University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Henry.
Hen.
No, delay profits not; nor should I now
Temporise longer. Spite of my desire,
A treacherous pageantry of honour waits me.
Why is this unaccustomed dwelling place
To me assign'd? ... 'Tis true, beneath one roof
Innocence and imposture ill unite;
The treacherous palace is no home for me:
But the insult is too manifest; too manifest
The implied mistrust. Let me decide at last,
At last adopt some measures.—Ormond seeks
To speak to me; let him be heard. Perchance
He may suggest, when I the least expect it,
Some remedy, some project of deliverance.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Henry, Ormond.
Hen.
To this new court, which has no parallel,
Thou'rt welcome, Ormond.

Or.
Thy vicissitudes
To us are too well known. Elizabeth,
A mere spectator, hither sends me not:
But, her heart full of grief for thee, she wills
That I should be 'twixt you the instrument
Of perfect peace.

Hen.
Peace? Where there is not found
Entire equality, peace? Oftentimes
Have I been flatter'd with so fond a hope,
But still have been deceived.

Or.
But yet, methinks,
This day to peace is sacred ...

Hen.
Thou'rt deceived.
To pass all bounds of sufferance with me
This is the day selected: and at once
This is the day on which I have resolved
No more to suffer.

Or.
What! dost thou believe
That the queen's heart is not towards thee sincere?

Hen.
Her heart? Who sees it? But not even words
Hear I from her, in which I may confide.

Or.
If she deceive thee, thy disdain is just.
Although I come the messenger of peace,
Yet I presume (instructed thus to act,
If it were needful, by Elizabeth)
To offer thee, whiche'er best suit thy wishes,
Advice, assistance, or to be thy guide.

Hen.
If in my heart ignoble passions dwelt,
Without assistance, I could means devise,
And certain means of vengeance. But alas!
Nor guide, nor guardian friend are there, who now
Were competent to clear the obstructed path
For the attainment of the peace I wish.
Oh, bitter is the state in which I live!
If towards violence I turn my thoughts,
If then indeed not criminal, forthwith,
I seem at least ungrateful: yet, again,
If I in part relent, the insolence,
And the presumption, of those courtly slaves,
Who are the origin of every ill,
Beyond all bounds I foster. Thence I fix,
Amid the many schemes I might pursue,
On nothing long: and to them all prefer
To go from hence in voluntary exile.

Or.
What would'st thou do, oh king? This remedy,
If I might be allowed to speak to thee,
Appears to me worse than the ill itself.

Hen.
So it seems not to me: and I expect
That hence more injury would fall on others,
Than shame upon myself.

Or.
But know'st thou not,
That an expatriated king excites
Rather contempt than pity? And should he
Even excite compassion, would he thence
Be ever satisfied?

Hen.
When power is gone,
What profits arrogance? I now am here,
Of all men least, a monarch not obeyed.

Or.
But thou in changing climes, would'st thou obtain
The privileges private men enjoy?
Or of a monarch's name divest thyself?
Ah! since thou givest me with thy discourse
Boldness to speak, let me convince thee of it.—
Whither direct thy steps? To France? Reflect
That there to Mary is the royal race
Allied by blood and friendship; that all there
Applaud her character, where she at first
Imbibed their soft insinuating customs.
There thou wilt find a messenger from Rome,
Furnished with pardons and indulgences,
Ready to invade, if thou givest place to him,
This miserable realm. Thus to thy foes
Thou wilt thyself surrender: instantly
They will contrive to prove thee criminal.

Hen.
And do I live surrounded here by friends?

Or.
Thou livest in thy kingdom.—I should add
To thee, in vain, how the perfidious Spaniard,
The effeminate Italian, an asylum,
The one precarious, the other infamous,
Would offer to thy person: I proceed:
(And thence thou may'st infer if I speak truth)
I, in the first place, counsel thee to fly
To Elizabeth for shelter.

Hen.
Shall a land
Be my asylum where I once was prisoner?
I never entertained so wild a thought:
There is my mother forcibly confined ...

Or.
Dost thou not see it clearly? Much less free,
And less secure, here would thy mother be
Than she is there. I controvert it not;
Elizabeth was adverse to thee once:
But royal counsels change with change of times.
Scarce did she see from you an heir arise,
Of her no less than his maternal realm,
Than she, entirely pacified, towards him,
As towards her offspring, turned her every thought;
And more reluctant from this time became
To yield herself to the connubial yoke.
Afterwards hearing that thou had'st incurred
The disesteem of Mary; and that those
Who had thrown off the servitude of Rome
Pined in oppression, that the royal child,
E'en with his milk, perniciously imbibed
Errors of superstition, much she grieved.
Hence she commanded me, if towards thyself
Mary changed not her conduct, to direct
To thee alone the instructions I received;
And means I offer thee, (not means of blood,
For as thyself I hold those means accursed)
By which thou wilt infallibly regain
All thy primeval splendour,—in one word,
By which thou may'st be free; propitiate
Elizabeth; to thy beloved son
Secure a loftier, and a safer station;
Snatch Mary from imposture; disconcert
Thy guilty foes; all this, if so thou wilt,
Quickly thou may'st perform.

