THE TRIAL SCENE FROM UUEEN ANNE BOhEYN. 



Rochf. Sister! 

 Anne. My brother ! 



[They rush into each other's arms, continuing the dialogue in a 

 quick, suppressed, and anxious tone, as if communing with 

 each other by stealth. 

 Rochf. Cheer thee, love. 

 Anne. And wherefore ? 

 Rochf. We yet may live. 

 Anne. 'Tis all alike : 



We do know nothing or of life or death. 

 A feather in the air, by each wind played with, 

 An atom of that dust to which all crumble, 

 Hath as just weight, and is as fully valid. 

 Here is the lot and measure of existence 

 To-day erect in our full height and vigour, 

 Tomorrow down th' abyss shall swallow all, 

 And even by our enemies forgotten. 



Rochf. 'Tis that uncertainty that gives us scope, 

 And justifies the prospect of release. 



Anne. We'll be more just ; no eyes may pierce the mist 

 That hides the windings of our travel here, 

 And its dread ending ; 'tis yet plain our task 

 Is daily meted ; and their pain is greatest, 

 Who, shunning instant toil, overload futurity. 

 Rochf. Then there's a secret policy of life 

 In every bosom, which, or good or bad, 

 No touchstone moves so quick, and clear reveals, 

 As our deportment, when death's straight upon us. 

 And so the world, to its own frailties tender, 

 When life's discreetly render'd up, esteem 

 It hath been honest. 



Anne. This were well heeded. 



Rochf. Let's be decided then, nor hang i'the balance, 

 Stirred by all breaths, and yet not swayed by one. 

 Anne. Even so : God aid us ! 

 Rocfif. Amen, sweet soul, amen ! 



Crier. Silence in the Court. [_ Norfolk and Peers return to their seats, 

 Norf. Prisoners give ear. 

 Ye have had deliberate trial for acts, 

 Of which resentful conscience should condemn ye 

 More loudly than the living voice of justice ; 

 Which, by my lips, for these most noble peers, 

 Doth here present ye capitally guilty, 

 Sentencing both your bodies to be burned, 

 Till the quick fire consume ye into ashes. 



Anne. (Falling on her knees.) Father, Creator, imminent, supreme, 

 All felt, unseen ; eternal, and immense ! 

 Thou know'st I have not merited this death ! 

 Oh ! weigh not now, that thro' my high career, 

 Meekness and piety have been expressed 

 So feebly. I take this judgment humanly. 

 Do them accept the victim, and remit her foes ! G.L.S. 



