LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
THE 
 
 PRINCESS ELIZABETH 
 
 A LTBIC DBAMA. 
 
 FEANCIS H. WILLIAMS. 
 
 ^.V:. j^or;/'j 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 CLAXTON, REMSEN, & HAFFELFINGER, 
 
 624, 626, AND 628 MARKET STREET. 
 
 1880. 
 
 r 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year ISSO, by 
 
 FKANCIS H. WILLIAMS, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 COLLINS, PRINTER. 
 
TO MY WIFE, 
 
PEESONS, 
 
 Elizabeth Tudor, Princess of England. 
 
 Beatrice Dacres, ^ 
 
 Isabella Markham, I Ladies Attendant upon Eliza- 
 
 Lady Saint Lowe, j heth. 
 
 Lady Willoughby, j 
 
 Katharine Ashley, Governess. 
 
 Thomas Seymour, Earl of Sudley. 
 
 Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 Sir John Harrington. 
 
 Sir Robert Tyrwhit, Commissioner of the Council. 
 
 John Heywood, | ^^'''"^^'^^ ^-our^ Jester to Henry 
 
 \ VIII. 
 
 Thomas Parry, Cofferer. 
 
 Yvart, In the Service of Gardiner. 
 
 Knights and Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Attendants, 
 
 A Courier, A Page. 
 
 A detachment of the King' s Body-guard. 
 
 Time — September, 1548, to March, 1549. 
 
 Place — First and Third Acts, Cheston, in Hertfordshire. 
 
 Second Act, London. 
 
 fiel 
 1* 
 
 Fourth Act, Hatfield House. 
 
THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Chestox. The Hall. 
 Isabella. A Page. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Thou silly boy, thou hast not heard aright, 
 Or if thou hast then do I know right well 
 The vane points stormward. 
 
 Dead now, dost thou say. 
 Or only sick to death ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Ay, lady, dead ; 
 I caught the word upon the lips of him 
 Who came post-haste from Hanworth. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 From the Earl ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Ay, lady. So my lord of Sudley bears 
 Remembrance of his devoirs 'mid his griefs ; 
 
8 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 'Twere joyance if the realm held many such 
 To keep the image of a gentleman 
 Ever before the glances of the page. 
 My lord of Sudley — 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Is a true gallant ; 
 Yes, boy, I know : but speak less like a sage ; 
 Thy head outruns thy shoulders, and anon 
 May leave them on the wrong side of the block ; 
 A smell of blood yet tingles in the air, 
 And counsels prudence. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Good my lady, thanks ; 
 I beg forgiveness that my foolish tongue 
 Hath pressed untoward jargon on your ear ; 
 I will amend my fault. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 'Twere well thou didst 
 For thine own weal. 
 
 And now where went this dark 
 And direful messenger of woe ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 This way 
 
 He held his path in haste, and seemed to feel 
 The livery he wore gave warrant here 
 
Scene I.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 9 
 
 To murder all proprieties wherewith 
 Her Highness hath hedged round herself. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Hush, boy. 
 {Enter Beatrice. The Page withdraws to the rear.) 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Oh, have you heard it, sweet ? 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 I prithee, what ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 This sudden stroke which kills and makes alive. 
 This death that frees my lord. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 And what to you 
 Should bode his freedom ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nought, in very faith. 
 Yet if mayhap the lord High Admiral 
 Hath found his chain to gall, 'twere better so 
 To shape it that it gall not. And anon 
 The realm shall have the fuller, freer share 
 Of his strong power to plan, and lead her on 
 To nobler destinies. 
 
10 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ah, sweet, I know 
 How hot a thought lies hidden and half mad 
 Beneath a show of interest in the realm ; 
 Yet still beware. The queen hung on his breath, 
 And sought, as one who follows will-o-wisps, 
 To find fruition of a new delight 
 Within the halo of his wondrous eyes. 
 She made but two steps in the chase, — the first 
 Was from the throne of Henry to the warmth 
 Of Seymour's arms, — the second to her grave. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 He killed her not. As well defame the sea 
 
 With epithets of murder, crimson-tongued, 
 
 Because it must be grand and soar despite 
 
 The whims of fools who choose to drown themselves 
 
 Within its proud caress. As well betray 
 
 Anger against the eagle whose large flight 
 
 Can pause not though his mate's heart break at home. 
 
 The queen had loved him while his majesty 
 
 Yet chafed upon his throne. Fruition came 
 
 With Henry's death, and if she now be dead, 
 
 She hath had that which others, finer tuned 
 
 In nerve and nature, had wist well to die 
 
 With knowledge of possessing. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Oh, how prone 
 To very madness is a woman's heart ! 
 You paint a picture, Beatrice, and lo. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. \\ 
 
 The colors are all tinged with godlike glow — 
 Great masses of broad light to kindle flame 
 On the soul's altar of unblemished art. 
 You coin rare drops of blood into the theme, 
 Until the canvas stands, Olympus-like, 
 Bearing God's image. Then you proudly cry: 
 Behold, it is my true love's portrait! Ah, 
 Go on, sweet, 'tis the old, delicious way; 
 But full of danger, mark me, and the end 
 Lies close to white Death's door. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, this is wild; 
 I reck not if death quench life's loves or no. 
 Or if mayhap all life's loves lead to death. 
 Seeing my soul is free of love's own life ; 
 Still, loving not, I yet may find the wit 
 To know a true man's figure and brave heart 
 Amid a world grown dull with smiles of fools. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 So be it, but methinks Wit steps a-halt 
 When Love flies in the van. 
 
 A VOICE without. 
 i Come hither, boy. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Grace, lady, I am called. 
 
 {The Page, starting to go out, is met hy a Courier 
 wearing the Seymour livery.) 
 
12 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Madame, I come 
 Directly from mv lord, and hither bring 
 Such news as it had pleased me much the best 
 Not to have had to carry. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Yes, I know. 
 Tidings of sorrow^ run ahead of him 
 Whose duty bids him bear them. In his grief 
 The noble Earl of Sudley hath all tears 
 Which English eyes can offer. 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 So it please, 
 I fain would beg her Highness be informed, 
 And, if she hold it meet, grant of her grace 
 Short audience for deliverance of my trust. 
 I bring a letter with his lordship's seal. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Her Highness shall receive it. Give it me. 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Pardon, I beg, my lady, but my lord 
 Bade me in person see it in that hand 
 Whose princely fingers yet may hold the thread 
 Of Britain's fate. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 13 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Her Highness still prefers 
 That some one of her ladies first make known 
 The coming of such missives, so hath given 
 The most explicit orders. 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Still I crave 
 That you acquaint her Highness that without 
 Waits one of the lord Seymour's servitors. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Oh, if you will. I blame you not that so 
 
 You strive to fill your master's full command ; 
 
 But 'tis quite vain. \_Exit. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 (Aside.) Nay, would God that it were. 
 (To Courier.) 
 You say you came from Hanworth even now ? 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Ay, lady. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 And the Earl was stricken sore ? 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 His loss is great, and keen he feels the pang 
 Rankle and ache within his noble breast. 
 2 
 
14 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 The Admiral of England still has claims 
 That will not pause for grieving. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 That, of course. 
 Who should expect my lord to play the girl, 
 When all the nation looks to him to lead 
 And bear her glory forward ? But icithin ? 
 You can see something, and my lord is man ; 
 Think you his spirit bends beneath this blow ? 
 His smile was very gracious, and his eye 
 Held light to make all glad. Must that go out, 
 And leave us hopeless ? 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Hopeless ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, the word 
 Is strong, yet none so well fills out the thought 
 That at the moment was at hand. But then 
 'Tis strong ; I meant not hopeless. Like the rest 
 I should be sorry that my lord were sad ; — 
 And was he very sad ? 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 My lady, fain 
 Were I to answer, but I know not where 
 My master keeps- the archives of his soul. 
 Your ladyship must see. . . . 
 
Scene I.] THE FB IXC ESS ELIZABETH. 15 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Yes, 'tis enough ; 
 Here comes your ansM^er from the Princess. 
 
 (Enter Isabella.) 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Well, 
 Your master's suit is granted. 
 
 (To the Page.) Lead him in. 
 Her Highness waits you in the inner room. 
 
 COURIER. 
 
 Most gracious lady, thanks. 
 
 [_Exeunt Courier and Page. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 I am aghast ! 
 The Princess seems like wind which ever veers — 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Yet tends forever towards the amber south — 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 And knows not two like wishes. 'Twas but now — 
 Yesternight when we sat to catch the breeze 
 Wliich bore September odors through the leaves, 
 That she insisted how her mind was fast 
 To bar this easy access from without: 
 She wanted rest and privacy, and here 
 In this green Cheston — at her tender age — 
 Sure she should have them. 
 
16 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 Now behold the change ! 
 A booted messenger, besmirched with mire, 
 Swoops hawk-like, and unstayed by ghost of form, 
 Demands an instant hearing, pausing not 
 Save to pronounce his master's magic name; 
 But lo ! 'tis all-sufficient, and the doors 
 That nearest hide the Princess fly wide back 
 To welcome the intruder! 
 
 BEATKICE. 
 
 Think you this 
 Holds aught to engender wonder? 
 
 Nay, my lord 
 Had marvelled more to find his message kept 
 Waiting admittance. He can well command 
 Quick welcomes elsewhere, and the smile of those 
 Whose dignity is greater than a girl's. 
 E'en though her heart hold royal blood. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Enough ; 
 Yet I had thought her pride would turn her mind 
 To hold consistency less cheaply. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, 
 I guessed much better. An you knew my lord 
 As I do (and mayhap it so shall fall), 
 Your heavy measure of unfeigned surprise 
 Had shrunk to less than zero. 
 
Scene I.] TBE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 17 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 'Tis a strange, 
 Unfathomed world of ours. 
 
 Come, let us go ; 
 I hear the Ashley ranting on the stair, 
 And yearn not for her discords. 
 
 {Enter Katharine and Parry.) 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Marry now, 
 'Tis balsam to the eyes of humble men 
 When one room compasses two forms so fair. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You borrow, Master Parry, from the Court, 
 A touch of court floridity of speech. 
 
 \_Exeunt Beatrice and Isabella, 
 to ichom Parry hoics low, 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 These butterflies but flout a gayer wing 
 Fanned upward by a compliment. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Or blown 
 Obliquely by a jest ! 
 
 Well, as you said. 
 You need wise counsel. I am here to give ; 
 But prate not of necessity to keep 
 2* 
 
18 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 Faith with another, who, in trusting you, 
 Implied that you should never trust a third ; 
 A strange philosophy ! 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 So stated, — Ay. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 The fardel which oppresses you concerns 
 Her Highness ? 
 
 (John Hey wood glides unperceived through the door 
 at the rear and conceals himself behind a screen.) 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Yes ; long since I saw a change 
 Come o'er the childlike features and soft eyes 
 Of her whom I had deemed too young for love. 
 Yet could not tax with changing from mere whim, 
 And doffing the fresh colors of new spring 
 For the hot glow of summer. 
 
 Deep I scanned 
 To find the source of those strange, silent moods 
 And studious abstention from the talk 
 Which erst had drawn her into repartee. 
 And piqued her wit to answer ; but in vain ; 
 I watched her closely, and each day I saw 
 An added thoughtfulness creep in her eyes, 
 And over her broad brow slow lines of fear, 
 Like shadows stealing from a jungle forth 
 Out to the sun-bathed grasses. Now she sought 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 19 
 
 The solitude wliich lately she abhorred, 
 And hid herself for hours within her room, 
 Asking no help of comradeship to cheer 
 The clogging passage of time deemed before, 
 Unaided so, so drear. Her harpsichord 
 Had sounded its last echo weeks agone, 
 And, like a nightingale with murdered throat. 
 Stood sad as beauty prisoned in a tomb, — 
 Inurned in silence. 
 
 None but saw how late 
 The new emotions that so touched her face 
 Had entered that young heart to make it grave, 
 And none amonoj the ladies o^athered here 
 Could guess their cause ; — none if perchance I fail 
 To name the lady Beatrice, who alone 
 The Princess had in private talk, and told 
 1 know not what, but something which made both 
 More silent than before. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Ha ! I had thought 
 The wit of woman, which the ballads sing 
 And poets fall to sonnets to commend, 
 Had long ere this have shown you all the cause ; 
 A woman never grows unduly grave 
 Save for two reasons, — one the loss of speech. 
 The other, love. But pardon and go on. 
 You say they both grew silent. 
 
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22 THE FBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Had sworn his faith, and given her in pledge 
 A jewelled dagger, with an antique hilt, 
 Wondrously worked and sheathed in velvet. 
 
 This 
 She showed me with a glow upon her cheek. 
 As though it were an oath outlasting doom 
 And past infraction. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Yes, 'tis always thus. 
 Men ever do these things, and, doubting not, 
 Women ever believe. But showed you not 
 Her danger to the Princess ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 That indeed 
 Was my first care, but better had I held 
 My path unaided up an adverse tide 
 Enforced by seven-fold powers. 'Twas in vain 
 I begged her to remember how she stood 
 Supporting in her person dignity 
 Demanding circumspection and a firm 
 Eesistance of my lord's repeated vows. 
 She scorned air intimation that her soul 
 Should ever be too weak to hold its way 
 Whither her judgment counselled, even though 
 Her woman's heart should whisper softer things 
 And plead for dalliance. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 23 
 
 So perforce I fell 
 Into her mode of thinking, and as plain 
 I saw I could not hope to break her will 
 To tread the thorny ways which steeply run 
 Between the regal hedges, strove to guide 
 Her footsteps in the paths herself had deemed 
 The meetest to her wishes. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Then you lent 
 Your aid to make her meetings with the Earl 
 Less difficult than else they had been ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Ay; 
 
 And you, had you as much at heart as I 
 
 The honor of Elizabeth, had done 
 
 Nor less, nor more. I kept my hand close pres't 
 
 Upon the cord that bent the bow, but yet 
 
 Ne'er drew it till it snapped, and so escaped 
 
 All governance of mine. 
 
 I entered in 
 And counselled with her Highness, and so gained 
 Her inmost secrets touching the one theme 
 That filled her mind. 'Twas thus she came to feel 
 I Avas her very helpmate and true friend, 
 Giving advice and sympathy ; So leaned 
 Upon me and enabled me to shape 
 Much as I would that future which had else 
 Revolted from a touch that meant command. 
 
24 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 It was diplomacy which yielded up 
 
 The whip of power, but still retained the reins. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 {Peering unohserved from behind the screen. Aside. ^ 
 
 Oh ! what a shame this woman were not born 
 To grace a fool's position ! She had risen 
 To be court jester with a star of gems 
 Gracing her breast in no time. She had made 
 A glorious fool ! 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Truly, I do believe 
 You acted with a wisdom deep conceived, 
 For which I do you homage ; ' twas well thought 
 And better carried out ; yet dangerous, 
 As full of risk as toying with edg'd tools 
 And poniards i' the dark. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 So many times 
 I have so shaped the course of hostile chance 
 As to give brief occasion to the Earl 
 To have talk with my lady. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 All because 
 You pitied youth held in the chains of love. 
 Self sacrifice heroic ! But I know 
 Some grain of an advantage, half concealed 
 
Scene I.] THE PR INC ESS ELIZABETH. 25 
 
 E'en from yourself, hath lurked within your mind. 
 I have no thought to do injustice where 
 1 so admire the force which rules events ; 
 Still I do know how human is the heart. 
 
 HEYWOOD (aside, from behind the screen). 
 Ay, brother, you have conned old Plato well ; 
 Commend me to the human side of hearts. 
 Come to the kernel, for mine ears are pained 
 With straining at the shell. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 I am your friend ; — 
 Had done the same myself, and scrupled not 
 To serve my purpose, an it ran not 'thwart 
 The path of duty. 
 
 Where lay all the gist 
 Of your keen tact and etfort ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 I protest 
 My foremost thought hath ever been to find 
 The Princess' chiefest good ; if, after that, 
 I could see avenues whose end might be 
 A higher air for me to breathe in, — well, 
 I see no harm ; if done, 'twere well done so ; 
 And if the end failed in accomplishment, 
 'Twere well done still. 
 
 3 
 
26 Tin: riilXCFSS FLTZABKTir. [Atrl. 
 
 iiKYWOon {^(hffdc. from behind tlw screen). 
 Keen Aristojiluines ! 
 Dot't teiH'or witli iliill AvorJs, 1 stniul abashed. 
 
 K \ Til. V KINK. 
 
 I do confess I liave deemed that perehance 
 Secrets, acquired in moments uhen tlie heart 
 AVas generous as a man tar in his cups, 
 Miglit — Avithout shadow ot' oti'ence, mark tliat — 
 Be useful to an luimble woman, stern 
 To do all duty resting on her soul. 
 Yet mindful of such welfare as belongs 
 E'en to the workers. 
 
 r.VKKY. 
 
 Yes, and who shall dare 
 To orter contradiction ? Y'ou are right. 
 Your knowledge some day may be worth a store, 
 Goodly to think on, of the Admiral's gold. 
 Are you pledged to his service ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Rather I 
 Await the issue, with an eye to mark 
 To which side dips the scale, my cue to shun 
 The end w Inch kicks the beam. 
 
 iiEYWOOD (aside., f)'oni behind the screen). 
 Sweet innocent ! 
 JRespicejinem .' Look ye Avell to that ; 
 No g:ime so lopped to lack opposing sides. 
 
ScEXE I.] THE F Ely CESS ELIZABETH. 
 PAEET. 
 
 Ah. SO ; I see ; tou poise on wings ootspreaJ, 
 At i'j:^2X an<rles. Tf^dj each to send 
 A sudden pulse down through the waiting air. 
 And so, as quick as thought, to shift tout coarse 
 From south to north, or back, as blows the wind. 
 
 KATHAEIXi:. 
 
 Ay. Tor I like not flying in its teeth. 
 
 PABBT. 
 
 Prav TOU deem me as firmlr pledged to aid 
 
 The plans which you so well have brought to shape 
 
 As jou are to their working. 
 
 KATHAEEVE. 
 
 Too must keep 
 A silent tongue, yet ever with quick wit 
 Be ready with the carte and tierce of words 
 "When words are needed. 
 
 PABBT. 
 
 Nothing fear ; I know 
 A breeze of summer from a winter's gale. 
 Have you work now to do ? 
 
 KATHABESE. 
 
 Ay, there 's the point 
 I fain would come to, having told so much 
 As puts me at your mercy. 
 
28 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 TARRY. 
 
 Yes, 'twere hard 
 To give me all the roses, and hold back 
 The thorns for your own flesh. Fear not ; I have 
 A sense of justice, and shrink not aback 
 From my full part and portion. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 'Tis but now 
 I have been handed, by a messenger 
 Who came to bring the sad news from the Earl, 
 A private letter, which, in faith, holds not 
 Much savor of a sorrow, for my lord 
 Asks my good offices again to ope 
 The doors that lock the Princess from liis eyes. 
 He looks to me to make the roadway smooth 
 And, at the end, gives hint of gratitude 
 More solid than his thanks. 
 
 TARRY. 
 
 Aha ! Well, well. 
 Let us consider ; there is matter here 
 For a good hour's reflection. I shall have 
 A plan of action by the afternoon. 
 And something pleasant to speak in your ear. 
 Come, we must part ; mayhap we shall be missed. 
 I go to find John Hey wood, who hath roamed 
 Into the woods, I doubt not, there to vent 
 Bad rhymes upon the harmless bark of trees, 
 Or sonnets sing to mosses. I have aught 
 To tell him from her Hi^rhness. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 29 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 So ? beware ! 
 Heywood hath steel which cuts beneath his wit, 
 A venom deeper than a bantering word ; 
 See you he learn no item of our thoughts. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Trust me for that, I am no fool. Farewell 
 Till afternoon. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Farewell. 
 \_Exeunt Parry and Katharine 
 hy opposite doors. 
 
 HEYWOOD (^stepping from behind the screen^. 
 Nay, an you were 
 A fool, I quick should cut the noble trade 
 And turn my brain to witchcraft or the art 
 Of making brooms. 
 
 Farewell, my innocents. 
 You've taught me more than I had hoped to know 
 With weeks of labor. Patience ; bide the end ! 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 3* 
 
30 THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SCENE 11. — A Gothic Inner Room. 
 
 Elizabeth, Beatrice, Isabella, the Ladies Saint 
 Lowe and Willougiiby, seated loitli embroidering 
 frames. 
 
 saint loave. 
 
 Oh, 'twas in Gascoiiy ; I know how well 
 These Gascon lovers train their eyes to preach 
 False messages all redolent of Heaven, 
 Yet underneath Gehenna. 
 
 Once I passed 
 A languid month there in the summer, drowned 
 With incensed airs blown from the vine-leaves back, 
 And had soon thought myself (an my belief 
 Had gained its cue from hearing) fairer yet 
 Than Aphrodite. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 So that, being fair, 
 You deem all others subject to like chance 
 To draw ambrosia through a willing ear ; 
 Ah, you are cruel, my lady, else had held 
 Such knowledge from us as should rend our hearts 
 With envy and blank pity for ourselves. 
 Heaven only knows why we are not all fair; 
 Surely, an 'twere so, earth would brighter bloom 
 And life hold more to live for. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 31 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 • Nay, your words, 
 My lady, sting me without cause ; I meant 
 No self-assertion calling for rebuke ; 
 I spoke but of the falseness and dark eyes 
 Of Gascon lovers. Is it not most true 
 That they are false as water, Beatrice ? 
 You know their habits and complexion well, 
 And can perchance give aid to my poor speech 
 And save me from reproval. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Nay, not so ; 
 The lady Beatrice can better tell 
 Of Breton methods. Hers the deeper thoughts 
 That seek more northern lovers. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ah, 'tis well; 
 "We shall have wisdom here, if so it come 
 From multitude of counsels. 
 
 Pray give voice, 
 Sweet Beatrice, to what your soul may know 
 Of the soft breath of Bretons, fearing nought 
 But that I shall exact as much anon 
 Concerning Gascony from fair Saint Lowe — 
 Saint Lowe the harvester of ripened speech 
 Bowing before her sickle. 
 
32 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SAINT LOAYE. 
 
 This is cruel. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Speak, Beatrice, we are agog to hear. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 The lady Willoughby is pleased to jest ; 
 I know no Breton. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Are your beads well worn? 
 You shall have cause for cunning fingers there 
 Ere you can find repose. But let it pass ; 
 The subject is beyond me. 
 
 ELIZABETH (ciSl'de). 
 
