University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Henry, Murray.
Hen.
Yes, I repeat it to thee, I come hither
To wreak full vengeance on my enemies,
Or bid eternal farewell to these walls.

Mur.
Thou doest well. But thou should'st not, oh king,
Flatter thyself with prosperous event
To thy designs, while thou dost steel thy heart
Against its inward conflicts of remorse,
Against the frequently-repeated signs
Of an offended God. Thou long hast been
Fully convinced of the errors of the faith
That thou professest: the dire vestiges,
At every step, by thousands and by thousands,
Of thy perverse and persecuting sect
Crowd on thy path: yet dar'st thou not shake off
The guilty yoke of sacrilegious Rome;
Whence in the sight of all the world thou art
Despised, and impious in the sight of God.
This is the first, too plainly, and, alas!
This the sole cause of thy adversity.

Hen.
More than convinced I am that I ought not
E'er to have sought this fatal royal marriage:
Not that the rank to which it raises me
O'erwhelms my faculties; this very sceptre
Was no unknown weight to my ancestors.
But I regret that I reflected not
What a capricious and unstable thing
The heart of woman is; and what a weight
A benefit imposes, when received
From one that is not skill'd to give it wisely.

Mur.
My soul is not cast in a vulgar mould:
Hear me, oh Henry. Favour in the court
I do not seek: the love of peace inspires me.
'Tis in thy power for all thy past mistakes
To make a full atonement, and to win
To paths of virtue thy bewilder'd consort;
To make thy people blest: the chosen sons,
Not of the terrible God of wrath and blood,
(Whose earthly type is fulminating Rome,)
But the true sons of the compassionate God,
Who are iniquitously trodden down,
These may'st thou rescue; and may'st dissipate
The impure mists, which from the Tyber's stream,
The corrupt source of tyranny and fraud,
With pestilential influence arise.

Hen.
And what? wilt thou that I mispend my time
In disputations vain about vain rites,
And frivolous subtleties of brain-sick fools,
When I am loudly call'd on to defend
My honour and my rank?

Mur.
Dar'st thou miscall
These questions vain, When they a thousand times
Have ta'en away and given realms and lives?
If thy heart feels a just contempt for Rome,
Why not confess it? Raise thy standard high,
And thou shalt have as many partizans
As there are here who execrate her rites.

Hen.
I do not feed myself with civil bloodshed:
To seek elsewhere that peace I have not here ...

Mur.
What are thy hopes? Will it bring peace to thee
To see from distant climes thy native country
Burn with intestine broils? For to fly hence
Is but assuredly to give the signal
For civil war.—To arms I prompt thee not;
I am not, no, the minister of blood.
To frustrate more atrocious grievances,
And from oppression liberate thy friends,
Ere to rebellion they be driven, to this,
Nought else, do I exhort thee. Violence
Thou should'st not use; but hinder that of others.
Mary, who with her foreign milk imbibed
As at a fountain inexhaustible
Foreign delusions; Mary, who unites,
For Scotland's ruin, in her youthful breast
The persecuting principles of Rome
With the soft manners of effeminate France,
I do not bid thee ever to forget
That the same Mary is thy spouse and sovereign:
Leave her at her own will to think and act:
We have not learn'd her persecuting tenets;
We wish alone for liberty and peace:
May they be gain'd through thee! Thou mayest at once
Procure thy peace and ours. An obscure storm
I see, which threatens us, which also may
Fall on thy head, if thou refuse to hear me.
The vilest miscreants in these precincts lurk,
And lurk in numbers, who would ruin thee,
And who at once calumniate and detest thee.
In vain thou would'st among them hope to find
Sincerity and honour; we are they,
If yet indeed there be true Scots; of Rome,
Of guilty, foreign, and effeminate fashions
The inveterate foes; and equally the foes
Of foreign and augmenting tyranny.
Would'st be the moderate king of worthy men?
'Tis yet within thy power: would'st rather be
The tyrant of the guilty? There are they
Who wish this more than thou. There are who have
Already made a sceptre of the sword:
The knot is too perplex'd; it must be cut,
It cannot be unloosed. Why thus I speak
Heaven knows; and if I wish for aught but peace.
Act then according to thy judgment: I
Already have resign'd the hope that truth
Should by a king be e'er from me believed.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Henry.
Hen.
Murray may be sincere; but my hard fate
Hath so o'erruled me that the choice of errors
Alone remains for me.—Already all
Convinces me that I return in vain:
Each tongue is dumb; and the reluctant queen
Delays to welcome me; and all the rest ...
Oh rage! ... But she approaches: be she heard;
I shall be better able to resolve
After this conference.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Henry, Mary.
Ma.
Thou'rt welcome here,
Thou, whom I chose for all my griefs and joys
The inseparable partner. Thou at last
Compliest, and dost listen to my prayers:
At length within thy palace thou returnest;
That it is always thine thou knowest well,
Although in voluntary banishment
From thence it pleases thee to live so far.

