Mary Stuart. Фридрих Шиллер

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       With base suspicions, and with brutal manners,

       He wearied your affections, and became

       An object to you of deserved disgust:

       The illusion, which till now had overcast

       Your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled

       His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn.

       And did he seek again to win your love?

       Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?

       Or fall in deep repentance at your feet?

       No; the base wretch defied you; he, who was

       Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king,

       [And strove, through fear, to force your inclination.]

       Before your eyes he had your favorite singer,

       Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge

       With blood the bloody deed——

       MARY.

       And bloodily,

       I fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me:

       You seek to comfort me, and you condemn me.

       KENNEDY.

       You were, when you consented to this deed,

       No more yourself; belonged not to yourself;

       The madness of a frantic love possessed you,

       And bound you to a terrible seducer,

       The wretched Bothwell. That despotic man

       Ruled you with shameful, overbearing will,

       And with his philters and his hellish arts

       Inflamed your passions.

       MARY.

       All the arts he used

       Were man's superior strength and woman's weakness.

       KENNEDY.

       No, no, I say. The most pernicious spirits

       Of hell he must have summoned to his aid,

       To cast this mist before your waking senses.

       Your ear no more was open to the voice

       Of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut

       To decency; soft female bashfulness

       Deserted you; those cheeks, which were before

       The seat of virtuous, blushing modesty,

       Glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire.

       You cast away the veil of secrecy,

       And the flagitious daring of the man

       O'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed

       Your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze:

       You let the murderer, whom the people followed

       With curses, through the streets of Edinburgh,

       Before you bear the royal sword of Scotland

       In triumph. You begirt your parliament

       With armed bands; and by this shameless farce,

       There, in the very temple of great justice,

       You forced the judges of the land to clear

       The murderer of his guilt. You went still further—

       O God!

       MARY.

       Conclude—nay, pause not—say for this

       I gave my hand in marriage at the altar.

       KENNEDY.

       O let an everlasting silence veil

       That dreadful deed: the heart revolts at it.

       A crime to stain the darkest criminal!

       Yet you are no such lost one, that I know.

       I nursed your youth myself—your heart is framed

       For tender softness: 'tis alive to shame,

       And all your fault is thoughtless levity.

       Yes, I repeat it, there are evil spirits,

       Who sudden fix in man's unguarded breast

       Their fatal residence, and there delight

       To act their dev'lish deeds; then hurry back

       Unto their native hell, and leave behind

       Remorse and horror in the poisoned bosom.

       Since this misdeed, which blackens thus your life,

       You have done nothing ill; your conduct has

       Been pure; myself can witness your amendment.

       Take courage, then; with your own heart make peace.

       Whatever cause you have for penitence,

       You are not guilty here. Nor England's queen,

       Nor England's parliament can be your judge.

       Here might oppresses you: you may present

       Yourself before this self-created court

       With all the fortitude of innocence.

       MARY.

       I hear a step.

       KENNEDY.

       It is the nephew—In.