What deep distress attends on regal state

Great Emperors have felt, and Rome’s delight

Well knew. Ah! sure mark for cruel archers!

Since a perfect Sov’reign ne’er fill’d a throne,

Unless in sculpture carv’d. There the head achs

Not for its awful weight, as Mary’s doth. [Enter Lord Herries.]

My good Lord Herries, tell me what tidings?

Oh! most heavy from Pinkie! whence I’m come,

And saw—there saw the confederate troops

Drawn in fierce hostile form. Our Sov’reign’s army

Posted advantageously on rising ground,

The Ambassador of France strove there with

Friendship’s zealous rhet’ric to urge a peace

For th’ unhappy Queen. Vain effort! The Nobles

Were inflexible! who advanc’d to th’ attack,

As veterans in war. Mary’s troops, alarm’d

At their resolute approach, shrinking with fear

From th’ engagement, gave them a bloodless victory,

Tho’ she alternate wept, threaten’d and reproach’d

Her chiefs with cowardice. Fruitless attempt

To reanimate the spirits of her

Drooping generals:—they fled—vile Bothwell

With them! leaving their royal Mistress grief’s

Abject prey!

Sad news, indeed! sway’d by tender

Friendship, her woe I deeply commiserate;

But say how, where is she now? Doth not this

Defeat make our disconsolate poor Queen

Incapable of resolution?

Truly so. Therefore, by dire necessity

Compell’d, B2r 3

Compell’d, the weeping Fair, with piercing sighs,

Surrender’d a pris’ner to the brave Kirkaldy.

But ne’er was beauteous youth treated with

Such indignity as Scotland’s Majesty,

By the insulting rabble and vulgar

Soldiery! who pour’d in her ears volleys

Of such opprobrious names as quite o’ercame her.

Thus earth, our common parent, receiv’d her,

Whose tears, like orient pearls, bedew’d the ground,

And call’d forth tristful drops from ev’ry glist’ring eye.

There, succumb’d in grief! as great Darius, shameful
scene,

Long she lay, O most horrid to relate!

A spectacle to glut her subjects cruelty!

At length some nobles, tinctur’d with humanity,

Led her into a cot, unworthy to

Receive the royal pris’ner, who fainting cry’d,

“Pray give me a little water now, for

Mercy’s sake.”—Oh! could my life ransom her

Liberty, to the racking wheel I’d give it

To liberate the Queen; who is now strongly

Guarded, remov’d to Lochlevin Castle.

These, these are the sad tidings of the day!

And I defeat’s herald.

Stay, Herries, stay;

We’ll haste together, and work ev’ry nerve

B2 To B2v 4

To soften this unexampled rigour

To her who left the Gallic shore, escorted

By six royal Princes; with Nobles an

Illustrious train.—That scene of greatness past,

Still we should reverence our Sov’reign and her sex,

Whom now her Peers have so ignobly treated

That future calendars will blush to mention.

My Lord and Barons, here assembled

To advise in council, and henceforth determine

On the late conduct of our sinking Queen;

To quell commotions which have shook the realm

Almost to anarchy, requires deep thought

And speedy resolution.

True, my Lord;

The B3r 5

The brilliant splendor of our northern star

Is much obscur’d; Mary’s late lustre fades;

Her mind’s a bark, tost with furious surges,

Or wretchedly becalm’d! So to preserve the state,

We instantly must steer the royal vessel.

What! shall freeborn subjects, noble and brave,

Supinely see a fell ambitious traitor,

With ev’ry horrid mark of murder on him,

Wading his way through blood to Darnley’s seat?

Gaze on him, loaded with favours which only

Royalty may claim, and rest as statues!

Behold him revelling in our Sov’reign’s smiles,

Who most impartially should hold the beam

Of justice, and foremost stand t’avenge her husband’s

Murder! Pray, my good Lord of Lennox, speak!

My noble Lords, ask not a father’s voice:

While nature’s dictates are predominant,

Our words, nay e’en our thoughts must partial prove.

Reluctant came I here, where duty only

Brought me. Permit me to retire, and let my

Feelings speak. I can no more.

Enough, my Lord—

Enough from Darnley’s sire: your meaning’s clear.

’Tis on our hearts engrav’d. Retire, asur’d,

That should persuasions fail, we’ll arm like an

Embattled B3v 6

Embattled phalanx, our hostile troops, to

Right the people: else our illustrious sires,

Pale shades, once valiant Scots, would here arise,

And chide their coward sons.

Since ’tis agreed

Not to lose time in this just act; let us

Unanimous in council, Lords and Barons,

Seek and punish the late daring regicides,

And zealously protect, with ev’ry care,

Henry’s lawful heir, the princely infant James,

Scotland calls forth intrepid youths to arm

As vet’rans in her cause: all who refuse

Shall hence be branded with a traitor’s name!

How say ye, Lords?

I readily enlist

And all, all—

Our vows are seal’d in Heav’n.

Most noble Lords, let not a court of justice

Banish mercy, an attribute divine!

Which ne’er could tarnish souls of bravest lustre.

Let B4r 7

Let us all look on Mary as she was—

Now with feeling compassion as what she is;

When on the Gallic, or the Scottish throne,

Pitying mildness ever rul’d her soul,

And none e’er sued her clemency in vain.

She may perhaps have foibles; casual

Eclipses of the mind. What of those?

A Queen is but a mortal! Who’ll asert

A mortal is without ’em? If ye will

Judge so harshly, question you own breasts,

Make conscience umpire, and let that plead her cause.

Which of us all, if match’d so ill in love

As royal Mary, lavishing her soul

On one who in return for the vast blessing
He ne’er knew how to prize, prov’d an ingrate,

A most perfidious——

Stop, my lord, nor seek

T’excuse those crimes which earth nor heav’n can
pardon.

Those crimes can ne’er be prov’d upon our Queen:

But could they, we, her subjects only, can

Ne’er have legal power to sit her judges.

She stands accus’d of hatred to Darnley,

Whom, thro’ misguided love, she made her husband:

A match B4v 8

A match ne’er form’d in Heav’n.—Now, my good
Lords,

Adopt the sage advice: let conscience speak:

If ye had warm’d a viper in your breasts,

And the ingrate, recov’ring, had stung you,

Would ye not quickly throw the serpent out?

Certainly. Thanks, my worthy Lord, for pleading

Thus the royal sufferer’s cause, whose virtues

Will her faults o’erbalance, although she’s winnow’d

With so rough a wind.—My Lords of Lindsay,

Morton and Glencairn, with patience favour me:—

If possible, I’d fain incline your hearts to Mary;

Whom, view mentally as the Gallic Queen,

Whose copious mind art after art well stor’d;

Her virtue such, suspicion’s foul breath ne’er dar’d
to soil,

In the full reign of beauty, youth and splendor!

Tho’ Francis shone not brightest among Kings,

She kindly threw a veil o’er ev’ry weakness—

Was all the tender, all the loyal wife;

And when he early paid Nature’s great debt,

His relict, like the widow’d turtle, most

Piteous moan’d his loss! The brilliancy

Of Mary’s charms then shone supreme, and won all

Beholders hearts, converting awe to love.

Such her certificates of innate goodness,

And trust of power ne’er violated,

When C1r 9

When courted to resume her native throne,

Here she reigned her people’s idol; applauded,

Blest, wherever seen! Could this sov’reign Lady

At once degenerate;—fall from a planet

To a mere meteor!—a star of glory,

To a noxious vapour?

Impossible. So ’tis to think her tongue, whose
enchanting

Eloquence might charm the angelic choir,

Could e’er speak Darnley’s death; or her lily hand,

With mighty Kings breath-dew’d, work the foul deed!

The arrogated pow’r which ye, my Lords,

Have proudly claim’d o’er this unhappy Queen,

I beseech you, exert as men, not tyrants:

Drive her not to acts of desperation.

Surely My Lord of Athol joins this wish

Most fervently. In a princess so young,

Could we expect Solon’s steady wisdom,

Blended with Dian’s purity?—vain hope!

From one nurs’d at the Gallic Court, where most

Pernicious scenes of gallantry and revenge

Are light offences, and by their holy fount’s

Ablution are soon cleans’d. Here ’tis not so;

Where Mary was sorely urg’d to retaliate

On Darnley: he that in cool blood assasinated

C Rizzio C1v 10

Rizzio, harmonious Rizzio, before her!

Each blow the pregnant Queen internal felt

So strong, as nearly shook her embryo babe

From his affrighted mother! Thus terrified,

Bothwell protected the sacred person

From her savage Lord. Hence his vile ambition

Sprung, hence Mary’s misery! Therefore pity

Calls us to guard her realm; but let us dread

Heav’n’s swift avenging wrath, should we usurp her
state.

They frowning went; yet Scotland must revere

Their wise resolves, thus boldly to defend

The Prince and realm from that Machiavel’s

Encroaching power; aspiring Bothwell!

Who certainly won Mary, by philt’ring arts,

Black as his soul t’allure and poison hers:

Blest with learning’s lore, beyond what Athens’

School could teach. But alas! a heart too tender,

Too susceptible! Female hearts had need

Be adamant, when ply’d by plaints, tears, and pray’rs,

From our deluding sex. Sad case of Scotland’s Queen!

Who better rul’d her subjects than herself.

Thus t’was the roses wither’d early in

Her nuptial garland, mildew’d o’er and o’er

With pestilential blasts! as specious Darnley,

Sottish and brutal, soon lost her tender love,

And shipwreck’d Mary’s happiness.

Madam, th’import of Lord Lindsay’s commission,

I’ll not repeat; the papers he presented

Being signed with your hand, which stamps me—
Regent

Of the Scottish realm, during your son’s minority.

By what pow’r can ye dethrone your regal Queen,

Who ne’er infring’d her people’s right, nor in

One article e’er broke her coronation oath?

You’ve twice dethron’d yourself by sep’rate acts,

Those papers most clearly evince.

They were extorted by cruel tyranny!

Else I’d ne’er yielded to my rebellious

Subjects dictates. All counsellors and friends

C2 Forbade C2v 12

Forbade my presence, e’en too France and England’s

Ambassadors; surrounded by troops, each way,

Of female fears and enemies; accompanied

By savage threats of instant death! Thus driv’n,

Read it necessity, not will, that stamp’d

Those papers:—Lindsay, horrid Lindsay forc’d

My signature—this sordid garb also!

But calmer thoughts firmly convince me,

This action of my hand, not mind, in law is null.

Nature and justice must absolve the act.

You’ll ne’er find it so. Hence know this, your deeds

Consequences: in numerous Scottish Lords’

Presence, the Prince, your son, was crown’d at Sterling;

And now all state business, public writs, and

Forms of government, are only valid

In the name of James.

Presumptuous man!

Thus to gloss faction! yea, night-born treason!

