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Mary Stuart

<h2> ACT III. </h2> <h2> SCENE I. </h2> In a park. In the foreground trees; in the background a distant prospect. MARY advances, running from behind the trees. HANNAH KENNEDY follows slowly. KENNEDY. You hasten on as if endowed with wings; I cannot follow you so swiftly; wait. MARY. Freedom returns! Oh let me enjoy it. Let me be childish; be thou childish with me. Freedom invites me! Oh, let me employ it Skimming with winged step light o'er the lea; Have I escaped from this mansion of mourning? Holds me no more the sad dungeon of care? Let me, with joy and with eagerness burning, Drink in the free, the celestial air. KENNEDY. Oh, my dear lady! but a very little Is your sad gaol extended; you behold not The wall that shuts us in; these plaited tufts Of trees hide from your sight the hated object. MARY. Thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me My prison walls, and flatter my illusion! Happy I now may deem myself, and free; Why wake me from my dream's so sweet confusion? The extended vault of heaven around me lies, Free and unfettered range my wandering eyes O'er space's vast, immeasurable sea! From where yon misty mountains rise on high I can my empire's boundaries explore; And those light clouds which, steering southwards, fly, Seek the mild clime of France's genial shore. Fast fleeting clouds! ye meteors that fly; Could I but with you sail through the sky! Tenderly greet the dear land of my youth! Here I am captive! oppressed by my foes, No other than you may carry my woes. Free through the ether your pathway is seen, Ye own not the power of this tyrant queen. KENNEDY. Alas! dear lady! You're beside yourself, This long-lost, long-sought freedom makes you rave. MARY. Yonder's a fisher returning to his home; Poor though it be, would he lend me his wherry, Quick to congenial shores would I ferry. Spare is his trade, and labor's his doom; Rich would I freight his vessel with treasure; Such a draught should be his as he never had seen; Wealth should he find in his nets without measure, Would he but rescue a poor captive queen. KENNEDY. Fond, fruitless wishes! See you not from far How we are followed by observing spies? A dismal, barbarous prohibition scares Each sympathetic being from our path. MARY. No, gentle Hannah! Trust me, not in vain My prison gates are opened. This small grace Is harbinger of greater happiness. No! I mistake not; 'tis the active hand Of love to which I owe this kind indulgence. I recognize in this the mighty arm Of Leicester. They will by degrees expand My prison; will accustom me, through small, To greater liberty, until at last I shall behold the face of him whose hand Will dash my fetters off, and that forever. KENNEDY. Oh, my dear queen! I cannot reconcile These contradictions. 'Twas but yesterday That they announced your death, and all at once, To-day, you have such liberty. Their chains Are also loosed, as I have oft been told, Whom everlasting liberty awaits. [Hunting horns at a distance. MARY. Hear'st then the bugle, so blithely resounding? Hear'st thou its echoes through wood and through plain? Oh, might I now, on my nimble steed bounding, Join with the jocund, the frolicsome train. [Hunting horns again heard. Again! Oh, this sad and this pleasing remembrance! These are the sounds which, so sprightly and clear, Oft, when with music the hounds and the horn So cheerfully welcomed the break of the morn, On the heaths of the Highlands delighted my ear. <h2> SCENE II. </h2> Enter PAULET. PAULET. Well, have I acted right at last, my lady? Do I for once, at least, deserve your thanks? MARY. How! Do I owe this favor, sir, to you? PAULET. Why not to me? I visited the court, And gave the queen your letter. MARY. Did you give it? In very truth did you deliver it? And is this freedom which I now enjoy The happy consequence? PAULET (significantly). Nor that alone; Prepare yourself to see a greater still. MARY. A greater still! What do you mean by that? PAULET. You heard the bugle-horns? MARY (starting back with foreboding apprehension). You frighten me. PAULET. The queen is hunting in the neighborhood—— MARY. What! PAULET. In a few moments she'll appear before you. KENNEDY (hastening towards MARY, and about to fall). How fare you, dearest lady? You grow pale. PAULET. How? Is't not well? Was it not then your prayer? 'Tis granted now, before it was expected; You who had ever such a ready speech, Now summon all your powers of eloquence, The important time to use them now is come. MARY. Oh, why was I not told of this before? Now I am not prepared for it—not now What, as the greatest favor, I besought, Seems to me now most fearful; Hannah, come, Lead me into the house, till I collect My spirits. PAULET. Stay; you must await her here. Yes! I believe you may be well alarmed To stand before your judge. <h2> SCENE III. </h2> Enter the EARL OF SHREWSBURY. MARY. 