Hen.
Queen ...

Ma.
Why thus call me? Why not call me consort?

Hen.
Say, are our destinies the same?

Ma.
Ah! no;
Thou mak'st me spend my tedious days in tears ...

Hen.
My tears thou seest not ...

Ma.
I have beheld thee
Bedew, 'tis true, thy cheek with tears of rage,
Never of love.

Hen.
Be the cause what it may,
I wept, and still I weep.

Ma.
And who can cure
This ceaseless grief, who wipe my tearful eyes,
Who to my heart restore pure genuine joy,
Who, if not thou?

Hen.
Which of us has the power,
And having that, the will, will soon be seen.
Meanwhile I tell thee that to-day I do not
Come to repeated insults ...

Ma.
Why wilt thou,
Oh heaven! thus irritate before thou hearest me?
If thou deem it an insult to behold
Other men's judgments not submit to thine,
Here oft, I grant, but always spite of me,
Wert thou insulted. Their immunities
Monarchs possess, and monarchies their laws,
And their infringement is to all injurious;
Nor dared I hinder thee from breaking them,
Than as I should myself have been restrain'd
If an unwise desire had prompted me
To arbitrary power. But if of me,
If of my heart thou speakest, of my love
For thee, and of my private fondnesses,
Beloved consort, what part of myself
Have I not given thee unreservedly?
My lord and my support, say, wert not thou
My first, my last, my sole solicitude?
And thou wilt evermore be so, if thou
Wilt only lay aside thy unjust wrath,
And far as usage of the law permits,
E'en now indeed wilt be lord of the realm,
And, without any limitation, mine.

Hen.
The ostentation I esteem an insult;
The haughty manners towards myself adopted
By the audacious ministers, or friends,
Or slaves, or counsellors, or parasites,
For I know not how I should designate
Those that around thee stand. And I esteem
That which I meet with every day an insult;
To be still flatter'd by the name of king,
While I'm not only of the power bereft,
But even of the superficial pomp
That waits on royalty; to see myself
Rather in servitude than liberty;
My motions and my words, my deeds and thoughts,
Investigated all, and all betray'd;
Bereft of every solace of a father;
Not only not to be allow'd to watch
The education of my only son,
But from his presence to be interdicted;
And myself only.—Why should I say more?
What boots it to enumerate one by one
My many wrongs? Thou know'st how comfortless,
How much neglected, and how much oppress'd,
Degraded, and perhaps how much betray'd,
Is he whom thou unluckily hast chosen
The partner of thy throne, yet having chosen,
Whom self-respect forbids thee to despise.