 By my faith, 
 You are beyond the subject ! 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Ay ; perhaps 
 'Twere better to be wary of edged tools ; 
 Moreover, if the theme hold any kin 
 To wishes or the leanings of our minds, 
 I see no call to go to Gascony 
 To seek out lovers swearing to false vows. 
 I know a score here ready for the role, 
 And eloquent as Cicero to plead. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 33 
 
 AYILLOUGHBY. 
 
 A cause, which pleaded, lacks the dark eyes still 
 To give its law enforcement. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Are they then 
 So far essential ? I had thought, i' faith, 
 A lie could be as well told with the tongue. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, for the tongue's lies, rascal though they be, 
 Come as right honest villains, claiming nought 
 Beyond such force as may perchance find home 
 And lodgment in deception. But the eyes ! 
 All earth and heaven may be so deftly brought 
 Within their compass that the truth turns churl 
 And honesty is perjured. 
 
 But, for all. 
 The danger is no lesser if their shade 
 Be heaven's instead of hell's — cerulean blue 
 Rather than Stygian black. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Save that methinks 
 The blue is tenderer. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 AY hen the soul is sad ; 
 Ay, and more apt at catching a quick light 
 When the blood flames. 
 
34 THE FBIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 As it must flame, and die. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I have seen wondrous changes in blue eyes 
 To move the soul. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 My lord of Sudley's eyes 
 Are blue now. 
 
 AVILLOUGHBY. 
 
 And as fickle as the wind. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Know you my lord ? 
 
 AVILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Nay, but I have a bird 
 Brings me the echoes of the stories told 
 And whispers whispered of him. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 'Twere more just 
 To tarry for his speech, than quick to catch 
 The echo of a Avhisper, and so weave 
 Fictitious repetition. 
 
 I have found 
 Lord Seymour ever loyal and most true, 
 Barring the slips of foamy courtesy 
 
Scene II.] THE TBINCESS ELIZABETH. 35 
 
 AVliich all men must perforce keep well in hand 
 To grace the lips when else their w^ords had faH'n 
 Graceless and cold, and coarser than becomes 
 A gentle manner. 
 
 WILLOUGIIBY. 
 
 Loyalty is scarce 
 Within our subject's compass, if it please 
 Your Hiohness to admit an ar":ument 
 AYhere you espouse a cause. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 And loyal words, 
 Spoken to you, my lady, might be turned 
 To hold whole worlds of fondness. 
 
 As to truth, 
 No man can speak it if he dare maintain 
 He loves the same to-day as yester-e'en. 
 Man's love is like a ripened tropic fruit ; 
 'Tis heaven for one instant, but 'tis rare 
 To find it keeping fragrant overnight. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 By all the saints, vSaint Lowe has turned to gall! 
 AVhat was his guise, my lady ? and the form 
 He put his vows in ? We would fain be armed 
 To countervail attack. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Nay, I protest 
 You rob me of my ground, and pick my speech 
 Between the armour's joints. 
 
36 THE miNCESS ELIZABETH. [Act T. 
 
 For mine own part, 
 I nothing know about it, and care less 
 Than nothing to discover aught. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ' Tis well ; 
 They say that curiosity hath been 
 Tlie bane of woman since the world began ; 
 I am right glad you are so free of soul 
 To scorn inquiry. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Yet I half believe 
 The lady in the right ; and 'tis the fault 
 Of women that all men are prone to turn 
 A quick flow to an ebb. 'Twas ever found 
 That men grow stale within a damsel's sight 
 An they change not as fleetly as the bits 
 Of colored glass that run to stars and rings 
 And restless diamonds tumbling in a tube. 
 AYomen have killed truth in a wanton love 
 Of brilliant change and riot, and the fault 
 Lies at their doors ; but that the fault abounds 
 I do believe. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Methinks there was a song 
 I heard you sing once, and its burden bore 
 Matter most apt and german to our talk. 
 'Twas in the evening, and we sat within 
 
Scene II.] THE rRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 37 
 
 The sliadow of the gable, darkly marked 
 
 Upon the sward, which, further, sprang alight, 
 
 Effulo;ent in the lan^^uor of the moon. 
 
 Yonder tlie river swept in silence down. 
 
 And all its moveless motion was alive 
 
 With changeful points of light. And as you sang 
 
 I deemed the song writ for the scene. 
 
 I pray, 
 If you recall it, sing it. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, the song. 
 We turn to dullards, and should soon fall ill 
 Of melancholia or those mental fiends 
 That hold the body prisoned, were it not 
 For the poetic phrases of Saint Lowe. 
 We need some music sore. I do beseech. 
 Sweet Isabella, that you '11 sing the song. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 In truth, I have forgot the thing. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Nay, nay ; 
 'Twas of a fickle lover who went out 
 And broke his vows, and came back with a heart 
 Dead to remembrance of the love that lived 
 But for his coming. 
 
 Do you not recall 
 How the words fitted to the melody ? 
 4 
 
38 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 A carol joyous as it spread its wings, 
 And falling into minors at the close. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 All yes, I do remember ; it was so : — . 
 
 {Sings.) 
 
 Down the glad river 
 Kissed by the sunlight, 
 Down the sweet river which sings as it runs, 
 AVhere the waA'es quiver, 
 Turning its one light 
 Into the light of a myriad suns. 
 Floated my lover, 
 Leaving behind him 
 Promises sweet as the warmth of his breath. 
 Over and over, 
 
 AVords that should bind him 
 Wafting a pledge of love loyal till death. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 A pretty web of parti-colored stuff. 
 I warrant that tlie promise was well kept, 
 Or that the lady wearied of the bond 
 And so released it. 
 
 AYILLOUGHBY. 
 
 By my faith, I think 
 The gentleman outdid his part to pile 
 Such protestations up, where but one look 
 Of tender truthfulness had better done. 
 
Scene II.] THE rRINCESS ELIZABETH. 39 
 
 ELTZABETII. 
 
 Oh, 'twas a miitnal vow, an oath which bound 
 The consciences of both. The hidy's wings 
 Were weighted, and her soul kept back from flight ; 
 I will be sworn to that. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 There is yet more ; 
 I pray you hear the end. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, that were well ; 
 Come to the minors, sweet, we are all ears. 
 
 ISABELLA [sings). 
 Up the sad river 
 
 Flecked with the starlight, 
 Up the fleet river which mournfully mars, 
 In its dark shiver, 
 
 Gleams of their far light 
 Studding the ripples with palpitant stars. 
 Floated the rover, 
 Bearing beside him 
 One whose scant love was atoned by her art ; 
 No more my lover, 
 
 AVords that belied him 
 Sounding the knell at the death of my heart. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 What would you do, my lady, with the fair 
 
 And artful interloper, if you held 
 
 The power to shape the destinies of all ? 
 
40 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Burn out her eyes, that they might cease to bear 
 The devil's torch which sears the souls of men ; 
 An 'twere my story that the ditty told, 
 I could kill easier than sip mulled wine 
 When I were thirstiest. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY {aside to ISABELLA). 
 
 God ! look how her eyes 
 Flash murder as she speaks. 
 
 I did not think 
 The Princess held such fire within her veins. 
 
 ISABELLA {aside to LADY AVILLOUGHBY). 
 
 Ah, 'tis the blood of Henry. Pray you mark 
 The flare tliat scars her cheek beneath the eyes 
 And melts far down the neck. 'Tis Henry's blood. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Sweet Beatrice hath drunk the tale too deep. 
 Strive not to cover, Beatrice, your brow 
 By stooping at your frame. 
 
 I saw but now 
 Your eyelids wet with tears. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, peace, I pray 
 Speak not of me. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 41 
 
 SAINT LOAVE. 
 
 Nay, 'tis no crime to weep. 
 But there must lodge some ice-bound fountain deep 
 Within your heart, to melt when touched aright 
 By the warm tenderness of songs. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Oh, there 
 You see the Breton lover. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ah, I beg 
 You cease to banter. Beatrice, come with me ; 
 I would say something which may best be said 
 To you alone. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 No, stay. Why does she weep 
 The song was but a string of silly words 
 Strung to trip glibly from an agile tongue 
 And tricked with sensuous sinkings of the voice. 
 There must be other reason. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 No, no, no ; 
 I wept not. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 It is false : I saw the tears 
 Weighting your lashes ere the song was done. 
 I will know wherefore you have wept. 
 4* 
 
42 THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Alas, 
 I cannot tell, my lady. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 So it please, 
 I pray you give her peace. At times the heart 
 Must have its hour of sadness, and so draw 
 Renewed strength for the joy that comes amain, 
 As wearied limbs, sinking to slumber, find 
 The vigor that awaits the morrow's sun ; 
 I pray you give her peace. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, if you will. 
 Go then. 
 
 - ISABELLA. 
 
 Come, sweet. 
 
 \_Exeunt Isabella and Beatrice. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I yet shall understand 
 Why the quick tears forever woo the lids 
 Of those dark eyes. 
 
 AVILLOUGIIBY. 
 
 'Tis nought but sentiment, 
 O'erwrought with reading ballads badly built 
 Upon the shifting sand of fancied fate ; — 
 A kind of foolery affected oft. 
 And sometimes deemed emotion, — or desire. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 43 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Life must have love, or falls to intrigue. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Faugh. 
 Love runs not into rhyming. 
 
 There's a space 
 Between the point where judgment ends and where 
 Tlie whispers of the heart all-potent grow ; 
 And in this space the poetasters live 
 And revel in beatitudes of words. 
 They never cross the boundary either way, 
 And so, like shining fishes in a pool, 
 Know nothing of the summer-scented banks 
 Heavy with flowers. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Wisdom profound ! 
 
 {A knock heard without. Exit Lady Saint Loave.) 
 
 I deem 
 The privilege of entertainment great 
 To sit with open mind and catch the crumbs 
 That scatter from the amply-covered board 
 Of knowledge. 
 
 {Re-enter Lady Saint Lowe.) 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Master Heywood stands without, 
 And begs my lady to accord him time 
 
44 THE PBIKCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I, 
 
 To say in private certain words which he 
 Insists he will not speak in any ear 
 Save hers alone. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Well, he shall see me now. 
 I will excuse you, ladies, for a while ; 
 Pray you bid master Heywood enter. 
 
 [_Exeunt the Ladies Willoughby 
 and Saint Lowe. 
 
 {Enter Heywood.) 
 
 So. 
 You have more messages of import, John ? 
 Your welcome is writ out beforehand, fair ; 
 For you have always matter worthy well 
 Of careful hearing. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 And of letting slip 
 Adroitly out the ear ; eh, Princess ? 
 
 Fain 
 Were I to speak the essence of things, for 
 The world grows over-bulky with much talk, 
 And, frog-like, puffs its sides with idle wind 
 Devoid of meaning. 
 
 Come to kernels, then. 
 The traps are set. 
 
Scene II.] THE PB INC ESS ELIZABETH. 45 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, 'tis the season ; hares 
 Are plenty now. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 But Princesses are scarce. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 That hangs upon relation. Scarce, perchance, 
 Compared with gnats in August, but methinks 
 A shade too plenty for the vacant thrones, 
 And plethoric in numbers viewed beside 
 The ranks of honest men. 
 
 I pray you cease 
 This wretched method of enigma. Speak 
 What 's in your thought to utter. 
 
 Traps for whom ? 
 
 HEYAVOOD. 
 
 Her Royal Highness, sister to the King. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 For me ? Ah, 'twere time wasted to attempt 
 To e'en find bait. My years are tender yet, 
 But still I've learned to scent the shams full well, 
 And, scenting, to despise them. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 I but spake 
 Of traps ; the bait your own full heart shall find 
 An you heed not my counsel. 
 
4G THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 By the mass ! 
 There 's danger here, my lady. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I'll not hear 
 Aught sworn to by the mass. You do forget 
 Who is the church's head. No popish turn 
 Of wordy art to give your speech eftect ; 
 It suits me not. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Nay, 'tis a habit fixed 
 Stubbornly in me ; I'll amend erewhile. 
 It liolds no substance in it, but relieves 
 That force of thought which seeks a vent in words. 
 Forgive it. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay ; but what have I to fear 
 From these fell traps that grin upon my path ? 
 Who dares attempt to lead me to a hurt, 
 Or, daring, has the power ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Who dares I know. 
 Wlio has the power yourself must answer me. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 What have I done to give a handle to 
 Those who would harm me? 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 47 
 
 Am I not kept here 
 Under surveillance of the council, shut 
 Far from the turmoil which mayhap pertains 
 Most closely to my weal ? 
 
 Am I not watched 
 Daily by "eyes whose fawning light scarce hides 
 The wolfish gleam of those w^hose trade it is 
 To seek the ground of accusation ? How 
 Can I have space to lend me to an act 
 Of slightest import, e'en were I disposed 
 To stoop to do a wrong? Or how find place 
 To work that which my soul had deemed a right ? 
 I am a prisoner ; none holds the key 
 Saving the Lord Protector, — 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 And- 
 
 ELIZABETII. 
 
 And whom ? 
 
 HEYAVOOD. 
 
 The Lord Protector's brother. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Start not. 
 My trade of fool has taught me to read hearts, 
 For they are written o'er and slashed across 
 
48 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 With quaint arcliaic signs that wise men ne'er 
 Were able to decipher, but M^hich we 
 Know all the key to. Hearts, Madonna, be 
 The very handiwork of fools. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 AVho dares 
 Assume to read my thouglits ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 I, Princess, I, 
 John Hey wood, once the jester and court fool. 
 But always friend, to Henry. 
 
 By the right 
 Born of your royal father's friendship, I 
 Dare now to speak true words and bold withal 
 Within his daugliter's ear. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Yes, Hey wood, you 
 I feel are in the right. Speak on. I'll keep 
 All patience for your counsel. Yet it seems 
 So bitter, and with such injustice fraught. 
 That I, scarce turned from childhood's silken bounds, 
 Should find my soul thus harrowed and laid bare 
 To uninvited gazers. I shall learn. 
 It may be, to grow callous to all stings 
 That now goad me to madness ; but 'twill take 
 A little time, — a riper age. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 49 
 
 Speak now. 
 Some one has deemed me subject for a stroke 
 Of venomed poniard hilted with the name 
 Of my lord Seymour ? 
 
 Well, what say the spies ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 That my lord Seymour woos in earnest. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay? 
 That knowledge might hold interest, an 'twere told 
 To those who loved him, if there be such. Come, 
 I pray you, to the point. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 There I arrive 
 Later than you ; for from your words I glean 
 That you find much of interest in the theme. 
 I think you love my lord. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I, Heywood ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Yes; 
 Or thhik you do, which for the nonce I hold 
 Of parallel concern. Princess, beware; 
 Your way is full of danger. Turn aside ; 
 Leave off your interviews. 
 5 
 
50 THE PB IN CESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Who told yon that? 
 By Heaven! who spoke of interviews ? I think 
 The air holds treason here. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Ay, marry, does it ; 
 And I am the physician come to purge 
 The foul infection out. 
 
 My lady, hear; 
 The intrigue (if your ears will bear the name) 
 Which my lord seeks is known to more than one, 
 And, if I be not duller than of old, 
 I scent some purpose to turn your defeat 
 Into advantage of the meaner sort 
 To those whom you have trusted. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Thus I learn 
 The bitterness of finding falsehood out ; 
 'Tis cruel to con the lesson ere I reach 
 Woman's estate. 
 
 John, I '11 dissemble not ; 
 I have found pleasure in the Earl's soft words 
 Of courtesy, spoken mayhap beyond 
 The verge of courteous requirement ; still 
 No act of mine has given shade of right 
 To spleenful tongues to couple me with him 
 In reprehensive language. We have met. 
 Sometimes beneath the glances of a room 
 
Scene II.] THE rRIKCESS ELIZABETH. 51 
 
 Filled with the people here ; and once, perhaps, 
 More privately I have allowed my lord 
 To speak with me alone. 
 
 Kat Ashley knows 
 Where, when, and how. 
 
 HEY^VOOD. 
 
 None better. Pause awhile. 
 My lady, I do beg you '11 see no more 
 My lord in private. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 How? No more? I have 
 Already given refusal to his prayer 
 More times than one. Yet would I not at once 
 Cut off all my acquaintance with his speech ; 
 I've grown to value it, and do not wear 
 My likes upon my sleeve. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 So much the worse. 
 This like likes not your color. Pray you see 
 My lord no more. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, Heywood, nay, ask not 
 That of me. I '11 be guided, if you will. 
 By your mature discretion and wise years ; 
 You shall construe each action, — shape each word, 
 Limit my times within such compass as 
 
52 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 Your judgment shall deem meetest, — draw such lines 
 Around the fleeting hours, to hem them in, 
 As cool heads wrap about hot beating hearts, — 
 But ask me not to throw back to the winds 
 The friendship of my lord. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 His friendship! Ah, 
 How sad a thing is poor humanity ! 
 Alas, alas. Madonna, you have fled 
 Beyond my reach ere I had known you gone. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, I but seek to be as gentle as 
 
 My station renders fit. In time I '11 leave 
 
 All idle dalliance far behind me. 
 
 Come ; 
 Grant me your aid, John Heywood ; be my guide. 
 I will not be forbid, but you may lead 
 My steps all safely through a mazy path 
 Beset with dangers. Come. 
 
 HEY^VOOD. 
 
 (Aside.) Ay, if you will. 
 
 I know the Tudor blood, that brooks no law 
 Outside its current when the tide is high. 
 But still may be diverted. 
 
 Promise, then, 
 To let me be the censor of your acts 
 Touching this matter, promise you will seek 
 
ScEXE II.] THE FB IXC ESS ELIZABETH. 53 
 
 My counsel, and keep nothing from my ear 
 
 That should come to it to insure your right 
 
 As your own conscience speaks it, — promise this ; 
 
 I ask it, I, your humblest servant here. 
 
 Yet fain to be the helper of her life 
 
 Who is my master's daughter. 
 
 On my side, 
 I will do all to aid you that may be. 
 To meet your wishes, yet to ke.ep your name 
 Unsullied as a Princess' name should be. 
 
 ELIZABETPI. 
 
 I promise, and I thank you, John, with all 
 The fervor of my heart, that grateful feels 
 More than my lips may utter. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Good ; farewell. 
 (^He hisses her fingers.) 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Farewell ; I shall go to my chamber now ; 
 I yearn to be alone. 
 
 (Heywood opens a door and hows as Elizabeth 
 passes oat.) 
 
 5* 
 
54 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Hall. 
 Tyrwhit ajid Harrington enter arm in arm. 
 
 TYRAVHIT. 
 
 Well pleased am I 
 The precedence of time in coming here 
 Gives me the pleasant right, Sir John, to bid 
 You a warm welcome. 
 
 'Tis a quiet spot, 
 Fit for her Highness to mature, unforced, 
 Her maiden germs of thought. 
 
 You came direct 
 From London ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Ay ; the city loomed in black 
 And drooped its plumes in universal woe ; 
 I ne'er have seen a mourning so sincere, — 
 So widely felt. The Queen was deeply loved ; 
 I could but mark how truer was the grief 
 Than that which followed her late royal spouse 
 Adown his last great progress. 
 
 r TYRWHIT. 
 
 That, indeed, 
 Though spoken under breath, methinks must be 
 The secret thought of all. 
 
 The obsequies 
 Befitted well the state of Katharine ? 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 55 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Most grand. Yet more impressive for tlie awe 
 Of grief-struck faces, than for aught of show 
 Expended on their seeming. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 And how fares 
 The noble Earl ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 He bears himself as one 
 Who understands his dignity right well, 
 And bows before the blow which even he 
 May not forefend. The Earl, with all his store 
 Of soft urbanity, is made of stern 
 And valiant stuff. 
 
 TTRWHIT. 
 
 He will be here anon ; 
 His messenger came straightway with the news 
 Of the Queen's death, and, as I hear, brought word 
 Of some intended visit, an it pleased 
 Her Highness he should come. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 And did it please? 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 That goes without the saying. I have thought 
 The Princess too outspoken ; and perhaps 
 
56 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 Too earnest in lier liking for the Earl. 
 'Tis not as I could wish it were in this, 
 But I am armed with ever- watchful eyes, 
 And shall not shirk my duty. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 That all know 
 Who know you best, Sir Robert. 
 
 By the way, 
 Think you the Earl ambitious ? 
 
 TYRAYHIT. 
 
 I had thought 
 Less than the knowledge of each yeoman bred 
 Within wide England, did I think aught else. 
 He lives on his ambition as the bears 
 Hibernate on their fat. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 'Tis dangerous 
 To the realm's quiet. 
 
 I have caught of late 
 Strange whispers that bode ill for future peace. 
 'Tis said that Somerset is illy pleased 
 With certain strong proclivities that mark 
 The Admiral's course of action. 
 
 TYRTTHIT. 
 
 Yes, 'tis true ; 
 And were I Lord Pi'otector I should deem 
 That course of action fatal if allowed 
 
Scene III.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 57 
 
 To lioTcl its sway. There is a storm ahead, 
 Mark that, or I 'm no prophet. 
 
 HARRINGTOX. 
 
 Has your mind 
 
 Yet found the rut it means to travel in ? 
 Is your side taken ? 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Love you the Earl ? 
 
 T^^RWHIT. 
 
 Nay ; but I tfust discretion dwells within 
 Your memory. Sir John. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Oh, fear not me ; 
 I 'm with you heart and soul. My tongue is still, 
 But yet I can but hate this alien power 
 That grows to a Colossus and out-heads 
 The hundred-headed Gyges ! 
 
 I should deem 
 My duty as a Briton half fulfilled 
 If I neglected opportunity 
 (Such offering to a knight so poor as I) 
 To help to bind the serpent ere his coils 
 Tijrhten about the throne. 
 
58 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Hist ! walls have ears. 
 Should the time come we stand together. Now 
 The season is unripe. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Yes, but hot deeds, 
 Like tropic climates, ripen fruitage fast. 
 If I mistake not there are schemes afloat 
 And counter-schemes withal. 
 
 But now I met 
 A servant coming from the lower hall, 
 Who looked askance and dropped his foxj eyes 
 And bowed in low obeisance. I have seen, 
 Within the record of my travels, men 
 Of many manners, and I know a spy. 
 
 TYRW^HIT. 
 
 Oh, have you seen that man? Three days agone 
 
 He came here, backed with letters setting forth 
 
 His claims for loyal service, and so well 
 
 And highly recommended, that at once 
 
 He was insti^lled among the household here. 
 
 He asked none other than a menial post 
 
 (For that were easier had), and since, hath shown 
 
 Alacrity to duty much beyond 
 
 The habit of his genus. He betrays 
 
 An education proving other scenes 
 
 Than those of servants' halls. Since, T have learned 
 
Scene III.] THE rRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 59 
 
 He served the house of Douglass for a space 
 Of twenty years or more. 
 
