ACT THE FOURTH.

Essex. Confusion! what, a blow!
Restrain, good Heaven! down, down, thou rebel passion,
And, judgment, take the reins. Madam, 'tis well—
Your soldier falls degraded;
His glory's tarnish'd, and his fame undone.
O, bounteous recompence from royal hands!
But you, ye implements, beware, beware,
What honour wrong'd, and honest wrath can act.

Qu. Eliz. What would th' imperious traitor do?
My life
Beyond thy wretched purpose stands secure.
Go, learn at leisure what your deeds deserve,
And tremble at the vengeance you provoke.
[Exeunt all but Essex and Southampton.

Essex. Disgraced and struck! Damnation! Death were glorious!
Revenge! revenge!

South. Alas, my friend! what would
Thy rage attempt? Consider well the great
Advantage now your rash, ungovern'd temper
Affords your foes. The queen, incensed, will let
Their fury loose.—I dread the dire event!

Essex. Has honest pride no just resentment left?
Nor injured honour, feeling?—Not revenge!
High Heaven shall hear, and earth regret, my wrongs.
Hot indignation burns within my soul.
I'll do some dreadful thing!—I know not what;
Some deeds, as horrid as the shame I feel,
Shall startle nature, and alarm the world.
Then hence, like lightning, let me furious fly,
To hurl destruction at my foes on high;
Pull down oppression from its tyrant seat,
Redeem my glory, or embrace my fate.
[Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

Qu. Eliz. Not taken yet?

Not. No, madam: for the Earl
Of Essex, leagued with desperate friends, made strong
And obstinate resistance; till, at length,
O'erpower'd by numbers, and increasing force,
He fled for shelter to a small retreat,
A summer-house, upon the Thames; resolved
To perish, rather than submit to power.

Qu. Eliz. Oh, where shall majesty bestow its favours,
Since Essex has a traitor proved to me,
Whose arm hath raised him up to power and greatness;
Whose heart has shared in all his splendid triumphs,
And feels, ev'n now, his trait'rous deeds with pity?
But hence with pity, and the woman's pangs:
Resentment governs, and the queen shall punish.

Bur. Illustrious queen! the traitors all are seized.
Their black debates
Were held at Drury House. The dire result
Was this: that Essex should alarm the citizens
To open mutiny, and bold rebellion.
Their purpose was to seize your royal palace,
And sacred person; but your faithful people,
As by one mind inform'd, one zeal inspired,
Rose up at once, and with their virtue quell'd them.

Qu. Eliz. Thanks to their honest, to their loyal hearts!
But say, were any persons else concern'd,
Of high distinction, or of noted rank?

Bur. Yes, madam, many more;
'Mong whom the bold Southampton foremost stands.
They're now our prisoners, and are safe secured;
But Essex, with Southampton, and the rest
Of greater note, I would not dare dispose of
Without your royal mandate; and they now
Attend without, to know your final pleasure.

Qu. Eliz. Is this the just return of all my care?
My anxious toilsome days, and watchful nights?
Have I sent forth a wish, that went not freighted
With all my people's good? Or have I life,
Or length of days desired, but for their sake?
The public good is all my private care!
Then could I think this grateful isle
Contain'd one traitor's heart? But, least of all,
That Essex' breast should lodge it? Call the monster,
And let me meet this rebel face to face!
Do you withdraw, and wait within our call.
[Exeunt Burleigh and Nottingham.

You see, we dare abide your dangerous presence,
Though treason sits within your heart enthroned,
And on that brow rebellion lours, where once
Such boasted loyalty was said to flourish.
How low the traitor can degrade the soldier!
Guilt glares in conscious dye upon thy cheek,
And inward horror trembles in thine eye.
How mean is fraud! How base ingratitude!

Essex. Forbear reproach, thou injured majesty,
Nor wound with piercing looks, a heart already
With anguish torn, and bleeding with remorse.
Your awful looks, alone, are arm'd with death,
And justice gives them terror.

Qu. Eliz. Hapless man!
What cause could prompt, what fiend could urge thee on
To this detested deed? Could I from thee
Expect to meet this base return? from thee,
To whom I ought to fly with all the confidence
That giving bounty ever could inspire,
Or seeming gratitude and worth could promise?

