Another Chamber in the same. The Queen, the Countess of Argyll, Rizzio, and others, are discovered seated at a clarichord, on which the Queen is playing — Rizzio accompanying her on the harp, and singing the following
RONDO .
Oh! touch the ivory key again,
Thou who mak'st Orpheus' boastings vain,
And fiercer monsters charm'st to rest —
The vultures of the human breast!
Thou, whose sweet notes can lull despair,
Rouse slumbering hope, soothe anxious care,
Bid memory cease to pain,
And from the demon sorrow's clutch
Rescue the pining heart — Oh! touch
The ivory key again.
Roll, roll once more that tide along
Of heav'nly, heart-transporting song!
Those eyes, as o'er the page they glide,
Shall seem the orbs which sway that tide;
That voice, which mortal rival braves,
The breeze that stirs the harmonious waves;
And all who hear the strain
Charm'd spirits, who, the slaves of such,
Obey the spell — then touch, Oh, touch!
The ivory key again.
What — what has life in store to please
Our hearts like moments such as these!
What has the world's dull round, to crave
A longer loitering from the grave,
Where we shall slumber quietly,
Till angels lift their trumpets high,
And wake us with a strain
Shall charm the ravish'd ear so much,
'Twill seem as though we heard thee touch
The ivory key again.
Count. Hark! heard ye not a noise?
Riz. 'Twas but the wind
Shaking this time-worn turret.
Count. Nay — nay, hark
Again — 'tis footsteps — who, at this lone hour,
Will venture to intrude?
Queen. Merciful Heaven!
It is my husband's voice, and Ruthven's — hide thee —
Good Rizzio, hide thee — ere they can procure
Admittance — see the chamber-door be lock'd —
Ha!
Dar. No, no — thou perjured queen — it is too late
Thy minion's days are number'd — Drag, my lords,
The villain forth, and with your poniards search
For his degenerate heart.
Riz. Oh! save me — save me!
What have I done to merit death?
Queen. Stand back,
Rebellious peers! Ha! am I not your queen?
Stand back, I say, and he who dares advance
One inch, the pains of treason light upon
His forfeit life and honours.
Dar. What, my lords,
Do your bold hearts and iron sinews fail,
Because a woman rails? — one whose soft lips
Are snatch'd in fearful haste from his cursed kiss
To rave at you: while from those treacherous eyes,
Which still, methinks, reflect his hated image,
She would flash lightnings on us: — but this hand,
This good right-hand, shall wreak a king's revenge. —
I'll strike, though subjects tremble.
Queen (advancing.) Through my heart, then!
Thou base, bold man, whom I have raised thus high,
High as a monarch's love, what mean'st thou now,
To lose thyself thus strangely?
Dar. Ask thy heart:
Search there, if thou would'st find the treacherous depths
Where Darnley's soul is lost. Thy heart is false,
And would deceive even thee: but on thy cheek
Shame waves his crimson banners, and proclaims
The falsehood to the world.
Queen. What! are these veins
Fill'd with the blood which from a hundred kings
Flow'd pure and stainless, — and if but one drop
Start at thy foul aspersions to my cheek,
Shall that be deem'd an evidence of guilt?
Injurious Darnley! were I not that sorrow
Has in these eyes drown'd indignation, I
Would wear the look with which my great forefathers
Had frown'd to conscious silence the false tongue
Which dared assail their fame.
Dar. Her voice, look, words,
Work witchcraft in me; but the deed is vow'd,
And it shall be achieved. And think'st thou thus
To hide a guilty heart? Well, for a season
It may be hidden. While time's witchery lasts,
While youth and loveliness dazzle men's eyes,
They will not see it; yet it is a worm
Hid in a bed of flowers, which lies conceal'd
In roses and in sweets, but seen at last
When all the flowers have wither'd.
Ruth. We are trifling
With moments full of fate. The present time
Is with his broad-spread pinions shadowing
The destinies of ages. Traitor, learn
The weight of Ruthven's arm.
Queen. False lord, avaunt!
Hurt not a hair upon his head, I charge thee.
Ruth. Were every hairupon his head a life,
I'd have them all. Die, villain!
Riz. Mercy! mercy!
Have pity on me — do not drag me hence! —
If I must die, here let me perish, here! —
Oh! you have hearts of stone.
Queen. Unhand me, traitors!
Am I not Mary Stuart? No, no — I
Am Darnley's captive. Then, for Heaven's sweet sake,
Go thou prevent their ruffian hands; or thou —
There's kindness in thy looks. I pray thee, fly —
Save — save the poor youth's life! Do you not hear
How piteously he cries for mercy? Save him!
I am the queen — I'll make thee rich, I'll load thee
With wealth and honours. Ha! that groan proclaim'd
A spirit parting. Heaven, just Heaven, reward
The murderers! Let their beds be dungeon stones
Hard as their hearts! Afflict them till they're doom'd
To pray for death, and yet not die! May all —
All the imagined curses, which the heart
Of man e'er breathed against his deadliest foe,
Be heap'd upon their heads! My senses fail me —
What is 't I feel? If it be death, most welcome!
