle, till to Fotheringay
You lured the queen, our ever-honour'd mistress—

LEICESTER.
Or to your face had been the same to me.

BURLEIGH.
The gracious queen you led to Fotheringay—
Yet, no, indeed—she graciously led you.

LEICESTER.
Sir, I suppose your riddle has some meaning?

BURLEIGH.
A proper part, too, was she made to play.
A noble triumph had you there prepared for her.
Good queen! that ever such a shameless cheat
Should have been practised on her easiness!
Therefore were gentleness and pity commendable,
And policy fit but to wait on them.
Therefore was Mary Stuart so weak a foe;
Alack! she was but worthy of contempt,
Not the high honour of a mortal sentence.
'Twas a good plot, and wrought to a good point,
Only so fine and sharp that the point broke.
That was a pity!

LEICESTER.
Follow me to the queen!
Before her will I answer you, false lord.

BURLEIGH.
Nay, I will meet you there, and look to 't well,
Your charm of ready speech fail you not then;
You'll find some need for it, believe me.
[Exit Burleigh.

LEICESTER.
I'm betray'd—
Discover'd; he has hit upon my track.
Accursed spy! what if he 've proof against me?
If once the queen shall know the secret bond
'Twixt me and Mary Stuart!—hell, what a ruin
Yawns at my feet! how shall she then remember
The luckless counsel that to Fotheringay
Led her? Why, what a villain, what a slave
Of guilt and treachery, shall she then esteem me?
The mock, the scorn, the sport of her hated rival
Has she been made through me. Oh, never, never,
Can that be cancell'd; all will seem to have been
Prepared, made ready beforehand, for that scene.
The black and bitter course of their conference,
The poison'd taunts of her triumphant victim,
Yea, ev'n the murderous stroke that follow'd them,
All, all, shall I be held th'inventor of—
Nothing can save me from perdition—nothing.
How now! who comes?

[Enter Mortimer.
MORTIMER.
You are the man I seek—
Are we alone?

LEICESTER.
Hence, wretch! what seek'st thou here?

MORTIMER.
We are discover'd—they are on our track—
On yours too—therefore save yourself!

LEICESTER.
Avaunt!
Begone!

MORTIMER.
The secret meetings at Count d'Aubespine's
Are known of.

LEICESTER.
What is it to me? wilt leave me?

MORTIMER.
And he, the murderer, was one of the band.

LEICESTER.
Look to 't, and answer it—'tis none of mine.
Villain! what tell'st thou me of thy perilous case,
Keep thy accursed secrets to thyself!

MORTIMER.
This touches you, my lord—

LEICESTER.
Get thee to hell!
Nor hang like an unlaid ghost about my path.
Get hence! I know thee not—I hold no fellowship
With stabbers.

MORTIMER.
Listen—I warn you—listen yet;
Your secret steps are known and counted—

LEICESTER.
Ha!

MORTIMER.
To Fotheringay sped the Lord High Treasurer
Soon as the accursed blow had fail'd; the chamber
Of the queen was diligently search'd, and there
Was found—

LEICESTER.
What—what?

MORTIMER.
A yet unfinish'd letter
From her to you.

LEICESTER.
Oh, fatal woman!

MORTIMER.
Wherein
She doth beseech you to hold faith with her,
Renews the promise of her hand to you,
Reminds you of her picture that you have—

LEICESTER.
Death and damnation!

MORTIMER.
Burleigh has the letter.

LEICESTER.
Ruin has caught me!

MORTIMER.
Yet is this moment yours.
Be once beforehand with the fate that threatens you.
Save her, and save yourself; swear, swear all down;
Bethink you of all pleas, make dangers serve you.
I can no more—our weapons are all scatter'd,
Our band dispersed—to Scotland I, to raise
Another host of friends. Work you the while,
See what your favour and bold front can do.

LEICESTER.
Yea, you say well. I will—what ho, there, officer!
[Enter an Officer of the Queen's Guard.
Arrest that traitor! and in strict ward keep him—
A vile conspiracy have I lighted on,
The news of which I straight bear to the queen.
[Exit Leicester.

