Mary Stuart Read Online

PAULET.

None,

If she be clean of conscience, whole of heart,

Nor else than pure in purpose, but maligned

Of men's suspicions: how should one thus wronged

But hold all hard chance good to approve her case

Blameless, give praise for all, turn all to thanks

That might unload her of so sore a charge,

Despoiled not, but disburdened? Her great wrath

Pleads hard against her, and itself spake loud

Alone, ere other witness might unseal

Wrath's fierce interpretation: which ere long

Was of her secretaries expounded.

MARY BEATON.

Sir,

As you are honourable, and of equal heart

Have shown such grace as man being manful may

To such a piteous prisoner as desires

Nought now but what may hurt not loyalty

Though you comply therewith to comfort her,

Let her not think your spirit so far incensed

By wild words of her mistress cast on you

In heat of heart and bitter fire of spleen

That you should now close ears against a prayer

Which else might fairly find them open.

PAULET.

Speak

More short and plainly: what I well may grant

Shall so seem easiest granted.

MARY BEATON.

There should be

No cause I think to seal your lips up, though

I crave of them but so much breath as may

Give mine ear knowledge of the witness borne

(If aught of witness were against her borne)

By those her secretaries you spake of.

PAULET.

This

With hard expostulation was drawn forth

At last of one and other, that they twain

Had writ by record from their lady's mouth

To Babington some letter which implies

Close conscience of his treason, and goodwill

To meet his service with complicity:

But one thing found therein of deadliest note

The Frenchman swore they set not down, nor she

Bade write one word of favour nor assent

Answering this murderous motion toward our queen:

Only, saith he, she held herself not bound

For love's sake to reveal it, and thereby

For love of enemies do to death such friends

As only for her own love's sake were found

Fit men for murderous treason: and so much

Her own hand's transcript of the word she sent

Should once produced bear witness of her.

MARY BEATON.

Ay?

How then came this withholden?

PAULET.

If she speak

But truth, why, truth should sure be manifest,

And shall, with God's good will, to good men's joy

That wish not evil: as at Fotheringay

When she shall come to trial must be tried

If it be truth or no: for which assay

You shall do toward her well and faithfully

To bid her presently prepare her soul

That it may there make answer.

MARY BEATON.

Presently?

PAULET.

Upon the arraignment of her friends who stand

As 'twere at point of execution now

Ere sentence pass upon them of their sin.

Would you no more with me?

MARY BEATON.

I am bounden to you

For thus much tidings granted.

PAULET.

So farewell.

Exit.

MARY BEATON.

So fare I well or ill as one who knows

He shall not fare much further toward his end.

Here looms on me the landmark of my life

That I have looked for now some score of years

Even with long-suffering eagerness of heart

And a most hungry patience. I did know,

Yea, God, thou knowest I knew this all that while,

From that day forth when even these eyes beheld

Fall the most faithful head in all the world,

Toward her most loving and of me most loved,

By doom of hers that was so loved of him

He could not love me nor his life at all

Nor his own soul nor aught that all men love,

Nor could fear death nor very God, or care

If there were aught more merciful in heaven

Than love on earth had been to him. Chastelard!

I have not had the name upon my lips

That stands for sign of love the truest in man

Since first love made him sacrifice of men,

This long sad score of years retributive

Since it was cast out of her heart and mind

Who made it mean a dead thing; nor, I think,

Will she remember it before she die

More than in France the memories of old friends

Are like to have yet forgotten; but for me,

Haply thou knowest, so death not all be death,

If all these years I have had not in my mind

Through all these chances this one thought in all,

That I shall never leave her till she die.

Nor surely now shall I much longer serve

Who fain would lie down at her foot and sleep,

Fain, fain have done with waking. Yet my soul

Knows, and yet God knows, I would set not hand

To such a work as might put on the time

And make death's foot more forward for her sake:

Yea, were it to deliver mine own soul

From bondage and long-suffering of my life,

I would not set mine hand to work her wrong.

