frontispiece

THE
EARL OF ESSEX;

A TRAGEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS;

BY HENRY JONES.

AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS
BY MRS INCHBALD.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER ROW.

Edinburgh:
Printed by James Ballantyne and Co.

REMARKS.

This tragedy was dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield, who was the author's patron, and who, it is supposed, assisted him in the composition of the work.

There are two tragedies under the title of "The Earl of Essex;" but the following, by Henry Jones, brought upon the stage in 1753, was most favourably received, and became very attractive.

The dramatist, who founds his plot and incidents on history, generally adds, from his invention, those scenes, which best describe the power of love. Here it has been otherwise, at least in the character of the queen; whom every distinguished historian has portrayed as more enamoured of her favourite Essex, than even this play will exhibit.

The character of Essex is sustained with greater accuracy:—the fiery quality of his temper; his alternate pride and humility, daring and servility, in presence of his royal mistress; with all his boisterous vows of loyalty to her; and tender oaths of love to another.

The few characters which compose this drama, all claim an interest with the reader, were it but from their mere names. The great Sir Walter Raleigh is of the least importance among the dramatic group; and yet his appearance causes an association of ideas, that makes every line he utters valuable, for the sake of his reputation, and his impending misfortunes.

The admirers of Shakspeare will likewise feel a double concern in the fate of the Lord Southampton, whilst they recollect, that this zealous friend of Essex was the noble protector and benefactor of England's most illustrious bard.

The name of Burleigh sounds high as that of Elizabeth, for their glory was equal—but the name alone attaches to the present character; for the great Cecil, by the wisdom of whose measures England was, at the period of this play, in its highest prosperity, died about two years previous to the death of Essex; and this, his son, became the unhappy earl's bitterest foe.

Not even a female character is here introduced from fiction.—Rutland and Nottingham are both well known in history; and though the cruel incident of the ring is not attested by any historian, it is minutely related by them all.

But whether her majesty gave the unfortunate hero of this tragedy a ring or not, it is most certain that she gave him a blow; and of all the proofs of love which she bestowed upon him, this surely cannot be numbered amongst the least.

It is extraordinary, that the present play, having introduced this singular occurrence, should omit the particular sentence which Essex uttered on the memorable occasion.—History says, that he laid his hand on his sword, and told Elizabeth, "he would not have taken such treatment from her father, Henry the Eighth."—But, as a man of true gallantry, the Earl should not have felt himself offended at a woman's anger; which experience must have told him, was the certain mark of concealed tenderness. His reply had been most excellent had it been delivered with smiles instead of frowns; but to have recourse to his sword, was acting like a novice in the art of love; and resenting an affront, when he should have acknowledged a favour.

As that love which is expressed by indirect means, has often the greatest hold upon the attention and sympathy of the spectator; so, many an auditor and reader will feel more interest in the restrained affection of Elizabeth for her paramour, than in the unbridled fondness of Rutland for her husband.—The scene, where the queen bestows the ring, as a pledge of her kindest regard for his safety, is peculiarly affecting, because the strength of her passion is there discoverable, under a demeanour properly dignified; and all violent propensity, either to esteem or resentment, is strictly governed by the consideration of her own exalted rank.

In depicting the affliction, which the queen endured upon the execution of Essex, and more especially at the news that he had implored her mercy in vain, the dramatist has fallen infinitely below the historian. Hume relates, that when Nottingham, having in her last illness requested to see the queen, revealed her fatal secret, and entreated her majesty's forgiveness, the queen shook the dying countess in her bed, and exclaimed—"God may forgive you, but I never will." The most dismal melancholy, as it is alleged, succeeded this rage.—But, from whatever cause, it is certain that an almost unheard-of despondency concluded the reign of this great princess, whose mind was masculine; and who, throughout her long career of government, never evinced one feminine weakness, which was not the effect of love, or of that vanity, which hoped to inspire the passion.

