Mary Stuart
Friedrich Schiller




Friedrich Schiller

Mary Stuart: A Tragedy





DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ELIZABETH, Queen of England.

MARY STUART, Queen of Scots, a Prisoner in England.

ROBERT DUDLEY, Earl of Leicester.

GEORGE TALBOT, Earl of Shrewsbury.

WILLIAM CECIL, Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer.

EARL OF KENT.

SIR WILLIAM DAVISON, Secretary of State.

SIR AMIAS PAULET, Keeper of MARY.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, his Nephew.

COUNT L'AUBESPINE, the French Ambassador.

O'KELLY, Mortimer's Friend.

COUNT BELLIEVRE, Envoy Extraordinary from France.

SIR DRUE DRURY, another Keeper of MARY.

SIR ANDREW MELVIL, her House Steward.

BURGOYNE, her Physician.

HANNAH KENNEDY, her Nurse.

MARGARET CURL, her Attendant.

Sheriff of the County.

Officer of the Guard.

French and English Lords.

Soldiers.

Servants of State belonging to ELIZABETH.

Servants and Female Attendants of the Queen of Scots.




ACT I





SCENE I




A common apartment in the Castle of Fotheringay.

HANNAH KENNEDY, contending violently with PAULET, who is about to break open a closet; DRURY with an iron crown.



KENNEDY

		How now, sir? what fresh outrage have we here?
		Back from that cabinet!


PAULET

		Whence came the jewel?
		I know 'twas from an upper chamber thrown;
		And you would bribe the gardener with your trinkets.
		A curse on woman's wiles! In spite of all
		My strict precaution and my active search,
		Still treasures here, still costly gems concealed!
		And doubtless there are more where this lay hid.

[Advancing towards the cabinet.


KENNEDY

		Intruder, back! here lie my lady's secrets.


PAULET

		Exactly what I seek.

[Drawing forth papers.


KENNEDY

		Mere trifling papers;
		The amusements only of an idle pen,
		To cheat the dreary tedium of a dungeon.


PAULET

		In idle hours the evil mind is busy.


KENNEDY

		Those writings are in French.


PAULET

		So much the worse!
		That tongue betokens England's enemy.


KENNEDY

		Sketches of letters to the Queen of England.


PAULET

		I'll be their bearer. Ha! what glitters here?

[He touches a secret spring, and draws out jewels from a private drawer.

		A royal diadem enriched with stones,
		And studded with the fleur-de-lis of France.

[He hands it to his assistant.

		Here, take it, Drury; lay it with the rest.

[Exit DRURY.

[And ye have found the means to hide from us Such costly things, and screen them, until now, From our inquiring eyes?]


KENNEDY

		Oh, insolent
		And tyrant power, to which we must submit.


PAULET

		She can work ill as long as she hath treasures;
		For all things turn to weapons in her hands.


KENNEDY (supplicating)

		Oh, sir! be merciful; deprive us not
		Of the last jewel that adorns our life!
		'Tis my poor lady's only joy to view
		This symbol of her former majesty;
		Your hands long since have robbed us of the rest.


PAULET

		'Tis in safe custody; in proper time
		'Twill be restored to you with scrupulous care.


KENNEDY

		Who that beholds these naked walls could say
		That majesty dwelt here? Where is the throne?
		Where the imperial canopy of state?
		Must she not set her tender foot, still used
		To softest treading, on the rugged ground?
		With common pewter, which the lowliest dame
		Would scorn, they furnish forth her homely table.


PAULET

		Thus did she treat her spouse at Stirling once;
		And pledged, the while, her paramour in gold.


KENNEDY

		Even the mirror's trifling aid withheld.


PAULET

		The contemplation of her own vain image
		Incites to hope, and prompts to daring deeds.


KENNEDY

		Books are denied her to divert her mind.


PAULET

		The Bible still is left to mend her heart.


KENNEDY

		Even of her very lute she is deprived!


PAULET

		Because she tuned it to her wanton airs.


KENNEDY

		Is this a fate for her, the gentle born,
		Who in her very cradle was a queen?
		Who, reared in Catherine's luxurious court,
		Enjoyed the fulness of each earthly pleasure?
		Was't not enough to rob her of her power,
		Must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel?
		A noble heart in time resigns itself
		To great calamities with fortitude;
		But yet it cuts one to the soul to part
		At once with all life's little outward trappings!


PAULET

		These are the things that turn the human heart
		To vanity, which should collect itself
		In penitence; for a lewd, vicious life,
		Want and abasement are the only penance.


KENNEDY

		If youthful blood has led her into error,
		With her own heart and God she must account:
		There is no judge in England over her.


PAULET

		She shall have judgment where she hath transgressed.


KENNEDY

		Her narrow bonds restrain her from transgression.


PAULET

		And yet she found the means to stretch her arm
		Into the world, from out these narrow bonds,
		And, with the torch of civil war, inflame
		This realm against our queen (whom God preserve).
		And arm assassin bands. Did she not rouse
		From out these walls the malefactor Parry,
		And Babington, to the detested crime
		Of regicide? And did this iron grate
		Prevent her from decoying to her toils
		The virtuous heart of Norfolk? Saw we not
		The first, best head in all this island fall
		A sacrifice for her upon the block?
		[The noble house of Howard fell with him.]
		And did this sad example terrify
		These mad adventurers, whose rival zeal
		Plunges for her into this deep abyss?
		The bloody scaffold bends beneath the weight
		Of her new daily victims; and we ne'er
		Shall see an end till she herself, of all
		The guiltiest, be offered up upon it.
		Oh! curses on the day when England took
		This Helen to its hospitable arms.


KENNEDY

		Did England then receive her hospitably?
		Oh, hapless queen! who, since that fatal day
		When first she set her foot within this realm,
		And, as a suppliant – a fugitive —
		Came to implore protection from her sister,
		Has been condemned, despite the law of nations,
		And royal privilege, to weep away
		The fairest years of youth in prison walls.
		And now, when she hath suffered everything
		Which in imprisonment is hard and bitter,
		Is like a felon summoned to the bar,
		Foully accused, and though herself a queen,
		Constrained to plead for honor and for life.