'Tis not for that, O God! Far other thoughts possess me now. Oh, worthy Shrewsbury! You come as though You were an angel sent to me from heaven. I cannot, will not see her. Save me, save me From the detested sight! SHREWSBURY. Your majesty, Command yourself, and summon all your courage, 'Tis the decisive moment of your fate. MARY. For years I've waited, and prepared myself. For this I've studied, weighed, and written down Each word within the tablet of my memory That was to touch and move her to compassion. Forgotten suddenly, effaced is all, And nothing lives within me at this moment But the fierce, burning feeling of my wrongs. My heart is turned to direst hate against her; All gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words, Are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien, The fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks! SHREWSBURY. Command your wild, rebellious blood;—constrain The bitterness which fills your heart. No good Ensues when hatred is opposed to hate. How much soe'er the inward struggle cost You must submit to stern necessity, The power is in her hand, be therefore humble. MARY. To her? I never can. SHREWSBURY. But pray, submit. Speak with respect, with calmness! Strive to move Her magnanimity; insist not now Upon your rights, not now—'tis not the season. MARY. Ah! woe is me! I've prayed for my destruction, And, as a curse to me, my prayer is heard. We never should have seen each other—never! Oh, this can never, never come to good. Rather in love could fire and water meet, The timid lamb embrace the roaring tiger! I have been hurt too grievously; she hath Too grievously oppressed me;—no atonement Can make us friends! SHREWSBURY. First see her, face to face: Did I not see how she was moved at reading Your letter? How her eyes were drowned in tears? No—she is not unfeeling; only place More confidence in her. It was for this That I came on before her, to entreat you To be collected—to admonish you—— MARY (seizing his hand). Oh, Talbot! you have ever been my friend, Had I but stayed beneath your kindly care! They have, indeed, misused me, Shrewsbury. SHREWSBURY. Let all be now forgot, and only think How to receive her with submissiveness. MARY. Is Burleigh with her, too, my evil genius? SHREWSBURY. No one attends her but the Earl of Leicester. MARY. Lord Leicester? SHREWSBURY. Fear not him; it is not he Who wishes your destruction;—'twas his work That here the queen hath granted you this meeting. MARY. Ah! well I knew it. SHREWSBURY. What? PAULET. The queen approaches. [They all draw aside; MARY alone remains, leaning on KENNEDY. <h2> SCENE IV. </h2> The same, ELIZABETH, EARL OF LEICESTER, and Retinue. ELIZABETH (to LEICESTER). What seat is that, my lord? LEICESTER. 'Tis Fotheringay. ELIZABETH (to SHREWSBURY). My lord, send back our retinue to London; The people crowd too eager in the roads, We'll seek a refuge in this quiet park. [TALBOT sends the train away. She looks steadfastly at MARY, as she speaks further with PAULET. My honest people love me overmuch. These signs of joy are quite idolatrous. Thus should a God be honored, not a mortal. MARY (who the whole time had leaned, almost fainting, on KENNEDY, rises now, and her eyes meet the steady, piercing look of ELIZABETH; she shudders and throws herself again upon KENNEDY'S bosom). O God! from out these features speaks no heart. ELIZABETH. What lady's that? [A general, embarrassed silence. LEICESTER. You are at Fotheringay, My liege! ELIZABETH (as if surprised, casting an angry look at LEICESTER). Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester? LEICESTER. 'Tis past, my queen;—and now that heaven hath led Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous; And let sweet pity be triumphant now. SHREWSBURY. Oh, royal mistress! yield to our entreaties; Oh, cast your eyes on this unhappy one Who stands dissolved in anguish. [MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards ELIZABETH, stops shuddering at half way: her action expresses the most violent internal struggle. ELIZABETH. How, my lords! Which of you then announced to me a prisoner Bowed down by woe? I see a haughty one By no means humbled by calamity. MARY. Well, be it so:—to this will I submit. Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind! I will forget my dignity, and all My sufferings; I will fall before her feet Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness. [She turns towards the QUEEN. The voice of heaven decides for you, my sister. Your happy brows are now with triumph crowned, I bless the Power Divine which thus hath raised you. But in your turn be merciful, my sister; [She kneels. Let me not lie before you thus disgraced; Stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise Your sister from the depths of her distress. ELIZABETH (stepping back). You are where it becomes you, Lady Stuart; And thankfully I prize my God's protection, Who hath not suffered me to kneel a suppliant Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine. MARY (with increasing energy of feeling). Think on all earthly things, vicissitudes. Oh! there are gods who punish haughty pride: Respect them, honor them, the dreadful ones Who thus before thy feet have humbled me! Before these strangers' eyes dishonor not Yourself in me: profane not, nor disgrace The royal blood of Tudor. In my veins It flows as pure a stream as in your own. Oh, for God's pity, stand not so estranged And inaccessible, like some tall cliff, Which the poor shipwrecked mariner in vain Struggles to seize, and labors to embrace. My all, my life, my fortune now depends Upon the influence of my words and tears; That I may touch your heart, oh, set mine free. If you regard me with those icy looks My shuddering heart contracts itself, the stream Of tears is dried, and frigid horror chains The words of supplication in my bosom! ELIZABETH (cold and severe). What would you say to me, my Lady Stuart? You wished to speak with me; and I, forgetting The queen, and all the wrongs I have sustained, Fulfil the pious duty of the sister, And grant the boon you wished for of my presence. Yet I, in yielding to the generous feelings Of magnanimity, expose myself To rightful censure, that I stoop so low. For well you know you would have had me murdered. MARY. Oh! how shall I begin? Oh, how shall I So artfully arrange my cautious words That they may touch, yet not offend your heart? Strengthen my words, O Heaven! and take from them Whate'er might wound. Alas! I cannot speak In my own cause without impeaching you, And that most heavily, I wish not so; You have not as you ought behaved to me: I am a queen, like you: yet you have held me Confined in prison. As a suppliant I came to you, yet you in me insulted The pious use of hospitality; Slighting in me the holy law of nations, Immured me in a dungeon—tore from me My friends and servants; to unseemly want I was exposed, and hurried to the bar Of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal. No more of this;—in everlasting silence Be buried all the cruelties I suffered! See—I will throw the blame of all on fate, 'Twere not your fault, no more than it was mine. An evil spirit rose from the abyss, To kindle in our hearts the flame of hate, By which our tender youth had been divided. It grew with us, and bad, designing men Fanned with their ready breath the fatal fire: Frantics, enthusiasts, with sword and dagger Armed the uncalled-for hand! This is the curse Of kings, that they, divided, tear the world In pieces with their hatred, and let loose The raging furies of all hellish strife! No foreign tongue is now between us, sister, [Approaching her confidently, and with a flattering tone. Now stand we face to face; now, sister, speak: Name but my crime, I'll fully satisfy you,— Alas! had you vouchsafed to hear me then, When I so earnest sought to meet your eye, It never would have come to this, nor would, Here in this mournful place, have happened now This so distressful, this so mournful meeting. ELIZABETH. My better stars preserved me. I was warned, And laid not to my breast the poisonous adder! Accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart It was, the wild ambition of your house As yet no enmities had passed between us, When your imperious uncle, the proud priest, Whose shameless hand grasps at all crowns, attacked me With unprovoked hostility, and taught You, but too docile, to assume my arms, To vest yourself with my imperial title, And meet me in the lists in mortal strife: What arms employed he not to storm my throne? The curses of the priests, the people's sword, The dreadful weapons of religious frenzy;— Even here in my own kingdom's peaceful haunts He fanned the flames of civil insurrection; But God is with me, and the haughty priest Has not maintained the field. The blow was aimed Full at my head, but yours it is which falls! MARY. I'm in the hand of heaven. You never will Exert so cruelly the power it gives you. ELIZABETH. Who shall prevent me? Say, did not your uncle Set all the kings of Europe the example, How to conclude a peace with those they hate. Be mine the school of Saint Bartholomew; What's kindred then to me, or nation's laws? The church can break the bands of every duty; It consecrates the regicide, the traitor; I only practise what your priests have taught! Say then, what surety can be offered me, Should