At this era, in the short space of two years, the hand of death snatched from the court of Great Britain, all these its most remarkable personages—Essex, Nottingham, and the queen. It is probable, that the decease of the first, hastened that of the second, as well as of the last, character; for the countess's remorse for political stratagem is reported to have been dreadfully severe.

The earl died in his thirty-fourth, and the queen in her seventieth year.—In a subject, her majesty's unseasonable love might have formed a comic, instead of a tragic, drama.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Earl of Essex	Mr Holman
Southampton	Mr Betterton.
Burleigh	Mr Murray.
Raleigh	Mr Claremont.
Lieutenant	Mr Thompson.
Queen Elizabeth	Mrs Pope.
Lady Rutland	Mrs Esten.
Lady Nottingham	Mrs Litchfield.
SCENE,—London.

THE
EARL OF ESSEX.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

An Antichamber in the Palace.

Enter Burleigh and Raleigh.

Bur. The bill, at length, has pass'd opposing numbers,
Whilst crowds, seditious, clamour'd round the senate,
And headlong faction urged its force within.

Ral. It has, my lord!—The wish'd-for day is come,
When this proud idol of the people's hearts
Shall now no more be worshipp'd.—Essex falls.
My lord, the minute's near, that shall unravel
The mystic schemes of this aspiring man.
Now fortune, with officious hand, invites us
To her, and opens wide the gates of greatness,
The way to power. My heart exults; I see,
I see, my lord, our utmost wish accomplish'd!
I see great Cecil shine without a rival,
And England bless him, as her guardian saint.
Such potent instruments I have prepared,
As shall, with speed, o'erturn this hated man,
And dash him down, by proof invincible.

Bur. His day of glory now is set in night;
And all my anxious hopes, at last, are crown'd.
Those proofs against him, Raleigh—

Ral. All arrived.

Bur. Arrived! how? when?

Ral. This very hour, my lord:
Nay more, a person comes, of high distinction,
To prove some secret treaties made by Essex,
With Scotland's monarch, and the proud Tyrone.

Bur. How say'st? to prove them?

Ral. Ay, my lord, and back'd
With circumstances of a stronger nature.
It now appears, his secretary, Cuff,
With Blunt and Lee, were deep concern'd in this
Destructive scheme contrived to raise this lord,
And ruin Cecil. Oh, it is a subtile,
A deep-laid mischief, by the earl contrived
In hour malignant, to o'erturn the state,
And, horror to conceive! dethrone the queen!

Bur. These gladsome tidings fly beyond my hopes!
The queen will listen now, will now believe,
And trust the counsel of her faithful Burleigh.
Dispose them well, till kind occasion calls
Their office forth; lest prying craft meanwhile
May tamper with their thoughts and change their minds:
Let them, like batteries conceal'd, appear
At once, both to surprise and to destroy.

Ral. His headstrong friend, the bold Southampton, too,
Now finds his rash endeavours all defeated,
And storms at thee, and the impeaching commons.

Bur. Let him rave on, and rage. The lion, in
The toils entangled, wastes his strength, and roars
In vain; his efforts but amuse me now.—

Enter Gentleman.

Gent. My lord, the Lady Nottingham desires,
With much impatience, to attend your lordship.

Bur. What may the purport of her business be?
Her tender wishes are to Essex tied
In love's soft fetters, and endearing bands.—
Conduct her in.
[Exit Gentleman.
And you, my Raleigh, watch Southampton's steps;
With care observe each movement of his friends;
That no advantage on that side be lost.—
[Exit Raleigh.
Southampton's Essex' second self;
His daring heart, and bold, ungovern'd tongue,
Are both enlisted in the rash designs
Of this proud lord, nor knows a will but his:
A limb so fix'd, must with the body fall.

Enter Lady Nottingham.

