i 954 
 
 y.C-NRLF 
 
 -4i 
 
TURNER'S AMERICAN STAGS. 
 
 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS: 
 
 AS PERFORMED AT THB 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 
 
 JFvanttp ^jxK l^^mUto 
 
 -^b^o«!^ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 W. TURNER, 2^44, RACE STREET^ 
 
 1*832^ 
 

 DRAMATIS PEKSON^, 
 JPrancii the First, King of France, Mr. J. Mason. 
 
 Laval, ^ rMr. G. Bennett 
 
 Lautrec, I r i xr i.j J Mr. Baker. 
 
 Bonnivet, }■ French Noble.. -^ Mr. Dmuset. 
 
 Varennes, J l^Mr. Sutton. 
 Clement Marot, a Poetj Mr. Abbot, 
 
 Triboulct, the King*s Jester, Mr. Keeley. 
 
 Gonzales, a Monk, Mr. Warde. 
 
 Nobles, Pages, Guards, Heralds, Soldiers, &c. 
 
 JLouisa of 5^vby, th^ Kins^^ Mother. Miss Fanny Kerabl' 
 
 Margaret ctf Viois, her Pufighter, Miss Taylor. 
 
 Fran59ise de Foix, Lauirec*s lister, MissE. Tree, 
 
 ykTise, fcf.»»ittitiw^m, ; * - / . lyiissLee. 
 
 .*-*;/ ''.Ladies of the -Court,. 
 
THE TRAGEDY O^ 
 
 FRANCIS THE FIRST 
 
 Has been pronounced by the London Quarterly 
 Review, one of the most extraordinary works of 
 the present age, and the arrival of Miss Kemblb 
 in the United States, renders its publication pe- 
 culiarly appropriate. 
 
 :fanny kemble. 
 
 The rising hope and promise of the drama — the bud— th* 
 blossom — the half-blown "rose and expectancy" of the the- 
 atrical world — the pledge to the rising generation, that, in their 
 time, at least, Juliet shall not lie buried in the tomb of the 
 Capulets, or Belvidera's sorrows be entrusted entirely to regu- 
 larly broken in, thorough-paced, tragedy hacks. I am well 
 nigh tired of the mechanical woes and shallow agonies of 
 €very-day tragedy — of picturesque and passionless attitudiniz- 
 ing—of storms of grief, according to the stage directions—^ 
 ''cross to R. H. and burst into tears ;" — of violent beating of 
 the cold and insensible breast, and knocking of the clenched 
 hand upon the empty head. I am tired of the mere pantomime 
 of the art, without feeling or common sense — tired of vehemence 
 and impetuosity, instead of passion; and particularly tired of 
 hearing such easy work characterised as the "flashes and out- 
 breakings of genius." To me, gross and habitual exaggeration 
 seems to pei'vade nearly all the tragic exhibitions on the stage ; 
 and if this be so, it is sufficient evidence of the absence of 
 feeling. Genuine feeling never exaggerates. Those wh» 
 are really touched by the parts they assume, may, from that very 
 cause, be so little master of themselves as to fail in giving a fi- 
 nished portrait of the chawicter they have undertaken to repre- 
 sent ; but they never, by any chance, fall into the opposite 
 fault of "o'erstepping the modesty of nature," and becoming 
 more violent than the hero or heorine of the scene would have 
 .eeninrealit,. JJ."^ OQ,| C^.^ 
 
Now, Miss Kemble does not exaggerate. I have watched 
 her closely, and have never, according to my notions of things, 
 seen, either in look, voice, or action, the slightest attempt to im- 
 pose upon the audience by extravagance to extract, as it were, 
 their sympathies by force, and storm them into approvalt She 
 is not yet, in some respects, so "e/Tective" an actress as others 
 of infinitely less ability — that is, she does not so well understand 
 how to produce a sensation by '^points" and "situations." She 
 has yet much to learn and something to unlearn ; but she has 
 that within her which cannot be taught, though, parrot-like, it 
 may be imitated — genuine passion, delicacy and feeling : and 
 all that IS necessary for her to do to become a great actress is, in 
 acquiring the necessary business and technicalties of the stage, 
 to preserve pure andfundefiled those rare qualities. This is no 
 easy task. Acting is an art in which the noblest results have 
 to be effected by the most unromantic means. It is to be hoped 
 that Miss Kemble will become a great actress, and that the 
 artificial educfeition, of which she has yet much to receive, will 
 iiot destroy the natural beauty and freshness of her mind. At 
 present her personations are rather distinguished by feminine 
 sweetness and delicacy and quick and violent transitions of 
 passion, than by sustained force and grandeur ; but there is 
 something occnsionly in the tone of her voice — in her dark 
 expressive eye and fine forehead, that speaks of the future 
 Queen Katherine and wife of Macbeth. Her Juliet, with some 
 faults, is a delightful, affectionate, warm-hearted piece of acting; 
 and she is decidedly the least mawkish and truly loving and 
 loveable Belvidera I have ever seen. The closing scene of 
 madness, where others fail, is her greatest triumph. The tones 
 of her voice, when playfuiiy threatening Jaffi* r, might almost 
 touch the heart of a money-scrivener. She is the only Belvi- 
 dera 1 have beheld play this scene twice. They all contrive to 
 make it either excessively repulsive or ludicrous, and somehow 
 or other manage to bring to the mind a very vivid picture of 
 Tilburina in the Critic ; while their invariably goiuj home in 
 the midst of their distresses, and after a paiLial touch of insanity, 
 to put off their black velvets, and put on their white muslins to 
 go completely mad in, because, as that lady says, "it is a rule,'* 
 by no means tends to do away with tftis unfortunate association 
 of ideas. Miss Kemble is ai present the sole hope of the 
 English public in tragedy. She must not dissappoint them, 
 for, if she does, there is no one else on whom they ca» turn 
 ihcir eyes. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST- 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A COURT OF THE LOUVRE. 
 
 Enter Vend6me and Chabannes, meeting the Duke of Alengon. 
 
 Ven. Good morrow to my lordof Alen9on ! 
 Alen. Good morrow, noble sir. My lord Cha- 
 bannes, 
 You are right welcome back to court again : 
 I pray you, Vend6me, is the King return'd 
 From tennis yet ? 
 
 Ven, My lord, as T pass'd through 
 h e gallery I saw the royal train 
 Dismount, and now the King holds private con- 
 verse 
 With the Queen's confessor : a moment since, 
 I saw them both enter the Queen's apartment, 
 In very earnest and impassion'd talk ; 
 And as I think, the duke de Bourbon's name 
 Full many a time escaped their anxious lips. 
 Cha, The Queen's confessor ! — what ! old Fa- 
 ther Jor6rae? 
 Alen, Oh no ! old Father Jer6me, rest his soul, 
 Is dead. This man (between ourselves I speak it,) 
 o me, seems rather a mysterious minister, 
 And secret instrument, than a confessor. 
 
Veh,' Strange t6 say, he is a Spaniard, 
 And, stranger yet, he hath not been at court 
 But a brief space, which renders his estate 
 (Being so trusted by the Queen) a riddle, 
 Whereat we guess in vain. She is not wont 
 To doff her wariness on slight acquaintance; 
 Yet is this monk for ever with her ; holding 
 In full possession her most secret counsels. 
 
 Cha, To me, my lords, who newly am returned 
 To court, all this seems passing strange indeed ; 
 With greater wonder, though, Vendome, I learn 
 De Bourbon is recall'd from Italy. 
 
 Alen. 'Tis not the absent onl}^ are amazed, 
 You do but share the wonder of the town ; 
 All note the strange event, none know the cause; 
 And we have yet to learn what fault or folly — 
 
 Ven, Your pardon, sir, but 'tis not very like 
 That the young hero, who at Marignan 
 Did deeds of war and wisdom so combine, 
 That nothing short a kingdom could reward 
 His merit, now should fail in either point — ■ 
 
 Alen, This problem, sir. 
 Surpasses my poor wit ; and all I know 
 Is, that the duke is coming home again ; 
 And that an eager expectation runs 
 Before his path, to see how he will bear 
 This sudden mandate, and how be received 
 At court. 
 
 Cha. Look, here comes one in haste : methinks^ 
 That should be my old friend and comrade, 
 Triboulet. 
 
 Enter Triboulet. 
 
 Tri, Gentles, beseech ye leave me passing room< 
 Most worshipful sir, 1 am right glad to see you I 
 Cha, That is a joy reciprocal. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. j 
 
 Good fool^ how hast thou fared, since last we 
 parted ? 
 Tri, Indifferent well, my lord ; I thank ye, 
 very indifferent; but still as well as may be, 
 considering tides and times, and things as they 
 were, and things as they are, and sundry other 
 things — heigh ho ! 
 
 Cha, What I melancholj^ eh ! poor fellow? 
 Iri, Oh ! sir, very melancholy. I should think 
 I was dying in right earnest, an it were not — 
 Alen, That he eats like a pig, and sleeps like 
 
 a dormouse. 
 Tri. Sir, your comparisons are very beastly, 
 and that's the best that can be said of them. 
 Alen, The best is bad, and far from civil then. 
 TrL The farther from civil, the nearer to your 
 
 speech, 
 Cha. There, never anger thee at truth, good 
 fool:— 
 * But tell me where that foul fiend Melancholy 
 Hath driven the damask of thy rosy cheeks ? 
 
 Ven. Marry, it needs no search — into his nose; 
 Which juts from out the mainland of his face. 
 Like some peak'd promontory, on whose verge 
 The beacon light its warning blaze advances. 
 Alen. Well, but what makes thee sad? 
 TrL Een that which makes you glad. 
 Alen, And what is that, sir fool ? 
 Tri. The Lord High Constable's return, sir 
 duke. (D'Alen^on turns on his heel and 
 walks up the stage with Vend6n)e.) 
 Cha. My lord of i^len9on, you have your an- 
 swer; — 
 And why doth that affect thee ? 
 Tri. Why, sir, thus ; 
 
ft FRANCK^THE FIRST. 
 
 The duke de Bourbon is a worthy gentleman, 
 Fine fighter, wise statesman, and great fool — 
 
 Cha, How now, sir Triboulet, a fool ! — a mad ^ 
 who gives 
 His blood — 
 
 Tru To the earth. 
 
 Cha. And his counsel — 
 
 Tri. To the air. 
 
 Cha, For his country — 
 
 TrL No, for that (snaps his fingers;) why how 
 ye stare, is it not so? — And doth not the event 
 prove that he was a fool ? 
 
 Cha, (aside) O wisdom ! thou hast kissed the 
 lips of idiots, 
 And gemm'd the motley with thy precious pearls ! 
 (Alen^on and Vend 6 me appear to he observing 
 some one in the distance — they come foitvard. ) 
 
 Alen, Oh yes, 'tis he! now by this living light> 
 There is no nauseous reptile crawls the earth 
 That I so loathe as this same Bonnivet ! 
 
 Cha. J s that De Bonnivet, that plumed thing ! 
 So sparkling and so brave in his attire. 
 Who treads disdainfully the upholding earth? 
 
 Tri. Oh, that he hath done long on all his up- 
 holders. 
 
 Cha. Is that the brother of King Francis' tutor^ 
 Whom I remember well a page at court? 
 
 Alen. Sir, he is now the King's prime minister. 
 
 Cha. Sir ? — tut — impossible ! 
 
 Tri. He means the Queen's prime minister. 
 
 Ven, VVhy, aye, that's something nearer to 
 the mark. 
 
 Enter De Bonnivet — he hows haughtily to them — 
 they return his salute in the same manner, 
 Tri, {staring in his face) He hath a very bright 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. § 
 
 eye, and a very high brow, and very handsome 
 teeth — ( While he says this, De Bonnivet threaten^ 
 ingly obliges him to retreat step by step until he 
 gets hehind Vendome, ivhen he adds^) — By rea- 
 son of all which no woman need miscarry that 
 looks at him. 
 
 De Bon. (Aiming a blow at Tviboulet with Ms 
 glove) Hold thy fool's tongue ! 
 
 7>i. (Showing himself from behimd A\^w<^ox\) 
 That we may listen to thine? Now, for anght I 
 know, thou may'st be the more learned of the 
 two, seeing thy brother was pedagogue — (De 
 Bonnivet draws his sword, and rushes upon Tri- 
 boulet — Vendome and Chabannes hold him backi 
 D'i^Iengon places himself before Triboulet. 
 
 Ven, For manhood, sir, put up your sword : he 
 knows not what he says. 
 
 Cha, He is a fool ! an idiot ! 
 
 Tri, The King's fool, sir, the King's fool, and 
 no idiot ! 
 
 Bon. King's fool or not, he shall notfool't with 
 me. 
 Or, by the Lord ! I'll make him find his brains. 
 
 Tri. Sir, if you knock them out, I bequeath 
 them to you ; You're poor in such eommoduies. 
 
 Bon. Unhand me ! — 
 
 Enter Margaret de VsAols, followed by Clement. 
 
 3Iar. How now, what coil is here I my l<>rds 
 I thought not 
 To meet foul discord in such company. 
 Gentlemen, if a lady's voice hath power 
 To win your hands from their ungentle purpose, 
 Pray you put up your swords — W hy so, 1 thank ye. 
 
10 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 And now, what may 1 ask, in this assembly 
 Was cause of such affray ? 
 TrL My wit, sweet mistress. 
 Mar. Truly such oiigin doth honor to your 
 
 quarrel. 
 And if whole nations fought for ten long years 
 For no more cause than a light woman's love, 
 We well may pardon, nay approve, four heroes 
 Who fall to figliting on a jester's words. 
 
 Alen, Madam, your words are sharp, and came 
 
 they not 
 From lips, where soft sweet smiles have mad^ 
 
 their home, 
 They would, indeed, be terrible : but now, 
 We even bless reproachful oracles 
 That breathe from such a shrine. 
 
 TrL (aside to kim) Oh, excellent! 
 Where didst thou con that dainty speech, I pray 
 
 thee ? (Alen 9on pushes him angrily away — 
 
 Margaret bows to Vend6me, and extends 
 
 her hand to Chabannes.) 
 Mar, Most worthy sir, you're welcome back 
 
 again 
 To our fair court. 
 
 Cha. Lady, can you rejoice 
 To see grey hairs come bowing in your train ? 
 Doth spring cry welcome to the hoary winter ? 
 
 3Iar. Oh, sir, your winter so hath crowu'd itself 
 With bays and laurels — glorious evergreens, 
 Still smiling in the sunshine of fair fame, 
 That 'tis butlii<e a second, longer spring; 
 Born of the growth of years, destin'd to fiourish 
 As bright and fresh fur ever. 
 But say, Chabannes, 
 AVill not the tournay that my brother holds 
 
TRANCIS THE FIRST. 11 
 
 To day, in honor of the Duke's return, 
 Be favored by your presence ? 
 
 Cha, Gracious Madam, 
 We all intend, as I believe to bethere, 
 I to look on, and^criticise as age ^ 
 
 Ever yf\\\ do, drawing comparisons, ^ 
 
 Twixt thatwhich is, and that which has been once. 
 
 Mar, Envious comparisons! say, are they not? 
 Surely the world alters not every day, 
 That they who play'd their parts but some score 
 
 years 
 Gone by, should cry out, * How the times are al- 
 tered?*— 
 I do appeal to thy philosophy. 
 Say, is it so, Chabannes ? 
 