I magnanimously loose your bonds? Say, with what lock can I secure your faith, Which by Saint Peter's keys cannot be opened? Force is my only surety; no alliance Can be concluded with a race of vipers. MARY. Oh! this is but your wretched, dark suspicion! For you have constantly regarded me But as a stranger, and an enemy. Had you declared me heir to your dominions, As is my right, then gratitude and love In me had fixed, for you, a faithful friend And kinswoman. ELIZABETH. Your friendship is abroad, Your house is papacy, the monk your brother. Name you my successor! The treacherous snare! That in my life you might seduce my people; And, like a sly Armida, in your net Entangle all our noble English youth; That all might turn to the new rising sun, And I—— MARY. O sister, rule your realm in peace; I give up every claim to these domains— Alas! the pinions of my soul are lamed; Greatness entices me no more: your point Is gained; I am but Mary's shadow now— My noble spirit is at last broke down By long captivity:—you've done your worst On me; you have destroyed me in my bloom! Now, end your work, my sister;—speak at length The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither; For I will ne'er believe that you are come, To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim. Pronounce this word;—say, "Mary, you are free: You have already felt my power,—learn now To honor too my generosity." Say this, and I will take my life, will take My freedom, as a present from your hands. One word makes all undone;—I wait for it;— Oh, let it not be needlessly delayed. Woe to you if you end not with this word! For should you not, like some divinity, Dispensing noble blessings, quit me now, Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth, For all the realms encircled by the deep, Would I exchange my present lot for yours. ELIZABETH. And you confess at last that you are conquered: Are all your schemes run out? No more assassins Now on the road? Will no adventurer Attempt again for you the sad achievement? Yes, madam, it is over:—you'll seduce No mortal more. The world has other cares;— None is ambitious of the dangerous honor Of being your fourth husband—you destroy Your wooers like your husbands. MARY (starting angrily). Sister, sister!— Grant me forbearance, all ye powers of heaven! ELIZABETH (regards her long with a look of proud contempt). Those then, my Lord of Leicester, are the charms Which no man with impunity can view, Near which no woman dare to stand? In sooth, this honor has been cheaply gained; She who to all is common, may with ease Become the common object of applause. MARY. This is too much! ELIZABETH (laughing insultingly). You show us now, indeed, Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask. MARY (burning with rage, yet dignified and noble). My sins were human, and the faults of youth: Superior force misled me. I have never Denied or sought to hide it: I despised All false appearance, as became a queen. The worst of me is known, and I can say, That I am better than the fame I bear. Woe to you! when, in time to come, the world Shall draw the robe of honor from your deeds, With which thy arch-hypocrisy has veiled The raging flames of lawless, secret lust. Virtue was not your portion from your mother; Well know we what it was which brought the head Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block. SHREWSBURY (stepping between both QUEENS). Oh! Heaven! Alas, and must it come to this! Is this the moderation, the submission, My lady?—— MARY. Moderation! I've supported What human nature can support: farewell, Lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience, Fly to thy native heaven; burst at length Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave, In all thy fury, long suppressed rancor! And thou, who to the angered basilisk Impart'st the murderous glance, oh, arm my tongue With poisoned darts! SHREWSBURY. She is beside herself! Exasperated, mad! My liege, forgive her. [ELIZABETH, speechless with anger, casts enraged looks at MARY. LEICESTER (in the most violent agitation; he seeks to lead ELIZABETH away). Attend not to her rage! Away, away, From this disastrous place! MARY (raising her voice). A bastard soils, Profanes the English throne! The generous Britons Are cheated by a juggler, [whose whole figure Is false and painted, heart as well as face!] If right prevailed, you now would in the dust Before me lie, for I'm your rightful monarch! [ELIZABETH hastily quits the stage; the lords follow her in the greatest consternation. <h2> SCENE V. </h2> MARY, KENNEDY. KENNEDY. What have you done? She has gone hence in wrath All hope is over now! MARY (still quite beside herself). Gone hence in wrath! She carries death within her heart! I know it. [Falling