The passing of the Queen

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Elizabeth of England

Prologue

HERE is no action in this final act, No doing of brave deeds ; the hearts are still

That beat as sounding drums when up the hill

We marched to victories. The scene's a tract Of moors all blossomless with lonely ways Mid pitiless storms, whereon the Lord doth will The soul unchastened wander while it fill With hunger for His peace. Yet its sad days Share of the heaven's splendour ; though no bloom Or dance of youth, or tread of soldier’s feet Light its hard fields, its stunted herbs are sweet And to the silent footfalls send perfume As halting age slow creeps unto its goal To find there Christ awaiting for its soul.

t

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Archbishop of Canterbury.

Lord Howard.

Sir Robert Carey.

Sir Robert Cecil.

Sir Harry Compton.

Sir John Spencer.

Sir Walter Ralegh.

Speaker of Commons.

Francis Bacon.

Priest.

Physician.

Player.

Keeper of Hatfield House.

Lieutenant of Tower.

Officer.

Chamberlain.

Usher.

Robin.

Tom Fielding.

Barnard j

Old John, Servant of the Queen. Giles, a Farmer .

Old Man.

Dramatis Personae

Biron.

Queen Elizabeth.

Lady in Waiting.

Wife of^Robin.

Tire-woman.

Dame Fielding.

+ Old Woman.

Child.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court , Officers , Citizens , Soldiers , Servants , etc.

ACT FIRST London Streets

Queen in procession with Cecil by her . Pause in the course .

Elizabeth.

ERE went we, Cecil, in that yesterday To take our crown. Oh, then it seemed so fair,

So jewelled with the memories of deeds And glint of deeds to do ! You mind that day, For then you were beside us, young and brave.

Yet wise for all our needs.

Cecil.

Ah, my dear Queen —

The Passing of the Queen Eliz. Alas ! it was thy sire, — ’t is long ago ! Yet in our ears there rings the shout of joy When they beheld their lass come as their lord ;

It drowned the clamour of all London’s bells, Shook that girl’s heart and filled her with strange fear, —

For love too may be fearful, — sent her on Unto her weary task with heart to toil For all her loving folk. — But now they ’re still And lowering look on us. What doth it mean ?

Cecil. My liege, it is another folk than then, With other solemn joys. ’T is, as you ’ve said. Long time ago. A realm may wax as man Out of its youth to age, — change, yet be true To all its nobler self.

Eliz. We would not have

Our people mourn and old ; we ’ll speak to them.

[To People .] Heed ye, dear folk, we ’re here to see ye glad

As when we went this way to be your Queen. Where are the dancers and the merry songs.

The flowers for our way, the welcoming Of eyes that loved us then?

Blind Old Man. Hail, England’s lass !

I cannot see ye more, and yet I see

The Passing of the Queen 3 That day ye came to save us. Know, dear Queen, The parsons are the matter, — they have preached The life of us away.

Eliz. [aside to Old Man]. Ay, man, , t is true The killjoys have our folk. [To Throng .] Is it for this

The woman God set o’er ye gave her life ?

Think ye it was for bauble of a crown

She spared ye strokes to take them on her soul.

Stayed barren stock and withered to her age ?

Nay, ye mum dolts, it was to make ye glad.

To have her folk the merriest of earth,

Go blithely on from cradle to the grave. —

Out on ye, tombstones of your blessed sires.

Ye lack your living for the fear of death And shame the Lord who sent ye to this land Made for your blessing.

Voice. Give our Essex back

And we will shout again.

Eliz. Ay, would I could.

And we would shout together in our joy And share the shame of it. Ye know right well He went for England’s need.

Blind Old Man \to Throng], Shame on yon knave :

He knows as we our dear lord died for her

But blundered to his death ; — that she ’d glad give

The heart that ’s in her for to win him back.

Eliz. [to Blind Man]. Come hither, man. [ Taking his hand.] Thy hand is hard with toil. Yet thou hast fitting heart to know a king’s.

We thank thee for thy service. [To Peopled] Ay, my folk,

That this man is of ye tells us faith holds Where we have found it in our sorry days. — Farewell, good people ; we ’ll not further go Upon this ancient way unto our crown.

This is a weary woman, childless, old ;

That crown was made of thorns. Farewell, farewell ;

Your Queen would know ye happy.

[Acclaim from old people ; youths silent . Girl. Is that the Queen they tell of, she who went

Fair as the May to crowning? Sure it is Her grandame, not herself.

Blind Man. Go to, thine eyes

Are blinder than mine own. Ay, her dear voice Tells her our England’s lass. It is the same That outsang lark upon that blessed day And gave our hearts the morning.