When first my subjects raised themselves against me,

On certain terms of peace, I yielded to Kirkaldy;

When he and Morton solemnly assured me,

In all confederates names, they would restore

Me to my realm and throne. I now claim promise

Of C3r 13

Of loyalty as their lawful Sov’reign.

What! James seize his mother’s crown?—a suckling!

Impossible!—and thou, thou Scotland’s Regent?

Yes, captive Queen: I send Ambassadors

Hence; nor are its Peers confederates,

As you call ’em, but Lords of secret Council:

Whence learn now most justly you’re deposed.

Say, Murray, of the infernal Council;

Since such high, vile, complicated treason

Demand one secret. No open Council

Durst abet such traitorous deeds, such adroit

Villainy! and such, such insulting baseness

As thou, their chief, hast utter’d. No Parliament

Would dare to proceed thus against a Sov’reign,

Sprung from a lineal race of Scottish Kings.

Inaugurated six trebled centuries.

Proud-fall’n Princess! your crimes debase rank,
descent,

And degrade you to the low vulgar: else to

Scotland’s crown, and me, you’d ne’er been prisoner.

To Murray?—Matchless effrontery!—To thee!

Who C3v 14

Who made earldoms thine?—Who twice pardon’d
thee,

Outlaw’d, cringing for safety and power

In a distant realm, till there my pardon

Reach’d thee? Are these clement acts razed from

Thy memory? If so, ’tis treacherous

As thy enormous baseness!

Too much to hear

From her who could abet assassin’s deeds,

Then wed her husband’s desp’rate murderer!

Too much to hear and bear, indeed, from thy

O’erflowing gall, who hast stolen those subjects
allegiance

From me their head, who were my state-pillars.

What name befits thee! usurper of legal rights!

Thou arch-fiend!—thou Scottish Cinna!

Whom I’ve stretch’d my royal power to serve,

And thought till now my subject, yet treated

As my friend and brother.

Your boasted friendship,

And your regal blaze, are irksome tales!—so trite,

They C4r 15

They grate upon the ear. I scorn all honour

Mary can confer, who threw away her own;

E’en when a two-fold crown shone round her brow,

Trampling on Chastity, her sex’s diadem,

Next her subject’s weal:—more, alas! dead to all

Maternal kindness due to her infant son,

To be a licentious villain’s paramour!

A mere “rapacious hell-kite.” O woman! woman!

Thus to listen unto the guileful serpent!—

For him leave Eden!—sinking t’inky darkness.

Curs’d infatuation! If Rome’s proud Prelate

Grants absolution to crimes of your deep die,

Protestants are not so charitable.

Ne’er more will Modesty, for example,

Look to you: but all—all bright maids and matrons,

Professing virtue, will turn from Mary,

Who, in some short months, will only be remembered

As a ghost! creating astonishment!

And horror!

Astonishment had so

O’erwhelm’d me! that I had no pow’r to stop thy

Viper’d tongue’s envenom’d slander! Such language

Ne’er before assail’d mine ear: yet Heaven knows,

Thy C4v 16

Thy charges false, and will reveal the junto

Of Darnley’s horrid murder! thy agency

In’t too behind the curtain, which t’atoms

Will blow thy massy accusation; since

Criminals, midst death’s poignant tortures,

Clear’d each speck of guilt I’m basely charg’d with,

By letters forg’d process veil’d: else soon ere now I’d

Fully refuted ’em, as ye can’t produce

Originals; nor e’er name the mother,

Whose anxious heart felt more for her child,

Her only child! than mine for James’s, whose image

On my soul lies stamp’d; and still, methinks, I see.

Sweet babe! baptiz’d with his mother’s tears ere
exil’d!

Nurs’d by her foes, and guiltless made her throne’s

Usurper; e’er yet his infancy hath

Seen one circling year! Now playful as the

Tender fawn, when the fell huntsmen, with chace

Impetuous, drive the sad parent from its

Harmless side: though savagely I’m deny’d

To clasp my child, and smother him with kisses!

Yet hear, thou virgin mother of purity [Queen kneels.]

Divine! may Scotland’s Prince, invested with a
crown,

Ne’er feel the thorns with it that pierc’d my temples!

May he flourish like the palm-tree, or mountaincedar,

And ne’er meet such opprobrious insults

As D1r 17

As sharpen now my pangs, and tear my lovely

Blossom from the tree that bore him!

’Tis firm

Justice, that holds her balance o’er your head;

’Tis she implants those thorns you seem to feel

For Darnley’s death, and base temerity!

Look down, down, all-gracious Power,

With beams of mercy, on the poor suffering wretch,

Who finds none here! My pungent griefs and tears,

Are to thee grateful as rain to the parch’d earth.

Name the crimes that penitence and prayer

Can’t expiate. Bless’d sound! a prophet’s voice

Re-echo’d and recorded. Yet erring man’s

Inexorable! Man alone forgets ’tis

Slippery ground he treads here, and perchance

He may strain a muscle, where his brother fell.

You talk highly; but swol’n speech and assum’d
virtue

Will ne’er expiate such complex sins as yours.

No. The sacred pow’r you implore, kens such

D Contrition, D1v 18

Contrition, hypocrisy; its worst climax.

’Twere better far n’er t’incense a just God,

Than thus to deprecate his vengeful ire

By seeming penitence.

Goodness infinite,

Malice cannot limit. Ah, mercy! mercy!

Though I feel it dead on earth, I know it

Lives above; where wearied spirits rest

On downy pillows. Thy longer visit,

Murray, I wish not, while unconscious

Of those acts I stand, charg’d on me by foes, [Queen rises.]