 Cha, In sober truth, then, in philosophy. 
 Since thus your Grace commands, I do believe 
 That at our feet the tide of time flows on 
 In strong and rapid course; nor is one current 
 Or rippling eddy liker to the rest, 
 Than is one age unto its predecessor: 
 IVIen still are men, the stream is still a stream. 
 Through every change of changeful tide and time; 
 And 'tis, 1 fear, only our partial eye 
 That lends a brighter sunbeam to the wave 
 On which we launched our own adventurous bark. 
 
 Mar. Oh fair confession ! Come thou with me, 
 sir fool, 
 I've business for thee in the banquet hall : 
 You, gentlemen, farewell, until the tournay ; 
 'Till then, all good attend you, and I pray 
 Keep the king's peace, an it be possible, 
 
 [Exeunt Margaret, Clement, and Triboulei 
 on one side — the rest on the other. 
 
\t FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE II.— THE QUEEN MOTHER'S APARTMENT. 
 
 JTie Queen enfcis precipitately. 
 
 Queen. So — I am glad Gonzales is not here; 
 I would not even he should see me thus. — 
 !Now out upon this beating heart, these temples. 
 That throb and bum so. — I must remember me. — 
 Mother of France, and well nigh Queen of it, 
 I'll even bear my love as royally, 
 As 1 have borne my pow'r — the time is near. 
 Oh very near, when he will kneel again 
 Before my feet; — the conqueror to the conquer'd!- 
 I am asham'd of this ill-timed relapse, — 
 This soft unnerving power which thus enthrals 
 me. — 
 
 Enter Gonzales. 
 Thou are right welcome, by my word, Gonzales! 
 "Where be those parchments? 
 Gon. Noble madam, here. 
 Queen, Hast thou drawn out the plan of the 
 
 possessions ? 
 Gon, So please your grace, I have : — Pardon 
 me, madam, 
 I fear you are not well ; your cheek is pale, 
 And your lip quivers — is your highness ill ? 
 Queeii. Hush ! *twa8 a trumpet, was it not? — 
 and now — 
 Surely it is the tramp of horses' hoofs 
 That beat the ground thus hurriedly and loud; — 
 I pray thee, father, throw the casement wide — 
 The air is stifling. (Throws herself into a chair,) 
 
 Gon, I never saw you thus overcome before : 
 You tremhlcy madam. 
 
FRANCIS THE KIB^t. 13 
 
 Queen, (rmng) Do I so» indeed ? 
 I thank thee for that word — it hath revived Jtie : 
 I'm very well — I do not trenable now ; — 
 It hath a wondrous virtue ! Pray thee, father, M 
 What think the people of Bourbon's return ? M 
 
 Gon. Madam, the summer clouds m 
 
 That flit across the heav'ns are not more various, 
 More, strange, and different in shape and colour, 
 Than are th' opinions born from his recall. 
 
 Queen, But thou^— but thou — 
 Accustomed as thou art to thread the mazes 
 Of dark intriguing policy — how think'st thoif,^ 
 Gon, Accustom'd, as your tighness should 
 have said, 
 To read the will and wisdom bf your eyes. 
 And watch, for your commands, each meaning 
 
 look, 
 If I might say it— ^madam — I should think 
 That much indeed lay in this mystery; 
 For your eye speaks strange things. 
 
 Queen, How sayest thou — 
 This hand is passing fair, is't not, Gonzales ? 
 Gon. Madam !^-'tis not for me to estimate 
 The hand that kings have priz'd above their 
 kingdom. 
 Queen, Psha ! fool ! Oh, rather say the hand 
 that held 
 The sovereign rule over their kingdoms. Now, 
 Mark me attentively. This woman's hand. 
 That but this moment trembled with alarm, — 
 This fair frail hand hath firmly held the reins 
 Of this vast empire for full many a year: 
 This hand hath given peace and war to Europe,— « 
 This hand hath plac'd my son upon his throne, — 
 This hand hath held him there, — this hand it \v^a« 
 TV.oic;^»>^ ♦Ko warrant for Bourbon's tecall. 
 
14 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Gon, Amazement! 
 
 Queen, Ay ! this woman's haad, led by a wo- 
 man's heart. 
 Now hear me, thou ; for to thy secrecy 
 I will confide what none, save only thee. 
 Have known — must know. Note well the latter 
 
 word! 
 It is because I love the Duke de Bourbon 
 That 1 have called him from his government. 
 To lift him to the dizziest height of powV 
 This hand can grant, or kingdom can confer. 
 
 Gon. And will you tell him of your love? 
 
 Queen, I will. 
 Nay, answer not, — I have resolved on it, — 
 Thou wouldst but waste thy words, and anger me. 
 I never yet knew friend nor minister 
 But they were ever readier to advise 
 Than act. 
 
 Crow. Now, madam, by the holy mass 
 You shall not find it so. I've not forget 
 My fa^^e and honours where bestowed by you ; 
 And rather take them back, — nay, life itself, — 
 Than taunt me with uitwillingness to serve you. 
 
 Queen, Why,/so ! 1 did but jest. In sooth, 
 Gonzales, 
 I know thou art as good, in a bad way. 
 As any faithful son of the Holy Church 
 Need be. 
 
 Gon, But does the King — 
 
 Queen, Out, bungler ! out ! 
 The King was very dutiful, and well 
 Believ'd what I so strenuously assur'd. 
 I told him that the duke de Bourbon's power 
 Was growing strongly in the Milanese; 
 Urged his return ; and show'd him how, when 
 distant. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 15 
 
 The high ambition of the Bourbon's mind 
 Was far less checked than here, beneath the 
 
 shadow 
 Of the throne, and so he was recalled — 
 [Trumpets without— shouts of "De BourboN ! *' 
 And now he is arriv'd — hark how the trumpets 
 Bray themselves hoarse with sounding welcome 
 
 to him! 
 Oh, could I join my voice to yonder cry. 
 By heav'ns 1 think its tones would rend the welkin 
 With repetition of the hero's name ! [exit, 
 
 Gon. In love with Bourbon ! By this living light 
 My mission here is well nigh bootless, then. 
 Now might I back to Spain, since Charles' objects 
 Are all defeated by this woman's passion, 
 Were there not yet another task, the dearest. 
 The labor that is life — mine own revenge! 
 Lie still, thou thirsty spirit, that within 
 Call'st for the blood that shall allay thy craving I 
 Down, down with thee, until the hour be come 
 When I can fling this monkish treachery by, 
 Rush on my prey, and let my souFs hot flame 
 Liek up his blood, and quench it in his life! 
 Time, and the all-enduring soul, that never 
 Shrinks from the trial, be ray speed ! and nought 
 My hope, my spur, my instrument, my tnd. 
 Save hate — eternal hate — immeasurable hate ! 
 
 [exit. 
 
 SCENE m.—PRINCESS MARGARET'S CHAMBER, 
 Enter Margaret and Triboulet. 
 
 Mar. It is the hour of tournay. Triboulet, 
 Go thou unto the Queen, and tell her grace. 
 
16 FRANCIS THE FIRST; 
 
 That if it please her, 1*11 attend her thither. 
 
 [exit Triboulet. 
 He is returned I he will be there ! and yet 
 Though meeting, after long eventful absence, — • 
 We shall not in our meeting be half blest : 
 A dizzy, whirling throng will be around us. 
 'Mid whose loud jar the still small voice of love^ 
 Whose accents breathe their soft enchantment 
 
 best 
 In whisper'd sighs, or but half-whisper'd words. 
 Will die unheard. Oh that we thus should meet I 
 But, then, there is love's eye to flash his thought 
 Into a language, whose rich eloquence 
 Beggars all voice; our eyes at least may meet, 
 And change, like messengers, the loving freight 
 That either heart sends foith. 
 
 Enter Clement Marot. 
 
 Cle, So t^lease you, madam. 
 The Queen hath bid me say that she will not 
 Grace with her sight the tournament to-day j 
 And as J came from her apartment hither, 
 I met the King, who bade me bear you word 
 He cannot yet unto the lists, but you, 
 And your fair train, had bestride quickly there, 
 And let the tilt commence; he will not tarry. 
 But join ye ere the first three blows are struck. 
 
 [exit Clement. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis well, I will obey. — Tis very strange 
 How much I fear my mother should perceive 
 De Bourbon's love for me — I know not why — 
 1 dare not tell it her, — she is a fearful spirit. 
 And stands so* proudly over all her sex, 
 She surely ne'er hath known what 'tis to love. 
 
 [exit. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRSl'. n 
 
 SCENE 1V.--THE LISTS. 
 Enter Lautrec and Laval meeting, 
 
 Lau, Well met by this good light, Laval ; will 
 not 
 The Queen attend this tournament to day ? 
 
 Lav. No sir, she's closeted with his grim holi- 
 ness. 
 
 Lau. That Spanish monk? 
 
 Lav, The walking mystery. 
 That man, to my mmd, hath a villainous look! 
 I never met his eyes but they were glaring 
 Like some hyaena's, or the devil's own. 
 Once 1 remember that the Queen had sent 
 Me on some mission to this confessor, — 
 By chance, the Princess Margaret, by whose side 
 He stood, let fall a jewel from her finger; 
 Both stoop'd ; and as we bent, our hands encoun- 
 tered — 
 He started back as though a serpent stung him; — 
 By'r Lady, but I would not be the man 
 To wrong that surly monk — is it not strange, 
 That when I gaze on him, it seems as though 
 1 knew him, and had seen him oft before? 
 
 Lau. Nay, in thy dreams it must have been, 
 Laval ; 
 But leave this theme, and tell me what it is 
 Thou would'st with me ? 
 
 Lav. This is no fitting place 
 To speak what I would say at greater length, 
 But love prom pts me (once more) to urge my suit— - 
 My unanswer'd suit. 
 
 Lau, Once more I tell thee, then, 
 My sister shall be thine, I have said it.-~Alen90tti 
 
18 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Enter Alen^on. 
 
 Lav, Thou'st tarried long at tennis^ 
 Alen, Why, the King 
 Still loiter'd on with racket in his hand, 
 And Bonnivet, vaunting their mutual prowess. 
 Lau, 'Tis much pnst noon. 
 — — Alert. He will be here anon, 
 I For as I rode, I pass'd him with his train ; 
 The gathering crowd thronging and clamouring 
 Around him, stunning him with benedictions. 
 And stifling him with love and fumes of garlick ! 
 He, with the air he knows so well to don, 
 With cap in hand, and his thick chesnut hair 
 Fan n'd from his forehead, bowing to his saddle. 
 Smiling and nodding, cursing at them too 
 For hindering his progress — while his eye, 
 His eagle eye, well vers'd in such discernment,^ 
 Kov'd through the crowd ; and ever lighted, where 
 Some pretty ancle, clad in woollen hose, 
 Peep'd from beneath a short round petticoat; 
 Or where some wealthy burgher's buxom dame 
 Deck'd out in all her high-day splendour, stood 
 Shewing her gossips the gold chain^ which lay 
 Cradled upon a bosomj^whiter far 
 Than the pure lawn fliat kerchieft it. 
 Now is not the joust begun? — his Majesty — 
 
 Lau, Nay, it began when first his order reach'd 
 us ; 
 Already haih one combat been decided 
 'Twixt Jouy and De Varennes; wilt thou, Laval, 
 Try fortune in the lists? 
 
 Lav. Oh, not to-day, — 
 Not before her, beneath whose eyes defeat 
 Were worse than death, — no, not to-day. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 10 
 
 Lau. Nay, then, De Varennes shall not loiter 
 there 
 ^Lono^er in proud expectance of a rival, — 
 I will encounter him. Herald ! what ho ! 
 There is my gauntlet — bear to De Varennes 
 A fair defiance ! Bid my page lead round 
 My charger, let your trumpets sound a blast. 
 And raise the escutcheon of our ancient house. 
 
 [Exit into the Lists* 
 (Shouts and acclamations without, and trumpetsA 
 
 Enter Francis, Chabannes, Vend6me, Bonniyety 
 Clement, Marot, Triboulet, and Courtiers. 
 
 Omnes, Long live the King! Long live great 
 Francis ! 
 
 Fran, Now are we heartily ashamed to think 
 That we have robb'd our excellent good people 
 Of any portion of the day's rejoicing ; — 
 We fear weVe somewhat past th' appointed timts 
 
 Tri, An hour or so, not more. 
 
 Fran. Curse on that ceaseless clock thy 
 
 tongue ! 
 
 Tri, It goes right, though, for once. 
 
 Fran, If we have caus'd the joust to be retarded^ 
 Our faithful subjects will forgive th' offence 
 In favour of the cause — their own dear interests 
 Having withheld us in deep council from 
 Their well beloved presence, which to us 
 Is like the sunshine of a summer's day-~ 
 We were detained by weighty matters. 
 
 Tri. Ay, 
 A tennis-ball, was't not ? There, nevar frown^ 
 I'll spare thee — I'll be silent. 
 
 Fran. On with the combats ! 
 3 
 
80 '■ FRANCIS THE HRST. 
 
 €habann^s> 'tis long since such a joust has been 
 Bonour'd by your good presence. 
 
 Cha. True, my liege. 
 But sec ! ihe grates unclose«i — Lautrec is conqueror. 
 [ShovU and trumpets. Fran 90! se de Foix rij«, 
 
 leans fotwtird uiiik every rhark of intense intereit, 
 
 Fran; Be Bonnivet, who is yon lady ? look-**' 
 In front of the Princess's balcony? ** 
 
 Is sh^ not passing fair ? 
 
 Bo7tw. Indeed, my liege, 
 She's very fair. I do not know her, though. 
 (7b i-ay^i) Who is yon lady, leaning forth'; 
 Lavat?' 
 
 iov. C<>unt tautree's sister. ^ . 
 
 Fran, Had a limner's hand .,;.. ^: 
 Traced such a heavenly brow, and snch^ lip, " 
 I wotild have »w^rn the knave had dreamt it aU "^ 
 In some fair vision of some fairer world, ' 
 
 See h6\V she »ta|ids, all-shrined in loveliness; 
 Her white hands clasped ; her clust'ring locks 
 
 i"^- thro\^n back 
 From her high forehead ; and in those bright eyes 
 Tears ! radiant emanations ! drops of light ! 
 That fall from those surpassing orbs as though 
 The starry eyes of heav'n wept silver dew. ^ 
 
 ( To Laval) 1 s yonder lady married, sir ? 
 
 Lav. My liege, i ^ 
 
 Not yet ; but her hand is bound in promise — 
 She is affianced. 
 
 Fran, And to whom? 
 
 Lav. To me, sire. 
 
 /(ran. indeed! (Aside to Bonnivti,) 
 
 Methinks I was too passionate in my^praise»» 1 
 £h ? Bonnivet — andyet how fair she is ! - - 1 
 
 [Trumpet9 and 9h(mi$P 
 
rRANGIS THE FIHST. tl 
 
 Enter h^utxeCf from the List$, 
 
 Bon. The time is wfell.n.igti spept. 
 And yet no stir of arms ia. token yet 
 Of any other knight, whose eaviQU$ prpwesst t 
 Disputes the prize whi^h I^Mtrec else^raayvclaim. 
 
 Fmu. Let hiui not claim it^ though^ f^ri 'tis not 
 his;.,.,..,-.,,...: ,.,.i .. , . > .-.^ 
 And, by this light, shall not be his, while J 
 Can strike one blow forit, r Behold, Cc»int )^utreC| 
 Another, combataflt awaits thee, he^re ! — ■ \ . 
 Another biiJ^ thee. halt -on triumph's tbre^o^l^,. 
 And strive once more for victory^ ;\Vha)ii ho! 
 Uflfwrl our rn^yal standard to the .w.iod, v 
 And let; our flearde lys, that oft have shadi9^'d 
 The blpody.bi^ttle iield, bloom o'er the tournay. 
 
