ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
An Antichamber in the Palace.
Enter Burleigh and Raleigh.
Bur. The bill, at length, has pass'd opposing numbers,
Whilst crowds, seditious, clamour'd round the senate,
And headlong faction urged its force within.
Ral. It has, my lord!—The wish'd-for day is come,
When this proud idol of the people's hearts
Shall now no more be worshipp'd.—Essex falls.
My lord, the minute's near, that shall unravel
The mystic schemes of this aspiring man.
Now fortune, with officious hand, invites us
To her, and opens wide the gates of greatness,
The way to power. My heart exults; I see,
I see, my lord, our utmost wish accomplish'd!
I see great Cecil shine without a rival,
And England bless him, as her guardian saint.
Such potent instruments I have prepared,
As shall, with speed, o'erturn this hated man,
And dash him down, by proof invincible.
Bur. His day of glory now is set in night;
And all my anxious hopes, at last, are crown'd.
Those proofs against him, Raleigh—
Ral. All arrived.
Bur. Arrived! how? when?
Ral. This very hour, my lord:
Nay more, a person comes, of high distinction,
To prove some secret treaties made by Essex,
With Scotland's monarch, and the proud Tyrone.
Bur. How say'st? to prove them?
Ral. Ay, my lord, and back'd
With circumstances of a stronger nature.
It now appears, his secretary, Cuff,
With Blunt and Lee, were deep concern'd in this
Destructive scheme contrived to raise this lord,
And ruin Cecil. Oh, it is a subtile,
A deep-laid mischief, by the earl contrived
In hour malignant, to o'erturn the state,
And, horror to conceive! dethrone the queen!
Bur. These gladsome tidings fly beyond my hopes!
The queen will listen now, will now believe,
And trust the counsel of her faithful Burleigh.
Dispose them well, till kind occasion calls
Their office forth; lest prying craft meanwhile
May tamper with their thoughts and change their minds:
Let them, like batteries conceal'd, appear
At once, both to surprise and to destroy.
Ral. His headstrong friend, the bold Southampton, too,
Now finds his rash endeavours all defeated,
And storms at thee, and the impeaching commons.
Bur. Let him rave on, and rage. The lion, in
The toils entangled, wastes his strength, and roars
In vain; his efforts but amuse me now.—
Enter Gentleman.
Gent. My lord, the Lady Nottingham desires,
With much impatience, to attend your lordship.
Bur. What may the purport of her business be?
Her tender wishes are to Essex tied
In love's soft fetters, and endearing bands.—
Conduct her in.
[Exit Gentleman.
And you, my Raleigh, watch Southampton's steps;
With care observe each movement of his friends;
That no advantage on that side be lost.—
[Exit Raleigh.
Southampton's Essex' second self;
His daring heart, and bold, ungovern'd tongue,
Are both enlisted in the rash designs
Of this proud lord, nor knows a will but his:
A limb so fix'd, must with the body fall.
Enter Lady Nottingham.
Not. Thrice hail to rescued England's guiding genius!
His country's guardian, and his queen's defence!
Great Burleigh, thou whose patriot bosom beats
With Albion's glory, and Eliza's fame;
Who shield'st her person, and support'st her throne;
For thee, what fervent thanks, what offer'd vows,
Do prostrate millions pay!
Bur. Bright excellence,
This fair applause too highly over-rates,
Too much extols, the low deserts of Cecil.
Not. What praises are too high for patriot worth;
Or what applause exceeds the price of virtue?
My lord, conviction has at last subdued me,
And I am honour's proselyte:—Too long
My erring heart pursued the ways of faction;
I own myself t' have been your bitt'rest foe,
And join'd with Essex in each foul attempt
To blast your honour and traduce your fame.
Bur. Though ne'er my wishing heart could call you friend,
Yet honour and esteem I always bore you;
And never meant, but with respect to serve you.
Not. It is enough, my lord, I know it well,
And feel rekindling virtue warm my breast;
Honour and gratitude their force resume
Within my heart, and every wish is yours.
O Cecil, Cecil, what a foe hast thou!
A deadly foe, whilst hated Essex lives!
Bur. I know it well—but can assign no cause.
Not. Ambition's restless hand has wound his thoughts
Too high for England's welfare; nay, the queen
Scarce sits in safety on her throne, while he,
Th' audacious Essex, freely treads at large,
And breathes the common air. Ambition is
The only god he serves; to whom he'd sacrifice
His honour, country, friends, and every tie
Of truth and bond of nature; nay, his love.
Bur. The man, that in his public duty fails,
On private virtue will disdainful tread;
And mighty love, who rules all nature else,
Must follow here in proud ambition's train.
