Languages & literature > Albion queens, or, The death of Mary Queen of Scots

*4 THE ALBION QUEENS.
Nor. Then flie fish’d, and faid.
Go to the Queen, perhaps upon her throne;
Tell her, mine is an humble floor, my palace
An old dark tower, that threat’ning dares the Iky,
And feems at war with heaven to keep day out:
For eighteen years of winter, I ne’er faw
The grafs embroider’d o’er with icy fpangles,
Nor trees majeftic in their fnowy robes;
Nor yet in fummer, how the fields were clad,
Andhowibft nature gently fhifts the fcene,
From heavy veflment to delightful green.
Qn. El. Oh, duke, enough, thy language ftabs my foul.
Nor. No feather’d chorifters of chearlul note,
Salute my dulky gate to bring the morn,
But birds of frightful omen. ‘ Slriech owls, bats,
‘ And ravens, fuch as haunt old ruin’d caftles,
4 Make no diflin^lit n here ’twixt fun and moon,
4 But join their clattering wings with their loud creaks,’
That fing hoarfe midnight dirges all the hours.
EL Oh, horror! Cecil, flop thy ears and mine.
Now, cruel Morton, is Ihe guilty now ?
She cannot be ambitious of my crown ;
For though it be a glorious thing to fight.
Yet, like a glittering, gaudy fnake, it fits,
Wreathing about a prince’s tortur’d brow :
And, Oh, it has thoufand flings as fatal.
Thou haft no more to fay ?
4 Nor. I found this mourning excellence alone;
4 She was afleep, not on a purple bed,
4 A gorgeous palate, but upon the floor,
4 Which a mean carpet clad, whereon Ihe fat,
4 And on a homely couch did lean her head :
‘ Two winking tapers, at a diftance flood ;
4 For other light ne’er blefs’d that difmal place,
4 Which made the room look like fame facred urn,
4 And ftje, the fad effigies of herfelf.
* £hf. El. No more; alas! I cannot hear thee out—*
Pray, rife my Lord.
Nor. Oh, ne’er till you have pity.
4 Her face and breaft I might riifcover bare;
4 And looking nearer, I beheld how tears
Slid