Eliz. [to Cecil]. ’Tis farewell, Cecil.

Cecil. Dear liege, ’t is hail. Hail to anpther day

Than that ye welcomed then ; yet V is the morn Of a fair day. Ye found this realm a child ;

Ye Ve led it to its strength. It looks no more Upon its toys, but forth to far-off goals.

Whereto ye Ve shown the way.

Eliz. We planted for good harvest ; see ye, here Are fields of sorry tares.

Cecil. Yea, my good liege.

Our earth is wearied by the plenteous store We Ve shorn from it this age, and it must lie In the rude fallow of forgetfulness Ere it again yield corn.

Eliz. Oh my Cecil,

’T is very ill within this house of mine.

The house which is my heart. It cannot stay If so its strength goes hopelessly to doom And leaves my people wearying and old.

It must be mended or I hapless die.

Leaving but ruins for the knaves to wreck Of all we J ve builded on the sands of time.

Help me, good Cecil, that it be set right.

Cecil. Live on, my liege, live on ; each day that sees

Thy sun in our good sky helps ripe the grain

6 The Passing of the Queen Of the brave harvest. Come what will, ’t is sure ; And its good seed shall sow a mighty realm Which none may trample down, the seed of men Who are your children, born of all your pangs, Nursed near your mother’s heart.

Eliz. Ah, counselor,

You sail the blessed sky save when you delve Like grubbing mole in earth. ’T is good to hear Your far-up song; now be with me the mole To delve to our foundations. There’s discontent That turns those stones to sand. What is to do ? Where is our mayor ? Bides he still alone To nurse his sore?

Cecil. Ay, he lives still for that.

Eliz. We would see Harry Compton ; send him here ;

We ’ll find balm for that wound. Bring it about The Commons come to us. Belike they ’ll show This realm as sore as London and Sir John.

We ’ll seek the physic, take the sorry dose With what content we may. — So see it done.

[ Exit .

Cecil. There is again the woman and the King.

End of Scene.

The Passing op the Queen

Chamber of Queen at Whitehall. Elizabeth.

Enter Sir Harry Compton.

Elizabeth. Welcome, Sir Harry, we have sent for thee

On a grave matter of our commonwealth.

How is it in thy house ?

Compton. My liege, that house

Is but a little matter in your realm ;

It is a narrow place.

Eliz. Nay, my good knight.

It hath a roof tree, and beneath it dwell Folk near to us, whose sorrows and whose joys Sum to a kingdom. We would know ye well And happy in your lot.

Compton. Ah, then, my Queen, we ’re sad My dame comes to her time in sorrowing O’er parting with her sire. Of her dear home She has her mother’s grave ; of sometime wealth The scanty needs she patches. Yea, he’s hard: He turned her laden, pleading for her child She would have born within it, from his door And scoffed her as a beggar.

Eliz.

He ’s stiff necked ;

We 'll bend him, crook his knees to set her right.

Or he shall have our throne.

Compton. He 'd scout the Lord

If He should bid him do it.

Eliz. We'll not bid

Nor beg, but take him in a gentle trap Set in himself. Ah, but we know him well In sundry myriads of our realm who make Ruling a torment till we know their shape, — Each one a pudding with scant plums of flint.

The rest all dough. They 'd break a dragon's teeth, But with a little wit we cut them through. Compton. My mistress sets a riddle.

Eliz. Let it stay

Until it reads itself. Bring here the child —

God send it be a lad and not a lass —

With its fair mother for the christening,

For we will be its gossip. Then we 'll see How 't is with Sir John's neck. Farewell, my knight ;

Thy Queen 's half merry with what she will do With Sir Omnipotence of London town.

Compton. And we 'll be merry in the hope you lend ;

Unshaped it still is hope from our dear Queen,

And that is all of promise to our hearts.

End of Scene .

Council Room at Whitehall.

Elizabeth and Cecil.

Elizabeth. How with our Commons ?

Cecil. They send here, my liege.

The best of their estate to bear you thanks For your large purposes.

Eliz. We wish them well

And wish ourself well ridden of this task. —

Ay, there ’s to be a shearing ; diverse rams Who ’ve found fat pastures in our fields shall be Shorn to the hide ; they ’ll know how winter bites. —

We’ll find some wolves when shears have done their work

Upon the monstrous fleeces. Look to one Who set him forth for wool a while ago And now shall hie back shorn.

Cecil. Nay, he is wise

And knows right well his part. The shears will leave

Him faithful servant if they leave his bones.

Eliz. Would he might nip, for there we ’d find him cure.

io The Passing of the Queen

Ah, he is wise, — that ’s sometimes trick of knaves

And then their worst offence.