Not. Pronounce it not! my soul abhors the sound
Like death——O, Cecil, will you kindly lend
Some pity to a wretch like me?
Bur. Command,
Madam; my power and will are yours.
Not. Will Cecil's friendly ear vouchsafe to bend
Its great attention to a woman's wrongs;
Whose pride and shame, resentment and despair,
Rise up in raging anarchy at once,
To tear, with ceaseless pangs, my tortured soul?
Words are unequal to the woes I feel;
And language lessens what my heart endures.
Bur. Madam, your wrongs, I must confess, are great;
Yet still, I fear, you know not half his falsehood.
Who, that had eyes to look on beauty;
Who, but the false, perfidious Essex, could
Prefer to Nottingham a Rutland's charms?
Start not!—By Heaven, I tell you naught but truth,
What I can prove, past doubt; that he received
The lady Rutland's hand, in sacred wedlock,
The very night before his setting out
For Ireland.
Not. Oh! may quick destruction seize them!
May furies blast, and hell destroy their peace!
May all their nights——
Bur. I pray, have patience, madam!
Restrain a while your rage; curses are vain.
But there's a surer method to destroy him;
And, if you'll join with me, 'tis done—he falls.
Not. Ha! say'st thou, Burleigh! Speak, my genius, speak!
Be quick as vengeance' self to tell me how!
Bur. You must have heard, the commons have impeached him,
And we have proofs sufficient for his ruin.
But then the queen—you know how fair he stands
In her esteem; and Rutland, too, his wife,
Hath full possession of the royal ear.
Here then, my Nottingham, begins thy task:
Try every art t' incense the queen against him,
Then step between her and the Lady Rutland:
Observe Southampton, too, with jealous eye;
Prevent, as much as possible, his suit:
For, well I know, he will not fail to try
His eloquence on the behalf of Essex.
Not. It shall be done; his doom is fix'd: he dies.
Oh 'twas a precious thought! I never knew
Such heartfelt satisfaction.—Essex dies!
And Rutland, in her turn, shall learn to weep.
The time is precious; I'll about it straight.
Come, vengeance, come! assist me now to breathe
Thy venom'd spirit in the royal ear!
[Exit.
Bur. There spoke the very genius of the sex!
A disappointed woman sets no bounds
To her revenge.—Her temper's form'd to serve me.
Enter Raleigh.
Ral. The Lord Southampton, with ungovern'd rage,
Resents aloud his disappointed measures.
I met him in the outward court; he seeks,
In haste, your lordship; and, forgetting forms,
Pursues me hither, and demands to see you.
Bur. Raleigh, 'tis well! Withdraw—attend the queen—
Leave me to deal with this o'erbearing man.
[Exit Raleigh.
Enter Southampton.
South. Where is the man, whom virtue calls her friend?—
I give you joy, my lord!—Your quenchless fury
At length prevails,—and now your malice triumphs.
You've hunted honour to the toil of faction,
And view his struggles with malicious joy.
Bur. What means my lord?
South. O fraud! shall valiant Essex
Be made a sacrifice to your ambition?
Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice,
And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not, sure,
Thus bid defiance to each show of worth,
Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus
Your suffering country, in her bravest son!
Bur. But why should stern reproach her angry brow
Let fall on me? Am I alone the cause
That gives this working humour strength? Do I
Instruct the public voice to warp his actions?
Justice, untaught, shall poise the impartial scales,
And every curious eye may mark the beam.
South. The specious shield, which private malice bears,
Is ever blazon'd with some public good;
Behind that artful fence, skulk low, conceal'd,
The bloody purpose, and the poison'd shaft;
Ambition there, and envy, nestle close;
From whence they take their fatal aim unseen;
And honest merit is their destined mark.
Bur. My country's welfare, and my queen's command,
Have ever been my guiding stars through life,
My sure direction still.—To these I now
Appeal;—from these, no doubt, this lord's misconduct
Hath widely stray'd; and reason, not reviling,
Must now befriend his cause.
South. How ill had Providence
Disposed the suffering world's oppressed affairs,
Had sacred right's eternal rule been left
To crafty politicians' partial sway!
Then power and pride would stretch the enormous grasp,
And call their arbitrary portion, justice:
Ambition's arm, by avarice urged, would pluck
The core of honesty from virtue's heart,
And plant deceit and rancour in its stead:
Falsehood would trample then on truth and honour,
And envy poison sweet benevolence.
Oh, 'tis a goodly group of attributes,
And well befits some statesman's righteous rule!
Out, out upon such bloody doings!
The term of being is not worth the sin;
No human bosom can endure its dart.
Then put this cruel purpose from thee far,
Nor let the blood of Essex whelm thy soul.