MORTIMER.
Dastardly traitor! yet am I rightly served
Who laid a noble trust on such a wretch;
He sets his foot upon my neck, to spring,
And my dead body bridges o'er his ruin.
So save thyself, most miserable man!
My lips shall not be open'd to betray thee;
Not ev'n in death would I have thee for fellow,
And life is the sole good of such as thou.
[To the Guards, who approach him.
What wouldst thou, thou poor slave of tyranny?
I am not thine, but free.

[He draws a dagger.
OFFICER.
Ha! seize him;
He's arm'd! he hath a dagger!

MORTIMER.
Free! and freely
In this my latest hour shall my soul speak.
My curse upon ye all! who your God and queen
Alike deny; who to the heavenly
And the earthly Mary traitors are alike;
Who to this bastard queen your souls have sold—

OFFICER.
Hence with the ribald railer! hence with him.

MORTIMER.
Beloved, ah, beloved! I may not save thee,
But love's last counsel in my death I leave thee;
Oh, holy Queen of Heaven receive me! pray for me!

[He stabs himself.

Scene 2.

The Queen's chamber. Enter Elizabeth, followed by Burleigh; she holds a letter in her hand.
ELIZABETH.
What, fool'd to such a height! what, such a game
To play with me! with me! in treacherous triumph
To lead me as a show for his wanton's mirth!
Did any woman e'er endure such outrage?

BURLEIGH.
Yet can I not conceive what art, what might,
What magic he employ'd, the keener sense
Of my gracious mistress so to hoodwink.

ELIZABETH.
Silence!
I burst with rage and shame! his tool—his puppet!
I went to humble her, and was myself
The football of her scorn.

BURLEIGH.
Now may your majesty
Perceive, the counsel that I gave was wholesome.

ELIZABETH.
Yea, yea, I smart right sorely for not trusting it;
For turning from your wise and faithful teaching.
Yet how could I doubt him? how in the vows
Of truest love and service spy out snares?
Whom shall I dare to trust when Leicester's false?
He that I've made greater than the greatest here;
That nearest to my heart and person stood;
Whom I have taught this court to look upon
As its lord and prince—in all but name a king.

BURLEIGH.
And he the while repaid you, by betraying
Your love and trust for this fair Queen of Scots.

ELIZABETH.
She shall pay it with her blood! fair Queen of Scots!
Is the sentence ready?

BURLEIGH.
Ay, so please you, madam.

ELIZABETH.
She shall die, and he shall see it; and die himself
After; from out my breast I've turn'd him forth,
And the love I bore him; fury hath fill'd his place.
As high as his pow'r and favour were, so deep
Shall be his downfall and disgrace; he shall be
A fearful token of my wrath henceforth,
As hitherto the object of my weakness.
To the Tower with him! I will name the peers
Who presently shall judge him. I give him over
To the law's utmost rigour.

BURLEIGH.
Oh, doubt not, madam,
That he will seek to clear himself—

ELIZABETH.
How? how?
Doth not this letter impeach and sentence him?
This treason blinds one in the eyes. Here, read it!

BURLEIGH.
But you are mild and merciful; and he
Hath spells in his looks, and witchcraft in his words.

ELIZABETH.
I will not see him! never, never again!
Have you, my lord, given order when he comes
He shall be denied our presence?

BURLEIGH.
Madam, I have.

A PAGE
(announcing).
The Earl of Leicester!

ELIZABETH.
Insolent villain! what?
Bid him pack; we will not see him, tell him so;
Bid him get hence.

PAGE.
So please your gracious majesty,
I dare not answer so the earl, for he
Would not believe me.

ELIZABETH.
Is it come to this?
I've made this man so big, that my own servant
Cannot see me for him.

BURLEIGH.
Dost hear, the queen
Forbids the earl's approach?

ELIZABETH.
And yet, if 'twere so—
If he could clear himself—Burleigh, how think you?
Is it impossible but this might be
An evil snare of the Scottish woman yonder,
To make me banish the truest friend I have?
She is a cunning plotter and contriver,
And it may be that she hath writ all this
To sow distraction in my mind, and pluck
His ruin on his head, because he hates her.
It may be?