Not. Thrice hail to rescued England's guiding genius!
His country's guardian, and his queen's defence!
Great Burleigh, thou whose patriot bosom beats
With Albion's glory, and Eliza's fame;
Who shield'st her person, and support'st her throne;
For thee, what fervent thanks, what offer'd vows,
Do prostrate millions pay!

Bur. Bright excellence,
This fair applause too highly over-rates,
Too much extols, the low deserts of Cecil.

Not. What praises are too high for patriot worth;
Or what applause exceeds the price of virtue?
My lord, conviction has at last subdued me,
And I am honour's proselyte:—Too long
My erring heart pursued the ways of faction;
I own myself t' have been your bitt'rest foe,
And join'd with Essex in each foul attempt
To blast your honour and traduce your fame.

Bur. Though ne'er my wishing heart could call you friend,
Yet honour and esteem I always bore you;
And never meant, but with respect to serve you.

Not. It is enough, my lord, I know it well,
And feel rekindling virtue warm my breast;
Honour and gratitude their force resume
Within my heart, and every wish is yours.
O Cecil, Cecil, what a foe hast thou!
A deadly foe, whilst hated Essex lives!

Bur. I know it well—but can assign no cause.

Not. Ambition's restless hand has wound his thoughts
Too high for England's welfare; nay, the queen
Scarce sits in safety on her throne, while he,
Th' audacious Essex, freely treads at large,
And breathes the common air. Ambition is
The only god he serves; to whom he'd sacrifice
His honour, country, friends, and every tie
Of truth and bond of nature; nay, his love.

Bur. The man, that in his public duty fails,
On private virtue will disdainful tread;
And mighty love, who rules all nature else,
Must follow here in proud ambition's train.

Not. Pronounce it not! my soul abhors the sound
Like death——O, Cecil, will you kindly lend
Some pity to a wretch like me?

Bur. Command,
Madam; my power and will are yours.

Not. Will Cecil's friendly ear vouchsafe to bend
Its great attention to a woman's wrongs;
Whose pride and shame, resentment and despair,
Rise up in raging anarchy at once,
To tear, with ceaseless pangs, my tortured soul?
Words are unequal to the woes I feel;
And language lessens what my heart endures.

Bur. Madam, your wrongs, I must confess, are great;
Yet still, I fear, you know not half his falsehood.
Who, that had eyes to look on beauty;
Who, but the false, perfidious Essex, could
Prefer to Nottingham a Rutland's charms?
Start not!—By Heaven, I tell you naught but truth,
What I can prove, past doubt; that he received
The lady Rutland's hand, in sacred wedlock,
The very night before his setting out
For Ireland.

Not. Oh! may quick destruction seize them!
May furies blast, and hell destroy their peace!
May all their nights——

Bur. I pray, have patience, madam!
Restrain a while your rage; curses are vain.
But there's a surer method to destroy him;
And, if you'll join with me, 'tis done—he falls.

Not. Ha! say'st thou, Burleigh! Speak, my genius, speak!
Be quick as vengeance' self to tell me how!

Bur. You must have heard, the commons have impeached him,
And we have proofs sufficient for his ruin.
But then the queen—you know how fair he stands
In her esteem; and Rutland, too, his wife,
Hath full possession of the royal ear.
Here then, my Nottingham, begins thy task:
Try every art t' incense the queen against him,
Then step between her and the Lady Rutland:
Observe Southampton, too, with jealous eye;
Prevent, as much as possible, his suit:
For, well I know, he will not fail to try
His eloquence on the behalf of Essex.

Not. It shall be done; his doom is fix'd: he dies.
Oh 'twas a precious thought! I never knew
Such heartfelt satisfaction.—Essex dies!
And Rutland, in her turn, shall learn to weep.
The time is precious; I'll about it straight.
Come, vengeance, come! assist me now to breathe
Thy venom'd spirit in the royal ear!
[Exit.

Bur. There spoke the very genius of the sex!
A disappointed woman sets no bounds
To her revenge.—Her temper's form'd to serve me.