Bur. 'Tis well, my lord! your words no comment need;
No doubt, they've well explained your honest meaning;
'Tis clear and full. To parts, like yours, discretion
Would be a clog, and caution but incumbrance.
Yet mark me well, my lord; the clinging ivy
With the oak may rise, but with it too must fall.
South. Thy empty threats, ambitious man, hurt not
The breast of truth. Fair innocence, and faith,
Those strangers to thy practised heart, shall shield
My honour, and preserve my friend. In vain,
Thy malice, with unequal arm, shall strive
To tear the applauded wreath from Essex' brow;
His honest laurel, held aloft by fame,
Above thy blasting reach, shall safely flourish,
And bloom immortal to the latest times;
Whilst thou, amidst thy tangling snares involved,
Shalt sink confounded, and unpitied fall.
Bur. Rail on, proud lord, and give thy choler vent:
It wastes itself in vain; the queen shall judge
Between us in this warm debate. To her
I now repair: and, in her royal presence,
You may approve your innocence and faith.
Perhaps you'll meet me there. Till then, farewell.
[Exit.
South. Confusion wait thy steps, thou cruel monster!—
My noble and illustrious friend betray'd
By crafty faction, and tyrannic power!
His sinking trophies, and his falling fame,
Oppress my very soul. I'll to the queen,
Lay all their envy open to her view,
Confront their malice, and preserve my friend.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Presence Chamber.
The Queen discovered, sitting on her Throne. Raleigh, Lords, and Attendants.
Qu. Eliz. Without consulting me! presumptuous man!
Who governs here?—What! am not I your queen?
You dared not, were he present, take this step.
Ral. Dread sovereign, your ever faithful commons
Have, in their gratitude and love for you,
Preferred this salutary bill against him.
Enter Burleigh.
Qu. Eliz. You, my Lord Burleigh, must have known of this.
The commons here impeach the Earl of Essex
Of practising against the state and me.
Methinks I might be trusted with the secret.
Speak, for I know it well, 'twas thy contrivance.
Ha! was it not? You dare not say it was not.
Bur. I own my judgment did concur with theirs.
His crimes, I fear, will justify the charge,
And vindicate their loyalty and mine.
Qu. Eliz. Ha! tell not me your smooth deceitful story!
I know your projects, and your close cabals,
You'd turn my favour into party feuds,
And use my sceptre as the rod of faction:
But Henry's daughter claims a nobler soul.
I'll nurse no party, but will reign o'er all,
And my sole rule shall be to bless my people:
Who serves them best, has still my highest favour:
This Essex ever did.
Enter Southampton.
Behold, Southampton,
What a base portrait's here! The faithful Essex
Here drawn at large, associating with rebels,
To spoil his country, and dethrone his queen!
South. It is not like.—By Heaven, the hand of envy
Drew these false lines, distorted far from truth
And honour, and unlike my noble friend
As light to shade, or hell to highest heaven.
Then suffer not, thou best of queens, this lord,
This valiant lord, to fall a sacrifice
To treachery and base designs; who now
Engages death in all his horrid shapes,
Amidst a hardy race, inured to danger;
But let him, face to face, this charge encounter,
And every falsehood, like his foes, shall fly.
Qu. Eliz. To me you seem to recommend strict justice,
In all her pomp of power. But are you sure
No subtle vice conceal'd assumes her garb!
Take heed, that malice does not wear the mask,
Nor envy deck her in the borrow'd guise.
Rancour has often darken'd reason's eye,
And judgment winks, when passion holds the scale.
Impeach the very man to whom I owe
My brightest rays of glory! Look to it, lords;
Take care, be cautious on what ground you tread;
Let honest means alone secure your footing.
Raleigh and you withdraw, and wait our leisure.
[Exeunt Raleigh and Southampton.
Lord Burleigh, stay; we must with you have farther
Conference.—I see this base contrivance plain.
Your jealousy and pride, your envy of
His shining merit, brought this bill to light.
But mark me, as you prize our high regard
And favour, I command you to suppress it:
Let not our name and power be embarrass'd
In your perplexing schemes. 'Twas you began,
And therefore you must end it.
Bur. I obey.
Yet humbly would entreat you to consider
How new, unpopular, this step must be,
To stand between your parliament's enquiry
And this offending lord.—We have such proofs—
Qu. Eliz. Reserve your proofs to a more proper season,
And let them then appear. But once again
We charge you, on your duty and allegiance,
To stop this vile proceeding; and to wait
Till Essex can defend himself in person.
If then your accusations are of force,
The laws, and my consent, no doubt, are open.
