Mary Stuart

SCENE III.

Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and TALBOT.

The QUEEN takes her seat.

BURLEIGH.

Illustrious sovereign, thou crown'st to-day

The fervent wishes of thy people; now

We can rejoice in the propitious days

Which thou bestowest upon us; and we look

No more with fear and trembling towards the time

Which, charged with storms, futurity presented.

Now, but one only care disturbs this land;

It is a sacrifice which every voice

Demands; Oh! grant but this and England's peace

Will be established now and evermore.

ELIZABETH.

What wish they still, my lord? Speak.

BURLEIGH.

They demand

The Stuart's head. If to thy people thou

Wouldst now secure the precious boon of freedom,

And the fair light of truth so dearly won,

Then she must die; if we are not to live

In endless terror for thy precious life

The enemy must fall; for well thou know'st

That all thy Britons are not true alike;

Romish idolatry has still its friends

In secret, in this island, who foment

The hatred of our enemies. Their hearts

All turn toward this Stuart; they are leagued

With the two plotting brothers of Lorrain,

The foes inveterate of thy house and name.

'Gainst thee this raging faction hath declared

A war of desolation, which they wage

With the deceitful instruments of hell.

At Rheims, the cardinal archbishop's see,

There is the arsenal from which they dart

These lightnings; there the school of regicide;

Thence, in a thousand shapes disguised, are sent

Their secret missionaries to this isle;

Their bold and daring zealots; for from thence

Have we not seen the third assassin come?

And inexhausted is the direful breed

Of secret enemies in this abyss.

While in her castle sits at Fotheringay,

The Ate [1] of this everlasting war,

Who, with the torch of love, spreads flames around;

For her who sheds delusive hopes on all,

Youth dedicates itself to certain death;

To set her free is the pretence-the aim

Is to establish her upon the throne.

For this accursed House of Guise denies

Thy sacred right; and in their mouths thou art

A robber of the throne, whom chance has crowned.

By them this thoughtless woman was deluded,

Proudly to style herself the Queen of England;

No peace can be with her, and with her house;

[Their hatred is too bloody, and their crimes

Too great;] thou must resolve to strike, or suffer-

Her life is death to thee, her death thy life.

ELIZABETH.

My lord, you bear a melancholy office;

I know the purity which guides your zeal,

The solid wisdom which informs your speech;

And yet I hate this wisdom, when it calls

For blood, I hate it in my inmost soul.

Think of a milder counsel-Good my Lord

Of Shrewsbury, we crave your judgment here.

TALBOT.

[Desire you but to know, most gracious queen,

What is for your advantage, I can add

Nothing to what my lord high-treasurer

Has urged; then, for your welfare, let the sentence

Be now confirmed-this much is proved already:

There is no surer method to avert

The danger from your head and from the state.

Should you in this reject our true advice,

You can dismiss your council. We are placed

Here as your counsellors, but to consult

The welfare of this land, and with our knowledge

And our experience we are bound to serve you!

But in what's good and just, most gracious queen,

You have no need of counsellors, your conscience

Knows it full well, and it is written there.

Nay, it were overstepping our commission

If we attempted to instruct you in it.

ELIZABETH.

Yet speak, my worthy Lord of Shrewsbury,

'Tis not our understanding fails alone,

Our heart too feels it wants some sage advice.]

TALBOT.

Well did you praise the upright zeal which fires

Lord Burleigh's loyal breast; my bosom, too,

Although my tongue be not so eloquent,

Beats with no weaker, no less faithful pulse.

Long may you live, my queen, to be the joy

Of your delighted people, to prolong

Peace and its envied blessings in this realm.

Ne'er hath this isle beheld such happy days

Since it was governed by its native kings.

Oh, let it never buy its happiness

With its good name; at least, may Talbot's eyes

Be closed in death e'er this shall come to pass.

ELIZABETH.

Forbid it, heaven, that our good name be stained!

TALBOT.

Then must you find some other way than this

To save thy kingdom, for the sentence passed

Of death against the Stuart is unjust.

You cannot upon her pronounce a sentence

Who is not subject to you.

ELIZABETH.

Then, it seems,

My council and my parliament have erred;

Each bench of justice in the land is wrong,

Which did with one accord admit this right.

TALBOT (after a pause).

The proof of justice lies not in the voice

Of numbers; England's not the world, nor is

Thy parliament the focus, which collects

The vast opinion of the human race.

This present England is no more the future

Than 'tis the past; as inclination changes,

Thus ever ebbs and flows the unstable tide

Of public judgment. Say not, then, that thou

Must act as stern necessity compels,

That thou must yield to the importunate

Petitions of thy people; every hour

Thou canst experience that thy will is free.

Make trial, and declare thou hatest blood,

And that thou wilt protect thy sister's life;

Show those who wish to give thee other counsels,

That here thy royal anger is not feigned,

And thou shalt see how stern necessity

Can vanish, and what once was titled justice

Into injustice be converted: thou

Thyself must pass the sentence, thou alone

Trust not to this unsteady, trembling reed,

But hear the gracious dictates of thy heart.

God hath not planted rigor in the frame

Of woman; and the founders of this realm,

Who to the female hand have not denied

The reins of government, intend by this

To show that mercy, not severity,

Is the best virtue to adorn a crown.

ELIZABETH.

Lord Shrewsbury is a fervent advocate

For mine and England's enemy; I must

Prefer those counsellors who wish my welfare.

TALBOT.

Her advocates have an invidious task!

