ent shall approve.

[To BURLEIGH.

[Lord Burleigh's honest fears, I know it well,
Are but the offspring of his faithful care;
But yet, Lord Leicester has most truly said,
There is no need of haste; our enemy
Hath lost already her most dangerous sting--
The mighty arm of France: the fear that she
Might quickly be the victim of their zeal
Will curb the blind impatience of her friends.]

[1] The picture of Ate, the goddess of mischief, we are acquainted
with from Homer, II. v. 91, 130. I. 501. She is a daughter of
Jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal gods.
She counteracted Jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by
her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where
she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in
order to involve them in calamity.--HERDER.

Shakspeare has, in Julius Caesar, made a fine use of this image:--

"And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge
with Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."

I need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of
introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.--TRANSLATOR.

SCENE IV.

Enter SIR AMIAS PAULET and MORTIMER.

ELIZABETH.
There's Sir Amias Paulet; noble sir,
What tidings bring you?

PAULET.
Gracious sovereign,
My nephew, who but lately is returned
From foreign travel, kneels before thy feet,
And offers thee his first and earliest homage,
Grant him thy royal grace, and let him grow
And flourish in the sunshine of thy favor.

MORTIMER (kneeling on one knee).
Long live my royal mistress! Happiness
And glory from a crown to grace her brows!

ELIZABETH.
Arise, sir knight; and welcome here in England;
You've made, I hear, the tour, have been in France
And Rome, and tarried, too, some time at Rheims:
Tell me what plots our enemies are hatching?

MORTIMER.
May God confound them all! And may the darts
Which they shall aim against my sovereign,
Recoiling, strike their own perfidious breasts!

ELIZABETH.
Did you see Morgan, and the wily Bishop
Of Ross?

MORTIMER.
I saw, my queen, all Scottish exiles
Who forge at Rheims their plots against this realm.
I stole into their confidence in hopes
To learn some hint of their conspiracies.

PAULET.
Private despatches they intrusted to him,
In cyphers, for the Queen of