BURLEIGH.
Gracious madam, it might be, but yet—

[Leicester throws open the door and enters haughtily.
LEICESTER.
Let me behold that brave bold man that dares
Forbid me the presence of my sov'reign lady.

ELIZABETH.
Audacious!

LEICESTER.
What, not see me! send me hence!
Shall Burleigh stand where I am not admitted?

BURLEIGH,
You are overdaring, sir, to rush in thus,
Forbid!

LEICESTER.
You are overdaring, sir, to speak
Until you're bid. Forbid—forbid—forsooth!
Who in this court bids or forbids me? who
But thou, dear mistress, from whose lips alone—

ELIZABETH.
Out of my sight, thou poisonous traitor!

LEICESTER.
No!
Not thou, dear mistress, speakest to thy servant;
This lord here prompts thy angry words—in vain;
To thee, dear mistress, I appeal against him;
To him thou hast lent thine ear—to me
Deny it not, oh sovereign queen of my soul!

ELIZABETH.
Speak, villain! and heap up thy treachery
With perjury. Deny his charge!

LEICESTER.
But, first,
Before I speak, bid him begone. My lord,
What to my queen I come to say shall have
No ear but hers. Go—

ELIZABETH.
Stay, I command you!

LEICESTER.
What makes a third 'twixt thee and me, dear mistress;
We pray not Heaven for standers by to hear.
The right and privilege of my place I claim,
The right and privilege of thy counsellors,
And say again, this listening lord shall hence.

ELIZABETH.
Why thy bold speech becomes thy towering treason.

LEICESTER.
It becomes one made fortunate by thy favour,
And who, how small soe'er himself, is lifted
By that alone 'bove him and all the world.
Thy grace hath given me all the pride I have,
And what thy grace hath given my life shall keep;
And so by Heaven this man shall hence, nor dare
To stand another moment 'twixt us twain.

ELIZABETH.
He thinks to talk himself again into favour.

LEICESTER.
No, I leave talking to whose trade it is;
Yet to thy heart will I speak. What I have done,
Strong in thy gracious favour, I'll make good
And justify; for in thy bosom sits
The judge whose sentence I acknowledge.

ELIZABETH.
Traitor!
I have no thought but cries out guilty on thee—
Show him that letter.

BURLEIGH.
Here, my lord.

LEICESTER.
The hand
Is Mary Stuart's—

ELIZABETH.
Stop thy mouth with that!

LEICESTER.
I own this shows against me; yet well I hope,
The trial of my faith stands not on shows.

ELIZABETH.
Come, then, with that in thy hand, swear traitor,
That thou wast not in secret league with her,
Ne'er hadst her picture, never swor'st to free her.

LEICESTER.
Why, it were easy, madam, were I guilty,
To thrust this witness of my foes aside;
But as my heart is free, I do not fear
To own (how strange soe'er it seem) that she
Hath writ the truth.

ELIZABETH.
Indeed! oh, hath she so!

BURLEIGH.
Out of his own mouth he's condemn'd.

ELIZABETH.
Hence with him
To the Tower! thou traitorous villain!

LEICESTER.
I am none.
That I have held this thing a secret from you,
Therein, perchance, I've sinn'd; yet as the stake
Was to lure on your rival to her ruin,
I thought close counsel best till the game was won.

ELIZABETH.
Oh, miserable juggler!

BURLEIGH.
How, my lord!

LEICESTER.
A bold cast have I ventured, and well know
Leicester alone in all this land durst tempt it;
The world has not to learn to-day, the hatred
I bear to Mary Stuart; the rank I hold,
And the queen's trust in me, challenge some faith,
And something weigh 'gainst the doubt that questions me;
And 'twas no less than that man's duty she
Had with her favour glorified, to find
A way none other dared have tried to serve her.

BURLEIGH.
Why was so good a work a mystery?

