Queen. The Catholics of England never did, and never will, acknowledge the power of the Pope to annul their liberties, or to interfere in the government of their country. They will hear the Mass, but they will have none of his Bulls. They have had too much of Ecclesiastical Courts, and Appeals to Rome. That question was decided long ago, when the Clergy tried to substitute the Canon for the Common Law, and Parliament and People proclaimed with one voice “We will not have the Laws of England changed” (she walks with a triumphant air).
Leicester. The Court of Rome takes credit for great cunning and deep policy. Their present folly does surprise me; to threat without the power to strike. On whom does it rely? On France or Spain? Neither could permit the other to attack us, and concert is impossible ’twixt elements ajar.
Queen. They both are suing me for favours and alliance. Nay! every Power in Europe.—I am the Arbitress of Nations.
Leicester (fiercely). Besides! Our Naval heroes boldly say, their fleets combined could never land an army on our shores, and if they could, England like one man would rise and dash invasion from her! (He walks exultingly aside).
Queen. I believe it all, Leicester. My faith is in my country! In my people! Nor would their Queen in such an hour be wanting. Elizabeth would lead the van with them to conquer, or with them to fall. (She walks with a fierce and triumphant air) Yet, Leicester! Though with thoughts like these my Lion spirit rises to the occasion, there are times when sadness sits brooding o’er me, and in the lone, darkness of my soul, kindred and goblin forms arise, the brood of melancholy to fright my woman weakness. William, Prince of Orange, butchered in his Palace! the loaded pistol! the assassin’s knife! ever at one’s defenceless breast—Ah! Leicester (she shudders with horror) ’tis too much to bear! too much! too much! (she weeps and turns aside with great emotion, Leicester approaching her with deep sympathy, and kneeling, kisses her robe, to which he timidly ventures to apply his lips).
Leicester. My honoured Mistress! My beloved Queen! God, who raised you up His chosen instrument, has hitherto supported, and will preserve you. (The Queen turns abruptly and surprised).
Queen. What, Robin! This from thee? Art thou turned Puritan, man?
Leicester. Of late, my Queen, I have had dreams! Visions of Prophetic import, which seem to touch the times.
Queen. Dreams! Dreams that touch the times, belong to anxious brains like mine, troublous as my checkered life, with danger and alarm. Thine are of thyself, of love and selfish gain, intrigues with traitor wenches of my Court that pay me hollow homage, and take the pay of France, or Philip, or the Queen of Scots, or even thyself! (Looking at him piercingly).
Leicester, (attempting to speak). Oh! My loved Mistress!