He has my strict command, with menace mix'd,
To end effectually this hated war,
Ere he presume to quit the Irish coast.
Bur. Madam, my duty now compels me to—
Qu. Eliz. No more! see that my orders be obey'd.
[Exit Burleigh.
Essex a traitor!—it can never be—
His grateful and his honest soul disdains it.—
Can he prove false? so high advanced, so honour'd,
So near my favour—and—I fear, so near
My heart!—Impossible.—This Burleigh hates him,
And, as his rival, therefore would destroy him;
But he shall find his narrow schemes defeated.
In vain their fraudful efforts shall combine
To shake my settled soul, my firm design;
Resolved to lift bright virtue's palm on high,
Support her grandeur, and her foes defy.
[Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
An Antichamber in the Palace.
Enter Burleigh.
Bur. Essex arrived! Confusion to my hopes!
His presence will destroy me with the queen.
I much suspect he had some private notice,
Perhaps, a punctual order, to return.
He lurks too near her heart.—What's to be done?
Now is the important crisis—
Keep up thy usual strength, my better genius!
Direct my steps to crush my mortal foe.
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Raleigh.
Qu. Eliz. It cannot be! Return'd without my leave!
Against my strict command!—Impossible!
Ral. Madam, the earl is now at court, and begs
An audience of your majesty.
Qu. Eliz. Amazing!
What! break his trust! desert his high command,
Forsake his post, and disobey his queen!
'Tis false—invented all.—You wish it so.
Bur. Madam, I wish some other rumours false;
Reports, I fear, of great concern to you.
Qu. Eliz. What rumours? what reports? your frown would much
Denote: your preface seems important.—Speak.
Bur. Some new commotions are of late sprung up
In Ireland, where the west is all in arms,
And moves with hasty march to join Tyrone,
And all his northern clans. A dreadful power!
Nay, more; we have advices from the borders,
Of sudden risings, near the banks of Tweed;
'Tis thought to favour an attempt from Scotland.
Meanwhile, Tyrone embarks six thousand men
To land at Milford, and to march where Essex
Shall join them with his friends.
Qu. Eliz. (Apart.) In league with James!
And plotting with Tyrone! It cannot be.
His very pride disdains such perfidy.
But is not Essex here without my leave!
Against my strict command! that, that's rebellion.
The rest, if true, or false, it matters not.
What's to be done?—admit him to my presence?
No, no—my dignity, my pride forbid it.
Ungrateful man, approach me not; rise, rise,
Resentment, and support my soul! Disdain,
Do thou assist me—Yes, it shall be so.
Bur. I see she muses deep;
Tyrone's invasion wakes her fear and anger,
And all her soul is one continued storm.
Qu. Eliz. For once my pride shall stoop; and I will see
This rash, audacious, this once favour'd man;
But treat him as his daring crimes deserve.
Enter Southampton.
South. [Kneeling.] Permit me, madam, to approach you thus;
Thus lowly to present the humble suit
Of the much-injured, faithful Earl of Essex,
Who dares not, unpermitted, meet your presence.
He begs, most gracious queen, to fall before
Your royal feet, to clear him to his sovereign,
Whom, next to heaven, he wishes most to please.
Let faction load him with her labouring hand,
His innocence shall rise against the weight,
If but his gracious mistress deign to smile.
Qu. Eliz. Let him appear.
[Exit Southampton.
Now to thy trying task,
My soul! Put forth, exert thy utmost strength,
Nor let an injured queen be tame.—Lie still,
My heart, I cannot listen to thee now.
Enter Essex and Southampton.
Essex. Forgive, thou injured majesty, thou best
Of Queens, this seeming disobedience. See,
I bend submissive in your royal presence,
With soul as penitent, as if before
The all-searching eye of Heaven. But, oh, that frown!
My queen's resentment wounds my inmost spirit,
Strikes me like death, and pierces through my heart.
Qu. Eliz. You have obey'd, my lord! you've served me well!
My deadly foes are quell'd! and you come home
A conqueror! Your country bids you welcome!
And I, your queen, applaud!—Triumphant man!
What! is it thus that Essex gains his laurels?
What! is it thus you've borne my high commission?
How durst you disregard your trusted duty,
Desert your province, and betray your queen?
Essex. I came to clear my injured name from guilt,
Imputed guilt, and slanderous accusations.
My shame was wafted in each passing gale,
Each swelling tide came loaded with my wrongs;
And echo sounded forth, from faction's voice,
The traitor Essex.—Was't not hard, my queen,
That, while I stood in danger's dreadful front,
Encountering death in every shape of terror,
And bleeding for my country—Was't not hard,
My mortal enemies at home, like cowards,
Should in my absence basely blast my fame?