Tempted I was – but hath God need of me

To work his judgment, bring his time about,

Approve his justice if the word be just

That whoso doeth shall suffer his own deed,

Bear his own blow, to weep tears back for tears,

And bleed for bloodshed? God should spare me this

That once I held the one good hope on earth,

To be the mean and engine of her end

Or some least part at least therein: I prayed,

God, give me so much grace – who now should pray,

Tempt me not, God. My heart swelled once to know

I bore her death about me; as I think

Indeed I bear it: but what need hath God

That I should clench his doom with craft of mine?

What needs the wrath of hot Elizabeth

Be blown aflame with mere past writing read,

Which hath to enkindle it higher already proof

Of present practice on her state and life?

Shall fear of death or love of England fail

Or memory faint or foresight fall stark blind,

That there should need the whet and spur of shame

To turn her spirit into some chafing snake's

And make its fang more feared for mortal? Yet

I am glad, and I repent me not, to know

I have the writing in my bosom sealed

That bears such matter with her own hand signed

As she that yet repents her not to have writ

Repents her not that she refrained to send

And fears not but long since it felt the fire –

Being fire itself to burn her, yet unquenched,

But in my hand here covered harmless up

Which had in charge to burn it. What perchance

Might then the reading of it have wrought for us,

If all this fiery poison of her scoffs

Making the foul froth of a serpent's tongue

More venomous, and more deadly toward her queen

Even Bess of Hardwick's bitterest babbling tales,

Had touched at heart the Tudor vein indeed?

Enough it yet were surely, though that vein

Were now the gentlest that such hearts may hold

And all doubt's trembling balance that way bent,

To turn as with one mortal grain cast in

The scale of grace against her life that writ

And weigh down pity deathward.

Enter Mary Stuart.

MARY STUART.

Have we found

Such kindness of our keeper as may give

Some ease from expectation? or must hope

Still fret for ignorance how long here we stay

As men abiding judgment?

MARY BEATON.

Now not long,

He tells me, need we think to tarry; since

The time and place of trial are set, next month

To hold it in the castle of Fotheringay.

MARY STUART.

Why, he knows well I were full easily moved

To set forth hence; there must I find more scope

To commune with the ambassador of France

By letter thence to London: but, God help,

Think these folk truly, doth she verily think,

What never man durst yet nor woman dreamed,

May one that is nor man nor woman think,

To bring a queen born subject of no laws

Here in subjection of an alien law

By foreign force of judgment? Were she wise,

Might she not have me privily made away?

And being nor wise nor valiant but of tongue,

Could she find yet foolhardiness of heart

Enough to attaint the rule of royal rights

With murderous madness? I will think not this

Till it be proven indeed.

MARY BEATON.

A month come round,

This man protests, will prove it.

MARY STUART.

Ay! protests?

What protestation of what Protestant

Can unmake law that was of God's mouth made,

Unwrite the writing of the world, unsay

The general saying of ages? If I go,

Compelled of God's hand or constrained of man's,

Yet God shall bid me not nor man enforce

My tongue to plead before them for my life.

I had rather end as kings before me, die

Rather by shot or stroke of murderous hands,

Than so make answer once in face of man

As one brought forth to judgment. Are they mad,

And she most mad for envious heart of all,

To make so mean account of me? Methought,

When late we came back hither soiled and spent

And sick with travel, I had seen their worst of wrong

Full-faced, with its most outrage: when I found

My servant Curle's young new-delivered wife

Without priest's comfort and her babe unblessed

A nameless piteous thing born ere its time,

And took it from the mother's arms abed

And bade her have good comfort, since myself

Would take all charge against her husband laid

On mine own head to answer; deeming not

Man ever durst bid answer for myself

On charge as mortal; and mine almoner gone,

Did I not crave of Paulet for a grace

His chaplain might baptize me this poor babe,

And was denied it, and with mine own hands

For shame and charity moved to christen her

There with scant ritual in his heretic sight

By mine own woful name, whence God, I pray,

For her take off its presage? I misdeemed,

Who deemed all these and yet far more than these

For one born queen indignities enough,

On one crowned head enough of buffets: more

Hath time's hand laid upon me: yet I keep

Faith in one word I spake to Paulet, saying

Two things were mine though I stood spoiled of all

As of my letters and my privy coin

By pickpurse hands of office: these things yet

Might none take thievish hold upon to strip

His prisoner naked of her natural dower,

The blood yet royal running here unspilled

And that religion which I think to keep

Fast as this royal blood until I die.

