That God, whose potent hand hath thrice preserved thee, Who lent my aged feeble arm its strength To overcome the madman:--he deserves Thy confidence. I will not raise the voice Of justice now, for now is not the time; Thou canst not hear it in this storm of passion. Yet listen but to this! Thou tremblest now Before this living Mary--tremble rather Before the murdered, the beheaded Mary. She will arise, and quit her grave, will range A fiend of discord, an avenging ghost, Around thy realm, and turn thy people's hearts From their allegiance. For as yet the Britons Hate her, because they fear her; but most surely Will they avenge her when she is no more. They will no more behold the enemy Of their belief, they will but see in her The much-lamented issue of their kings A sacrifice to jealousy and hate. Then quickly shalt thou see the sudden change When thou hast done the bloody deed; then go Through London, seek thy people, which till now Around thee swarmed delighted; thou shalt see Another England, and another people; For then no more the godlike dignity Of justice, which subdued thy subjects' hearts, Will beam around thee. Fear, the dread ally Of tyranny, will shuddering march before thee, And make a wilderness in every street-- The last, extremest crime thou hast committed. What head is safe, if the anointed fall?

Shrewsbury Monologue from Mary Stuart: A Tragedy

Rehearse Shrewsbury's monologue