expressed myself in good Italian:
I learned the language as a child, and think I have not forgotten it.
After that serious address she again seemed gracious, and gave the
secretary her hand to kiss, when she dismissed him. The next day
commissioners were appointed to enquire into his grievances.[290]

At that time the affairs of Ireland were once more occupying the
Queen. The Spaniards had been compelled by Lord Mountjoy to leave the
island; he had beaten them together with the Irish in a decisive
action: but, despite his victory, many further conflicts took place,
and the rebellion was not suppressed; Tyrone still maintained himself
in the hills and woods of Ulster; and, as a return of the Spaniards
was feared, Mountjoy too was at last disposed to come to an agreement
with him. The Queen was in her inmost soul against this, for only
fresh rebellions would be occasioned by it; she required an absolute
surrender at discretion: if she once allowed the rebels to have their
lives secured to them, she soon after retracted the concession. She
even spoke of wishing to go to Ireland, in person; the impression
produced by her presence would put an end to all revolt.

But at this moment a sudden alteration was remarked in her: she no
longer appeared at the festivities before Lent, which went off in an
insignificant style. At first her seclusion was explained by the death
of one of her ladies whom she loved, the Countess of Nottingham: but
soon it could not be concealed that the Queen herself was seized with
a dangerous illness: sleep and appetite began to fail her: she showed
a deep melancholy. 'No,' she replied to one of the kinsmen of her
mother's house, Robert Cary, who at that moment had come back to court
and addressed friendly words to her about her health, 'No Robin, well
I am not, my heart has been for some time oppressed and heavy;' she
broke off with painful groans and sighing, hitherto unwonted in her,
now no longer suppressed. It was manifest that mental distress
accompanied the bodily decay.[291]

Who has not heard of the ring which Elizabeth is said to have once
given to the Earl of Essex with the promise that, if it were presented
to her, she would show him mercy, whatever might have occurred: he
had, so the tale runs, in his last distresses wished to send it her
through the Countess of Nottingham: but she was prevented from giving
it by her husband who was an enemy of Essex, and so he had to die
without mercy: