Not. None, madam!
But, with contemptuous front, disclaim'd at once
Your proffer'd grace; and scorn'd, he said, a life
Upon such terms bestow'd.
Qu. Eliz. Impossible!
Could Essex treat me thus?—You basely wrong him,
And wrest his meaning from the purposed point.
Recall betimes the horrid words you've utter'd:
Confess, and own the whole you've said was false.
Not. Madam, by truth, and duty, both compell'd,
Against the pleadings of my pitying soul,
I must declare (Heaven knows with what reluctance),
That never pride insulted mercy more.
He ran o'er all the dangers he had past;
His mighty deeds; his service to the state;
Accused your majesty of partial leaning
To favourite lords, to whom he falls a sacrifice;
Appeals to justice, and to future times,
How much he feels from proud oppression's arm:
Nay, something too he darkly hinted at,
Of jealous disappointment, and revenge.
Qu. Eliz. Eternal silence seal thy venom'd lips
What hast thou utter'd, wretch, to rouse at once
A whirlwind in my soul, which roots up pity,
And destroys my peace!
Let him this instant to the block be led.
[Exit Nottingham.
Upbraid me with my fatal fondness for him!
Ungrateful, barbarous ruffian! O, Elizabeth!
Remember now thy long-establish'd fame,
Thy envy'd glory, and thy father's spirit.
Accuse me of injustice too, and cruelty!—
Yes, I'll this instant to the Tower, forget
My regal state, and to his face confront him:
Confound the audacious villain with my presence,
And add new terrors to the uplifted axe.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
The Tower.
Enter Essex and Southampton.
Essex. Oh, name it not! my friend shall live—he shall!
I know her royal mercy, and her goodness,
Will give you back to life, to length of days,
And me to honour, loyalty, and truth.
Death is still distant far.
South. In life's first spring,
Our green affections grew apace and prosper'd;
The genial summer swell'd our joyful hearts,
To meet and mix each growing fruitful wish.
We're now embark'd upon that stormy flood,
Where all the wise and brave are gone before us,
E'er since the birth of time, to meet eternity.
And what is death, did we consider right?
Shall we, who sought him in the paths of terror,
And faced him in the dreadful walks of war,
Shall we astonish'd shrink, like frighted infants,
And start at scaffolds, and their gloomy trappings?
Essex. Yet, still I trust long years remain of friendship.
Let smiling hope drive doubt and fear away,
And death be banish'd far; where creeping age,
Disease, and care, invite him to their dwelling.
I feel assurance rise within my breast,
That all will yet be well.