None will, by speaking in her favor, dare

To meet thy anger: stiffer, then, an old

And faithful counsellor (whom naught on earth

Can tempt on the grave's brink) to exercise

The pious duty of humanity.

It never shall be said that, in thy council,

Passion and interest could find a tongue,

While mercy's pleading voice alone was mute,

All circumstances have conspired against her;

Thou ne'er hast seen her face, and nothing speaks

Within thy breast for one that's stranger to thee.

I do not take the part of her misdeeds;

They say 'twas she who planned her husband's murder:

'Tis true that she espoused his murderer.

A grievous crime, no doubt; but then it happened

In darksome days of trouble and dismay,

In the stern agony of civil war,

When she, a woman, helpless and hemmed in

By a rude crowd of rebel vassals, sought

Protection in a powerful chieftain's arms.

God knows what arts were used to overcome her!

For woman is a weak and fragile thing.

ELIZABETH.

Woman's not weak; there are heroic souls

Among the sex; and, in my presence, sir,

I do forbid to speak of woman's weakness.

TALBOT.

Misfortune was for thee a rigid school;

Thou wast not stationed on the sunny side

Of life; thou sawest no throne, from far, before thee;

The grave was gaping for thee at thy feet.

At Woodstock, and in London's gloomy tower,

'Twas there the gracious father of this land

Taught thee to know thy duty, by misfortune.

No flatterer sought thee there: there learned thy soul,

Far from the noisy world and its distractions,

To commune with itself, to think apart,

And estimate the real goods of life.

No God protected this poor sufferer:

Transplanted in her early youth to France,

The court of levity and thoughtless joys,

There, in the round of constant dissipation,

She never heard the earnest voice of truth;

She was deluded by the glare of vice,

And driven onward by the stream of ruin.

Hers was the vain possession of a face,

And she outshone all others of her sex

As far in beauty, as in noble birth.

ELIZABETH.

Collect yourself, my Lord of Shrewsbury;

Bethink you we are met in solemn council.

Those charms must surely be without compare,

Which can engender, in an elder's blood,

Such fire. My Lord of Leicester, you alone

Are silent; does the subject which has made

Him eloquent, deprive you of your speech?

LEICESTER.

Amazement ties my tongue, my queen, to think

That they should fill thy soul with such alarms,

And that the idle tales, which, in the streets,

Of London, terrify the people's ears,

Should reach the enlightened circle of thy council,

And gravely occupy our statesmen's minds.

Astonishment possesses me, I own,

To think this lackland Queen of Scotland, she

Who could not save her own poor throne, the jest

Of her own vassals, and her country's refuse,

[Who in her fairest days of freedom, was

But thy despised puppet,] should become

At once thy terror when a prisoner.

What, in Heaven's name, can make her formidable?

That she lays claim to England? that the Guises

Will not acknowledge thee as queen?

[Did then Thy people's loyal fealty await

These Guises' approbation?] Can these Guises,

With their objections, ever shake the right

Which birth hath given thee; which, with one consent,

The votes of parliament have ratified?

And is not she, by Henry's will, passed o'er

In silence? Is it probable that England,

As yet so blessed in the new light's enjoyment,

Should throw itself into this papist's arms?

From thee, the sovereign it adores, desert

To Darnley's murderess? What will they then,

These restless men, who even in thy lifetime

Torment thee with a successor; who cannot

Dispose of thee in marriage soon enough

To rescue church and state from fancied peril?

Stand'st thou not blooming there in youthful prime

While each step leads her towards the expecting tomb?

By Heavens, I hope thou wilt full many a year

Walk o'er the Stuart's grave, and ne'er become

Thyself the instrument of her sad end.

BURLEIGH.

Lord Leicester hath not always held this tone.

LEICESTER.

'Tis true, I in the court of justice gave

My verdict for her death; here, in the council,

I may consistently speak otherwise

Here, right is not the question, but advantage.

Is this a time to fear her power, when France,

Her only succor, has abandoned her?

When thou preparest with thy hand to bless

The royal son of France, when the fair hope

Of a new, glorious stem of sovereigns

Begins again to blossom in this land?

Why hasten then her death? She's dead already.

Contempt and scorn are death to her; take heed

Lest ill-timed pity call her into life.

'Tis therefore my advice to leave the sentence,

By which her life is forfeit, in full force.

Let her live on; but let her live beneath

The headsman's axe, and, from the very hour

One arm is lifted for her, let it fall.

ELIZABETH (rises).

My lords, I now have heard your several thoughts,

And give my ardent thanks for this your zeal.

With God's assistance, who the hearts of kings

Illumines, I will weigh your arguments,

And choose what best my judgment shall approve.

[To BURLEIGH.

[Lord Burleigh's honest fears, I know it well,

Are but the offspring of his faithful care;

But yet, Lord Leicester has most truly said,

There is no need of haste; our enemy

Hath lost already her most dangerous sting-

The mighty arm of France: the fear that she

Might quickly be the victim of their zeal

Will curb the blind impatience of her friends.]

[1] The picture of Ate, the goddess of mischief, we are acquainted

with from Homer, II. v. 91, 130. I. 501. She is a daughter of

Jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal gods.

She counteracted Jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by

her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where

she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in

order to involve them in calamity.-HERDER.

Shakspeare has, in Julius Caesar, made a fine use of this image:-

"And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge

with Ate by his side, come hot from hell,

Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,

Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."

I need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of

introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.-TRANSLATOR.