 HARRIXGTOX. 
 
 Eh ! Douglass ? So 
 Thence comes the Jesuit contour of the face, 
 Crowned with its oily locks. 
 
 Sir Robert, mark. 
 The man 's a spy. 
 
 TYRAVniT. 
 
 I' faith I well believe it. 
 But from whom comes he ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 From the Tower walls ; 
 His Grace of Winchester hath alien eyes 
 To do his watching when his own are sealed. 
 
 TYRWIIIT. 
 
 Great Heaven ! Do you think it possible? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 I but surmise ; the wisest sometimes err. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Whom think you now the wily Bishop aims 
 To cast his net around ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 It is his darlino; scheme. Full well he knows 
 
60 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 How listless lianf]:; the reins of state between 
 
 The adolescent fingers of the king. 
 
 He would destroy the Princess ere a chance 
 
 Should that way throw the power; ay, deem it true 
 
 Service to God to free the English crown 
 
 From taint of heresy,. and so restore 
 
 The fading laurels of the mother church. 
 
 He hates the Princess. 
 
 TYRAVHIT. 
 
 Good. We can hate too, 
 And act, as well, mayhap, should fate prove fair 
 And destiny turn helpful. 
 
 If my lord 
 Of Winchester can plot to undermine 
 Her Highness, we of lesser note may learn 
 The way to strike another, surer far 
 To bring hurt to the State. 
 
 When we do strike 
 'Twill be {Lays his fingers on his lips.') 
 
 AN ATTENDANT (ivithoiit, 171 a loud voice). 
 
 The Earl of Sudley ! 
 
 Stand ye back. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Ye powers ! How like an omen fall the words 
 Of that announcement ! 
 
Scene III.] THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH, Gl 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Ay, the game is here ; 
 He comes before his time. 
 
 Hist ! not a breath. 
 
 Caution 's the countersign to guide us now 
 
 Change we our topic. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Yes, for here comes one 
 To bid us also oil our knees to hinge 
 
 Pliant before the Ju«^<?ernaut 
 
 Yes, true, 
 Some statues on the terrace would enhance 
 Its southward outlook. 
 
 {Enter Attendant.) 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Gentlemen, my lord 
 Of Sudley hath arrived. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 IMost welcome he. 
 Haste we to give our welcome w^ords, Sir John. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 At once, by all means. 
 
 TYRAYHIT. 
 
 After you. Sir John. 
 (^Exeunt Harrington and Tyuwhit, followed hy 
 the Attendant.) 
 
62 THE rBIKCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A AViNE Cellar. Several Casks in 
 
 DIFFERENT POSITIONS. A LaNTERN SUSPENDED 
 
 FROM THE Ceiling. 
 
 Yyart, in the livery of tlie Princess Elizabeth, is dis- 
 covered seated on the floor before one of the casks, from 
 which he fills a flagon as the scene opens. He sings: 
 
 Drink, drink, while we may, 
 Life lasts but a day, 
 
 Tra la la, tra la la , 
 For the monk's life so holy, 
 In dread melancholy 
 Had withered away 
 
 Without wine ; tra la la. 
 
 Come, come, heart of oak ! 
 Thy best spirit invoke, 
 
 Tra la la, tra la la ; 
 Though barrels be oaken. 
 Their blood is the token 
 Of dreams that provoke 
 
 Smiles of joy ; tra la la. 
 
 Ha, ha ! {He removes his cap.) 
 
 Et pro Papa et pro Rege. 
 
 {He drinhs long from the flagon.) 
 A good toast that, and, by my faith, good wine 
 To drink it in. This Rhenish juice grows dark, 
 And mimics Malmsey in the mellow crust 
 Of its mellifluent ao;e. No headache there 
 
Scene IV.] THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 63 
 
 To make to-day the censor wlio shall rant 
 At yester-e'en's potations. 
 
 Once again. 
 Pro Papa et — the devil take the King ! 
 
 (^He drinks.) 
 A toast more honest than the last. 
 
 Aha! 
 I wonder what the butler thinks I 'm at ; 
 Devising pasties, maybe, for the Earl. 
 Aha ! bethink me now how goes the rest : 
 
 (Jle sings.) 
 
 Drink, brothers of Tyne ; 
 There 's life in the >yine, 
 
 Tra la la, tra la la ; 
 Its flavor as olden, 
 Its sparkle as golden, 
 And beaded as fine 
 
 As the sun ; tra la la. 
 
 Now, by Saint Patrick's robe! 'tis no bad berth, 
 
 This being quartered on a willing foe 
 
 To do a spy's work. Yet I hate the badge 
 
 Of service to my lady, — nobly born. 
 
 But bred to baseness by this heretic crew. 
 
 His Grace of Norfolk kept a different house 
 
 And different people in it. Ah how prone 
 
 To deeds of kindness was my lady Jane ! 
 
 I could be honest then, — swear when I would. 
 
 And tell ray beads off in the light, not forced 
 
 To hide devotion in the cellar, lest 
 
64 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 I be held contumacious to the King. 
 Well, well, those days have passed. 
 
 The Bishop holds 
 
 Sterner authority, and bends his life 
 To duty all unlighted by a joy. 
 I shall do him all service as I find 
 Occasion for the doing, and mayhap 
 That chance may not be far. 
 
 I am a fool, 
 Not worthy secret mission from a clown. 
 If this puffed Earl, who strides, all giant-wise, 
 From decks of ships to privy councils, fall 
 Not, some day, in the nets his hands have spread. 
 But if he be entangled, that itself 
 Can work nor good nor pleasure to our side, 
 Falling alone. Oh no, my Bishop, no, 
 I know your wise instructions better far, 
 And they fit neater to my humor, too, 
 Than if they were not complex, meant to fold 
 Duplex entanglements, and ruin told 
 In double numbers. 
 
 Ah me ! one more cup, 
 
 {He drinks again.') 
 Then to my prayers, and afterward to work ; 
 So runs the world, all pleasure, penance, pain. 
 
 {He takes out a missal., and seating himself behind 
 one of the casks., begins reading some devotional 
 exercises.) 
 
Scene IV.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 65 
 
 (^Enter^from the rear, a Butler and a country 
 Clown, the farmer hearing a kmtern.) 
 
 BUTLER. f 
 
 Hither ! and make less stomping with thy clogs 
 An thou wouldst be not tried for witchcraft. 
 
 Those 
 Who stay above-stairs will be like to swear 
 To goblins in the cellar, shod with spikes, 
 And dancing to the devil's castanets. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay, master. I be use n't to the steps 
 And alleys of fine housen. Be her Grace 
 Tender o' nerve ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Odds, man ! speak not so loud ; 
 Thy bellow is above thy clogs. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 For that 
 I praise the Powers ! An it had been below, 
 I needs had walken on my head. 
 
 YVART (aside). 
 
 No fool. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I warrant thou hadst found thy paunch atween ; 
 Thy memory serves thee well there. 
 6* 
 
66 THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Well enow ; 
 It 's whispering like a thimble-rigger now. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Well, work then, sirrah. Dost thou think I 'm here 
 To feed a lout that 's hungry, with strong hands 
 Stirless beside him ? Work an thou wouldst eat. 
 Thou cam'st here asking for an alms to eke 
 Another day of life out, but when I, 
 Moved to a pity, offer chance to earn 
 The wherewithal to stay thy hunger's bite, 
 Thou hast reluctant manner in thy gait, 
 And movest snail-like. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Master, nay, but show 
 What I be bound to do. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 That row of casks 
 Must go on t'other side. Run the line so. 
 To make us room here. We lack space to place 
 Two butts of wine that needs must find a home 
 Close to yon wall. 
 
 ( The Clown begins to move the casks.) 
 Bend thy back, sirrah. 
 
 cloavn. 
 
 Ay. 
 
Scene IV.] THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 67 
 
 YYART {aside). 
 Now if the fellow thinks to roll away 
 My covert's sides, I 'm in an awkward plight. 
 Curse this regime, which makes religion crime, 
 And forces churchmen to bewail their sins 
 Beneath the ground. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Master, be this the wine 
 Her Grace's Royal Highness drinks betimes ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 What 's that to thee ? 
 
 Her Plighness may not drink 
 Save in the small proportion that her age 
 Prescribes unto her sex. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 And be 't the Earl 
 Who drinks it i' the gross? 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 Odds, man ! what earl ? 
 What may'st thou know of earls ? — a lout not half 
 The stature of a yeoman's man o' field. 
 What earl, thou wag-tongue ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 He the Princess holds 
 So high i' thought. 
 
 (i/e continues worhing at the casl:s.) 
 
68 THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 YVART (aside). 
 
 Ah, meat for head-Avork here! 
 So ; even to this boor's low level comes 
 The bruit that shall make our fortunes yet. 
 'Tis well befall'n I 'm hid here. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Who is he ? 
 Thou meanest the lord Seymour ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay ; his Grace, 
 The maister o' the ships. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Hold thy loose tongue, 
 And speak of that thou understandest, knave. 
 Straighten that barrel back flush with the rest. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay, master. But I speaken without hurt ; 
 Lord Seymour is a very noble lord ; 
 I 've hearn much talk about him. 
 
 Barlowe says, 
 — And Barlowe be a justice o' the peace — 
 He be a greater than great Somerset, 
 Who wears King Edward's signet. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 If he be, 
 How shouldst thou know wherein? Keep closer watch 
 And hamper on thy clown's speech, else too soon 
 
Scene IV.] THE FBIXCESS ELIZABETH. 69 
 
 Thou slialt find decent exit from the world 
 At the King's cost. 
 
 Bring hither now the light ; 
 Follow me to the buttery, and fill 
 Thyself witli meat and ale to cure thy back 
 O' straining o'er the casks. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay, master, fast 
 As the King's post-boy in a stormy day. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Yes ; I '11 be sworn to that. 
 
 This way, and see 
 Thou stumble not across thine own clogs. 
 
 CLOAVN. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 [Exeunt Butler and Clown. 
 
 YVART {coming out from hehind the cask). 
 
 I go as well, and have a new scent now 
 Sliall lead me to the quarry, or I 'm fallen 
 Into a dulness not ere this my wont. 
 Her Highness' likings raise their eager heads, 
 And overtop the usages whicli hedge 
 Around her sex and rank. 
 
 This fellow sniffs 
 The smell of scandal trenchant i' the air, 
 And speaks the vulgar knowledge. 
 
70 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 By my soul, 
 The Bishop's dreams were realler than the day, 
 If we should yoke her Highness and the Earl, 
 Tangling the feet of both in the same net 
 And killing hawk and eaglet with the sweep 
 Of the sling swung but once. 
 
 Aha ! I feel 
 New life and impulse, stirring to quick thought. 
 As quick to execution. But I lose 
 Time golden-pinioned, dallying o'er a dream 
 And leaded w'ith reflection. 
 
 Let me act : 
 I know the part I have to play, and so 
 Shall play it to the end. 
 
 Let those who win 
 Make merry when the curtain marks the close. 
 
 [^Exit through side door. 
 
Scene V.] THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 71 
 
 SCENE Y.— A Pkiyate Room. 
 
 John Heywood enters, hcarincj a shaded lamp and a hunch 
 of keys. Elizabeth /o//or/;s, her head and shoulders 
 enveloped in the folds of a veil. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 The end of patience is reward of toil. 
 Princess, behold the goal ! 'tis reached at last, 
 As quoth the scaffold to the murderer. 
 Pray you sit here. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, give me space for breath ; 
 The stair we climbed in that dark gallery 
 Seemed steep and hard as penitential pangs 
 Forced on a wayward soul. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 The sole way. See 
 How keen my wits lope off, and dash aback 
 Rare scintillations of philosophy 
 To sparkle 'gainst the background of dull prose. 
 Am I not witty ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, John, of a truth : 
 But shall you hear me when I need to go ? 
 
72 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Breathe once upon the gold-tipped whistle, hung 
 There at your girdle ; 'tis a triton's horn 
 Will summon me directly. 
 
 I '11 away 
 Through this door which we entered. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 And throujrh that? 
 
 Will come the Earl. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Thanks, Heywood, you are good. 
 Great Heaven ! if you should ever prove me false, 
 Remember you can smirch the royal house 
 Of royal England if you turn a knave ; 
 Remember also it will prove your death. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Princess, you sure forget I am a poet, 
 
 And death to poets holds promise of a theme 
 
 Their lives are spent in seeking. 
 
 Threats are vain, 
 Rather temptations, when they take such form. 
 Harry the Eighth knew better, and with all 
 His practised threats, yet threatened not his fool. 
 I was too good a fool to turn a knave. 
 
Scene v.] THE PRIXGESS ELIZABETH. 73 
 
 And am too good a poet to blench at death ; 
 Scan all my actions, Princess, and then ask 
 Forgiveness for your thought. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Forgive me, John. 
 You are all i' the right. 
 
 There is so strange 
 A flutter at my heart, I hardly know 
 What words I utter. 
 
 I do trust you ; go ; 
 And pray you be not far. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Too far to hear 
 That which mine ears should hear not, and too near 
 To fail of hearing all mine ears should hear. 
 Princess, be wise, be cautious, and farewell. 
 
 \^Exit Heywood. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 This is so strange. Why should I be here ? AYhy 
 Stoop to this meeting, and, so stooping, bring 
 Humiliation to a soul as proud 
 As that whose glory loomed o'er Bosworth Field ? 
 Oh ! how my blood stings at my finger tips. 
 Nay, I will go. 
 
 {^She raises to her lips a small ivkistle ivhich hangs 
 at her waist^ but pauses with it in her hand.) 
 7 
 
74 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 Yet I am far above 
 All reaches of suspicion of a wrong ; 
 This man is insolent, and should be taught, 
 By means whose sternness he may not forget, 
 To rein his aspirations. And withal, 
 He hath been husband to my father's queen. 
 Yes, I will stay, but keep him to his sphere. 
 I can do that, I think I can do that ; 
 It cannot be I love him with such love 
 As drowns the sense of calculation, yet 
 His manner bears a strange, resistless force 
 That weaves about me like an iron gyve. 
 And checks the word I most would wish to speak 
 Ere it can find a fashion on my lips. 
 Heaven ! how soft his breath is when he stoops 
 To whisper that whose subtle essence runs 
 Too deep for the inflexions of a voice ! 
 In truth, I know not what this thing should be ; 
 'Tis very new, — and sweet. 
 
 Within my heart 
 There is a strange commotion, and my throat 
 Seems stung with sudden dryness and a sense 
 Of smothering expectance which forbids 
 The functions of the tongue. 
 
 Alas, I fear 
 Mine own resolves. But let me not forget 
 The name I bear. Kind Heaven, help me now 
 To be in action what I once may be 
 In very deed — a queen. Ah, how that name 
 
Scene V.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 75 
 
 Pours in my soul a vigor, till I seem 
 Strong as a builded bastion. 
 
 (^A knock is heard.) 
 Who is there ? 
 
 A VOICE, ivithoiit. 
 One who has waited many weary days 
 To hear that question asked by that sweet voice. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Which, when translated, means the noble lord 
 Whose words are honeyed as home-speeding bees. 
 You may come in. 
 
 {Enter Seymour.) 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 One glimpse of paradise 
 Yet lingers in a world as gray as dawn. 
 My sweet Elizabeth, the hours have hung 
 Like leaded pennons, dragging and forlorn. 
 
 {He advances towards Elizabeth.) 
 
 ELIZABETH {drawing hack). 
 The lord High Admiral of England bears 
 Upon his breast the badge of his King's faith. 
 Yet surely hath forgotten that he stands 
 AVithin a presence scarcely used to jest. 
 My lord, you have sought private words of us ; 
 We grant your prayer ; speak an you will be brief. 
 
76 THE rRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, this is badinage, meant but to pique 
 A disposition needing no such spur ; 
 'Tis well done, but — 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 'Tis meant. I pray you note 
 I came here moved by grace. Take from your mind 
 The sweet emollient of a gentler thought, 
 And let your business find an early voice, 
 If it so please you. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ah, your Highness draws 
 Most largely on the service of a knight ; 
 But wliat should be done I have power to do. 
 And now that I bethink me, I am called 
 By matters personal to my estate 
 To leave your Highness for a little space, — 
 Perchance a month, — and so shall ask your leave 
 To say farewell, first begging that your Grace 
 May grant me pardon to have baldly placed 
 Such matter in the light of thing so great 
 As to demand your thought. 
 
 If there is aught 
 My liege would fjiin command, I still await 
 To know its import, but, if not, I ask 
 The right to say farewell. 
 
Scene v.] THE PMIXG ESS ELIZABETH. 77 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, pause. Perchance 
 There may be something I have yet forgot ; 
 'Tis naught that you be gone, save that I find 
 Leisure to then remember what should now 
 Be said to save annoyance. — 
 
 But you spake 
 Nothing before of this your sudden call 
 To go from Cheston, when you scarce have come. 
 When must you go ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 To-night. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, not to-night, 
 You shall not go to-night. I wish for time 
 To fashion my commands. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Surely most grave 
 Must be commands which fly so quick the mind. 
 'Tis meet I go in season. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Hence, not now. 
 This is no season to go travel-mad ; 
 'Tis meet you stay, my lord. 
 
78 THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Your Highness sees 
 How loath I am to quit a princely smile ; 
 Yet nathless I must go. And if it be 
 Your Highness still shall choose to make a home 
 Here where the greensward dozes in the sun, 
 I shall crave leave, at my recoming hither. 
 To bend a loyal knee, and touch your hand. 
 Farewell, my lady. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, I shall go mad ! 
 'Fore Heaven I swear you shall not leave me so, 
 With polished phrasing of court dialects 
 Trilled in a measured cadence from your tongue ; 
 Leave off the titles, or I go stark mad ! 
 Am I some village wench, to sweeten sack 
 Or stand at guard over an oaken till, 
 To be chucked under chin and told, mayhap, 
 How red my cheeks are ? 
 
 'Tis a worthy game 
 To play at battledore Avith frenzied dreams. 
 And watch the quickened pulses of a girl. 
 Hear then, the truth, for it shall ease my soul 
 To tell it you. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Your Highness would best pause ; 
 The truth will keep ; there is no canker there 
 To sour its essence. 
 
 Have I leave to so ? 
 
Scene v.] THE PEINCESS ELIZABETH. 79 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, by my mother's spirit ! you shall stay. 
 
 If there be blood within me which so gives 
 
 A title to these courtesies of speech, 
 
 The same blood holds command by right as good 
 
 Inherent and untainted. 
 
 Ah, my lord, 
 Why do you dally, and so tent my heart. 
 That fain would do all justice, ay, and more, 
 To your each action ? Why so quickly tling 
 Back to my teeth the echoes of a pride 
 As falsely worded as 'tis basely born, 
 To make me humble, where all sense demands 
 Humility should wait discretion's beck ? 
 Is it well done, my lord, to try me so ? 
 Or brave to break enfeebled barriers down, 
 By mad assault, where gaunt starvation leers, 
 As sure to w^in if slower ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Princess mine, 
 You speak once more less like your father's child. 
 More like your mother's daughter. 
 
 Speak but so 
 When near me, and the world shall have the rest, 
 And know you Queen. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ah, if I be but Queen. 
 Methinks there were . . . 
 
80 THE miXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 No if can find a place 
 In sentences made up of nought but verbs. 
 Do, Dare, Possess ; you have no need to hang 
 A timorous zy upon a chain of words 
 More timorous yet. 
 
 Still, I would fain keep here 
 One silent chamber, sacred to myself. 
 Within your heart ; one space unpoached upon, 
 Where the unfinished chord that holds my life 
 Should be resolved into a harmony. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 My lord, how like a very poet you shape 
 The angled words into those beauteous curves 
 Wherein perfection sits. Such dulcet tones 
 Linger like honey in a maiden's ear, 
 And drown her senses in a flood as dense 
 As vapors of red wine. 
 
 I know not what 
 Within you, or about you, holds in thrall 
 Those forces of my nature which, till now, 
 Have patient waited for mine own commands 
 To slip the leash and let the hounds have tongue. 
 In'faith I w^ell could wish it were not so, 
 And blame myself for wishing what, withal, 
 I fain would have quite other than my wish. 
 I tell you, Seymour, there be thoughts that drift, 
 Cloudlike and formless, dark'ning my desire 
 To wield a golden sceptre, with the pale. 
 
Scene V.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 81 
 
 Delirious hue of an unnamed delight. 
 
 AVhat may it mean, my lord? Out of your grace 
 
 I pray you give me guidance, for I lack 
 
 Even the years of young discretion. 
 
 What 
 Ought I to do to feed my hungry soul, 
 Commission of whose deed shall work no wrong 
 To me or mine own honor ? 
 
 How so frame 
 The code of action for each day, that I, 
 At eventide, shall find all duty done. 
 And yet my heart's long famine satisfied ? 
 Why should you be so silent at my call? 
 I pray you speak, my lord. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 I may not speak. 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Because I should not utter truth. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Lord Seymour was not wont to tell a lie. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Lord Seymour was not wont to let his soul 
 
 Fall under the dominion and the snare 
 
 Of red-gold hair, rippled and ilecked with sun, 
 
82 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 And soft as dreams in shadow of the throat. 
 Questions in ethics lie without the pale 
 Of him whose tpT^ide is war. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 My lord, my lord, 
 Indeed, I would I had not met you here ; 
 I know not how some poison in my blood 
 Stings into madness all this rift of life, 
 "Which, since but yesterday, has lighted up 
 The dead seclusion ! How or why I live 
 Forever plucking some dull juiceless fruit 
 To parch my lips like ashes ! 
 
 See you not 
 How keenly I do liate you as you are ? 
 How you assume obedience, and so goad 
 Into a frenzy all my woman's soul ? 
 How you refuse your counsel and your help 
 When my hurt heart hath asked them at your hands ? 
 It were not well done. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ay, if done at all. 
 Woman without that subtle touch of hate 
 Which, leopard-like, springs slantly from her eyes. 
 Is woman still, but woman without charm. 
 You stickle for command ; I give it you ; 
 Quick you relent, and sweet as Niobe, 
 Weeping away her life to soulless stone, 
 Charm me with tears. 
 
Scene V.] TEE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 83 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Now, by God's death, you lie ! 
 Hear the words, Earl of Sudley, doubly lie, 
 You, the High Admiral of England, lie, 
 Deep in your throat ! 
 
 I shed no tears ; 'tis false ! 
 And in conception base as . . . 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Princess, hold ! 
 Hard words on soft lips jar the startled air, 
 And like incongruous colors, move the mind 
 To ill-concealed derision. 
 