PAULET

		She came amongst us as a murderess,
		Chased by her very subjects from a throne
		Which she had oft by vilest deeds disgraced.
		Sworn against England's welfare came she hither,
		To call the times of bloody Mary back,
		Betray our church to Romish tyranny,
		And sell our dear-bought liberties to France.
		Say, why disdained she to subscribe the treaty
		Of Edinborough – to resign her claim
		To England's crown – and with one single word,
		Traced by her pen, throw wide her prison gates?
		No: – she had rather live in vile confinement,
		And see herself ill-treated, than renounce
		The empty honors of her barren title.
		Why acts she thus? Because she trusts to wiles,
		And treacherous arts of base conspiracy;
		And, hourly plotting schemes of mischief, hopes
		To conquer, from her prison, all this isle.


KENNEDY

		You mock us, sir, and edge your cruelty
		With words of bitter scorn: – that she should form
		Such projects; she, who's here immured alive,
		To whom no sound of comfort, not a voice
		Of friendship comes from her beloved home;
		Who hath so long no human face beheld,
		Save her stern gaoler's unrelenting brows;
		Till now, of late, in your uncourteous cousin
		She sees a second keeper, and beholds
		Fresh bolts and bars against her multiplied.


PAULET

		No iron-grate is proof against her wiles.
		How do I know these bars are not filed through?
		How that this floor, these walls, that seem so strong
		Without, may not be hollow from within,
		And let in felon treachery when I sleep?
		Accursed office, that's intrusted to me,
		To guard this cunning mother of all ill!
		Fear scares me from my sleep; and in the night
		I, like a troubled spirit, roam and try
		The strength of every bolt, and put to proof
		Each guard's fidelity: – I see, with fear,
		The dawning of each morn, which may confirm
		My apprehensions: – yet, thank God, there's hope
		That all my fears will soon be at an end;
		For rather would I at the gates of hell
		Stand sentinel, and guard the devilish host
		Of damned souls, than this deceitful queen.


KENNEDY

		Here comes the queen.


PAULET

		Christ's image in her hand.
		Pride, and all worldly lusts within her heart.




SCENE II




The same. Enter MARY, veiled, a crucifix in her hand.



KENNEDY (hastening toward her)

		O gracious queen! they tread us under foot;
		No end of tyranny and base oppression;
		Each coming day heaps fresh indignities,
		New sufferings on thy royal head.


MARY

		Be calm —
		Say, what has happened?


KENNEDY

		See! thy cabinet
		Is forced – thy papers – and thy only treasure,
		Which with such pains we had secured, the last
		Poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments
		From France, is in his hands – naught now remains
		Of royal state – thou art indeed bereft!


MARY

		Compose yourself, my Hannah! and believe me,
		'Tis not these baubles that can make a queen —
		Basely indeed they may behave to us,
		But they cannot debase us. I have learned
		To use myself to many a change in England;
		I can support this too. Sir, you have taken
		By force what I this very day designed
		To have delivered to you. There's a letter
		Amongst these papers for my royal sister
		Of England. Pledge me, sir, your word of honor,
		To give it to her majesty's own hands,
		And not to the deceitful care of Burleigh.


PAULET

		I shall consider what is best to do.


MARY

		Sir, you shall know its import. In this letter
		I beg a favor, a great favor of her, —
		That she herself will give me audience, – she
		Whom I have never seen. I have been summoned
		Before a court of men, whom I can ne'er
		Acknowledge as my peers – of men to whom
		My heart denies its confidence. The queen
		Is of my family, my rank, my sex;
		To her alone – a sister, queen, and woman —
		Can I unfold my heart.


PAULET

		Too oft, my lady,
		Have you intrusted both your fate and honor
		To men less worthy your esteem than these.


MARY

		I, in the letter, beg another favor,
		And surely naught but inhumanity
		Can here reject my prayer. These many years
		Have I, in prison, missed the church's comfort,
		The blessings of the sacraments – and she
		Who robs me of my freedom and my crown,
		Who seeks my very life, can never wish
		To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.


PAULET

		Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.


MARY (interrupting him sharply)

		Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid
		Of one of my own church – a Catholic priest.


PAULET

		[That is against the published laws of England.


MARY

		The laws of England are no rule for me.
		I am not England's subject; I have ne'er
		Consented to its laws, and will not bow
		Before their cruel and despotic sway.
		If 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor
		Which I have borne, to add this new oppression,
		I must submit to what your power ordains;
		Yet will I raise my voice in loud complaints.]
		I also wish a public notary,
		And secretaries, to prepare my will —
		My sorrows and my prison's wretchedness
		Prey on my life – my days, I fear, are numbered —
		I feel that I am near the gates of death.


PAULET

		These serious contemplations well become you.


MARY

		And know I then that some too ready hand
		May not abridge this tedious work of sorrow?
		I would indite my will and make disposal
		Of what belongs to me.


PAULET

		This liberty
		May be allowed to you, for England's queen
		Will not enrich herself by plundering you.


MARY

		I have been parted from my faithful women,
		And from my servants; tell me, where are they?
		What is their fate? I can indeed dispense
		At present with their service, but my heart
		Will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones
		Are not exposed to suffering and to want!


PAULET

		Your servants have been cared for; [and again
		You shall behold whate'er is taken from you
		And all shall be restored in proper season.]

[Going.


MARY

		And will you leave my presence thus again,
		And not relieve my fearful, anxious heart
		From the fell torments of uncertainty?
		Thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies,
		I am divided from the world; no voice
		Can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate
		Lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin.
		A month of dread suspense is passed already
		Since when the forty high commissioners
		Surprised me in this castle, and erected,
		With most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal;
		They forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared,
		Without an advocate, from memory,
		Before their unexampled court, to answer
		Their weighty charges, artfully arranged.
		They came like ghosts, – like ghosts they disappeared,
		And since that day all mouths are closed to me.
		In vain I seek to construe from your looks
		Which hath prevailed – my cause's innocence
		And my friends' zeal – or my foes' cursed counsel.
		Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;
		What have I still to fear, and what to hope.


PAULET

		Close your accounts with heaven.


MARY

		From heaven I hope
		For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges
		I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.


PAULET

		Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.


MARY

		Is the suit ended, sir?


PAULET

		I cannot tell.


MARY

		Am I condemned?


PAULET

		I cannot answer, lady.


MARY

[Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.


PAULET

		The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]


MARY

		Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant
		The murderer shall surprise me, like the judges?


PAULET

		Still entertain that thought and he will find you
		Better prepared to meet your fate than they did.


MARY (after a pause)

		Sir, nothing can surprise me which a court
		Inspired by Burleigh's hate and Hatton's zeal,
		Howe'er unjust, may venture to pronounce:
		But I have yet to learn how far the queen
		Will dare in execution of the sentence.