Enter Raleigh.

Ral. The Lord Southampton, with ungovern'd rage,
Resents aloud his disappointed measures.
I met him in the outward court; he seeks,
In haste, your lordship; and, forgetting forms,
Pursues me hither, and demands to see you.

Bur. Raleigh, 'tis well! Withdraw—attend the queen—
Leave me to deal with this o'erbearing man.
[Exit Raleigh.

Enter Southampton.

South. Where is the man, whom virtue calls her friend?—
I give you joy, my lord!—Your quenchless fury
At length prevails,—and now your malice triumphs.
You've hunted honour to the toil of faction,
And view his struggles with malicious joy.

Bur. What means my lord?

South. O fraud! shall valiant Essex
Be made a sacrifice to your ambition?
Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice,
And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not, sure,
Thus bid defiance to each show of worth,
Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus
Your suffering country, in her bravest son!

Bur. But why should stern reproach her angry brow
Let fall on me? Am I alone the cause
That gives this working humour strength? Do I
Instruct the public voice to warp his actions?
Justice, untaught, shall poise the impartial scales,
And every curious eye may mark the beam.

South. The specious shield, which private malice bears,
Is ever blazon'd with some public good;
Behind that artful fence, skulk low, conceal'd,
The bloody purpose, and the poison'd shaft;
Ambition there, and envy, nestle close;
From whence they take their fatal aim unseen;
And honest merit is their destined mark.

Bur. My country's welfare, and my queen's command,
Have ever been my guiding stars through life,
My sure direction still.—To these I now
Appeal;—from these, no doubt, this lord's misconduct
Hath widely stray'd; and reason, not reviling,
Must now befriend his cause.

South. How ill had Providence
Disposed the suffering world's oppressed affairs,
Had sacred right's eternal rule been left
To crafty politicians' partial sway!
Then power and pride would stretch the enormous grasp,
And call their arbitrary portion, justice:
Ambition's arm, by avarice urged, would pluck
The core of honesty from virtue's heart,
And plant deceit and rancour in its stead:
Falsehood would trample then on truth and honour,
And envy poison sweet benevolence.
Oh, 'tis a goodly group of attributes,
And well befits some statesman's righteous rule!
Out, out upon such bloody doings!
The term of being is not worth the sin;
No human bosom can endure its dart.
Then put this cruel purpose from thee far,
Nor let the blood of Essex whelm thy soul.

Bur. 'Tis well, my lord! your words no comment need;
No doubt, they've well explained your honest meaning;
'Tis clear and full. To parts, like yours, discretion
Would be a clog, and caution but incumbrance.
Yet mark me well, my lord; the clinging ivy
With the oak may rise, but with it too must fall.

South. Thy empty threats, ambitious man, hurt not
The breast of truth. Fair innocence, and faith,
Those strangers to thy practised heart, shall shield
My honour, and preserve my friend. In vain,
Thy malice, with unequal arm, shall strive
To tear the applauded wreath from Essex' brow;
His honest laurel, held aloft by fame,
Above thy blasting reach, shall safely flourish,
And bloom immortal to the latest times;
Whilst thou, amidst thy tangling snares involved,
Shalt sink confounded, and unpitied fall.

Bur. Rail on, proud lord, and give thy choler vent:
It wastes itself in vain; the queen shall judge
Between us in this warm debate. To her
I now repair: and, in her royal presence,
You may approve your innocence and faith.
Perhaps you'll meet me there. Till then, farewell.
[Exit.

South. Confusion wait thy steps, thou cruel monster!—
My noble and illustrious friend betray'd
By crafty faction, and tyrannic power!
His sinking trophies, and his falling fame,
Oppress my very soul. I'll to the queen,
Lay all their envy open to her view,
Confront their malice, and preserve my friend.
[Exit.

SCENE II.

Presence Chamber.

