The Death of the Queen - Act III, Scene III

SCENE III.

The Tower Green

Countess Leicester faces the block upon the scaffold and the masked executioner waiting with his axe. The crowd murmurs in the background, some grousing at the delay.

CL. Woe upon woe has visited me in my dotage, my fair son come to such a place when the bloom still graces his ruddy cheeks.

Could I but twist the hands of time backwards, hold thee a suckle at my breast and wish thee away from this harsh fate. But I am old and thou art a man. Thou art a man, dear child, and I wish it not! Cruel! Cruel! Fortune is an errant knave!

She weeps.

Sir Francis Bacon enters the green and joins the Countess to condole.

CL. Dear Francis, I am overcome. Tarry a while; kindly lend me thy arm. How can I bear this foul day? I durst not, my dear son, God spare him! She whom parts us, doeth a great evil.

FB. To love one's enemies is one of the cunningest points of the law of Christ, and an imitation of the divine nature.

CL. Spare me sermons this frightful day, Francis. I shalt repent my barren rage on the morrow. Oh, that I might die in his stead!

FB. Who then to frail mortality shall trust, dear lady?

CL. The Queen has cast my heart in the hazard. She hates me, calls me thief of her dearest love, Robert Dudley, my goodly husband that was, Earl of Leicester.

FB. I hold his brave memory dear, my lady.

The trumpets sound and Robert Devereux enters the green between two Yeomen Warders. Behind them follows Sir Robert Cecil, the Queen's chief counsel.

Chorus. Treason, the herald cries, the traitor Robert Devereux dies today!

CL. Dear God, I swoon!

Sir Francis catches the countess in his arms.

FB. Countess, you are unwell. Let me escort thee from the green, your son will be distressed to see you so.

CL. Prevent me not!

The trumpets sound againe and a hush falls upon the eager crowd. Sir Robert Cecil steps forward to speak.

RC. Goode my fellow countrymen and ladies. I ask you, what man borne of English woman forsakes his manhood, betrays his honour, stains his father's name and goode memory such as this traitor hath in his revolt capital.

Sir Robert points at Robert Devereux who nevertheless stands straight and true in defiance of the jeers and boos from the crowd and the blood stained block waiting for him.

RC. All such offenders of her Imperial Highness shall be so cut off, stripped o' titles and lands as justly and properly the condemned is cut off this day. He hath forsaken honor in treasonous revolt and the Queen rightly demands his sudden execution.

Robert Devereux, the Queen shew'd you honor, grac'd you with land and income, and you answer'd her beneficence with treachery and bloody murder. Hath the condemned any final confession before God and your fellow countrymen?

RD. I confess that both God and Queen have abandon'd me to dishonour and those dearest to me to penury. Too long have I been slave unto her will, too long my soul on bitter sweets hath fed.

I fear mine eyes are drain'd so dry, though I would, yet now I cannot cry. If any eye therefore can spare a tear to fill the well-spring that no longer wets my cheeks, let that eye to this sad ending draw near.

I see my sins arraign'd before me, I see the charges the judge hath laid at my door. My sin-sick soul, with sorrow woebegone, laments too late a wretch'd deed mis-done.

Let it be quick, mine only plea.

RC. I have no more words; my voice is in this axe.

The crowd cheers as Sir Robert points at the executioner.

RC. Prepare him for execution.

Robert Devereux kneels and rests his head on the block, facing away from his mother's gaze. One of the Yeomen Warders pulls his shirt back to bare his neck. The Countess legs buckle and she collapses on the green. Sir Francis struggles to lift her to her feet as Sir Robert raises a hand to stay the executioner who has already positioned himself to deliver the blow.

CL. My son, my son, my baby boy. Francis they slay my baby! Oh, dear God have mercy on a poor old woman's son!

Sir Robert walks toward Sir Francis and the Countess as Francis finally gets her to her feet again.

FB. Sir Robert, help me escort the Countess from the green, she is too weaken'd by grief to stand.

Turning, the countess sees Sir Robert approaching and in the confusion of her grief believes he is her dead husband, Robert Dudley.

CL. Robert oh Robert you are here at last! Fly to the Queen, she will listen only to thee and stop his execution. Fly my love, I beg of thee.

RC. (Aside to Sir Francis) I cannot delay much longer, the crowd grows restive.

FB. Sir Robert, as you well knoweth, only charity admitteth no excess. Why have thou not embrac'd thy wife?

CL. Robert, why hast thou abandon'd us?

She throws her arms around him and begins to weep on his shoulder. He signals the execution while still in her tight embrace and the executioner raises the axe high and brings it down once, twice, thrice as the crowd roars at the sport.

RC. (Aside) Thy wits diseased, Sir Francis, I am sick when I look on thee!

FB. Hurl your calumnies boldly, something is sure to stick.

As Sir Robert leads the Countess away, the executioner approaches Sir Francis.

E. 'Cuse th' 'nruption me lord, but is the fine gentl'min returnin' againe? 'e promis'd a crown for me purse.

Sir Francis hands him a crown and the executioner bows and departs. Sir Francis watches the Yeomen Warders bear Robert Devereux's body away.

FB. Sir Robert prefers to believe what he prefers to be true. Truly, truly, only charity admitteth no excess, but no charity was practiced here this bloody day.

He exits.