ELIZABETH (entering from a side door; her gait and action expressive
of the most violent uneasiness).
No message yet arrived! What! no one here!
Will evening never come! Stands the sun still
In its ethereal course? I can no more
Remain upon the rack of expectation!
Is it accomplished? Is it not? I shudder
At both events, and do not dare to ask.
My Lord of Leicester comes not,-Burleigh too,
Whom I appointed to fulfil the sentence.
If they have quitted London then 'tis done,
The bolt has left its rest-it cuts the air-
It strikes; has struck already: were my realm
At stake I could not now arrest its course.
Who's there?
SCENE XII.
Enter a PAGE.
ELIZABETH.
Returned alone? Where are the lords?
PAGE.
My Lord High-Treasurer and the Earl of Leicester?
ELIZABETH.
Where are they?
PAGE.
They are not in London.
ELIZABETH.
No!
Where are they then?
PAGE.
That no one could inform me;
Before the dawn, mysteriously, in haste
They quitted London.
ELIZABETH (exultingly).
I am Queen of England!
[Walking up and down in the greatest agitation.
Go-call me-no, remain, boy! She is dead;
Now have I room upon the earth at last.
Why do I shake? Whence comes this aguish dread?
My fears are covered by the grave; who dares
To say I did it? I have tears enough
In store to weep her fall. Are you still here?
[To the PAGE.
Command my secretary, Davison,
To come to me this instant. Let the Earl
Of Shrewsbury be summoned. Here he comes.
[Exit PAGE.
SCENE XIII.
Enter SHREWSBURY.
ELIZABETH.
Welcome, my noble lord. What tidings; say
It cannot be a trifle which hath led
Your footsteps hither at so late an hour.
SHREWSBURY.
My liege, the doubts that hung upon my heart,
And dutiful concern for your fair fame,
Directed me this morning to the Tower,
Where Mary's secretaries, Nau and Curl,
Are now confined as prisoners, for I wished
Once more to put their evidence to proof.
On my arrival the lieutenant seemed
Embarrassed and perplexed; refused to show me
His prisoners; but my threats obtained admittance.
God! what a sight was there! With frantic looks,
With hair dishevelled, on his pallet lay
The Scot like one tormented by a fury.
The miserable man no sooner saw me
Than at my feet he fell, and there, with screams,
Clasping my knees, and writhing like a worm,
Implored, conjured me to acquaint him with
His sovereign's destiny, for vague reports
Had somehow reached the dungeons of the Tower
That she had been condemned to suffer death.
When I confirmed these tidings, adding, too,
That on his evidence she had been doomed,-
He started wildly up,-caught by the throat
His fellow-prisoner; with the giant strength
