Elizabeth R1971

Queen Elizabeth I:
You are recovered,then, Sir Francis?

Walsingham:
Thank you, madam. The pain is less severe.

Queen Elizabeth I:
And the deed is done. Your work is accomplished. The dog died, did you know? The terrier? It refused food, grew thin and died. The dog and its mistress, both dead.

Walsingham:
There was no other path, Majesty. You acted with great wisdom.

Queen Elizabeth I:
You think there is great wisdom in killing a queen?

Walsingham:
She is at rest,madam. And with God's good grace, she will find eternal peace.

Queen Elizabeth I:
Peace. You are much mistaken, Sir Francis. There is no peace for the dead. This is a busy time for my royal cousin. Already the creatures are at work, crawling between her lips, entering her nose, burrowing beneath her eyes. Worms cluster in her belly, competing with foul maggots for the tastiest morsel. Even now she is being invaded by a legion of grey flesh-eaters. Even now the body writhes and moves with the activities of countless parasites. There is no peace for my cousin, Sir Francis, and will be none till she is consumed and rotten. Only then will her white bones be at rest. This is our common end, old Moor, picked clean by worms, flesh curdling with corruption, stinking like a blocked midden. So do not talk to me of God's good grace. Dying is a fearful process. I have known death since I was a child. I have stared long into his white, unseeing eyes. I know his dread cruelty. When you are lying on your last bed remember my words. Cry out for mercy. Bite deep intoyour lips, and recall how you plotted my cousin's most terrible end.