on KENNEDY'S bosom. Now I am happy, Hannah! and at last, After whole years of sorrow and abasement, One moment of victorious revenge A weight falls off my heart, a weight of mountains; I plunged the steel in my oppressor's breast! KENNEDY. Unhappy lady! Frenzy overcomes you. Yes, you have wounded your inveterate foe; 'Tis she who wields the lightning, she is queen, You have insulted her before her minion. MARY. I have abased her before Leicester's eyes; He saw it, he was witness of my triumph. How did I hurl her from her haughty height, He saw it, and his presence strengthened me. <h2> SCENE VI. </h2> Enter MORTIMER. KENNEDY. Oh, Sir! What an occurrence! MORTIMER. I heard all— [Gives the nurse a sign to repair to her post, and draws nearer; his whole appearance expresses the utmost violence of passion. Thine is the palm;—thou trod'st her to the dust!— Thou wast the queen, she was the malefactor;— I am transported with thy noble courage;— Yes! I adore thee; like a Deity, My sense is dazzled by thy heavenly beams. MARY (with vivacity and expectation). You spoke with Leicester, gave my letter to him. My present, too?—oh, speak, sir. MORTIMER (beholding her with glowing looks). How thy noble, Thy royal indignation shone, and cast A glory round thy beauty; yes, by heavens, Thou art the fairest woman upon earth! MARY. Sir, satisfy, I beg you, my impatience; What says his lordship? Say, sir, may I hope? MORTIMER. Who?—he?—he is a wretch, a very coward, Hope naught from him; despise him, and forget him! MARY. What say you? MORTIMER. He deliver, and possess you! Why let him dare it:—he!—he must with me In mortal contest first deserve the prize! MARY. You gave him not my letter? Then, indeed My hopes are lost! MORTIMER. The coward loves his life. Whoe'er would rescue you, and call you his, Must boldly dare affront e'en death itself! MARY. Will he do nothing for me? MORTIMER. Speak not of him. What can he do? What need have we of him? I will release you; I alone. MARY. Alas! What power have you? MORTIMER. Deceive yourself no more; Think not your case is now as formerly; The moment that the queen thus quitted you, And that your interview had ta'en this turn, All hope was lost, each way of mercy shut. Now deeds must speak, now boldness must decide, To compass all must all be hazarded; You must be free before the morning break. MARY. What say you, sir—to-night?—impossible! MORTIMER. Hear what has been resolved:—I led my friends Into a private chapel, where a priest Heard our confession, and, for every sin We had committed, gave us absolution; He gave us absolution too, beforehand, For every crime we might commit in future; He gave us too the final sacrament, And we are ready for the final journey. MARY. Oh, what an awful, dreadful preparation! MORTIMER. We scale, this very night, the castle's walls; The keys are in my power; the guards we murder! Then from thy chamber bear thee forcibly. Each living soul must die beneath our hands, That none remain who might disclose the deed. MARY. And Drury, Paulet, my two keepers, they Would sooner spill their dearest drop of blood. MORTIMER. They fall the very first beneath my steel. MARY. What, sir! Your uncle? How! Your second father! MORTIMER. Must perish by my hand—I murder him! MARY. Oh, bloody outrage! MORTIMER. We have been absolved Beforehand; I may perpetrate the worst; I can, I will do so! MARY. Oh, dreadful, dreadful! MORTIMER. And should I be obliged to kill the queen, I've sworn upon the host, it must be done! MARY. No, Mortimer; ere so much blood for me—— MORTIMER. What is the life of all compared to thee, And to my love? The bond which holds the world Together may be loosed, a second deluge Come rolling on, and swallow all creation! Henceforth I value nothing; ere I quit My hold on thee, may earth and time be ended! MARY (retiring) Heavens! Sir, what language, and what looks! They scare, They frighten me! MORTIMER (with unsteady looks, expressive of great madness). Life's but a moment—death Is but a moment too. Why! let them drag me To Tyburn, let them tear me limb from limb, With red-hot pincers—— [Violently approaching her with extended arms. If I clasp but thee Within my arms, thou fervently beloved! MARY. Madman, avaunt! MORTIMER. To rest upon this bosom, To press upon this passion-breathing mouth—— MARY. Leave me, for God's sake, sir; let me go in—— MORTIMER. He is a madman who neglects to clasp His bliss in folds that never may be loosed, When Heaven has kindly given it to his arms. I will deliver you, and though it cost A thousand lives, I do it; but I swear, As God's in Heaven I will possess you too! MARY. Oh! will no God, no angel shelter me? Dread destiny! thou throwest me, in thy wrath, From one tremendous terror to the other! Was I then born