Ken. Oh! how disgraceful

The violence which we are forced to suffer!

Paul. As long as she possesses, she is hurtful; For in her hands all things are turn'd to arms. Ken. [supplicating.] O, sir! be merciful; deprive

us not

Of this last ornament which grac'd our life.
Oft can the view of ancient grandeur cheer
The sad depressed captive-all beside
You have despoil'd us of.—

Paul. It is preserv'd

In careful hands, and when the proper time
Is come, it will be faithfully restored.

Ken. Who could imagine in these naked walls
A royal residence? Where is the throne?
Where the imperial canopy of state?

Must she then set her tender foot, that's us'd
To softest treading, on this common floor?
Ignoble pewter serves the royal table ;—
No lady in the land but would disdain it.

Paul. 'Twas thus at Stirling, Darnley ate; while she

Quaff'd with her paramour the golden cup.

Ken. The poor assistance of a looking-glass Has been refus'd.

Paul. As long as she beholds

Her own vain image, she will never cease

To hope, and crown her hopes with deeds of treason.
Ken. Books are denied her to divert her mind.-
Paul. The Bible's read to her to mend her heart.

Ken. And e'en her lute is ta'en from her.-
Paul. Because

She chose to tune it to lascivious airs.

Ken. Is this a lot for her, who has been bred
So tenderly, a queen e'en in her cradle ;
Who, rear'd in Catherine's luxurious court,
Enjoy'd the plenitude of every pleasure?
Suffice it to have robb'd her of her power,
Must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel ?
A generous heart

may learn at last the lesson

To bow itself beneath its great misfortunes;

But yet it cuts one to the soul, to part

At once with all life's little outward trappings!

Paul. These are the things that turn the human heart

To vanity, which should collect itself

In penitence;-for a lewd, vicious life,
Want and abasement are the only penance.-

Ken. And even if her tender youth did fail,

Her reckoning's with God and her own heart :-
There is no judge in England over her.

Paul. There is she judg'd, where she transgress'd

the laws.

Ken. Her narrow bounds restrain her from transgression.

Paul. And yet she found the means to stretch her

arm

Into the world from out these narrow bounds,

And, with the torch of civil war, t' inflame

This realm against our queen, whom God preserve,
To arm her murderous bands. Did she not rouse
From out these walls, the malefactor Parry,
And Babington, to the detested deed

Of regicide? And did this iron grate
Prevent her from decoying to her toils
The virtuous heart of Norfolk? Saw we not
The first, best head, in all this island, fall
A sacrifice for her upon the block?—

The noble house of Howard fell with him.-
And did this sad example terrify

These mad adventurers, whose rival zeal
Plunges for her into this deep abyss?

The bloody scaffold bends beneath the weight

Of her new daily victims; and we ne'er
Shall see an end till she herself, of all
The guiltiest, be offer'd up upon it.

O curse upon

the day, when England stretch'd

Its hospitable arms towards this Helen.

Ken. Did England then receive her hospitably? Her, the unhappy one, who, from the day

When she first set her foot within this realm,

And, as a suppliant, a banish'd queen,
Came to implore protection from her sister,
Has been imprison'd, 'gainst the law of nations,
And royal dignity, to weep away

The fairest

years of youth in strictest thraldom.
Who now, when she hath suffer'd every thing,
Which in imprisonment is hard and bitter,
Is summon'd to the bar, like common miscreants,
Accus'd disgracefully, and forc'd to plead
For life and honour-an anointed queen.

Paul. She came as murd'ress hither; driven away
By her own people; banish'd from that throne
Which she, with such misdeeds, so oft disgrac'd.-
Sworn against England's welfare came she hither,
To call the Spanish times of bloody Mary
Back to this land, to make us Catholics,

And sell us to the false deceitful French.

Say, why disdain'd she to subscribe the treaty
Of Edinburgh, to give up her pretensions

To England, and thus, with one single word

Trac'd by her pen, to ope

her prison-gates?

No-she had rather live in vile confinement,

And see herself ill-treated, than abandon
The hollow dignity of this poor title.-
Why did she so? Because she puts her trust
In cunning wiles, and the disgraceful arts

Of treach'rous plots; and, spinning mischief, hopes
To conquer from her prison all this island.

Ken. You banter, sir, and add these bitter mockings To your severity: that she should dream

Such dreams; she, who is here immured alive,
To whom no sound of comfort, not a voice
Of friendship comes from her beloved country;
Who hath so long beheld no human face,
But her stern jailor's brows, and sees herself
Condemn'd anew to a still harder durance,
And that fresh bars are multiplied around her!

Paul. No iron-grate is proof against her wiles.— How do I know these bars are not fil'd through? How that this chamber's floor, these walls so strong