_Bur._ Madam, your wrongs, I must confess, are great; Yet still, I fear, you know not half his falsehood. Who, that had eyes to look on beauty; Who, but the false, perfidious Essex, could Prefer to Nottingham a Rutland's charms? Start not!--By Heaven, I tell you naught but truth, What I can prove, past doubt; that he received The lady Rutland's hand, in sacred wedlock, The very night before his setting out For Ireland. _Not._ Oh! may quick destruction seize them! May furies blast, and hell destroy their peace! May all their nights---- _Bur._ I pray, have patience, madam! Restrain a while your rage; curses are vain. But there's a surer method to destroy him; And, if you'll join with me, 'tis done--he falls. _Not._ Ha! say'st thou, Burleigh! Speak, my genius, speak! Be quick as vengeance' self to tell me how! _Bur._ You must have heard, the commons have impeached him, And we have proofs sufficient for his ruin. But then the queen--you know how fair he stands In her esteem; and Rutland, too, his wife, Hath full possession of the royal ear. Here then, my Nottingham, begins thy task: Try every art t' incense the queen against him, Then step between her and the Lady Rutland: Observe Southampton, too, with jealous eye; Prevent, as much as possible, his suit: For, well I know, he will not fail to try His eloquence on the behalf of Essex. _Not._ It shall be done; his doom is fix'd: he dies. Oh 'twas a precious thought! I never knew Such heartfelt satisfaction.--Essex dies! And Rutland, in her turn, shall learn to weep. The time is precious; I'll about it straight. Come, vengeance, come! assist me now to breathe Thy venom'd spirit in the royal ear! [_Exit._ _Bur._ There spoke the very genius of the sex! A disappointed woman sets no bounds To her revenge.--Her temper's form'd to serve me. _Enter RALEIGH._ _Ral._ The Lord Southampton, with ungovern'd rage, Resents aloud his disappointed measures. I met him in the outward court; he seeks, In haste, your lordship; and, forgetting forms, Pursues me hither, and demands to see you. _Bur._ Raleigh, 'tis well! Withdraw--attend the queen-- Leave me to deal with this o'erbearing man. [_Exit RALEIGH._ _Enter SOUTHAMPTON._ _South._ Where is the man, whom virtue calls her friend?-- I give you joy, my lord!--Your quenchless fury At length prevails,--and now your malice triumphs. You've hunted honour to the toil of faction, And view his struggles with malicious joy. _Bur._ What means my lord? _South._ O fraud! shall valiant Essex Be made a sacrifice to your ambition? Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice, And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not, sure, Thus bid defiance to each show of worth, Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus Your suffering country, in her bravest son!