to waken naught but frenzy? Do hate and love conspire alike to fright me! MORTIMER. Yes, glowing as their hatred is my love; They would behead thee, they would wound this neck, So dazzling white, with the disgraceful axe! Oh! offer to the living god of joy What thou must sacrifice to bloody hate! Inspire thy happy lover with those charms Which are no more thine own. Those golden locks Are forfeit to the dismal powers of death, Oh! use them to entwine thy slave forever! MARY. Alas! alas! what language must I hear! My woe, my sufferings should be sacred to you, Although my royal brows are so no more. MORTIMER. The crown is fallen from thy brows, thou hast No more of earthly majesty. Make trial, Raise thy imperial voice, see if a friend, If a deliverer will rise to save you. Thy moving form alone remains, the high, The godlike influence of thy heavenly beauty; This bids me venture all, this arms my hand With might, and drives me tow'rd the headsman's axe. MARY. Oh! who will save me from his raging madness? MORTIMER. Service that's bold demands a bold reward. Why shed their blood the daring? Is not life Life's highest good? And he a madman who Casts life away? First will I take my rest, Upon the breast that glows with love's own fire! [He presses her violently to his bosom. MARY. Oh, must I call for help against the man Who would deliver me! MORTIMER. Thou'rt not unfeeling, The world ne'er censured thee for frigid rigor; The fervent prayer of love can touch thy heart. Thou mad'st the minstrel Rizzio blest, and gavest Thyself a willing prey to Bothwell's arms. MARY. Presumptuous man! MORTIMER. He was indeed thy tyrant, Thou trembled'st at his rudeness, whilst thou loved'st him; Well, then—if only terror can obtain thee— By the infernal gods! MARY. Away—you're mad! MORTIMER. I'll teach thee then before me, too, to tremble. KENNEDY (entering suddenly). They're coming—they approach—the park is filled With men in arms. MORTIMER (starting and catching at his sword). I will defend you-I—— MARY. O Hannah! save me, save me from his hands. Where shall I find, poor sufferer, an asylum? Oh! to what saint shall I address my prayers? Here force assails me, and within is murder! [She flies towards the house, KENNEDY follows her. <h2> SCENE VII. </h2> MORTIMER, PAULET, and DRURY rush in in the greatest consternation. Attendants hasten over the stage. PAULET. Shut all the portals—draw the bridges up. MORTIMER. What is the matter, uncle? PAULET. Where is the murderess? Down with her, down into the darkest dungeon! MORTIMER. What is the matter? What has passed? PAULET. The queen! Accursed hand! Infernal machination! MORTIMER. The queen! What queen? PAULET. What queen! The Queen of England; She has been murdered on the road to London. [Hastens into the house. <h2> SCENE VIII. </h2> MORTIMER, soon after O'KELLY. MORTIMER (after a pause). Am I then mad? Came not one running by But now, and cried aloud, the queen is murdered! No, no! I did but dream. A feverish fancy Paints that upon my mind as true and real, Which but existed in my frantic thoughts. Who's there? It is O'Kelly. So dismayed! O'KELLY (rushing in). Flee, Mortimer, oh! flee—for all is lost! MORTIMER. What then is lost? O'KELLY. Stand not on question. Think On speedy flight. MORTIMER. What has occurred? O'KELLY. Sauvage, That madman, struck the blow. MORTIMER. It is then true! O'KELLY. True, true—oh! save yourself. MORTIMER (exultingly). The queen is murdered— And Mary shall ascend the English throne! O'KELLY. Is murdered! Who said that? MORTIMER. Yourself. O'KELLY. She lives, And I, and you, and all of us are lost. MORTIMER. She lives! O'KELLY. The blow was badly aimed, her cloak Received it. Shrewsbury disarmed the murderer. MORTIMER. She lives! O'KELLY. She lives to whelm us all in ruin; Come, they surround the park already; come. MORTIMER. Who did this frantic deed? O'KELLY. It was the monk From Toulon, whom you saw immersed in thought, As in the chapel the pope's bull was read, Which poured anathemas upon the queen. He wished to take the nearest, shortest way, To free, with one bold stroke, the church of God, And gain the crown of martyrdom: he trusted His purpose only to the priest, and struck The fatal blow upon the road to London. MORTIMER (after a long silence). Alas! a fierce, destructive fate pursues thee, Unhappy one! Yes—now thy death is fixed; Thy very angel has prepared thy fall! O'KELLY. Say, whither will you take your flight? I go To hide me in the forests of the north. MORTIMER. Fly thither, and may God attend your flight; I will remain, and still attempt to save My love; if not, my bed shall be upon her grave. [Exeunt at different sides. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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