 /,0M. .The Kiiig! I yield! 
 
 j?V««,s.Not j»o, sir, .if you please ;. 
 We'd s^hew that we cao run a lance a& w^llij 
 As any other gentleman : come on ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lautrecawcf /Ac King. 
 
 Fran, How bravely does war's plumed majesty 
 Become him, as he vaults upon his steed ! 
 Hhs^ciismon crest waving upon the air 
 liike Victory's ruddy favours ! on they go- 
 Now quakes the earth beneath their chargers* 
 
 hoofs, ' T : 
 
 That whirl around, taking their Vantage space ; 
 Kow eaqh fierce steed bends on his haunches down , 
 Ready to rush his headlong c()urse; eacii knight 
 Spriiig^ fr<ym his seat, and rising in the istirrups^ 
 Directs his rested lancet on^ oil, they go;* 
 Flashing and thund'ringl Ah! the King's uii« 
 
 hbrsedy '^ '^ ^ 
 
 lShout9 within ike lAati'-^^Long live the MingT 
 
n FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Enter Bonnivet aiid others. 
 
 Bon, Madam, your loyal fears outran your eyes t 
 Count Lautrec fell, but he received no hurt; 
 The Kin^f is conqu( ror ! 
 
 Tri. Ay, so 1 thought; 
 Fortune's a true courtier. 
 
 C/e. Now out on thee, ummannerly — 
 
 Iri, I meant to say courtiers are — 
 
 Lav, How now, jackanapes? 
 
 Tri, Well, well, what I meant to say' is, that 
 I never yet saw King worsted in fight. 
 
 JBon. Surely not because — 
 
 Tri. Umph ! because broken pates are better 
 than broken fortunes, and ye know it full well ! 
 
 [Enter Francis, joUowed by Lautrec, Heralds^ 
 PageUp and Esquires i Margaret, Fran9oise, and 
 Ladies, descend and advance; the King kneels to 
 Margaret, who throvjs a gold chain round his neck. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 ^^.^ 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.- AN APARTMENT OF THE PRINCESS 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Enter De "Bowihovi, followed by Margaret. 
 
 Bour. A plague upon their tournaments, I say. 
 
 JUar. Nay then, De Bourbon, by my woman's 
 word 
 This must not be ; oh, say it sh;\Il not be ! 
 8ay thou wilt rein this hot, impatient mood. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST, 18 
 
 For thy own sake no, for mine, form in e, I 
 
 meant : 
 i\re we not twined together in our love? 
 What wonder then, it speaking of myself, 
 Thy name was on my lips? — for my sake, Bourbon! 
 
 Bour. If thou wilt bid me journey to the moon 
 Upon a moth's wing, or wilt send me forth, 
 Belted and spurred, to fight some score of 
 
 devils, — 
 Or worse, wilt bid me with some twenty men 
 Turn out Colonna from the Milanese, 
 Say so ; and by this light I'll do it too ! 
 But to submit to this, — to bear all this,— 
 To let a woman tear my laurels off, — 
 And trample them, — Hell ! when I think on it I 
 Pshaw ! never fix those dangerous eyes on me 
 And clasp thy hands — I say — 
 
 3Jar, She is my mother ! 
 
 Bour, I'faith I've often doubted of that truth; 
 Thou art not like her, for the which thank heaven I 
 
 Mar. I can be like her though, my lord, in this; 
 Not to endure the license of your tongue. 
 If headlong passion urge you, sir, beyond 
 The bounds of prudence, look that you control it, 
 Nor vent bold thoughts in bolder words to me; 
 Else you may chance to find — 
 
 Bour, She is thy mother ; 
 Nay, smooth that brow, thou art too like the 
 
 Queen ; 
 And in those soft blue eyes, whose orbs reflect 
 Heaven's light with heaven's own purity, let not 
 The stormy gleam of anger e'er flash forth ! 
 I had thought, Margaret, that love forgot 
 All ranks and all distinctions? 
 
 Mar. Ay, so it doth— 
 
14 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 All ties, the world , its wealth, its fame, or fortune, 
 Can entwine ; but never those ot nature. 
 So mine can give up all, save the first bond 
 My heart e'er knew, — ilie love ot those who ^ave 
 Lite, and the power to love; — those early links 
 Lie wreathed like close-knit fibres round my heart, 
 Never to sever thence till my heart break. 
 
 hour. Lo at thy feet I sue tor pardon, sweet I 
 By thine own purity, thou virgm lily ! 
 Thou flower of fiance 1 forgive the word that 
 
 broke 
 Too hastily k^im my rash lips; which, thus. 
 Having offended, will do penance now 
 Upon this marble shiine, my h.dy love. 
 
 [kisses her hand. 
 
 Mar. A goodly penitent! Nay, never kneel, 
 And look so pililul, — there, ! forgive thee. 
 But, Bourbon, by the taith ot our sworn love, 
 1 di» implore thee to bear with my mother. 
 
 Bout. Pshaw ! — 
 
 Mar. Why look now, there's your brow dark 
 and contracted; — 
 I see the pas^sion flashing in your eyes; 
 You will /to/ think of me, and bear with her? 
 
 Bour. It' I could think ot thee, and not see her — 
 
 Or think of thee, and not hear her, why, then 
 
 Well, patience, and kind thoughts of thee befriend 
 
 me! 
 And I will do my best to second them. 
 
 Mar, Go you to meet my mother now? 
 
 Bour. This hour 
 Love stole from duty to bestow on thee; 
 And now 1 must attend upon the Queen* 
 
 Mar, See you observe my lessou* 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. ^ 
 
 hour. Fear me not ; 
 Oh ! I'll be wonderfully calm and patient. 
 
 3Jar. (aside.) Meth inks I'll try thee, (aloud.) 
 — How it she should ask 
 Some question of your late left government? 
 I see you're very calm already! Bow 
 If she should spenk of a fit successor'' 
 Mo^t patient ! Lautrec now, or B(>nnivet ? 
 
 Bour. Confusion light upon thee ! iionnivet ? 
 And Lautrec? beardless boys! whose maiden 
 
 swords 
 Pave not yet blush'd with one red drop of blood ; 
 V^ hose only march hath been a midnight measure. 
 Whose only field hatir been a midnigl»t masque ; 
 Is it for these, and their advancement, I 
 Have watch'd, have toil'd, have fought, have bled, 
 
 have conquer'd ; 
 Rush'd over fields, strewed w^ith the dead and 
 
 dyirjg; 
 Swam streams that ran all curdled with the blood 
 Of friend and foe ; stood in the bristling breach, 
 And in ihe hour of death and desolation 
 Won never fading victories for France? 
 8hall the Queen's minions — by this living light — 
 
 31ar. Oh, patient gentleman ! how calm he is ! 
 Now in those flnming eyes, and scornful lips, 
 I read how well my lesson profits thee. 
 Thou shdlt not to the Queen in this hot mood. 
 
 Bour. I faith i must; the storm is over now; 
 And having burst, why, I shall he the calmer, 
 larewell, sweet monitress! I'll not forget. 
 
 Mar. Oh, but I fear— 
 
 Bour, lear nut — she is thy mother ! 
 
 [Exeuut severally. 
 
2« FRANCIS THE FIKST. 
 
 I • 
 
 SCENE 1I.~THE QUEEN MOTHER'S APARTMENT, 
 The Queen discovered writing. Enter Gonzales* 
 
 GoHc So please your highness, the Duke de 
 -Bourbon 
 Attends your grace. 
 
 Queen, Give him admittance straig:ht. 
 
 [exit Gonzales. 
 !Now then to try the mettle of his sou!, 
 And tempt him with the glitter of a crown. 
 
 Enter Bourbon. 
 
 Bour. Madam, 1 humbly kiss your highness'^ 
 
 hands. 
 Queen. I thank you, sir; and though last night's 
 blithe close 
 Was hardly rest to one o'ermarched before, 
 I trust you are recover'd fiom the weariness 
 Of your long journey. 
 
 Bour. I thank your grace, but owing to the 
 speed 
 Enjoin'd by those who penn'd my — my recall — 
 IMy journey was a short one. 
 
 Queen, Did ye not rest at Chantelle ? 
 hour. Ay, good madam. 
 Queen, Short as ^ou hold your march, my lord, 
 and lightly 
 As you think fit to speak of it, I trow 
 It was swil't riding to reach Paris yesterday. 
 Bour, To me both time and road seem short, 
 indeed. 
 From a proud kingdom back to a poor dukedom — ^ 
 Queen, My lord, there is much bitterness in 
 that ! 
 
.£_ FRANCIS THE FIRST. 27 
 
 Bour. Bitterness ! Madam — oh, T do not doubt | 
 There were high, weijihty reasons warranted 
 JViy being thus recalled Irom Italy ; 
 And those same weighty reasons will, no doubt. 
 Point out a fit successor to me also. 
 
 Quee^i, There is much bitterness in that, my 
 lord — 
 Your mind is apt to start at fancied wrongs. 
 And makes a shadow where no substance is 
 
 Bovr. Your gtace will pardon n»e; but hitherto 
 We have not seen such payment given to service; 
 Can government be wrested tVom a man 
 Unheard, — nay, unaccused, without a cause? 
 
 Qufien, No, sir, they cannot — but might not 
 the cause 
 Have been your future profit and advancement. 
 Instead of your disgrace? 
 
 Bovr, Oh ! we all know 
 The governmnntof our Italian States 
 Must henceforth be a post for beardless soldiers. 
 Lacking wit wherewith to win their honors. 
 Or courtiers lacking valor to deserve them. 
 
 Queen, 1 see the bent and mark of this discourse; 
 And though, be v/ell assured, no other man 
 "Who breathes had thus far ventured in hisspeech,- 
 Your daring I have borne with patiently. 
 
 Bour, Home with me! Borne with me for- 
 sooth ! — 
 
 Queen f Ay, sir. 
 Borne with you: further still; for in that sorrow 
 Hath fallen on your mind too bitterly. 
 And well nigh chang'd its bright and polished 
 
 metal 
 With its corrosive touch,— *IVe pitied you. 
 
aa FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Bour. Wrong'd ! borne with ! pitied ! By our 
 Lady, madam — 
 This is too much. 
 
 Queen. Oh, sir, the King's advisers — 
 
 Bour, The King should hearken less to false 
 advice, 
 And more to honest service, madam. 
 
 Queen, (aside.) Ha ! 
 Now is the bridle thrown upon the steed. 
 (Aloud.) I pass you that, my lord, you are too 
 
 hot— 
 And now that I have curb'd all proud respects 
 In kind indulgence of your hasty spleen. 
 Hear me : what if (I will repeat the question,) 
 Your quick preferment, and increase of glory 
 Had been alone consulted ? 
 
 Bour. How so, madam ? 
 
 Queen. Ever too rash in your belief, my lord, 
 You run before the truth — you've followers, 
 Eager and zealous partisans you have ; 
 Think you it is impossible some friend 
 Shall haply have contriv'd this prompt recall. 
 To bring you nearer to a court, where you 
 May find paths unexplor'd as yet, in which ^ 
 Ambition might discover such a prize. 
 As were worth winning ? 
 
 Bour. I would have you know 
 De Bourbon storms, and does not steal his hon- 
 ours. 
 And though your highness thinks 1 am ambitious, 
 (And rightly thinks) 1 am not so ambitious 
 Ever to beg rewards that I can win, — 
 No man shall call me debtor to his tongue. 
 
 Queen, (rising.) 'Tis proudly spoken ; nobly 
 too— but what, 
 
TRANCIS THE FIRST. 1& 
 
 What if a woman's hand were to bestow 
 Upon the Duke de Bourbon such high honors, 
 To raise him to such state, that grasping man. 
 E'en in his wildest thoughts of mad ambition, 
 !N e'er dreamt of a more glorious pinnacle? 
 
 Bour I'd kiss the lady's hand an she were fair, 
 But if this world filled up the universe, — 
 If it could g tther all the light that lives 
 In every other star, or sun, or world ; 
 If kings could be my subjects, and that E 
 Could call such pow'r and such a world my own, 
 I would not take it from a woman's hand. 
 Fame is my mistress, madam, and my sword 
 The only friend 1 ev»r wooed her with. 
 I hate ail honors smelling of the distaff, 
 And by this light, would as liet wear a sphidle 
 Hung round n»y neck, as thank a lady's hand 
 For any favor greater than a kiss — 
 
 Queen, And how, if such a woman loved you, 
 — how 
 If, while shecrown'd your proud ambition, she 
 Could crown her own ungovernable passion, 
 And felt that all this earth possess'd, and she 
 Could give, were all too little for your love? 
 Oh good my lord ! there may be such a woman. 
 
 Bour. (aside.) Amazement! can she mean 
 sweet Margaret? 
 (Aloud.) Speak, [he falls at the Queen^s feet. 
 Madam, in pity speak but one word more, — 
 Who is that woman? 
 
 Queen, {throwing off her veil) I am that wo- 
 man ! 
 
 Bour. (starting up.) You ? by the holy mass ! 
 I scorn your proffers ;— - 
 Is there no crimson blush to tell of fame 
 
30 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 And shrinking: womanhood ! Oh shame ! shame \ 
 shame ! 
 [The Queen remains clasping her hands to her 
 temples, while De I'jourbon walks hastily up and 
 down ; after a long pause, the Queen speaks. 
 Queen. What ho! Marlon! St Evreux ! 
 Enter Two Gentlemen. 
 
 You may retire. 
 Bour. Contusion! 
 Queen, A re we obeyed ? 
 
 Bour. (aside.) Oh Margaret ! for thee ! for thy 
 dear sake ! 
 
 [rushes out, followed by the Gentlemen — the 
 Queen sinks into a chair. 
 Queen. Ret'us'd and scorn'd ! Infamy! — the 
 word chokt^s me ! 
 Proud noble, 1 will weave thee such a web, — 
 1 will so spoil and trample on thy pride ! 
 Love having fail'd, we'll try the best expedient' 
 That ofters next — revenue ! — Oh sweet revenge ! 
 Thou art my only hope, my only dower, 
 And 1 will n)ake thee worthy of a Queen. 
 "What, shall we wring this haughty soul a little? 
 Tame this proud spirit, curb lh:s untramed char- 
 ger ? 
 We will not weigh too heavily, nor grind 
 Too hard, but. havirig bow'd him to the earth, 
 Leave the pursuit to others — carrion birds ; 
 W ho stoop, but not until the falcon's gorged 
 Upon the prey he leaves to their base talons. 
 
 [exit. 
 
PRANCTS THE FIHST. ^ 81 
 
 SCENE III.— AN ANTEROOM IN THE PALACE. 
 Elder, at opposite sides, the King and Clement. 
 
 Fran. The very man I seek, — well met, Cle- 
 ment, 
 I, have a boon to ask of thee. 
 
 Cle. My liege, 
 Speak but your will, it is my law. 
 
 Fran. I thank thee. ' 
 
 But first answer me this — didst thou not mark, 
 This morning at the tournament, a lady 
 Who sat beside my sister ? 
 
 Cle. That did all 
 Who where there— ^'twas the young Countess de 
 
 Foix, 
 Lautrec's fair sister. 
 
 Fran. Ay, the very same; 
 Dost know her, good Clement? 
 