Qu. Eliz. It is the godlike attribute of kings,
To raise the virtuous, and protect the brave.
I was the guardian of your reputation;
What malice, or what faction, then, could reach you?
My honour was exposed, engaged for yours:
But you found reason to dislike my care,
And to yourself assumed the wrested office.
Essex. If aught disloyal in this bosom dwells,
If aught of treason lodges in this heart,
May I to guilt and lasting shame be wedded,
The sport of faction, and the mark of scorn,
The world's derision, and my queen's abhorrence.
Stand forth the villain, whose envenom'd tongue
Would taint my honour, and traduce my name,
Or stamp my conduct with a rebel's brand!
Lives there a monster in the haunts of men,
Dares tear my trophies from their pillar'd base,
Eclipse my glory, and disgrace my deeds?
Qu. Eliz. This ardent language, and this glow of soul,
Were nobly graceful in a better cause;
Where virtue warrants, and where truth inspires:
But injured truth, with brow invincible,
Frowns stern reproof upon the false assertion,
And contradicts it with the force of facts.
From me you have appeal'd, ungrateful man!
The laws, not I, must listen to your plea.
Go, stand the test severe, abide the trial,
And mourn, too late, the bounty you abused.
[Exeunt Queen Elizabeth, Southampton, &c.
Essex. Is this the just requital, then, of all
My patriot toils, and oft-encounter'd perils,
Amidst the inclemencies of camps and climes?
Then be it so.——Unmoved and dauntless, let me
This shock of adverse fortune firmly stand.
Enter Southampton.
South. Alas, my lord! the queen's displeasure kindles
With warmth increasing; whilst Lord Burleigh labours
T'inflame her wrath, and make it still burn fiercer.
Essex. I scorn the blaze of courts, the pomp of kings;
I give them to the winds, and lighter vanity;
Too long they've robb'd me of substantial bliss,
Of solid happiness, and true enjoyments.
But lead me to my mourning love; alas!
She sinks beneath oppressing ills; she fades,
She dies for my afflicting pangs, and seeks
Me, sorrowing, in the walks of woe.—Distraction!
Oh, lead me to her, to my soul's desire.
South. Let caution guide you in this dangerous step.
Consider well, my lord, the consequence—
For should the queen (forbid it, Heaven!) discover
Your private loves, your plighted hands, no power
On earth could step between you and destruction.
Enter Burleigh.
Bur. My lord of Essex, 'tis the queen's command,
That you forthwith resign your staff of office;
And further, she confines you to your palace.
Essex. Welcome, my fate! Let fortune do her utmost;
I know the worst, and will confront her malice,
And bravely bear the unexpected blow.
Bur. The queen, my lord, demands your quick compliance.
Essex. Go, then, thou gladsome messenger of ill,
And, joyful, feast thy fierce rapacious soul
With Essex' sudden and accomplish'd fall.
The trampled corse of all his envy'd greatness,
Lies prostrate now beneath thy savage feet;
But still th' exalted spirit moves above thee.
Go, tell the queen thy own detested story:
Full in her sight disclose the snaky labyrinths,
And lurking snares, you plant in virtue's path,
To catch integrity's unguarded step.
Bur. Your country has impeach'd, your queen accused you;
To these address your best defence, and clear
Your question'd conduct from disloyal guilt.
What answer to the queen shall I return?
Essex. My staff of office I from her received,
And will to her, and her alone, resign it.
Bur. This bold refusal will incense the queen,
This arrogance will make your guilt the stronger.
[Exit.
South. Sustain, my noble friend, thy wonted greatness;
Collect thy fortitude, and summon all
Thy soul, to bear with strength this crushing weight,
Which falls severe upon thee; whilst my friendship
Shall lend a helping hand, and share the burden.
I'll hence with speed, and to the queen repair,
And all the power of warmest words employ,
To gain you yet one audience more, and bring
Her majesty to milder thoughts. Farewell.
[Exit.
Essex. As newly waked from all my dreams of glory,
Those gilded visions of deceitful joys,
I stand confounded at the unlook'd-for change,
And scarcely feel this thunderbolt of fate.
The painted clouds, which bore my hopes aloft,
Alas, are now vanish'd to yielding air,
And I am fall'n indeed!—
How weak is reason, when affection pleads!
How hard to turn the fond, deluded heart
From flatt'ring toys, which sooth'd its vanity!
The laurell'd trophy, and the loud applause,
The victor's triumph, and the people's gaze;
The high-hung banner, and recording gold,
Subdue me still, still cling around my heart,
And pull my reason down.
Enter Lady Rutland.
Rut. Oh, let me fly,
To clasp, embrace, the lord of my desires,
My soul's delight, my utmost joy, my husband!
