SCENE I.

A Room in the Tower.

Enter Raleigh and Lieutenant of the Tower.

Ral. Their peers, with much indulgence, heard their plea, And gave them ample scope for their defence; But naught avail'd—their crimes were too notorious. They bore their sentence with becoming spirit; And here's the royal mandate for their deaths.— The Lady Nottingham! What brings her hither?

Enter Lady Nottingham.

Not. Lieutenant, lead me to the Earl of Essex, I bring a message to him from the queen.

Lieut. He's with his friend, the brave Southampton, madam, Preparing now for his expected fate. But I'll acquaint his lordship with your pleasure. [Exit.

Ral. What means this message? Does the queen relent?

Not. I fear she does; Go you to court, for Cecil there expects you. I've promised to acquaint him with what passes 'Twixt me and Essex, ere I see the queen.

Ral. Madam, I go. [Exit.

Not. Now, vengeance, steel my heart! Offended woman, whilst her pride remains, To malice only, and revenge, will bow; And every virtue at that altar sacrifice. But see, he comes, with manly sorrow clad. There was a time, that presence could subdue My pride, and melt my heart to gentle pity. I then could find no joy but in his smiles, And thought him lovely as the summer's bloom; But all his beauties are now hateful grown.

Enter Essex.

Essex. Whether you bring me death, or life, I know not. But, if strict friendship, and remembrance past, May aught presage to my afflicted heart, Sure mercy only from those lips should flow, And grace be utter'd from that friendly tongue.

Not. My lord, I'm glad you think me still your friend. I come not to upbraid, but serve you now; And pleased I am to be the messenger Of such glad tidings, in the day of trouble, As I now bring you. When the queen had heard, That by the lords you were condemn'd to die, She sent me, in her mercy, here to know If you had aught to offer, that might move Her royal clemency to spare your life.

Essex. Could any circumstance new lustre add To my dread sovereign's goodness, 'tis the making The kind, the generous Nottingham its messenger.

Not. 'Tis well, my lord; but there's no time to spare— The queen impatient waits for my return.

Essex. My heart was wishing for some faithful friend, And bounteous Heaven hath sent thee to my hopes. Know then, kind Nottingham, for now I'll trust Thee with the dearest secret of my life, 'Tis not long since, the queen (who well foresaw To what the malice of my foes would drive me) Gave me this ring, this sacred pledge of mercy; And with it made a solemn vow to Heaven, That, whensoever I should give, or send It back again, she'd freely grant whate'er Request I then should make.

Not. Give, give it me, My lord! and let me fly, on friendship's wings, To bear it to the queen, and to it add My prayers and influence to preserve thy life.

Essex. Oh! take it then—it is the pledge of life! Oh! it is my dear Southampton's Last, last remaining stay! his thread of being, Which more than worlds I prize!—Oh, take it, then; Take it, thou guardian angel of my life, And offer up the incense of my prayer! Oh, beg, entreat, implore her majesty, From public shame, and ignominious death, And from the obdurate axe, to save my friend.

Not. My lord, with all the powers that nature gave And friendship can inspire, I'll urge the queen To grant you your request.

Essex. Kind Nottingham! Your pious offices shall ever be My fervent theme; and if my doubtful span Relenting Heaven should stretch to years remote, Each passing hour shall still remind my thoughts, And tell me, that I owe my all to thee: My friend shall thank you too for lengthen'd life. And now I fly with comfort to his arms, To let him know the mercy that you bring. [Exeunt.