 Cle My liege, I do; 
 And e'en will say, that her surpassing beauty 
 Surpasseth not her wit, which is, indeed. 
 So perfect, an<i withall so gentle, too. 
 That her fair form is but a priceless casket. 
 Wherein lie precious trieasures. 
 
 Fran. JBy my fay. 
 The lady's praise falls freely from thy tongue. 
 Indeed, Clement ! Methinks she must be perfect, 
 Else art thou very mad ! 
 
 Cle. My gracious liege ! 
 
 Fran. Come, come, 8ieur Clement, thou dost 
 love the lady ! 
 
 Cle, All sainU defend me from it ! as I see 
 Your grace would hold such love insanity. 
 
 Fran, Hast known her long ? 
 
 Cle, Ay, long enough, my lord, 
 
as ylANCIS THE FIRST, 
 
 To have o'ercome that sudden love which springs 
 To life from the first glance of beauteous eyes.j 
 
 Frau- Do thou mine errand then, and bear to 
 her 
 Thi.-* letter and this ring ; but see thou name not 
 Whence they are sent; be silent, and be swift. 
 And to my chamber bring me her leply. — 
 How, now ! I thought thee gone ; why dost thou 
 
 stop. 
 And turn yon letter •'♦r and o'er, and look 
 So sad and doubting ? 
 
 Cle. May it please your grace, 
 I had a sister once — my thoughts were of 
 This Lady's brother. 
 
 Fran. Wtll, sir ! what of him ? 
 
 Cle, I pray you, pardon me, my noble lord » 
 But if— 
 
 Fran. I will arrest the treason hanging 
 Upon thy lip ; for, by my knightly word, 
 Yon scroll is such as any gentleman 
 Might bear to any lady. 
 
 Cle, For that word 
 I thank your majesty with all my heart, — 
 I'll bear your message trustily. 
 
 Fran. And quickly ; 
 And meet me in my chamber with thine answer. 
 Good speed — farewell ! — be swift. I wait for thee. 
 
 [Exeunt setter ally. 
 
 SCENE IV.— COUNCIL CHAMBER. 
 
 Under a Canopy is placed the throne : seats are 
 
 placed on both sides of a long table. 
 
 Enter the Queen -Mother. 
 Q^een. What, daz^zled and ensnar'd, ere the 
 black eye9 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 83 ' 
 
 Tbatblincled can have flasli'd three glances on him! 
 The last that should have won bis yielding heart, 
 
 too 1 
 She hath a brother, young and proud, — ambitious, 
 Or else be comes not'ot the haughty stock 
 Whose name he bears. Ambiiifcus! ay, and if 
 This black eyed girl have the De Foix' lii^li blood 
 "Within her veins, she'd t'orward bis anibition. 
 1 fear this p:ovetnment of Italy 
 I\'o h)nger lies^i my disposal now. 
 I would that blindness had put out the beauty 
 That lies in ev6ry woman's eyes ! I would 
 A foul deformity alone had been 
 The portion of all women, ere this thing 
 Had come to pass ? — Beset on ev'ry side, — 
 HemmVI in, — and forced to guard — e'en more 
 
 than life — 
 My pow'r; and let revenge meantime go sleep: 
 No matter! in the storm the pilot's skill 
 Shows best — The king approaches to the council. 
 IFlourish oj trumpets. 
 
 Enter the King and all the Court, Alen9on , 
 Bonnivet, Vend6me, Chabannes, Lautrec, 
 Laval, 4*c. 
 
 Fran, The Duke de Bourbon's absence we 
 might deem 
 Strange and uncourteous ; but we'll rather hope 
 That some event of unforeseen importance 
 Hath stood between his duty and ourselves: 
 1 ime wears — 
 
 [The Kiu^ leads his Mother to the throne — the 
 ^ohles place themselces according to their i auk. 
 On to the buisness of the day. 
 
 Queen, Sire, will it not seem also strange in us. 
 
84 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 And all uncourteous, if we should discuss 
 This matter, ere the first prince of the blood 
 Be here to give his voice in this decision ? 
 
 Enter Bourbon. 
 Said I not so ? We know my lord of Bourbon 
 Is ever at the^post where duiy points. 
 
 [^^omhow seat 9 himself . 
 
 Fran. Cousin of Bourbon, you are welcome 
 here, 
 
 Bour. I thank your majesty who bids me so. 
 And crave the assembly's pardon : on my way 
 A man withheld me, unio whom I owed 
 Some gratitude. 
 
 Q,ueen, Shall we not to the point? 
 
 Fran. Ay, marry; thus, then, noble lords, it 
 is :— 
 But now a messenger from Italy 
 Hath reached our court, with tidings from Milan,-— 
 Prosper Colonna is in arms again ; 
 And Charles of Spain has sent his swarthy bands 
 To i*avage our fair tributary states : 
 VVe lack ^ome trusty arm to wield our brand 
 In the defence of Italy. Already, 
 Two have been named to us — De Bonnivet, 
 An<l Lautrec- 
 
 Clueen {aside to Bour.) Bourbon, you look 
 wondrous pale; 
 1 fpar me you are ill. 
 
 Bour. (aaide) Uh gracious madam ! 
 Fear's pallid tint must live within your eye. 
 And lend whatever yoM look on its own hue. 
 
 Fran Stand forth, Count Lautrec ; for De Bon« 
 nivet, 
 Methinks, his youth may follow yet the wars 
 Before he lead them on ; how says our mother ? 
 
FEANCIS THE FIRST, 3S ^ 
 
 Queen. How should she say when that the 
 royal choice 
 Lights on such valour? how but well ? hut you. 
 My lord of Bourbon, we would have your voice; 
 Does silence, disapproving, seal your lips? 
 Or takes your wisdom no exception here? 
 
 Bour. None, iMadam ; and the only wish I have 
 Is, that you ever had been served in Italy, 
 As I foresee Count Lautrec's arm will serve you. 
 
 Lau, My liege! beseech you, hold; and you, 
 my lords!— 
 The honor now conferred srts blushingly 
 On my unworthy brow; oh! not on me 
 Bestow a prize, which years of bloody setvice, ^ 
 And hairs bleach'd in your camps, alone should" 
 wear. ' 
 
 Fran, Now, by my fay, Lautrec, thy speech but 
 
 shows > ' r 
 
 As brave and gallant soldier's speech should show 
 Shrinking from praise and guerdon duly won: 
 With our own royal hand we'll buckle on 
 The sword, that in thy grasp must be the bulwark 
 And loadstar of our host. Approach! * 
 
 Queen, Not so: 
 Your pardon, sir ; but it hath ever been 
 The pride and privilege of woman's hand - 
 To arm the valor that she loves so well ; 
 "V^e would not, for our crown's best jewel, bate 
 One jot of our accustomed state to-day ; 
 Count Lautrec, we will arm thee; at our feet. 
 Take thou the brand which wins thy country's 
 
 wars, — . * 
 
 Thy monarch's trust, and thy fair lady's favor. 
 Why, how nowl-^how is this!— *my lord of 
 
 Boufbon! . . .. .1; .;: ,r. 
 
Stf FRANCIS THE FIRST- 
 
 If we mistake not, thaf/s the sword of office 
 Which graces still your baldiick; with your leave. 
 We'll borrow it of you. 
 
 Bot/r. (starting vp.) Ay, 'tis the sword 
 You buckled on with your own hand, the day 
 You sent nie forth to conquer in >our cause ; 
 And there it is! — (breaks the sword) — take it! 
 
 and with it, all 
 Th' allf'^iance that I owe to France ; ay! take it ; 
 And with it, take the hope 1 breathe o'er it; 
 That so, betore Colonna's host, your arms 
 LiecrushVl and sullied with dishonor's stain; 
 So reft asunder by contending factions. 
 Be your Italian provinces; so torn 
 By di-cord and dissension this vast empire ; 
 So broken and disjoin'd your subjects' loves; 
 So fallen your son's ambition, and your pride ! 
 
 Queen, {rtmcj) Whai:ho ! a guard within there ! 
 Chailes of Bourbon, 
 I do arrest thee, traitor to the crown ! 
 
 Enter Guards, 
 
 Away with yonder widemouth'd thunderer ! 
 
 [Bourbon is forced out. 
 Dream ye, my lords ! that thus with open ears. 
 And gaping mouths and eyes, ye sit and drink 
 This curbless torrent of rebellious madness ! 
 And you, sir, — aieyou slumbering on your throne! 
 Oi has all majesty fled from the earth. 
 That women must start up, and in your council 
 Speak, think, and act for ye; and, lest your vassals, 
 The very dirt betieath your feet, rise up 
 And cast ye off, must women, too, defend ye? 
 For shame, my lords ! all, all of ye, for shame ! — 
 Off, off with sword and sceptre, for there is 
 
JrRAtCCIS THE tiRSf* « 
 
 No loyalty in subjects ; and in kings, 
 No king-like terror to enforce their rights, 
 
 Fran. Our mother speaks warmly in the causey 
 And we must own we hold in somewhat shame^ 
 Thnt we tnrestaird her not in her just wrath. 
 Nowuntotheeonceraore we turn, Count Lautrec^-* 
 To morrow's sun must find you on your march; 
 Well speed ye all ! and victory be with you ! 
 Farewell ; be faithful, and heav*n send ye back 
 With no more danger than may serve to be 
 The plea for praise and honourable guerdon. 
 Mother, thy hand ! we'd speak awhile with thee* 
 \Exeunt all but Lautrec and Laval* 
 
 Lau, I cry thy mercy, friend ! but I'm so maa'd^ 
 So thunderstruck, so lost in wonderment! 
 Bourbon arrested ! Bourbon prisoner I 
 And, by the Queen ! 
 
 Lav. 'Twill be long ere I forget / 
 That woman's look, and voice. 
 
 Lau. Come, come, Laval, 
 Let us shake off this dream that haunts us tlius^ 
 The Queen's a woman, who, upon emergency. 
 Can don the devil,— which of them cannot? 
 'TIS time we think of our departure;— -hark! 
 Footsteps !— - 
 
 Lav, Ay, light, though hurried — 'tis thy sister—- 
 
 Enter Fran9oise. 
 Lady, you're welcome as the joyous sUri, 
 And gentle summer airs, which, after storms. 
 Come wafting alt the sweets of fallen blossoms 
 Through the thick foliage ; whose green armft 
 
 shake off. 
 In gratitude, their showers of diamond drops^ 
 And boW to the reviving freshness. 
 
^ FEANCIS THE FmST. 
 
 Fran. Oh, my dear brother, have I found thee 
 here "> 
 Here will I lock my arms, and rest forever. 
 
 Lau, My dearest love! what means this pas- 
 . sionate g^rief ? 
 These straining arms and jjiishino: tears? for shame! 
 Look up and smile ; for honour crowns our house. 
 Dost know that T am governor of Milan ? 
 
 Franc, 1 hey told me so ; but oh ! they told me, 
 too. 
 That ere to ni<rht thou wilt go hence ; — is't so ? 
 Dost thou, indfeed, forsake me ? 
 
 Lau. Maiden, no; 
 'J'is true we march for Italy to-nieht ; 
 Tis true that this embrace must be the last 
 Por many a day. But, for forsaking thee ! 
 I leave thee with the Princess Margaret ; 
 I leave thee here at court — nay, silly girl — 
 
 Xau.' Oh, peace ! 
 Cans.t thou, with sharp reproving words, wound 
 
 one 
 Who gems the lustre of thy new made honours 
 With such rare drops of love I 
 
 Lau. My gentle sister ? 
 
 Franc. Oh, Lautrec ! blame me not; we twaia 
 have been 
 E'en from our birth together and alone ; 
 Two healthful scions, of a goodly stock. 
 Whose other shoots have withered all— weVe 
 
 grown 
 Still side by side ; I like some fragile aspen ; 
 And thou a sturdy oak, 'neath whose broad shelter 
 1 rear'd my head, then frown not, that the wind 
 Doth weigh the trembling aspen to the earthy 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. $» 
 
 While tlie stout oak scarce owns the powerless 
 breeze. 
 
 Lau, Oh churl ! to say one unkind word to thee; 
 Come, dearest, come; unlock thy hands; — Laval, 
 Take her, in pity, from my arms, for sense 
 Is well nigh drown'd in sorrow ! 
 
 Franc. Yet one word; 
 I do beseech thee, leave me not at court; 
 But let me back to our old castle walls- 
 Let me not stay at court. 
 
 Lau* Even a^ thou wilt; 
 E'en asitseemelh lo thee most fitting. 
 Once more, farewell ! Laval, thou'lt follow ? [ex^ 
 
 Lav. Ay. 
 But ere 1 go, perchance for ever, lady. 
 Unto the land, whose dismal tales of battles, 
 Where thousands strevvd the earth, have christ* 
 
 en'd it 
 The Frenchman's grave, Td speak of such a thetne 
 As chimes with ihis sad hour, more fitly than 
 Is name gives promist* there's a love, which horn 
 In early days, lives qn through silent years, 
 Is or ever shines, but in the hour of sorrow, 
 When it shows brightest; like the trembling light 
 Ol a pale sunbeam, bieaking o'er the face 
 Of I he wild waters in their liour of warfare. 
 Thus much forgive ! and tiust, in such au hour 
 1 had not snid e'en this, but tor the hope 
 Tl«at, \^ hen the voice of victory is heard 
 hroui the far Tuscan vallies, in its swelj 
 Should inonriitul dnges mingle tor th« dead 
 Ami L be one ot ihose who meat rest. 
 You may thance recollect tias word, and say. 
 That day, upon the bloody field, there fell 
 One who had loved ihee iong*, and lov'd thee well I 
 
40 FRANCIS THE PIRST. 
 
 Franc. Beseech you speak not thus : we sooiB^ 
 I trust, 
 Shall meet again — till then, farewell, and pro««per; 
 -And if you love me, — which 1 will not doubt, 
 Silh your sad looks bear witness to your truih,— 
 This do for me — never forsake my brother I 
 And for my brother's sake, since you and he 
 Axe but one soul,bemindlul of your self. [exi^Lav. 
 Defenceless, and alone I ay, go thou forth. 
 For hope sits sunnily upon thy brow. 
 My brother ! but, to me, this parting seems 
 Pull of ill omen'd dread, woe's sure forerunner. 
 That letter and that ring — they were the king's! 
 Oh ! let ra« quickly from this fatal court. 
 Beneath whose smiling surface chasojs lie yawning^ 
 To gulph alike the unwary and the wise. 
 I'll bid farewell to the Princess Margaret, 
 And then take shelter in my ancient home ; 
 There brood on my vain love, till grief become 
 Love's substitute — till foolish hope be dead. 
 And heav'n shall grant me patience iu its stead. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— THE ROYAL CHAMBER. 
 Prancis discovered, 
 Fran, By Jupiter! he must have made an errand 
 Unto th' antipodes, or this new world. 
 Which, itshould seem, our grandsire Adam's will 
 Did leave to Charles of Spain, else doth he wear 
 Dull Uad for Mercury 'i air-cutting pinionsk 
 
TRAI«tCTft THE TltlSlR^ 4V 
 
 Enter Clement. 
 
 Wliy, how now, slow foot! art thou lame, f prithee? 
 Hath she the ring, — has she perused the letter, — 
 What cioes she, — says she, — -answers she? Be 
 
 quick, 
 Man; thy reply. Come, come, the devil speed thee! 
 
 C/e My liege ! 1 found the lady beaming all 
 With smiles ot hope her bi other should be chosen: 
 Then to her hand deliver'd 1 your scroll. 
 
 Fran, Fl a ! 
 