 Said you not, 
 But a short space agone, 'twas not my wont 
 To utter falsehood ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, and thought so, too ; 
 But you have taught me better, since you dare 
 To tell me, Princess of the royal blood. 
 That you have brought me to your feet in tears. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, Princess, I spoke nothing of my feet ; 
 'Twas of your head — that wealth of banded hair, 
 Which had so mazed my spirit in its mesh. 
 That I could not be sponsor for my speech. 
 
84 THE PRIN-CESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Cease banter, Earl, or leave me if you will ; 
 I brook no fencing with an idle word. 
 Made to make sense absurd. 
 
 You shall anon 
 Find little in my manner to so turn 
 Your brains to prettiness. 
 
 seym6ur. 
 
 Nay, if you will. 
 Assume such dignity as shall seem meet 
 To your own judgment ; but, before all else, 
 You must withdraw the word so hotly barbed ; 
 I sjjoke no falsehood, and require of you 
 
 Require of me 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ay, lady, w^ho more fit? 
 Require of you to cancel the deep wrong 
 By w^ord as deep of reparation. Then, 
 After, no cloud shall come between us twain ; 
 And, in so far as love for you may go . . . 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Who speaks of love ? 
 
 Who dares prate love to me ? 
 Such matter holds no commerce with my thoughts. 
 Your lordship is most prone to random steps 
 Down the steep passage of forgetfulness. 
 
Scene V.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 85 
 
 SEYIMOUR. 
 
 Perhaps it is the " poison in my blood." 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 My lord !• 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Or "hue of an unnamed delight." 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 My lord of Sudley — ! 
 
 SEYMOUIl. 
 
 That " so holds in thrall 
 These forces of my nature." 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Seymour, hear ! 
 If pity find a lodgment in your soul, 
 Spare me the word which trembles on your lips. 
 Oh God ! how bitter is this gall of love. 
 Forgive the word I spake. 
 
 Ah, I am swirled 
 AdoAvn a flood of doubts, and joys, and fears, 
 That rend the blush of maidenhood in twain, 
 To show the facts of feature. 
 
 See, I hold 
 Nought back, that so held, had enhanced my worth, 
 By making steeper the fresh path of love 
 Which leads into my heart. Nought do I strive 
 8 
 
86 THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act I. 
 
 To gain of vantage ground, 'twixt yon and me, 
 Save what may lie between lips scarcely closed 
 With telling all the truth. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Closed not at all 
 To me. So reach we now the golden goal 
 That long hath glimmered, distant as some star, 
 Fretting the soul with beauty unattained, 
 And deep unfathomed joy. 
 
 Elizabetli ! 
 Elizabeth ! 
 
 {He is about to enfold Iter in his arms, when Hey- 
 AVOOD springs through the door and comes hetiveen 
 them.) 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Not yet, my lord, not yet. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Back, man, and leave us, if you be not mad. 
 
 Back, ere I dim the polish on my blade 
 
 With blood unworthy of it. Were it not 
 
 I know you for so well intentioned, now 
 
 I swear you had breathed out your life ere this ; 
 
 Had you not done such service that, perforce, 
 
 I am compelled to hold you in esteem, 
 
 I had been rid of an intrusion born 
 
 Of base eaves-dropping, when you should have held 
 
 Your guard upon the furthest outer stair. 
 
 vStand back ! 
 
Scene V.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 87 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Nay, that I will not though you strike ; 
 The fool hath words of wisdom ; pray you hear • 
 The wusdom of the fool. 
 
 You 're watched, my lord. 
 The air is silent with a coming storm. 
 Leave the room quickly, ere it be too late ; 
 Quickly, I beg, my lord; her Highness' weal 
 Depends upon your manhood. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Heywood, hear. 
 If you be honest, as you seem, no gift 
 Within the Earl of Sudley's power to give 
 Shall be beyond your power to command. 
 Princess, what say you ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Oh, my lord, begone. 
 For my sake, if you love me, pause not. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Come, 
 My lady ; quickly ; by this door ; the way 
 We entered is the safest. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Then farewell, 
 But for one fleetins; hour. 
 
88 THE FEIN CESS ELIZABETH. [Act T. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 The rest anon. 
 Delay not longer, Earl, upon your life. 
 
 [_Exit Seymour. 
 Step softly. Princess. Lean upon my arm ; 
 Here, take your veil and wind it thus to shield 
 Half of your features from the light, that creeps 
 Between the chinks like water. 
 
 Soft, I pray ; 
 Breathe not so hard ; mind the one sudden step ; 
 So. . . . 
 
 \_Exeunt Elizabeth and Heywood. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
 Bishop Gardiner. Yyart. 
 
 YVART. 
 
 Yes, my lord, I think the despots grow 
 Stricter with longer holding of their power ; 
 Cross questions, doubly put to scent a will 
 Counter to language, fringed me 'round like spears 
 To prick me an I flinched. Held I not sure 
 My passport, writ in characters whose tinct 
 Forbade suspicion, I had scarce made good 
 My promise to your Grace to bring you plans 
 Of the foe's camp, and cunning schemes of war 
 To uplift Baal in the holy place. 
 Methinks the grave lieutenant yet hath qualms 
 Lest I be crammed with treason to the eyes 
 And freighted with sedition. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay, 'tis like. 
 Hast thou obeyed my mandates to the shade 
 Of every letter ? 
 
 8* 
 
90 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 Full well knows your Grace 
 The letter is my law. My head the stake 
 If I fail in the execution. All 
 Your lordship's orders have been carried out 
 And . . . 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The results ? 
 
 YVART {^producing papers). 
 
 Are here. 
 
 At pains to note 
 The movement of each wisp that tells a tale 
 On the too-secret wind, nought hath escaped 
 Its due inscription ; and the import drawn 
 From things collateral to show whence it comes 
 And whither tends withal. 
 
 Here you may mark 
 I underscore such words as seem to hold 
 More meaning than a listener not before 
 Privy to all the facts had wot of. 
 
 {^Drawing forth another paper.) 
 This 
 Details the fragments of such talk as passed 
 Between the lady Norwich and her near 
 Friend and companion Percy-o'-the-Glade 
 Once when they had a tryst beneath an oak 
 And dreamed themselves unwatched. 
 
Scene I.] THE PB INC ESS ELIZABETH. 91 
 
 I, getting scent 
 Of some intended meeting from a page 
 AVlio carried certain rose-leaved missives, held 
 My movements open for a sudden change, 
 And so worked out the falling of events 
 As to be near, ensconced within the shade 
 Of a befriending hawthorn. Well I knew 
 The moment would beget an interchange 
 Of thoughts held secret from the vulgar eye. 
 And taking chances that such thoughts might bear 
 Upon your Grace's projects, waited there, 
 And learned what, here set down, may show perhaps 
 How right my surmise. 
 
 GARDINER (^Scanning the papers). 
 
 Ah, thy scent was keen ; 
 This child of wrath carries a high head. 
 
 So ! 
 {He reads.) 
 " For Somerset may die, and Sudley live 
 
 To hold the reins full worthy of a" Ah, 
 
 Yvart thou hast done well here ; keep we this 
 Full carefully ; its matter is most apt, 
 And well shall serve us. 
 
 YVART {producing more papers). 
 
 Here, my lord, you '11 find 
 A ground-plan, showing how the garden lies; 
 You see this alley, coming from without, 
 Gives easy access to the privacy 
 
92 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 Of the young Princess, and the wall is low 
 Even for courtly climbers. 
 
 GARDINER (^starti7ig). 
 
 Ah ! the proof ! 
 Give me the proof, brave Yvart, and thy life 
 Is crowned w'ith fortune. 
 
 Lies suspicion so ? 
 
 YVART (presenting memoranda). 
 
 I yet know nothing, but herein your Grace 
 Perchance may scan a reading 'twixt the lines 
 To serve as illustration to the text. 
 
 This is a true 
 Transcript of certain dialogues which passed 
 Between my lady and the late King's fool, 
 John Heywood. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay, a very son and heir 
 Of Tartarus. I mind the knave full well, 
 And he shall suffer ere our work be done ; 
 He hath wrought greater hurt to Henry's soul 
 By lightly jesting, and so turning all 
 My teaching to a mockery and worse, 
 Than years of penance shall undo. 
 
 Well, how 
 Tended this conversation? 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 93 
 
 YVART. 
 
 Read, my lord. 
 (Gardiner reads the memoranda, appearing not to 
 hear Yvart, who continues :) 
 Your Grace may see how plain to watching eyes 
 The path becomes when matters of the heart 
 Have grown so bold to plead a cause outright 
 And scarce conceal their seeming. 
 
 Further yet, 
 Gossip hath crept below-stairs. I have caught 
 Its echo on the dull tongue of a clown, 
 And marked how the infection seems to spread 
 And poison the attendants. 
 
 There is faith, 
 However, yet at Cheston. Marked your Grace 
 The words I wrote concerning one true soul, — 
 The lady Dacres ? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay, I've sent for her; 
 She will be here anon, and if thy wits 
 Have not misled thee into overpraise, 
 We may build much upon her. Art thou sure 
 Her loyalty to holy church is firm 
 And equal to a strain ? 
 
 YVART. 
 
 As sure as life. 
 
94 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 'Tis well. Hast thou aught else ? 
 
 YVART. 
 
 Nay, nothing now ; 
 But I am busy with a tangled skein 
 Which promises rare interest and much light 
 When 'tis unravelled. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 In the mean while keep 
 An active brain, — a silent tongue. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 (YvART hows low, and goes towards the door as the 
 scene closes.) 
 
Scene II.] THE FBINCESS ELIZABETH. 95 
 
 SCENE II.— The Tap-room of a London Inn. 
 
 Soldiers scattered in groups^ some playing at dice, others 
 at tables, drinking. A Sergeant of the King's 
 Guard. A Woman, at the tap, is engaged in an 
 altercation with a Soldier. 
 
 Boisterous laughter is heard as the scejie progresses. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Be 't that I look like some tricked foister now, 
 Who'd seek to pass a leaden shilling on ye, 
 That ye howl on your lustiest, and outbrawl 
 Your own she-stag-hounds ? 
 
 woman. * 
 
 Stay, and keep a tongue 
 Less limber, or I '11 book you half a pint 
 O' hot flip down your back ; that 's used to fire ; 
 I warrant no foeman e'er saw else of you. 
 You bragging, sprawling — 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Hold ye, hold ye, now ! 
 I want no more your venom, but your ale ; 
 Ye see I 've lost my groats of many a day 
 At yonder dice-box, and I 'm courting luck 
 To win 'em back; but luck comes never a time 
 To dusty throats. Lock up your speech a space 
 Till ye can answer if ye '11 wait the turn. 
 
96 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 And mulct me double when the tide has changed. 
 What say ye, yea or nay ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Xay, then ; nay, nay ! 
 Pay me your score, or go yet thirsty still ; 
 I 've heard your mighty talk o' luck before ; 
 A murrain on such braggarts ; nought it brings 
 Of market pence to me. 
 
 D' ye think I keep 
 A public house to feed the yeomen free ; 
 Or run a licensed tap so that, forsooth. 
 The guard be ahvay drunken ? 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Then, egad, 
 I '11 find the Avench who kept the till last night, 
 And get two mugs for every one I ask. 
 With pretty looks beside. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Yes, now ye lie ; 
 The lass is honest as she 's comely, 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Ay, 
 
 And more of either than her mother be ; 
 You murdering, haggling huckster ! 
 
ScEXE II.] THE PRIN'GESS ELIZABETH. 97 
 
 Or, by my soul 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Keep your peace, 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Peace, mother, give him drink ; 
 Ye sure can score him for another mug ; 
 Being so deep ab-eady. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 No, not I. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Oh, no ! But sure 'twill be a bit before 
 The old 'un sees the score grow shallower. 
 
 ANOTHER SOLDIER. 
 
 Oh, mother, cease your ranting ! Give him ale. 
 The lad wants heart to play and find his pence 
 Where they be lost. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Nay, and there others be 
 Who'll get no more, an I hear not the chink 
 O' their pence, too. 
 
 SEVERAL VOICES. 
 
 Oh! Oh! 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Ay, yelp your spleen ; 
 I budge not for ye. 
 
98 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Hear ye, lads, I know 
 A way to mellow the old woman. See, 
 This key unlocks the spiggot. 
 
 (^He puts a coin into the Woman's hand.) 
 Bumpers all, 
 And pledge the lass I love best. 
 
 {The Woman ^//s the mugs, and all d?njik, crying :) 
 
 Health and joy 
 Attend the lass he loves best ! 
 
 A SOLDIER. 
 
 Barry, now, 
 I think me of the maid that used to fill 
 The burden o' the ditty which you sang 
 Last winter i' the barracks. 
 
 Mind ye that ? 
 
 ANOTHER SOLDIER. 
 
 Ay, and how merry did the welkin ring 
 When the squad roar'd the chorus. 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 Ay, ay, ay. 
 We '11 have it now. 
 
 OTHER VOICES. 
 
 We '11 have it now, lads ; now. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 99 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Then steady, and be ready for the sign 
 
 To take the tune right smartly off my tongue. 
 
 (^He sings:) 
 
 Fill the tankard, we '11 be merry 
 
 While the time is ours, lass ; 
 For your red lips shame the cherry, 
 
 And the jealous flowers, lass. 
 Hang their heads when you go by them, 
 Lest your laughing eyes espy them 
 
 Waiting for the showers, lass. 
 
 {Refrain, sung hy all :) 
 
 Mire of field and din of battle, 
 Clank of shield or lance's rattle ; 
 No dismay, nor fear, nor sorrow 
 Mars to-day, whose near to-morrow 
 Brings you to my arms, lass. 
 
 {He sings :) 
 
 Now good-bye, love ; men are tramping 
 
 On the outer stairs, lass. 
 In the courtyard, horses champing ; 
 
 Loud the trumpet blares, lass. 
 Sure you '11 be no more refusing 
 Kisses, which to keep were losing. 
 
 To the man that dares, lass. 
 
 {Refrain, sung as before.) 
 
 ( While the song is progressing, two Officers of the 
 Guard enter, immediately followed hy Yvart in 
 the guise of a country clown and feigning intoxi- 
 Gation.) 
 
100 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 The lads seem full of joyance to the eyes ; 
 I doubt me they '11 find other stuff to whet 
 The keen edge of their spirits, ere 't be long. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Yes, an we fail not. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 When the devil failed 
 To tempt Saint Barnabas, he whispered "Fail!" 
 And lo ! the Saint turned villain. 
 
 Speak no word 
 "Which gives a failure breath of life ; 'tis fraught 
 With half its own fruition. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 By the rood. 
 You 're in the right, I think. Henceforward nought 
 But an assured success can find a place 
 Even within my thoughts. 
 
 Have you yet learned 
 How the w^ind blows at Bristol? 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Ay, indeed, 
 'Tis westerly ; the weather bodes most fair. 
 My lord hath promised Sharington such gifts 
 As make him all compliance. We shall bear 
 No burden on our backs marked Poverty, 
 Be sure of that. 
 
Scene II.] THE FBINCESS ELIZABETH. 101 
 
 YVART {coming up drunkenly). 
 Ay, honors that be me ; 
 For poverty, you know, be poverty, — 
 A most insensate, blister-visaged rogue 
 Is pov — pov — poverty. 
 
 Ha, ha, I know 
 The way to lay the ghost a score o' times, 
 An he waylay ye. Ho, there ! bring us here 
 Some sack. 
 
 You'll drink, sirs, — yirrup, — drink with — 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Nay, 
 
 Thou hast enough already, sirrah ; go 
 And snore thy last potations off. 
 
 YYART. 
 
 Now, now, 
 I meant to speak ye civil. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Ay, ay ; more 
 Of this civility we '11 take anon. 
 The fellow must have tippled from the bung, 
 And spent a week of earnings in a night. 
 
 (YvART throws himself across a table, and lies appa- 
 rently sleeping.) 
 Nay, as I said, we shall have current means 
 To make each promise good. Our chiefest bar 
 Lies now with Paget, who hath shown a front 
 
102 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 Too friendly to the whims of Somerset ; 
 He spoke his mind most boklly to the Earl, 
 And dared remonstrance. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 'Twill be found to be 
 A venture somewhat costly at the end, 
 Eh, Fawcett?- 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 (YvART snores loudly.') 
 
 The swine is sunk in fumes 
 Of his besotted breath. 
 
 Did you inquire 
 How^ stood the yeomen for a sudden call, 
 Should we be forced, unripely, to assume 
 A positive front ? 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Yes, and the answers all 
 "Were most auspicious. 
 
 In the Southern wing 
 We may sure count on one-third of the men, 
 And of the leaders half. 
 
 Northumberland 
 Shows most responsive leaning, and the fire 
 Which smoulders, ever ready to lick forth 
 The flames to light a change, whate'er it be. 
 Burns bright in Essex ; while beyond . . . 
 
Scene II.] THE FEINCESS ELIZABETH. 103 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Hist ! here 
 Comes a subaltern, who hath charge, mayhap, 
 Of these o'er-boisterous fellows. 
 
 SERGEANT {saliitlng the officer's). 
 Sirs, I ask 
 Your gentle judgment for this noisy crew. 
 These nights of freedom are the first they've known 
 For twenty weeks. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Ay, we have nought to say 
 In reprobation. Let them crowd the hours 
 With what they may ; the daylight comes anon, 
 And with it brings stern duty. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Bid tlie tap 
 Flow at my cost for bumpers to our lord, 
 The noble Admiral, fair England's pride. 
 
 SOLMERS. 
 
 Huzza ! the Admiral ! the Admiral ! 
 
 (^Mugs are filled, and all drink.) 
 
 SECOND OFFICER (to SeRGEANT). 
 
 I warrant an honest batch of roisterers. 
 The stuflt' is good that bears its texture thus 
 Uncovered to the sun. Give me the men 
 
104 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 Who '11 drink, and swagger, and tip maids a-cliin. 
 Occasion offering, when I've work to do 
 Calling for courage and stern doughty hearts. 
 You would not fear to put them to the touch, 
 Should quick events fall wide of what were held 
 In expectation ? 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Nay. Lead them but well, 
 They '11 follow to the death, and face despair. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Though leaders led them in a cause adverse 
 To all they erst had fought for ? 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Little they 
 Reck of the cause, so that they have a name 
 To deck their cheers with. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Ah, good fellows they. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER {aside to Second Officer). 
 Hush ! no word further now. This clown, who seems 
 So heavy in his cups, may breed us harm. 
 I saw but now his head uplifted thus, 
 And his ear strained to gather in your talk. 
 He 's not so deep in ale as in intent, 
 Or I 'm befogged. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 105 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Ha, is it so ? 
 (to Sergeant.) I pray 
 You keep your men in spirit for their work ; 
 Their King looks to their manhood. 
 
 Fare you well. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Good morrow to your honors. 
 
 \_Exeunt First and Second officers, scanning 
 YvART closely; he feigning to he sleeping 
 heavily. 
 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 Once more, lads, 
 Clieers for the noble Earl who knows no fear, 
 Cheers for the Admiral of England. 
 
 TYART (aside). 
 
 So; 
 Be not too lusty, ye shall need your breath 
 For other matter, if I find the way 
 To put to use the truths mine ears have gleaned. 
 'Tis meet I follow too. 
 
 [_Exit Yyart, as the men are cheering. Scene closes. 
 
106 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 SCENE III. — Night. A Room ix the Tower. 
 
 A lamp suspended from the ceiling above a tahle^ at which 
 Bishop Gardiner is seated^ intently examining some 
 vapers. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Miscarry now? 
 Nay, for I see no avenue unwatched, 
 No point uncovered, and no room for chance 
 To fall adversely, marring holy schemes 
 This side fruition. By my soul, I think 
 This bastard-tainted Boleyn girl outcrops 
 With early shoots of the same brazen weed 
 Whose roots found shelter and luxurious soil 
 Deep in her mother's being. So God shapes 
 His ends, through means which, taken by themselves, 
 Seem evil, and unhallowed by the light 
 Of aught that might redeem. 
 
 It suits me well, 
 And fits most friendly to my purpose thus 
 That she hath furnished pretext, doubly barbed, 
 To do a double service to the church 
 By but a single turning of fate's wheel ; 
 I scarce had hoped for such conjunction rare 
 Of circumstances ready to my hand 
 And only waiting for the torch's touch 
 To set them into blaze, that so quick fire 
 May wither into ashes heretic hopes 
 
Scene III.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 107 
 
 On heretic altars. Yet dispatch were well ; 
 The King's life hangs upon the slender thread 
 Of a weak body, sickly to the core, 
 And at his going there must be no space 
 For doubt which breeds confusion. 
 
 Mary's claim 
 Is valid, and her soul is set aright 
 To cast down Satan from the lofty seat 
 He hath befouled ; yet must there be no fear, 
 Hanging white-lipped upon a possible chance, 
 Of evil yet beyond. Elizabeth 
 Ere that must be outside the sphere of hope 
 Or even comment. She the first, and next 
 The Admiral, whose insatiate lust of power 
 Hath handicapped him sadly at the start, 
 And bears him down already with the pomp 
 Of boasted pedigrees of great Saint Maurs 
 And French pretensions. 
 
 Now, in truth, methinks 
 I may find faithful action in this girl. 
 For Yvart rarely misses at a guess ; 
 Yet how long shall mad persecution hold 
 The force to keep me here, with weighted wing 
 Forbidding flight, save where my brain may find 
 A potency to impart to other arms 
 Sweeping to glorious action in my stead? 
 How long ? Oh sweet release — revenge ! 
 
 Peace, peace, 
 I shall grow w^eak growing angered. Let me wait ; 
 The issue is not far. 
 
108 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 This Sudley wears 
 Danger writ warlike on his brow, and well 
 The Council scans how, traitor-like and stitl, 
 Close beneath smiling surface of events, 
 Lies the sharp r«ef, more pitiless than steel, 
 To rend the nation. A suspicion there. 
 Carefully cast, shall w^eave a flawless chain, 
 Even w^ere fate less helpful. But the girl? 
 Will she act here — here, where beyond all else 
 She can do most of service? If perchance 
 She loves him, and I deem it likest, for 
 He hath a serpent manner and low voice 
 To grace the person of Apollo's self, 
 There may be difficulty. 
 
 Nay, I hold 
 The charm shall charm me mine own wishes quick 
 As 'tis applied. She dare not disobey 
 The church's mandate, nor tear from her soul 
 Its own best hope of heaven. If she balk, 
 Diplomacy may aid to hide a snare 
 Hid under cover of another's fall. 
 Elizabeth's entanglement must grow 
 Till it be knotted past unravelling 
 By any friendly fingers. Then, the blow 
 Which sweeps the one to ruin, bears along 
 The other in its wake. 
 