Who’ve sworn my reprobation. Thy cruel

Share in all, now riveted on my soul!

Most amply she forgives. But as thou’rt young

In thine high office, deign t’accept advice

From the first victim of thy lawless pow’r.

Never insult the wretched; ’tis cowardice;

More inhumanity! reflect, my combin’d wrongs

Have rais’d thee to that pinnacle of greatness,

Which may not long be thine. ’Tis my birthright,

Remember; which to gain, thou hast depos’d

Heav’n’s own anointed. Thy assum’d pow’r is

Merely form the rabble; whose veering tongues

To day extol, to-morrow execrate!

On such reeds never lean. Thence timely mark

Haughty D2r 19

Haughty dissimulation, veil’d e’er so thick,

Makes inborn foes; who, keen-sighted as the lynx,

Will watch to wound thee.—Yet hear me, Murray,

Hear, while I charge thee with dying pow’r’s voice!

As thou dost arrogate my sceptre, Oh! be

My realms true guardian, and my dear son’s,

Thy sov’reign; ne’er bring either into mean

Dependance upon proud England’s power.

Pity th’ unfortunate, and think of her,

Who henceforth only reigns the Queen of Sorrows!

Think of thy unconquer’d spirit, Mary;

Undoubtedly I shall. Each day’s

Transactions as Viceroy here, will force more

Remembrance of thee than I wish

My Noble Lords, what news abroad? Something

Important your looks presage. If aught to me,

Pray impart it soon.

It much concerns your Grace,

And the whole Scottish realm. Then, to be brief,

Mary, your pris’ner, is escap’d by means

Of youthful Douglas; who, won by high promises,

Freed D3r 21

Freed her person; whilst her warder and guards

Took thoughtless their nocturnal meal: mean while

Douglas stole the keys; the strong wards yielded

Strait to the Queen’s wishes: a boat was ready

To waft her, and one poor trusty female,

To the desir’d haven; where Lord Seaton,

Sir James Hamilton, with numbers more,

Receiv’d Mary with rapid joy; who mounted

a steed, instantly high-spirited as

His rider, to th’ eye outstripping the wind.

Thus, full accompanied, she reach’d Lord Seaton’s
lodge.

Is the Queen at West Lothain now?

No, my Lord; there she only halted three hours;

And though night had drawn her sable curtain,

Mary, like a wing’d courier of th’ air,

Pursu’d her journey, and reach’d Lord Hamilton’s

At dawning morn.

Never, never more, my Lords,

Let us admit female timidity

A bar to any hazardous enterprize.

Woman, however weak, her will assisting,

She’d D3v 22

She’d scale the Alps, yea, ride o’er Mount Atlas

T’accomplish it. Yet this fugitive Fair

May chance to break the sword she’d fain fight with.

Say, my Lords, what detains this Amazon

At Hamilton?

Your Grace must know, the Queen

There holds her court, raising a potent army;

Now more than six thousand strong; formidable

Associations plan’d beside, to defend

Her person and authority: to which

Nine Bishops, nine Earls, eighteen Lords, and brave

Gentlemen by the score, have now subscrib’d.

Ha! is it so indeed?

Most true, my Lord.

Then ’tis no time to loiter. We must repel

Force by instant force of hostile rage, whate’er’s

Th’ expence of blood and treasure to the realm.

Yes, instantly our arms, new burnish’d, must

Try their metal, though the Queen’s cavalry

Nearly twice numbers ours; and she hourly

Expects t’augment it by Huntly, Ogilvie,

And the northern clans—beside her certain

Aid from France—perchance from England.

O miserable Scotland! widow’d country!

How art thou environ’d! Must brother against

Brother unnat’ral raise his sword; and the

Primeval curse be ours? Thy lonely streets, O Scotland!

Shall mourn her laws enactors; their murderers;

Thus the feat of civil war and ruthless

Desolation!

Away, away with women’s

Fruitless plaints! they must give place to action:

Let rank contend with rank, and clashing spears

Create a mighty din. To arms, to arms!

War shall arbitrate.

Surely th’ ireful Fates conspire against me!

In ev’ry view of fortune ingulf’d in woe!

Distracted with the past—crush’d with the present;

And dreadful looks the future! Where can I fly?

What do? Chac’d from my throne and realm; defeated

In the field; I’m now hunted down the abyss

Of misery!—forc’d e’en in this dark retreat

To seek refuge from mine own subjects. Ah!

What horrid vicissitudes hath mutiny

Made E1r 25

Made mine. When Scotland stamp’d me with her

Diadem, ’twas civil Discord’s rough sea!

On which I’ve been tost e’er since. Dear ladies,

Tell me, if ye think Heaven has reserv’d

One gracious drop of comfort for your

Wretched mistress! if ye hope but one drop,

Now, now, implore it. Since, alas! like me,

Was ever woman so involv’d in woe?

Or e’er a mother’s joy so early blasted?

Was e’er yet woman so destroy’d by greatness?

Was e’er a regal Queen so girt with foes?

Or by rapacious furies so beset?

In each relation struck beyond relief;

Enforc’d to fly from the last fatal battle,

Sixty long miles expos’d to warring elements,

Without refreshment; ere sleep, Nature’s sweet nurse,

Could close mine eyes: now op’d to new distress!

But I’ll to England.—My little all see

Safely pack’d: Ah! my good girls, I must away. [To her Women.]

Ladies, will ye attend me?

Oh! most assuredly.

