Historical Dramas, Etc.' Don Carlos.--Mary Stuart.--The Maid of Orleans.--The Bride of Messina

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1872 edition. Excerpt: ...seduce No mortal more. The world has other cares;--None is ambitious of the dang'rous honour Of being your fourth husband:--You destroy Your wooers like your husbands. Mary starting angrily). Sister, sister!--Grant me forbearance, all ye powr's of heav'n! Elizabeth (regards her long, with a look of proud contempt). Those then, my Lord of Leicester, are the charms Which no man with impunity can view, Near which no woman dare attempt to stand? In sooth, this honour has been cheaply gain'd; She who to all is common, may with ease Become the common object of applause Maky.. This is too much! Elizabeth (laughing insultingly). You show us now, indeed, Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask. Mary (burning with rage, yet dignified and noble). My sins were human, and the faults of youth: Superior force misled me. I have never Denied or sought to hide it: I despis'd. All false appearance as became a Queen. The worst of me is known, and I can say, That I am better than the fame I bear. Wo to you! when, in time to come, the world Shall draw the robe of honour from your deeds, With which thy arsh-hypocrisy has veil'd The raging flames of lawless secret lust. Virtue was not your portion from your mother; Well know we what it was which brought the head Of Anna Boleyn to the fatal block. Shrewsbury (stepping between both Queens). O! Heav'n! Alas, and must it come to this! Is this the moderation, the submission, My Lady?--Mary. Moderation! I've supported What human nature can support: farewell, Lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience, Fly to thy native heaven; burst at length Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave, In all tby fury, long-suppressed rancour! And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk Impart'st the murd'rous glance, O, arm my tongue...