LEICESTER.
My lord, we know it is your wont to preface
Your doing with much saying; 'tis not mine.
You sound the trumpet still to your own deeds,
And ring your bell before you—that's your fashion;
I act before I speak.

BURLEIGH.
I think, indeed,
Your speaking now is sore against your will.

LEICESTER.
With right good will you've spoken your great doings;
Wonderful judgment! the queen, our mistress' safety,
The treason of her foes, all have you seen,
And done, and known, for nothing sure outruns,
Or lurks behind, your lynx-eyed vigilance.
Yet, despite thee, poor boasting gentleman,
This day had Mary Stuart been set free,
Had not I hinder'd it.

BURLEIGH.
You!

LEICESTER.
I, my lord.
The queen was pleased to trust one Mortimer;
To whom her secret counsels she laid bare;
And went indeed so far, as to beg of him
A bloody piece of service; to the which
His uncle, as you will remember, sir,
Could not be brought or bribed—is not this so?
Say?

BURLEIGH.
If it were, 'tis scarce your business, sir.

LEICESTER.
But it is so. Now then, my lord; where were
Your thousand eyes, that ne'er a one of them
Spied out this Mortimer for a pestilent traitor?
A raging papist, instrument of the Guise,
And sold slave to the Queen of Scots? the chief
Of those who were all sworn to set her free,
And murder our gracious mistress?

ELIZABETH.
Mortimer!

LEICESTER.
Through him were her overtures first made to me;
And so I learnt to know him what he was.
To-day—this very hour—he had been borne
To prison—for within this hour himself
Did liberally unfold their purposes to me.
I had him seized; but in the desperate rage
Of seeing his good work fall all to pieces,
And himself unmask'd, he madly slew himself.

ELIZABETH.
I'm lost in wonder!—he—that Mortimer—

LEICESTER.
For mine own part, I heartily could wish
He had not made away with himself. His witness,
Had he lived, should have clear'd me to the utmost;
Therefore indeed I bade them guard him straitly.
I would have had him sifted through and through
By the most searching process of the law,
So had mine innocence been made apparent.

BURLEIGH.
How did you say, my lord—he slew himself?
Or he was slain by you?

LEICESTER.
Oh, base suggestion!
Let the officer of the watch be call'd, to show
I gave him up.
[Goes to the door and calls.
Within there!
[Enter Officer of the Queen's Guard.
To her majesty
Relate the process of that Mortimer's death.

OFFICER.
Being on guard, I stood in the anteroom,
When the Earl of Leicester, flinging wide the doors,
Bade me arrest, as guilty of high treason,
The man he spoke with—Mortimer. We did so;
But ere we could secure him or prevent it,
He drew his dagger, and in a desperate frenzy,
Shrieking out curses 'gainst the queen and state,
He stabb'd himself, and died there where he fell.

LEICESTER.
Enough—you may withdraw; the queen is satisfied.

[Exit Officer.
ELIZABETH.
What an abyss of villainous treachery!

LEICESTER.
Now, who did save thee, guard thee, and defend thee?
Did Burleigh see the peril all about thee,
And turn away its hand ere it had clutch'd thee?
Thy faithful Leicester was thy guardian angel.

BURLEIGH.
This Mortimer kill'd himself in the nick of time
For you, my lord—a most convenient caitiff.

ELIZABETH.
I know not what to say, for I believe thee—
And yet believe thee not. I think thee guilty—
And then I think it not. Pernicious woman!
Who in this web has tangled all my mind!

LEICESTER.
Now must she die; now for her death myself
Do give my voice. Long did I counsel, madam,
That you should leave unsign'd the fatal warrant,
At least until again some arm was raised
In her behalf against you. It has befallen;
And now I hold her sentence be fulfill'd.

BURLEIGH.
You counsel it—you?

LEICESTER.
Even to the last
I seized on the faintest shadow of excuse,
That from this dire extremity might save
The heart of our good mistress; but I see
Her precious safety needs this bloody sacrifice;
And I do hope, and pray, yea, and advise,
That judgment be forthwith made execution.