But, royal Madam, said you to England?

I did. Why ask you?

Doth not Elizabeth

Reign there?

Yes. What then?

My thoughts I’d fain conceal.

Speak all without reserve.

Sov’reign Lady,

May I ask, is Elizabeth your friend?

She is my coussin, sister, near in blood,

And in alliance with my crown; as such

I deem her friend.

England’s Queen, I’ve heard, hath

Profound E2r 27

Profound judgment, nervous sense; but more than
proud,

She is imperious, and brooks no rival.

O’er all the mighty Potentates in Europe

She holds herself the greatest; nor is her

Jealousy confin’d to regal power,

But e’en in beauty’s empire fain would triumph!

Alas! she’s little there to dread from me:

I’m a mere wither’d flow’r, crush’d by stormy fate.

Mine eyes, whatever lustre they might boast,

Now are as dim as yon expiring lamps:

The rosy bloom hastes to forsake my cheek,

And cheerless sorrow steals my ev’ry charm.

The world will ne’er suppose that rapid wane.

Elizabeth not only envies your

Superior charms, but e’en your joy maternal.

For when each foreign Court sent gratulations

Warm on your son’s birth, the poor virgin Queen,

At your parental honours inly pin’d!

Herself comparing “to a barren stock;”

These sentiments

Are somewhat capricious from my fair sister,

Who offer’d and stood first sponsor to my

Hapless babe! Much I wish’d her marriage,

Whose suitors have been many: Sweden’s King,

Arran, heir of great Chateerhault; and a

Numerous train of other Princes, who

Laid their sceptres at her feet.

Ah! Madam,

I’m well inform’d these princely suitors were

Allur’d more by Eliza’s wond’rous policy,

Than true regard; else why so long retain’d,

At length discarded, but from private views?

’Twas so with some, who sought t’avenge Love’s ill-

Requited cause. My sister’s mind is masculine;—

Her aim, conquests more renowned than those of
hearts:

While Fame’s loud trump resounds through distant
climes,

The matchless glory of the virgin Queen!

The reasons are, this Queen, like Eastern Monarchs,

Jealous of prerogative, would let no Prince

E’er share her throne, or claim an equal pow’r.

Oh! that I’d ne’er shar’d either! ’Twas venom

That anointed me the Queen of Scots; and snakes,

Glossy snakes, were wreath’d in my ill-fated crown!

I’d been far happier a village maid,

Wearing a May-day’s garland: a sheep-hook

In my hand would lighter sway’d than e’er did

Globe or septre. All insignias, garish

Flags of royalty, are now to me as

Mere regalias of th’illustrious dead!

Whose gaudy banners stream high, announcing

Dust enshrin’d!—such pageants mock my misery!

What am I now?—I know not, except a

Limed wounded bird, from th’invidious net

Hardly escaped! while falcons and vultures,

Hov’ring o’er its devoted head, proclaim

Destruction! I’ll try now to forget

The painful thought by an interval of rest:

My spirits ask it; tho’ th’ effort may be vain.

If so, I’ll quick return.—Good Ladies, stay. [The Ladies offering to go with the Queen.]

Vanilla E3v 30

Vanilla and Aretta, come with me.

Oh! I am sick at heart!

Heav’n grant Sleep’s opiate dews may chace her
sorrows off!

Somnus waves his peaceful wand

Seldom o’er grief like hers. To sad a truth

Our Mistress spake, saying, “I’m sick at heart.”

She dreams of England as a recipe;

But much I dread, that foggy air will more

Obnoxious prove than Scotland’s keener breath.

Numberless reasons Mary might advert to,

Which ’gainst this expedition strongly militate.

True: since her unsuspecting soul is blind to

Dangers that await her from Elizabeth,

Her pow’rful, envious rival! Cool reason

Can’t comprehend that meteor of caprice,

Who haughtily denied our Sov’reign

An E4r 31

An escort from the Gallic coast, to mount

Her native throne.

Unprecedented refusal!

A request no stranger would vainly sue.

More:—Elizabeth, for certain, sent ships

T’intercept Mary’s voyage, and bind her

To th’ English fleet, like t’a conquer’d victim.

Could Mary then scape?

Neptune, far kinder

Than Elizabeth, well knowing his ward,

Crush’d her intent; and pale Cynthia, instant

Hung out a sable robe, beneath whose misty

Crescent Mary escap’d the snare; yet England’s

Queen hail’d ours loudly first, when here she safe
arriv’d.

Elaborate duplicity! Oh! much

I wish, Mary would ne’er trust her sacred person

In her sister’s realm.

Soon I expect my Lord,

Who perhaps may try to dissuade our Sov’reign’s

Purpos’d flight, could aught avail her tortur’d mind!

Lo! here she comes!

We hope your Majesty

Hath found sweet repose.

No, Ladies: I’m grief’s

Centinel; sleep, like my velvet friends, flies me,

E’en while I court it—yea, as I would an

Approaching serpent.

Lord Herries, thrice welcome!

’Tis kind, ’tis very kind thus to visit

Your fall’n Queen! My heart records it truly so:

While it longs t’ unload her weight unto thy

Friendly F1r 33

Friendly ear. But matters so numerous

And cogent, crowd on my poor brain! struggling

for prior vent, each retards th’other’s claim;

Though time forbids my speaking aught distinct,

But that I’ll strait for England.

Heav’n forbid!

Say why, My Lord?

Oh! for an host of reasons.

