Leaving the terrace absorbed in thought, her outstretched hand grasping at something in the air, whilst Drake still follows her close with earnest voice and gesture.
Drake. My Liege! It is the will of God! It is the will of God.
(Exeunt).
Scene VII.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Leicester’s present on a marble table, backed by a large steel mirror which reflects it. The Queen sitting on a sofa, in conversation with the Earl of Leicester who stands at a little distance.
Leicester. What thinks my royal Mistress of my symboled future now? (he point to it) These figures seem to speak and challenge me to ask.—I always felt that thought was inspiration! The vision rapidly developes into facts. You’ll live to see the symbol a reality. Drake’s deeds of wonder bring it up in force.
Queen. Miraculous! Incomprehensible! Drake’s a prodigy!—At sight I read him in the first moment’s interview. He’s made for greatness not his own. A Demi-god could not accomplish his achievements, so vast in their proportions, and whose effects, perhaps, shall run through Time!—Nor dare—nor even conceive them. A clear impossibility—by himself to mortal man! The finger of God is visible throughout for his own end—then unseen! Drake’s eyes are opened now, and so are mine! I see the work and aim of Providence. We are but passive instruments to carry out his will. ’Tis always thus, Leicester. I have observed it well through life. God brings about His greatest ends by means, to us, inadequate—to show His power, and that the work is His; lest we should say “my hand hath done it.” You see how all Drake’s other ships were sunk or scattered to the winds, that he hurled on an unknown ocean! left alone! should be the chosen means to change the destiny of the world.
Leicester. It is a mighty prize, howe’er he dropped upon it, and marvellous as you say. What power to you!—To Philip, most vexatious loss at present—to say the least, inconvenient in the extreme—your seizures, of that Genoese loan, and now this treasure, have crippled him. He is at a stand still for money, notwithstanding his Indies. Alva is in despair—his army in mutiny. This would have relieved them of all their difficulties. They are in a dreadful way. Mendoza spluttering at a huge rate, has frightened Cecil with a threat of war—and he in his alarm would give it up. But the whole country is enthusiastic about Drake.—He is the universal hero!
Queen (indignant). A fig for Cecil and the whole Council—a set of fools—some are afraid of Philip—some are in his pay. I’ll stick to it, Leicester—every silver bar—every quoit of gold. It is the gift of Providence—my power, my safety. I have had my doubts and fears! Now I feel that I can defy the world. Drake despises Spain; laughs at invasion; says Philip can’t defend himself from us. He swears he’ll drive him from the ocean in a month—and I believe him. He (with emphasis) knows what he’s talking about. Drake’s the man!—Drake’s the man for me!
A Page announces the Spanish Ambassador.