BURLEIGH.
His lordship is so earnest in this matter,
That I well hope your gracious majesty
Will to no other but himself commit
The bearing of her doom to Mary Stuart.

LEICESTER.
Who—I? What is't you say?

BURLEIGH.
You, my good lord.
Nor could a readier means be furnish'd you
To clear the doubts that even now o'ershadow'd
The sunlight of your truth, than that you should
Lead her to death whom you have stood accused
Of loving more than might beseem your loyalty.

ELIZABETH.
'Tis a good counsel; and we will it so.

LEICESTER.
Methinks my rank might from this gloomy office
Have well absolved me; 'tis a service fits
A thousand ways Lord Burleigh more than me;
Who to the queen stands in such honour'd nearness,
So bloody and so black a task beseems not.
Yet am I nothing slow to show my zeal,
And serve my dearest mistress even thus.
I will not claim exemption even from this,
And from your hand accept the hateful duty.

ELIZABETH.
Burleigh, or Kent, shall share it with you; see
That all things be made ready for the end.
[Exit Burleigh.
[Tumult without. Enter hurriedly the Earl of Kent.
How now, my lord of Kent? what new distraction
Upheaves the city? what's the matter now?

KENT.
Madam, the people gather round the palace,
Clamouring to see your highness.

ELIZABETH.
Wherefore?

KENT.
Fear has possess'd all London of your death;
A thousand evil rumours are abroad
That your life is threaten'd; that fee'd murderers,
Sent by the pope, walk 'mong your faithful subjects.
The cry goes through the streets that you were stabb'd;
That the papists are all sworn together—banded—
The Scottish woman to set free by force,
And make her queen; so goes the common voice.
The citizens are in uproar, and they clamour
For the head of Mary Stuart; nor will
A lesser offering appease their rage.

ELIZABETH.
How! shall we be compell'd to what we will not?

KENT.
They have resolved not to disperse themselves
Till they have word the sentence has been sign'd.

[Re-enter Burleigh and Davison with the sentence.
ELIZABETH.
Now, sir—what's this?

DAVISON.
Your majesty commanded—

ELIZABETH
(taking the paper).
What is it? O God!

BURLEIGH.
Hear you the people's voice?
Madam, that is the voice of God.

ELIZABETH.
My lords—
My lords—I am beyond all measure troubled!
Who shall assure me that I hear indeed
The voice of my people and the voice of God!
I tell you, sirs, I fear—yea, I do fear—
If I obey this voice that clamours to me,
Another voice some other day to hear;
Nay, or perchance this same, this very same,
That now doth loudly urge me to the deed,
When the deed's done as loudly shall condemn it.

[Enter Shrewsbury.
SHREWSBURY.
Madam, they drag you to a desperate pass,
Where you shall neither back nor forward go
With safety. Oh, be stedfast, and stand firm!
[Seeing Davison.
Or—is it done? is it irrevocable?
The fatal document I see he holds;
But it has not been laid before the eyes
Of my gracious mistress yet?

ELIZABETH.
O Shrewsbury!
Where shall I turn for counsel? They compel me—

SHREWSBURY.
Compel you, madam! who may dare compel you?
Are you not sovereign here? Is not your will
Paramount law? Speak, and command to silence
Each insolent voice, that dares make itself heard
To urge your deed, or sway your royal will.
A blind and furious fear drives on the people;
Yourself are not yourself; this tumult scares
Even your spirit; this is no time to judge!

BURLEIGH.
Judgment is not the question now, my lord;
Judgment is pass'd long since; 'tis execution
Of judgment now we seek.

KENT
(looking from the window).
The crowd comes gathering;
A tide it seems, rolling its ridges in;
I know not how this surge shall be kept back.

ELIZABETH
(to SHREWSBURY).
You see how I am driven.

SHREWSBURY.
Nay, but delay
Is all I ask; upon this stroke of the pen
Hang the future peace and fortune of your reign,
Years have not brought you to determine on it;
Shall a moment's storm and outcry counsel you?
A short delay—gather your stedfast purpose,
And wait an hour of quiet.