Essex. Alas! I own my crimes, and feel my treasons;
They press me down beneath the reach of pity.
Despair alone can shield me from myself.

Qu. Eliz. My pride forbids me to reproach thee more;
My pity, rather, would relieve thy sorrow.
The people's clamours, and my special safety,
Call loud for justice, and demand your life.
But if forgiveness from an injured queen
Can make the few short hours you live more easy,
I give it freely, from my pitying heart;
And wish my willing power could grant thee more.

Essex. Oh, let me prostrate thus before you fall,
My better angel, and my guardian genius!
Permit me, royal mistress, to announce
My faithful sentiments, my soul's true dictates;
Vouchsafe your Essex but this one request,
This only boon—he'll thank you with his last,
His dying breath, and bless you in his passage.

Qu. Eliz. Rise, my lord!
If aught you have to offer can allay
Your woes, and reconcile you to your fate,
Proceed;—and I with patient ear will listen.

Essex. My real errors, and my seeming crimes,
Would weary mercy, and make goodness poor;
And yet the source of all my greatest faults
Was loyalty misled, and duty in extreme.
So jealous was my sanguine heart, so warm
Affection's zeal, I could not bear the least
Suspicion of my duty to my queen.
This drove me from my high command in Ireland;
This, too, impell'd me to that rude behaviour,
Which justly urged the shameful blow I felt;
And this, O fatal rashness! made me think
My queen had given her Essex up, a victim
To statesmen's schemes, and wicked policy.
Stung by that piercing thought, my madness flew
Beyond all bounds, and now, alas! has brought me
To this most shameful fall; and, what's still worse,
My own reproaches, and my queen's displeasure.

Qu. Eliz. Unhappy man! My yielding soul is touch'd,
And pity pleads thy cause within my breast.

Essex. Say, but, my gracious sovereign, ere I go
For ever from your presence, that you think me
Guiltless of all attempts against your throne,
And sacred life. Your faithful Essex ne'er
Could harbour in his breast so foul a thought.
Believe it not, my queen. By heaven, I swear,
When in my highest pitch of glory raised,—
The splendid noon of Fortune's brightest sunshine,—
Not ages of renown,—could yield me half
The joy, nor make my life so greatly blest,
As saving yours, though for a single hour.

Qu. Eliz. My lord, I would convince you, that I still
Regard your life, and labour to preserve it;
But cannot screen you from a public trial.
With prudence make your best defence; but should
Severity her iron jurisdiction
Extend too far, and give thee up condemn'd
To angry laws, thy queen will not forget thee.
Yet, lest you then should want a faithful friend
(For friends will fly you in the time of need)
Here, from my finger, take this ring, a pledge
Of mercy; having this, you ne'er shall need
An advocate with me, for whensoe'er
You give, or send it back, by heaven, I swear,
As I do hope for mercy on my soul,
That I will grant whatever boon you ask.

Essex. Oh, grace surprising! most amazing goodness!
Words cannot paint, the transports of my soul!
Let me receive it on my grateful knees,
At once to thank, and bless the hand that gives it.

Qu. Eliz. Depend, my lord, on this—'twixt you and me,
This ring shall be a private mark of faith
[Gives the ring.
Inviolate. Be confident; cheer up;
Dispel each melancholy fear, and trust
Your sovereign's promise—she will ne'er forsake you.

Essex. Let Providence dispose my lot as 'twill,
May watchful angels ever guard my queen;
May healing wisdom in her councils reign,
And firm fidelity surround her throne;
May victory her dreaded banners bear,
And joyful conquests crown her soldiers' brow;
Let every bliss be mingled in her cup,
And Heaven, at last, become her great reward.
[Exit.

Qu. Eliz. 'Tis done;
And yet foreboding tremors shake my heart.
Something sits heavy here, and presses down
My spirits with its weight. What can it mean?
Suppose he is condemn'd! my royal word
Is plighted for his life; his enemies,
No doubt, will censure much.—No matter; let them;
I know him honest, and despise their malice.

