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Mary Stuart
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Год написания книги
2017
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Is but a moment too. Why! let them drag me
To Tyburn, let them tear me limb from limb,
With red-hot pincers —
[Violently approaching her with extended arms.
If I clasp but thee
Within my arms, thou fervently beloved!
MARY
Madman, avaunt!
MORTIMER
To rest upon this bosom,
To press upon this passion-breathing mouth —
MARY
Leave me, for God's sake, sir; let me go in —
MORTIMER
He is a madman who neglects to clasp
His bliss in folds that never may be loosed,
When Heaven has kindly given it to his arms.
I will deliver you, and though it cost
A thousand lives, I do it; but I swear,
As God's in Heaven I will possess you too!
MARY
Oh! will no God, no angel shelter me?
Dread destiny! thou throwest me, in thy wrath,
From one tremendous terror to the other!
Was I then born to waken naught but frenzy?
Do hate and love conspire alike to fright me!
MORTIMER
Yes, glowing as their hatred is my love;
They would behead thee, they would wound this neck,
So dazzling white, with the disgraceful axe!
Oh! offer to the living god of joy
What thou must sacrifice to bloody hate!
Inspire thy happy lover with those charms
Which are no more thine own. Those golden locks
Are forfeit to the dismal powers of death,
Oh! use them to entwine thy slave forever!
MARY
Alas! alas! what language must I hear!
My woe, my sufferings should be sacred to you,
Although my royal brows are so no more.
MORTIMER
The crown is fallen from thy brows, thou hast
No more of earthly majesty. Make trial,
Raise thy imperial voice, see if a friend,
If a deliverer will rise to save you.
Thy moving form alone remains, the high,
The godlike influence of thy heavenly beauty;
This bids me venture all, this arms my hand
With might, and drives me tow'rd the headsman's axe.
MARY
Oh! who will save me from his raging madness?
MORTIMER
Service that's bold demands a bold reward.
Why shed their blood the daring? Is not life
Life's highest good? And he a madman who
Casts life away? First will I take my rest,
Upon the breast that glows with love's own fire!
[He presses her violently to his bosom.
MARY
Oh, must I call for help against the man
Who would deliver me!
MORTIMER
Thou'rt not unfeeling,
The world ne'er censured thee for frigid rigor;
The fervent prayer of love can touch thy heart.
Thou mad'st the minstrel Rizzio blest, and gavest
Thyself a willing prey to Bothwell's arms.
MARY
Presumptuous man!
MORTIMER
He was indeed thy tyrant,
Thou trembled'st at his rudeness, whilst thou loved'st him;
To Tyburn, let them tear me limb from limb,
With red-hot pincers —
[Violently approaching her with extended arms.
If I clasp but thee
Within my arms, thou fervently beloved!
MARY
Madman, avaunt!
MORTIMER
To rest upon this bosom,
To press upon this passion-breathing mouth —
MARY
Leave me, for God's sake, sir; let me go in —
MORTIMER
He is a madman who neglects to clasp
His bliss in folds that never may be loosed,
When Heaven has kindly given it to his arms.
I will deliver you, and though it cost
A thousand lives, I do it; but I swear,
As God's in Heaven I will possess you too!
MARY
Oh! will no God, no angel shelter me?
Dread destiny! thou throwest me, in thy wrath,
From one tremendous terror to the other!
Was I then born to waken naught but frenzy?
Do hate and love conspire alike to fright me!
MORTIMER
Yes, glowing as their hatred is my love;
They would behead thee, they would wound this neck,
So dazzling white, with the disgraceful axe!
Oh! offer to the living god of joy
What thou must sacrifice to bloody hate!
Inspire thy happy lover with those charms
Which are no more thine own. Those golden locks
Are forfeit to the dismal powers of death,
Oh! use them to entwine thy slave forever!
MARY
Alas! alas! what language must I hear!
My woe, my sufferings should be sacred to you,
Although my royal brows are so no more.
MORTIMER
The crown is fallen from thy brows, thou hast
No more of earthly majesty. Make trial,
Raise thy imperial voice, see if a friend,
If a deliverer will rise to save you.
Thy moving form alone remains, the high,
The godlike influence of thy heavenly beauty;
This bids me venture all, this arms my hand
With might, and drives me tow'rd the headsman's axe.
MARY
Oh! who will save me from his raging madness?
MORTIMER
Service that's bold demands a bold reward.
Why shed their blood the daring? Is not life
Life's highest good? And he a madman who
Casts life away? First will I take my rest,
Upon the breast that glows with love's own fire!
[He presses her violently to his bosom.
MARY
Oh, must I call for help against the man
Who would deliver me!
MORTIMER
Thou'rt not unfeeling,
The world ne'er censured thee for frigid rigor;
The fervent prayer of love can touch thy heart.
Thou mad'st the minstrel Rizzio blest, and gavest
Thyself a willing prey to Bothwell's arms.
MARY
Presumptuous man!
MORTIMER
He was indeed thy tyrant,
Thou trembled'st at his rudeness, whilst thou loved'st him;
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