 C/e. The which she, with • doubting look, did 
 open ; 
 And, for a moment, her fix'd eye did seem 
 To drink the characters, but not the sense 
 Of your epistle. 
 
 Thus stood the lady, till her eye was fain 
 Begin the scroll again ; and then, as though 
 That moment comprehension woke in her. 
 The blood forsook her cheeks ; and straight, 
 
 asham'd 
 Of its unnaturnal desertion, drew 
 A crisraon veil over her marble brows. 
 
 Fran. I would Td borne the scroll myself, thj 
 words 
 Image her forth so fair ! 
 
 C/e. Do they, indeed ! 
 Then sorrow seize my tongue ; for, look you, sir, 
 I will not speak of your own fame or honour. 
 Nor of your word to me ; king's words,! find. 
 Are diafts on our credulity, not pledges 
 Of their own truth ; you have been olten pleas'd 
 To shou er your royal favours on my head ; 
 But had 1 known such service was to be 
 The nearest way my gratitude might tako 
 
m FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 To solve the debt, Vd e'en have given back 
 All thiit 1 hold of you ; and, now, not e*en 
 Your crown and kingdom could requite to me 
 The culling sense ot i>hanie ihat 1 endur'd 
 When on uie tell ihe sad reproachtui glance 
 Wliich lold me how 1 stood in the estnenfi 
 Of yonder lady. l*ve sorrow at my heart 
 lo liiiiik}our majesty has reckon'd thus 
 Upon my nature. 1 was poor belore, 
 1 hertore 1 can be poor again without 
 liegret, so i lose not mine own esleem. 
 
 I'mu. Skip me thy spleen, and onward with 
 thy tale. 
 "What said the lady then? 
 
 Cie, With trembling hands 
 She lolded up your scroll ; and more in sorrow. 
 As I beleive, than anger, letting fall 
 Unheeded from her hand the sparkling jewel, 
 Siie lett me. 
 
 Fran, Tiiou, I warrant, sore abash'd, 
 And duisl not urge her further. Excellent ! 
 Oh ! ye are precious wooers, all of ye I 
 1 marvel how ye ever ope your lips 
 Unto, or look upon that feartui thing, 
 A lovely woman ! 
 
 Cie And I marvel, sir 
 At those who do not fi el the majesty.— 
 By heav'n ! I'd almost said the holiness, — 
 'I hat circles round a fair and virtuous woman : 
 1 here is a gentle puriiy that breathes 
 In >uch a one, mingled with chaste respect. 
 And modesi pride of her own excellence -^ 
 A shrinking nature, that is so adverse 
 To aught uuseemly, that 1 could as soon 
 Forget the sacred love 1 owe to heav'n, 
 
FRANCIS THK FIRST. 1M 
 
 A» dare, with impure tbong^hts, to taint the air 
 liiliaTd by such a being — than uhoni» niy liege. 
 Heaven cannot look on anything more holy, 
 Or earth be proud of anything m »re fair. [Exit. 
 Fran, Good! 'lis his god stirs in him now I 
 trow 
 The poei is inspired, and doubtless, too. 
 With his own muse; whose heavely perfections 
 He fain would think belong to Eve's frail daugh- 
 ters. 
 Well : I will find occasions for myself—- 
 With my own ardent love Til lake the field. 
 And woo this pretty saint until she yield. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II— A SMALT. APARTMENT IN THE 
 LOUVRE. 
 
 Enter Gonzales with papers in his hand, 
 
 . Gon. BourboH arrested! oh sweet mistress 
 
 Fortune ! 
 Who rails at thee, doth wrong thee, on raj soul I 
 I'll strive to win access to Bourbon's prison; 
 It shall fare ill if 1 cannot outwit — 
 Even this lynx-eyed woman. 
 
 Enter the Queen, 
 
 Qveen. Save you, father! 
 Throw by those papers now, and hearken to me : 
 De Bourbon is arrested ; 'tis of that 
 1 came to speak — you must straight to his prison. 
 
 [Gon /ales smiles. 
 How now, what council hold you with yourself? 
 
 Gon. Debate of marvel, only, please your grftC^ 
 Is then the Duke so near his verge of life. 
 That he hath need of spiritual aid. 
 To improve this brief and wanting tehuref 
 
44 yRANCIS TITE ?IRSt. 
 
 Queen, Most reverend sir and holy confessor. 
 Get thee unto the prison o\ this h)rd ; 
 There, see thou (h) exhort him unto death;— 
 And mark me — for all warriors hold acquaintance 
 With the ^riiu monarch : when he rides abroad 
 The battle skirts, they crown him with proud 
 
 crrsts ; 
 In human blood dye they his purple robes ; 
 They place a flashing: sword in his rijjht hand^ 
 And call him Glory ! — therefore be tiiou sure 
 To speak of scaffolds rolxnl in black; 
 Grim executioners, and the vile mob 
 Staring and jeering: *nea»h whose clouted shoe.^f 
 Unhonour'd, shall the noble stream of life 
 That flows in his proud veins soak in the earth. 
 
 Gon. Madam, I will. 
 
 Queen, Then, when thou hast o'ercome 
 The hauohty spirit, mould it to thy will. 
 And tutor him so well, that presently 
 Bid them stiikeoff his chains; and to the palace 
 Lead hJni in secret: above all, be sure 
 To lard thy speech, but chiefly at the first, 
 Wiih sober strains of fitting holiness : — 
 Brieflv, dissemble well — but pshaw ! I prate! 
 1 had forgot again — thou art a priest : 
 Tarry not, and conduct thy prisoner 
 Unto my chamber, where I wait for thee, [exit, 
 
 Gon. Dissemble well! witness, deep hell, how 
 well! 
 I cannot, for my life, remember me 
 That ever [ made bargain with the devil; 
 Yet, do all things fall out so strangely well 
 For nie and for my purpose, as though fate 
 Served an apprenticeship unto my will. 
 Now to De Bourbon. [exit Gonzalei. 
 
FRANCIS THE PTllSf • 4i 
 
 SCENE III— A PRISON. 
 Bourbon and Margaret discovered. 
 
 Boiir, Lady, you speak iu vain. 
 
 Mar* 1 do beesei-h thee ! 
 I never bowed my knee to aught of earth, 
 Ere this; but 1 have ever seen around me 
 Others who knelt, and worshipp'd princes* fa- 
 vours : 
 Upon my bended knees, I do implore thee.— 
 But take the freedom that my gold hath bought 
 
 thee; 
 Away ! nor let these eyes behold thy death ! 
 
 Bour. You are deceiv'd, lady, they will not 
 dare 
 To take my life. 
 
 Mar, 'Tis thou that art deceived ! 
 '\Vhat! talk'st thou of not daring!— do>t thou 
 
 see ♦ 
 
 Yon sun that flames above the earth ? [ tell thee, 
 That, it my mother had but bt nt her will 
 To win that sun, she would accomplish it. 
 
 Bour. My hie is little worth to any now, 
 Nor have 1 any, who shall after me 
 Inheiit my proud name. 
 
 Mar, Hold, there, my lord! 
 Posterity, to whom gteat men, and their 
 Fair naiues belong, is your inheritor. 
 Your country, from whose kings your house had 
 
 birth, 
 Claims of you, sir, your high and spotless name I- 
 Fame craves it of you; for when there be noDd 
 Bearing the blood ot mighty men, to bear 
 Their virtues also, — Fame emblazons them 
 Upon h«r flag, which o'er the world she waTfi, 
 
Persuading others to like glorious deedn> 
 Oh ! will you dip upon a public scaffold? 
 And in the wide hereafter,— for ihe which 
 All warriors hope to live, — shall your proud name 
 Be bandied to and Fro by foul tradition, 
 Branded and curst, as rebel's name should be? 
 
 Bour No ! light that curse ou those who uiade 
 me such — 
 Lijohtthe foul cu'-se of black ingratitude 
 Upon the heartlt^ss boy, who knew not how 
 To prize his subject's love ! A tenfold curse 
 Light on that royal harlot — 
 
 Mar, Oh ! no more — 
 
 Bour, Nay, maiden, 'tis in rain ! for thou shalt 
 hear me ! 
 Drink to the dregs the knowledp^e thou hast forced, 
 And dare upbraid meeveawith a look; 
 Had I but loved thy mother more — thee less, 
 1 might this hour, have stood upoii, a throne ! 
 Ay, start ! 1 tell thee, that the Queen thy motheib- . 
 Hath loved — doth love me with the fierce desires 
 Other unbridled nature; she hath thrown 
 Her crown, the ki^igdom, and herself before nie! 
 Now stare, and shudder, — freeze thysejf to mar* 
 
 ble;— 
 Now say where best the meed of shame is due,— 
 Now look upon these prison walls,— these chaioBc- 
 And bid me rein my anger! 
 
 Mar. Oh, be silent! 
 For you have rent in twain the sacred'st veil 
 That ever hung upou the eyes of innocence. 
 
 Gon, (without) tieav'n bless the iniaate;| of r 
 this prison house! .; . 
 
 Bour, n ho calls without? 
 
niANCIS THE VIRSt. 41 
 
 Enter Gonzales. 
 
 Mar, The pulse of life stands still 
 ^'iiliih my veins, and horror hath overcome 
 iVIy siren^th ! Oh! holy father! to thy care 
 1)g J commend this wayward man. [Exit Mar. 
 
 Bo?/r How, now? 
 ^ priest! whrit means this most unwelcome visit? 
 
 tjfon \V hoquestionsthusasono'theholychurch? 
 3Look on these walls, whose stern, time stained 
 
 hrows 
 Trown like relentless justice on their inmates! 
 l^isten! — that voice is Kcho's dull reply 
 Vin\o the rattling of your chains, my lord ;— 
 "^'hat shovld a priest do here? 
 
 Bour, Ay, what, indeed! — 
 'Unless you come to soften dow^n these stones 
 With your discourse, and teach the tedious echo 
 A nevs^er lesson ; trust me, that is all 
 Your presence, father, will accomplish here. 
 
 Go7i, Oh ! sinful man ! and is thy heart so hard. 
 That I might easier move thy prison stones ? 
 Know, th^n, my mission-^death is near at hand! 
 
 Bour. Go to — go to! I have fought battlea, 
 father, 
 Where death and 1 have met in full close conta* t^ 
 And parted, knowing we should meet again ; 
 Go prate to others about skulls and graves; 
 Thou never didst in heat of combat stand. 
 Or know what good acquaintance soldiers have 
 TViih the pale scarecr()\\ — Death! 
 
 Gon (aside-) Ah, think'st thou so? 
 Hear me, thou hard of heart ! 
 Tbey who go forth to battle are led on 
 
4ft FRANCIS THE FIRST- 
 
 With sprightly trumpets and shrill clam'roof 
 
 clarions; 
 The drum doth roll itsj double notes along:. 
 Echoing the horses' framp; and the sweet fife 
 Runs through the yielding air in duclet measure. 
 Thai makes the heart leap in its case of steel ! 
 Thou, shalt be knelTd unto ihy death by bells, 
 PondVous and iron tougued, whose sullen toll 
 Shall cleave thine achiuic brnin, and on thy soul 
 i'all with a leaden weight; ihe muffled drum 
 Shrill mutter round thy path like distant thun !er; 
 'Stead ot the war cry, and wild battle roar,— 
 That swells upon the tide of victory, 
 And seems unto the conqueror's eager ear 
 Triumphant harmony of glorious discords, — 
 Thfere shall be voices cry foul shame on thee! 
 And the infuriate populace shall clamour 
 To heav'n for lightnings on thy rebel head I 
 Bour. Monks love not bells, which call them 
 
 up to pray'rs 
 I'the d(^ad noon o' night, when they would snore, 
 Ttather than watch ; but, father, 1 care not, 
 E'en it the ugliest sound I e'er did hear — 
 Thy raven voice — croak curses o'er my grave. 
 Gon» What ! death and shame ! alike you heed 
 
 them not! 
 Then, Mercy ! use thy spft, persuasive arts, 
 And melt this stubborn spirit ! Be il known 
 To you, my lord, the Queen hath sent me hither, 
 Bour, Then get thee hence again, toul, pand*- 
 
 ring priest! 
 By hrav'n I knew that cowl did covei o'er 
 Some filthy secret, that the day dared not 
 To pry into, — Out, thou uuholy thiug ! 
 
FRA«CIS THE FIRST, H 
 
 Gon* Hold, mad mam! 
 If for thy tame, if for thy warm heart's blood 
 Thou wilt not hear me, listen in the name 
 0( France thy country ! — 
 
 Bout\ J have no country, — 
 I am a traitor, cast from out the arms 
 Of my ungrateful country ! 1 disown it ! 
 Wither'd be ail its glorii s, and its pride ! 
 May it beome the slave of foreign powerl 
 May foreign princes grind its thankless chil- 
 dren, 
 And make all those, who are such fools, as yet 
 To spill their blood for it, or for its cause. 
 Dig it like dogs ! and when they die, like dogs, 
 Rot on its surface, and make fat the soil. 
 Whose produce shall be seized by foreign hands! 
 
 Gon. If ou beat the air with idle words: no man 
 Doth know how deep his country's love lies grained 
 In his heart's core, until the hour of trial ! 
 Fierce though you hurl your curse uj'on the land, 
 Whose monarchs cast ye from its bosom, yet 
 Let but one blast of war come echoing 
 From wliere the Ebro and ihe Douro roll,-^ 
 Let but the Pyrenees reflect tl^e gleam 
 Of twenty of Spain's lances, — and your sword 
 Shall leap from out its scabbard to your hand ! 
 
 Bour. Ay, priest, it shall ! eternal heavea, it 
 shall! 
 And its far flash shall lighten o*er the land, 
 The leading-star of Spain's victorious host^ 
 But flaming, like some dire portentous cornet^ 
 r th' eyes of Francie, and her proud governors I 
 Be merciful, my fate, nor cut me off 
 Ere 1 have wreaked my fell desire, and m^de 
 iQfamy glori()us, and dishonour fame ! 
 
«e niANCis THE xf^sr. 
 
 But, if my wayward destiny hath wiU'cf 
 That I should here be butcher'd »ham«fullyy 
 By the immortal soul, that is man's portion. 
 His hope, and his inheritance, 1 swear. 
 That on the day Spain overflows its bounds. 
 And rolls the tide of war upon these plains, 
 l\1y spirit on the battle's edge shall ride ; 
 And louder than death's music, and the roar 
 Of combat, shall my voice be heard to shout. 
 On — on — to victory and carnage I 
 
 Gon. Now 
 That day is come, ay, and that very hour; 
 Now shout your war-cry; now unsheath your 
 
 Bword ! 
 Ill join the din, and make these tottering walls 
 Tremble and nod to hear our fierce defiance I 
 Nay, nerer start, and look upon my cowl — 
 Off! rile denial of my manhood's pride ! 
 Nay, stand not gazing thus: it is Garcia, 
 Whom thou hast m*t in deadly fight full oft 
 When France and Spain join'd m the battle* 
 
 fit Id!— 
 Beyond the Pyrenean boundary 
 That guards thy land are forty thousand men — 
 Impatient halt they there; their foaming steeds 
 Pawing the huge and rock built barrier. 
 Thai bars their further course: they wait for thee; 
 For thee whom France hath injur'd and cast off; 
 For thee, whose blood it pays with shameful chains. 
 More shameful death ; for thee, whom Charles of 
 
 Spain 
 Summons to head his host, and lead them on 
 To conquest and to glory ! 
 
 hour. To revenge! 
 Why, how we dream! why look, Garcia; ijanit thou 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST, It 
 
 With mumbled priestcraft file away these chains* 
 Or must 1 bear them into Spain with me, 
 That Charif s may learn what guerdon valour wins 
 This side the Pyrenees? 
 