 {Enter a Guard.) 
 
 GUARD. 
 
 My lord, one waits. 
 With proper passport duly signed to give 
 
ScEXE III.] THE rRINCESS ELIZABETH. 109 
 
 Admission to yon, asking for the right 
 
 To be brought hither, but the right is yours 
 
 Still to refuse her. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 'Tis a lady then. 
 
 GUARD. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 I will see her, an you be content 
 That I may be unvvatched. Methinks I know 
 Who this may be, and knowing, safely guess 
 Before I see her that she comes to me 
 To make confession, for to me alone 
 For years she hath confessed. 
 
 I pray you beg 
 This boon of the lieutenant. 
 
 GUARD. 
 
 Ay, my lord. [^Exit. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The girl comes e'en ahead of her fixed hour, 
 Eager to earn salvation by quick deeds. 
 I worded well my missive. 
 
 Now let care 
 Be twice itself, to ascertain how lies 
 The land of her best hopes, — most near desires 
 10 
 
1 1 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 And keenest fenrs. Then afterwards, my plans, 
 Backed by command and promise. 
 
 {Enter Guard, followed by Beatrice, veiled, 
 whom he motions toivards a low chair.) 
 
 Is granted. 
 
 GUARD {to Gardiner). 
 
 Your request 
 
 GARDINER {rising). 
 My thanks in return. \_Exit Guard. 
 (^0 Beatrice.) You are ? 
 
 BEATRICE {throwing hack her veil), 
 Beatrice Dacres, father, hither come. 
 Fast as I may, to learn the Church's wish 
 Concerning me. 
 
 GARDINER {placing his hand on her head). 
 Bless thee, my child. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I fled 
 All my surroundings, leaving duties half. 
 Or less than half, fulfilled, full well aware 
 How certain w^as my duty waiting here. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 We have an urgent work for thee, my child, 
 Which 'tis thy privilege to best perform. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. \ \ 1 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Your Grace hath chosen an instrument too poor, 
 And all unworthy of an urgent work. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 I chose thee not ; it was the holy Church, 
 Speaking through me, that called thee hither. 
 
 Thou 
 Art blessed most highly, being selected thus 
 By special calling of Our Lady. 
 
 BEATRICE {crossing herself). 
 Hail! 
 To her most august name. 
 
 Her handmaid waits 
 Meekly her mandates. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Well bespoken, child ; 
 The gentle Mother of our Lord is pleased 
 To choose weak instruments for stalwart ends ; 
 So calls thee to strike hard for holy Church, 
 Relying on thy loyalty. of soul 
 To shrink no step from danger, or the stings 
 Which life's desires, and longings born of earth 
 May lift, like serpents' fangs, to bar the way. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Oh, father, tell me what I have to do. 
 
 I shall not falter, though the path be steep. 
 
112 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 And, as my bleeding feet spurn o'er the stones 
 Of Satan's placing, I shall still exnlt 
 In knowledge of the glory which beyond 
 I am full sure of. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 That I promise thee, 
 An thou shall do the bidding of the Church 
 To every letter. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis beforehand pledged. ^ 
 What must I do ? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Listen, and ponder well 
 How mighty are the issues which thus hang 
 Upon thy soul. 
 
 Thou knowest how Henry broke 
 His best defence in breaking with the faith, 
 And, when he died, left loose the jagged ends 
 Of theologic disputation, wrought 
 To very frenzy in a wordy w^ar. 
 Religion, still aloof and smiling sad. 
 Waits mournfully the doom that follows crime 
 Committed in her seeming, doubly sure 
 How bitter is the end. 
 
 Meanwhile, unfledged, 
 The boy-King falters, and falls off apace, 
 Misled by heretic teachers. 
 
Scene III. ] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 113 
 
 'Tis not loii! 
 
 o 
 
 To peer ahead, to prophesy his death, 
 For even now he bends a weakly frame 
 Before life's buffets. He must surely die 
 Ere our beloved Mother, Holy Church, 
 Shall reassert her footing and domain 
 Upon the island ; and, so dying, what 
 May anxious eyes see forward? 
 
 Still the chance 
 Of struggle fierce against supremacy 
 Of those whom God hath set to hold the rule. 
 The Princess Mary, left alone, will find 
 Her path made easy, and I know how sure 
 That path leads on to Zion ; but can we 
 Hope she will be so left to guide her sway 
 By her own inspirations ? Nay ; full well 
 I see fell danger, loomino- like a cloud 
 And counselling precaution. 
 
 Thou must know 
 Elizabeth hath partisans. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ay, many. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 And she is strong in will though young in years. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 She may be led ; not driven. 
 10* 
 
114 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Know'st tliou not 
 How deep a lie lies hidden in that phrase ? 
 It is a setting of harmonious sounds, 
 Tickling the conscience, and, translated, means 
 She spurns authority, and, spurning, grows 
 Most easy to seduce. Black danger threats 
 Our wishes from the Princess. Thou hast said 
 Her partisans are many ; it were well 
 Their numbers shrink apace. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Perchance your Grace 
 Forgets that I am in her service. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Nay ; 
 Knowledge of that but stamps thee doubly fit. 
 In that same service must thou stay, to learn 
 Tlie unguarded outposts of the foeman's camp. 
 Thine opportunities — 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My lord, my lord, 
 I cannot welcome treachery to trust. 
 Nor hug a falsehood to an honest heart 
 To help a heart's desire. 
 
Scene III . ] THE PBINCESS EL IZABETH. 115 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The word is void 
 Of meaning in such cases ; to whose faith 
 Shouldst thou be treacherous ?j 
 
 Ask it of thy soul, 
 Hadst thou lived when dark Judas strode abroad 
 To seek his Master, and, wdth damned lips, 
 Compass the death of Deity with a kiss ; — 
 Hadst thou been privy to the fell intent. 
 And failed to do what, being done, were sure 
 To sear the lips and quench the murderous kiss 
 Ere it could find a being, wouldst thou then 
 Have paused to prate of treachery, and so 
 Let slip the opportunity for good 
 Because thy conscience quibbled at a straw. 
 And feared a gnat's sting ? Bah ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Your Grace . . . 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Hold, hold. 
 Let me make note of how a favored child 
 Of holy Church can basely blench and start 
 At the first shadow flung by Satan down 
 To daunt a puny spirit. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, my lord. 
 Give me but time for thought ; 'tis very hard 
 
116 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 To stoop to even little wrong, that so 
 A mighty right may follow. May I not 
 
 V 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Peace, I can brook no dalliance with thy qualms ; 
 The case is clear defined, beyond the room 
 For any cavil. Here, a dread command 
 From source the highest, whose fulfilment brings 
 Rewards beyond all human estimate ; 
 There, weak indulgence in a whim, the way 
 The tempter maketh easy. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay ; I '11 strive 
 To do my duty, though I fain would save 
 Mine honor of myself. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Thou honorest much 
 Thyself, in honoring her who honors thee. 
 Thou wilt not shrink? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, father. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Good. Thy work 
 Will not be long, though haply bitter. 
 
 Know 
 That this same princess whom thou servest, bears 
 Within her heart the germ of her own fall. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 117 
 
 The Church asks not her life, but only bids 
 
 Us, her true servants, that oblivion hide 
 
 Elizabeth beyond all future hope 
 
 Of queenly honors, or of England's throne. 
 
 The germ "will do its work, if we but nurse 
 
 Its principle of life, until it grow 
 
 And burst to bud and blossom and full fruit. 
 
 'Tis thou must nourish it and keep it warm. 
 
 Encouraging its outspread, hour by hour. 
 
 And thou wilt do this ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 GARDINER (^rising). 
 
 Upon thine oath ? 
 
 BEATRICE (^rising). 
 Upon mine oath. 
 
 GARDINER (Jioldiiig forth his hand, xi/pon one of the 
 fingers ofiuhich is his signet ring). 
 
 Swear here. 
 
 BEATRICE (laying her hand upon the ring). 
 
 Upon mine oath ! 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Our Lady smiles upon thee, Beatrice. 
 
118 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [ A ct II. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, father, her sweet smile is always sad. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 No holy thing were ever else than sad, 
 Being here imprisoned ; in the great Beyond, 
 Her smile will flash a joy beyond compare ; 
 Thy duty done, 'tis thine to know its light. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 And T shall do my duty. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay ; of that 
 I make no doubt. The doing will demand 
 Much circumspection, and a little tact, 
 Much faith, and, most of all, unflincliing zeal. 
 The Princess must have matter near at hand 
 Ready to feed the flame which lurid burns, 
 E'en now, to her undoing. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Father, tell 
 All that these words may mean. 
 
 What is this flame — 
 This germ that needs but warmth to make it grow 
 And burst to fruitage — this augmenting weight, 
 Gathering force to drag the Princess down, 
 And needing but my hand to give it sway 
 Too potent for resistance ? 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. ng 
 
 I know not 
 "What signifies the mystery, nor guess 
 The drift of your commanding : 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Nay ? Then know 
 Elizabeth hath found a foolish love, 
 Down somewhere in the corners of her heart, 
 And holds it something dearer than her life. 
 -The sleeper dreams her dream ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Elizabeth loves ? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay, much: 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 She hath concealed it from me then, 
 More deftly than a brooding mother-bird 
 Cumbers her nest with wisps and color'd leaves 
 Chosen to match the bark it rests upon. 
 So thinking to deceive a prying glance. 
 Elizabeth loves ? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Whom? 
 
120 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Whom better she 
 Had feared — the Earl of Sudley. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 God ! 
 
 GARDINER {aside). 
 
 'Tis then 
 As I surmised; this blade leaps through the quick. 
 {To Beatrice :) 
 
 What now ? The red flies madly, leaving nought 
 To herald life upon thy brow and cheek. 
 Hold, hold, child, I meant not to hurt thee. 
 
 So; 
 Bear not so heavy, nor with clench'd hand thrust 
 The nails into thy palms. 
 
 {He pours some cordial into a glass.) 
 Taste this ; the good 
 And pious Benedictines know its worth. 
 Drink, child. 
 
 Thou wilt not ? 
 
 Wherefore dost thou stand 
 So moveless, yet so full of quivers, quench'd 
 By very might of will ? 
 
 Ah, daughter, well 
 I know thou suiferest. I would fain defer . . . 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, father, nay; go on, what must I do? 
 
Scene III.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 121 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 But there is time for pause. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I pray, my lord, 
 Pause not, but tell me what I have to do. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The work is thine to lead the Princess on 
 
 To deeper dalliance, and a love whose links, 
 
 Riveted round her soul, shall bar all chance 
 
 Of alien passions, coming from without. 
 
 Potent to pale the scarlet of desire. 
 
 And less apt to the purpose of our aim. 
 
 Elizabeth's fair fame, already smirched, 
 
 Must be damned past revival in men's eyes. 
 
 That so a kingly aspiration, held 
 
 In durance by a woman's wayward heart, 
 
 Shall find, beyond, no hope, e'en should it break 
 
 Away from love's enthralment. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 And the Earl? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 A fair hand touches pitch, and is defiled; 
 That goes without the saying ; but doth not 
 Tlie pitch seem nobler after it hath borne 
 The soft, sweet burthen of a woman's hand ? 
 A queen who falls to dalliance forfeits both 
 11 
 
122 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act 11. 
 
 Her royalty and womanhood, but he 
 
 Whom she hath loved goes forth a nobler man, 
 
 Having possessed a queen. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Alas, my lord, 
 I am so simple, and so far removed 
 From the schools' teaching of philosophy. 
 That I may not contend ; but tell me why 
 All that the hard world holds to sweeten life 
 Hastens forever past on wings of light. 
 Pursued by an avenging Nemesis, 
 And marred with hate as vapors mar the sun ? 
 Whence is the demon kindling in men's souls 
 The fires of Hades, licking with live flame 
 Heaven's lovely altars there ? 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 My daughter, thou — 
 E'en hadst thou sought thro' penitential years, 
 And by long vigils and enfeebling fasts — 
 May'st never solve the problem of this world. 
 It pleaseth the all-seeing Source of Good, 
 Weighing with nicest balance means and ends, 
 That evil should exist. Thou askest why. 
 Well, hast thou never noted, in the night. 
 Some iteration of a single sound. 
 Sweeter than honey, but forever pressed 
 Into the echoing arches of the ear. 
 Till thou hast felt 'twere madness an there fell 
 Upon the air nought else ? 
 
S CE N E III . ] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 123 
 
 I strike a chord — 
 A noble blending of concurrent notes — 
 Upon the harpsichord, and in my soul, 
 Despite the technic symmetry of the whole, 
 I feel the want of something unattained, 
 My sick heart calling on my wounded sense, 
 My ear quick drinking the mellifluent sound, 
 Yet dying of vslow thirst, and finding not 
 The vague and subtle tone of its desire. 
 Stung with a fear, my nervous fingers grope. 
 And, stumbling on a key whose dissonance 
 Jars with its neighbor by a semitone 
 And shrieks abroad tlie anguish of the lost, 
 Lo ! in that moment my desire is filled, 
 My soul is satisfied, and on mine ear 
 The chord falls perfect, and its waves enwrap 
 The courses of my life. 
 
 What have I done 
 To so evolve perfection where before 
 The theme was marred ? 
 
 What ? I will tell thee, child ; 
 But found a discord ! Tempered joy with pain. 
 So, daughter, learn that question as we may 
 The origin of evil, it remains 
 That 'tis a discord potent to reveal 
 The harmony of life. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis very sad. 
 There is such scope for joy ; life is so warm 
 
124 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 To young liearts, and lier tunes keep time so sweet 
 To pulses of our being. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ay, but mark, 
 The sweetest tunes are pregnant with a want, 
 And writ in minors ever. 
 
 'Tis soon past ; 
 The cradle-song is but a prelude, sung 
 To usher in the requiem for the dead ; 
 The requiem's murmurs do but tone the soul 
 In unison with those who chant the vast, 
 Exultant strains of ever-living joy. 
 The duty thou hast sworn to undertake 
 Is over wnth the doing, but beyond. 
 Where that same oath is registered, . . . 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, nay, 
 Give me some other work. I swore not so. 
 I do not vow to . . . 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 On my signet ring 
 Thy hand was laid in oath. 
 
 Strive not, my child, 
 To kick against the pricks. The Church's wrath 
 Is fearful as her love is bountiful. 
 Thou wilt not falter ? 
 
Scene III.] THE PRIXG ESS ELIZABETH. 125 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Father, on my soul 
 Let fall your pity. Your commands come stern 
 As storms which sweep and gather o'er the hills. 
 Leaving no covert for one tender shrub, 
 Sun-kissed to life and languor. 
 
 Aught, aught else, 
 So that I be not bid to lead my lord 
 To love false nurtured to insure false ends. 
 Tell me to turn my back on life and love ; 
 Command me to be gone forever hence 
 Ne'er to return, or if it be my lot 
 To see no more the light of Seymour's eyes, 
 I shall obey all meekly, and so eke 
 Living till comes my summons, and I go 
 With wide-ope'd arms to welcome lustful death. 
 But ask me not, condemned, alas ! to live. 
 To cut my heart's flesh into warring halves, 
 And burn my hope to ashes. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Nay, not so. 
 The blessed Mother sees thee, and erewhile 
 Shall smile, and so drown bitterness in joy. 
 Mine office gives me power to recompense 
 Much suffering with promise. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Father, hear! 
 It cannot be the cassock smothers out 
 All manhood's tenderness, and those quick fires 
 11* 
 
126 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 AVhose light hath lit the world to noblest deeds. 
 ■Release me, father ; give another work 
 Into my hands to do. 
 
 {She throws herself on her hnees before Gardiner. 
 
 At the same moment a party of students without is 
 
 heard singing the following hymn:') 
 
 Stabat Mater speeiosa 
 Juxta foeiium gaiuliosa, 
 
 Dum jacebat parvulus — 
 Cujiis animam gaiulentem, 
 Laetabundam ac ferventem, 
 
 Pertransivit jiibilus. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Ah, pregnant words 
 Of old Jacopone ! How ye fall between 
 The beetling cliffs of duty and desire. 
 Bridging the chasm which mercilessly yawned 
 To daunt a timorous step. 
 
 Sweet daughter, cease 
 This piteous undertone of stifled sobs, 
 Weaving a web of sorrow through the mesh 
 Of cadenced exultation. 
 
 Listen, now, 
 How the hymn's phrasing mellows into curves. 
 As distance drinks the voices, and so smooths 
 The intervals to undulated sound. 
 
 ( The hymn is again heard, farther off, and gradually 
 dying away in the distance :) 
 
Scene HI.] THE rRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 127 
 
 Fac me vere congaudere, 
 Jesulino coha^rere 
 
 Donee ego vixero. 
 In me sistat ardor tni — 
 Puerino fac me frui 
 
 Dum sum in exilio. 
 Himc ardorem fac commimem, 
 Ne me facias immunem 
 
 Ab hoc desiderio. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Let thy soul con the echo, child, and learn 
 To blend thy love with Mary's, ne'er restrained 
 By fear of hurt, or pain of maimed desire. 
 Ah, it were bliss to suffer in such cause, 
 Breaking the heart to save the soul alive. 
 Canst thou not feel it so ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 (^A knock is heard.^ 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Who 's without? 
 
 A VOICE (ivitlwiit). 
 
 My lord, the allotted time is past. The rules 
 Are strained already to admit so long 
 A converse, and my duty so compels 
 That I conduct the lady hence. 
 
128 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act II. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 'Tis well. 
 (To Beatrice.) 
 And thou wilt do the biddino: of the Church ? 
 
 Ay. 
 
 All? 
 
 All. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Holy Saints ! how pale thou art. 
 (Beatrice totters as though about to fall. Gardi- 
 ner reaches his arm to support her, but she waves 
 him off, and bows her head as if ashing only for 
 his blessing. He extends his hands over her.') 
 Heaven bless and help thee, daughter. 
 
 A VOICE (ivithoui). 
 
 I await 
 The lady, and time presses. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 Fare thee well. 
 
 (Beatrice walks sloivly and firmly towards the 
 door, as the scene closes.) 
 
ACT III. 
 
 SCEXE I.— Cheston. The Hall. 
 
 Elizabeth is discovered seated at the right, Seymour half 
 reclininr/ on a low stool at her feet. Behind him the 
 ladies Willoughby and Saint Lowe. 
 
 At the left, Beatkice, Isabella, Harrington, and 
 Heywood. 
 
 At the rear, Tyrwhit is seen giving directions to Yyart, 
 zvho is in the Princess' livery; and tvho listens intently 
 and bows. 
 
 In the centre of the Hall, Knights and ladies are treading 
 a measure. Music. 
 
 Harrington (aside to Isabella). 
 Sweet mistress, all the world's face seems to glow 
 With borrowed light to show me mine own joy, 
 And like the surface of swift-polished brass, 
 To give me back an image of my soul. 
 The air is grown a-weighty with the full 
 And indolent rapture of too amorous sighs. 
 And, plethoric with vows, throbs pulse-like, warm 
 And faint with its own incense. 
 
 Is it I, 
 And I alone, who dream that men have turned 
 To softer measures and more tender ways ? 
 
130 THE FBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 See yonder liow the Earl bends near to catch 
 What else had seemed unspoken, for I think 
 Her Highness hardly trusts her thoughts to words, 
 But fashions them in breath, till o'er her lips 
 They steal like half-heard rustlings in a wood 
 Nymph-haunted. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Yes, in her 'tis coquetry. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 In other bosoms — ? 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Love. I know full well 
 How skilful is Elizabeth to keep 
 The poise of passions in a pregnant heart, 
 So that though each be strung with Titan thews 
 Neither shall say I rule! 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Yet she is less 
 Than woman still. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 In years but not in soul ; 
 'Tis the exquisite bliss of pain self given. 
 The torture of delight flung cruelly back 
 Upon fruition's threshold, that in her 
 Sparkles like love. 
 
ScEXEl.] THE PRIXC ESS ELIZABETH. 131 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 What is it in my lord ? 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ambition ! Strange dull fires that smoulder deep, 
 Kill what had else been restful, and anon, 
 Kindle to war and ruin ; or, perchance, 
 Gnaw silently, till (as a sick man racked 
 With unexplained distresses thinks to find 
 A cause before undreamed of) he, mayhap, 
 Comes to believe he loves. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Ah, you have read 
 Your characters with a purpose. 
 
 See you now 
 How her blush deepens as his words come keen ? 
 They must be keen to so writhe from his lips. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 A cruel, remorseless mouth, as stern as death ; 
 
 I 've watched those lips firm wedded in repose, 
 
 And noted how the lines bespoke delight 
 
 Riveted fast to power. I 've seen them part, 
 
 And heard the music which no woman's soul 
 
 Was ever yet quite proofed against, yet still 
 
 Pitiless fate sat throned there, and below 
 
 The flame of man's love, gleamed cold blades of steel. 
 
 His mouth is cruel ! 
 
132 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 IIARRIXGTOX. 
 
 - But yet the Princess seems 
 Complacent or unconscious. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Both, perhaps ; 
 Complacent in the knowledge of her strength, 
 Unconscious of the clanger hid in his ; 
 A very summer bird, which having crushed 
 A gaudy butterfly, soars boldly off 
 To trifle with a hawk ! 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 I shall ere long 
 Look to my rights, lest that I find the Earl 
 Hath stolen some precedence, for by my soul 
 You speak so by the card your words enfold 
 Experience's savor. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Do not fear ; 
 No blot shall mar your scutcheon from such cause. 
 My lord threw^ down the gage of battle once, 
 "With hints of roses for a flag of truce ; 
 The gage was never lifted, and mayhap 
 The roses now are dead. 
 
Scene I.] THE FBIXCESS ELIZABETH. 133 
 
 HARRINGTON (aside). 
 
 One arrow more 
 Awaits liim in my quiver. 
 
 (To Isabella.) Know you now 
 Who 's be that bends so supple, and whose glide 
 Nearly disdains the ground ? 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 He who now bows 
 To Mistress Skipwith? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Nay, I must learn 
 His name from Master Heywood ; he it is 
 Who 's turned court jester to our mimic court. 
 (Turning to Heywood.) 
 