The Queen discovered, sitting on her Throne. Raleigh, Lords, and Attendants.

Qu. Eliz. Without consulting me! presumptuous man!
Who governs here?—What! am not I your queen?
You dared not, were he present, take this step.

Ral. Dread sovereign, your ever faithful commons
Have, in their gratitude and love for you,
Preferred this salutary bill against him.

Enter Burleigh.

Qu. Eliz. You, my Lord Burleigh, must have known of this.
The commons here impeach the Earl of Essex
Of practising against the state and me.
Methinks I might be trusted with the secret.
Speak, for I know it well, 'twas thy contrivance.
Ha! was it not? You dare not say it was not.

Bur. I own my judgment did concur with theirs.
His crimes, I fear, will justify the charge,
And vindicate their loyalty and mine.

Qu. Eliz. Ha! tell not me your smooth deceitful story!
I know your projects, and your close cabals,
You'd turn my favour into party feuds,
And use my sceptre as the rod of faction:
But Henry's daughter claims a nobler soul.
I'll nurse no party, but will reign o'er all,
And my sole rule shall be to bless my people:
Who serves them best, has still my highest favour:
This Essex ever did.

Enter Southampton.

Behold, Southampton,
What a base portrait's here! The faithful Essex
Here drawn at large, associating with rebels,
To spoil his country, and dethrone his queen!

South. It is not like.—By Heaven, the hand of envy
Drew these false lines, distorted far from truth
And honour, and unlike my noble friend
As light to shade, or hell to highest heaven.
Then suffer not, thou best of queens, this lord,
This valiant lord, to fall a sacrifice
To treachery and base designs; who now
Engages death in all his horrid shapes,
Amidst a hardy race, inured to danger;
But let him, face to face, this charge encounter,
And every falsehood, like his foes, shall fly.

Qu. Eliz. To me you seem to recommend strict justice,
In all her pomp of power. But are you sure
No subtle vice conceal'd assumes her garb!
Take heed, that malice does not wear the mask,
Nor envy deck her in the borrow'd guise.
Rancour has often darken'd reason's eye,
And judgment winks, when passion holds the scale.
Impeach the very man to whom I owe
My brightest rays of glory! Look to it, lords;
Take care, be cautious on what ground you tread;
Let honest means alone secure your footing.
Raleigh and you withdraw, and wait our leisure.
[Exeunt Raleigh and Southampton.
Lord Burleigh, stay; we must with you have farther
Conference.—I see this base contrivance plain.
Your jealousy and pride, your envy of
His shining merit, brought this bill to light.
But mark me, as you prize our high regard
And favour, I command you to suppress it:
Let not our name and power be embarrass'd
In your perplexing schemes. 'Twas you began,
And therefore you must end it.

Bur. I obey.
Yet humbly would entreat you to consider
How new, unpopular, this step must be,
To stand between your parliament's enquiry
And this offending lord.—We have such proofs—

Qu. Eliz. Reserve your proofs to a more proper season,
And let them then appear. But once again
We charge you, on your duty and allegiance,
To stop this vile proceeding; and to wait
Till Essex can defend himself in person.
If then your accusations are of force,
The laws, and my consent, no doubt, are open.
He has my strict command, with menace mix'd,
To end effectually this hated war,
Ere he presume to quit the Irish coast.

Bur. Madam, my duty now compels me to—

Qu. Eliz. No more! see that my orders be obey'd.
[Exit Burleigh.
Essex a traitor!—it can never be—
His grateful and his honest soul disdains it.—
Can he prove false? so high advanced, so honour'd,
So near my favour—and—I fear, so near
My heart!—Impossible.—This Burleigh hates him,
And, as his rival, therefore would destroy him;
But he shall find his narrow schemes defeated.
In vain their fraudful efforts shall combine
To shake my settled soul, my firm design;
Resolved to lift bright virtue's palm on high,
Support her grandeur, and her foes defy.
[Exit.