BURLEIGH.
Wait—loiter—linger—
Till the whole realm is red-hot with sedition;
Till at length your enemy strikes true at last.
Three times has God from her hand deliver'd you,
To-day it had well nigh reach'd you. Once again
To hope such miracle is to tempt Heaven.

SHREWSBURY.
That God who with his wonder-working hand
Hath four times led you safe beside your doom,
And who to this old arm to-day gave pow'r
To beat your murderer down, deserves your trust.
I will not now invoke the voice of justice;
With this tempest in your ears you could not hear it.
But hear you this: before this living woman
You quail; fear not the living, but the dead.
Fear her beheaded, bloody corpse; for that
Shall from the block spring up, and up and down,
Through the whole land shall run, scaring your kingdom
Like an avenging ghost—a devil of discord—
And all your people's hearts shall she turn from you.
They hate her now, because they've learnt to fear her,
But when they fear her not, they will avenge her.
No more the living enemy of their faith,
But the murder'd kinswoman of their kings,
The pitiful sacrifice of hate and envy,
Will they behold in her, and pity her,
And quickly will you feel their alter'd mood.
Ride then through London, after execution
Is done on her; 'stead of the loyal crowds
That still have clamour'd welcome round your way,
Another England, and another people,
Then will you find, I trow; for then no more
Shall the victorious righteousness surround you
That conquer'd for you all men's hearts; but fear,
Terror, th'accursed guard of tyranny,
Shall shuddering go before you and behind,
And make your city's streets a wilderness.
You will have struck a fatal blow indeed;
For who shall dare feel safe when that anointed
And crowned head has fallen?

ELIZABETH.
Shrewsbury,
This day thou'st saved my life, the murderer's steel
Hast thou this day turn'd from me; by Heaven! I would
He had struck home, and no man hinder'd him!
All strife were ended, every doubt at rest,
And I were laid in peace in my grave. I swear,
Living and reigning are a bitter burthen,
And I would well I were well eased of both.
Must one queen fall that the other may stand fast?
Yea, yea, it must be so; I know it; but wherefore,
In Heaven's name, should not ourselves strike under,
And give the battle up, and let her reign?
Let the people choose, for I will give them back
My royalty, and they shall freely lend it
To whom they will. God is my witness, lords!
Not for myself, but for my people's welfare,
Have I cared my whole life long; natheless, perchance,
They hope from this fair, flattering Queen of Scots,
This younger woman, days more prosperous.
So be it! from my throne I will come down
Right readily, and turn me back to Woodstock,
To the abode of peace where sped my youth;
There, far from the evil strife of power, I found
Greatness within myself. 'Tis true, by God!
I am not fit to rule; a ruler's heart
Should be of iron, mine is woman weak.
Hitherto happily I've ruled this land:
For to make happy is an easy task;
Now comes this first stern call of royal duty,
And I confess myself unfit to reign.

BURLEIGH.
By Heaven! when such a word from the queen's lips
Falls, let my longer silence be held treason—
Treason to duty, treason to England—longer
To hold my peace. If, madam, as you say,
And as we all believe, you love indeed
Your people better than yourself, now show it!
Turn not away to the haven of your peace,
And give the kingdom up to storm and tempest.
Think of our faith; with Mary Stuart comes
The ancient superstition back again.
Again the monk shall lord it o'er the land,
And, sent by Rome, audacious legates come
To bar our church doors up, and, from their throne,
Curse down our kings. Think of the precious souls
Of those you rule; ev'n as you now determine,
So are they lost or saved. This is no time
For weakly woman's pity; your first duty
Is to your people. Shrewsbury to-day
Has saved your highness' life; for me remains
A task more glorious yet, 'tis to save England.

ELIZABETH.
Let me be left alone; in this great matter
I find no help nor comfort in your counsels;
Before the Highest Judge I will debate
This business with my soul. He will enlighten me,
And by His will alone will I shape mine.
Leave us, my lords.
[To Davison.
You, sir, remain at hand.