PAULET

		The sovereigns of England have no fear
		But for their conscience and their parliament.
		What justice hath decreed her fearless hand
		Will execute before the assembled world.




SCENE III




The same. MORTIMER enters, and without paying attention to the QUEEN, addresses PAULET.



MORTIMER

		Uncle, you're sought for.

[He retires in the same manner. The QUEEN remarks it, and turns towards PAULET, who is about to follow him.


MARY

		Sir, one favor more
		If you have aught to say to me – from you
		I can bear much – I reverence your gray hairs;
		But cannot bear that young man's insolence;
		Spare me in future his unmannered rudeness.


PAULET

		I prize him most for that which makes you hate him
		He is not, truly, one of those poor fools
		Who melt before a woman's treacherous tears.
		He has seen much – has been to Rheims and Paris,
		And brings us back his true old English heart.
		Lady, your cunning arts are lost on him.

[Exit.




SCENE IV




MARY, KENNEDY.



KENNEDY

		And dare the ruffian venture to your face
		Such language! Oh, 'tis hard – 'tis past endurance.


MARY (lost in reflection)

		In the fair moments of our former splendor
		We lent to flatterers a too willing ear; —
		It is but just, good Hannah, we should now
		Be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure.


KENNEDY

		So downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady!
		You, who before so gay, so full of hope,
		Were used to comfort me in my distress;
		More gracious were the task to check your mirth
		Than chide your heavy sadness.


MARY

		Well I know him —
		It is the bleeding Darnley's royal shade,
		Rising in anger from his darksome grave
		And never will he make his peace with me
		Until the measures of my woes be full.


KENNEDY

		What thoughts are these —


MARY

		Thou may'st forget it, Hannah;
		But I've a faithful memory – 'tis this day
		Another wretched anniversary
		Of that regretted, that unhappy deed —
		Which I must celebrate with fast and penance.


KENNEDY

		Dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit.
		The penitence of many a heavy year,
		Of many a suffering, has atoned the deed;
		The church, which holds the key of absolution,
		Pardons the crime, and heaven itself's appeased.


MARY

		This long-atoned crime arises fresh
		And bleeding from its lightly-covered grave;
		My husband's restless spirit seeks revenge;
		No sacred bell can exorcise, no host
		In priestly hands dismiss it to his tomb.


KENNEDY

		You did not murder him; 'twas done by others.


MARY

		But it was known to me; I suffered it,
		And lured him with my smiles to death's embrace.


KENNEDY

		Your youth extenuates your guilt. You were
		Of tender years.


MARY

		So tender, yet I drew
		This heavy guilt upon my youthful head.


KENNEDY

		You were provoked by direst injuries,
		And by the rude presumption of the man,
		Whom out of darkness, like the hand of heaven,
		Your love drew forth, and raised above all others.
		Whom through your bridal chamber you conducted
		Up to your throne, and with your lovely self,
		And your hereditary crown, distinguished
		[Your work was his existence, and your grace
		Bedewed him like the gentle rains of heaven.]
		Could he forget that his so splendid lot
		Was the creation of your generous love?
		Yet did he, worthless as he was, forget it.
		With base suspicions, and with brutal manners,
		He wearied your affections, and became
		An object to you of deserved disgust:
		The illusion, which till now had overcast
		Your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled
		His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn.
		And did he seek again to win your love?
		Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?
		Or fall in deep repentance at your feet?
		No; the base wretch defied you; he, who was
		Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king,
		[And strove, through fear, to force your inclination.]
		Before your eyes he had your favorite singer,
		Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge
		With blood the bloody deed —


MARY

		And bloodily,
		I fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me:
		You seek to comfort me, and you condemn me.


KENNEDY

		You were, when you consented to this deed,
		No more yourself; belonged not to yourself;
		The madness of a frantic love possessed you,
		And bound you to a terrible seducer,
		The wretched Bothwell. That despotic man
		Ruled you with shameful, overbearing will,
		And with his philters and his hellish arts
		Inflamed your passions.


MARY

		All the arts he used
		Were man's superior strength and woman's weakness.


KENNEDY

		No, no, I say. The most pernicious spirits
		Of hell he must have summoned to his aid,
		To cast this mist before your waking senses.
		Your ear no more was open to the voice
		Of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut
		To decency; soft female bashfulness
		Deserted you; those cheeks, which were before
		The seat of virtuous, blushing modesty,
		Glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire.
		You cast away the veil of secrecy,
		And the flagitious daring of the man
		O'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed
		Your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze:
		You let the murderer, whom the people followed
		With curses, through the streets of Edinburgh,
		Before you bear the royal sword of Scotland
		In triumph. You begirt your parliament
		With armed bands; and by this shameless farce,
		There, in the very temple of great justice,
		You forced the judges of the land to clear
		The murderer of his guilt. You went still further —
		O God!


MARY

		Conclude – nay, pause not – say for this
		I gave my hand in marriage at the altar.


KENNEDY

		O let an everlasting silence veil
		That dreadful deed: the heart revolts at it.
		A crime to stain the darkest criminal!
		Yet you are no such lost one, that I know.
		I nursed your youth myself – your heart is framed
		For tender softness: 'tis alive to shame,
		And all your fault is thoughtless levity.
		Yes, I repeat it, there are evil spirits,
		Who sudden fix in man's unguarded breast
		Their fatal residence, and there delight
		To act their dev'lish deeds; then hurry back
		Unto their native hell, and leave behind
		Remorse and horror in the poisoned bosom.
		Since this misdeed, which blackens thus your life,
		You have done nothing ill; your conduct has
		Been pure; myself can witness your amendment.
		Take courage, then; with your own heart make peace.
		Whatever cause you have for penitence,
		You are not guilty here. Nor England's queen,
		Nor England's parliament can be your judge.
		Here might oppresses you: you may present
		Yourself before this self-created court
		With all the fortitude of innocence.


MARY

		I hear a step.


KENNEDY

		It is the nephew – In.




SCENE V




The same. Enter MORTIMER, approaching cautiously.



MORTIMER (to KENNEDY)

		Step to the door, and keep a careful watch,
		I have important business with the queen.


MARY (with dignity)

		I charge thee, Hannah, go not hence – remain.


MORTIMER

		Fear not, my gracious lady – learn to know me.
		[He gives her a card.


MARY (She examines it, and starts back astonished)

		Heavens! What is this?


