let no one go but himself. And if this was his humour, one can
hardly wonder at Cecil and Raleigh, as well as Elizabeth, bidding the
man begone and try his hand at government, and be filled with the
fruit of his own devices. He goes; does nothing; or rather worse
than nothing; for in addition to the notorious ill-management of the
whole matter, we may fairly say that he killed Elizabeth. She never
held up her head again after Tyrone's rebellion. Elizabeth still
clings to him, changing her mind about him every hour, and at last
writes him such a letter as he deserves. He has had power, money,
men, such as no one ever had before. Why has he done nothing but
bring England to shame? He comes home frantically--the story of his
bursting into the dressing-room rests on no good authority--with a
party of friends at his heels, leaving Ireland to take care of
itself. Whatever entertainment he met with from the fond old woman,
he met with the coldness which he deserved from Raleigh and Cecil.
Who can wonder? What had he done to deserve aught else? But he all
but conquers; and Raleigh takes to his bed in consequence, sick of
the whole matter; as one would have been inclined to do oneself. He
is examined and arraigned; writes a maudlin letter to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth has been called a fool for listening to such pathetical
'love letters': and then hardhearted for not listening to them.
Poor Lady! do what she would, she found it hard enough to please all
parties while alive; must she be condemned over and above in aeternum
to be wrong whatsoever she did? Why is she not to have the benefit
of the plain straightforward interpretation which would be allowed to
any other human being; namely, that she approved of such fine talk as
long as it was proved to be sincere by fine deeds: but that when
these were wanting, the fine talk became hollow, fulsome, a fresh
cause of anger and disgust? Yet still she weeps over Essex when he
falls sick, as any mother would; and would visit him if she could