[Exeunt all but Elizabeth and Davison, who stands at a distance.
ELIZABETH.
Oh, slavery of kings! oh, curse of power!
Detested tyranny of the popular will!
How sick at heart with weariness I am
Of flattering this gross god that I despise!
When shall I sit in freedom on my throne?
When may I cease to beg opinion's cheer?
The ‘Well done!’ of the rabble rout to court?
To bow to this people, who, with juggler's tricks,
Must still be kept agape, and in good humour?
'Sdeath! he's no king who still is tied to observe
The will of the world, and set his every act
To whatsoever measure suits their mind.
Fool that I was, still to deal uprightly,
And all my life the free course of my will
To bridle with their liking! Now dare I not
Do this one deed of sov'reignty. I cannot
Move, for myself have tied my own hands up;
The pattern of my hitherto life condemns me;
And, for I've still been just, I still must be so.
Had I been bold and tyrannous like her,
My predecessor, bloody Spanish Mary,
Now might I spill this royal blood unblamed,
And none had dared to whisper. Not of my own
Free will chose I this narrow path of duty,
Nor willingly walk'd unswervingly therein.
All powerful necessity, that rules
The wild waves of the stormy sea, compels
The will of kings, and laid this virtue on me.
Hemm'd round with bitter foes, the people's favour
Alone upholds me on my dangerous seat;
Whilst to mine overthrow are sworn a thousand
Enemies from without and from within.
Upon my head the Roman priest has pour'd
The scorching curse of excommunication;
France, with a smiling Judas kiss betrays me;
And open threatening of huge armaments
The Spaniard brings against me on the sea.
So stand I here a weaponless, weak woman,
Fighting against a world! With royal virtues
Must I cloak o'er my thin and threadbare claim;
The flaw in my birthright, and the bitter slur
By my own father cast upon my blood,
I cannot hide—my rival's eager hate
Hath stript it naked to the world, and held it,
An everlasting blot, up to mine eyes.
Nay, but this fear shall end. Her head shall fall.
I will have peace, by God! I swear I will.
She is the fury of my life—a spectre
Whose shadow stands for ever in my sunlight.
Where I have sown a flowering joy to cheer me,
She, the accursed snake, crawls from beneath it.
My lover hath she stol'n from me—my bridegroom
Driven hence—each several plague and smart of my life
Calls itself Mary Stuart. She shall die!
And I will be as free as mountain air!
With what a deadly scorn she look'd upon me,
As though her eyes could fell me to the earth.
Impotent fool! I carry deadlier weapons,
That, touching thee, shall smite thee into nothing.
A bastard am I! Why, thou wretched woman,
'Tis only while thou liv'st that I am one—
The doubt that stains my royal scutcheon's wash'd
Clean from it with thy blood; for from the hour
That no more choice remains between us two,
I am the rightful queen of this land—thy death
To the whole world makes me legitimate.

[She signs the sentence rapidly, lets the pen fall from her hand, and withdraws from the table with an expression of terror: after a pause she rings: Davison comes forward.
ELIZABETH.
Where are the lords?

DAVISON.
So please you, they are gone
To still the tumult of the raging people.
Soon as the Earl of Shrewsbury appear'd,
‘'Tis he!’ exclaim'd at once an hundred voices,
‘There he is! That is he who saved the queen!
The best and bravest man in England!’ Then
Began the noble Talbot to address them,
And with such winning wisdom, powerful gentleness,
And cunning craft, convincingly he spoke,
That all grew still, and presently in peace
The well-contented multitude dispersed.

ELIZABETH.
Unstable-minded herd! that every breath
Hither and thither drives. Woe, woe to those
Who lean upon that reed! You may be gone, sir.
Stay—take this paper—to your hand I give it.

DAVISON.
Your majesty's signature—O Heaven, 'tis is sign'd!

ELIZABETH.
'Twas brought to me to sign, and I have sign'd it.
Well, and what then? A sheet of paper signifies
Nothing; a written name kills not.

