Mary Stuart, a Tragedy

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G. Auld, 1801 - 224 pages
 

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Page 67 - And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate" by his side come hot from hell , Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men , groaning for burial.
Page 123 - My better stars preserv'd me. I was warn'd, And laid not to my breast the pois'nous adder ! Accuse not fate ! your own deceitful heart It was, the wild ambition of your house : As yet no enmities had pass'd between us, When your imperious uncle, the proud priest, Whose shameless hand...
Page 130 - A bastard soils, Profanes the English throne ! The gen'rous Britons Are cheated by a juggler, [whose whole figure Is false and painted, heart as well as face !] If right prevail'd, you now would in the dust Before me lie, for I'm your rightful monarch ! [ELIZABETH hastily quits the stage; the Lords follow her in the greatest consternation.
Page 126 - ... speak at length The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither ; For I will ne'er believe that you are come To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim. Pronounce this word; — say, "Mary, you are free: You have already felt my pow'r, — learn now To honor too my generosity.
Page 121 - ELIZABETH (stepping back}. You are where it becomes you, Lady Stuart ; And thankfully I prize my God's protection, Who hath not suffer'd me to kneel a suppliant Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine MARY (with increasing energy of feeling).
Page 126 - O sister, rule your realm in peace; I give up ev'ry claim to these domains. Alas ! the pinions of my soul are lam'd ; Greatness entices me no more. Your point Is gain'd ; I am but Mary's shadow now — My noble spirit is at last broke down By long captivity. You've done your worst On me; you have...
Page 125 - Who shall prevent me ? Say, did not your uncle Set all the kings of Europe the example, How to conclude a peace with those they hate. Be mine the school of Saint Bartholomew; What 's kindred then to me, or nations
Page 128 - The raging flames of lawless secret lust. Virtue was not your portion from your mother ; Well know we what it was which brought the head Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block.
Page 122 - Fulfil the pious duty of the sister, And grant the boon you wished for of my presence. Yet I, in yielding to the gen'rous feelings Of magnanimity, expose myself To rightful censure, that I stoop so low. For well you know, you would have had me murder'd.
Page 130 - Now I am happy, Hannah ! and, at last, After whole years of sorrow and abasement, One moment of victorious revenge ! A weight falls off my heart, a weight of mountains ; I plung'd the steel in my oppressor's breast ! ŁEN.

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