Hen.
What dost thou mean?

Or.
That which is possible to do: which thou
Alone canst do, others not e'en attempt.—
The royal heir, thy son, will be the means
Of thy advancement, and at once of peace ...

Hen.
How? ...

Or.
In these thresholds maxims are instilled
That will confirm his servitude to Rome;
He that is destined one day to possess
The united sceptres of Britannia's isle.
Elizabeth, and with her, all her realm,
With vigilant and apprehensive looks,
Behold this threaten'd bias: recent yet
Are in my country the inflicted wounds,
With which another Mary tortured her,
At the instigation of the Spanish Philip.
Eternal, and immitigable hate,
And such devotion of heroic rage,
Hath Spain to us bequeath'd, that each of us
Had rather perish, than again obey
The abhorred and cruel ritual of blood.
Thy son will be compelled to disavow
The Roman worship, should the day arrive,
When he is called to fill the British throne;
Were it not better for himself, for us,
That he should ne'er imbibe a heresy,
Which, would he be our king, he must recant?

Hen.
Who denies this? And thou perhaps thinkest me
More in my heart attached to Rome than others?
But how can I, according to my judgment,
Bring up my son, whose very intercourse
To me is interdicted?

Or.
But would'st thou
Be master of his person, by that step
Thou would'st gain all.

Hen.
Hence is he taken from me.

Or.
And hence should'st thou recover him.

Hen.
But guards
Watch always.

Or.
These may be deceived, be bribed ...

Hen.
And grant that I obtain him; afterwards
How shall I keep him ...

Or.
I will keep him for thee.
Beneath Elizabeth's protecting eye
He shall grow up: and she will be to him
More than a mother. Fed with lofty thoughts,
There shall he learn to reign; let me avail
Only to rescue him from hence, and thou
Shalt quickly see thyself the master here.
Elizabeth shall make thee be proclaimed,
During his adolescence, for thy son,
The sovereign-regent of this realm; henceforth
Thou may'st assign thy spouse what part seems best
Of delegated power; precisely that, in short,
Which she appears to thee to merit.

Hen.
—This
Is a momentous scheme ...

Or.
Does it offend thee?

Hen.
No; but it seems of difficult performance.

Or.
Be but audacious; all will then be easy.—

Hen.
We have conferred too long. Leave me awhile:
I would reflect upon it at my leisure.—

Or.
Ere long then I return to thee: the time
Is urgent ...

Hen.
When the night is far advanced,
And unobserved, as much as possible,
Return to me.

Or.
I will at thy commands
Come here. Meanwhile, oh Henry, recollect,
That blows when least expected always fall
The most severe; that purposes of state
Require it; and that thou wilt hence derive
Both honour and advantage to thyself.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Henry.
Hen.
I hence win honour, if I win advantage.—
This is a mighty scheme, and mighty ills
May hence originate ... But yet, what ills?
Though it bestead me not, so circumstanced
Am I, that nothing now can injure me ...
Who comes? What can that man now seek from me?

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Henry, Bothwell.
Hen.
What wantest thou with me? Bring'st thou perchance
The accustomed homage to thy pageant king?

Both.
Although thou treatest me with such disdain,
I, not the less, am still thy faithful subject.
To thee the queen dispatch'd me: she has learn'd,
That thou, as of an insult, bitterly
Complainest of the abode assign'd to thee.
Know, that she means, ere long, hither to come
With thee to dwell: and further I am bound
To say to thee ...

Hen.
More than the different dwelling,
Far more, it mortifies me to observe
That every word I utter is repeated:
Yet this injustice is not new to me.
Now go; and tell her, that, if I ought not
To deem myself thence injured, such excuse
Although not more believed, at least had been
More welcome from her lips; and not by means
Of an ambassador ...

Both.
If thou would'st lend
To her a somewhat more benignant ear,
My lord, far other sentiments than these
Thou would'st hear from her lips: nor should I be
The messenger selected: but, she fears
Lest that her words to thee ...

Hen.
She apprehends
To wound me with her words, and at once seeks
To do it with her deeds.

Both.
Thou art deceived.
I know how much she loves thee; and in proof,
I, though unwelcome to thee, though by thee
Suspected wrongfully, addressed myself
To bring to thee a message so important,
That to another than myself the queen
Would not confide it: it is such that thou
Art bound to hear it; neither from her lips
Would Mary venture to express it to thee:
A message, that 'tis difficult to speak,
But yet, which, if conveyed as she suggested,
As the expostulation of a friend,
Clearly denotes no lukewarm tenderness.

Hen.
Com'st thou the interpreter of nuptial secrets?—
Thou, who art thou?

Both.
Since thou would'st fain forget
The action of Dunbar, whence, having first
The rebels slain, I reconducted you
Both here in safety to your throne; I am
One who, because it is imposed on him,
Now speaks to thee.

Hen.
But it is not imposed
On me to hear thee.

Both.
Yet thou hearest others.