Rut. Where is the queen? I'll fall before her feet
Prostrate; implore, besiege her royal heart,
And force her to forgive.

Qu. Eliz. What means this phrensy?

Rut. Oh, gracious queen! if ever pity touch'd
Your generous breast, let not the cruel axe
Destroy his precious life; preserve my Essex,
My life, my hope, my joy, my all, my husband!

Qu. Eliz. Husband!—What sudden, deadly blow is this!
Hold up, my soul, nor sink beneath this wound.——
You beg a traitor's life!

Rut. Oh, gracious queen!
He ever loved—was ever faithful—brave!
If nature dwells about your heart, oh, spurn
Me not!—My lord! my love! my husband bleeds!

Qu. Eliz. Take her away.

Rut. I cannot let you go.
Hold off your hands!—Here on this spot I'll fix—
Here lose all sense. Still let me stretch these arms,
Inexorable queen!—He yet may live.
Oh, give him to my poor, afflicted heart!
One pitying look, to save me from distraction.

Qu. Eliz. I'll hear no more. I'm tortured—take her hence.

Rut. Nay, force me not away.—Inhuman wretches!
Oh, mercy, mercy!—Then to thee, good Heaven,
(My queen, my cruel queen, denies to hear me!)
To thee, for mercy bend.
Melt down her bosom's frozen sense, to feel
Some portion of my deadly grief, my fell
Distraction.—Turn, oh, turn, and see a wife,
A tortured wife——

Qu. Eliz. Why am I not obey'd?

Rut. Nay, do not thus
Abandon me to fell despair. Just Heaven,
That sees my sorrows, will avenge the wrong,
This cruel wrong—this barbarous tyranny.
[Forced off.

Qu. Eliz. Wedded to Rutland! Most unhappy pair!
And, oh, ill-fated queen! Never till now
Did sorrow settle in my heart its throne.
Recall my pledge of safety from his hands,
And give him up to death!—But life or death
To me is equal now.
Unhappy state, where peace shall never come!
One fatal moment has confirm'd my doom—
Turn'd all my comfort to intestine strife,
And fill'd with mortal pangs my future life!
[Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Not. Now, vengeance, steel my heart!
Offended woman, whilst her pride remains,
To malice only, and revenge, will bow;
And every virtue at that altar sacrifice.
But see, he comes, with manly sorrow clad.
There was a time, that presence could subdue
My pride, and melt my heart to gentle pity.
I then could find no joy but in his smiles,
And thought him lovely as the summer's bloom;
But all his beauties are now hateful grown.

Essex. Whether you bring me death, or life, I know not.
But, if strict friendship, and remembrance past,
May aught presage to my afflicted heart,
Sure mercy only from those lips should flow,
And grace be utter'd from that friendly tongue.

Not. My lord, I'm glad you think me still your friend.
I come not to upbraid, but serve you now;
And pleased I am to be the messenger
Of such glad tidings, in the day of trouble,
As I now bring you. When the queen had heard,
That by the lords you were condemn'd to die,
She sent me, in her mercy, here to know
If you had aught to offer, that might move
Her royal clemency to spare your life.

Essex. Could any circumstance new lustre add
To my dread sovereign's goodness, 'tis the making
The kind, the generous Nottingham its messenger.

Not. 'Tis well, my lord; but there's no time to spare—
The queen impatient waits for my return.

Essex. My heart was wishing for some faithful friend,
And bounteous Heaven hath sent thee to my hopes.
Know then, kind Nottingham, for now I'll trust
Thee with the dearest secret of my life,
'Tis not long since, the queen (who well foresaw
To what the malice of my foes would drive me)
Gave me this ring, this sacred pledge of mercy;
And with it made a solemn vow to Heaven,
That, whensoever I should give, or send
It back again, she'd freely grant whate'er
Request I then should make.

Not. Give, give it me,
My lord! and let me fly, on friendship's wings,
To bear it to the queen, and to it add
My prayers and influence to preserve thy life.