Where else can I fly? Think not my spirit

So entirely broke, that I’ll e’er post to France,

A fugitive! since, in that lap of blessing,

I spent my halcyon days, and left all

My glory! England now’s my only fort,

Where my good sister courts me to her arms;

Will in her royal person meet, and in

Her court benignly welcome and protect me:

There I shall regain life; seem like a being

From another world; emerg’d from Chaos.

It pains me much to tell your Majesty,

Vehement warmth, and a too credulous ear,

Oft ushers arrow’d pain to guileless hearts.

Think how conspicuous England’s Queen hath shown

Her pow’r, e’er since you sway’d the Scottish sceptre!

You, her presumptive heir, if she dies childless,

Excites her cruel jealousy! whose legal

Claim to Henry’s throne is doubtful e’en ’mongst

Protestants and all European Princes,

Who can’t allow her father’s marriage null

With living, loyal Catherine; when Boleyne

Took her bed, and gave your rival blotted birth!

Which made her, like Bolingbroke, guard royal

Prerogative with more than dragon’s watch

And eyes of Argus. Hence sprang Elizabeth’s

Rooted resentment to you for assuming

Th’ English arms and title.

Alas! to woe

I’m a true heiress! Not nine dawning morns

Mine eyes were ope’d on this pernicious world,

Ere my father left it. His crown devolv’d

On me with direful care! Woo’d in infancy,

For pious Edward’s future bride——

(He Albion’s heir). Weigh’d by political

Reasons, Henry would fain have ta’en me,

E’en a cradled property, from my nurse’s breast;

But F2r 35

But on such terms, my guardian peers forbade.

Hence England’s sordid views quite defeated;

Fresh wars commenc’d betwixt our neighb’ring realms

I, an innocent actress in all these scenes;

Howe’er, the Gallic Monarch from England

Gain’d me, in my sixth year, to wed the Dauphin.

Oh! was the courteous Francis living,

You ne’er had known this hydra-headed trouble:

His manners mild as the morn that ushers

In Day’s radiant King.

E’en so:—All deeds

Preliminary fix’d by my husband’s fire,

And my maternal uncles, Lorrain’s Cardinal,

And Duke of Guize, wisdom’s oracle rever’d!

Their joint counsel I observ’d, as ancients

Those of Delphos. There, in conjunct opinion

Of Elizabeth’s illegitimacy,

Henry of France, enjoin’d his son and me

T’assume the title of England’s King and Queen,

And bear th’ arms as my heredit’ry right.

Great Queen, they were, and stampt you vast importance

F2 In F2v 36

In all European Courts, ken’d with a hawk’s eye

By your proud sister, then mounting her throne;

When sage Cecil, reading his Sov’reign’s heart,

With prompt zeal met her wishes in weakening

Your regal pow’r, and aggrandizing hers

By treaty, wherein he stipulated

Mary should renounce all claim t’England’s crown.

Cruel destiny! that e’er gave one to me,

Or any title but of innocence!——

I beg your Majesty, shun what yet you may;

Doubt is oft’times wisdom’s friendly beacon.

Ne’er fly to England, nor in your foe confide,

Whose many indignant flights and subtle wiles,

Should be full warning, not to rely on her,

Who hath so oft deceiv’d you.

No more, no more:

I’ll relinquish royal claims for peace; kingdoms

For liberty and safety, which this realm

Affords me not. I’m now an humbled Queen!

Seeking the oliv’d, not the laurel’d crown,

Which long, I hope, will flourish on my sister,

Who, feeling as a Sov’reign in my person,

Will defend its sacred rights, cancel wrongs,

And F3r 37

And make me ev’ry, ev’ry recompence.

Gracious Princess! I’ve weigh’d events by time,

Truth’s parent; who oft’ hath mourn’d to see treaties

Royal stamp broken, ere th’ impress’d wax was cold,

By her who brib’d your servants, aided your foes,

Hamilton, Murray, with other malcontents,

Under her auspices, when your known rebels.

Though conscious of the treacherous part,

Elizabeth deny’d all to France and Spain’s

Remonstrances. Hence I aver, Mary’s

Not more beauty’s accomplish’d Queen, than her

Sister is dissimulation’s.

Fie, Herries, fie!

You draw my sister in too black a shade!

She ne’er could do all this; national honour

And faith of Kings forbid it.

Benign Sov’reign!

It should.—To say it has, armies of futile

Evasions, and responses to plain queries,

Will fully refute. Think how this potent Queen

Repuls’d your princely suitors; feigning many

Great ones were warmly hers, who, wing’d by love,

Came F3v 38

Came from earth’s distant corners to court your hand,

Then press’d to wed by Scotland’s voice. Nay, to
your throne

She e’en propos’d her subject, minion!

Next a mere man of wax, Darnley, this snare

You fell into. No wonder; ’twas deeply laid;

While, like enamel’d meads carpeted o’er

With such luxuriant flow’rs that caught th’ eye,

Till as gourds they wither’d, and prov’d the root

Too weak to bear transplanting in a royal soil.

O Darnley! Oh, it harrows up my soul,

To hear him nam’d! all mis’ries poignant shafts

Are lodg’d in me by him: from remembrance

Fain, fain I’d chace him!

I’d not have nam’d him,

But t’evince deceit you suffer’d greatly by!

No limpid stream runs clearer than my conscience,

Thus warning my Queen against the possible,

If not probable future troubles from her

Jealous elder sister.

My elder sister

Now can dread in me no rival; a wretch

Forlorn F4r 39

Forlorn—a poor beggar in her kingdom!