MORTIMER (to KENNEDY)

		Retire, good Kennedy;
		See that my uncle comes not unawares.


MARY (to KENNEDY, who hesitates, and looks at the QUEEN inquiringly)

		Go in; do as he bids you.

[KENNEDY retires with signs of wonder.




SCENE VI




MARY, MORTIMER.



MARY

		From my uncle
		In France – the worthy Cardinal of Lorrain?

[She reads.

		"Confide in Mortimer, who brings you this;
		You have no truer, firmer friend in England."

[Looking at him with astonishment.

		Can I believe it? Is there no delusion
		To cheat my senses? Do I find a friend
		So near, when I conceived myself abandoned
		By the whole world? And find that friend in you,
		The nephew of my gaoler, whom I thought
		My most inveterate enemy?


MORTIMER (kneeling)

		Oh, pardon,
		My gracious liege, for the detested mask,
		Which it has cost me pain enough to wear;
		Yet through such means alone have I the power
		To see you, and to bring you help and rescue.


MARY

		Arise, sir; you astonish me; I cannot
		So suddenly emerge from the abyss
		Of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive
		This happiness, that I may credit it.


MORTIMER

		Our time is brief: each moment I expect
		My uncle, whom a hated man attends;
		Hear, then, before his terrible commission
		Surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue.


MARY

		You come in token of its wondrous power.


MORTIMER

		Allow me of myself to speak.


MARY

		Say on.


MORTIMER

		I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years,
		Trained in the path of strictest discipline
		And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy,
		When led by irresistible desire
		For foreign travel, I resolved to leave
		My country and its puritanic faith
		Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed
		I flew through France, and bent my eager course
		On to the plains of far-famed Italy.
		'Twas then the time of the great jubilee:
		And crowds of palmers filled the public roads;
		Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas
		As if all human-kind were wandering forth
		In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.
		The tide of the believing multitude
		Bore me too onward, with resistless force,
		Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder,
		As the magnificence of stately columns
		Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches,
		The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement
		Struck my admiring senses; the sublime
		Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner
		In the fair world of wonders it had framed.
		I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.
		The church that reared me hates the charms of sense;
		It tolerates no image, it adores
		But the unseen, the incorporeal word.
		What were my feelings, then, as I approached
		The threshold of the churches, and within,
		Heard heavenly music floating in the air:
		While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed
		Crowds of celestial forms in endless train —
		When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded
		My captivated sense in real presence!
		And when I saw the great and godlike visions,
		The Salutation, the Nativity,
		The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's
		Descent, the luminous transfiguration
		And last the holy pontiff, clad in all
		The glory of his office, bless the people!
		Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels
		With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!
		He is alone surrounded by the Godhead;
		His mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom,
		For not of earthly moulding are these forms!


MARY

		O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more
		Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes,
		Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.


MORTIMER

		I was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift
		My prison-gates flew open, when at once
		My spirit felt its liberty, and hailed
		The smiling dawn of life. I learned to burst
		Each narrow prejudice of education,
		To crown my brow with never-fading wreaths,
		And mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd.
		Full many noble Scots, who saw my zeal,
		Encouraged me, and with the gallant French
		They kindly led me to your princely uncle,
		The Cardinal of Guise. Oh, what a man!
		How firm, how clear, how manly, and how great!
		Born to control the human mind at will!
		The very model of a royal priest;
		A ruler of the church without an equal!


MARY

		You've seen him then, – the much loved, honored man,
		Who was the guardian of my tender years!
		Oh, speak of him! Does he remember me?
		Does fortune favor him? And prospers still
		His life? And does he still majestic stand,
		A very rock and pillar of the church?


MORTIMER

		The holy man descended from his height,
		And deigned to teach me the important creed
		Of the true church, and dissipate my doubts.
		He showed me how the glimmering light of reason
		Serves but to lead us to eternal error:
		That what the heart is called on to believe
		The eye must see: that he who rules the church
		Must needs be visible; and that the spirit
		Of truth inspired the councils of the fathers.
		How vanished then the fond imaginings
		And weak conceptions of my childish soul
		Before his conquering judgment, and the soft
		Persuasion of his tongue! So I returned
		Back to the bosom of the holy church,
		And at his feet abjured my heresies.


MARY

		Then of those happy thousands you are one,
		Whom he, with his celestial eloquence,
		Like the immortal preacher of the mount,
		Has turned and led to everlasting joy!


MORTIMER

		The duties of his office called him soon
		To France, and I was sent by him to Rheims,
		Where, by the Jesuits' anxious labor, priests
		Are trained to preach our holy faith in England.
		There, 'mongst the Scots, I found the noble Morgan,
		And your true Lesley, Ross's learned bishop,
		Who pass in France their joyless days of exile.
		I joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men,
		And fortified my faith. As I one day
		Roamed through the bishop's dwelling, I was struck
		With a fair female portrait; it was full
		Of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might
		It moved my inmost soul, and there I stood
		Speechless, and overmastered by my feelings.
		"Well," cried the bishop, "may you linger thus
		In deep emotion near this lovely face!
		For the most beautiful of womankind,
		Is also matchless in calamity.
		She is a prisoner for our holy faith,
		And in your native land, alas! she suffers."

[MARY is in great agitation. He pauses.


MARY

		Excellent man! All is not lost, indeed,
		While such a friend remains in my misfortunes!


MORTIMER

		Then he began, with moving eloquence,
		To paint the sufferings of your martyrdom;
		He showed me then your lofty pedigree,
		And your descent from Tudor's royal house.
		He proved to me that you alone have right
		To reign in England, not this upstart queen,
		The base-born fruit of an adult'rous bed,
		Whom Henry's self rejected as a bastard.

[He from my eyes removed delusion's mist,

		And taught me to lament you as a victim,
		To honor you as my true queen, whom I,
		Deceived, like thousands of my noble fellows,
		Had ever hated as my country's foe.]
		I would not trust his evidence alone;
		I questioned learned doctors; I consulted
		The most authentic books of heraldry;
		And every man of knowledge whom I asked
		Confirmed to me your claim's validity.
		And now I know that your undoubted right
		To England's throne has been your only wrong,
		This realm is justly yours by heritage,
		In which you innocently pine as prisoner.


MARY

		Oh, this unhappy right! – 'tis this alone
		Which is the source of all my sufferings.


