Joseph Mellish - Mary Stuart (Act 2 Scene 3) lyrics

Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and TALBOT. The QUEEN takes her seat. BURLEIGH. Illustrious sovereign, thou crown'st to-day The fervent wishes of thy people; now We can rejoice in the propitious days Which thou bestowest upon us; and we look No more with fear and trembling towards the time Which, charged with storms, futurity presented. Now, but one only care disturbs this land; It is a sacrifice which every voice Demands; Oh! grant but this and England's peace Will be established now and evermore. ELIZABETH. What wish they still, my lord? Speak. BURLEIGH. They demand The Stuart's head. If to thy people thou Wouldst now secure the precious boon of freedom, And the fair light of truth so dearly won, Then she must die; if we are not to live In endless terror for thy precious life The enemy must fall; for well thou know'st That all thy Britons are not true alike; Romish idolatry has still its friends In secret, in this island, who foment The hatred of our enemies. Their hearts All turn toward this Stuart; they are leagued With the two plotting brothers of Lorrain, The foes inveterate of thy house and name. 'Gainst thee this raging faction hath declared A war of desolation, which they wage With the deceitful instruments of hell. At Rheims, the cardinal archbishop's see, There is the arsenal from which they dart These lightnings; there the school of regicide; Thence, in a thousand shapes disguised, are sent Their secret missionaries to this isle; Their bold and daring zealots; for from thence Have we not seen the third a**a**in come? And inexhausted is the direful breed Of secret enemies in this abyss. While in her castle sits at Fotheringay, The Ate 1 of this everlasting war, Who, with the torch of love, spreads flames around; For her who sheds delusive hopes on all, Youth dedicates itself to certain d**h; To set her free is the pretence—the aim Is to establish her upon the throne. For this accursed House of Guise denies Thy sacred right; and in their mouths thou art A robber of the throne, whom chance has crowned. By them this thoughtless woman was deluded, Proudly to style herself the Queen of England; No peace can be with her, and with her house; [Their hatred is too bloody, and their crimes Too great;] thou must resolve to strike, or suffer— Her life is d**h to thee, her d**h thy life. ELIZABETH. My lord, you bear a melancholy office; I know the purity which guides your zeal, The solid wisdom which informs your speech; And yet I hate this wisdom, when it calls For blood, I hate it in my inmost soul. Think of a milder counsel—Good my Lord Of Shrewsbury, we crave your judgment here. TALBOT. [Desire you but to know, most gracious queen, What is for your advantage, I can add Nothing to what my lord high-treasurer Has urged; then, for your welfare, let the sentence Be now confirmed—this much is proved already: There is no surer method to avert The danger from your head and from the state. Should you in this reject our true advice, You can dismiss your council. We are placed Here as your counsellors, but to consult The welfare of this land, and with our knowledge And our experience we are bound to serve you! But in what's good and just, most gracious queen, You have no need of counsellors, your conscience Knows it full well, and it is written there. Nay, it were overstepping our commission If we attempted to instruct you in it. ELIZABETH. Yet speak, my worthy Lord of Shrewsbury, 'Tis not our understanding fails alone, Our heart too feels it wants some sage advice.] TALBOT. Well did you praise the upright zeal which fires Lord Burleigh's loyal breast; my bosom, too, Although my tongue be not so eloquent, Beats with no weaker, no less faithful pulse. Long may you live, my queen, to be the joy Of your delighted people, to prolong Peace and its envied blessings in this realm. Ne'er hath this isle beheld such happy days Since it was governed by its native kings. Oh, let it never buy its happiness With its good name; at least, may Talbot's eyes Be closed in d**h e'er this shall come to pa**. ELIZABETH. Forbid it, heaven, that our good name be stained! TALBOT. Then must you find some other way than this To save thy kingdom, for the sentence pa**ed Of d**h against the Stuart is unjust. You cannot upon her pronounce a sentence Who is not subject to you. ELIZABETH. Then, it seems, My council and my parliament have erred; Each bench of justice in the land is wrong, Which did with one accord admit this right. TALBOT (after a pause). The proof of justice lies not in the voice Of numbers; England's not the world, nor is Thy parliament the focus, which collects The vast opinion of the human race. This present England is no more the future Than 'tis the past; as inclination changes, Thus ever ebbs and flows the unstable tide Of public judgment. Say not, then, that thou Must act as stern necessity compels, That thou must yield to the importunate Petitions of thy people; every hour Thou canst experience that thy will is free. Make trial, and declare thou hatest blood, And that thou wilt protect thy sister's life; Show those who wish to give thee other counsels, That here thy royal anger is not feigned, And thou shalt see how stern necessity Can vanish, and what once was titled justice Into injustice be converted: thou Thyself must pa** the sentence, thou alone Trust not to this unsteady, trembling reed, But hear the gracious dictates of thy heart. God hath not planted rigor in the frame Of woman; and the founders of this realm, Who to the female hand have not denied The reins of government, intend by this To show that mercy, not severity, Is the best virtue to adorn a crown. ELIZABETH. Lord Shrewsbury is a fervent advocate For mine and England's enemy; I must Prefer those counsellors who wish my welfare. TALBOT. Her advocates have an invidious task! None will, by speaking in her