Enter Usher.

Usher. Your majesty,

A message from your Commons.

Eliz. Bid them here.

Enter Deputation of Commons .

Welcome, our faithful liegemen, say ye bring The good will of our people, so our heart May have its life anew.

Speaker of Commons. Your majesty,

Ye see here seven score of sturdy men Bearing that blessed burthen to your feet ;

They lay it there, yet all is left behind Of our unbounded love.

Eliz. ’T is bravely said;

Ay, royally, to move the heart of king In service of his folk ; yea, with his life.

Who could not be a king for such a crown.

And lift his head, however sore it weighed,

To gaze far o’er his land ? Help us to see Where we may strike or spare to make our own Richer wherein to live, wherein to die,

To grace our cradles or to bless our graves.

Speak from your hearts to ours.

Speaker.

Dear majesty.

The Passing of the Queen ii Upon this tribute of our love we lay Prayer for our lives that we be no more rent By all the ravined wolves that on us come Sheltered by law.

Eliz. Who be those hungry wolves ?

The keeper of this fold hath use for them.

Speaker. They be the host who with your patents armed,

Against your justice and the right of God,

Snatch all the earnings of your folk who toil So that nor land nor seas, though plentiful,

May stay their hunger, give the mother milk To tend her babe, or man the strength to serve When ye shall need his service.

Eliz. ’Sdeath ! ’t is true.

They come to us as lambs, lean, famished lambs. Bleating for pasture, asking way to fields Where they may join our flock. Shame on our eyes.

Old though they be, that saw not how the whelps Were hidden ’neath false hides. Their end is here ; We ’ll strip their fleeces, pluck their teeth, and send The brutes unto their kind.

Speaker. Dear Queen, from knees

Worn in our prayers to God your servants rise Knowing His grace is with them ; rise as men

12 The Passing of the Queen Who long have bent as slaves. They see their throne

In all the ancient splendour that your race.

Our people’s lovers, gave it ; wait your will As folk who in your words have heard the Lord. Eliz. We ’re quick to ask your service for good pay,—

Mayhap the last we ’ll ask, yea, and the best.

Say to my people that I have tried to sway This commonwealth in justice, but there came Harpies and leeches who have sucked its blood. Help me to find them as ye here have helped ;

And think not that these weary, trembling hands Lack strength to smite, for they are now made steel,

Knowing they serve my people. Bear to them Love from their faithful lover ; say that she Doth hasten in the harvest of her years ;

That if ’t is hers to sow afar, she ’ll take This common love for seed-corn of her fields And rear from it what maketh all true realms Of earth or heaven. Farewell. Though ye have brought

A burthen to me, yet ye take away

That which doth light my heart. [Exit Commons .

[To Cecil.] Quick with this task:

The Passing of the Queen 13 We dare not sleep until the shears have done Their twin swords’ work.

Cecil. My liege, this task needs time.

Eliz. Time needs the task, for now my nights are dark

And I must light them with the blessed sun Of a new morning.

Cecil. Oh my liege, grave wrong .

Will come of such swift deed.

Eliz. A little wrong

To spot a mighty right. Be swift with it.

So that they know the stroke but when ’t is done ; It is a host we smite ; ’tis well the blow Come as a thunderbolt to strike them down Together in the pit.

Cecil. This smiteth scores.

Eliz. Each one ten thousand slays whom we must save.

See, there the sun goes down ; this shall be done Before his orb is hid.

Cecil. Nay, send for Puck

And bid him do this service ; I ’m but man,

And know no way unto it.

Eliz. I ’m a king

And know a monarch’s might. [Goes t0 her desk and writes swiftly .] See, here, ’t is done :

14 The Passing of the Queen ‘ All patents are revoked, all gains on way Unto their holders go back whence they came.’ Doth that read plain ?

Cecil. Ay, it is clearly writ.

Eliz. Fair signed ?

Cecil. Fair signed and sealed. It is swift law, But law for that. It is a mighty deed.

Eliz. [looking fortK \ . Go, sun, to rise upon a better day

Than thou hast glowered o’er. — I will to bed And find its pillows soft. [ To Cecil.] Go, send this law —

The Lord’s and mine — swift onward through the dark

So my dear folk may wake and know their Queen Rode with the sun to them. — ’T is wondrous strange

That ever I should welcome night again. [Exit. Cecil [alone]. The heavens send us marvels. Yesterday

My mistress was so old the firm-set earth Could scarce upbear her weary load of years ; To-day she smites like Ajax on hot field,

Knocks down our bravest houses as in play,

And then betakes her happily to bed. —

’T is done, — right nobly done, a faithful deed

The Passing of the Queen 15 That will breed faith afar. What it will send Here in her court we presently must find,

Or meet perchance a tempest unprepared.

