University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Mary, Murray.
Mur.
If thou darest hear the truth, oh queen, I dare
To thee express it, since thy faithful people
Of this esteem me capable; and since
Around the throne there are none who incline,
Or dare to speak it. In my breast I bear
A flame, not fed by human sympathies,
Which, caught from him, aspires to God alone.

Ma.
Your licence yields no small encouragement
(Whether by me indulged, or snatched by you)
To popular licence. Your unhallowed schemes,
Beneath the sacred shelter of the church,
Securely flourish: ye are now detected.
But, that it may be manifest that I
Hear truth as fearlessly as thou canst speak it,
I listen to thee; speak.

Mur.
It grieveth me
That I have not found favour in thy sight;
But perhaps I now may serve thee; to do this
Will be more meritorious than to please thee.
These tears of mine are not dissembled tears:
Nor are they prompted by fallacious fear:
These tears are representative of those
Which all thy people shed, this voice of mine
The organ of all hearts.—Now answer me;
I, in all Scotland's name, the question ask;
Tell me, art thou a widow or a consort?
Is he, whom thou thyself hast, by thy side,
Placed on the throne, who has the name of king,
Is he thy spouse? or enemy, or slave?

Ma.
Henry a slave, or enemy, to me?
How speakest thou? My lover and my spouse
My heart accounts him always; but of his
Who can affirm the same?

Mur.
He, far from thee,
Can ill appreciate thy genuine thoughts;
Thou his still worse.

Ma.
Who keeps him far from me?
'Tis self-imposed, this exile from the court.
How many times have I invited him
To return here? Yet erewhile, when I was
Reduced by sickness to the brink of death,
Did he not only never visit me,
But never once sought tidings of my welfare?
This was the best reward of my affection;
I pass o'er others; and I pass it o'er,
That from my vassal I made him your king,
And for a long time mine; that for his sake
To the most powerful kings of Christendom
My right hand I refused;—but I would fain
Confer, and not remember, benefits.
Perhaps e'en now the many unjust insults
By Henry shewn to me, I might forget,
If I beheld in him, on their account,
Even the flattery of feigned remorse.

Mur.
Thy cold reception banished him from thee,
The whispers of the court, the audacious looks
Of servile satellites, perfidious smiles,
Nods, and inquisitorial insolence,
And all the arts devised by courtly men
To wound, yet cast the wrong upon the wounded;
Arts not alone effectual to drive thence
A man, distinguished by a monarch's name,
But one the most enduring and most passive.

Ma.
And when each individual of this court,
As emulous to win his favour, smiled,
Was his deportment different? The torch
Of Hymen still for us was here illumed,
And I perceived already, that his heart
Was, of the throne, and not of me, enamoured.
How oft, alas! my lukewarm royal bed
I bathed with tears! How oft to heaven complained
Of the importuning rank, by which I lost
That best of human blessings, the sole good
That sheds some sweetness in life's bitter cup,
Loving, and being loved! Yet, though exempt
From false and overweening self-esteem,
I saw myself e'en in the flower of youth,
That youth adorned with more than common beauty;
I felt myself (and thence had more to give,
Than either youth or beauty can impart)
With real love inflamed. What gain'd I hence?
I bore the cruellest of human insults.
Prodigal of my honour, as of his,
Rizio he murdered with an impious hand;
Eternal blot to both ...

Mur.
And what? Is that
E'en yet by thee remember'd? A vile stranger
Raised to supreme command, at once displeased
Thy consort, and thy people ...

Ma.
But should he
Have made himself the assassin of that stranger?
How could he act so that men might infer
That I burned towards him with flagitious love?
Just God, thou know'st it well!—To me was Rizio
A faithful counsellor, profoundly skill'd
In all the various characters of men,
A minister expert: and by his means
I steered securely 'mid conflicting parties:
Vain, by his means, were the perfidious snares,
So oft repeated, of Elizabeth,
My bitter, indefatigable foe:
Lastly, by his means, Henry, with my hand,
My sceptre gain'd. Nor did he feel contempt,
Proud as he was, and crafty in his pride,
For the vile stranger, while he saw in him
The instrument by which he was to gain
The distant crown. He gain'd it: and from him
What recompense did Rizio thence receive?
Amidst the quiet shades of night, beneath
My royal roof, 'mid hospitable rites,
The sacred confidence of privacy,
'Midst helpless ladies, and before my eyes,
Bearing within my womb the first dear pledge
Of our unhappy loves, he comes by stealth
For trait'rous purposes, and dares defile,
With blood, as guiltless as it was ignoble,
My table, my apartment, and my dress,
Nay e'en my person, and what's more, my fame.

