See! thy cabinetIs forced – thy papers – and thy only treasure,
Which with such pains we had secured, the last
Poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments
From France, is in his hands – naught now remains
Of royal state – thou art indeed bereft!
Compose yourself, my Hannah! and believe me,
'Tis not these baubles that can make a queen —
Basely indeed they may behave to us,
But they cannot debase us. I have learned
To use myself to many a change in England;
I can support this too. Sir, you have taken
By force what I this very day designed
To have delivered to you. There's a letter
Amongst these papers for my royal sister
Of England. Pledge me, sir, your word of honor,
To give it to her majesty's own hands,
And not to the deceitful care of Burleigh.
I shall consider what is best to do.
Sir, you shall know its import. In this letter
I beg a favor, a great favor of her, —
That she herself will give me audience, – she
Whom I have never seen. I have been summoned
Before a court of men, whom I can ne'er
Acknowledge as my peers – of men to whom
My heart denies its confidence. The queen
Is of my family, my rank, my sex;
To her alone – a sister, queen, and woman —
Can I unfold my heart.
Too oft, my lady,
Have you intrusted both your fate and honor
To men less worthy your esteem than these.
I, in the letter, beg another favor,
And surely naught but inhumanity
Can here reject my prayer. These many years
Have I, in prison, missed the church's comfort,
The blessings of the sacraments – and she
Who robs me of my freedom and my crown,
Who seeks my very life, can never wish
To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.
Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.
Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid
Of one of my own church – a Catholic priest.
[That is against the published laws of England.
The laws of England are no rule for me.
I am not England's subject; I have ne'er
Consented to its laws, and will not bow
Before their cruel and despotic sway.
If 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor
Which I have borne, to add this new oppression,
I must submit to what your power ordains;
Yet will I raise my voice in loud complaints.]
I also wish a public notary,
And secretaries, to prepare my will —
My sorrows and my prison's wretchedness
Prey on my life – my days, I fear, are numbered —
I feel that I am near the gates of death.
These serious contemplations well become you.
And know I then that some too ready hand
May not abridge this tedious work of sorrow?
I would indite my will and make disposal
Of what belongs to me.
This liberty
May be allowed to you, for England's queen
Will not enrich herself by plundering you.
I have been parted from my faithful women,
And from my servants; tell me, where are they?
What is their fate? I can indeed dispense
At present with their service, but my heart
Will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones
Are not exposed to suffering and to want!
Your servants have been cared for; [and again
You shall behold whate'er is taken from you
And all shall be restored in proper season.]
[Going.
And will you leave my presence thus again,
And not relieve my fearful, anxious heart
From the fell torments of uncertainty?
Thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies,
I am divided from the world; no voice
Can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate
Lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin.
A month of dread suspense is passed already
Since when the forty high commissioners
Surprised me in this castle, and erected,
With most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal;
They forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared,
Without an advocate, from memory,
Before their unexampled court, to answer
Their weighty charges, artfully arranged.
They came like ghosts, – like ghosts they disappeared,
And since that day all mouths are closed to me.
In vain I seek to construe from your looks
Which hath prevailed – my cause's innocence
And my friends' zeal – or my foes' cursed counsel.
Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;
What have I still to fear, and what to hope.
Close your accounts with heaven.