Once more I hold him in my eager arms,
Behold his face, and lose my soul in rapture!
Essex. Transporting bliss! my richest, dearest treasure!
My mourning turtle, my long-absent peace,
Oh, come yet nearer, nearer to my heart!
My raptured soul springs forward, to receive thee:
Thou heaven on earth, thou balm of all my woe!
Rut. Oh, shall I credit, then, each ravish'd sense?
Has pitying Heaven consented to my prayer?
It has, it has; my Essex is return'd!
But language poorly speaks the joys I feel;
Let passion paint, and looks express my soul.
Essex. With thee, my sweetest comfort, I'll retire
From splendid palaces, and glitt'ring throngs,
To live embosom'd in the shades of joy,
Where sweet content extends her friendly arms,
And gives increasing love a lasting welcome.
With thee, I'll timely fly from proud oppression.
Forget our sorrows, and be bless'd for ever.
Rut. Oh! let us hence, beyond the reach of power,
Where fortune's hand shall never part us more!
In this calm state of innocence and joy,
I'll press thee to my throbbing bosom close.
Ambition's voice shall call in vain; the world,
The thankless world, shall never claim thee more,
And all thy business shall be love and me.
Essex. The queen, incensed at my return, abandons me
To Cecil's malice, and the rage of faction.
I'm now no more the fav'rite child of fortune:
My enemies have caught me in the toil,
And life has nothing worth my wish but thee.
Rut. Delusive dream of fancied happiness!
And has my fatal fondness then destroy'd thee?
Oh, have I lured thee to the deadly snare
Thy cruel foes have laid?
I dreaded Cecil's malice, and my heart,
Longing to see thee, with impatience listen'd
To its own alarms; and prudence sunk beneath
The force of love.
Essex. Forbear, my only comfort;
Oh, tell me not of danger, death, and Burleigh;
Let every star shed down its mortal bane
On my unshelter'd head: whilst thus I fold
Thee in my raptured arms, I'll brave them all,
Defy my fate, and meet its utmost rigour.
Rut. Alas, my lord! consider where we are.
Oh, 'tis the queen's apartment;
Each precious moment is by fate beset,
And time stands trembling whilst we thus confer.
Essex. Then, let us hence from this detested place;
My rescued soul disdains the house of greatness,
Where humble honesty can find no shelter.
From hence we'll fly, where love and greatness call;
Where happiness invites—that wish of all:
With sweet content enjoy each blissful hour,
Beyond the smiles of fraud, or frowns of power.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Burleigh and Lady Nottingham.
Not. My lord, I've sought you out with much impatience.
You've had an audience of the queen: what follow'd?
Bur. Soon as I told her, Essex had refused
To yield his dignities, and staff of office,
Against her high command, pronounced by me,
She seem'd deprived of reason for a moment;
Her working mind betray'd contending passions;
She paused, like thunder in some kindling cloud,
Then instant burst with dreadful fury forth:
"And has th' ungrateful wretch defy'd my mandate?
The proud, audacious traitor, scorn'd my power?
He dares not, sure?—He dies—the villain dies!"
I instantly withdrew,
But soon was countermanded, and desired
To bring the Earl of Essex to her presence.
I like it not; and much I fear she'll stand
Between this high offender and the laws.
Not. Is Essex then secured?
Bur. Madam, he is;
And now comes guarded to the court.
Enter Gentleman.
Gent. Madam, the queen
Is in her closet, and desires to see you.
[Exit.
Bur. She wants, no doubt, to be advised by you.
Improve this fair occasion, urge it home.
Not. I know her foible. Essex long has had
An interest in her heart, which nothing can
O'erturn, except his own ungovern'd spirit:
It is, indeed, the instrument by which
We work, and cannot fail, if rightly used.
Bur. Madam, the queen expects you instantly.
I must withdraw, and wait the earl's arrival.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II
The Queen's Closet.
Queen Elizabeth discovered.
Qu. Eliz. Ill-fated, wretched man! perverse and obstinate!
He counterworks my grace, and courts destruction.
He gives his deadly foes the dagger to
Destroy him, and defeats my friendly purpose,
Which would, by seeming to abandon, save him.
Nor will he keep the mask of prudence on
A moment's space.—What! must I bear this scorn!
No: let me all the monarch re-assume;
Exert my power, and be myself again.
Oh, ill-performing, disobedient, heart!
Why shrink'st thou, fearful, from thy own resolve?
Enter Lady Nottingham.
Thou comest in time; I'm much disturb'd, abused,
My Nottingham, and would complain to thee
Of insolence, neglect, and high contempt.