Mur.
Rizio was raised unduly. To a king,
Can any circumstance be more offensive,
Than to derive his honours from a subject?
He who once gave might take away the throne;
And he who thus might take it, is by kings
Hated and slain. But yet, to thy revenge
Henry surrendered his accomplices:
With blood, methinks, for blood thou mad'st atonement.—
I come not here to speak in Henry's praise:
He is inferior to the throne; who knows
Not this? But I come hither to remind thee
That he's thy consort; that from him there springs
The sceptre's only heir. On you reverts
A heavy scandal from your private jars;
And we are menaced with impending danger.
'Tis said, that he returns to-day: ere this
He hath returned; but evermore from hence,
More gloomy hath retired, and afterwards
A deeper sadness hover'd o'er thy palace.
Let him not come in vain to-day, I pray thee:
Enough, too many jarring elements
This realm contains within itself. I see
Religion, by a thousand different sects
Trodden to earth, profess'd and disobey'd.
The consummation of our woes would he
Royal dissention; ah, avert it, queen!
Without the poison of a flattering tongue,
From a sincere heart, fervently I speak.

Ma.
I trust to thy professions: but enough.
Now the first audience ought I soon to give
To the ambassador from England.—Go—
Leave me:—Know thou, and say it, if thou wilt,
To all my people, that, of my good fame,
I live not so regardless, as to need
That others now remind me of my duty.
That which by love of truth thou art compelled
To say to me, do thou repeat to Henry,
To whom 'twere more adapted. If he can,
Let him, without resentment, or alarm,
This thy free language hear, to which, in proof
Of an offenceless conscience, I have listened.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Mary.
Ma.
Ye lying demagogues of the blind vulgar,
Ye instigators of an impious sect,
Must I be doom'd eternally to hear
Your arrogant harangues?—Of all the griefs
That plant the throne, on which I sit, with thorns,
These are the hardest to endure: yet I
Am forced to endure them, till my tarnished throne
Resume, by my means, all its original brightness.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Mary, Ormond.
Or.
Oh queen, to thee, the messenger of peace,
And the confirmer of eternal friendship,
Elizabeth hath sent me: in her name,
In every enterprize, I offer thee
Her powerful assistance.

Ma.
I already
Know by experience what her friendship is;
Hence mayest thou infer the extent of mine.

Or.
Hence I derive the confidence, and courage,
To intercede with thee ...

Ma.
For whom?

Or.
Thou knowest
That marriage-rites have not yet shackled her;
That of her throne thy son is hitherto
The only successor: may it please thee,
For the dear sake of this beloved child,
The hope of both these realms, precious to us,
No less than to thyself, to banish from thee
All rancour that thy heart may entertain
Against his father. Thou, at all events,
Would'st chuse him for thy spouse; and can it now
Be true, that a precipitate divorce
Should sever him from thee? ...

Ma.
And who has spread
Such tales of me? False be they, or malignant,
Yet if the threshold of Elizabeth
Haply they reach, must they find faith in her?
Not e'en a single project of divorce
I ever entertained; yet were it so,
What meanest thou? Could that to her give umbrage,
Whom to my nuptials formerly I found
So utterly averse?

Or.
Elizabeth,
Though never envious of thy happiness,
Was jealous of thy honour. She applied
Counsel both frank and friendly, to thy free
And royal judgment. She dissuaded thee
From nuptials perhaps somewhat less illustrious,
Than might befit an independent princess;
But nothing more. Persuaded thoroughly
Of thy fixed resolution, she was silent;
Nor do I think that blame to her attaches,
If thou art not in perfect happiness.

Ma.
'Tis true: kept she not in hard fetters bound
Henry, whom I had chosen for my consort,
So, that a fugitive from prison, he
Came to my royal bed; and his right hand,
Yet livid from the pressure of her chains,
To my right hand he joined? does she not now,
In a well-guarded tower, within her realm,
Retain by force the mother of my spouse?
'Tis well becoming her, indeed, to feel,
To-day, compassion for her former prisoner.—
Thou should'st from this most exquisite distress
Relieve her, by assuring her, that Henry
Lives, at his pleasure, in full liberty,
Within its precincts, or remote from court;
That from my heart I have not banished him;
And that I never knew, nor know I now,
To investigate the private cares of others.

Or.
Nor does Elizabeth, within thy palace,
Presume to penetrate, more than is fitting,
With curious indiscretion. Royal secrets,
Though known to all, to every king are sacred.
I am commanded to suggest to thee
Respectfully, that to a double realm,
One heir alone affords a hope too scanty;
And that the existence of a single child
Has much of casualty and incertitude.