Hen.
What say'st thou? Others? ... What audacity? ...

Both.
Thou in these thresholds art betrayed; but not
By those whom thou mistrustest. Thou thyself,
E'en more than all of us, should'st doubt a man,
To whom the function of ambassador,
Impulse and opportunity affords
To perfidy unpunished. To ourselves
Ormond comes not the messenger of peace;
And yet thou hearest him at length; ...

Hen.
Ye traitors!—
Is this to me imputed as a crime?
E'en as ye are perfidious ye are vile;
Ye twist to evil every deed of mine.
Ormond the entreated audience obtain'd:
I sought him not: ambassador to me
He came not here ...

Both.
Assuredly he came
Contriving machinations 'gainst thyself.
Were he alone a traitor! But already
E'en more defective in dexterity
Than in discretion, he has proved himself.
Far too precipitately he divulged
His hidden hopes, his culpable designs:
With this incaution he betray'd himself
So prematurely, that before he spoke
With thee, the queen already knew the whole.
Nor thence, for him, whom he would fain delude,
Has the queen's bosom so much wrath conceived
As generous pity. In her name, oh king,
I do adjure thee to renounce thy error;
Nor with thy own dishonour, do thou bring
Advantage to the traitor, detriment
To her who loves thee.

Hen.
—More explicitly
Speak thou, or cease to speak. Mysterious words
I do not comprehend: I only know,
That where ye all of you alike are traitrous,
I can among you scarcely recognize
Which of you is the traitor.

Both.
'Tis most easy
To see who most would profit by thy ruin.
Elizabeth, your persevering foe,
Your envious, crafty, and ferocious foe,
Dreads peace betwixt you. What canst hope from her?

Hen.
From her? ... I nothing hope, and nothing ask ...
And nothing ... But what knowest thou? Speak on.
What is alleged against me? What believes,
And what says, Mary? ...

Both.
When a heart is generous,
There need no others to reprove its faults.
What ought I now to say? Except that Ormond
Is an incendiary; that snares are laid
For thy destruction; and that for thy son,
Thy innocent son, Mary, with many tears,
Conjures thee now ...

Hen.
Oh! wherefore does she weep? ...
Thou layest snares for me ...

Both.
My lord, thou art
Thy own deceiver; I do not deceive thee.
The schemes of Ormond were already known:
Already from his indiscreet expressions,
Before he came here to propose it to thee,
That impious stratagem transpired ...

Hen.
To me? ...
How darest thou, miscreant, thus speak to me? ...
If thou proceedest, I will make thee ...

Both.
Thus,
My lord, I have fulfill'd the task imposed.

Hen.
And I my toleration have exhausted.

Both.
I spoke, because I was impell'd by duty.

Hen.
Beyond thy duty hast thou spoken. Hence.

Both.
What to the queen must I report?

Hen.
Go; tell her ...
That thou art rash.

Both.
My lord ...

Hen.
What; not yet gone?

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Henry.
Hen.
All, all are base; and I am like the rest.—
Oh, dark abyss of infamy and fraud!
Ah fool, that could, in an ambassador
Sent from Elizabeth, place confidence ...

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Henry, Ormond.
Hen.
Return'st thou here so soon?

Or.
One doubt alone
Remains unsatisfied: hence I return ...

Hen.
Thou witless traitor! darest thou in my sight
Appear again?

Or.
Alas! what has befallen?

Hen.
Say, didst thou hope that I should not discover,
From whence thy fraudulent proposals sprung?
And further, hopest thou that they should remain
Unpunish'd?

Or.
Whence so unexpectedly
Art thou thus changed? ... Erewhile thou spakest to me ...

Hen.
Erewhile I wished to see, to what a length
Thy hostile and insidious stratagems,
Beneath a mask of peace, would carry thee.—
But didst thou ever think that I would deign
To supplicate in your deceitful realm
Assistance for myself, or for my son
A perilous asylum?

Or.
If I was
The artificer of fraud with thee, think'st thou
That it was now my fault?

Hen.
It was the fault
Both of thyself, and her who sent thee here,
And of thy hated function ...

Or.
Rather say
Of the abhorred court in which I'm stationed:
The crime was hatch'd in this perfidious soil.
Should I have ever, of my own accord,
Presumed to tamper with thee? In such guilt
Mary involved me; to whose will, in all things,
Elizabeth commanded me to yield.
That which she will'd I said: and now, of this,
A double treachery, accuses me
To thee.—Oh no, I shall not be deceived;
May heaven permit, henceforth, that I engage
In no transaction with a race like this.
Whatever here may be the consequence,
I feel that I am innocent; such now
Do I proclaim myself; and such elsewhere
I shall proclaim myself with loftier voice.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

Henry.
Hen.
Thou say'st the truth; whose guilt is like to hers?
I am the laughing-stock of all. Oh rage!—
Once more shall this perfidious woman hear me,
Yet once more hear my voice. I am compell'd
To give the last indulgence to my rage
In a few words; but afterwards 'tis time
To try more rigorous efficacious measures.