Essex presumed to dictate laws within
My palace gates. How say'st thou, Nottingham?
Not. Surely, my gracious queen, it cannot be!
His heat and passion never could impel him
To take so bold a step, to such rash guilt:
Methinks his very honour should prevent it.
Qu. Eliz. This haughty man has wanton'd with my grace,
Abused my bounty, and despised my favours.
Not. His conduct has, I fear, been too unguarded:
His hasty temper knows not where to stop.
Ambition is the spur of all his actions,
Which often drives him o'er his duty's limits;
(At least his enemies would have it so.)
But malice, madam, seldom judges right.
Qu. Eliz. Oh, Nottingham! his pride is past enduring;
This insolent, audacious man, forgets
His honour and allegiance;—and refused
To render up his staff of office, here,
Beneath my very eye.
Not. Presumptuous man!
Your faithful subjects will resent this pride,
This insolence, this treason to their queen;
They must, my gracious sovereign. 'Tis not safe
To shield him longer from their just resentment.
Then give him up to justice and the laws.
Qu. Eliz. You seem well pleased to urge severity.
Offended majesty but seldom wants
Such sharp advisers—Yet no attribute
So well befits the exalted seat supreme,
And power's disposing hand, as clemency.
Each crime must from its quality be judged;
And pity there should interpose, where malice
Is not the aggressor.
Not. Madam, my sentiments were well intended;
Justice, not malice, moved my honest zeal.
My words were echoes of the public voice,
Which daily rises, with repeated cries
Of high complaint against this haughty lord.
I pity, from my heart, his rash attempts,
And much esteem the man.
Qu. Eliz. Go, Nottingham,
My mind's disturbed, and send me Rutland hither.
[Exit Lady Nottingham.
O vain distinction of exalted state!
No rank ascends above the reach of care,
Nor dignity can shield a queen from woe.
Despotic nature's stronger sceptre rules,
And pain and passion in her right prevails.
Oh, the unpity'd lot, severe condition,
Of solitary, sad, dejected grandeur!
Alone condemn'd to bear th' unsocial throb
Of heartfelt anguish, and corroding grief;
Deprived of what, within his homely shed,
The poorest peasant in affliction finds,
The kind, condoling, comfort of a dear
Partaking friend.
Enter Lady Rutland.
Rutland, I want thy timely
Counsel. I'm importuned, and urged to punish—
But justice, sometimes, has a cruel sound.
Essex has,
No doubt, provoked my anger, and the laws;
His haughty conduct calls for sharp reproof,
And just correction. Yet I think him guiltless
Of studied treasons, or design'd rebellion.
Then, tell me, Rutland, what the world reports,
What censure says of his unruly deeds.
Rut. The world, with envy's eye, beholds his merit;
Madam, 'tis malice all, and false report.
I know his noble heart, 'tis fill'd with honour;
No trait'rous taint has touch'd his generous soul;
His grateful mind still glows with pure affection;
And all his thoughts are loyalty and you.
Qu. Eliz. I grant you, Rutland, all you say; and think
The earl possess'd of many splendid virtues.
What pity 'tis, he should afford his foes
Such frequent, sad occasions to undo him!
Rut. What human heart can, unafflicted, bear
Such manly merit in distress, beset
By cruel foes, and faction's savage cry?
My good, my gracious mistress, stretch, betimes,
Your saving arm, and snatch him from destruction,
From deadly malice, treachery, and Cecil.
Oh, let him live, to clear his conduct up!
My gracious queen, he'll nobly earn your bounty,
And with his dearest blood deserve your mercy.
Qu. Eliz. Her words betray a warm, unusual, fervour;
Mere friendship never could inspire this transport.
[Aside.
I never doubted but the earl was brave;
His life and valiant actions all declare it:
I think him honest too, but rash and headstrong.
I gladly would preserve him from his foes,
And therefore am resolved once more to see him.
Rut. Oh, 'tis a godlike thought, and Heav'n itself
Inspires it. Sure some angel moves your heart,
Your royal heart, to pity and forgiveness.
This gracious deed shall shine in future story,
And deck your annals with the brightest virtue;
Posterity shall praise the princely act,
And ages yet to come record your goodness.
Qu. Eliz. I'll hear no more—Must I then learn from you
To know my province, and be taught to move,
As each designing mind directs?—Leave me.
Rut. Her frowns are dreadful, and her eye looks terror.
I tremble for my Essex. Save him, Heav'n!
[Exit.
Qu. Eliz. Her warmth has touch'd me home. My jealous heart,
My fearful and suspicious soul's alarm'd.
Enter Burleigh, Raleigh, and Gentlemen.
Bur. The Earl of Essex waits your royal will.
