MORTIMER, PAULET, and DRURY rush in in the greatest
consternation. Attendants hasten over the stage.

PAULET.
Shut all the portals—draw the bridges up.

MORTIMER.
What is the matter, uncle?

PAULET.
Where is the murderess?
Down with her, down into the darkest dungeon!

MORTIMER.
What is the matter? What has passed?

PAULET.
The queen!
Accursed hand! Infernal machination!

MORTIMER.
The queen! What queen?

PAULET.
What queen! The Queen of England;
She has been murdered on the road to London.

[Hastens into the house.

SCENE VIII.

MORTIMER, soon after O'KELLY.

MORTIMER (after a pause).
Am I then mad? Came not one running by
But now, and cried aloud, the queen is murdered!
No, no! I did but dream. A feverish fancy
Paints that upon my mind as true and real,
Which but existed in my frantic thoughts.
Who's there? It is O'Kelly. So dismayed!

O'KELLY (rushing in).
Flee, Mortimer, oh! flee—for all is lost!

MORTIMER.
What then is lost?

O'KELLY.
Stand not on question. Think
On speedy flight.

MORTIMER.
What has occurred?

O'KELLY.
Sauvage,
That madman, struck the blow.

MORTIMER.
It is then true!

O'KELLY.
True, true—oh! save yourself.

MORTIMER (exultingly).
The queen is murdered—
And Mary shall ascend the English throne!

O'KELLY.
Is murdered! Who said that?

MORTIMER.
Yourself.

O'KELLY.
She lives,
And I, and you, and all of us are lost.

MORTIMER.
She lives!

O'KELLY.
The blow was badly aimed, her cloak
Received it. Shrewsbury disarmed the murderer.

MORTIMER.
She lives!

O'KELLY.
She lives to whelm us all in ruin;
Come, they surround the park already; come.

MORTIMER.
Who did this frantic deed?

O'KELLY.
It was the monk
From Toulon, whom you saw immersed in thought,
As in the chapel the pope's bull was read,
Which poured anathemas upon the queen.
He wished to take the nearest, shortest way,
To free, with one bold stroke, the church of God,
And gain the crown of martyrdom: he trusted
His purpose only to the priest, and struck
The fatal blow upon the road to London.

MORTIMER (after a long silence).
Alas! a fierce, destructive fate pursues thee,
Unhappy one! Yes—now thy death is fixed;
Thy very angel has prepared thy fall!

O'KELLY.
Say, whither will you take your flight? I go
To hide me in the forests of the north.

MORTIMER.
Fly thither, and may God attend your flight;
I will remain, and still attempt to save
My love; if not, my bed shall be upon her grave.

[Exeunt at different sides.