Ralegh ’s the key to this ; I ’ll look to him.

He ’s loyal still, though all his soul ’s a gale To speed his argosies. If he stays, we ’re safe ;

If he doth move, she must straight to her folk And set her throne beside some kitchen fire Until her yokels settle this account As in the Tower’s day they set it right. —

I will to him and find what is to do.

End of Scene.

SCENE IV

Chamber of Ralegh.

Ralegh ; afterwards Cecil.

Ralegh [alone ] . This summeth well ; a hundred thousand pounds

From Cornwall’s mines ; from patents on all corn As many more ; with this and that of tolls Paid by our country folk enough to swell The sum beyond our needs. In one year more Our ships may forth a hundred sail to win That empire of the west. Ay, we fare well :

He ’s dead who stood betwixt us and our end :

16 The Passing of the Queen The Queen is in her dotage and will go Unrecking till she dies; and he who comes Is bound by share of ventures to our plan.

‘ So runs the world away/ Yea, ’tis the fool Who lets it run ; the wise man bids the stream Turn his good mills for profit.

Enter Cecil.

Ho, Cecil !

Welcome, good friend, though you bring here a face That tokens some ill news. What is it, man ?

Is Essex’s ghost abroad, or sends Spain here Another fleet for us ?

Cecil. Most like his ghost ;

I had not thought of that. It smells of it And moves in his swift way.

Ralegh. What is it, man.

To check your steadfast heart? A ghost is stuff A breath may blow away.

Cecil. Ay, but a ghost.

Say some philosophers, may come to dwell In living mortal’s frame and shape its deeds To strangest purposes; hold all its clews Of self and memory, but turn the stream Of action to new ends, while the poor thrall Thus counterfeited bideth far away.

Dead mayhap years before. — Can such things be ?

Ralegh. We have the proof of it when Cecil comes.

The ever wise, and plays his friend the fool.

What is this farce ?

Cecil. ’T is a strange tragedy

To shake our hearts.

Ralegh. Her majesty is dead ?

Cecil. Nay, much alive. The yesterday she went

Once more upon the way where as a lass

She crowned her with the joy of England’s folk.

Oh, she was sorrowful and bent and old, —

Yea, like to die for all before her gone;

To-day she is a fury, swift and strong,

A warrior king with sword that swingeth on With never reck of wounds.

Ralegh. ’T is but the flare

Of candle in its socket ; it will pass Quick to the darkness. There is nought to fear From such impotent flamings but the end That comes full soon.

Cecil. Hear me but through and judge

How impotent she is. This noon there came A message from her Commons with a prayer That she ’d annul all patents. Ay, ’t was prayed To move a heart of stone, — a cry for life

1 8 The Passing of the Queen From her beloved people : told they starved So that the mothers could not milk their babes Or men bear arms for her. Then straight she rose, A whirlwind in her rage, and cried to God That she would strip from ye those damning rights Before the set of sun.

Ralegh. This is but dotard rage.

So old kings wear away : they soon forget ;

They are like babes in that.

Cecil. Nay, but ’t is done :

The order *s signed and couriers are sped To bear it through the land. Ye all are stripped Naked as ye were born.

Ralegh. This cannot be,

For thou wert there beside her and thy part Is to scotch folly. That thou knowest well ;

Thou wouldst but vex me here.

Cecil. No man could hold

Against that blast. Remember Tilbury field And her fierce might that raged it. Think you how

We could have sent her to her samplers home ? You judge me jester : read what ’s written here And know it true. [Hands him order .

Ralegh [reads]. This needs swift remedy. Cecil. What is thy cure ?

The Passing of the Queen ig Ralegh. We ’ll halt this folly of her age and set Strength on her throne.

Cecil. Go to your porch and hear

The shout that roars from London for this news : He had the town behind him ; you before.

There ’s in' her Tower block that still is wet With her heart’s blood. She fain would wash it out With that of him who spilled it, for she knows Whence the contriving came. If you but stir The lion ’s at your throat. ’T is famishing For a swift leap.

Ralegh. We will all to the north ;

Scotland is weary of her lingering here.

A month will see us back. So ’t is delay And not defeat we face.

Cecil. Nay, ’t is the end,

For thy first stroke will send to her a flood Of love awakened in her England’s heart To which the tide of Tilbury were a rill.

’T will besom Scotland, sweep thee to the deep ; Nay, try not that.