 What knight is he with cloak low drooping back 
 And blonde locks flung at random ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 The cousin he 
 To Katharine our late lamented Queen, — 
 Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. He it is 
 Who spurns the idle gossip which the air 
 Hath late grown heavy with. His presence here 
 Is meant to show^ how vainly falls the bruit 
 On ears most near concerned to know the truth, 
 12 
 
134 THE PBINGESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Of keenest honor to detect the lie. 
 Methinks he shall have cause erewhile to list 
 To rumor's tongue, hung pivot-wise and loose 
 To wag his own name, or he find a way 
 To scare my Lady Mountjoye from her game ; 
 She battles by assault. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Now, on my faith, 
 I pray to be delivered from the gaze 
 And ruthless speech of poets. Have you no shame 
 To so shred reputations ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 An there be 
 Whole ones to shred ; but now the world laughs low, 
 And shrugs its shoulders at a life too clean ; 
 Morality 's a trifle old, perchance. 
 And holds the musty flavor and quaint cut 
 Of garments worn a dozen years ago. 
 The Lady Mountjoye does but keep the track 
 AVorn smooth and easy by the unerring pack ; 
 To do aught else would lose her sure the brush. 
 And lead her steps through brambles and cruel thorns 
 To punish tender feet. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 'Tis spoken well 
 If holding matter oft left out of speech 
 Because well known unspoken. 
 
Scene L"! THE PEIXCESS ELIZABETH. 135 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Yet methinks 
 'Twere well did Master Heywood dam the flood 
 Of well-meant indignation for a space ; 
 'Tis the poet's part to search all beauty out, 
 And find where, in the leaden gloom of life. 
 The Ideal lies encoffined. 
 
 Not for him 
 Glints forth the flaw, more quick to catch the eye 
 Than all the close perfection of the gem 
 Holding the sun in durance. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Cry you nay! 
 The Ideal of the poet is out of life. 
 Else, being life, it bear but bastard sons 
 To dead Reality. Being beyond, 
 It haply shall hold forth a standard set 
 To which men still may strive, though knowing well 
 A full attainment is beyond all hope. 
 To find perfection throned in earth but once 
 Had murdered the Ideal of the poet 
 By turning it to fact. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 A trifle of the schools. 
 
 Your logic smells 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ay, soon he '11 prove 
 The truth of genius by a syllogism, 
 
136 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 And show how all men, by a rule of thumb, 
 Are veiy Chancers. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 None so weak as I 
 To stand before my lady Markliam's wit ; 
 I had forgot you kept so near the marge 
 Of things sublunar as to catch the tinge 
 Of essences beyond. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 'Tis fairly dealt. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Moreover, I combine in equal parts 
 The jester with the poet. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ay, 'tis but just 
 To make you that allowance. Are we quits? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Ay, lady. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 See, the measure halts for us ; 
 I pray you grant me for the dance the hand 
 So soon to prove the guerdon of a life 
 Lived to your service. 
 
 (Isabella and Harrington pass.) 
 
Scene I.] THE FBIXCESS ELIZABETH. 137 
 
 HEY WOOD (solus). 
 
 I do know a bird 
 Shall sing more dirges than it now knows songs 
 Ere the life be lived out. 
 
 (YvART is seen to cross at the rear and station him- 
 self immediately/ behind Elizabeth's chair.) 
 Ay, and there swoops 
 The hawk ! 
 
 There 's somewhat brooding in the air 
 Speaks not of peace. I scent a taint of fear 
 And chaos born of battle. There, erewhiles, 
 I noted how Sir Robert and this man — 
 This strange unknown and humble lackey — held 
 A discourse closer than the mere receipt 
 And o-ift of a command 2;ave color to. 
 And here the other comes. 
 
 (Tyrwhit is seen to ajjproach Beatrice.) ^ 
 
 I had best quit 
 Too near proximity, and find how fares 
 My Princess in the glamor of her dream. 
 
 (Heyavood passes.) 
 
 TYRWHIT {to Beatrice). 
 My lady Dacres, hath the dance at last 
 Lost all its charm for one whose grace hath held 
 All dancers spellbound? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 When the true knight speaks 
 One must perforce cry mercy for a space 
 12* 
 
138 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 To pluck away the flowers and find tlie thouglit 
 AVliich, stem-like, gives them being, still lies hid. 
 If your gallant phrase point to me, I own 
 The dance hath lost it flavor. 
 
 But for you ? 
 
 TYRAVHIT. 
 
 I erst preferred the clink and ring of mail 
 To rustle of soft silk, and ne'er have changed 
 My preference withal. 
 
 Some knights I ken, 
 Tripping right glibly through yon mazes, who 
 Hold to the converse with consistent lives; 
 At least they 're honest. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Do you deem that rare? 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 A question answered best when answered least 
 To our own liking. 
 
 There be knaves and knaves ; 
 Some from a paltry leaning to the wrong 
 For very wrong's sake ; others, nobler toned, 
 Acting deceit, regretful of the world 
 Which makes deceit essential. Then again. 
 Ambition hath so poisoned the broad minds 
 And high capacities of others yet 
 As to evolve the knave from out whom else 
 Had been a patriot. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 139 
 
 By my soul, I know 
 Some specimens of each. Not tar to go 
 To find such apt examples as should put 
 Confessors to the blush. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Methinks your birth 
 Hath happened under an unlucky star ; 
 I know but few knaves. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 It hath fallen out 
 Too often that the hope of gentle hearts 
 Hath warped the judgment of indulgent heads. 
 You cannot, by a standard of your own. 
 Measure with justice all the gifts and wants 
 Of one towards whom you treasure some sweet germs 
 Of tenderness unwonted. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Hence 'twere well ? 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 To stifle tenderness and so judge right. 
 Lest, judging wrongly, tenderness too soon 
 Turn to a gall and poison. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 There is food 
 For whole worlds of reflection in your words, 
 Yet, if the end be only to find knaves, 
 
140 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Methinks the game had cost too hard a run 
 To justify the chase. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Nay, lady, not 
 To find knaves, but to know for knaves those whom 
 We had long since received as honest men. 
 Would you I 'd show you such ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, for I fain 
 Would keep sad knowledge from my heart awhile. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 But if the knowledge pressed upon your ear. 
 Demanding its admissson as a right 
 Born of a sacred duty, doubly strong 
 By reason of a vow more sacred still. 
 
 You would not ? You have full faith in yourself, 
 
 And thus can claim the trust of others. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 How? 
 I understand you not. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 I pray you, step 
 A little from the crowd. I 've that to say 
 Can best be spoken where there is less chance 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 141 
 
 Of private coinage finding public trust. 
 Pray you, this way. 
 
 (Beatrice and Tyrwhit pass toivards the rear.) 
 
 A KNIGHT. 
 
 Is Master Tyrwliit sure 
 Whereon he leans ? 
 
 SECOND KNIGHT. 
 
 Oh ay. He tries the ground 
 With weeks of innuendo and decoys 
 Ere he gives utterance to a sentence fraught 
 With any word of danger to himself. 
 Fear not of him. 
 
 FIRST KNIGHT. 
 
 And how soon will the fruit 
 So long a-ripening fall into our laps ? 
 
 SECOND KNIGHT. 
 
 Marry to-night, if 'twere not that his friends 
 Have scented some faint odor of the scheme. 
 And so made small delay the truer speed. 
 
 FIRST KNIGHT. 
 
 'Tis well, for I do think he winds more firm 
 The coils that shall destroy him. 
 
 Have you marked ? 
 
142 THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 SECOND KNIGHT. 
 
 Ay, even now. But come ; we must not seem 
 Too deep in converse ; and the music flags ; 
 The dancers will be strolling hither. Come. 
 
 {They pass.) 
 
 (^The dance ceases. Attendajits are seen serving ivine 
 to the guests.) 
 
 SEYMOUR (to YvART). 
 
 Give me a cup of wine. 
 
 (YvAiiT boivs and retires.) 
 (To Elizabeth.) Methinks your Grace 
 
 Should lend the countenance of royal steps 
 To give the measure what alone it lacks, — 
 The lustre of your presence. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, there be 
 Those here who 'd hold such effort, wrought by me, 
 A work of supererogation. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Who? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Mine eyes but now fell on Lord Herbert, he 
 Who deems a Pembroke close-linked to a throne ; 
 And yonder, with rare dignity of mien, 
 Stands your most noble brother-in-law and friend, 
 The Marquess of Northampton. 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 143 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Surely none 
 So privy to the thoughts of mine own soul 
 Could homage keep from you. 
 
 YVART (presenting a salver, upon ivJiich are a jiarjon 
 of wine and some goblets). 
 My lord. 
 
 SEYMOUR (raising a goblet). 
 
 Friends all, 
 Your hearts Avill echo mine, and to your lips 
 Bring swiftly words of loyalty and joy ; 
 I drink the Princess' happiness and health, 
 And full fruition of auspicious days. 
 
 {All drink.) 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 My lord, the cause which you espouse must needs 
 Rule by the right divine of eloquent force ; 
 You sweep by storm an opposition ofl' 
 Though it should rally later. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 None so poor 
 To fail in an attack where all the gods 
 Give aid and comfort of Olympian smiles. 
 Who is't you gaze upon with that keen look? 
 I've marked you, Princess, thrice within the space 
 Of thrice three minutes, fix your eyes so fast 
 
144 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Upon some knight or lady in the hall 
 On th' other side. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 'Tis she. You must have seen — 
 You who are quick to note a light or shade — 
 How strange a shadow dwells upon her face. 
 'Tis Beatrice. 
 
 SEYMOUR (aside). 
 Seen — yes, too deep i' faith. 
 (To Elizabeth.) 
 Ay, I do think the lady dreams too much ; 
 She should have wider ranges and more air 
 To tone her life. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 There 's that within her which 
 I cannot fathom quite. She grows more grave 
 And proner to seclusion than of old, 
 Leans less to foibles of the lighter sort, 
 And I suspect clings closer to her beads. 
 Once, when a hunt in Epping was afoot, 
 She plead quick illness to remain away, 
 And closed herself within her chamber, there 
 To ponder or to weep. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 To weep is good 
 For woman, but to ponder is to ope 
 The gates of madness. Know you if there be 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 145 
 
 Aught in her soul to so estrange her ways 
 From all her former seeming ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I know not. 
 My lady Willoughby, what cloud hath crossed 
 The sky of Beatrice ? Or you, Saint Lowe, 
 Mayhap can tell us, seeing you keep store 
 Of all the soft things of poor human hearts. 
 What genius of sadness holds his sway 
 Within her bosom ? 
 
 LADY SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Nay^ I do protest, 
 She gives me not her secrets. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 No, nor me ; 
 It may be spleen, or weariness, or, worse. 
 Imagined love. 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Mayhap all three combined 
 In due proportion to insure swift death 
 To long-imprisoned hopes. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Your judgment smacks 
 Of biased preconceptions. 'Twere more fair 
 To hear the lady's cause as ably plead 
 As those who know could plead it, e'er you sweep 
 13 
 
146 THE FR INC ESS ELIZABETH. [ A c t III . 
 
 To condemnation, quick as 'tis severe ; 
 I trust my head may ne'er hang on the word, 
 Prompted by pity, of the fair and cruel 
 Lady Saint Lowe ! 
 
 ELIZABETH (aside). 
 
 By Heaven, 'tis worth a score 
 Of well-fought tourneys ! 
 
 SAINT LOWE. 
 
 Oh, my lord, my lord, 
 One must jest sometimes, or one wears too soon 
 The wrinkles of the wise. I do believe 
 Sweet Beatrice hath something in her heart 
 That casts a shadow on her brows. 
 
 WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 And gives 
 Some curt forms to her speech. 
 
 She grows more still 
 Than Egypt's sphinx. 
 
 SEY.^IOUR. 
 
 A virtue, by my soul, 
 Nearly forgot in England. 
 
 ELIZABETH (aside). 
 
 Twice a score 
 Of tourneys were cheap recompense for that ! 
 
Scene I.] THE FRINCESS ELIZABETH. 147 
 
 AVILLOUGHBY. 
 
 If it indeed be found a virtue, yet 
 'Tis none the more a grace. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, wise men say 
 The two go not together. 
 
 (To Elizabeth.) Tyrwhit seems 
 
 Intent in some vexed marvel or deep theme 
 That holds my lady Dacres by a spell. 
 Note you how rapt she sits ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Perchance mine eyes 
 Are hardly keen as yours, my lord, to catch 
 Each gleam of sunlight prisoned in a pearl ; 
 And, if the prose of truth must hold its sway, 
 I tire a little of the subject. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 So? 
 Then, Princess, I can supplicate again 
 With better grace for favor at your hands, 
 Seeing the favor shall give ready change 
 Of stuff for thought and converse. 
 
 Will you join 
 The measure ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 If it please you so, my lord. 
 
 (Seymour leads Elizabeth to the head of the hall, 
 and the dance continues as the scene closes.) 
 
148 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IIT. 
 
 SCENE 11. — A AViTHDRAwixG Room opening into 
 THE Hall. 
 
 Dance-music Tieard as from a distance. 
 
 BEATRICE {sola). 
 
 Wherefore? There is no cordial for the soul, 
 
 To lend a staying strength and give it tone 
 
 Whilst earth is tottering, and the daylight pales 
 
 Into a dusk abysmal. Out beyond. 
 
 Deep, deep beyond where glints the dog-star, hung 
 
 Like one of God's tears on the fjice of night, 
 
 There may be restful recompense; but now? 
 
 How bridge this terrible present, this gaunt ghost 
 
 That will not down, though human hearts are rent 
 
 Into mere quivering morsels of despair ? 
 
 Nay ; for the heart breaks, still beats on and on. 
 
 Slower for anguish, and with duller sound. 
 
 Like muffled drums which follow the dead years. 
 
 Wherefore ? The ages stretch in mystic ranks, 
 
 Grim giants, shoulder unto shohlder set, 
 
 Till distance covers them, and men are crazed 
 
 With striving to conceive what lies beyond. 
 
 And I stand midway, I, the veriest point, 
 
 Existent but as thought shall make me so, 
 
 And mourn because life holds its grief for me 
 
 And I can find no solace in a night! 
 
 I should have better conned the lesson through. 
 
 Than thus to falter at the prime essay, 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 149 
 
 And shrink the first fleet clangor of the steel. 
 What though I suffer? — Suffer! Ah, sweet Saint, 
 Set in the glory of eternal days, 
 Forgive the words my recreant lips have formed 
 And teach me thine endurance. 
 
 Teach me — ha! 
 The lesson comes all quickly on my words. 
 And in so hard a form. 
 
 {Enter Seymour.) 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Why are you sad ? 
 I could not choose but note how pale you were, 
 And how unrestful fantasies trooped weird 
 Across your features, as you stood aloof 
 And watched the dance. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My lord, you were most kind ; 
 It is my habit. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ah, that might be said 
 To others who have found less in your life 
 To quicken their inquiry and regard. 
 If it do please you, I would pray you be 
 More open with me ; there mayhap should be 
 A sphinx's riddle, whose sole charm is held 
 By me, and on mine honor as a knight, 
 'Twere happiness to serve you an I may. 
 13* 
 
150 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I do believe you, sir, and my poor tlianks 
 Are true as the assurance there is nought 
 To help my peace. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nought? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nought, Lord Seymour. I, 
 Like others ot my sex, am born to moods ; 
 'Tis scarcely meet to be forever decked 
 In plumage of the spring. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Yet no bird sings 
 But half its summer through, and then falls mute. 
 Bereaving those who 've listened and grown glad 
 By reason of its song. 
 
 I, most of all. 
 Stand wounded by the silence, and am come 
 To find if all the melody be dead 
 And gone from me forever. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You, my lord. 
 Admitting for the nonce the image which 
 You please to fratne your thought in, scarce can miss 
 So mean a piping as one poor bird's note. 
 Amid the choir of all melodious throats 
 Ready to hymn your praises. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 151 
 
 I have learned 
 Somewhat of duty, much mayhap of care ; 
 And if these latter days have borrowed hues 
 Nearer to russet than last summer's gold, 
 Believe me it is well. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, it is crime. 
 Life falls as fleetly from fast-flying time 
 As dewdrops shaken from the pauseless wing 
 Of an on-speeding bird. 
 
 Have you no care 
 For what is priceless, thus to borrow woe 
 Before the appointed hour, and mar sweet youth 
 With furrows stol'n from age ? 
 
 And you have learned 
 Somewhat of duty? 'Tis a meagre word, 
 Scarcely deflned, or, if so, held to have 
 A thousand meanings, suited to the whim 
 Of him who last defines it, and so backed 
 And clipped and moulded to the mind's desire 
 As to annul its essence, and avoid 
 All else deemed germ an to it. 
 
 I dare swear 
 The thing ne'er finds a lodgement but by name 
 Within the bosom, though perchance the soid 
 At seasons runs a-tangle of some threads 
 Spread net-like in the way, and, knowing not 
 Whence they are spun, a swift conclusion draws 
 And dubs the network duty. 
 
152 THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Has the earth, 
 Blooming with thousand colors, dulcet made 
 By odors manifold of flower and fern. 
 No voice to plead for youth and love and spring ? 
 Has nature's harmony no tone for you ? 
 No whisper of sweet sound, low, liquid, rare 
 As the ethereal lullaby, soft sung 
 To an enchanted child by fairy folk 
 At chano-inoj of the moon ? 
 
 You will not drown 
 Life's golden mote of sunshine in the dank, 
 Unhealthy fen of an ascetic dream ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I will do nothing but fill out my fate, 
 Whate'er the mould be it is fashioned in ; 
 I work not to destroy. 'Twere easy so 
 To live out life ; I work not, but I wait, 
 And herein dwells the efibrt. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Here the wrong ! 
 "We make our destinies. I clear defy 
 This thing called Fate to harm me, while I choose 
 To carve my way out on Time's roadway, bold 
 To hew and cleave opposing rocks amain 
 As to smooth level foot-beds out of sand ; 
 And woman, though in her 'twere well to find 
 Less vigor, needs to look to man, I think, 
 More than to Destiny. Her way is made 
 
Scene 11. ] THE TRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 153 
 
 By that same other self, twin-gift of God, 
 Xot moulded by an iron-compassed law. 
 I beg you turn your back upon this drear, 
 Gray phantom of set duty. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, my lord, 
 I may not vanquish Destiny, though Joy 
 Lead on Life's vanguard in tumultuous haste 
 To capture Life's desire. 
 
 I think you scarce 
 Can find good reason for a fault with me, 
 Seeing I am but silent. 
 
 SETMOUR. 
 
 And so sad. 
 You mar what nature, with ineffable 
 And matchless touch, hath hallowed. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 How, my lord ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Your lips have grown too pallid by a shade 
 With overmuch confession, and methinks 
 You might wear Aphrodite's cestus clasp'd 
 About your lithe waist, to replace awhile 
 Our Lady's sad, sw^eet shadow on your brow\ 
 I saw a cloud, once when we were afield. 
 By quick accretion cumber the red west. 
 
154 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 And thrust up buge, high shouklers to the sky, 
 Till Avild flowers took an ashy hue, and birds 
 Strangled their half-sung songs, and, frighted, flew 
 For shelter to their nests. 
 
 I question not 
 The cloud was freighted with beneficence, 
 And charged with blessing to a thirsty earth. 
 Yet while the shadow lasted nature donned 
 The colors of despair. 
 
 I pray you, sweet. 
 Let the cloud pass, and give me — if myself 
 "Were object like to move you — once again 
 The old light in your eyes. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My lord, 'tis meet 
 Your words were spoke to one more quick to weave 
 Close-meshed delight from the effulgent woof 
 And warp of your wing'd speech. 
 
 I know a heart 
 "Which stays the measure of its time till first 
 It learns how beat your pulses. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 AYhose ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Twere scarce 
 A secret worth the keeping, since the w^orld 
 Has ceased to marvel. 'Tis a royal heart. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 155 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 The Princess ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You are apt. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Pah ! we will speak 
 No more of that theme now. 'Tis you whose breath 
 I fain would hear come quicker for my words, 
 You whose sad eyes lured me but now away 
 From yonder festal throng, and drew my steps 
 Hither by some unerring instinct, born 
 Twin progeny with life. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, nay, no more, 
 I may not hear you more, my lord. 
 
 {Aside.) O, stay 
 My heart, compassionate Mother ! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Beatrice, 
 It may be you have grown to disbelieve 
 A ready tongue can ever shape aught else 
 Than vapid words. Ah, do me not the wrong 
 To deem the saw forever good. I bring 
 No such stale phrases or dead wreaths to you 
 "Whose soul hath ever spurned them. 
 
156 THE PBINCi:SS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Oft, indeed, 
 In days too redolent of perfume, stung 
 With breath of spring, when all the being sinks 
 Into a dreamful rest and sense of flowers, 
 The lips move to poetic numbers, wrought 
 By fancy more than truth. But see you not 
 How wide a gulf is set between such toys 
 And these vows offered, honor-stamped, before 
 The altar of your eyes ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Alas! my lord, 
 I may see nothing, for mine eyes are seared, 
 And cannot bear the light. 
 
 There are strange ghosts. 
 Close clinging phantoms of liopes buried deep. 
 And crucifled desires, — which stalk, unknelled, 
 Forever by our sides. 'Twere well we learned 
 To know them by their names, that so past love 
 May yield to present duty. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Past love ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 SEYMOUR (taking her hy the ivrists, and loohing at her 
 
 sear chin (jly). 
 There is a questiou I would ask you . . . 
 
Scene II.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 157 
 
 BEATRICE (aside.) 
 
 Heaven 
 Now give me aid ! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Which had been asked before 
 But for the bars which hedge occasion off. 
 Do you not love me ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 No. 
 
 A VOICE {ivithont). 
 
 This way methinks 
 My lord of Sudley went but now. I'll say 
 Her Highness waits. 
 
 SEYMOUR {aside). 
 Curse them ! 
 
 BEATRICE (aside, simultaneously). 
 
 Thank God ! 
 
 (Enter Tyrwiiit and Harrington.) 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 My lord, 
 The Princess bids me say the dance hath ceased 
 And you are stayed for. 
 
 14 
 
158 THE TBIXC ESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Gentlemen, your pains 
 Have been most lavish. 
 
 {To Beatrice.) Will you lead the way, 
 My lady Beatrice ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My lord, I crave 
 Your patience. I'll attend her Highness soon 
 Within her chamber. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 As you will. 
 
 \_He hows, and exit. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 'Tis late ; 
 Methinks the mirth and music have nigh drown'd 
 The memory of time ; I ne'er have seen 
 So gay a night at Cheston. 
 
 {To Beatrice.) Have you, too, 
 Drunk the light froth of evanescent hours 
 Which burst in golden bubbles at the lips 
 And leave the throat the thirstier ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I have seen 
 Some others drinking while I still abstained. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 159 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 So proving how the wisdom of long years 
 May grace the brows of youth. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 A truth twice proved 
 To him who counts my lady in his list 
 Of friends. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My masters, by your leave I beg 
 To wish you a good morrow. 
 
