f all his envy'd greatness,
Lies prostrate now beneath thy savage feet;
But still th' exalted spirit moves above thee.
Go, tell the queen thy own detested story:
Full in her sight disclose the snaky labyrinths,
And lurking snares, you plant in virtue's path,
To catch integrity's unguarded step.

_Bur._ Your country has impeach'd, your queen accused you;
To these address your best defence, and clear
Your question'd conduct from disloyal guilt.
What answer to the queen shall I return?

_Essex._ My staff of office I from her received,
And will to her, and her alone, resign it.

_Bur._ This bold refusal will incense the queen,
This arrogance will make your guilt the stronger. [_Exit._

_South._ Sustain, my noble friend, thy wonted greatness;
Collect thy fortitude, and summon all
Thy soul, to bear with strength this crushing weight,
Which falls severe upon thee; whilst my friendship
Shall lend a helping hand, and share the burden.
I'll hence with speed, and to the queen repair,
And all the power of warmest words employ,
To gain you yet one audience more, and bring
Her majesty to milder thoughts. Farewell. [_Exit._

_Essex._ As newly waked from all my dreams of glory,
Those gilded visions of deceitful joys,
I stand confounded at the unlook'd-for change,
And scarcely feel this thunderbolt of fate.
The painted clouds, which bore my hopes aloft,
Alas, are now vanish'd to yielding air,
And I am fall'n indeed!--
How weak is reason, when affection pleads!
How hard to turn the fond, deluded heart
From flatt'ring toys, which sooth'd its vanity!
The laurell'd trophy, and the loud applause,
The victor's triumph, and the people's gaze;
The high-hung banner, and recording gold,
Subdue me still, still cling around my heart,
And pull my reason down.

_Enter LADY RUTLAND._

_Rut._ Oh, let me fly,
To clasp, embrace, the lord of my desires,
My soul's delight, my utmost joy, my husband!
Once more I hold him in my eager arms,
Behold his face, and lose my soul in rapture!

_Essex._ Transporting bliss! my richest, dearest treasure!
My mourning turtle, my long-absent peace,
Oh, come yet nearer, nearer to my heart!
My raptured soul springs forward, to receive thee:
Thou heaven on earth, thou balm of all my woe!

_Rut._ Oh, shall I credit, then, each ravish'd sense?
Has pitying Heaven consented to my prayer?
It has, it has; my Essex is return'd!
But language poorly speaks the joys I fe