Ralegh. But she is old and worn,

But a poor ghost of sometime Tudor might;

A day afield would slay her.

Cecil. She a ghost ?

A mighty man is in her and will stay

20 The Passing of the Queen Till this task’s done. And if she falls, her folk Will make swift reckoning.

Ralegh. Thou art our foe,

Seeking to spy our plans ; we put thee there To be our helper. Thou shalt now elsewhere; Thou ’It find our strength : it is enough to break A way barred by a hunchback who’s contrived To slave a dotard Queen. We laid him low Who tried it yesterday.

Cecil. My sometime friend,

I ’m not thy foe, but servant of this realm ;

The Lord hath crooked my body, but has left Wit straight enough to match against a knave.

Go to thy closet, write of true men’s deeds Or scheme for empires. This good realm and folk Are not for thy contriving.

[Ralegh draws sword . At signal from Cecil guards enter .

Nay, not that, —

Put up thy sword and hie back to thy place :

We would have histories and splendid dreams; The world ’s awry when thou dost come to deeds Where men must reckon on their fellow-men. Thou art a hungerer of noble shape With all the man left out.

End of Scene .

Chamber of Elizabeth at Whitehall.

Elizabeth and Cecil.

Elizabeth. That order, — is it forth ?

Cecil. Ay, my liege, ’t is gone

To England’s farthest nook.

Eliz. What say our folk ?

Cecil. Little, my Queen, yet in their straightened backs

They ’re else than yesterday. They draw their breath

And look again away.

Eliz. And they we smote ?

Will they strike back ?

Cecil. Some would, yet now none will ;

They are confounded, for the deed was done As stroke from cloudless sky.

Eliz. So would we strike

Were ’t ours to hurl the bolts ; no thunder vain ; Let end announce the end, have the rogues wake To question their tormentors how they came Unknowing to their fate. ’T is merciful And ever safest. — How is’t with Sir Wat ?

Will he play traitor? He is hardest hit ;

22 The Passing of the Queen For with the clever greed his fancy masks He ’s drawn unto his coffers more than kings E’er racked from this worn realm.

Cecil. He will be wise.

Eliz. Still harping on his wisdom ? He ’s a fool, For with his godlike parts he’s treacherous E’en to his friends.

Cecil. Ay, my Queen, he is wise.

And yet a sorry knave.

Eliz. Ho, thou hast found ?

Cecil. Ay, liege, I ’ve lost a friend and found a knave ;

He’s, as you say, a traitor in his heart,

Not swept to treason by fierce passion’s tide But trained by avarice.

Eliz. No miser he.

But greedy for his visions. He feeds dreams With corn to nourish empires, robs the poor That men unborn may fatten. Watch him well :

Such men are dangerous : their fancy breeds A host of dragons that may sudden forth To waste this earth.

Cecil. He ’ll wait some fairer time

Than this when all your land leans on your heart ; If any stir ’t will be to face a storm

The Passing of the Queen 23 To which the Armada’s gale were summer breeze. So they will bide to watch and to contrive ;

Eliz. So must thou too, that we may lay our hand

On his contriving head. We dare not leave This machinator in our land while \^e Fare to the other.

Cecil. My liege, he ’ll but dream :

He is a poet, with good sense of war,

But lacks the wit to save him in the game He must play now to win. Put him aside ;

He’ll crawl into his closet, shape new schemes Of kingdoms past the sea.

Eliz. Now this is done.

His wounds will smart and heal ; they will not spur To further deeds. The rest are little men; Numbed by their hurts they will forget their swords ;

At worst they’ll clamour. So we shall have peace. Now, good contriver, bring John Spencer here If he be Lazarus with all his sores,

For we needs heal him of the wound we gave, — And after that a messenger to France To say we ask he send an embassy To bear hence word of counsel. Say that we Would welcome Biron if he be the choice,

24 The Passing of the Queen For he would greet us with dear memories Of one we knew together, and we him With some hard lessons that may profit bear.

You know how like they were.

Cecil. Ay, very like.

Eliz. I would not see his brother die as he. Though Biron ’s nought to us save as he ’s like To him we slew.

Cecil. Nay, my Queen.

Eliz. Ay, Cecil,

This kingdom slew him, for it took a realm To bear his might to earth. But from our hands We have to wash his blood as best we may,

For see, it stains them all. Look thou on mine : All I may do till death will leave them stained In purple from his heart. Look on thine own : The headsman’s in his work were not so red.

We slew in justice ; yet the mark is there,

For hate went with the stroke. Bring Biron here He ’s on the fatal way ; he shall it see. —

But first our mayor ; that ’s a nearer quest.

End of Act First .