 Gon, It shall not need — 
 What ho ! but hold — together with this garb, 
 Methinks I have thrown off my prudence! 
 
 [Resumes the Monk's cowl. 
 
 Bour. What! 
 Wilt thou to Spain with me in frock and cowl. 
 That men shall say De Bourbon is turn'd driveller. 
 And rides to war \n company with monks? 
 
 Gon. Listen — The Queen for her own purpose! 
 Confided to my hand htjr signet-img, 
 Bidding me strike your fetters off, and lead you 
 By secret passes to her private chamber; 
 But being free, so use thy fieedoin, that 
 Before the morning's dawn all search be fruitless. 
 What ho I within. 
 
 Enter Jailer. 
 
 Behold this signet-ring ! — 
 
 Strike off' tho&e chains, and get thee gone. 
 
 [exit Jailer^ 
 
 And now follow. How's this, dost doubt 
 
 me, Bourbon ? 
 Bour Ay, 
 First for thy habit's take; and next, becaust 
 Thou rather, in a craven priest's disgfuise, 
 Tarriest in danger \n a foreign court. 
 Than seek'st that danger in thy country's wars. 
 Gon, Thou ai t unai m*d ! there is my dagger ; 
 'tis 
 The only weapon that I bear, lest fate 
 Should play me faUe; take it, and um it, tooi 1 
 
It FRANCIS THE flRtST, 
 
 If in the dark and lonely path 1 lead thee, 
 'I liou mark St nie halt, or lurii, or make a sign 
 Ottrtachesy ! — but tirsttell tne, dost know 
 John Count Laval ? 
 
 Bour, What 1 Lautrec's loving friend, 
 Kow bound tor Italy, along wiili him? 
 Goti. 'V[\eu the ioui fiend hath mingled in my 
 
 plot, 
 And mair'd it too! my Iit'e*s sole aim and purpose! 
 D»dst thou but know what damned injune*, 
 V> tiat tout, unknightly shame and obloquy, 
 His sue — whose name is wormwood to my mouth 
 Did heap upon oui house — didst thou but know— 
 Ko matier — get thee gone — I tarry heie. 
 And, should we never meet agauj, when thou 
 Shall hear ot the most tearlul deed ol daring, 
 -Ot ihe most horrible and bloody tale. 
 That ever giaced a beldame's midnight legend, 
 Or iVoze b^v gaping hst'ners, think ot me 
 Aud^ny revenge I Mow, Bourbon, heaven speed 
 
 thee I I Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.-. THE ROYAL APARTMENT. 
 
 Prancis seated — two Gejitle/nen attending. 
 Enter the Queen. 
 
 Queen, Hear you these tidings, son? Milan is 
 lost ! 
 Prosper Colonna hath dissolved our hont 
 Like icicles i' the sun's beams; and Count Lautrec, 
 MaddeiiM with his defeat aud shame, tied troui it 
 The night Colonnu entered ,\kilan. 
 
 Fran, {^starting up.) Coward I 
 But he shall answer dearly for his flight 
 
fHANCIS THE FIRST. 4ft 
 
 A nd for fair TMilan's loss. Say tViPV not wbither 
 "Re is flpd ? [Shouts without. 
 
 What.,din without? 
 
 Qveen. 'Tis the people, 
 Thronging: round the palace gates, with gaping 
 
 months. 
 To hear the confirmation of the tidings, 
 
 Shouts without — Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Fran How now ? what more ? 
 
 Mess. So please yon, my dread lieg^e. 
 News are this hour arriv'd that the Connt Lautrec, 
 Passing: disp:uis'd from Ttalv towards Paris, 
 Path been arrested bv stout Lord St. Pfil; 
 Who in his castle holds him a strait prisoner 
 Until your royal pleasure be made known. 
 Whether he there sojourn in longer durance. 
 Or be sent hither to abide his trial. 
 
 Fran. Confessed he the betravins: of our Milan? 
 
 Mess Fie holds an unmoved silence on the pointy 
 Still craving of your majpsty a hearing:, 
 And, after that, stern and impartial justice. 
 •^ Fran An6 by the soulof Charlemas:ne, weswear 
 He shall have justice, such as he demands. 
 
 [exit Messenger* 
 His deeds, upon the swift winjjs of the wind, 
 Have reach'd the hi^h tribunal of our throne. 
 And, ere himself arrive, have there condem'd him. 
 Mother, how is't with thee ? thou art drown'd in 
 thought. 
 
 Queen. Can it be otherwise, when wave o'er 
 wave 
 Of fortune's adverse^ide comes whelming us 
 With most resistless ruin ? Hast thou heard. 
 Or did this loss of Milan stop thine ears 
 With its ill-fated din,'— Bourbon's escap'd ! 
 
M FflANClS THE FIR^T. 
 
 Fran. Bourbon escap'd! then fortune lore* 
 Ciilonna! 
 How fell this tTJl chance? 
 
 Queen An^Jher time 
 Dfeds, HHcl not ^•oicls, suit best this exigency; 
 Our task is vigilant and swift pursuit. [t-xit. 
 
 Fran. My task is vi|^ilant thought slow pursuit; 
 1 have small care for even this event, 
 Which seems as though it shook my very throne ; 
 One thought alone hath room within my breast — 
 How I may win this maid : whose fearful charms 
 Have dtem'd themselves secure in absence only; 
 Forgetting how fond memVy, young love's shadow. 
 Laughs »t such hope. I'll win her, though the 
 
 star9 
 Link hands, and make a fiery rampart round her: 
 Though she be ice, steel, rock, or adamant. 
 Or anything that is more hard and stubborn ; 
 Love, lend me aid, this victVy must be thine. 
 Win thou this peerless vot'ry to thy shrine I 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 BCEN^ 1.- AN APARTMENT IN THE CHATEAU 
 DE FOIX. 
 
 Frnapise discm^erd seated — Enter Florise. 
 
 Flo. How fare you, madam ? 
 
 Franc. Well, Florise. Why, girl,— 
 'Why dost thou gaze on me? Do hollow cheeks 
 And tearstrain'd eyes belie me? 
 
 Flo, Ladv, no ; 
 But 0Cfta«thlDg ia your Toioe tid is your look,--^ 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 55 
 
 Something that is all sorrow's, only hers,— 
 Is grafted on the roses ot your cheek, 
 And burns in the sad lustre of your eye. 
 Pardon me, sweet, my mistress ! but, indeed, 
 Since your return from court,-— 
 
 [A horn is heard without. 
 
 Franc. Hasten, prating girl, 
 And fetch me tidings of this sudden summons'l 
 
 [Exit Florise. 
 £ tremble ! yet T scarce know wherefore — how 
 If it should be my brother? 
 
 Re-enter Florise. 
 
 Flo. Madam, one, 
 A messenger from court, is just arriv'd 
 With this despatch. [Exit Florise, 
 
 Franc. From court ?— oh give it me ! 
 Hold! should it be the king! pshaw, trembling fool! 
 
 [Brakes the seal. 
 Evil or good come of it, I will read — 
 (Reads) * This, from my most doleful prison-house. 
 
 * If half the love thou oft hast sworn to me, 
 ' But half be true, read, and deliver me ! 
 
 * This I indite in such a darksome cell 
 
 * As fancy shrinks from,— *where the blessed light 
 
 * And genial air do never visit me, — 
 
 * Where chains bow down my limbs to the damp 
 
 earth, 
 
 * And darkness compasseth me like a veil; 
 
 * 1 do beseech thee, by the tender love 
 
 * That I have borne thee from mine infancy,— 
 
 * I do beseech thee, by all strongest ties 
 
 * Of kin, and of compassion, — let me not 
 
 * Lie like a curs'd and forgotten thing, 
 
 * Thrust down beneath the earth ; — let not the blood 
 ^ That bounds in youth's swift current thro' my veins 
 
 D 
 
5^ FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 * Be chiird by dungeon dews before its time ; 
 
 * Or thicken'd by the weight of galling: fetters !^ 
 Oh misery ! my brother, — my dear brother \ 
 (Reads)—' If this doth move the spirit of thy love, 
 /Hie thee to court, and there, at the King's feet, 
 ^ Kneel and implore my pardon; do not fear 
 
 ' To let thy tears plead for me,— to thy prayers 
 
 * Do I commit my fate; and on thy lips, 
 
 * Whose moving eloquence must touci) his soul, 
 
 ' Hangallmy hopes !^ — sweet sister,think upon mel 
 Oh, my unhappy brother ! 
 Why didst thou not at price of my own blood 
 Hate thy deliverance ! but with heart still throb- 
 bing 
 Shall I encounter the King's eyes, and feel 
 That winning is but loss; and life, and liberty. 
 Given to thee, the warrants of my ruin? 
 (Reads) — * I do beseech thee, by the tender love 
 
 * That I have borne thee from thine infancy !' 
 I can no more ! thou shalt be rescued ! yet— 
 
 Enter Florise. 
 
 JFZo. Madam! the messenger awaitsyouranswer. 
 
 Franc. Oh, maiden, read! my brother is in prison; 
 
 His fond arms that so oft have clasp*d around me. 
 
 Strait bound with gyves : — oh heaven ! my dear, 
 
 dear brother. 
 
 Flo. Why, madam, how now? are ye lost in grief? 
 
 Are tears' his ransom ? — Up ; for shame ! for 
 
 shame ! 
 You must to court, and straight procure his pardon. 
 Franc. Kind heaven be with me ! I will this 
 hour away ; — 
 Nay, come not with me ; ere the night be fallen, 
 I shall return, successful and most^lest ; 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 57 
 
 Or thou wilt hear, that at th' obdurate feet 
 
 Of him, whom I am sent to supplicate , 
 
 I pour'd my Ufe in prayers for my dear brother. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II— A ROOM IN THE PALACE. 
 
 Francis and Bonnivet. 
 Fran, No tidings of De Bourbon; search is vain. 
 The storm is gath'ring, and 'tis time we spread 
 Due shelter over us. " 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 In this despatch — How now ? 
 
 Gent. One stands without, and earnestly en- 
 treats 
 To see your Majesty. 
 
 Fran. Hath he no name? 
 
 Gent. My liege, it is a woman ; but her veil 
 So curtains all her form, that even eyes 
 Which knew, and oft had gaz'd on her, might guess 
 In vain. 
 
 Fran. A woman, and a suppliant ! 
 Let her have entrance. 
 
 Bon. At some other time 
 Your Majesty, perhaps, will deign t' inform me 
 Further concerning Italy. 
 
 Fran. Ay, ay, 
 At some more fitting time. 
 
 Enter Francoise. 
 Close veil'd, indeed; mysterious visitant! 
 Whom curious thought doth strive to look upon. 
 Despite th' cloud that now enshrines yoy — pardon 
 If failing in its hope, the eager eye 
 
58 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Doth light on evVy point, that, iiBconceaFd, 
 Tells of the secret it so fain would pierce ; 
 That heav'nly gait, whose slow majestic niotioo 
 Discloses all the bearing of command ; 
 That npisless foot, which falling on the earth 
 Wakes not an echo ; leaves not e'en a print ; 
 So jealous seeming of its favours ; and 
 This small white hand, I might deem born of 
 
 marble, 
 But for the throbbing life that trembles in it :-^ 
 Why, how is this ? 'tis cold as marble's self; 
 And by your drooping form ! — this is too much — » 
 Youth breathes around you ; beauty is youth's kin; 
 I must withdraw this envious veil-^ 
 
 Prone. Hold, sir! 
 Your highness need but speak to be obeyM ; 
 Thus then— (iiwt?ei7»J— 
 
 Vran, Amazement ! oh, thou peerless light ! 
 Why thus deny thy radiance, and enfold, 
 .Like the coy moon, thy charms in envious clouds ?* 
 
 Franc, Such clouds best suit, whose sun is se| 
 for ever ; 
 And veils should curtain o'er those eyes, whose^ 
 
 light 
 Is all put out with tears; oh, good, my liege! 
 I come a suitor to your pard'ning mercy. 
 
 Fran, (aside.) Sue on, so thou do after hear mj 
 suit. 
 
 Franc, My brother! out, alas ! your brow grows 
 dark. 
 And threat'ningly doth fright my scarce-breathed; 
 
 prayer 
 Back to its hold of silence. 
 
 Fran, l^ady, ay. 
 Your brother hath offended 'gainst the statex 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 9^ 
 
 And must abide the state's most lawful vengeance; 
 Nor canst thou in thy sorrow even say 
 Such sentence is unjust. 
 
 Franc. I do, I do; J 
 Oh, vengeance I what hast thou to do with justice? 
 Most merciful, and most vindictive, who 
 Hath call'd ye sisters ; who hath made ye kin ? 
 My liege, my liege, if you take such vengeance 
 Upon my brother's fault, yourself do sin ; 
 By calling your's that which is' heaven's -alone : 
 Butif 'tis justice that hath sentenc'd him, 
 Hear .me : for he, unheard, hath been condemn 'd 
 Against all justice, without any mercy. 
 
 Fran, IVIaiden, thou plead'st in vain. 
 
 Franc. Oh, say not so : 
 Oh, merciful my lord ! you are a soldier; 
 You have won war's red favours in the field, 
 And victory hath been your handmaiden : 
 Oh ! think, if you were thrust away for ever 
 Prom fame and glory, warrior's light and air ; _ 
 And left to feel time's creeping fingers chill 
 Your blood ; and from fame's blazonry efi^ace 
 Your youthful deeds, which, like a faithlesa 
 
 promise, 
 Bloom'd fair, but bore no after-fruit — • 
 
 Fran. Away 1 
 Thy prayer is cold : hast thou no nearer theme 
 Which, having felt tliyself, thou may'st address. 
 More movingly unto my heart? 
 
 Franc. None, none, 
 But what that heart itself might whisper yon. 
 Oh, good my liege ! turn not away from me ! 
 See, on the earth I kneel ; by these swift tears 
 That witness my affliction ; by each throb 
 Of my sad heart ; by all you love !— * 
 
60 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Fran Ah, tempter ! 
 Say rather by these orient pearls, whose price 
 Would bribe the very soul of justice; say, 
 13y these luxuriant tresses, which have thrown 
 Eternal chains around my heart : [Franc, starts up 
 !Nay, start not; 
 
 If thou, so soon, art weary of beseeching. 
 Hearken to me, and I will frame a suit 
 Which thou must hear, (kneels) by the resistless 
 
 love 
 Thou hast inspir'd — by thy bright perfections. 
 Thy matchless beauty ! — nay, it is in vain. 
 Thou shalt not free thyself, till thou hast heard^;. 
 Thou shalt not free thy brother, till — 
 
 Franc. Unhand me ! 
 Sir, as you are a man— 
 
 Enter the Queen, 
 
 Queen, Oh, excellent! 
 
 Fran, {starts up. )Qovk{\x^\oii seize that woman's 
 watchfulness ! 
 
 Queen. I fear me I have marr'd a wise discourse 
 Which, if I read aright yon lady's looks, 
 Was argued most persuasively ; not a word ! 
 !Nay, then, your conference is doubtless ended; 
 If so— 1 have some business with ihe King — 
 
 [^^e Waives Fran^oise off. 
 