Ma.
Perhaps I also might reply to thee
That thy incautious actions have alone
So far reduced thee; and I might suggest,
With what unworthy recompense at first
Thou didst return my love; that more intent
To subjugate, than, with benignant arts,
To gain the minds of Scotland's haughty chiefs,
Impatient of restraint, thou lost them quite;
And too much trusting in thy faithless friends,
At first thou drewest from their intercourse
Pernicious counsels, treason afterwards,
And detriment, and forfeiture of love.
I might speak further ... But can I proceed? ...
Ah, no! ... That is a superficial love
Which watches, blames, or does presume to judge
The imperfections of the beloved object.
To oblivion everlastingly by me
Be these consign'd. If it can soothe thy heart
That I should seem the injurer, not the injured,
So let it be: 'tis unimportant to me
Where lies the cause, so that we both escape,
And chiefly thou, all baneful consequence.
Do thou and all thy friends calm thoughts resume:
Open once more thy breast to confidence;
Nor let fantastic thoughts of novelty
Thy judgment captivate. Within thy palace
Reigning, learn thou the arts of government.
I do not dare propose myself to thee
As one well skill'd in such a complex art;
For inexpert, I oftentimes have err'd:
My immature capacity, my sex,
And perhaps a natural defect of judgment,
In many indiscretions have involved me.
I only know, as far as in me lies,
To chuse sagacious and just counsellors;
And, hence assisted, with a trembling foot
To try the vast and formidable lists
Of perilous royalty. Ah! were I skill'd
In reigning as I am in loving thee!

Hen.
But, save thy husband, each man in the court
Appears a just sagacious counsellor:
And he's the only one in whom designs
Of private benefit may not abide ...

Ma.
Or at least ought not.—But refrain awhile:
Thou in my heart hast fix'd suspicion's wound;
And do thou heal it. Not that I retain,
I swear to thee, the recollection of it,
Much less its rancour: ah, believe my words.
But separation does not strengthen love,
Nor mitigate suspicion. By my side
Stand evermore; I shall esteem that day
For ever fortunate on which I shall
Be able to give, in exchange for one,
A thousand proofs of love. Malignant spies,
I know, there are not wanting, who delight
Betwixt us to maintain disgraceful discord,
And seek perhaps to foment it. But, if thou
Wilt evermore be near me, in whom else,
Better than in thyself, can I confide?

Hen.
I hear seducing words, but I endure
Deeds of increasing rancour.

Ma.
But what would'st thou?
Speak; and I will do all.

Hen.
I would, in fact,
Be father, consort, king; or of these names
I will divest myself ...

Ma.
Thou would'st have all
Except my heart. And more than thy demand
Refusal wounds my soul. Ah! would to heaven
That thou at least with this wert satisfied.
Yes, far as in me lies, thou shalt have all;
I only ask of thee, that thou preserve
Some decency towards me before the world;
And that henceforward thou repeat no more
Thy ancient exhibition of contempt.
Ah! if thou love me not, let others think,
At least, that thou esteemest me! To this
I do conjure thee by the common pledge
Not of thy love, but mine. Thou shalt again
Behold our only, our beloved son;
To thy paternal arms shall he be brought;
That thou art a king, a consort, and a father,
May he remind thee.

Hen.
I am well aware
What is my duty; if I have appear'd
Unequal to its weight, the fault was theirs
Who have from me transferr'd it to themselves.
To-day am I resolved, e'en more than others,
To recompense affection with affection,
But artifice with scorn.—This single day
Will be sufficient to bring all to light.
I in the faces of thy friends shall see,
The court's implicit rule, thy secret thoughts.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Mary, Bothwell.
Both.
May I approach, the exulting spectator
Of thy recovered joy? Thy husband, say,
Of what complexion are his present thoughts?
Is he reform'd? ...

Ma.
Inflexibly the same.
What do I say? He to his former rage
Unites a smile of bitter irony;
And turns to ridicule my earnest words.
Ah, wretched me! What means have I now left
To soften his asperity? I speak
Of love; he speaks of power: I am the injured,
Yet he the plaintiff. By ambitious thoughts,
Yet destitute of all sublimity,
His bosom is attainted and depraved.

