University of Virginia Library

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.