LEICESTER.
You are at Fotheringay,
My liege!

ELIZABETH (as if surprised, casting an angry look at LEICESTER).
Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester?

LEICESTER.
'Tis past, my queen;--and now that heaven hath led
Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous;
And let sweet pity be triumphant now.


SHREWSBURY.
Oh, royal mistress! yield to our entreaties;
Oh, cast your eyes on this unhappy one
Who stands dissolved in anguish.

[MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards
ELIZABETH, stops shuddering at half way: her action
expresses the most violent internal struggle.

ELIZABETH.
How, my lords!
Which of you then announced to me a prisoner
Bowed down by woe? I see a haughty one
By no means humbled by calamity.

MARY.