DAVISON.
Your name,
Beneath this sheet of paper, signifies
No less than sudden death. Madam, it is
The thunderstroke that carries instant doom.
This paper doth command the Lords Commissioners
And sheriff with all speed to Fotheringay,
There to make known to the Queen of Scots her sentence,
And with to-morrow's dawn to execute it.
Here's no delay—she may be said to have lived
When I let go this paper.

ELIZABETH.
Even so.
God lays a great and weighty destiny
In your weak hand—pray to Him heartily,
That He may lend His wisdom to your mind.
I leave you to the doing of your duty.

DAVISON.
Nay, dread and gracious sovereign! leave me not
Till you make known your royal will to me;
Here must I dare no otherwise be wise
Than point by point to follow your command.
Hath your grace committed this to me, that I
Should to the fatal issue forward it?

ELIZABETH.
Be that according to your own discretion.

DAVISON.
To mine! to my discretion! God forbid!
Obedience is my very verge of duty.
Your servant, madam, dares not here be judge
The smallest oversight were a queen's murder—
A terrible and unredeemable crime.
Nay, grant me, I most humbly do implore you,
In this great matter to be nothing more
Than your blind and irresponsible instrument.
Speak, for the love of God! once, in plain words;
What is your will that I should do with this?

ELIZABETH.
Doth not its own name tell thee plain enough?

DAVISON.
You will, then, that this sentence be fulfill'd—

ELIZABETH.
Nay, but I said not so, and quake to think it!

DAVISON.
You will, then, that I yet delay to send it?

ELIZABETH.
At thy peril! see thou to the consequence!

DAVISON.
Merciful Heaven! what is your gracious will?

ELIZABETH.
My will! my will is with this damned thing
No more to be plagued!—my will is to have peace
And rest from this matter henceforth and for ever!

DAVISON.
It costs your highness but a single word;
Speak, madam—say—what shall be done with it?

ELIZABETH.
I have already spoken; weary me
No more, but get thee gone.

DAVISON.
Oh, royal lady,
What have you spoken? you have spoken nothing.
Dread sovereign, may it please you—

ELIZABETH.
God confound thee!

DAVISON.
Have mercy on me! but a few short months
Have I fill'd this office, nothing do I know
Of courtly speech, or the great use of royalty—
Simple and lowly hath my breeding been;
Have mercy then, on your unworthy slave!
Grudge not, dread majesty! to speak the word
That teaches me my duty and your will!
[He approaches her in a beseeching attitude, she turns her back on him; he stands in despair, and then suddenly exclaims,
Take back this paper! take it back again!
It burns like fire in my uncertain hand.
Lay not on me the burthen of your choice
To serve your highness in this fearful business!

ELIZABETH.
What prate ye there! you know your office. Do it!

[Exit the Queen. Enter Burleigh.
DAVISON.
She goes—she leaves me without help or counsel,
Bewilder'd, with this sentence in my hand;
What now to do? Shall I deliver it,
Or keep it back? Oh, welcome, noble lord!
You to this post of honour did advance me;
Now set me free from it. I undertook it
Nought knowing of its perilous duties—let me
Go back to my former lowliness again,
For sure I do not fit a loftier place.

BURLEIGH.
How now, sir—what's the matter? where's the sentence?
Did not the queen send for you?

DAVISON.
In fearful wrath
She went hence, even now—help me—advise me—
Here is the sentence, sign'd.

BURLEIGH.
Sign'd! give it, quick!

DAVISON.
Nay, but I dare not—

BURLEIGH.
How!

DAVISON.
Her majesty
Hath not yet clearly shown her will as touching it.

BURLEIGH.
Not clearly? She has signed it; give it me!

DAVISON.
Must I to execution put it—must I not?
What should I do?

BURLEIGH.
Why, with thy utmost speed
Have it fulfill'd, thou 'rt lost by this delay.

DAVISON.
By too rash speed am I lost too.

BURLEIGH.
Give it—give it!
Fool, thou art frighted from thy wits—to me
Give up the sentence!

[He seizes it and rushes out.
DAVISON.
Hold, for the love of God!

[He rushes after him.