MARY. O! how shall I begin? O, how shall I
So artfully arrange my cautious words,
That they may touch, yet not offend your heart?—
I am a Queen, like you, yet you have held me
Confin'd in prison. As a suppliant
I came to you, yet you in me insulted
The pious use of hospitality;
Slighting in me the holy law of nations,
Immur'd me in a dungeon—tore from me
My friends and servants; to unseemly want
I was exposed, and hurried to the bar
Of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal.
No more of this;—in everlasting silence
Be buried all the cruelties I suffer'd!
See—I will throw the blame of all on fate,
'Twas not your fault, no more than it was mine,
An evil spirit rose from the abyss,
To kindle in our hearts the flames of hate,
By which our tender youth had been divided.
[Approaching her confidently, and with a
flattering tone.
Now stand we face to face; now sister, speak;
Name but my crime, I'll fully satisfy you,—
Alas! had you vouchsaf'd to hear me then,
When I so earnest sought to meet your eye,
It never would have come to this, nor would,
Here in this mournful place, have happen'd now
This so distressful, this so mournful meeting.
ELIZ. My better stars preserved me. I was warn'd,
And laid not to my breast the pois'nous adder!
Accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart
It was, the wild ambition of your house.
But God is with me. The blow was aim'd
Full at my head, but your's it is which falls!
MARY. I'm in the hand of Heav'n. You never will
Exert so cruelly the pow'r it gives you.
ELIZ. Who shall prevent me? Say, did not your uncle
Set all the Kings of Europe the example
How to conclude a peace with those they hate.
Force is my only surety; no alliance
Can be concluded with a race of vipers.
MARY. You have constantly regarded me
But as a stranger, and an enemy,
Had you declared me heir to your dominions,
As is my right, then gratitude and love
In me had fixed, for you a faithful friend
And kinswoman.
ELIZ. Your friendship is abroad.
Name you my successor! The treach'rous snare!
That in my life you might seduce my people;
And, like a sly Armida, in your net
Entangle all our noble English youth;
That all might turn to the new rising sun,
And I—
MARY. O sister, rule your realm in peace.
I give up ev'ry claim to these domains—
Alas! the pinions of my soul are lam'd;
Greatness entices me no more; your point
Is gained; I am but Mary's shadow now—
My noble spirit is at last broke down
By long captivity:—You're done your worst
On me; you have destroy'd me in my bloom!
Now, end your work, my sister;—speak at length
The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither;
For I will ne'er believe, that you are come,
To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim.
Pronounce this word;—say, "Mary, you are free;
You have already felt my pow'r,—Learn now
To honour too my generosity."
Say this, and I will take my life, will take
My freedom, as a present from your hands.
One word makes all undone;—I wait for it;—
O let it not be needlessly delay'd.
Woe to you, if you end not with this word!
For should you not, like some divinity,
Dispensing noble blessings, quit me now,
Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth,
For all the realms encircled by the deep,
Would I exchange my present lot for yours.
ELIZ. And you confess at last that you are conquer'd
Are all you schemes run out? No more assassins
Now on the road? Will no adventurer
Attempt again for you the sad achievement?
Yes, madam, it is over:—You'll seduce
No mortal more—The world has other cares;—
None is ambitious of the dang'rous honour
Of being your fourth husband.