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Can Mary's sufferings view, nor have on figh.
From kinder skies, and from luxurious courts,
From tilts and tournaments, and feasts, and fports,
She came to govern (oh, too hard a part!)
A barbarous nation and a tender heart;
And fell a vi&im in that sullen age,
To factious fury, and fanatic rage.
Oh ! had the liv'd in more enlightend times,
Wheo graces were not sins, nor talents crimes,
Admiring nations had confess'd her worth;
And SCOTLAND Phone phe Athens of the NORTH.
Too long hath virtue bļushid at MARY's name,
And justice slumber'd o'er her injur'd fame:
Truth to the heart at length shall forcę its way,
And reason juftify the passion's sway,
Enter Beton, who perceives Lord Herries' arriving.
URE 'tis Lord Herries! Oh, my noble friend!
How have we daily pray'd for your return!
Your royal mistress, from yon turrets height,
By hourly watch, hath stráin'd her beauteous eyes,
Till gushing tears o'erwhelm'd her fight-But say,
What tidings bring you from the English Court ?
L. Her. Beton ! if faith, and zeal in a good cause,
Cou'd have secur'd success, it had been thine;
Your claim of fimple audience for a queen
Was founded on a royal pledge. The ring
Which grac'd your embassy, was sent with vows
To Mary from Elizabeth, that he wou'd aid
Her royal fister's cause--But, oh, good Beton !
It needs not our experience to foresee
The gulph 'twixt vows, and their accomplishment,
Beton. But the result?
L. Her. Evasions and chicane;
Base terms propos'd ; then treacherous advice
That Mary should in policy submit
To this strange trial ; Heav'n forbid! untis
She's heard in person.
Beton. Still deny her prefence ?
urge these poor pretences ! Grant our Queen
Were liable to imputations-Grant
Whate'er hate envy lift-'twill but enforce,
Her claim to face th' accuser,
L. Her. I shall entreat
Permission to revoke this rash appeal.
Beton Wou'd it were done! Our country is de.
While our annointed Queen submits her cause
To foreign jurisdiction, and betrays
At once her own and Scotland's dignity,
L. Her. Thus thall I urge ; you know her fpirit
Touch but that string. 'twill vibrate o'er her frame; ;
She has a soul that wakes at honour's voice,
Alive, with eager trembling at the found,
She flies to its embrace ; let shame approach';
straight she recoils and shrinks within herself;
No plant of sensitive, no shade fo fleet.
May Heav'n still guard her! which way is the Queen:
SCENE II. The Hall in Bolton Castle.
Enter Lady Scrope, meeting Lady Douglas.
L. Scrope. How fares my royal guest this morn,
sweet inaid? You meet me on my accuftoond daily course
To attend your Queen, and wait her high com
L. Doug. My gentle Lady Scrope, you are too
Such courteous words but ill besuit the flate
of my poor fallen mistress Rather say,
Is the secure? Who guards the Castle gates ?
is ev'ry narrow-fit, and loop-hole watch'd ?
L. Scrope. Tax me not, Douglas ! with severity
L. Doug. 'Tis but your duty which you exercise
With tender feeling, and more true respect,
Than those at first deputed to receive her
With all the forms and pomp of royal state.
For, oh! what aggravating mockery!
Bowe, smiles, and court-like phrases never footh
The pangs of Princes in imprisonment.
But your high mind wou'd scorn to páy base court
By acts of rigour on the wretched.
L. Scrope. Yes!
I know too well the dues of fovereignty:
While she is with me, under the Lord Scrope's roof,
His wife and Norfolk's sister, ne'er shall hear
A Queen's complaints with cold indifference.
L. Doug. oh, nobly spoken! worthy your great
Oh! how your sentiments and voice recall
Your brothers image! would he now were here,
For my poor mifress' fake-But see me comes.
L. Scrope. May health and comfort to your Ma.
jesty Return with this propitious morn!
My noble hotels, your.civility
Tonches a grateful mind more pointedly ;
Is more affecting ; melts my spirits more
Than a less kind reception cou'd have done.
You owe not me this vifit; for I came
lo trick obedience to your Queen's high will,
Under a promise from her royal self
That Mhe wou'd meet me ere i Mou'd arrivs;
But in her place, behold ! she sends her guards
To do me honour -Oh, my faithful maid !
When all the gallant youth of France press'd on,
Led forward by the Princes of Lorrain,
Striving who foremost shou'd escort their Queen
From Paris to the fea-The gorgeous train
Sweeping along the plains of Picardy,
Like some briglit comet in its pathless course,
Illumin'd all the country as it pass'd.
But what avail these thoughts ! for other scenes
I must behold--Yet, truly, this fair seat
Might well befit a royal resideáce,
And suits my fancy--but that I perceive
Some features in it which awake my mind
To ftrange misgivings-- Wherefore, Lady Scrope,
Do centinels surround the battlements ?
L. Scrope. Madam, be not alarm’d; and rest af
fur'at All comförts, honours free access of friends, And every privilege that can assuage Misfortune, thall be found within these walls, Seek then no rescue, nor attempt a flight. Mary. Flight! said you, Lady Scrope! I must not
fly, Then there's no farther doubt Ah, 'tis too plain ! I'm in confinement here! a prisoner ! Oh, horrid word! Oh, monstrous perfidy! Oh, perjur'd, false Elizabeth! Is this The faith of England ? these the plighted vows Of Queen to Queen ? the bond of filterhood? And Tacred rights of hofpitality? If justice has not ned the earth and kies, Require it Heav'n Oh, my kind keeper now No more my hostess ; you are merciful ; Your kind indulgence mitigates my lot; Softens, and blunts the Sharp edge of that hour, The painful but short hour, that goes
between Th’imprisoninent of Princes and their end : You did assure me I floud see