The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex Page #4

- And of a thousand fragrant posies

- And love cannot endure without its youth

A cap of flowers and a kirtle

The flowers fade

When summertime is ended

- Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle

- Our love is dead

A love we thought so splendid

If these delights

Your mind may move

Then live with me

And be my love

But were I young

And loved so well

Then I might hold you close forever...

So, you brazen wench, you defy me!

You dare hold your queen up

to ridicule? You forward hussy!

You, who can keep

neither your eyes nor your nose...

...or your person where they belong!

Look at you.

Because a gentleman once glanced

at you doesn't entitle you...

...to come into my presence

dressed like an indecent hedge drab.

Take it off, you shameless baggage.

Get out of my sight!

You too. Do you stand around like a herd

of stupid cattle while I am treated so?

You, too, think I am too old, too ugly

for a man to look upon with love.

Take them down!

Do you hear me?

Smash them.

Destroy them.

Break every mirror in the palace. I never

want to see one in Whitehall again!

What is this?

What now?

Why are you crying,

Mistress Margaret?

Come here.

What have you to fear?

You, the most innocent of them all?

Look at me.

Or do you too find your queen's face

too harsh for kindly glances?

Oh, no, Your Majesty.

I think you're lovely. Really, I do.

But I was crying because I...

- Well?

- Well...

A little for myself

because I was frightened and lonely.

Because I was lonely,

I cried for you too.

You cried for me?

Oh, forgive me, Your Grace...

...but I too know what it is

to love someone...

...and not be able to see and to hear.

It makes me cross too sometimes

and out of sorts.

You've no idea, when I'm

out of your presence, how horrible I am.

Are you indeed?

And what is he like,

this lucky one that you are lonely for?

Oh, he's so tall...

...and his nose curls up.

His nose what?

I mean, when he laughs,

his nose crinkles up like this.

He laughs a lot, you know?

Sometimes at me.

Imagine. Oh, and he's

handsome too, no doubt.

Oh, madam...

...and his eyes are blue,

like cornflowers, only much nicer.

And when he looks at me...

Who is this paragon?

Why, Sir Peter Finchley, Your Grace.

Don't you remember?

Sir Peter Finchley?

Yes. Now I remember.

A wide-shouldered rascal...

...and much better-looking

than any man has a right to be.

With Baganold's forces in Ireland,

isn't he?

- You want him home again, I suppose?

- Oh, more than anything in the world.

He shall be recalled.

I don't know how to thank

Your Majesty.

But it's doubtful if he'll come.

I shall command it.

And when he takes you

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