MORTIMER

		Just at this time the tidings reached my ears
		Of your removal from old Talbot's charge,
		And your committal to my uncle's care.
		It seemed to me that this disposal marked
		The wond'rous, outstretched hand of favoring heaven;
		It seemed to be a loud decree of fate,
		That it had chosen me to rescue you.
		My friends concur with me; the cardinal
		Bestows on me his counsel and his blessing,
		And tutors me in the hard task of feigning.
		The plan in haste digested, I commenced
		My journey homewards, and ten days ago
		On England's shores I landed. Oh, my queen.

[He pauses.

		I saw then, not your picture, but yourself —
		Oh, what a treasure do these walls enclose!
		No prison this, but the abode of gods,
		More splendid far than England's royal court.
		Happy, thrice happy he, whose envied lot
		Permits to breathe the selfsame air with you!
		It is a prudent policy in her
		To bury you so deep! All England's youth
		Would rise at once in general mutiny,
		And not a sword lie quiet in its sheath:
		Rebellion would uprear its giant head,
		Through all this peaceful isle, if Britons once
		Beheld their captive queen.


MARY

		'Twere well with her,
		If every Briton saw her with your eyes!


MORTIMER

		Were each, like me, a witness of your wrongs,
		Your meekness, and the noble fortitude
		With which you suffer these indignities —
		Would you not then emerge from all these trials
		Like a true queen? Your prison's infamy,
		Hath it despoiled your beauty of its charms?
		You are deprived of all that graces life,
		Yet round you life and light eternal beam.
		Ne'er on this threshold can I set my foot,
		That my poor heart with anguish is not torn,
		Nor ravished with delight at gazing on you.
		Yet fearfully the fatal time draws near,
		And danger hourly growing presses on.
		I can delay no longer – can no more
		Conceal the dreadful news.


MARY

		My sentence then!
		It is pronounced? Speak freely – I can bear it.


MORTIMER

		It is pronounced! The two-and-forty judges
		Have given the verdict, "guilty"; and the Houses
		Of Lords and Commons, with the citizens
		Of London, eagerly and urgently
		Demand the execution of the sentence: —
		The queen alone still craftily delays,
		That she may be constrained to yield, but not
		From feelings of humanity or mercy.


MARY (collected)

		Sir, I am not surprised, nor terrified.
		I have been long prepared for such a message.
		Too well I know my judges. After all
		Their cruel treatment I can well conceive
		They dare not now restore my liberty.
		I know their aim: they mean to keep me here
		In everlasting bondage, and to bury,
		In the sepulchral darkness of my prison,
		My vengeance with me, and my rightful claims.


MORTIMER

		Oh, no, my gracious queen; – they stop not there:
		Oppression will not be content to do
		Its work by halves: – as long as e'en you live,
		Distrust and fear will haunt the English queen.
		No dungeon can inter you deep enough;
		Your death alone can make her throne secure.


MARY

		Will she then dare, regardless of the shame,
		Lay my crowned head upon the fatal block?


MORTIMER

		She will most surely dare it, doubt it not.


MARY

		And can she thus roll in the very dust
		Her own, and every monarch's majesty?


MORTIMER

		She thinks on nothing now but present danger,
		Nor looks to that which is so far removed.


MARY

		And fears she not the dread revenge of France?


MORTIMER

		With France she makes an everlasting peace;
		And gives to Anjou's duke her throne and hand.


MARY

		Will not the King of Spain rise up in arms?


MORTIMER

		She fears not a collected world in arms?
		If with her people she remains at peace.


MARY

		Were this a spectacle for British eyes?


MORTIMER

		This land, my queen, has, in these latter days,
		Seen many a royal woman from the throne
		Descend and mount the scaffold: – her own mother
		And Catherine Howard trod this fatal path;
		And was not Lady Grey a crowned head?


MARY (after a pause)

		No, Mortimer, vain fears have blinded you;
		'Tis but the honest care of your true heart,
		Which conjures up these empty apprehensions.
		It is not, sir, the scaffold that I fear:
		There are so many still and secret means
		By which her majesty of England may
		Set all my claims to rest. Oh, trust me, ere
		An executioner is found for me,
		Assassins will be hired to do their work.
		'Tis that which makes me tremble, Mortimer:
		I never lift the goblet to my lips
		Without an inward shuddering, lest the draught
		May have been mingled by my sister's love.


MORTIMER

		No: – neither open or disguised murder
		Shall e'er prevail against you: – fear no more;
		All is prepared; – twelve nobles of the land
		Are my confederates, and have pledged to-day,
		Upon the sacrament, their faith to free you,
		With dauntless arm, from this captivity.
		Count Aubespine, the French ambassador,
		Knows of our plot, and offers his assistance:
		'Tis in his palace that we hold our meetings.


NARY

		You make me tremble, sir, but not for joy!
		An evil boding penetrates my heart.
		Know you, then, what you risk? Are you not scared
		By Babington and Tichburn's bloody heads,
		Set up as warnings upon London's bridge?
		Nor by the ruin of those many victims
		Who have, in such attempts, found certain death,
		And only made my chains the heavier?
		Fly hence, deluded, most unhappy youth!
		Fly, if there yet be time for you, before
		That crafty spy, Lord Burleigh, track your schemes,
		And mix his traitors in your secret plots.
		Fly hence: – as yet, success hath never smiled
		On Mary Stuart's champions.


MORTIMER

		I am not scared
		By Babington and Tichburn's bloody heads
		Set up as warnings upon London's bridge;
		Nor by the ruin of those many victims
		Who have, in such attempts, found certain death:
		They also found therein immortal honor,
		And death, in rescuing you, is dearest bliss.


MARY

		It is in vain: nor force nor guile can save me: —
		My enemies are watchful, and the power
		Is in their hands. It is not Paulet only
		And his dependent host; all England guards
		My prison gates: Elizabeth's free will
		Alone can open them.


MORTIMER

		Expect not that.


MARY

		One man alone on earth can open them.


MORTIMER

		Oh, let me know his name!


MARY

		Lord Leicester.


MORTIMER

		He!

[Starts back in wonder.

		The Earl of Leicester! Your most bloody foe,
		The favorite of Elizabeth! through him —


MARY

		If I am to be saved at all, 'twill be
		Through him, and him alone. Go to him, sir;
		Freely confide in him: and, as a proof
		You come from me, present this paper to him.

[She takes a paper from her bosom; MORTIMER draws back,

		and hesitates to take it.
		It doth contain my portrait: – take it, sir;
		I've borne it long about me; but your uncle's
		Close watchfulness has cut me off from all
		Communication with him; – you were sent
		By my good angel.

