The Works of Frederick Schiller is a Webnovel created by Friedrich Schiller.
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MORTIMER.
She will most surely dare it, doubt it not.
MARY.
And can she thus roll in the very dust Her own, and every monarch’s majesty?
MORTIMER.
She thinks on nothing now but present danger, Nor looks to that which is so far removed.
MARY.
And fears she not the dread revenge of France?
MORTIMER.
With France she makes an everlasting peace; And gives to Anjou’s duke her throne and hand.
MARY.
Will not the King of Spain rise up in arms?
MORTIMER.
She fears not a collected world in arms?
If with her people she remains at peace.
MARY.
Were this a spectacle for British eyes?
MORTIMER.
This land, my queen, has, in these latter days, Seen many a royal woman from the throne Descend and mount the scaffold:–her own mother And Catherine Howard trod this fatal path; And was not Lady Grey a crowned head?
MARY (after a pause).
No, Mortimer, vain fears have blinded you; ‘Tis but the honest care of your true heart, Which conjures up these empty apprehensions.
It is not, sir, the scaffold that I fear: There are so many still and secret means By which her majesty of England may Set all my claims to rest. Oh, trust me, ere An executioner is found for me, a.s.sa.s.sins will be hired to do their work.
‘Tis that which makes me tremble, Mortimer: I never lift the goblet to my lips Without an inward shuddering, lest the draught May have been mingled by my sister’s love.
MORTIMER.
No:–neither open or disguised murder Shall e’er prevail against you:–fear no more; All is prepared;–twelve n.o.bles of the land Are my confederates, and have pledged to-day, Upon the sacrament, their faith to free you, With dauntless arm, from this captivity.
Count Aubespine, the French amba.s.sador, Knows of our plot, and offers his a.s.sistance: ‘Tis in his palace that we hold our meetings.
NARY.
You make me tremble, sir, but not for joy!
An evil boding penetrates my heart.
Know you, then, what you risk? Are you not scared By Babington and Tichburn’s b.l.o.o.d.y heads, Set up as warnings upon London’s bridge?
Nor by the ruin of those many victims Who have, in such attempts, found certain death, And only made my chains the heavier?
Fly hence, deluded, most unhappy youth!
Fly, if there yet be time for you, before That crafty spy, Lord Burleigh, track your schemes, And mix his traitors in your secret plots.
Fly hence:–as yet, success hath never smiled On Mary Stuart’s champions.
MORTIMER.
I am not scared By Babington and Tichburn’s b.l.o.o.d.y heads Set up as warnings upon London’s bridge; Nor by the ruin of those many victims Who have, in such attempts, found certain death: They also found therein immortal honor, And death, in rescuing you, is dearest bliss.
MARY.
It is in vain: nor force nor guile can save me:– My enemies are watchful, and the power Is in their hands. It is not Paulet only And his dependent host; all England guards My prison gates: Elizabeth’s free will Alone can open them.
MORTIMER.
Expect not that.
MARY.
One man alone on earth can open them.
MORTIMER.
Oh, let me know his name!
MARY.
Lord Leicester.
MORTIMER.
He!
[Starts back in wonder.
The Earl of Leicester! Your most b.l.o.o.d.y foe, The favorite of Elizabeth! through him—-
MARY.
If I am to be saved at all, ’twill be Through him, and him alone. Go to him, sir; Freely confide in him: and, as a proof You come from me, present this paper to him.
[She takes a paper from her bosom; MORTIMER draws back, and hesitates to take it.
It doth contain my portrait:–take it, sir; I’ve borne it long about me; but your uncle’s Close watchfulness has cut me off from all Communication with him;–you were sent By my good angel.
[He takes it.
MORTIMER.
Oh, my queen! Explain This mystery.
MARY.
Lord Leicester will resolve it.
Confide in him, and he’ll confide in you.
Who comes?
KENNEDY (entering hastily).
‘Tis Paulet; and he brings with him A n.o.bleman from court.
MORTIMER.
It is Lord Burleigh.
Collect yourself, my queen, and strive to hear The news he brings with equanimity.
[He retires through a side door, and KENNEDY follows him.