 Tran. Then, madam, you must let that business 
 rest ; 
 For, look you I have matters, which, though long; 
 IVe ponder'd o'er them, I've reserved till now. 
 Unto your private ear. — How many years 
 Longer am 1 to live in tutelage ? 
 When will it please your wisdom to resign 
 The oflSce, which, self-arrogated, seems 
 
FRANCIS THE FIBST. Si 
 
 Daily to grow beyond that wisdom's compass. 
 Though strain'd unto its utmost? how long 
 Ami to wear the yoke, which eVry day 
 Grows heavier, but less firm ! itlougeT yet. 
 Take this good counsel — lighten it, or else 
 'Twill break and crush you, nay^ ne'er gaze on me 
 With that fix'd haughty stare ; 1 do not sleejo — 
 'Tis you that dream ; full time you were awaken'd. 
 
 Queen. What, thankless boy ! whose greatness 
 is the work 
 Of my own hands ; — this, to your mother, sir? 
 
 Fran. 1 am your King, madam, your King, 
 
 your King 1-- — 
 
 Ay, start and boil with passion, and turn pale 
 With rage, whose pow'rless effort wakes but scorn; 
 Who made you Queen of France? my father's wife 
 Was Duchess of ^avoy and Angoulenie. 
 These are your only liiles,-«-and the rest, 
 A boon, which courtesy hath lent, not given, 
 Unto the mother of tli^ Kine: of France ;— 
 'Tis you who shine from a reflected light ; 
 ^Tis you, who owe me, and my royal state. 
 All that you have of state and of observance. 
 And, as you value the faint shade of power 
 Which clings to you, beware how it is us'd. 
 Curb your unbounded pride and haughty spiritj 
 Which, brooking no control itself, would make 
 Slaves of all else that breathe; and, mark me wel],i 
 Slacken your leading strings, or else they break* 
 
 [exit. 
 
 Queen. The hour is come at last,-^so long fore- 
 seen, — 
 So long averted by my anxious efforts ! 
 JViy overgrown power is toppling troiii its base,-^— 
 Audlike Si, ruin'd tower, wUose huge supporters 
 
63 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 At length decay, it nods unto its ruin. 
 I am undone ! But, if 1 needs must fall, 
 No rising foot shall tread upon pay neck, 
 And say I pav'd the way fur its ascension. 
 Proud spirit! thou, who in the darkest hours 
 Of danger an(| defeat, hast steaded me, — 
 Thou dauntless uncontroHM, and daring soul I 
 Who hast but seen in all the world a throne, — ^ 
 In all mankind, thine instruments: rejoice ! 
 I'll do a deed, which, prospering, shall place me 
 Beyond all power of future storm or wreck; 
 Or, if 1 fail, my fall shall be like his. 
 That wotid'rous mighty man, who overthrew 
 The whole Philistian host,-^when revelry 
 Was turn'd to mourning,^— and the pond'rous ruin„ 
 AVhich he drew down on his own head, over- 
 whelmed 
 The power of Gath, when Gaza shook for fear. 
 
 Enter Gonzales. 
 
 Come hither, sirrah, now the day is done, — 
 And night, with swarthy hands, is sowing stars 
 In yonder sky,— De Bourbon is escap'd; 
 Thy days are forfit ; but thy lite is now 
 More needlul to my present purposes. 
 ThouVt free ! — I've need of thee ; live and obey, 
 
 i^on, Madam, obedience ever was my life's 
 Sole study and attainment. 
 
 Queen, H ark thee, father ! 
 I have a deed for thee, which may, perhaps, 
 For a short moment, freeze thy startled blood; 
 And fr«;^htthy rirmly-seated heart, to beat 
 Hurried and trembling summons in thy breast; 
 Did'stever look upon the dead? 
 
 (?ow. Ay, madam; 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. e^ 
 
 Full oft ; and in each calm or frightful guise 
 Peath comes in, — on the bloody battle field ; 
 \Vhen with each gush of black and curdling life, . 
 A <5urse was uttered,— when the prayers I've 
 
 pour'd. 
 Have been all drown'd by din of clashing arms ; 
 And shrieks, and shouts, and loud artillery, 
 That shook the slipp'ry earth, all drunk with gore ; 
 I've seen it swoH'n with subtle poison, black, 
 And staring with concentrate agony; 
 When every vein hath started from its bed, 
 And wreath'd, like .knoMcd snakes, around the 
 
 brows, - ^ 
 
 Which frantic, dash'd themselves in tortures dowa 
 Upon the earth. I've seen life float away 
 On the faint sound of a far tolling bell ; 
 leaving its late warm tenement as fair, 
 As though t'were th' incorruptible that lay 
 Before me ; and all earthly taint had vanished 
 With the departed spirit. 
 
 Queen, Father, hold ! 
 Keturn to th' other- — to that StCcond death,^ 
 Most fearful in its ghastly agony. 
 Come nearer to me ; did'st thou ever — nay 
 Put back thy crowl^— 1 fain would see thy face : 
 So ; didst thou ever — thou look'st very pale — 
 Artfear'd? 
 
 Gon, Who I? your highuess surely jests! 
 
 Queen. Did ever thine own hand-^^thou under- 
 stand'st me. 
 
 Gon, 1 'gin to understand you, madam; ay. 
 It has been red with blood, with reeking life. 
 
 Queen. Father I so steep that hand for me once 
 more. * 
 
 And; by my soul I swear, I will reward thee 
 
'(ii FRANCIS THE FIRST, 
 
 With a cardinars hat when next Rome's princes 
 meet. 
 
 Gon. I pray you, on. 
 I know but half my task. 
 
 Queen, I had forgot; and now methinks I feel 
 Lightened of a huge burden, now thou know'st 
 My settled purpose. — Listen! there is one, 
 Whose envious beauty doth pluck down my powV 
 Day after day, with more audacious hand — ^ 
 That woman ! 
 
 Gon, Ha ! a woman ! 
 
 Queen. Well, how now ! 
 BU)od is but blood, and life no more than life, 
 Be't cradled in however faff a form ! 
 Dost shrink, thou vaunting caitiff, from the test 
 Thine own avowal drew upon thee ? Mark me ! 
 If, ere two suns have risen and have set, 
 Franfoise de Foix—- 
 
 Gon, How ? 
 
 Queen. The young Lautrec's sister, 
 Count Laval's bride. 
 
 Gon, What! John de Laval's bride! 
 Hell ! what a flatsh of light bursts in upon me ! 
 
 (aside.) 
 
 Queen, Why dost thou start, and look so wide 
 and wild. 
 And clench thy hands? 
 
 Gon, So please your grace--^0 pardon me !— 
 'Twas pity — sorrow — I— oh ! how has she 
 Provoked your dreadful wralh, that such a doom 
 Should cut her young days off thus suddenly ? 
 
 Queen, Content thee, that it falls not on thy head. 
 And do my bidding, as thou vainest 
 That head[ of thine. 1 tell thee she must die ; 
 By subtle poison, or by sudden knife, 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST, ^ 
 
 T care not ; so those eyes be closed for ever. 
 Look, priest! thou'rtiree; but if, in two more days, 
 The grave hide not that woman from my hate. 
 She shall not die the less : and, by high heav'n I 
 Be thou i' ih' farthest corner of the earth, 
 Thou shalt he draggM from hence ; and drop by 
 
 drop. 
 Shall thy base blood assuage my fell revenge! 
 1 hink on it, and resolve — and so farewell ! [exit. 
 Gon hejoice, my soul ! thy far oft'goiil is won! 
 His bride, — all that he most doth love and live 
 
 for,- — 
 H is hearts best hope,— she shall be foul corruption 
 When next his eager arms are spread to clasp her I 
 I'll do this deed, ere 1 go mad for joy! [exit. 
 
 SCENE III~A GALLERY IN THE PALACE, 
 
 Enter Tnhoulet, followed hij Fran^oise de Foix. 
 
 Franc. Hold, hold! I do beseech thee, ere my 
 brain 
 "Whirl with this agony; show me the letter. 
 
 2'ru Nay but you did refuse it some time gone; 
 V\\ to 
 The King and give it back. 
 
 Franc, O ! if that letter 
 Tell of my brother's fate, as chance it doth ! 
 Give it me once again — or ere 1 die ! 
 
 Tri. Listen ; Til read thee. 
 
 Franc Oh I no, no, no ! 
 (aside) For it the King doth plead his love in it— ^ 
 No, tear, but do not open it, good fool ! 
 
 Tri. I cannot read unless 1 open it. Listen — ' 
 (reads) *If thou do not follow his footsteps, wha 
 
C(f FRANCIS THE FIRST- 
 
 * shall bring thee this, not only shall thy brother's 
 liberty, but e'en his life ' — 
 
 Franc, Oh gracious heav'n ! 
 Bis lite! Give me that scroll, [she reads Sf faints, 
 
 Tri, Let me spell o'er this letter; tor the lady, 
 she'll be the better for a little rest, (reads.) * If 
 
 * thou do not follow his footstep^, who shall bring 
 'thee this/ Marry, that means my footsteps; 
 and whither tend my footsteps? — Even to the 
 King's chamber. What, shall her brother die, 
 wnless she meet the King alone at this dead hour 
 of night? I would 1 had lost the letter! my back 
 and the whip had been acquainted of a sQrety; 
 but that were better than— poor maiden ! J3y my 
 wisdom, then, I will not lead h^r to the King! 
 ril run away, and then, if I be questioned, I caa 
 swear she fell into a swoon by the way, and could 
 pot come ! [going — Fran9oise revivea, 
 
 Ipranc, Oh, no^-»Hot death! mercy ! oh, mercy ! 
 spare him ! 
 Where am I ? Have I slept! Good Triboulet, 
 If thou have aught of reason, lend it me. 
 
 2ru Alack! poor thmg, how wide she talks, 
 she's come 
 To borrow wisdom of a fool ! Poor lady ! 
 
 Franc, Nay, ^a'Ae not on me, for dear charity! 
 But lead, and 1 will follow to the King, — » 
 Fall on my knees, once more implore bis mercy!— 
 1 do beseech ihee — Life is on our haste! 
 
 TrL How say you, pretty lady — life and no 
 
 more? 
 Vranc. Oh ! 1 shall go distraught with this 
 delay. 
 See, to thine eves I will address my speech, — 
 Fot' wb^t thoa look'st on that thou uaclerst»nd*st« 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 67 
 
 TrL Ay, marry, and more, as I think, than 
 either of us 
 Look on, do I understand. 
 
 Vranc. These jewels are of a surpassing value, 
 Take ihem, and lead me to the King. 
 
 Tru What, at this hour? ^ 
 
 Vranc, If not, my brother dies. 
 
 Tri. Alone? 
 
 Franc. The night grows pale, and the stars seem 
 To melt away, before the burning breath 
 Of fiery morn. If thou art born of woman,-^ — 
 Lead to the King, whil'st I have strength to 
 follow ! 
 
 TrL Then heaven be with thee, lady ! for I 
 can no more. 
 Follow ! and may I in this hour have been a 
 greater fool than e'er I was before. [exeunt, 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE >.- AN APARTMENT IN THE CHATEAU 
 DE.F01X. 
 
 Fran^oise h discovered sitting, pale and motion' 
 less, by a table — Florise is kneeling by her, 
 
 Tranc, How heavily the sun hangs in the 
 clouds, — 
 The day will ne'er be done. 
 
 Flo. Oh, lady, thou hast sat 
 And watched the western clonds, day after day, 
 Grow crimson with the sun'a farewell, and said^ 
 
68 FRANCL<5 THE FIRST: 
 
 ."Each day, the night will never come ; yet night 
 Hath come at last, and so it will again. 
 
 Franc, Will it indeed I will the night come afe 
 last, 
 And hide that burning sun, and shade my eyes, 
 "Which ache with this red light — will darkness 
 
 come 
 At last? 
 
 Flo. Sweet madam, yes; and sleep will come: 
 Nay, shake not mournfully your head at me, — ^ 
 Your eyes are heavy; sleep is brooding in them.. 
 Franc. Hot tears have lain in them, and made 
 them heavy ; 
 But sleep— oh, no ! no, no! they will not close ; 
 I have a knawing pain, here at my heart; 
 Guilt, thou liest heavy, and art hard to bear. 
 Flo, Whhat say you, madam, guilt! 
 Franc, Who dare so? 
 (starting vp.) Twas pity,- — mercy, — 'twas not 
 
 guilt ! and though 
 The world's fierce scorn shall call it infamy, 
 1 say 'twas not! Speak, — speak, — dost thou T* 
 
 Oh ! answer me! 
 Say was it infamy? 
 
 Flo. Dear lady, you are ill! 
 Some strange distemper fevers thus your brairu 
 Let me bind up these golden locks that hang 
 Disheveird thus upon your neck. 
 
 Franc. Out viper! 
 Nor twine, nor braid, again shall ever bind 
 These locks ! Oh ! rather tear them oflf, and cast^ 
 
 them 
 Upon the common earth, and trample them, — 
 Heap dust and ashes on them. — oh, 1 am mad I 
 Distracted ! out alas ! alas ? poot head ! 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. Cd 
 
 Thou aqhest for thy pillow in the grave,— 
 
 Thy darksome couch,- — thy dreamless, quiet bed ! 
 
 Flo Let me intreat you send for that same monk 
 J told you of this morn: he is a leech. 
 Learned in theory, and of wondrous skill 
 To heal all maladies of soul or body. 
 
 Fame* Of soul-^of soul I— 'aye, so they'd have 
 us think : 
 Dost thou believe that the hard coin we pour 
 Into*their out stretch'd hands, indeed, buys pardon 
 For all, or any sin, we may commit? 
 Dost thou believe forgiveness may be had 
 Thus easy cheap ? 
 
 ¥40. \ do believe, indeed, 
 Not all the wealth hid in the womb of ocean. 
 Can ransom sin-r— nothing but deep repentance-— 
 Austere aud lengthened penance-^frequent tears. 
 
 Franc. Tis false, I know it — these do nought 
 avail ; 
 To move relentless beav'n, it must be brib'd 
 And yet — go, call this priest ; I'll speak with him. 
 I will cast off the burthen of my shame. 
 Or ere it press me down into the grave. \exit, 
 
 Vlo, Alas, poor fiowV, the canker's in thy core I 
 
 JE/i^erGonzales* 
 Good morrow to my reverend confessor I 
 Gon. Good morrow, maiden ; 
 Where's thy lady, Florise ? 
 
 F/o. This moment, as I think, gone to her 
 chamber. 
 
 Gon. To sleep, perchance. 
 
 F/o. Oh, father, would she could ! 
 But there's a sleepless sorrow at her heart, — 
 She hath not clos'd her eyes for many a night. 
 
 Gon, Her brother, Lautrec, for the loss of Milaa 
 "Was lately thrust in prison. 
 
70 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 F/o. Even so: 
 She often read a scroll Count Lautrec sent her, 
 jAnd wept, and read it o'er and o'er again ; 
 And then, as though determin'd by its arguments. 
 She sought the king, to move him to forgiveness ; 
 Short space elapsed ere home she came again, 
 Thus broken-hearted, and, as I do think, 
 Bow'd to the grave by some o'ermastering sorrow. 
 Out on my prating tongue! I had forgot — 
 The lady Fran9oise straight would speak with 
 you, 
 
 Gon. Tell her I'll wait upon her instantly. 
 
 [exit Florise. 
 Strange ! passing strange! I guess at in vain. 
 Lautrec forgiv'n, and herself broken hearted! 
 ril to her straight, and from her wring confession 
 By such keen torture, as designless looks 
 And careless words inflict on secret guilt, [exit, 
 
 SCENE II— AN INNER COURT IN THE CHATEAU 
 I>E FOIX. 
 