As such, to reject her offer’d friendship,

Were to incense my regal patroness,

And refuse th’ only safe asylum from my foes.

Here ye have new laws—unprecedented laws!

Scotland is govern’d by aristocracy;

To which I’m forc’d to yield, though born its
Sov’reign.

—Avaunt cruel suggestions against

Elizabeth, whose breath will blast rebellion;

Bright Seraphs, waft me to her kindred arms,

Who longs to soothe and mitigate my woes!

Bless’d guardian angel! now to her I’ll fly.

Herries, write instantly to Louther, Carlisle’s

Governor; say I’m embark’d: bid him prepare

To receive a harass’d Queen! his Sov’reign’s sister.

Reflect, Oh, yet reflect on what I’ve urg’d!

That glowing brand of enmity, England’s Queen,

Bears Scotland’s. Here witness’d by Heaven’s eye,

Behold your faithful servants kneeling t’implore, [Lord Herries and Ladies kneel to the Queen.]

That sanguine hopes may ne’er your Majesty

Delude, to hazard that dangerous shore.

I’m resolv’d: write this moment as I command.

Reluctant I obey.

Could tearful pray’rs

Invoke stern, awful fate! the briny showers

Bedewing now our cheeks; we would unite

With manly Herries t’intreat our Sov’reign,

Ne’er from her realm to stray; lest in the tangled

Mazes of expectations flow’ry land,

You find a fork-tongu’d viper lurking to

Bite you deadly!

Would I’d been fix’d in my

Bed with a blisst’ring fever, or palsy’d age,

Ere I’d been compell’d thus t’employ my hand.

Infatuated Queen!

Ladies, be cheerful.

In spite of all sage Herries can divine,

My sister England will be my pole star;

And ye shall find me more your friend than mistresss.

Though here I’m native, Scotland inhumes my

Happiness, and e’en merits not my bones.

Vile, vile nursery of infernal foes,

And complicated treason; black as the

Stygian lake! Such thy enormous deeds

Might make e’en the centre move with earthquakes!

And the land dissolve in air; blowing her

Treacherous sons to savage regions;

There with their kindred brutes to herd! but yet,

Though ye have torn my soul’s peace to atoms,

If possible, Scotland’s perfidious cruelty

I’ll steep in Lethe: farewell—farewell!

This letter much disturbs my thoughts: to thee

Faithful Cecil, I’ll impart ’em; asking thine

How to steer in this Sicilian strait.

Beton’s arriv’d with wing’d news from Carlisle—

There the Scottish Queen rests: this informs me,

Expecting I’ll personally meet and

Here escort her, paying her regal honours

As to a Monarch; more, espouse her cause,

And instantly join my force ’gainst the fierce Scots.

Are not these high expectations somewhat

Absurd from a depos’d Sov’reign to England?

They are. To meet her, let me think—to meet

Her host of troubles;—adopt ’em;—fold Mary

To my heart, and lull her griefs to sleep! My will,

Nor honour, can bend thus to a fugitive,

Under imputed crimes too enormous

E’er for Elizabeth’s throne to shelter.

What!—an exile t’ expect my court’s homage?

Shallow woman!—Yet for her, as a fall’n Queen,

I feel. Subjects have no right to trample

On Sov’reign’s necks, to whom our private conduct

Was ne’er amenable. Thou, my warder

Of political secrets, now advise

What reception ’tis best to give Mary,

My late dreaded, but now humbled rival.

Most wise and mighty Princess, you well know

Your royal sister’s aspiring spirit.

Whom should you embrace at Whitehall, raise troops

To reinstate, and fix on her native throne;

The Regent’s pow’r must fall, who governs Scotland

By your counsel. Your deep penetration

Clearly views th’importance of the moment,

With all its attendant consequences.

’Tis far beyond my futile reach of thought

So to advise in aiding, or rejecting

Mary’s suit, that future times may ne’er regret.

G2 Well, G2v 44

Well, bright Queen! I know your eye’s on glory fix’d,

And high renown.

In this exigence, how,

How can I pursue glory’s radiant track?

Oh! there’s a strange whirl of passions in my soul—

Each claiming audience. By piteous moans

Mary wooes my friendship:—she returns me a ring [Holding up the Ring.]

I presented her as my love’s token

In former days, now claim’d by this Xenia.

Therefore should my offer’d protection cool.

’Twill be resounded through each distant clime——

From all bring me reproach.

Foreign censure,

My royal Mistress had better incur,

Than weaken England’s cause. I apprehend

Self-preservation should be your guiding star.

Say, is’t best to stand neuter in Mary’s cause,

Aid, or dismiss her my realm with disdain?

Who long hath artful woo’d my diadem,

And gave me much disquiet.

Should my Sov’reign

Reject the plaintive Queen, France, her avow’d friend,

Would abet her cause, and Spain support it;

Where Mary’s late lover, Don Carlos, might

Renew his suit, e’en mount in higher flame,

And join your rival in the Papal pow’r;

Which must distress your Majesty, and aid

Your foes.

Greatly, indeed! So doth th’abject Queen’s

Claim’d friendship from me. Now her petition

I’ll see if I’ve minutely read.—No, surely: [Reading the letter silently]

Since, after vows of amity, eternal

Gratitude, and soforth, credulous Mary,

Fully relying on me in her cause,

Wishes me sole umpire.—’Tis well:—I’ll be so.

Yet ne’er fold the plaintiff to my bosom,

Until her character, bleach’d in the sun,

Appears as new-fall’n snow, which so I’ll manage,

’Twill take some time to whiten. [Aside.]