 \_Exit Beatrice, to whom Harrington 
 and Tyrwhit bow. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 There is that 
 About her which inspires full trust, and brings 
 Sense of security in secrets pledged 
 Within her keeping. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Marry, so I found 
 Long weeks agone, and, as I said but now 
 As we stood in the angle of the stair, 
 Have put my trust to test, and by her aid 
 Look to attain our ends. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 And does she know 
 How both fates hang suspended by one thread ? 
 
160 THE PRIXC ESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Less said of that the better. 
 
 As it stands, 
 The Bishop's party aim but to preserve 
 The crown where they can mould it, at a need, 
 To do church work by wheels and cranks of state, 
 Smooth running by ecclesiastic law. 
 We help ourselves in aiding them, while they 
 Can only gain their purpose leagued with us. 
 'Tis thus it follows we are forced to strike 
 This proud, usurping Admiral by means 
 Which implicate Elizabeth. So, too, 
 His Grace of Winchester can only reach 
 The Princess by involving Sudley. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 You 
 Have bargained with the spy ? 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 'Tis understood 
 What shall be done. The man is keen as steel ; 
 Trust him for right good knave's work. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 And you think 
 The lady knows not 'tis the Earl whose fate 
 Hangs in the same scale with her Highness' weal? 
 
 TYRAVIIIT. 
 
 She serves her church, and takes her church's word 
 For what it aims at. 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 161 
 
 'Tis the Bishop's mode 
 To tell so much as shall insure his ends, — 
 No more. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 By Heaven ! it galls me so to reap 
 Harvest from seeds of treacherous deceit 
 That hold death's o-erms for innocent hearts. 
 
 I would 
 
 The thing were done. 
 
 TYRW'HIT. 
 
 Hist ! some one comes. And see, 
 The last among the knights is leading out 
 The latest of the ladies. 
 
 I'll to bed. 
 And parley further when the day hath brought 
 More power to your nerves. 
 
 Eh, Harrington ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 Oh ! jest ; 'tis harmless. But I hardly see 
 Cause for light-heartedness, and, by my faith. 
 Shall be content to bring my conscience out 
 Without a broken pate. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Well, more anon ; 
 We'll speak of this to-morrow. 
 
 Now, good-night. 
 \_£xeunt in opposite directions, 
 14* 
 
162 THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act HI. 
 
 SCENE III.— An Anteroom. 
 Seymour. Heywood. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Ay, there is danger, Earl. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Preach ghosts to them 
 Who pay to ghosts the tribute of belief. 
 I pray you feed no more weak' milk for babes 
 To one who'd liefer thrive on meat for men. 
 I credit not these rumors. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 There a fear 
 Should best find footing, for an you had learned 
 But once to credit, you should soon find means 
 To silence them forever. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 'Tis most like. 
 What should these plotters have to gain or lose 
 By my reversal or more lofty reach ? 
 I can as lightly crush them as the heel 
 Ends being for a gnat. 
 
Scene III.] THE PBIXG ESS ELIZABETH. 163 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 And shall you live 
 Forever on tlie knowledge of a force 
 Never exerted? 
 
 Know you not, my lord, 
 The gnat may secrete venom 'neatli its tongue, 
 And strike while you forbear? 
 
 I oft have seen 
 The great wrecked by the little, and anon 
 Where noble courage, fraught with strength, hath failed. 
 Dark stratasfem of weaklinc^s hath outborne 
 All opposition down. 
 
 SEYMOUK. 
 
 Pall ! I '11 have none 
 Of this foreboding and poor womanish fear ; 
 I say mine ears are weary of your moans 
 And prophesies of dire disaster wrought 
 Upon my schemes. 
 
 Hark you, John Heywood, you 
 Whom I do trust because your soul is free 
 Of blistering deceit, thus stands my cause : 
 There is no room for failure, and no power 
 To bring about defeat. In England's realm 
 I hold the balance which decides how go 
 The fortunes of the day. No man shall dare 
 To face me with an opposition writ 
 Upon his banners. 
 
164 THE PMINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Look you here. 
 (^He draws a folded paper from his breast.) 
 On this 
 You may see lists of those who stand at arms 
 Waiting my signal. 
 
 These trustworthy shires, 
 Beyond a peradventure, will yield up 
 A goodlier number of impatient hands 
 Than those here noted ; yet I err i' the right 
 In polling only such as I do know 
 Devoted to me. 
 
 Add to these my tried 
 Retainers, servants, and the turbulent ones 
 Forever eager for unrestful days. 
 And you shall find ten thousand men a safe 
 And modest estimate of those whose arms 
 Shall gleam beneath my standard. 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 'Tis most fair 
 In seeming, but I 'd fain you stored the facts 
 Within your memory, and destroyed this bold 
 And undisguised proclaimer, which, in hands 
 Inimical, might ruin buoyant plans 
 By over-hasty ripening. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 It is safe 
 Where it hath been so for a fortnight past. 
 I can protect my secrets. 
 
ScEXE III.] THE PRIXCESS ELIZABETH. 165 
 
 HEY WOOD. 
 
 Guard you well 
 'Gainst treacliery, my lord. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Oh, that liatli been 
 Forever cliiefest of my cares. 
 
 HEYAYOOD. 
 
 My lord, 
 His Grace of Winchester holds no good will 
 Towards those whose lofty flight sweeps on, uncheck'd, 
 Beyond the Church's pale. 
 
 Have you well weigh'd 
 The danger there ? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 'Tis naught. His venom stays 
 To vent itself upon a royal rose 
 In royal fashion. 'Twill be later ere 
 His gaze will compass me. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 I would my heart 
 Were well persuaded of it. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nothing fear. 
 Come for a moment with me ; I have that 
 Will give you firmer purpose. 
 
166 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Well, lead on ; 
 Yet would I were persuaded. 
 
 [^Exit SEY:sio\]ii, followed hy Heywood. 
 
 (Yyart enters quickly from the opposite side.) 
 
 YVART (solus). 
 
 But the wish 
 Can hardly bring its own fruition forth ; 
 You are too wise, John Heywood. I 've a fear 
 You yet shall thwart me. 
 
 Ah, this mousing leads 
 To rarer fortune than I hoped for. 
 
 How 
 To gain possession of this paper ; how 
 To so possess it as to mesh the Earl 
 In self-confessed pre-ownership, now seems 
 The only problem whose solution waits 
 My wits. 
 
 We must have witnesses ; and these 
 Must be of our own party, bold to show 
 The naked truth, and fearless of the wrath 
 Or craft of my lord Seymour ; those who '11 prove 
 Black treason spite of power to bribe or threat, 
 And scorn a heretic vengeance. 
 
 I '11 below, 
 And find some noiseless corner, where the mind 
 May meditate and mould an alley out 
 To run quick action in. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 1G7 
 
 Ha, hither comes 
 Once more his mightiness, with Ciesar's gait ; 
 Wait, wait, sweet gossip. 
 
 \_Exit at left. 
 {Enter Seymour at right.) 
 
 SEYMOUR (solus). 
 
 So ; I should despatch 
 Briskly this business, but, by my faith, 
 I am undone for sober work to-day. 
 I cannot shake the shadow from my mind 
 Of this girl's earnest eyes whose depths dissolve 
 In limpid worlds of tears. 
 
 I cannot stay 
 These strange new fingers o'er my heartstrings swept 
 With power so infinite, yet with touch so light, 
 E'en as a bird that hath outrun the Spring 
 Rests, trembling, in the branches of an oak. 
 Until the very twig whereon it sits 
 Vibrates to each pulsation of its life 
 And seems to share its being. 
 
 There 's a fire. 
 Whose flames are not the color I have known. 
 Which burns and goads me. 
 
 Is it passion, lit 
 At that mysterious vesper-lamp of sense 
 Which men name instinct ? 
 
 Is it love ? Or thirst 
 For juice of grapes, empurpled on the stem 
 And known but to the sun ? Or is it pique ? 
 'Fore Heaven I know not, yet here, knowing not. 
 
168 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 f 
 
 I come and wait to cross her ling'ring step, 
 
 And draAV some further answer from her eyes 
 To my mute question, mute no longer now. 
 But spoken barbed and hurled back in my throat 
 Dipped in denial! 'Tis death ! I am unused 
 To treatment of this savor, and I tliink 
 Must turn to weakness, — oh, reproach can Avait, 
 For hitherward she comes with bended head, 
 Lost in her missal, and mayhap unloosed 
 From hard bonds of the world. 
 
 (Beatricb enters, intently readuKj, and apjycirently 
 unconscious of any one's presence.) 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Amen, amen ; 
 I may conclude the prayer, unpausing here 
 To query of its purpose. 
 
 BEATRICE (^starting). 
 Ah, my lord ! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, 'tis most apt you find me at a time 
 Conducive to confession. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I looked not 
 To find you housed at this unusual hour 
 Of this majestic day. 
 
 The gentlemen 
 Are all afield save you. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 169 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 My brains are set 
 To other matter now. I 've that to do 
 Demands more skill than falconry. Yet ere 
 I plunge to action, I would fain wear joy — 
 A gala ribbon to deck out the day — 
 Wreathed round my heart. 
 
 I left you yesternight 
 With poison clinging to the word you spake 
 To murder life in me, and since, your face 
 Dwells in the air before me. 
 
 I may not 
 Look on the illumined page of book or scroll 
 But all the quaint devices run and reel. 
 Taking a shape unknown before, and quick 
 Melting into the features and fjiir form 
 Which my lips sum in saying Beatrice. 
 God judging us, you know how love like mine 
 Stops not to reckon. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Oh, my lord, my lord. 
 If your heart be not marble, reckon now. 
 Speak not of love. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 When 'tis the word alone 
 Shall be my talisman of life ? 
 
 15 
 
170 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, nay, 
 Speak not to me ; it ill befits me, Earl. 
 I am a simple girl, unused to state; 
 You love a princess. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ah, my heart of heart, 
 I love a Goddess! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Oh, no more, no more! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Once more; do you not love me? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 No. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Why then 
 Ask me to pause for sake of pity, — speak 
 Of hearts of marble or of words which sting, 
 Seeing you reck not ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis because my life 
 Is walled by my obedience to the law 
 Of good and evil. 
 
 You would level low 
 That which hath held me when all other props 
 
Scene in.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 171 
 
 Have crumbled into ashes. 'Tis but meet 
 I call on manhood to sustain man's code. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 By what law's working shall we gauge the heart, 
 
 Or mortise the affections with nice joint 
 
 Into a worldling's sense of fitness? How 
 
 Smooth off desire with plane and chisel held 
 
 Within the hand of policy? God wot 
 
 I've had enough of such poltroonery! I 
 
 Have fed ambition till my soul is sick, 
 
 And, so it please high Heaven, shall give at last 
 
 A drop of dew to my long thirsty heart. 
 
 To perishing manhood love. 
 
 Believe I come 
 In honorable fashion, seeking here 
 Nought you should shame to grant, or, granting, mar 
 The whiteness of your soul. 
 
 My very ftite 
 I cast within your hands. This niglit I go 
 To meet Elizabeth, and though this night 
 I am so bounden, 'tis the last essay 
 That shall so taint mine honor. 
 
 Nay, shrink not; 
 I fain would have you privy to my thoughts, 
 That, seeing how I trust you, you may school 
 Your own heart to belief. So I shall ask 
 A favor of you, Beatrice. 
 
 There's need 
 My lord Northampton should receive, to-night, 
 
172 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [ A ct III . 
 
 This paper. Will you be my messenger 
 To place it in his hands, unseen, unknown 
 Of any man? for it holds that withal 
 "Would, being known, undo me. 
 
 BEATRICE (takinff the papei^ which he proffers and 
 concealing it in her dress). 
 
 I will be 
 Your messenger, but bound by ties of truth 
 And loyalty, not love. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ah sweet, how fleet 
 Tlie crimson wooes the pallor on your cheek 
 To contradict your lips. 
 
 You love me. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 No. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 And dare to say so closer to mine ear ? 
 
 (^e comes near to her. At the same time fragments 
 of the hymn " Stahat Mater Speciosa'' are heard, 
 sung without hy very distant voices.') 
 
 Fac me vera eongaudere, 
 Jesulino cohaerere 
 Donee ego vixero. 
 
 Hunc ardorem fae communem, 
 Ne me facias immunem 
 Ab hoc desiderio. 
 
Scene III.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 173 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah mercy, lord of Sudley ! 
 
 'Tis my soul 
 Hangs in the balance. 
 
 If your being bears 
 A texture sensitive to joy and woe, 
 Oh, let the shadow of my anguish fall 
 Between your eyes and mine. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Though fate of worlds 
 Barred off the way, I could not stem the swift. 
 Mad current of my life. 
 
 Let me but plead 
 My cause in softer numbers. 
 
 (He hends close to Beatrice, ivJio holds her missal 
 to her bosom as if for protection^) 
 Tell me now, 
 Beatrice, do you love me ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 No. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Again, 
 Spurning defeat as eagles spurn the ground, 
 The question comes elated, and perforce 
 Compels my tongue to service. 
 
 (He takes her face between his hands.) 
 
 Tell me here, 
 Beatrice, do you love me? 
 
 15* 
 
174 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 BEATRICE {Jiinrji7ig aivay the missal). 
 
 Yes! 
 
 * SEYMOUR. 
 
 At last. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Better than what I 've trampled on for love 
 And fiung away with yon accusing book, 
 Better than peace of mind, life, conscience, truth ; 
 Better, alas ! my lord, than mine own soul. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, nay, love ; 'tis no time for mourning sighs 
 When every lambent zephyr whispers joy ! 
 I shall soon find the key-note of your fears, 
 And turn your breath to strange chords of delight 
 Shall bury sadness. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, my lord, I know 
 Nothing beyond the moment. I would fain 
 Dream my sweet dream this once. It must be brief. 
 Being so perfect. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Peace, my little one, 
 This dream has no awaking. 
 
 (^A hell is heard to toll without.) 
 
Scene III.] THE FRINCESS ELIZABETH. 175 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, so soon? 
 Time flies to vespers ere I knew the day 
 Had reached its afternoon. 
 
 I must be gone. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 For a space. You must abide, my lord, 
 The morrrow's coming. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ah, some cruelty chafes 
 Even unfledged delight. How may I stay 
 The hunger of my heart till then to see 
 Your face ? I know not, yet am strong to go — 
 Love's waiting being short. 
 
 The night is near, 
 The day shall bring us Heaven. Farewell. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Farewell. 
 [^Exit Seymour. 
 Alas, he carries all my soul along 
 Into an unknown sea, and leaves me void 
 Of every sense but ecstasy whose edge 
 Is very close to pain. 
 
176 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 Ob, love, my love ! 
 I reck not of the future, there lies doom, 
 But here I have my hour. 
 
 {She turns to go out, and is rnet by Tyrwhit and 
 Harrington.) 
 Ah! 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Start not so ; 
 You have forgotten this. 
 
 {He picks up the missal and holds it towards her.) 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I had forgot 
 That gentlemen were spies. 
 
 {Enter Yvart.) 
 {Aside.) That man here, too ! 
 Alas, lost heart, lost heart ! 
 
 YVART. 
 
 And somewhat else 
 Methinks the lady hath forgotten. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 What ? 
 
 Y'VART. 
 
 This. 
 
 {He raises his Jinger, upon which is Bishop Gar- 
 diner's signet ring. Beatrice utters a ivild cry 
 and falls forward, being caught by Harrington.) 
 
Scene III.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 177 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Quick, the paper ! 
 
 (Harrington finds the paper in her dress, and 
 hands it to Yvart.) 
 
 Lose no moment. Time 
 Is freighted now with fate. 
 
 YYART. 
 
 Nay, do not fear ; 
 I am no laprfjfard. 
 
 \_Uxit Yyart. 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 By my faith, this swoon 
 Comes opportunely. 
 
 TYRWHIT. 
 
 Ay, and ere it pass 
 She must be safely placed beyond the reach 
 Of those who might sound warning ere the trap 
 Is ready to be sprung. 
 
 Need you my help ? 
 
 HARRINGTON. 
 
 No ; for the burden is as light as fair. 
 
 \^^xit Harrington, hearing Beatrice 
 in his arms. Tyr^yhit folloivs. 
 
178 THE PRIKCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Private Room. Night. 
 
 ELIZABETH (solci). 
 
 'Tis strange she came not sharply on her hour, 
 This woman of much thought, and eyes as large 
 As liquid-orbed Penelope grown sad 
 With weeping for Ulysses. Strange, Avere it not 
 That breach of custom hath become the law 
 She late hath lived by. I can fathom not 
 Her soul's disease. 
 
 Ah, well, I may not wish 
 To fathom aught without the pale and scope 
 Of mine own being, for in faitli I think 
 The problem 'there 's sufficient. 
 
 Some strong hand 
 Were needed sorely to stay back my heart. 
 Held I not fast the reins which guide the steeds 
 Traced to the car Ambition. 
 
 Is it well ? 
 Nay, an it were I scarce had known such fear 
 Lest pitiless discovery un-urn 
 What I deny to self. But if it be 
 Not well, I still shall seize my cup of joy 
 While Life's new wine is golden, though a sting 
 Lino-er amonsj the lees. 
 
Scene lY.] TEE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 179 
 
 (^Enter Seymour.) 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 My Princess. Here, 
 At least, the envious world is barred and locked 
 Outside the gates of Life. 
 
 I caught some word 
 Of Life that from your lips met me half way 
 Upon the stair. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Yes ; I bemoaned the fate 
 Which makes Life golden, and within its bead 
 Encases its destroyer. You, whose flight 
 Hath held so wide a sweep, must oft have mourned 
 To find joy handicapped. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, for that loss 
 Is overmatched by bringing forth the force 
 And power of its pinion. 
 
 There 's new bliss 
 In sharing happiness with dreaded pain 
 And oftener dreaded danger. 
 
 Have you thought 
 Of all I asked you well to ponder o'er, 
 And, thinking, found the truth ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, for the truth 
 Lay very near the surface. 
 
 In my sleep 
 
180 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 I saw you yesterniglit, incased in mail, 
 
 Ride down the lists, and challenge all who would 
 
 To join in single fight for some vague prize 
 
 That still from knowledge in a casket hid 
 
 Possessed a mystic power of untold joy. 
 
 And no man knew what the strange prize should be 
 
 Nor could divine its meaning, yet all felt 
 
 An intuition that its worth was great, 
 
 And that the knight who gained it should thereby 
 
 Encompass happiness beyond his hope, 
 
 Rapture beyond desire. 
 
 And forth they came. 
 One after other, very gallant lords. 
 Plumed and embelted, steel from crown to spur, 
 And wearing each upon his crest the hue 
 That told of an allegiance bravely held 
 To nerve brave arms the stronger. 
 
 One by one 
 They set stanch lance in rest, while mighty blared 
 The trumpet's voice to sound the furious charge ; 
 And, midway in the lists, the gleaming points 
 Met as opposing lightnings rifting wide 
 Black, beetling tiers of cloud. 
 
 And, one by one, 
 Before your pauseless onset borne amain. 
 They reeled, and, sidewise from their saddles flung. 
 Like huge and humbled monarchs, bit the dust. 
 INIadly the loosened steeds careered the lists 
 Unchecked, for faster forth the champions came. 
 And, past all forms which govern tourneys, rushed 
 
Scene IV.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 181 
 
 Pell-mell in chaos, till the tumult roared 
 And, panic-struck, the heralds fled away, 
 And the onlookers paled ! 
 
 Anon the dust, 
 Which swept up in great masses, hid from view 
 Horses and men, and then my heart stood still 
 To hear the splintering crash of rended wood 
 And clang of falling greaves. Then, once again, 
 The yellow^ fumes rolled back\vard, and I saw 
 Your plume still proudly swirling, beacon-like. 
 High above all that grovelling mass of men ; 
 And quick once more my blood, in mighty throbs, 
 Rushed to my finger-tips and drowned my face, 
 And I breathed hard, fearing the end. 
 
 At last 
 They all w^ere vanquished, and the trodden field. 
 Strewed with the tokens of your prowess, lay 
 Before your imperious glance. 
 
 'Twas then you turned 
 To seek the guerdon, which in mystery still 
 Waited the victor's claim. And as they brought 
 The casket forth, my being seemed to go 
 Wondrously with it, and I knew not wiiat 
 Should bode the mad elation of my soul. 
 But, as you took it, over all the scene 
 Floated rare purple mists in incensed folds, 
 And, as in dreams strano^e inconojruities 
 
 ' CD O 
 
 Astonish us, yet seem to come by law% 
 Falling as by necessity, and so 
 Woven into the texture of events, 
 16 
 
182 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 You opened quick the casket, and within 
 
 Lay something that you most had wished to find, 
 
 For on your face I saw the color mount, 
 
 And in your eyes flamed a strange light that fled 
 
 Behind the passionate lids. 
 
 Then nearer I 
 Crept, till I felt your breath upon my neck, 
 And, leaning slowly o'er the casket's brim, 
 I looked within and saw there — my own heart! 
 I know not what came after that, for sense 
 Seemed swallowed in a tumult of strange forms 
 Which came and went in a grotesque parade, 
 Scorning all sequences of place and time, 
 Running to wild nonentities, and strung 
 Like colored beads upon a tangled thread. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 My Princess, 'twas the whisper of your heart 
 Which slept not though you slumbered, intermixed 
 With some soft romance of old Camelot, 
 Mellow as wine, and listened to at noon. 
 There is a time midway adown the course 
 That slopes from dawn to sunset, when the day 
 Sinks into drowsiness and nature sleeps. 
 And at that hour quaint pages from the past 
 Enter our beings, and we store them up 
 To glorify the night and make it grand 
 With panoply of dreams. 
 
Scene IV.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 183 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay, but, my lord, 
 This was not all my dream, for quick there came 
 False witnesses to rob you of your right, 
 Swearing false practice in the use and length 
 Of your all-conquering lance ; taxing you sore 
 With treason and disloyalty, and ere 
 Your mailed arm could raise itself to fling 
 Back your defiance, came a score of men 
 "Who rushed unheralded, and, like poltroons 
 Mindless of honor, stabbed you in the back. 
 Oh Heaven ! I shudder yet to hear their tread 
 And their mad cry of Treason! Bear him down! 
 Down ivith the traitor! 
 
 (^The tramp of armed men is heard without.^ 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Hark ! 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 What sound is that? 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 It is the King's Guard, or mine ears have lost 
 Part of their old acuteness. In the realm 
 No other heels can mark a time like that 
 Nor fall with like precision. 
 
