Act 3 — Scene IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Enter Queen and Cecil.

Queen (proudly). It is their born faith—the creed they’ll fight for—that the ocean, all that floats upon its waves or lives in its waters, of right belongs to England. This is the creed of every Englishman, born within the inspiring influence of the four seas. With this spirit-stirring notion they must conquer Cecil. It will be all up with England’s power when shallow pated politicians and place-hunting doctrine-mongers teach them other ways, and curb with their enactments and official rules the daring spirit of our seamen.

Cecil. A notion involving war. To foster it is to play a part I dare not.

Queen. Play a part. I have been a player all my life. The world my theatre. The poor hireling acts upon the stage for pay, perhaps for fame. My wages were my life, and England’s power and glory. I’ll play my part until the end.

Cecil. Howere that be, your Majesty must see, we have traced these plots of assassination home to Philip himself.

Queen. Then why be nice with him? (with abrupt energy) Unslip the leash and let my sea-dogs loose upon their own responsibility.—They ask no more—nor aid—nor sanction—the genuine blood of England—bold and free—true to their country—as needle to the pole. I have sent an expedition out that will astonish Philip; young Drake commands it—gifted by heaven for undertaking great and high exploit. Original, cool, confident, and daring—truth written on his face. My life on his success. This is the way to meet conspiracy (she walks aside excitingly).

Cecil. It is the way to war, my Royal Mistress. Without a Royal Navy, I tremble for the consequence.

Queen. Navy! Without a navy! Our western counties have just sent forth a fleet (with emphasis) thirty cruizers at their own expense, which can, and will, command the Channel. They swear they’ll have the ocean and the Indies for this country. Philip will have enough to do, guarding his coast and gold-ships, without assailing us. War, you say, call you this peace?—to aim assassins’ daggers at my life—to violate our solemn treaties—stop our commerce, seize our ships and cargoes, consign our noble seamen to flames, or to rot by hundreds in his dungeons.—I call this the worst of wars. Open war he dare not wage. France could not allow him. She would fall next. Between them we are safe. (With disdain) Not that I fear either—England can defend herself. In this my people are agreed. No foreign despot shall ever rule them. You see my mind’s made up, so to the Council and tell them so (she walks aside decided. Exit Cecil) No Royal Navy? What of our twenty great ships reviewed so lately, whose crews and power were held so high that foreign nations have already named me “Queen of the Seas—Restorer of Naval Glory?” What of our great ships of commerce, which our merchants have armed for war—able to fight their way upon the waves and ready at a moment’s notice to join our fleet? Where is Philip’s navy? Engaged as convoys of his Indian trade. Concentrate that for an attack on us, what would become of his gold-ships? Our privateers would have them before a month anchored in the Thames. So think Hawkins, Drake, Lord William Howard, and all that band of men who know something about the business. Lastly, I have Drake’s gigantic scheme, locked safe and secret in my Cabinet, to seize the Newfoundland fishing-fleet, twenty-five thousand fisherman! and thus leave Spain without a sailor to man her navy—then to take possession of her gold-ships and the Indies. I confess that startled, almost frightened me. Conception vast! Genius! Greatness! Inspiration! Invasion is impossible! With Drake alone, England, thou art safe! (exit)

Curtain falls.