Mean while Mary’s lofty spirit must and shall

Bow to Elizabeth’s supremacy.

But where to place her person, now in my pow’r,

Is the grand question.

Your Majesty

Can’t fix the royal captive in your palace,

Whose youth, beauty, bland address, and sufferings,

E’en now fascinates all strangers.

What then?

Allow her a court elsewhere, to fill with

Bigoted Papists, who would elbow me

From my throne?

No, mighty Princess, never.

Sooner confine the suppliant t’ a castle,

Whence o’er the world Mary can spread no more

Delusions, nor, with a wand’ring fire,

Inflame enemies to that religion

Which supports Great England’s crown.

Good Cecil,

Thy counsel’s energetic; I’ll adopt it.

So Bolton shall be Mary’s park, Lord Scroop

Her warder. Give instant orders this captive’s

Guarded there; her indulgencies but small,

Attendants few. Fly swift to Bolton, with her:

Elizabeth’s G4r 47

Elizabeth’s strong pow’rs shall humble this

Scottish rival.—Sister, no more, unless in form.

My Lord of Norfolk, I joy to see you:

’Tis a pleasure superlative indeed,

To have my Court honour’d with your presence!

What hath detain’d your Grace so long from it?

Methinks you look chagrin’d.

Sov’reign Lady,

Such various affairs have detain’d and

Lately engag’d me, they would be tedious

T’enumerate; and great impertinence

E’er t’obtrude ’em upon your royal ear.

This artful evasion gives tacit proof

Your Grace hath seen the fugitive Mary:

Is she pleas’d with her English residence?

I frankly own, Imperial mistress,

I’ve lately visited Scotland’s Majesty,

Who, with pious rhetoric in her eye,

Was intensely mourning for your displeasure!

Source of more poignant grief than all she felt

From usurpation of her realm and crown.

Then on my knees let me intreat my Sov’reign, [Norfolk kneels to Elizabeth.]

Once to see the disconsolate stranger,

And soothe her anxious soul!—Whate’ers the

Real or suppos’d crimes clouding her fame;

Comfort from you will spread new glories round

England’s gracious Queen!

What mean’st thou, Norfolk?

Has Mary sent thee here to plead her cause?

Art thou her champion? Ta’en captive by

The syren? Listed amongst her suitors,

Who din my ears with plaints from that fall’n fair?

Ye all shall find my sceptre faction’s scourge,

While I sway it. So, my Lord Duke, take heed;

Take heed whose cause you aid; or how hoist the flag

Of silken dalliance with my proud rival!

Lest, when entranc’d in golden slumbers, I

Loudly wake ye: in friendship’s name I warn thee.

Dread Sov’reign! Mary’s thoughts seem congenial

With her thrice-humbled state! When the meanest
peasant

Is traduc’d, Nature would fain plead its cause.

Pardon me then, most sage and potent Queen,

If I dare, urg’d by humanity alone,

Now ope my lips for injur’d royalty,

To a sister’s feelings: since your bright throne

Is great Astræa’s temple, where th’oppress’d

Most gladly throng.

Arise, Norfolk! this exile

Shall find I’m not dead to pity; she feels not

More than me; torn with conflicting passions!

True, I’ve sought peace, sanctimonious peace,

Throughout my realm, at vast expence! thwarted oft

By Mary’s secret measures.—Yet she makes me

Sole arbitress in the quarrel ’twixt her

And th’ invidious Scots! therefore at York,

Soon, thou, Norfolk, my faithful delegate,

Shalt sit supreme, to hear and judge what the

Warm Caledonians bring ’gainst their

Dethron’d Sovereign; whose presum’d black stains,

Much I wish may be expung’d: then I’d meet

Mary in a soul’s embrace! cheering my heart

H That G1v 50

That secretly yearns to soothe and heal her grief,

With sisterly affection. But till then

My rectitude, and regal dignity,

Admit no interview with the sweet mourner.

Howe’er, thou mayst console the fugitive,

With full assurance of my tender love.

Bless’d Queen of mercy! whose inspiring strains

This moment makes Elysium round me!

Not light’s first rays to men born blind, nor sounds

Cherubic to the deafen’d ear, could e’er

Enchant th’ awaken’d sense, like this employ!

Thanks, gracious Sov’reign; thanks, e’en vocal air

Might join for this most grateful embassy!

Now, Hermes, waft me on thy wings, to pour

This balm in the deep suff’rer’s wounds.

Apt Duke,

In love to the degenerate Mary.

Go, vain man! go and soothe her to thy ruin!

Or learn more loyalty to thy Sov’reign.

Thrice bless’d the pow’r that gave me early love

For science, and pious meditation!

Howe’er delighted with youthful gaieties,

Or jewell’d thrones; books still retain’d their charms!

Nor could the syren pleasure drive ’em from me:

In this drear prison they’re my only comforts;

Shewing me what I am, and what I should be.

Now adversity, torrent-like, pours on me

From all quarters. Each month’s a blast of time,

Stripping hope’s tree of her sweet foliage,

Till it is leafless.

Since an age of absence,

Forgive, bright Queen! if duty thus obtrudes

On sacred ardor. In contemplation wrapt,

I found thee last Permit me t’eye your author.—

Oh! “The Lives of the Saints.” Let not th’abstruse sage

H2 Wholly H2v 52

Wholly engross your pious mind. But turn

Your thoughts to joys more lively than this writer

Inculcates; who treats of bliss remoter far,

Than that I woo thee t’embrace.