184 THE PEINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Seymour, fly ! 
 There is a terror tightening at my heart, 
 I know not why, I know not whence ; but fly ! 
 So strangely comes reality to fill 
 The vague and empty chambers of my dreams. 
 What should the Guard do here? 
 
 I do implore. 
 For my sake leave me. Oh, my lord, be quick. 
 Fly, if you love me ! 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Nay, Elizabeth ; 
 This is but terror born of over-wrought 
 And over-heated fancy. If it be 
 My lord of Somerset have need to seek 
 A brother's closer housing, he shall find 
 Less than a brother's aid. 
 
 I would the way 
 "Were open for your going, so that none 
 Should find you thus. But 'tis too late. 
 
 I hear 
 The men now marching up the gallery 
 And posting in the hall. 
 
 Be firm, and keep 
 A studied silence. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I am cold with dread ! 
 
Scene IV.] THE PRIN^CESS ELIZABETH. 185 
 
 A VOICE {without). 
 Admittance in the Lord Protector's name. 
 
 SEYMOUR (throiving open the doors). 
 
 I marvel that the portal flew not back 
 Even of its own volition ! 
 
 (^Enter a detachment of the King^s Guard, forming 
 across the doorivay and at one side of the room.) 
 
 OFFICER OF THE GUARD. 
 
 I am pained 
 To make so rude a showing in the eyes 
 Of so august a lady. 
 
 You, my lord, 
 Will understand my duty ere I frame 
 That duty into speech. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 I understand 
 Naught so addressed. You should have learned the role 
 Of soldier better than to march before 
 The lord Hi^fh Admiral of Enojland thus 
 And halt your men at ease. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sir! 
 
 16* 
 
186 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act III. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Acts, not words. 
 Salute, I say ! 
 ( The officer gives a sign to the men, who present arms.^ 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 My lord High Admiral, 
 In the King's name, your sword. 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Now, as before. 
 Quick drawn in the King's service. 
 
 (^He delivers his sioord to the Officer.) 
 
 Ere I leave 
 Her Highness must have meet attendance. 
 
 JOHN hey WOOD {appearing in the doorway). 
 
 Here, 
 My lord, am I, if that I can but pass. 
 
 OFFICER {to a guard at the door). 
 Let him come in. 
 
 (Heywood comes forward, and, as he passes 
 Seymour, ivhispers :) 
 
 The list I warned you of 
 Has been delivered to your foes. 
 
ScEXElV.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 187 
 
 SEYMOUR (aside). 
 
 Great Heaven ! 
 Was ever the black heart of treason set 
 Within so fair a setting ! 
 
 [Exit Elizabeth, leaning upon Heywood's arm, 
 the Officer of the Guard loioering the point, 
 of his sword as she passes. 
 
 If it so please you. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 jSTow, my lord, 
 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 Ay, sir. 
 {T7ie guard form around Seymour.) 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Forward ! 
 
 \_JExeunt omnes. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE L— Hatfield House. The Hall. 
 Katharine Ashley. Parry. 
 
 KATIIAKINE. 
 
 Thus 
 Labor but ends in strife, and strife in loss 
 Of all that labor wrought for. 
 
 I have galled 
 At this long durance they have put on me. 
 'Twas villainy ! 
 
 TATIRY. 
 
 Nought less. 
 
 I burn to make 
 My opportunity fit well to meet 
 The purpose of my mind. 
 
 What right is placed 
 Within a council-minion's hands to grasp 
 At secrets personal, and matters freed 
 From touch of public import ? 
 
 I have borne 
 Questions but put to trip old answers up, 
 And deftly made to hold a double sense, 
 AYith hope to balk me. This is statesmanship ! 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. ] 89 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 That sort which prospers now. But T am proud 
 They gleaned from me but little. If my lord 
 Hath been condemned of treason, 'tis for that 
 Outside his gallantries. The priests have moved 
 All heaven and earth to find the armor weak 
 About his heart, but scarce they framed the form 
 Of their attack than the defence was made 
 By proving other issues. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 None the less 
 He is condemned, and with no show of trial 
 Deserving a trial's name. 
 
 This parliament 
 Is lither than the flexible bamboo 
 Which savage princes use on savage backs ; 
 It bends within the council's grasp, and falls 
 Upon the council's foes, with ne'er a dream 
 Of its own force and duty. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Was the guilt 
 Indeed high treason ? 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 If high treason lie 
 In being more loved than they who hold the rule. 
 He had his partisans, and these had grown 
 Too numerous to please a puny lord 
 With potent powers at hand. 
 
190 THE FRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 There is at court 
 Indecent show of satisfaction, scarce 
 Held Avithin bound of custom ; — the reverse 
 Of all we see at Hatfield. 
 
 How find you 
 The Princess since returning ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 Sorrowing, sad, 
 And very silent. There's a fire within. 
 Holding the potency of wrath, whose flame 
 Shall one day light the realm. 
 
 It smoulders now, 
 But is not quenched, by grief. 
 
 A different stuff 
 Makes up the lady Dacres, who is crushed 
 By a despair born of some instinct nursed 
 To life in that strange, busy brain of hers. 
 I cannot comprehend her, but I note 
 She journeys fast towards madness or the grave. 
 You scarce should know her fiice if seen away 
 From where you looked to find it. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 And methinks 
 Fair Markham falls away to colors less 
 Of bridals than of fasts. 'Twere hardly meet 
 That Mistress Harrington should borrow gloom 
 To deck her nuptials with. 
 
ScEXEl.] THE TBIXCESS ELIZABETH. 191 
 
 KATIIARIXE. 
 
 Nay, but the times 
 Are so unhinged that nothing falls as hope 
 And calculation planned it. There's a pall 
 Covers the earth so far as earth is seen 
 From eyes that keep at Hatfield. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Here comes one 
 Whose grief shall scarcely darken deeper yet 
 The shades of destiny, though even she 
 Perhaps hath caught contagion of droop'd lids. 
 
 {Enter Lady Willoughby.) 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Good Mistress Ashley, I am bid to say. 
 
 Her Highness begs some words with you within. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 I go directly. 
 
 \_Exit Katharine, 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 May a better fate 
 Attend her words than mine! 
 
 LADY AVILLOUGIIBY. 
 
 You sought too much 
 In seeking to unravel truths close hugged 
 Within the arms of passion. Such work brings 
 But meagre compensation. 
 
192 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 And much pain ! 
 I stand degraded, — punished, — for the crime 
 Of doing promised service. 
 
 Days will come 
 When this bland council, \Yith its iron hand 
 Covered but never still, shall find it vain 
 To seek for favor where it now spurns grace ; 
 The sun shines not forever. 
 
 LADY WILLOCGHBY. 
 
 Yes. But shines 
 Sometimes behind a cloud. 
 
 Did you see aught 
 Of these unseemly methods, — this new haste 
 To sweep down barriers and destroy the Earl? 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Enough to strike a terror to the heart 
 Of him who dreams of law. The witnesses 
 Were only such as could bring word or deed 
 Of fiavor to breed doubt or lead the mind 
 Into suspicion. When the Commons spoke, 
 They did but echo what was taught before 
 By Somerset or AVarwick. For the Peers, 
 They scarcely spoke at all, and smiled in dull 
 And feeble approbation. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 And the Earl 
 Made no appeal ? 
 
Scene I.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 193 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 None other than denial 
 Charged to the brim with scorn. 
 
 LADY AYILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Was there no voice 
 To sound a note of danger at the risk 
 Of precedent established so ? 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Scarce one. 
 A meagre protest, framed in timid words, 
 Put forth objection to attainder ; but 
 'Twas like a bee's hum in a gust of wind. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Methinks such speed to reach a bloody end 
 Bodes illy for the future. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Marry, ay. 
 The judgment was a judgment weighing nought 
 Which spoke defence. If such hath come to be 
 The method of the time, give me again 
 The ordeal of the ploughshares. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Well bespoke ; 
 The Earl was arrogant, but yet deserved 
 From England English justice. 
 17 
 
194 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 He hath gained 
 From envy envy's vengeance. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Is there naught 
 Can save him from the last dread sentence ? 
 
 Nay 
 Unless he does that he hath never done, — 
 Craves pardon. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 And the time is very short. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 As condemnation proved how Avork of months 
 Can be so crowded as to scarce fill weeks, 
 So execution will but pause a day 
 Where it should wait a fortnight. 
 
 {Reenter Katharine.) 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 On my soul 
 My lady's tastes are difficult to please. 
 I scarce can meet her wishes. She is wrought 
 Into a strange unwonted mood of mind, 
 Unfriendly to her welfare. 
 
Scene I.] THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH. 195 
 
 LADY AVILLOUGHBY. 
 
 'Tis the gall 
 Of this rude parting. 
 
 Found you her alone ? 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 The lady Markham waits, but ne'er upholds 
 A countenance of hope. 
 
 LADY WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 'Twere well to lend 
 The aid of helping hands. 
 
 I shall essay 
 What one with heart unseared by too deep grief 
 May do to lighten grief too deeply borne. 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 
 A pliilanthropic purpose — 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 Well conceived. 
 
 \_Scene closes. 
 
196 THE PRINGEHa ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Samh. 
 Heywood seated at a table, apparently buried in thought. 
 
 (A female voice, without, is heard singing.^ 
 
 A bird in mj bower 
 Sat calling, a-calling ; 
 A bird answered low from the garden afar. 
 His note came with power, 
 AVhile falling, a-ftdling. 
 Her note quivered faint as the light of a star. 
 "I am Life! lam Life!" 
 From the bower a-ringing. 
 Trilled forth a mad melody, soaring above ; 
 "I am Love ! I am Love !" 
 From the garden a-singing. 
 Came soft as a dream, and the echoes sang "Love." 
 
 They joined, and together 
 Fast flying, a-flying, 
 AVere lost to my gaze in the arch of the sky. 
 The wind through the heather 
 Is sighing, a-sighing ; 
 Ah ! how should it ever do other than sigh ? 
 AVhere art thou, where art thou, 
 Life, flying, a-flying? 
 Where art thou, O Love, sweetest child of the daAvn ? 
 The song in the meadow 
 Is dying, a-dying ; 
 My heart groweth heavy, and whispereth — "Gone." 
 
Scene II.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 197 
 
 HE Y WOOD (solus). 
 
 A still unsolved enigma, made to craze 
 The minds that grapple with it. 
 
 This thing Life, 
 What is it? how? And whither tends it? Ay, 
 Whence comes it? Deepest mystery of all, 
 Buried beneath the wreck of ruined worlds 
 And hid in mist of ages. 
 
 Life and Love, 
 Children of far unfathomable days 
 In an unfathomed Past, come ye by law? ' 
 
 Is all this bitter struggle of the soul — 
 This pauseless passage over pathways red 
 With the shed blood of martyrs — rugged made 
 By lust-engendered misery of men, 
 Is it all nought but sequence of a fact 
 Made fact by reason of a prior cause, 
 Itself a dead necessity of law? 
 Do generations live pre -ordered days, 
 And cease all deeds at the allotted stroke 
 Of Fate's unpausing pendulum ? 
 
 God knows ! 
 There be that tell us nature works by rule, 
 And in like causes ever finds the germ 
 Of like effects. Behind there is no force 
 To change the order of ordained events 
 Or thwart dead law by living will. 
 
 But yet 
 Methinks the living will fore-lived the law 
 Ere that the law grew comatose and shrank 
 17* 
 
198 THE FBINGESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV, 
 
 Into a dull and automatic chain 
 Of endless links. Such being true, it falls 
 That mighty law is but itself produced 
 By will which overrides it, and, behind 
 Permitted sequence, holds the right to sway 
 A counter force and action. 
 
 Pah ! my mind 
 Runs into weeds with speculation bald 
 And bare as Ossa's summit. 
 
 These hold not 
 The power to save this giant in the toils, 
 Whose fall hath gendered ruin of fair hopes 
 And spread a gloom o'er Hatfield. 
 
 On my soul. 
 There is more matter for rebellion here 
 Than privy councils wot of. Did they know 
 The forces, over-crusted but by chance. 
 That still contain a potency and growth 
 For future exercise, methinks the day 
 Had worn a front less bloody. 
 
 {A knock is heard.') 
 Ah ! 
 
 {Enter an Attendant.) 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 So please. 
 My lady Markham sends her Highness' wish 
 To see you, sir, within. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH:. 199 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Tell her I come 
 Directly to her. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 'Tis as I had looked 
 To find it. But alas ! I 've nought to give 
 That shall enrich the hunger-haunted heart 
 "With bounty born of hopefulness or faith. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Upper Room with Large Oriel 
 Window. 
 
 Elizabeth. Isabella. 
 
 (Beatrice is seen at the rem-, half reclining at the win- 
 dow, her face hidden in her hands ichich rest upon the 
 sill.) 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Light love were hardly best if love so light 
 Turn hearts so heavy ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 No. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 If but a ray 
 Might yet illumine this unchanging sky 
 'Twere not so dreary. 
 
200 THE FBINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 No. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 And yet, methinks, 
 It ever lowers darker. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Mayliap 
 We shall have news of import to amend 
 Some portion of our sorrow by and by. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 It may be so. I look for little. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Less 
 I look for than I hope. 
 
 Are you full sure 
 Your letters were delivered as you bade ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I do believe it ; but the time hath fled 
 For doing aught. 
 
 Was Hey wood sent for ? 
 
ScEXE III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 201 
 
 ISABELLA.. 
 
 Ay; 
 He will be here anon. 
 
 (^A hioch is heard.) 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 'Tis he. I pray 
 You bid him enter, sweet. 
 
 (Isabella opens a door at the left, at which 
 Hey WOOD enters.) 
 
 HEYAYOOD. 
 
 Now, as of yore, 
 Genius is never called for till mayhap 
 A danger threatens, and the easy mind 
 Of simple folk is meshed and cries for help. 
 'Tis so, Madonna, I am sent for here, 
 Seeing how leaded are the hours with care, 
 How stern the day with sadness. 
 
 I v/ould fain 
 Bring consolation, an it sprang full-armed 
 From wit, as Pallas from the brain of Jove, 
 But I have nought to offer. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Then, indeed, 
 You balk at duty in the deepest need 
 "Which it is bid to. 
 
 Is there nought to rend 
 This equipoise of vast events, which lower 
 
202 THE rBIKCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV 
 
 Like awful clouds, portentous, yet not ripe 
 For instant breaking? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Nought. 
 
 BEATRICE (rising and coming forward). 
 
 What is't o'clock ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 It lacks enough of noon for you to tell [lids 
 
 Why you have blanched your cheeks and stained your 
 With weeping that would better be reserved 
 For sins of your own doing. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis for these, 
 Perchance, I weep, if I have wept at all. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Bah ! An you piled a pyramid of w^oes 
 Upon weak wTCtchedness, you still had cause 
 Less deep than I for weeping. 
 
 ISABELLA (aside to Heywood). 
 
 AVill the doom 
 Be reached at noon ? 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Ay, lady. You shall know 
 How prompt upon its mission falls the steel 
 
Scene III.] THE PR IXC ESS ELIZABETH. 203 
 
 By heai'kening to tlie guns. They tell the tale 
 Of a grim deed accomplished. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 And the Earl 
 Bears a firm front ? 
 
 HEY^YOOD. 
 
 Ay, to the last. 'Tis said 
 He scorned a final mediation, which. 
 An it had been accepted, might have proved 
 A power to save. 
 
 ELIZABETH {overhearing hhii). 
 
 Ay, such was Seymour ever ; 
 Prouder than Lucifer, — more godlike, too, 
 In carriage of his pride. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 How bitter comes 
 This ending, ere meridian's touch hath fallen 
 Upon his noble genius. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Well bespoke ; 
 And retribution yet shall follow fleet 
 Upon o'er-hasty deeds, done in the guise 
 Of sacred law. 
 
204 THE FRIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Why ^YOuld he yield not now, 
 E'en though 'twere but in seeming ? 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Nay ; he holds 
 A neck as stubborn as unbridled steeds 
 Impatient of command. Such spirits brook 
 No mediation bearing in its train 
 Even implied surrender. 
 
 Am I not 
 True to experience in saying so ? 
 Tell me, John Heywood. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Yes, my lady. All 
 The grim philosophy of this world of ours 
 Confirms it, — more the pity. 
 
 I have seen 
 Alas ! so many lives like rockets rise. 
 To burst with o'er-much fury long before 
 They reached th' intended climax. 
 
 (^He looks through the ivindow.) 
 There beyond 
 Those feathery hills that bar the blue of heaven 
 I seem to see the Tower, and in my mind 
 Conjure the stories of its inmates up. 
 Until mine eyes grow dazzled, as if seared 
 By glitter of the axe, and my pained ears 
 Shrink at its whirring fall. 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 205 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Ah me ! your words 
 Are charged with terror, and my heart turns sick, 
 As though the moment hekl a nameless dread 
 And Death glared at my elbow. 
 
 BEATRICE {gazing tJiroiigh the luindoio in the direction 
 indicated by Heywoob's frig er). 
 
 Prithee, show 
 Which way lies Tower Hill. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 My lady, here, 
 Further to northward than your gaze is set. 
 See you not how the cumbered highland breaks 
 And slopes into the clearing, seeming cut 
 Straight through the hills ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 HEY^yOOD. 
 
 There on a line 
 With yon up-looming cluster of bare trees 
 (That soon will dress as gay to meet the spring 
 As though no pain had entered in the world), 
 You see two hillocks facing, and as like 
 As apples on one stem ? 
 
 18 
 
206 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Look but now 
 So as to bring these objects into line, 
 And you face Tower Hill directly. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Take 
 My liand in yours, and let me point the way. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis but a whim. 
 
 HEY-WOOD (taking her hand). 
 
 Then so. 
 
 Great Heaven ! 
 How colder than the grave 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, nay . . . 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 Yes, speak. 
 Sweet Beatrice ; your pallor frights my soul ; 
 Wliat should this mean ? 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 207 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ay, what? 
 
 Who dares to pale, 
 As though the time were fraught with deeper dole 
 Than I have reason for ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, I am calm. 
 I do but suffer with the rest some pang 
 To find stern fate unbending. 
 
 I have seen 
 My lord so gay, and now have nought to keep 
 His living in my memory. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I but this. 
 (^She draws from her pocJcet a jewelled dagger.^ 
 He gave it me once in a mimic mood, 
 And bade me keep it bright for friendship's sake. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 It is a piece of art-work ! See how close 
 The velvet of the hilt woos with soft touch 
 The danger of the steel. . 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 A pretty toy. 
 These jewels, now, are rare and brilliant. 
 
208 THE PBIXCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 Let me too see it. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Pray, 
 
 ELIZABETH {giving her the dagger). 
 
 Ay. 
 
 ISABELLA. 
 
 How weary moans 
 The March wind, sweeping up from russet downs. 
 And from the desolation of sear grass 
 Stealing the whisper of a broken heart 
 To sigh a song of doom. 
 
 I would the day 
 "Were over. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 'Tis half spent ; and envious night 
 Comes fleet enough for some. 
 
 {The report of a cannon is heard ivithont. A cry 
 escapes Isabella ; Elizabeth buries her face 
 in her hands, ivhile Beatrice stands motionless, 
 looMng straight before her.) 
 
 HEYWOOD {after a pause). 
 
 The signal gun ! 
 The Earl of Sudley is no more ! 
 
Scene III.] THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. 209 
 
 ELIZABETH (^rising to her feet). 
 
 So dies 
 A man of little judgment and much wit. 
 His gift is now thrice valued ; prithee, sweet, 
 Give me again the dagger. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Seek it here, 
 Where he who gave it reigns supreme, alone. 
 Beyond the reach of malice. 
 
 (^Sfie drives the dagger into her heart. Isabella 
 swoons. Elizabeth springs forward with a cry.) 
 
 heywood {supporting Beatrice). 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 Princess, I pray you pluck the poniard-blade 
 From out the wound. 
 
 God ! what a scarlet tide. 
 What, ho! there. Some one, quick! 
 
 (YvART enters hurriedly., followed by several other 
 attendants.) 
 
 Those cushions. So. 
 Bring me some water here. 
 
 ELIZABETH {very pale, and drawing the dagger out of 
 the wound). 
 
 'Tis mine alone. 
 
210 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 BEATRICE (supported by Heywood). 
 
 Sweet Mother of our Lord, liow dark it is ! 
 This once were bitter, — but not now. 
 
 How dark ! 
 The shadow falls so fast, — so fast . . . 
 
 (^She reaches forth her arms as though groping 
 blindly^ and Yvart, pressing close, draivs from 
 the folds of his doublet a crucifix which he places 
 in her hands.) 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Who gives 
 The right to flaunt such emblems in this place ? 
 
 YYART. 
 
 The high priest Death ! 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Out, sirrah! 
 
 Some among 
 You terror-stricken throng of churls, fling forth 
 This insolent intruder. 
 
 YVART {displaying Gardiner's signet-ring). 
 
 Nay, your Grace 
 Will pause to give the word. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ha, treachery ! 
 
Scene III.] THE PBINCESS ELIZABETH. 211 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 Peace ! peace ! 
 
 (^Distant voices^ ivWiout, are heard singing ; the 
 first tivo lines being sung in vnison, and the re- 
 maining lines in harmony.) 
 
 Stabat Mater speciosa 
 Jiixta foenum gaudiosa, 
 
 Dura jacebat parvulus — 
 Ciijiis animam gaudentem, 
 Laetabundam ac ferventem, 
 
 Pertransivit jubilns. 
 
 BEATRICE {ivhispering brokenly). 
 
 Ah ! mercy, — 'tis my soul, — my lord, 
 My soul . . . 
 
 {The hymn is again heard from ivithout.) 
 In me sistat ardor tui — 
 Puerino fac me frui 
 
 Dum sum in exilio. 
 Hunc ardorem fac communem, 
 Ne me facias immunem 
 
 Ab hoc desiderio. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Who spoke ? — yes — yes. 
 
 The night — is near, — 
 The day shall bring us Heaven . . . 
 
 Yes — ^love, — the day, — 
 
 ( The hymn is again heard from without., vaguely, as 
 from a great distance.) 
 
212 THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. [Act IV. 
 
 Quando corpus morietur, 
 Fac ut animae donetur 
 Tui nati visio. — Amen. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 'Tis strangely silent! 
 
 Seymour . . Seymour . . 
 {She slowly sinks in Heywood's arms.) 
 
 HEYWOOD (m a whisper). 
 
 Husb ! 
 
 A LOUD VOICE, luithout (^'proclaiming the execution 
 of the Earl of Sudley). 
 
 So perish the King's traitors ! 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Give me air. 
 
 THE END.