Qu. Eliz. Let him approach—And now once more support
Thy dignity, my soul; nor yield thy greatness
To strong usurping passion—But he comes.
Enter Essex and Southampton.
Essex. Permitted thus to bend, with prostrate heart,
[Kneels.
Before your sacred majesty; I come,
With every grateful sense of royal favour
Deeply engraved within my conscious soul.
Qu. Eliz. I sent my orders for your staff of office.
Essex. Madam, my envy'd dignities and honours,
I first from your own royal hand received,
And therefore justly held it far beneath me
To yield my trophies, and exalted power,
So dearly purchased in the field of glory,
To hands unworthy. No, my gracious queen,
I meant to lay them at your royal feet;
Where life itself a willing victim falls,
If you command.
Qu. Eliz. High swelling words, my lord, but ill supply
The place of deeds, and duty's just demand.
In danger's onset, and the day of trial,
Conviction still on acting worth attends;
Whilst mere professions are by doubts encumber'd.
Essex. My deeds have oft declared in danger's front
How far my duty and my valour lead me.
Allegiance still my thirst of glory fired,
And all my bravely gather'd, envy'd laurels
Were purchased only to adorn my queen:
Qu. Eliz. Your guilty scorn of my entrusted power,
When with my mortal foes you tamely dally'd,
By hardy rebels braved, you poorly sought
A servile pause, and begg'd a shameful truce.
Should Essex thus, so meanly compromise,
And lose the harvest of a plenteous glory,
In idle treaties, and suspicious parley?
Essex. O, deadly stroke! My life's the destined mark.
The poison'd shaft has drank my spirits deep.—
Is't come to this? Conspire with rebels! Ha!
I've served you, madam, with the utmost peril,
And ever gloried in th' illustrious danger,
Where famine faced me with her meagre mien,
And pestilence and death brought up her train.
I've fought your battles, in despite of nature,
Where seasons sicken'd, and the clime was fate.
My power to parley, or to fight, I had
From you; the time and circumstance did call
Aloud for mutual treaty and condition;
For that I stand a guarded felon here; a traitor,
Hemm'd in by villains, and by slaves surrounded.
Qu. Eliz. Shall added insolence, with crest audacious,
Her front uplift against the face of power?
Think not that injured majesty will bear
Such arrogance uncheck'd, or unchastised.
No public trust becomes the man, who treads,
With scornful steps, in honour's sacred path,
And stands at bold defiance with his duty.
Essex. Away with dignities and hated trust,
With flattering honours, and deceitful power!
Invert th' eternal rules of right and justice;
Let villains thrive, and outcast virtue perish;
Let slaves be raised, and cowards have command.
Take, take your gaudy trifles back, those baits
Of vice, and virtue's bane. 'Tis clear, my queen,
My royal mistress, casts me off; nay, joins
With Cecil to destroy my life and fame.
Qu. Eliz. Presuming wretch! Audacious traitor!
Essex. Traitor!
Qu. Eliz. Hence from my sight, ungrateful slave, and learn
At distance to revere your queen!
Essex. Yes; let
Me fly beyond the limits of the world,
And nature's verge, from proud oppression far,
From malice, tyranny, from courts, from you.
Qu. Eliz. Traitor! villain!
[Strikes him.
Essex. Confusion! what, a blow!
Restrain, good Heaven! down, down, thou rebel passion,
And, judgment, take the reins. Madam, 'tis well—
Your soldier falls degraded;
His glory's tarnish'd, and his fame undone.
O, bounteous recompence from royal hands!
But you, ye implements, beware, beware,
What honour wrong'd, and honest wrath can act.
Qu. Eliz. What would th' imperious traitor do?
My life
Beyond thy wretched purpose stands secure.
Go, learn at leisure what your deeds deserve,
And tremble at the vengeance you provoke.
[Exeunt all but Essex and Southampton.
Essex. Disgraced and struck! Damnation! Death were glorious!
Revenge! revenge!
South. Alas, my friend! what would
Thy rage attempt? Consider well the great
Advantage now your rash, ungovern'd temper
Affords your foes. The queen, incensed, will let
Their fury loose.—I dread the dire event!
Essex. Has honest pride no just resentment left?
Nor injured honour, feeling?—Not revenge!
High Heaven shall hear, and earth regret, my wrongs.
Hot indignation burns within my soul.
I'll do some dreadful thing!—I know not what;
Some deeds, as horrid as the shame I feel,
Shall startle nature, and alarm the world.
Then hence, like lightning, let me furious fly,
To hurl destruction at my foes on high;
Pull down oppression from its tyrant seat,
Redeem my glory, or embrace my fate.
[Exeunt.