 Enter Francis wrapped hi a cloak, and Florise. 
 
 F/o. Then be it even as you will, sir stranger, 
 Since you bring joyful tidings to my lady, 
 At sunset meet me here; when I will bring you 
 "Where you shall see and speak with her, fair sir. 
 
 Fran. At sunset I'll not fail : farewell, fair mai- 
 den. [Exit I'lorise. 
 They tell me she is sunk in sorrow, 
 Lets a consuming grief destroy her beauty; 
 Therefore, in this disguise, leave I the court. 
 To follow and to claim her ; for though o'erlhrown, 
 If shame ami woe have follow'd her defeat, 
 J hold myself no lawful conqueror; 
 Sut one whose love, like the fierce eastern wind> 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. fl 
 
 Hath wither'd that it hun^ upon. —But, pshaw! 
 
 'Tis idle all ; if that her hand be promis'd, 
 
 It is not bound ; and where it so, king's wills 
 
 Melt compacts into air. 8he must be mine — - 
 
 IVIine only — mirie for ever ! and, for Laval, 
 
 Another and a wealthier bride, I trow. 
 
 Shall well repay him for the one I've stolen. [exiU 
 
 Enter Gonzales. 
 Gow. 'Tis true, by heav'n ! 'tis as my hope 
 presag'd,-— 
 Her lips avow'd it. Oh, then there is torture 
 Far worse than death in store for thee, Laval. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page, Save you — from court a letter, reverend 
 
 sir. 
 Gon. Give it, and get thee gone, — [exit Page. 
 'Tis from the queen ! 
 
 Further injunctions to be sudden, doubtless — so ; 
 [Opens the letter and reads. 
 
 * That which thou hast in hand, quickly despatch; 
 
 * oppotunity will play false. Laval is now in France, 
 
 * and by to-morrow will have reached Chateau de- 
 
 * Foix; therefore, if it is not done, do it so soon as 
 
 * ihou shalt have received this letter. 
 
 Louisa.* 
 To morrow ! how ! why that should be to-day ; 
 To-day — to-day— ah ! say you so, indeed : 
 He could not come at a more welcome hour. 
 
 [Horns without. 
 Hark ! even now the horn proclaims my triumph! 
 The gates swing wide, the outer court-yard rings 
 "With neighing steeds, andjingling spurs, and steps 
 TV hose haste doth tell of hot, impatient love ; 
 He stands upon the threshold of his house 
 Reeling with joy. Now, now, — — 
 
n FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Enter Laval and attendants. 
 
 Hail, noble sir ! 
 
 Lav, ] joy to see thee, yet I cannot now 
 Scarce stay to say as much. Where is my love? 
 
 Gon. The lady Francoise,sir,is in her chamber, 
 
 [Laval is going. 
 I pray you tarry, good my lord, IVe much to say 
 to you: 
 
 Lav, Another time» good father. 
 
 Gon, No time so fitting as the present, sir. 
 
 Lav. 'Sdeath ! wouldst thou have me listen and 
 not hear? 
 Look on thee, and not see thee ? Stand aside, 
 Till ears and eyes have had their fill ot her ! 
 Tm blind, and deaf> and well nigh mad ! 
 
 Gon. My lord ! 
 "What I would say will bear no tarrying. 
 
 Lav. A plague on thee ! come with me, then, 
 and thus — 
 While I do gaze on her, I'll hear thy tale. 
 
 Gon, What IVe to say you'd rather hear alone. 
 
 Lav, I tell thee, no, thou most vexatious priest ! 
 That which I hear shall she hear too ; my heart. 
 And all cares or wishes, is her own ; 
 Knowledge, hopes, fears, deseirs — all, all archers. 
 
 Gon, Then be it so — follow unto her chamber ! 
 
 Lav. Follow ! I could not follow the swift wind! 
 
 Gon, E'en as you will, 1 do ; lead on, my lord ! 
 
 SCENE III.— AN APARTMENT IN THE CHATEAU. 
 DE-fOIX. 
 
 Enter Francis and Florise. 
 Fran. 1 tell thee, ere she see the Count Laval, 
 
 I must inform her of mine errand. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 73 
 
 Flo. Well— 
 I had forgot, in all tliis sudden joy : 
 But see, behind the tapestry, here, you may < 
 
 Wait for, and speak with her. 
 Fvan, 1 thank thee, maiden, 
 Flo, Farewell, and good success attend you, sir. 
 
 [exit, 
 [Francis conceals himself behind the tapestry. 
 
 Enter Frangoise. 
 
 Franc, Now, ye paternal halls, that frown oft rae'"^ 
 Down, down, and hide me in your ruin — ha f 
 [As I^val and Gonzales enier, Fran^oise shrieks. 
 
 Lav, My bride ! my beautiful ! 
 
 Gon, Stand back, young sir ! 
 
 Lav. Who dares extend his ar«ns 'twixt those 
 whom love 
 Hath bound ? whom holy wedlock shall, ere long ! 
 
 Gon, The stern decree of the most holy church : 
 Look on that lady, Count Laval, wbo stands 
 Pale as a virgin rose, whose early bloom 
 Hath not been gaz'd on yet by the hot sun ; 
 And fair 
 
 Lav, Oh, how unutterably fair ! 
 
 Gon, Seems not that shrinking flower the soul 
 of all 
 That is most pure, as well as beautiful ? 
 
 Lav, Peace, thou vain babbler 1 Is it unto mf 
 That thou art prating?—- unto me, who have 
 Worshipped her, with a wild idolatry, 
 Liker to madness than to love ? 
 
 Gon, Indeed! 
 Look on her yet ; and say> if ever form 
 Show'd half so like a breathing piece of marble. 
 Oh well-dissembled sin ! say, was it thus, 
 E 
 
74 FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 Shrinking and pale, thou stoodst, when the king's 
 
 arms 
 Did clasp thee, and his hot lip, sear'd from thine 
 Their oath to wed thy brother's friend ? 
 
 Lav» Damnation 
 Alight upon thee, thou audacious monk ! 
 The blight thou brealh'st, recoil on thine own head! 
 It hath no power to touch the spotless fame 
 Of one, from whom thy cursed calumnies 
 Fly like rebounding shafts ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 The king ! a merry tale forsooth ! 
 
 Gon, Then we 
 Will laugh at it, ha! ha! — why what care I ? 
 We will bo merry: since thou art content 
 
 To laugh, and be a 
 
 Lav, Fran9oise — I — I pray thee 
 Sf)eak to me, — smile — speak, — look on me, I say. 
 What, tears! what, wring thine hands! what, 
 
 pale as death ! — 
 And npt one word — not one ! 
 
 Franc, (ToGon,) Oh, deadly fiend! 
 Th at hast buthasten'd that which was foredoomed. 
 ( To Laval.) My lord, ere I make answer to thi» 
 
 charge, 
 I have a boon to crave of you — toy brother — 
 Lav. How wildly thine eye rolls; thy hand is 
 cold 
 As death, my fairest love. 
 
 Franc. Beseech you, sir. 
 Unclasp your arm ; where is my brother ? 
 
 Lav, Lautrec, 
 Ib Italy, ere now is well and happy. 
 Franc. Thanks, gentle heaven ! all is not bitter* 
 ness. 
 Ib this most bitter hour. My Lord Lavai, 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. 75 
 
 To you my faith was plighted, by my brother ; 
 That faith I ratified by my own vow. 
 
 Lav, The oath was registered in highest heaven. 
 Thou'rt mine ! 
 
 Franc, To all eternity, Laval. 
 If blood cannot efface that damning bond ; 
 
 [Snatches his dagger, and stabs herself, 
 *Tis cancelled, IVe struck home — my dear, dear 
 brother. [Dies. 
 
 Lav. Oh horrible ! — she's dead ! 
 
 (Francis rushes from his concealment 
 Fran. Dead! 
 [Laval draws his sword, and turns upon the king, 
 who draws to defend himself. 
 Lav, Ha ! what fiend hath sent thee here? 
 Down ! down to hell with thee, thou damn'd se- 
 ducer! 
 
 Enter Queen, followed by attendants. 
 
 Queen, Secure that madman ! 
 [Part oj the attendants surround and disarm LavaL 
 
 Queen, (aside to Gon.) Bravely done, indeed! 
 I shall remember. — (aloud) — How now, way waid 
 
 . ^y •' 
 
 How is't I find thee here in private broils, 
 Whilst proud rebellion triumphs o'er the land ? 
 Bourbon's in France again ! and strong Marseilles 
 Beleaguer'd round by Spanish soldiery. 
 
 Fran. Peace, mother, prithee peace; look ther*, 
 look there ! 
 There is a sight, that hath more sorrow in it 
 Than loss of kingdoms, empires, or the world ! 
 There lies the fairest lily of the land. 
 Untimely broken from its stem to wither! 
 
 [Going towards the boify. 
 
 Lav* {breaks from the attendants.) Stand back 
 
76 FRANCIS THE HRST. 
 
 King Francis ! lay not e'en a finger 
 On thi^ poor wench, which death hath sanctified ! 
 This soulless frame of what was onee my love I 
 Oh \ thou pale flower, that in death's icy grasp 
 Dost lie, making the dissolution that we dread. 
 Look fair ! — farewell ! forever, and forever ! 
 Thou shouldst have been the glad crown of my 
 
 youth, 
 Maturer life's fruitful and fond companion, — 
 Dreary old age's shelter. 
 Gon. Tears, my lord ? 
 
 LoAj. Ay, tears, thou busy mischief; get thee 
 hence ! 
 Away ! who sent for thee ? who bade thee pour 
 The venom of thy tongtie into my wounds: 
 What seek'st thou here ? 
 
 Gon. To s^e thee weep, Laval ! 
 And I am satisfied ! look on me, boy ! 
 Dost know Garcia — first scion of a house 
 Whose kindred shoots, by thee were all cut down? 
 Lav. For dead I left thee on Marignan plain ! 
 Art thou from thence arisen— or from hell — 
 To wreak such ruin on me ? 
 
 Gon, They die not 
 Who have the work I had on hand iinfinish'd ; 
 The spirit would not from its fleshly house. 
 In which thy sword so many outlets made, 
 Ere it had seen its full revenge fulfilled. 
 Lav. Revenge! — for what?— ^vherefore! dost 
 
 thou pursue me ? 
 Gon* Look on thy bride ! look on that faded 
 thing ! 
 As fair a flower once grew within my house, 
 As young, as lovely, and as dearly lov'd.— 
 The only 4a«ghter of ray father s house. 
 
FRANCIS THE FII^ST. 77 
 
 She was the centre of our soul's affections. 
 Thy father, sir — now mark I for 'tis the point 
 And moral of my tale — thy father, then. 
 Was, by my sire, in war ta'en prisoner ; — 
 Wounded almost to death, he brought him home, 
 Shelter'd him, — cherished him, — and with a care 
 Most like a brother's, watch'd his bed of sickness, 
 Till ruddy health once more through all his veins 
 Gent life's warm stream in strong returning tide. 
 How think ye he repaid my father's love? 
 From her dear house he lur'd my sister forth. 
 And having robb'd her of her treasured honour, 
 Cast her away, detil'd I — she died ! she died I 
 Upon the threshold of that house, from which 
 My father spurn'd her! and over her palecorSt^ 
 I swore to haunt, through life, her ravisher; 
 Till due and deep atonement had been made-^ 
 Honour for honour stolen — blood for blood ! 
 
 Lav, These were my father's injuries, — not mine, 
 Remorseless fiend ! 
 
 Gon, Thy father died in battle ; 
 And as his lands, and titles, at his death, 
 Devolv'd on thee, on thee devolv'd the treasure 
 Df my dear hate I — I have had such revenge I 
 Such horrible revenge I — thy life, thy honour, 
 W^re all too little ! — I have had thy tears ! 
 Kings, the earth's mightiest potentates, have been 
 Sly tools and instruments 1 yon haughty madam, 
 A^id your ambition, — yonder headstrong boy, 
 And his mad 'love, — all, all beneath my feet, 
 And slaves unto my will and deadly purpose. 
 Qtieen, Such glorious triumphs should be short 
 lived ; — ho ! 
 Lead eut that man to instant death. 
 
 Gon, Without confession, madam, shall I go? 
 
n FRANCIS TOE FIRST. 
 
 Shall not the world know on what serviced 
 Lousia of Savoy hastens such guerdon ? 
 Queen. Am I obey'd ? away with him I 
 Frcn» Your pardon ; — 
 If he has aught to speak before he dies. 
 Let him unfold ; it is our pleasure so ! 
 
 Gon, You did not deal so hardly with the soal 
 Of Bourbon^ when you sent me to his cell ; 
 But let that pass : — King Francis, mark me well 
 I was, by yonder lady, made the bearer 
 Of am'rous overtures unto De Bourbon, 
 Which he with scorn flung back ; else trust me, sir. 
 You had not stood so safely on your throne 
 As now you stand. 
 So much for De Bourbon. Now, 
 Look on the prostrate form of this fair creature I 
 "Why, how now, madam, do you blanch and start? 
 YouVe somewhat pale ! fie, fie ! what matters it, 
 ' Blood is but bloodt and life no more than life, 
 JSe*t cradled in however fair a form,' 
 Tst not well done I ha I well and suddenly ? 
 Are you not satisfied ? 
 
 Queen, Thou lying devil I 
 
 Gon. Dar'st thou deny the part thou hast in this? 
 
 Queen, Dar'st thou to me ? Ay, reptile 1 
 
 Gon. Here I look here ! — (Shows her letter.) 
 
 Queen. Ha ! 
 
 Crow, Hast thou^found thy master spirit, Queen I 
 Our wits have grappled hard for many a day. 
 What ! route at last? or hast some quaint devio«f 
 
 Queen. No ! Hell has conquer'd me ! 
 
 Fran. Give me that scroll — hast thou taid all, 
 Garcia I 
 
 Gon. Ay, all! Fair madam, fare ye well awhile: 
 And for my death, I thank you from my iohI. 
 
FRANCIS THE FIRST. n 
 
 For after the rich cup I've drain'd this hour. 
 The rest were tasteless, stale, and wearisome. 
 Life had no aina, or joy, or end, save vengeance j 
 Vengeance is satisfied, so farewell life, 
 
 [exit guarded 
 Fran, (reads the letter,) Oh! mother! guilt 
 hath taken from thy lips 
 AH proud repelling answer. Give me that ring, — 
 Strip me the diadem from off thy brows, — 
 -And bid a long farewell to vanity! 
 For in a holy nunnery immured, 
 Thou shalt have leisure to make peace with heav'a 
 And mourn i' the shade of solitude thy errora, — 
 (To the body,) — For thee, thou lovely dust, all 
 
 circumstance 
 That can gild death, shall wait thee to thy grate ! 
 Thou shalt lie with the royal and the proud ; 
 And marble by the dexf rous chisel taught, 
 Shall learn to mourn tjiiy hapless fortunes. 
 
 Lav. No! 
 Ye shall not bear her to your receptacles; 
 ]SI or raise a monument for busy eyes 
 To stare upon. No hand, in future days^ 
 Shall point to her last home; no voice shall crj 
 ' There lies King Francis' paramour! ' In life. 
 Thou didst despoil me of her; in death, she'e 
 
 mine! 
 1*11 give her that, my love doth tell me best 
 Fits with her fate — an honourable grave ; 
 There 'mong our tombs ancestral shall she reet, 
 Withont an epitaph, except my tears. 
 
 THE END 
 
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