Bur. No, madam.
Qu. Eliz. Dispatch a speedy messenger to haste her.—
My agitated heart can find no rest.
So near the brink of fate—-unhappy man!
Enter Lady Nottingham.
How now, my Nottingham—what news from Essex?
What says the earl?
Not. I wish, with all my soul,
The ungrateful task had been another's lot.
I dread to tell it—lost, ill-fated man!
Qu. Eliz. What means this mystery, this strange behaviour?
Pronounce—declare at once; what said the earl?
Not. Alas, my queen! I fear to say; his mind
Is in the strangest mood that ever pride
On blackest thoughts begot.——He scarce would speak;
And when he did, it was with sullenness,
With hasty tone, and downcast look.
Qu. Eliz. Amazing!
Not feel the terrors of approaching death!
Nor yet the joyful dawn of promised life!
Not. He rather seem'd insensible to both,
And with a cold indifference heard your offer;
Till warming up, by slow degrees, resentment
Began to swell his restless haughty mind;
And proud disdain provoked him to exclaim
Aloud, against the partial power of fortune,
And faction's rage. I begg'd him to consider
His sad condition; nor repulse, with scorn,
The only hand that could preserve him.
Qu. Eliz. Ha!
What!—Said he nothing of a private import?
No circumstance—no pledge—no ring?