So where at last and howsoe'er I fare

I need not much take thought, nor thou for love

Take of thy mistress pity; yet meseems

They dare not work their open will on me:

But God's it is that shall be done, and I

Find end of all in quiet. I would sleep

On this strange news of thine, that being awake

I may the freshlier front my sense thereof

And thought of life or death. Come in with me.

Scene III. Tyburn

A Crowd of Citizens.

FIRST CITIZEN.

Is not their hour yet on? Men say the queen

Bade spare no jot of torment in their end

That law might lay upon them.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Truth it is,

To spare what scourge soe'er man's justice may

Twist for such caitiff traitors were to grieve

God's with mere inobservance. Hear you not

How yet the loud lewd braggarts of their side

Keep heart to threaten that for all this foil

They are not foiled indeed, but yet the work

Shall prosper with deliverance of their queen

And death for her of ours, though they should give

Of their own lives for one an hundredfold?

THIRD CITIZEN.

These are bold mouths; one that shall die to-day,

Being this last week arraigned at Westminster,

Had no such heart, they say, to his defence,

Who was the main head of their treasons.

FIRST CITIZEN.

Ay,

And yesterday, if truth belie not him,

Durst with his doomed hand write some word of prayer

To the queen's self, her very grace, to crave

Grace of her for his gracelessness, that she

Might work on one too tainted to deserve

A miracle of compassion, whence her fame

For pity of sins too great for pity of man

Might shine more glorious than his crime showed foul

In the eye of such a mercy.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Yet men said

He spake at his arraignment soberly

With clear mild looks and gracious gesture, showing

The purport of his treasons in such wise

That it seemed pity of him to hear them, how

All their beginnings and proceedings had

First head and fountain only for their spring

From ill persuasions of that poisonous priest

Who stood the guiltiest near, by this man's side

Approved a valiant villain. Barnwell next,

Who came but late from Ireland here to court,

Made simply protestation of design

To work no personal ill against the queen

Nor paint rebellion's face as murder's red

With blood imperial: Tichborne then avowed

He knew the secret of their aim, and kept,

And held forsooth himself no traitor; yet

In the end would even plead guilty, Donne with him,

And Salisbury, who not less professed he still

Stood out against the killing of the queen,

And would not hurt her for a kingdom: so,

When thus all these had pleaded, one by one

Was each man bid say fairly, for his part,

Why sentence should not pass: and Ballard first,

Who had been so sorely racked he might not stand,

Spake, but as seems to none effect: of whom

Said Babington again, he set them on,

He first, and most of all him, who believed

This priest had power to assoil his soul alive

Of all else mortal treason: Ballard then,

As in sad scorn – Yea, Master Babington,

Quoth he, lay all upon me, but I wish

For you the shedding of my blood might be

The saving of your life: howbeit, for that,

Say what you will; and I will say no more.

Nor spake the swordsman Savage aught again,

Who, first arraigned, had first avowed his cause

Guilty: nor yet spake Tichborne aught: but Donne

Spake, and the same said Barnwell, each had sinned

For very conscience only: Salisbury last

Besought the queen remission of his guilt.

Then spake Sir Christopher Hatton for the rest

That sat with him commissioners, and showed

How by dark doctrine of the seminaries

And instance most of Ballard had been brought

To extreme destruction here of body and soul

A sort of brave youths otherwise endowed

With goodly gifts of birthright: and in fine

There was the sentence given that here even now

Shows seven for dead men in our present sight

And shall bring six to-morrow forth to die.

Enter Babington, Ballard (carried in a chair), Tichborne, Savage, Barnwell, Tilney, and Abington, guarded: Sheriff, Executioner, Chaplain, etc.

FIRST CITIZEN.

What, will they speak?

SECOND CITIZEN.

Ay; each hath leave in turn

To show what mood he dies in toward his cause.

BALLARD.

Sirs, ye that stand to see us take our doom,

I being here given this grace to speak to you

Have but my word to witness for my soul,

That all I have done and all designed to do

Was only for advancement of true faith

To furtherance of religion: for myself

Aught would I never, but for Christ's dear church

Was mine intent all wholly, to redeem

Her sore affliction in this age and land,

As now may not be yet: which knowing for truth,

I am readier even at heart to die than live.