favor, dare To meet thy anger: stiffer, then, an old And faithful counsellor (whom naught on earth Can tempt on the grave's brink) to exercise The pious duty of humanity. It never shall be said that, in thy council, Pa**ion and interest could find a tongue, While mercy's pleading voice alone was mute, All circumstances have conspired against her; Thou ne'er hast seen her face, and nothing speaks Within thy breast for one that's stranger to thee. I do not take the part of her misdeeds; They say 'twas she who planned her husband's murder: 'Tis true that she espoused his murderer. A grievous crime, no doubt; but then it happened In darksome days of trouble and dismay, In the stern agony of civil war, When she, a woman, helpless and hemmed in By a rude crowd of rebel va**als, sought Protection in a powerful chieftain's arms. God knows what arts were used to overcome her! For woman is a weak and fragile thing. ELIZABETH. Woman's not weak; there are heroic souls Among the s**; and, in my presence, sir, I do forbid to speak of woman's weakness. TALBOT. Misfortune was for thee a rigid school; Thou wast not stationed on the sunny side Of life; thou sawest no throne, from far, before thee; The grave was gaping for thee at thy feet. At Woodstock, and in London's gloomy tower, 'Twas there the gracious father of this land Taught thee to know thy duty, by misfortune. No flatterer sought thee there: there learned thy soul, Far from the noisy world and its distractions, To commune with itself, to think apart, And estimate the real goods of life. No God protected this poor sufferer: Transplanted in her early youth to France, The court of levity and thoughtless joys, There, in the round of constant dissipation, She never heard the earnest voice of truth; She was deluded by the glare of vice, And driven onward by the stream of ruin. Hers was the vain possession of a face, And she outshone all others of her s** As far in beauty, as in noble birth. ELIZABETH. Collect yourself, my Lord of Shrewsbury; Bethink you we are met in solemn council. Those charms must surely be without compare, Which can engender, in an elder's blood, Such fire. My Lord of Leicester, you alone Are silent; does the subject which has made Him eloquent, deprive you of your speech? LEICESTER. Amazement ties my tongue, my queen, to think That they should fill thy soul with such alarms, And that the idle tales, which, in the streets, Of London, terrify the people's ears, Should reach the enlightened circle of thy council, And gravely occupy our statesmen's minds. Astonishment possesses me, I own, To think this lackland Queen of Scotland, she Who could not save her own poor throne, the jest Of her own va**als, and her country's refuse, [Who in her fairest days of freedom, was But thy despised puppet,] should become At once thy terror when a prisoner. What, in Heaven's name, can make her formidable? That she lays claim to England? that the Guises Will not acknowledge thee as queen? [Did then Thy people's loyal fealty await These Guises' approbation?] Can these Guises, With their objections, ever shake the right Which birth hath given thee; which, with one consent, The votes of parliament have ratified? And is not she, by Henry's will, pa**ed o'er In silence? Is it probable that England, As yet so blessed in the new light's enjoyment, Should throw itself into this papist's arms? From thee, the sovereign it adores, desert To Darnley's murderess? What will they then, These restless men, who even in thy lifetime Torment thee with a successor; who cannot Dispose of thee in marriage soon enough To rescue church and state from fancied peril? Stand'st thou not blooming there in youthful prime While each step leads her towards the expecting tomb? By Heavens, I hope thou wilt full many a year Walk o'er the Stuart's grave, and ne'er become Thyself the instrument of her sad end. BURLEIGH. Lord Leicester hath not always held this tone. LEICESTER. 'Tis true, I in the court of justice gave My verdict for her d**h; here, in the council, I may consistently speak otherwise Here, right is not the question, but advantage. Is this a time to fear her power, when France, Her only succor, has abandoned her? When thou preparest with thy hand to bless The royal son of France, when the fair hope Of a new, glorious stem of sovereigns Begins again to blossom in this land? Why hasten then her d**h? She's dead already. Contempt and scorn are d**h to her; take heed Lest ill-timed pity call her into life. 'Tis therefore my advice to leave the sentence, By which her life is forfeit, in full force. Let her live on; but let her live beneath The headsman's axe, and, from the very hour One arm is lifted for her, let it fall. ELIZABETH (rises). My lords, I now have heard your several thoughts, And give my ardent thanks for this your zeal. With God's a**istance, who the hearts of kings Illumines, I will weigh your arguments, And choose what best my judgment shall approve. [To BURLEIGH. [Lord Burleigh's honest fears, I know it well, Are but the offspring of his faithful care; But yet, Lord Leicester has most truly said, There is no need of haste; our enemy Hath lost already her most dangerous sting— The mighty arm of France: the fear that she Might quickly be the victim of their zeal Will curb the blind impatience of her friends.] 1 The picture of Ate, the goddess of mischief, we are acquainted with from Homer, II. v. 91, 130. I. 501. She is a daughter of Jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal gods. She counteracted Jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in order to involve them in calamity.—HERDER. Shakspeare has, in Julius Caesar, made a fine use of this image:— "And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge with Ate by his side, come hot from hell, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war." I need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.—TRANSLATOR.