[He takes it.


MORTIMER

		Oh, my queen! Explain
		This mystery.


MARY

		Lord Leicester will resolve it.
		Confide in him, and he'll confide in you.
		Who comes?


KENNEDY (entering hastily)

		'Tis Paulet; and he brings with him
		A nobleman from court.


MORTIMER

		It is Lord Burleigh.
		Collect yourself, my queen, and strive to hear
		The news he brings with equanimity.

[He retires through a side door, and KENNEDY follows him.




SCENE VII




Enter LORD BURLEIGH, and PAULET.



PAULET (to MARY)

		You wished to-day assurance of your fate;
		My Lord of Burleigh brings it to you now;
		Hear it with resignation, as beseems you.


MARY

		I hope with dignity, as it becomes
		My innocence, and my exalted station.


BURLEIGH

		I come deputed from the court of justice.


MARY

		Lord Burleigh lends that court his willing tongue,
		Which was already guided by his spirit.


PAULET

		You speak as if no stranger to the sentence.


MARY

		Lord Burleigh brings it; therefore do I know it.


PAULET

[It would become you better, Lady Stuart,

		To listen less to hatred.


MARY

		I but name
		My enemy: I said not that I hate him.]
		But to the matter, sir.


BURLEIGH

		You have acknowledged
		The jurisdiction of the two-and-forty.


MARY

		My lord, excuse me, if I am obliged
		So soon to interrupt you. I acknowledged,
		Say you, the competence of the commission?
		I never have acknowledged it, my lord;
		How could I so? I could not give away
		My own prerogative, the intrusted rights
		Of my own people, the inheritance
		Of my own son, and every monarch's honor

[The very laws of England say I could not.]

		It is enacted by the English laws
		That every one who stands arraigned of crime
		Shall plead before a jury of his equals:
		Who is my equal in this high commission?
		Kings only are my peers.


BURLEIGH

		But yet you heard
		The points of accusation, answered them
		Before the court —


MARY

		'Tis true, I was deceived
		By Hatton's crafty counsel: – he advised me,
		For my own honor, and in confidence
		In my good cause, and my most strong defence,
		To listen to the points of accusation,
		And prove their falsehoods. This, my lord, I did
		From personal respect for the lords' names,
		Not their usurped charge, which I disclaim.


BURLEIGH

		Acknowledge you the court, or not, that is
		Only a point of mere formality,
		Which cannot here arrest the course of justice.
		You breathe the air of England; you enjoy
		The law's protection, and its benefits;
		You therefore are its subject.


MARY

		Sir, I breathe
		The air within an English prison walls:
		Is that to live in England; to enjoy
		Protection from its laws? I scarcely know
		And never have I pledged my faith to keep them.
		I am no member of this realm; I am
		An independent, and a foreign queen.


BURLEIGH

		And do you think that the mere name of queen
		Can serve you as a charter to foment
		In other countries, with impunity,
		This bloody discord? Where would be the state's
		Security, if the stern sword of justice
		Could not as freely smite the guilty brow
		Of the imperial stranger as the beggar's?


MARY

		I do not wish to be exempt from judgment,
		It is the judges only I disclaim.


BURLEIGH

		The judges? How now, madam? Are they then
		Base wretches, snatched at hazard from the crowd?
		Vile wranglers that make sale of truth and justice;
		Oppression's willing hirelings, and its tools?
		Are they not all the foremost of this land,
		Too independent to be else than honest,
		And too exalted not to soar above
		The fear of kings, or base servility?
		Are they not those who rule a generous people
		In liberty and justice; men, whose names
		I need but mention to dispel each doubt,
		Each mean suspicion which is raised against them?
		Stands not the reverend primate at their head,
		The pious shepherd of his faithful people,
		The learned Talbot, keeper of the seals,
		And Howard, who commands our conquering fleets?
		Say, then, could England's sovereign do more
		Than, out of all the monarchy, elect
		The very noblest, and appoint them judges
		In this great suit? And were it probable
		That party hatred could corrupt one heart;
		Can forty chosen men unite to speak
		A sentence just as passion gives command?


MARY (after a short pause)

		I am struck dumb by that tongue's eloquence,
		Which ever was so ominous to me.
		And how shall I, a weak, untutored woman,
		Cope with so subtle, learned an orator?
		Yes truly; were these lords as you describe them,
		I must be mute; my cause were lost indeed,
		Beyond all hope, if they pronounce me guilty.
		But, sir, these names, which you are pleased to praise,
		These very men, whose weight you think will crush me,
		I see performing in the history
		Of these dominions very different parts:
		I see this high nobility of England,
		This grave majestic senate of the realm,
		Like to an eastern monarch's vilest slaves,
		Flatter my uncle Henry's sultan fancies:
		I see this noble, reverend House of Lords,
		Venal alike with the corrupted Commons,
		Make statutes and annul them, ratify
		A marriage and dissolve it, as the voice
		Of power commands: to-day it disinherits,
		And brands the royal daughters of the realm
		With the vile name of bastards, and to-morrow
		Crowns them as queens, and leads them to the throne.
		I see them in four reigns, with pliant conscience,
		Four times abjure their faith; renounce the pope
		With Henry, yet retain the old belief;
		Reform themselves with Edward; hear the mass
		Again with Mary; with Elizabeth,
		Who governs now, reform themselves again.


BURLEIGH

		You say you are not versed in England's laws,
		You seem well read, methinks, in her disasters.


MARY

		And these men are my judges?

[As LORD BURLEIGH seems to wish to speak.

		My lord treasurer,
		Towards you I will be just, be you but just
		To me. 'Tis said that you consult with zeal
		The good of England, and of England's queen;
		Are honest, watchful, indefatigable;
		I will believe it. Not your private ends,
		Your sovereign and your country's weal alone,
		Inspire your counsels and direct your deeds.
		Therefore, my noble lord, you should the more
		Distrust your heart; should see that you mistake not
		The welfare of the government for justice.
		I do not doubt, besides yourself, there are
		Among my judges many upright men:
		But they are Protestants, are eager all
		For England's quiet, and they sit in judgment
		On me, the Queen of Scotland, and the papist.
		It is an ancient saying, that the Scots
		And England to each other are unjust;
		And hence the rightful custom that a Scot
		Against an Englishman, or Englishman
		Against a Scot, cannot be heard in judgment.
		Necessity prescribed this cautious law;
		Deep policy oft lies in ancient customs:
		My lord, we must respect them. Nature cast
		Into the ocean these two fiery nations
		Upon this plank, and she divided it
		Unequally, and bade them fight for it.
		The narrow bed of Tweed alone divides
		These daring spirits; often hath the blood
		Of the contending parties dyed its waves.
		Threatening, and sword in hand, these thousand years,
		From both its banks they watch their rival's motions,
		Most vigilant and true confederates,
		With every enemy of the neighbor state.
		No foe oppresses England, but the Scot
		Becomes his firm ally; no civil war
		Inflames the towns of Scotland, but the English
		Add fuel to the fire: this raging hate
		Will never be extinguished till, at last,
		One parliament in concord shall unite them,
		One common sceptre rule throughout the isle.