RONDO .
Oh! touch the ivory key again,
Thou who mak'st Orpheus' boastings vain,
And fiercer monsters charm'st to rest —
The vultures of the human breast!
Thou, whose sweet notes can lull despair,
Rouse slumbering hope, soothe anxious care,
Bid memory cease to pain,
And from the demon sorrow's clutch
Rescue the pining heart — Oh! touch
The ivory key again.
Roll, roll once more that tide along
Of heav'nly, heart-transporting song!
Those eyes, as o'er the page they glide,
Shall seem the orbs which sway that tide;
That voice, which mortal rival braves,
The breeze that stirs the harmonious waves;
And all who hear the strain
Charm'd spirits, who, the slaves of such,
Obey the spell — then touch, Oh, touch!
The ivory key again.
What — what has life in store to please
Our hearts like moments such as these!
What has the world's dull round, to crave
A longer loitering from the grave,
Where we shall slumber quietly,
Till angels lift their trumpets high,
And wake us with a strain
Shall charm the ravish'd ear so much,
'Twill seem as though we heard thee touch
The ivory key again.
Count. Hark! heard ye not a noise?
Riz. 'Twas but the wind
Shaking this time-worn turret.
Count. Nay — nay, hark
Again — 'tis footsteps — who, at this lone hour,
Will venture to intrude?
Queen. Merciful Heaven!
It is my husband's voice, and Ruthven's — hide thee —
Good Rizzio, hide thee — ere they can procure
Admittance — see the chamber-door be lock'd —
Ha!
Dar. No, no — thou perjured queen — it is too late
Thy minion's days are number'd — Drag, my lords,
The villain forth, and with your poniards search
For his degenerate heart.
Riz. Oh! save me — save me!
What have I done to merit death?
Queen. Stand back,
Rebellious peers! Ha! am I not your queen?
Stand back, I say, and he who dares advance
One inch, the pains of treason light upon
His forfeit life and honours.
Dar. What, my lords,
Do your bold hearts and iron sinews fail,
Because a woman rails? — one whose soft lips
Are snatch'd in fearful haste from his cursed kiss
To rave at you: while from those treacherous eyes,
Which still, methinks, reflect his hated image,
She would flash lightnings on us: — but this hand,
This good right-hand, shall wreak a king's revenge. —
I'll strike, though subjects tremble.
Queen (advancing.) Through my heart, then!
Thou base, bold man, whom I have raised thus high,
High as a monarch's love, what mean'st thou now,
To lose thyself thus strangely?
Dar. Ask thy heart:
Search there, if thou would'st find the treacherous depths
Where Darnley's soul is lost. Thy heart is false,
And would deceive even thee: but on thy cheek
Shame waves his crimson banners, and proclaims
The falsehood to the world.
Queen. What! are these veins
Fill'd with the blood which from a hundred kings
Flow'd pure and stainless, — and if but one drop
Start at thy foul aspersions to my cheek,
Shall that be deem'd an evidence of guilt?
Injurious Darnley! were I not that sorrow
Has in these eyes drown'd indignation, I
Would wear the look with which my great forefathers
Had frown'd to conscious silence the false tongue
Which dared assail their fame.
Dar. Her voice, look, words,
Work witchcraft in me; but the deed is vow'd,
And it shall be achieved. And think'st thou thus
To hide a guilty heart? Well, for a season
It may be hidden. While time's witchery lasts,
While youth and loveliness dazzle men's eyes,
They will not see it; yet it is a worm
Hid in a bed of flowers, which lies conceal'd
In roses and in sweets, but seen at last
When all the flowers have wither'd.
Ruth. We are trifling
With moments full of fate. The present time
Is with his broad-spread pinions shadowing
The destinies of ages. Traitor, learn
The weight of Ruthven's arm.
Queen. False lord, avaunt!
Hurt not a hair upon his head, I charge thee.
Ruth. Were every hairupon his head a life,
I'd have them all. Die, villain!
Riz. Mercy! mercy!
Have pity on me — do not drag me hence! —
If I must die, here let me perish, here! —
Oh! you have hearts of stone.
Queen. Unhand me, traitors!
Am I not Mary Stuart? No, no — I
Am Darnley's captive. Then, for Heaven's sweet sake,
Go thou prevent their ruffian hands; or thou —
There's kindness in thy looks. I pray thee, fly —
Save — save the poor youth's life! Do you not hear
How piteously he cries for mercy? Save him!
I am the queen — I'll make thee rich, I'll load thee
With wealth and honours. Ha! that groan proclaim'd
A spirit parting. Heaven, just Heaven, reward
The murderers! Let their beds be dungeon stones
Hard as their hearts! Afflict them till they're doom'd
To pray for death, and yet not die! May all —
All the imagined curses, which the heart
Of man e'er breathed against his deadliest foe,
Be heap'd upon their heads! My senses fail me —
What is 't I feel? If it be death, most welcome!