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Tho'?tis a poor disconfolate abode:
For still they wait with pleasure on their Queen,
Proud to participate in all her woes:
But these are sentiments thou canst not feel.
Go, ask your mistress, whether such a train
Is all too proud to attend upon the Crowns
Of France and Scotland ? ask what retinue
I shou'd have deem'd becoming her estate
With me, at Paris, or at Holyrood ?
Hunt. Those days are paft-without more idle

words,
There's one condition, and but one, by which
You may be nobly entertain'd, and have
All freedom and respect-Give up your Crown;
Confirm Earl Murray Regent; and reside
In England with your Son

Mary. No more ! perform
The part that suits thee, jailor!-Thou lack'lt wit
To tempt me to resign my native Crown ;
To sacrifice at once myself, and son ;
And, make the world believe I own her charge.
No! I prefer her dungeons-Death itself.

Hunt. Then be it fo! Attendants follow me; Leave her to ruminate in solitude. [Èxit Shrewsbury and Huntingdon with the at

tendants following reluctantly.

M A R Sola.

Give up my Crown; my fon; support my foe,
My mortal, base, unnatural enemy.

'Tis a plain challenge to a Queen-Resign • All sense of honour, claims of birth, all thoughts • Of eminence in early youth imbib’d, • And grown habitual, to those whom chance • Has in derision deck'd with mortal crowns; • Or else prepare, and summon fortitude

To brave the threats of power, the taunts, the scorn, • The worst indignities that 'envy breeds ; • That bitterest produce of the meabelt plant

That grows in mortal breafts-Perhaps ftill morc;"

Perhaps her iron hand may rend these limbs ;
This cruel wretch, this Huntingdon, is sent
To view my torments with unalter'd eyes;
To fit, preside, direct the torturer's knife,
Glutting his greedy soul with scenes of blood,
While dying Ihrieks are music to his ears.
.. 'Tis hard for female spirits to bear up,

And stand the fiery trial-Ah! who's that?
Spare me !

Enter NORFOLK in Disguise.

Nor. Oh, fear me not, my life! 'tis I; 'Tis Norfolk at your feet.

Mary. Oh, Heavens ! once more
Save my poor intellects! Oh, Norfolk, oh!
My guardian angel! How shall I relate
All that befel me since? Yet rather say,
How have you 'feap'd the jaws of that fell tygress?
How got you hither?

Nor. By the gift you gave;
Your token known, they firaight conducted me,
By secret ways, thro' these old walls, and thus
These eyes at once are dazzled with a fight
Dangerous to look on ----

Mary Danger is no more
When my brave Norfolk's come; we'll talk of love,
Of future bliss, and paint gay scenes of joy,
Counting our happy days before their time.

Nor. Alas! that's all, I fear, we e'er can hope. Mary. Let pot your noble spirit, Norfolk, fail ! Nor. Spirit will fail when reason cannot hope. Mary Norfolk cannot despond in Mary's cause.

Nor. Oh, think no more of such a worthless wretch; A base, mean villain, traitor to my Queen.

Mary. Is love for me such treason in her fight?

Nor. My treason is not 'gainst my lawful Queen,
But again! her, to whom I'm bound by ties
Dearer than dull cold duty-

Mary. Mean you me?
Doubless you made confeffion of your love;

Was that a treason against me ? 'was great,
Worthy yourself; magnanimous to scorn
Her utnost rage, and brave her dire revenge.

NORFOLK, [Aside.] How shall I wound her gen'rous, noble heart? • Her, whose pure mind, whose unsuspicious thoughts ! Dress up my sins in virtuous robes; thereby • But making them more hideous in my sight; • And me more hateful to myself.'-Oh, fool! That cou'd be brought to purchase this vile life, By quitting all that's dear to me on earth!

Mary. What do I hear? Oh, say not so, my love! You are not capable of such a thought.

Nor. Alas! I've pledg'd my word; I've sworn to it.
Mary. Extorted vows are void, mere idle breath.

Nor. Mine have not been so hitherto-an oath,
A sacred oath

Mary. Had I no oath from you?

NORFOLK, [Aqide.]
Ah! there's the dreadful maze, the double road,
Where each path leads to ruin and disgrace.
Mary. Oh, Norfolk, do not leave me! do not for-

fake
Your poor, forlorn, and faithful prisoner ;
Already loft to all the world but thee;
My only comfort, refuge under Heav'n.
Oh, 'twou'd belie the tenor of

your
what wou'd I not for thee? Let all the Kings.
The rival Princes that have woo'd in vain,
Here is my prison recommence their fuit,
Wou'd I not fpurn them all for thee? Yet Aly;
I'm loft; but you are born to better sates.

life:

NORFOLE, [Aside.]
Be firm, my soul ! Oh, torture!

Mary. Cruel man!
To call me off because I'm here conan'd:
Wbat fent me hither but my love for thee?
When lait I saw you, then you were a man,
Replete with courage, genileness, and love.

me.

What have I done to change your nature thus;
If I'm in fault, Itrike at this wretched heart;
Let it not break! Or leave me to my fate,
To chains and dungeons, insults and hard words;.
Let savage Huntington dismiss my train

Nor. The horror of my crimes comes thick upon
Cou'd I then leave thee thus, a prey to grief;
The sport of ruffian tongues? Why did not Heav'n
Blast with its lightning, and benumb these limbs,
So flow in Itriving to break ope the gates
Of this accursed cell ? Oh, foul disgrace!
Where shall I 'scape the pointing hand of shame!
Here let me fue for pardon-All I ask,
Is to devore my life to rescue thee;
To ftem the torrent, and oppose the flood,
Defy the deluge of o’erwhelming fate,
And snatch thee from the waves of misery.

Mary. Are you then still my Norfolk? Do I dream? Nor. No, while there's life in this poor frame, and

whileMary. Enough, my Norfolk! I am the debtor now: Your noble resolution doth restore The genial current of my frozen blood ; The blood of many hundred Kings doth rise To chace despondency, and swell my soul With thoughts of nobler deeds, and times to come. Mary shall once more triumph in her turn.

Nor. Then farewel, beautiful and injur'd faint! Good angels hover round this dark abode, And guard you till the cries of honour's voice Shake these old battlements, and rend this roof; Burst wide these bars, and once more charm the world With radiant light of matchless beauty's beams. Adieu, my love!

Mary. Remember me-Farewel!

ACT IV.
SCENE I. WHITEHALL.

Enter ELIZABETH and CECIL.

ELIZABETH.

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L ! what more ? the Duke, you say, is

secur'd. Cecil. Aye! beyond 'scape, my liege! He's on his

way; Perhaps has reach'd the Tower. Eliz.

Sir, he

may thank
Your interceflion for that liberty
Which prov'd his bane.

Cecil. Reproaches from my Queen,
So just, like the chastisement of Heav'n
On those it favours.
Eliz.

Heav'n favours none
But those that see their errors, and repent

Cecil. If I repent me not the part I took, May I be sharer in his punishment. Eliz. We know your faith ; 'twas error we're con.

vinc'd ;
Let affiduity atone for it;
Probe this infernal plot.

Cecil. "Tis done! Behold
This train of correspondence, 'twixt the Duke,
The Pope, the Queen of Scois.

Eliz. The treason is clear !
Cecil, my toes are numerous and strong.

Cecil. Were they in number as the summer leaves,
Their autumn doth approach; they foon fhall fall,
Blasted, and driven by the wind.
Eliz.

This day
One fålls at least ; this faithless Lord no more
Shall dupe me with his promises ; let him
Await his doom-' yet stay! his birth and na:

E.

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