BURLEIGH

		And from a Stuart, then, should England hope
		This happiness?


MARY

		Oh! why should I deny it?
		Yes, I confess, I cherished the fond hope;
		I thought myself the happy instrument
		To join in freedom, 'neath the olive's shade,
		Two generous realms in lasting happiness!
		I little thought I should become the victim
		Of their old hate, their long-lived jealousy;
		And the sad flames of that unhappy strife,
		I hoped at last to smother, and forever:
		And, as my ancestor, great Richmond, joined
		The rival roses after bloody contest,
		To join in peace the Scotch and English crowns.


BURLEIGH

		An evil way you took to this good end,
		To set the realm on fire, and through the flames
		Of civil war to strive to mount the throne.


MARY

		I wished not that: – I wished it not, by Heaven!
		When did I strive at that? Where are your proofs?


BURLEIGH

		I came not hither to dispute; your cause
		Is no more subject to a war of words.
		The great majority of forty voices
		Hath found that you have contravened the law
		Last year enacted, and have now incurred
		Its penalty.
		[Producing the verdict.


MARY

		Upon this statute, then,
		My lord, is built the verdict of my judges?


BURLEIGH (reading)

		Last year it was enacted, "If a plot
		Henceforth should rise in England, in the name
		Or for the benefit of any claimant
		To England's crown, that justice should be done
		On such pretender, and the guilty party
		Be prosecuted unto death." Now, since
		It has been proved —


MARY

		Lord Burleigh, I can well
		Imagine that a law expressly aimed
		At me, and framed to compass my destruction
		May to my prejudice be used. Oh! Woe
		To the unhappy victim, when the tongue
		That frames the law shall execute the sentence.
		Can you deny it, sir, that this same statute
		Was made for my destruction, and naught else?


BURLEIGH

		It should have acted as a warning to you:
		By your imprudence it became a snare.
		You saw the precipice which yawned before you;
		Yet, truly warned, you plunged into the deep.
		With Babington, the traitor, and his bands
		Of murderous companions, were you leagued.
		You knew of all, and from your prison led
		Their treasonous plottings with a deep-laid plan.


MARY

		When did I that, my lord? Let them produce
		The documents.


BURLEIGH

		You have already seen them
		They were before the court, presented to you.


MARY

		Mere copies written by another hand;
		Show me the proof that they were dictated
		By me, that they proceeded from my lips,
		And in those very terms in which you read them.


BURLEIGH

		Before his execution, Babington
		Confessed they were the same which he received.


MARY

		Why was he in his lifetime not produced
		Before my face? Why was he then despatched
		So quickly that he could not be confronted
		With her whom he accused?


BURLEIGH

		Besides, my lady,
		Your secretaries, Curl and Nau, declare
		On oath, they are the very selfsame letters
		Which from your lips they faithfully transcribed.


MARY

		And on my menials' testimony, then,
		I am condemned; upon the word of those
		Who have betrayed me, me, their rightful queen!
		Who in that very moment, when they came
		As witnesses against me, broke their faith!


BURLEIGH

		You said yourself, you held your countryman
		To be an upright, conscientious man.


MARY

		I thought him such; but 'tis the hour of danger
		Alone, which tries the virtue of a man.

[He ever was an honest man, but weak

		In understanding; and his subtle comrade,
		Whose faith, observe, I never answered for,
		Might easily seduce him to write down
		More than he should;] the rack may have compelled him
		To say and to confess more than he knew.
		He hoped to save himself by this false witness,
		And thought it could not injure me – a queen.


BURLEIGH

		The oath he swore was free and unconstrained.


MARY

		But not before my face! How now, my lord?
		The witnesses you name are still alive;
		Let them appear against me face to face,
		And there repeat what they have testified.
		Why am I then denied that privilege,
		That right which e'en the murderer enjoys?
		I know from Talbot's mouth, my former keeper,
		That in this reign a statute has been passed
		Which orders that the plaintiff be confronted
		With the defendant; is it so, good Paulet?
		I e'er have known you as an honest man;
		Now prove it to me; tell me, on your conscience,
		If such a law exist or not in England?


PAULET

		Madam, there does: that is the law in England.
		I must declare the truth.


MARY

		Well, then, my lord,
		If I am treated by the law of England
		So hardly, when that law oppresses me,
		Say, why avoid this selfsame country's law,
		When 'tis for my advantage? Answer me;
		Why was not Babington confronted with me?
		Why not my servants, who are both alive?


BURLEIGH

		Be not so hasty, lady; 'tis not only
		Your plot with Babington —


MARY

		'Tis that alone
		Which arms the law against me; that alone
		From which I'm called upon to clear myself.
		Stick to the point, my lord; evade it not.


BURLEIGH

		It has been proved that you have corresponded
		With the ambassador of Spain, Mendoza —


MARY

		Stick to the point, my lord.


BURLEIGH

		That you have formed
		Conspiracies to overturn the fixed
		Religion of the realm; that you have called
		Into this kingdom foreign powers, and roused
		All kings in Europe to a war with England.


MARY

		And were it so, my lord – though I deny it —
		But e'en suppose it were so: I am kept
		Imprisoned here against all laws of nations.
		I came not into England sword in hand;
		I came a suppliant; and at the hands
		Of my imperial kinswoman I claimed
		The sacred rights of hospitality,
		When power seized upon me, and prepared
		To rivet fetters where I hoped protection.
		Say, is my conscience bound, then, to this realm?
		What are the duties that I owe to England?
		I should but exercise a sacred right,
		Derived from sad necessity, if I
		Warred with these bonds, encountered might with might,
		Roused and incited every state in Europe
		For my protection to unite in arms.
		Whatever in a rightful war is just
		And loyal, 'tis my right to exercise:
		Murder alone, the secret, bloody deed,
		My conscience and my pride alike forbid.
		Murder would stain me, would dishonor me:
		Dishonor me, my lord, but not condemn me,
		Nor subject me to England's courts of law:
		For 'tis not justice, but mere violence,
		Which is the question 'tween myself and England.