Ma.
This most magnanimous solicitude
Of her great heart hath in my heart inspired
Reciprocal solicitude. I yet
Cherish the hope to be again a mother:
And yet to make her happy, who partakes
In all my joys, with a new numerous offspring.
But if she is as prodigal of aid
As of advice to me, I hope ere long
To see in perfect peace, not only this
My palace, but my realm.

Or.
To obtain such peace,
I in her name now venture to propose
As the best means ...

Ma.
They are?

Or.
No doubtful means.
She wishes thee somewhat more mild to those
Who not thy yoke, but that of Rome, have spurn'd.
E'en as thy other, these are faithful subjects,
And far surpassing them in strength and numbers;
They feel as men, and are thy loyal sons;
To whom their different creed alone procures
Such disproportionate oppression.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Mary, Ormond, Bothwell.
Ma.
Ah, come; oh Bothwell, enter these apartments.
Hear what incredible advice, to me,
The representative of England's queen
Brings, in his mistress' name. She wishes me
More mild towards the heretics; she wishes
Myself and Henry indivisible;
And trembles lest divorce should sever us.

Both.
Now who could give her of thy government
Such false impressions? What religious sect
Hast thou e'er persecuted? Who to-day
Dares even to pronounce the word divorce?
This day, on which Henry returns to thee ...

Or.
To-day, say'st thou?

Ma.
Yes ... Now thou see'st how I
Anticipate Elizabeth's desires.

Or.
Deceitful fame exempts not even kings.—
Laden with false intelligence it came
E'en to my mistress; as there came to thee
A character of her not less fallacious,
Which painted her thy foe. I entertain
(Perhaps 'tis self-flattery) the lofty hope
Of being of your genuine sentiments
The not unwelcome true interpreter,
While, in compliance with the will of each,
A station in thy presence I maintain
No less felicitous than dignified.

Ma.
Oft are the deeds of those, by lofty rank
Exposed to scrutiny, perversely judged:
Mine, hitherto by innocence inspired,
Shrink from no witnesses. Be they made known
By thee to Elizabeth: meanwhile, as well
For thy own sake as her's who sent thee hither,
Thou wilt be always honour'd in my court.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Mary, Bothwell.
Ma.
Hard to endure! Well do I know her hate
And rancour; yet am I constrain'd to admit
And honour her delator. With new arts
She now assails me. Recommends the good
That I may do it not. She asks of me
To grant a toleration to the sects;
Then, that I persecute them, in her heart
She wishes. She dissuades me from divorce;
Ah! then she hopes to hasten it. I know
That much as ever sceptred mortal err'd,
She wills that I should err. With her own arts
I shall know how to parry her attacks.
I will, by granting her dissembled wishes,
More and more torture her malignant heart.

Both.
Thou know'st I said this to thee, when thou deignedst
To unfold thy thoughts to me. Henry should not
Now be remote from thee for various reasons.
Whether his menaces to quit the realm
Be true or feign'd, thou ought'st to take from him
The means of doing it, by watching over him.

Ma.
The shame of such a flight would fall on me.
His throne, his son, his country, and his consort,
Quitting, and begging a precarious shelter;
Who that beholds him thus will deem me guitless?
I will not be a fable to the world;
Rather will I embrace the worst misfortunes.

Both.
Thou hast well chosen. Oh! were this the day
That full domestic peace return'd once more!
Since he to thy solicitations yields,
To which he hitherto was deaf, at length
Thou mayest hope.

Ma.
Yes, I would fain believe it.
At length, a true, though late remorse, for all
His past ingratitude, conducts him here.
He still will find me to himself unchanged:
And, if I see him penitent, disposed
To pardon all the past.

Both.
Ah! were he so!
Thou know'st full well how much I wish thee happy.

Ma.
The recollection of my debt to thee
Will never quit my mind. Thou hast avenged
The throne insulted by the foes of Rizio,
By their just punishment. I found in thee
A sure defender in the camp, against
The open rebels; 'gainst the hidden ones,
More despicable far, to me wert thou
A faithful counsellor within my court.
Thou hast at once contrived to disconcert
Henry's imprudent plots, and recollect
That that same Henry was thy sovereign's husband.

Both.
Fatal address! Ah! may there no more be
Occasion for exerting it!

Ma.
Ah! yes ...
If Henry hear me, and believe my love,
(Which he alone believes not,) I may yet
Hope for all happiness. The throne to me
Is far less precious than my husband's heart.
But let us hear him; I have hopes e'en yet:
Heaven may do much; fortune may be propitious ...
But where I would of counsel or address
Avail myself, thou more than other men
My projects canst promote.

Both.
My arm, my blood,
My substance, and my judgment, (if indeed
I be so gifted,) all, oh queen, are thine.