SCENE I.

An Antichamber in the Palace.

Enter Burleigh and Raleigh.

Bur. The bill, at length, has pass'd opposing numbers, Whilst crowds, seditious, clamour'd round the senate, And headlong faction urged its force within.

Ral. It has, my lord!—The wish'd-for day is come, When this proud idol of the people's hearts Shall now no more be worshipp'd.—Essex falls. My lord, the minute's near, that shall unravel The mystic schemes of this aspiring man. Now fortune, with officious hand, invites us To her, and opens wide the gates of greatness, The way to power. My heart exults; I see, I see, my lord, our utmost wish accomplish'd! I see great Cecil shine without a rival, And England bless him, as her guardian saint. Such potent instruments I have prepared, As shall, with speed, o'erturn this hated man, And dash him down, by proof invincible.

Bur. His day of glory now is set in night; And all my anxious hopes, at last, are crown'd. Those proofs against him, Raleigh—

Ral. All arrived.

Bur. Arrived! how? when?

Ral. This very hour, my lord: Nay more, a person comes, of high distinction, To prove some secret treaties made by Essex, With Scotland's monarch, and the proud Tyrone.

Bur. How say'st? to prove them?

Ral. Ay, my lord, and back'd With circumstances of a stronger nature. It now appears, his secretary, Cuff, With Blunt and Lee, were deep concern'd in this Destructive scheme contrived to raise this lord, And ruin Cecil. Oh, it is a subtile, A deep-laid mischief, by the earl contrived In hour malignant, to o'erturn the state, And, horror to conceive! dethrone the queen!

Bur. These gladsome tidings fly beyond my hopes! The queen will listen now, will now believe, And trust the counsel of her faithful Burleigh. Dispose them well, till kind occasion calls Their office forth; lest prying craft meanwhile May tamper with their thoughts and change their minds: Let them, like batteries conceal'd, appear At once, both to surprise and to destroy.

Ral. His headstrong friend, the bold Southampton, too, Now finds his rash endeavours all defeated, And storms at thee, and the impeaching commons.

Bur. Let him rave on, and rage. The lion, in The toils entangled, wastes his strength, and roars In vain; his efforts but amuse me now.—

Enter Gentleman.

Gent. My lord, the Lady Nottingham desires, With much impatience, to attend your lordship.

Bur. What may the purport of her business be? Her tender wishes are to Essex tied In love's soft fetters, and endearing bands.— Conduct her in. [Exit Gentleman. And you, my Raleigh, watch Southampton's steps; With care observe each movement of his friends; That no advantage on that side be lost.— [Exit Raleigh. Southampton's Essex' second self; His daring heart, and bold, ungovern'd tongue, Are both enlisted in the rash designs Of this proud lord, nor knows a will but his: A limb so fix'd, must with the body fall.

Enter Lady Nottingham.

Not. Thrice hail to rescued England's guiding genius! His country's guardian, and his queen's defence! Great Burleigh, thou whose patriot bosom beats With Albion's glory, and Eliza's fame; Who shield'st her person, and support'st her throne; For thee, what fervent thanks, what offer'd vows, Do prostrate millions pay!

Bur. Bright excellence, This fair applause too highly over-rates, Too much extols, the low deserts of Cecil.

Not. What praises are too high for patriot worth; Or what applause exceeds the price of virtue? My lord, conviction has at last subdued me, And I am honour's proselyte:—Too long My erring heart pursued the ways of faction; I own myself t' have been your bitt'rest foe, And join'd with Essex in each foul attempt To blast your honour and traduce your fame.

Bur. Though ne'er my wishing heart could call you friend, Yet honour and esteem I always bore you; And never meant, but with respect to serve you.

Not. It is enough, my lord, I know it well, And feel rekindling virtue warm my breast; Honour and gratitude their force resume Within my heart, and every wish is yours. O Cecil, Cecil, what a foe hast thou! A deadly foe, whilst hated Essex lives!

Bur. I know it well—but can assign no cause.

Not. Ambition's restless hand has wound his thoughts Too high for England's welfare; nay, the queen Scarce sits in safety on her throne, while he, Th' audacious Essex, freely treads at large, And breathes the common air. Ambition is The only god he serves; to whom he'd sacrifice His honour, country, friends, and every tie Of truth and bond of nature; nay, his love.

Bur. The man, that in his public duty fails, On private virtue will disdainful tread; And mighty love, who rules all nature else, Must follow here in proud ambition's train.

Not. Pronounce it not! my soul abhors the sound Like death——O, Cecil, will you kindly lend Some pity to a wretch like me?

Bur. Command, Madam; my power and will are yours.

Not. Will Cecil's friendly ear vouchsafe to bend Its great attention to a woman's wrongs; Whose pride and shame, resentment and despair, Rise up in raging anarchy at once, To tear, with ceaseless pangs, my tortured soul? Words are unequal to the woes I feel; And language lessens what my heart endures.