BURLEIGH (significantly)

		Talk not, my lady, of the dreadful right
		Of power: 'tis seldom on the prisoner's side.


MARY

		I am the weak, she is the mighty one:
		'Tis well, my lord; let her, then, use her power;
		Let her destroy me; let me bleed, that she
		May live secure; but let her, then, confess
		That she hath exercised her power alone,
		And not contaminate the name of justice.
		Let her not borrow from the laws the sword
		To rid her of her hated enemy;
		Let her not clothe in this religious garb
		The bloody daring of licentious might;
		Let not these juggling tricks deceive the world.

[Returning the sentence.

		Though she may murder me, she cannot judge me:
		Let her no longer strive to join the fruits
		Of vice with virtue's fair and angel show;
		But let her dare to seem the thing she is.

[Exit.




SCENE VIII




BURLEIGH, PAULET.



BURLEIGH

		She scorns us, she defies us! will defy us,
		Even at the scaffold's foot. This haughty heart
		Is not to be subdued. Say, did the sentence
		Surprise her? Did you see her shed one tear,
		Or even change her color? She disdains
		To make appeal to our compassion. Well
		She knows the wavering mind of England's queen.
		Our apprehensions make her bold.


PAULET

		My lord,
		Take the pretext away which buoys it up,
		And you shall see this proud defiance fail
		That very moment. I must say, my lord,
		Irregularities have been allowed
		In these proceedings; Babington and Ballard
		Should have been brought, with her two secretaries,
		Before her, face to face.


BURLEIGH

		No, Paulet, no.
		That was not to be risked; her influence
		Upon the human heart is too supreme;
		Too strong the female empire of her tears.
		Her secretary, Curl, if brought before her,
		And called upon to speak the weighty word
		On which her life depends, would straight shrink back
		And fearfully revoke his own confession.


PAULET

		Then England's enemies will fill the world
		With evil rumors; and the formal pomp
		Of these proceedings to the minds of all
		Will only signalize an act of outrage.


BURLEIGH

		That is the greatest torment of our queen,
		[That she can never 'scape the blame. Oh God!]
		Had but this lovely mischief died before
		She set her faithless foot on English ground.


PAULET

		Amen, say I!


BURLEIGH

		Had sickness but consumed her!


PAULET

		England had been secured from such misfortune.


BURLEIGH

		And yet, if she had died in nature's course,
		The world would still have called us murderers.


PAULET

		'Tis true, the world will think, despite of us,
		Whate'er it list.


BURLEIGH

		Yet could it not be proved?
		And it would make less noise.


PAULET

		Why, let it make
		What noise it may. It is not clamorous blame,
		'Tis righteous censure only which can wound.


BURLEIGH

		We know that holy justice cannot 'scape
		The voice of censure; and the public cry
		Is ever on the side of the unhappy:
		Envy pursues the laurelled conqueror;
		The sword of justice, which adorns the man,
		Is hateful in a woman's hand; the world
		Will give no credit to a woman's justice
		If woman be the victim. Vain that we,
		The judges, spoke what conscience dictated;
		She has the royal privilege of mercy;
		She must exert it: 'twere not to be borne,
		Should she let justice take its full career.


PAULET

		And therefore —


BURLEIGH

		Therefore should she live? Oh, no,
		She must not live; it must not be. 'Tis this,
		Even this, my friend, which so disturbs the queen,
		And scares all slumber from her couch; I read
		Her soul's distracting contest in her eyes:
		She fears to speak her wishes, yet her looks,
		Her silent looks, significantly ask,
		"Is there not one amongst my many servants
		To save me from this sad alternative?
		Either to tremble in eternal fear
		Upon my throne, or else to sacrifice
		A queen of my own kindred on the block?"


PAULET

		'Tis even so; nor can it be avoided —


BURLEIGH

		Well might it be avoided, thinks the queen,
		If she had only more attentive servants.


PAULET

		How more attentive?


BURLEIGH

		Such as could interpret
		A silent mandate.


PAULET

		What? A silent mandate!


BURLEIGH

		Who, when a poisonous adder is delivered
		Into their hands, would keep the treacherous charge
		As if it were a sacred, precious jewel?


PAULET

		A precious jewel is the queen's good name
		And spotless reputation: good my lord,
		One cannot guard it with sufficient care.


BURLEIGH

		When out of Shrewsbury's hands the Queen of Scots
		Was trusted to Sir Amias Paulet's care,
		The meaning was —


PAULET

		I hope to God, my lord,
		The meaning was to give the weightiest charge
		Into the purest hands; my lord, my lord!
		By heaven I had disdained this bailiff's office
		Had I not thought the service claimed the care
		Of the best man that England's realm can boast.
		Let me not think I am indebted for it
		To anything but my unblemished name.


BURLEIGH

		Spread the report she wastes; grows sicker still
		And sicker; and expires at last in peace;
		Thus will she perish in the world's remembrance,
		And your good name is pure.


PAULET

		But not my conscience.


BURLEIGH

		Though you refuse us, sir, your own assistance,
		You will not sure prevent another's hand.


PAULET

		No murderer's foot shall e'er approach her threshold
		Whilst she's protected by my household gods.
		Her life's a sacred trust; to me the head
		Of Queen Elizabeth is not more sacred.
		Ye are the judges; judge, and break the staff;
		And when 'tis time then let the carpenter
		With axe and saw appear to build the scaffold.
		My castle's portals shall be open to him,
		The sheriff and the executioners:
		Till then she is intrusted to my care;
		And be assured I will fulfil my trust,
		She shall nor do nor suffer what's unjust.


[Exeunt




ACT II





SCENE I




London, a Hall in the Palace of Westminster. The EARL OF KENT and SIR WILLIAM DAVISON meeting.



DAVISON

		Is that my Lord of Kent? So soon returned?
		Is then the tourney, the carousal over?


KENT

		How now? Were you not present at the tilt?


DAVISON

		My office kept me here.


KENT

		Believe me, sir,
		You've lost the fairest show which ever state
		Devised, or graceful dignity performed:
		For beauty's virgin fortress was presented
		As by desire invested; the Earl-Marshal,
		The Lord-High Admiral, and ten other knights




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