Mary Stuart | Page 4

heaven.
MARY. From heaven I hope For mercy, sir; and from my earthly
judges I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.
PAULET. Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.
MARY. Is the suit ended, sir?
PAULET. I cannot tell.

MARY. Am I condemned?
PAULET. I cannot answer, lady.
MARY. [Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.
PAULET. The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]
MARY. Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant The murderer shall
surprise me, like the judges?
PAULET. Still entertain that thought and he will find you Better
prepared to meet your fate than they did.
MARY (after a pause). Sir, nothing can surprise me which a court
Inspired by Burleigh's hate and Hatton's zeal, Howe'er unjust, may
venture to pronounce: But I have yet to learn how far the queen Will
dare in execution of the sentence.
PAULET. The sovereigns of England have no fear But for their
conscience and their parliament. What justice hath decreed her fearless
hand Will execute before the assembled world.

SCENE III.
The same. MORTIMER enters, and without paying attention to the
QUEEN, addresses PAULET.
MORTIMER. Uncle, you're sought for.
[He retires in the same manner. The QUEEN remarks it, and turns
towards PAULET, who is about to follow him.
MARY. Sir, one favor more If you have aught to say to me--from you I
can bear much--I reverence your gray hairs; But cannot bear that young
man's insolence; Spare me in future his unmannered rudeness.

PAULET. I prize him most for that which makes you hate him He is
not, truly, one of those poor fools Who melt before a woman's
treacherous tears. He has seen much--has been to Rheims and Paris,
And brings us back his true old English heart. Lady, your cunning arts
are lost on him.
[Exit.

SCENE IV.
MARY, KENNEDY.
KENNEDY. And dare the ruffian venture to your face Such language!
Oh, 'tis hard--'tis past endurance.
MARY (lost in reflection). In the fair moments of our former splendor
We lent to flatterers a too willing ear;-- It is but just, good Hannah, we
should now Be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure.
KENNEDY. So downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady! You, who
before so gay, so full of hope, Were used to comfort me in my distress;
More gracious were the task to check your mirth Than chide your
heavy sadness.
MARY. Well I know him-- It is the bleeding Darnley's royal shade,
Rising in anger from his darksome grave And never will he make his
peace with me Until the measures of my woes be full.
KENNEDY. What thoughts are these--
MARY. Thou may'st forget it, Hannah; But I've a faithful memory--'tis
this day Another wretched anniversary Of that regretted, that unhappy
deed-- Which I must celebrate with fast and penance.
KENNEDY. Dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit. The penitence
of many a heavy year, Of many a suffering, has atoned the deed; The
church, which holds the key of absolution, Pardons the crime, and

heaven itself's appeased.
MARY. This long-atoned crime arises fresh And bleeding from its
lightly-covered grave; My husband's restless spirit seeks revenge; No
sacred bell can exorcise, no host In priestly hands dismiss it to his
tomb.
KENNEDY. You did not murder him; 'twas done by others.
MARY. But it was known to me; I suffered it, And lured him with my
smiles to death's embrace.
KENNEDY. Your youth extenuates your guilt. You were Of tender
years.
MARY. So tender, yet I drew This heavy guilt upon my youthful head.
KENNEDY. You were provoked by direst injuries, And by the rude
presumption of the man, Whom out of darkness, like the hand of
heaven, Your love drew forth, and raised above all others. Whom
through your bridal chamber you conducted Up to your throne, and
with your lovely self, And your hereditary crown, distinguished [Your
work was his existence, and your grace Bedewed him like the gentle
rains of heaven.] Could he forget that his so splendid lot Was the
creation of your generous love? Yet did he, worthless as he was, forget
it. With base suspicions, and with brutal manners, He wearied your
affections, and became An object to you of deserved disgust: The
illusion, which till now had overcast Your judgment, vanished; angrily
you fled His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn. And did he seek
again to win your love? Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?
Or fall in deep repentance at your feet? No; the base wretch defied you;
he, who was Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king, [And
strove, through fear, to force your inclination.] Before your eyes he had
your favorite singer, Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but