Both.
But what does he demand?

Ma.
Absolute power.

Both.
Hast thou that to confer?

Ma.
He now would deem
That power a bauble which I gave to him
Ere he compell'd me to resume the gift.
He has entirely yielded to oblivion
The perils whence I rescued him.

Both.
Yet thou
Canst not, without incurring blame, refuse
To share that power of which thyself art mistress
With him that is thy husband. That which he
Possess'd before, that which the laws give to him,
E'en at thy risk thou must restore him all.

Ma.
I still should have, if I could love him less,
E'en more than one resource: to suffer him,
Left to himself, headlong to rush at once
In numberless inextricable snares;
For the result can ne'er be prosperous
Of his ill-plann'd and worse-transacted schemes.
But I exist, assail'd on every side
By an o'erwhelming tempest. His misfortunes,
In one respect, affect me more than him;...
But yet, if he alone prefers his ruin ...
Still will that ruin be a heavy blow
To me, come when it may.—And then ... my son!...
Oh heaven! if towards my son my thoughts I turn,
On whom, perchance, the errors of his father
May one day fall! ... I am no longer able ...

Both.
Queen, thou desir'st me not to flatter thee:
And I impose it on myself to serve thee.
A mother's and a consort's love alone
Combat within thy bosom. Save thy son,
Thou should'st give all to Henry.

Ma.
And that son
Precisely, more than all the rest, he asks.

Both.
But is he thine to give? Say, is he not
Rather our public pledge? Where were the wonder
If he, a guilty spouse, proved a worse father?

Ma.
But yet, to quiet his perturbed spirit,
I promised him ...

Both.
Thy son? He to rule him?
Take heed.

Ma.
He to rule him? I myself venture not
To do it; and to others shall I yield him?

Both.
'Tis then but a precautionary step,
Lest others take him from thee?

Ma.
—To what tend
These thy insinuations? Perhaps thou knowest ...

Both.
I? ... Nothing ... But I think that perhaps by chance
Henry to-day return'd not. Hitherto
I've been the first to cut off all the means
Whence the vain threats of Henry (whether feign'd
Or real) e'er could be reported to thee
By the informers that in courts abound.
But to more culpable contrivances
Should he direct his thoughts, whate'er the risk,
'Twould be my duty to reveal to thee,
Not what he says, but what he aims to do.

Ma.
He hath been hitherto assuredly
To my repeated invitations deaf ...
And now, who knows? ... But speak ... perhaps today
Some indirect and circumventing purpose
May bring him back to court.

Both.
I do not think it;
But I should be a witless counsellor
If I from time to time suggested not
Precautionary thoughts of what may be.
He never was assail'd for this his son
With overweening fondness: wherefore then
Demand him now? Ormond likewise pretends
Anxious desire to see the royal youth:
And he brings with him all the stratagems
Of his most crafty queen: all may be fear'd;
Yet nothing there may be; but on the throne
Blind trust is an unpardonable fault.

Ma.
Must I for ever from one agony
Be driven to another? Wretched fate! ...
Yet what can I now do?

Both.
Watch while I watch;
Thou canst do nought beside: if it be false,
My fear can do no harm; if true, some good.
Under what pretext seems most plausible,
Only contrive that Henry now should have
Apartments separate from these in which
The royal youth resides; and leave him here
Guarded by thy most faithful partizans
Unintermittingly. Do thou henceforward
Go from this place, and occupy with Henry
As a more cheerful or more healthy dwelling,
The ancient castle which commands the city:
There may'st thou quickly see what influence
Thy love has o'er him: Thus thou clear'st his path,
If thoughts of reformation sway his will;
And thus, if evil purposes possess him,
Preventest him from injuring e'en himself.

Ma.
Wise is thy counsel; I adhere to it.
Do thou meanwhile for my security,
Glory, and peace, efficient means invent,
And gentle ones, whence I may frustrate ills
Past remedy, if gathering strength from time.