(_regards her long with a look of proud contempt_).
These then, 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,
MARY. This is too much!
ELIZ. (_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.
Woe to you! when, in time to come, the world
Shall draw the robe of honour from your deeds,
With which thy arch-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 Anne Boleyn to the fatal block.
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 thy fury, long-suppressed rancour!
And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk
Impart'st the murd'rous glance, O, arm my tongue
With poison'd darts!
(_raising her voice_).
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