Bur. Madam, your wrongs, I must confess, are great; Yet still, I fear, you know not half his falsehood. Who, that had eyes to look on beauty; Who, but the false, perfidious Essex, could Prefer to Nottingham a Rutland's charms? Start not!—By Heaven, I tell you naught but truth, What I can prove, past doubt; that he received The lady Rutland's hand, in sacred wedlock, The very night before his setting out For Ireland.

Not. Oh! may quick destruction seize them! May furies blast, and hell destroy their peace! May all their nights——

Bur. I pray, have patience, madam! Restrain a while your rage; curses are vain. But there's a surer method to destroy him; And, if you'll join with me, 'tis done—he falls.

Not. Ha! say'st thou, Burleigh! Speak, my genius, speak! Be quick as vengeance' self to tell me how!

Bur. You must have heard, the commons have impeached him, And we have proofs sufficient for his ruin. But then the queen—you know how fair he stands In her esteem; and Rutland, too, his wife, Hath full possession of the royal ear. Here then, my Nottingham, begins thy task: Try every art t' incense the queen against him, Then step between her and the Lady Rutland: Observe Southampton, too, with jealous eye; Prevent, as much as possible, his suit: For, well I know, he will not fail to try His eloquence on the behalf of Essex.

Not. It shall be done; his doom is fix'd: he dies. Oh 'twas a precious thought! I never knew Such heartfelt satisfaction.—Essex dies! And Rutland, in her turn, shall learn to weep. The time is precious; I'll about it straight. Come, vengeance, come! assist me now to breathe Thy venom'd spirit in the royal ear! [Exit.

Bur. There spoke the very genius of the sex! A disappointed woman sets no bounds To her revenge.—Her temper's form'd to serve me.

Enter Raleigh.

Ral. The Lord Southampton, with ungovern'd rage, Resents aloud his disappointed measures. I met him in the outward court; he seeks, In haste, your lordship; and, forgetting forms, Pursues me hither, and demands to see you.

Bur. Raleigh, 'tis well! Withdraw—attend the queen— Leave me to deal with this o'erbearing man. [Exit Raleigh.

Enter Southampton.

South. Where is the man, whom virtue calls her friend?— I give you joy, my lord!—Your quenchless fury At length prevails,—and now your malice triumphs. You've hunted honour to the toil of faction, And view his struggles with malicious joy.

Bur. What means my lord?

South. O fraud! shall valiant Essex Be made a sacrifice to your ambition? Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice, And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not, sure, Thus bid defiance to each show of worth, Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus Your suffering country, in her bravest son!

Bur. But why should stern reproach her angry brow Let fall on me? Am I alone the cause That gives this working humour strength? Do I Instruct the public voice to warp his actions? Justice, untaught, shall poise the impartial scales, And every curious eye may mark the beam.

South. The specious shield, which private malice bears, Is ever blazon'd with some public good; Behind that artful fence, skulk low, conceal'd, The bloody purpose, and the poison'd shaft; Ambition there, and envy, nestle close; From whence they take their fatal aim unseen; And honest merit is their destined mark.

Bur. My country's welfare, and my queen's command, Have ever been my guiding stars through life, My sure direction still.—To these I now Appeal;—from these, no doubt, this lord's misconduct Hath widely stray'd; and reason, not reviling, Must now befriend his cause.

South. How ill had Providence Disposed the suffering world's oppressed affairs, Had sacred right's eternal rule been left To crafty politicians' partial sway! Then power and pride would stretch the enormous grasp, And call their arbitrary portion, justice: Ambition's arm, by avarice urged, would pluck The core of honesty from virtue's heart, And plant deceit and rancour in its stead: Falsehood would trample then on truth and honour, And envy poison sweet benevolence. Oh, 'tis a goodly group of attributes, And well befits some statesman's righteous rule! Out, out upon such bloody doings! The term of being is not worth the sin; No human bosom can endure its dart. Then put this cruel purpose from thee far, Nor let the blood of Essex whelm thy soul.

Bur. 'Tis well, my lord! your words no comment need; No doubt, they've well explained your honest meaning; 'Tis clear and full. To parts, like yours, discretion Would be a clog, and caution but incumbrance. Yet mark me well, my lord; the clinging ivy With the oak may rise, but with it too must fall.

South. Thy empty threats, ambitious man, hurt not The breast of truth. Fair innocence, and faith, Those strangers to thy practised heart, shall shield My honour, and preserve my friend. In vain, Thy malice, with unequal arm, shall strive To tear the applauded wreath from Essex' brow; His honest laurel, held aloft by fame, Above thy blasting reach, shall safely flourish, And bloom immortal to the latest times; Whilst thou, amidst thy tangling snares involved, Shalt sink confounded, and unpitied fall.

Bur. Rail on, proud lord, and give thy choler vent: It wastes itself in vain; the queen shall judge Between us in this warm debate. To her I now repair: and, in her royal presence, You may approve your innocence and faith. Perhaps you'll meet me there. Till then, farewell. [Exit.

South. Confusion wait thy steps, thou cruel monster!— My noble and illustrious friend betray'd By crafty faction, and tyrannic power! His sinking trophies, and his falling fame, Oppress my very soul. I'll to the queen, Lay all their envy open to her view, Confront their malice, and preserve my friend. [Exit.