and bear witness to what I do

“Melville,” said the Queen, “thou art an ancient courtier — when didst thou ever know a Sovereign Prince recall to his presence subjects who had parted from him on such terms as those on which these envoys of the Council left us, and who yet were recalled without submission or apology?— Let it cost me both life and crown, I will not again command them to my presence.” “Alas! madam, that empty form should make a barrier! If I rightly understand, you are not unwilling to listen to real and advantageous counsel — but your scruple is saved — I hear them returning to ask your final resolution. Oh! take the advice of the noble Seyton, and you may once more command those who now usurp a triumph over you. But hush! I hear them in the vestibule.” As he concluded speaking, George Douglas opened the door of the apartment, and marshalled in the two noble envoys. “We come, madam,” said the Lord Ruthven, “to request your answer to the proposal of the Council.” “Your final answer,” said Lord Lindesay; “for with a refusal you must couple the certainty that you have precipitated your fate, and renounced the last opportunity of making peace with God, and ensuring your longer abode in the world.” “My lords,” said Mary, with inexpressible grace and dignity, “the evils we cannot resist we must submit to — I will subscribe these parchments with such liberty of choice as my condition permits me. Were I on yonder shore, with a fleet jennet and ten good and loyal knights around me, I would subscribe my sentence of eternal condemnation as soon as the resignation of my throne. But here, in the Castle of Lochleven, with deep water around me — and you, my lords, beside me,— I have no freedom of choice.— Give me the pen, Melville, and bear witness to what I do, and why I do it.” “It is our hope your Grace will not suppose yourself compelled by any apprehensions from us,” said the Lord Ruthven, “to execute what must be your own voluntary deed.”