And dying I crave of all men pardon whom

My doings at all have touched, or who thereat

Take scandal; and forgiveness of the queen

If on this cause I have offended her.

SAVAGE.

The like say I, that have no skill in speech,

But heart enough with faith at heart to die,

Seeing but for conscience and the common good,

And no preferment but this general weal,

I did attempt this business.

BARNWELL.

I confess

That I, whose seed was of that hallowed earth

Whereof each pore hath sweated blood for Christ,

Had note of these men's drifts, which I deny

That ever I consented with or could

In conscience hold for lawful. That I came

To spy for them occasions in the court

And there being noted of her majesty

She seeing mine eyes peer sharply like a man's

That had such purpose as she wist before

Prayed God that all were well – if this were urged,

I might make answer, it was not unknown

To divers of the council that I there

Had matters to solicit of mine own

Which thither drew me then: yet I confess

That Babington, espying me thence returned,

Asked me what news: to whom again I told,

Her majesty had been abroad that day,

With all the circumstance I saw there. Now

If I have done her majesty offence

I crave her pardon: and assuredly

If this my body's sacrifice might yet

Establish her in true religion, here

Most willingly should this be offered up.

TILNEY.

I came not here to reason of my faith,

But to die simply like a Catholic, praying

Christ give our queen Elizabeth long life,

And warning all youth born take heed by me.

ABINGTON.

I likewise, and if aught I have erred in aught

I crave but pardon as for ignorant sin,

Holding at all points firm the Catholic faith;

And all things charged against me I confess,

Save that I ever sought her highness' death:

In whose poor kingdom yet ere long I fear

Will be great bloodshed.

SHERIFF.

Seest thou, Abington,

Here all these people present of thy kind

Whose blood shall be demanded at thy hands

If dying thou hide what might endanger them?

Speak therefore, why or by what mortal mean

Should there be shed such blood?

ABINGTON.

All that I know

You have on record: take but this for sure,

This country lives for its iniquity

Loathed of all countries, and God loves it not.

Whereon I pray you trouble me no more

With questions of this world, but let me pray

And in mine own wise make my peace with God.

BABINGTON.

For me, first head of all this enterprise,

I needs must make this record of myself,

I have not conspired for profit, but in trust

Of men's persuasions whence I stood assured

This work was lawful which I should have done

And meritorious as toward God; for which

No less I crave forgiveness of my queen

And that my brother may possess my lands

In heritage else forfeit with my head.

TICHBORNE.

Good countrymen and my dear friends, you look

For something to be said of me, that am

But an ill orator; and my text is worse.

Vain were it to make full discourse of all

This cause that brings me hither, which before

Was all made bare, and is well known to most

That have their eyes upon me: let me stand

For all young men, and most for those born high,

Their present warning here: a friend I had,

Ay, and a dear friend, one of whom I made

No small account, whose friendship for pure love

To this hath brought me: I may not deny

He told me all the matter, how set down,

And ready to be wrought; which always I

Held impious, and denied to deal therein:

But only for my friend's regard was I

Silent, and verified a saying in me,

Who so consented to him. Ere this thing chanced,

How brotherly we twain lived heart in heart

Together, in what flourishing estate,

This town well knows: of whom went all report

Through her loud length of Fleetstreet and the Strand

And all parts else that sound men's fortunate names,

But Babington and Tichborne? that therein

There was no haughtiest threshold found of force

To brave our entry; thus we lived our life,

And wanted nothing we might wish for: then,

For me, what less was in my head, God knows,

Than high state matters? Give me now but leave

Scarce to declare the miseries I sustained

Since I took knowledge of this action, whence

To his estate I well may liken mine,

Who could forbear not one forbidden thing

To enjoy all else afforded of the world:

The terror of my conscience hung on me;

Who, taking heed what perils girt me, went

To Sir John Peters hence in Essex, there

Appointing that my horses by his mean

Should meet me here in London, whence I thought

To flee into the country: but being here

I heard how all was now bewrayed abroad:

Whence Adam-like we fled into the woods

And there were taken.