Essex. Oh! take it then—it is the pledge of life!
Oh! it is my dear Southampton's
Last, last remaining stay! his thread of being,
Which more than worlds I prize!—Oh, take it, then;
Take it, thou guardian angel of my life,
And offer up the incense of my prayer!
Oh, beg, entreat, implore her majesty,
From public shame, and ignominious death,
And from the obdurate axe, to save my friend.

Not. My lord, with all the powers that nature gave
And friendship can inspire, I'll urge the queen
To grant you your request.

Essex. Kind Nottingham!
Your pious offices shall ever be
My fervent theme; and if my doubtful span
Relenting Heaven should stretch to years remote,
Each passing hour shall still remind my thoughts,
And tell me, that I owe my all to thee:
My friend shall thank you too for lengthen'd life.
And now I fly with comfort to his arms,
To let him know the mercy that you bring.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Qu. Eliz. Ha! is not Nottingham return'd?

Qu. Eliz. Dispatch a speedy messenger to haste her.—
My agitated heart can find no rest.
So near the brink of fate—-unhappy man!

How now, my Nottingham—what news from Essex?
What says the earl?

Not. I wish, with all my soul,
The ungrateful task had been another's lot.
I dread to tell it—lost, ill-fated man!

Qu. Eliz. What means this mystery, this strange behaviour?
Pronounce—declare at once; what said the earl?

Not. Alas, my queen! I fear to say; his mind
Is in the strangest mood that ever pride
On blackest thoughts begot.——He scarce would speak;
And when he did, it was with sullenness,
With hasty tone, and downcast look.

Qu. Eliz. Amazing!
Not feel the terrors of approaching death!
Nor yet the joyful dawn of promised life!

Not. He rather seem'd insensible to both,
And with a cold indifference heard your offer;
Till warming up, by slow degrees, resentment
Began to swell his restless haughty mind;
And proud disdain provoked him to exclaim
Aloud, against the partial power of fortune,
And faction's rage. I begg'd him to consider
His sad condition; nor repulse, with scorn,
The only hand that could preserve him.

Qu. Eliz. Ha!
What!—Said he nothing of a private import?
No circumstance—no pledge—no ring?

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.

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.

South. Count not on hope—
We never can take leave, my friend, of life,
On nobler terms. Life! what is life? A shadow!
Its date is but the immediate breath we draw;
Nor have we surety for a second gale;
Ten thousand accidents in ambush lie
For the embody'd dream.
A frail and fickle tenement it is,
Which, like the brittle glass that measures time,
Is often broke, ere half its sands are run.

Essex. Such cold philosophy the heart disdains,
And friendship shudders at the moral tale.
My friend, the fearful precipice is past,
And danger dare not meet us more. Fly swift,
Ye better angels, waft the welcome tidings
Of pardon to my friend—of life and joy!

Lieut. I grieve to be the messenger of woe,
But must, my lords, entreat you to prepare
For instant death. Here is the royal mandate,
That orders your immediate execution.

Essex. Immediate execution! what, so sudden?—
No message from the queen, or Nottingham!

Essex. Deluded hopes! Oh, worse than death!
Perfidious queen! to make a mock of life!
My friend—my friend destroy'd! Why could not mine—
My life atone for both—my blood appease?
Can you, my friend, forgive me?

South. Yes, oh yes,
My bosom's better half, I can.—With thee,
I'll gladly seek the coast unknown, and leave
The lessening mark of irksome life behind.
With thee, my friend, 'tis joy to die!—'tis glory!
For who would wait the tardy stroke of time?
Or cling like reptiles to the verge of being,
When we can bravely leap from life at once,
And spring, triumphant, in a friend's embrace?

Ral. To you, my Lord Southampton, from the queen,
A pardon comes; your life her mercy spares.

Essex. For ever blest be that indulgent power
Which saves my friend! This weight ta'en off, my soul
Shall upward spring, and mingle with the bless'd.

South. All-ruling Heavens! can this—can this be just?
Support me! hold, ye straining heart-strings, hold,
And keep my sinking frame from dissolution!
Oh, 'tis too much for mortal strength to bear,
Or thought to suffer!—No, I'll die with thee!
They shall not part us, Essex!