 | Athelwold |  |
SCENE. II.
Enter Edgar, from the Triumph, attended by Leolyn, Oswald, &c.Edgar.
Chester, This Act, to Time's last Hour, renowns
Thy Name, with Edgar's. Far, as the bounded World
Gives Space for Fame to breathe in, shall be spread
The Boast of this Day's Triumph.—Yet, Thou say'st,
Nations, whose Names lie deep, in unborn Time,
Will rise, and censure, and mistake our Purpose.
Leolyn.
Many will judge amiss, and call it Insult.
Edgar.
I know it, and despise it. My freed Soul
Then, stript of her Encumb'rance, mounting strong,
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By the faint Tenure of weak mortal Praise:
But from the Partners of her bright Enlargement!
Spirits! that judge unprejudic'd, and move
Unbounded, and, in Millions, fill those Voids,
Which Thought ev'n akes, to guess at!
Leolyn.
The Forms of Homage
Differ, with Sovereign's Wills: yet are but Forms.
Kings suffer not by Seemings; if they did,
The Shame, that follows Insult, wou'd cut double,
And wound the Wounder deepest.
Edgar.
Nobly spoke!
Spoke like the Friend of Edgar, and of Athelwold!
Oswald.
Malignant Envy will not dare misjudge
The Virtues of our Monarch. Rais'd to this Height,
Our Wishes are outstript; and all our Task
Is, to receive, and wonder at, our Blessings!
Edgar.
No Flattery, Oswald.—Tis my noblest Pride
To have deserv'd Applause: To listen to it
Sullies the conscious Glory.—Athelwold!—
Re-enter Athelwold.
Friend, of my Soul! my Life's best self! my, Light!
My every Wish at once, and every Blessing!
Athelwold
, kneeling.
My Gracious, partial, Sovereign!
Edgar.
Rise—nor distress me,
With this vain Ceremony. Bow, but to Heaven,
That made thee not a King, to make thee more;
And stampt thy Soul divinely!—Cornwall's Daughter,
I find, deserv'd not, I so long shou'd lose thee.
All thy long Letters, welcome, as they were,
Brought me no Hope from Elfrid: Fame, it seems,
Deceiv'd us, and had flatter'd her.
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She's Fair:
But never cou'd have been that striking Charmer,
So found and lost at once. She flames not out
With That strong Blaze of Charms; that living Fire!
That burns, unquench'd, upon your Royal Memory.
Edgar.
No, Athelwold;—I see, I hear, she cannot.
Else, had thy Eyes catch'd Fire, and stream'd it on me.
Else, had thy labouring Heart, oppress'd with Meaning,
Shook, like an Earthquake, in Discharge of Passion.—
Thou art a cold Describer!—Oh!—the Day!
The dear, remember'd Day! when, at the Altar,
Where, in Thanksgiving, I had bow'd to Heav'n,
Heav'n seem'd descending on me!—My rais'd Eye
Met her flash'd Charms, amidst a gazing Crowd,
Who, from the Scaffolded Cathedral's Sides,
Pour'd their bold Looks upon me: Greatness, and Languor,
Flow'd, in a soften'd Radiance, from her Mien,
And kindled every Shrine, with new Divinity!
Sweetness sat smiling, on her humid Eye-balls:
And light-wing'd Fancy danc'd and flam'd about her!
Scarce were the solemn Duties of the Place
Remember'd, while I saw her!—At last—with Pain,—
Slow—dragging my reluctant Eyes away.
I lost her;—e're Religion licens'd Love
To steal a second Wonder.
Oswald.
Strange! that since then,
Inquiry shou'd have toil'd in vain to find her!
Edgar.
One wou'd have thought, the Light that paints the World,
Might have been lost, as possibly as hers!
But, since all Search is vain, and far-fam'd Elfrid
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And quench the blazing Image.—Danger, and Arms,
Shall fright the trembling Softness from my Soul.
I will resume War's Thunder.—Athelwold!—Leolyn!—
Help me to conquer: Wake me again to Glory:
Tear me from Love,—and guide me to Renown.
[Trumpets without.
Hark!—They move on.—Stay;—Friends have much to speak of.
Anon, we meet again.—
[Exit Edgar, follow'd by Oswald, &c.
Athelwold.
Prince Leolyn,
You had a warlike, tho' unhappy, Father.
Yon rugged Hills have eccho'd with his Glory.
But, that his last too fatal Rashness forfeited
Half Wales, your Patrimony, Edgar blushing,
Must have remember'd, when He spoke of Love,
You have a Sister's claim.
Leolyn.
Emma, my Lord,
Was then a Sovereign's Daughter: now, she is sunk,
To Sister of a Subject. Time was, when Edgar,
Short of his present Fortune, weigh'd my Daring;
And vow'd, my Sister shou'd partake his Throne:
He sees me, now, grown tame: an humble suff'rer!
And, while he holds my Lands, neglects my Blood;
And boasts another Love, to shame my Patience.
Athelwold.
Hope better from him. The King's Heart is Noble:
And his past Promise sacred. Passion's Tide
Bears him a-slant, and must, a while, have Way.
Unite your means with mine: my Fate requires
Your Sister shou'd be Queen. Urge Rights of Faith,
And leave th'Event to me.
Leolyn.
I can urge nothing.
Let me confess, that Love, the smiling Ruin,
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Wants ev'n the Will to murmur.—Ethelinda,
The gentle Ethelinda! fills my Soul.
Why start you at her Name? why have you shunn'd
To urge her Pity, in your Friend's Behalf?
You sav'd her Life, and must have Int'rest in Her,
To aid a Lover's Wishes.
Athelwold.
Oh! Friendship! Friendship!
To what wilt thou reduce me!
Leolyn.
I doubt not Friendship.
I speak of Love—my Love to Ethelinda.
Athelwold.
Be wise, and think no more of Ethelinda.
Leolyn.
Bid me not live, and I'll obey you gladly.
But, when you bid me cease to think of Her,
You bid me live to Sense of all Death's Pains,
And die to all Life's Comforts.
Athelwold.
How deaf is Passion!
You must not think of Ethelinda.
Leolyn.
I must not?
Athelwold.
Unless you cease to press my Aid, you must not.
Leolyn.
Great is your Power, 'tis true, and no where Greater
Than in the Breast of Leolyn.—Yet, sure!
A Prohibition, of such fatal Weight,
Owes your Friend's Ear some Reason?
Athelwold.
I have no Reason.
Ruin and Fate break in upon my Schemes,
And plunge me in Confusion.
Leolyn.
Ruin and Fate!
Schemes and Confusion!—This Disorder proves,
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I fir'd a Rival's Jealousy.
Athelwold.
You wrong me, Prince:
Widely, you wrong me!
Leolyn.
Oh!—Grant, Heaven, I may!—
Ease my Impatience, quickly then, and say,
Whence that Confusion rose?
Athelwold.
From you; from you:
From Ethelinda, Friendship, Honour, Pity:
Spare me the Torment of a plainer Reason,
And, trust my Faith, there is one.
Leolyn.
Is one?—Ha!
What plainer Reason?—Perish all my Hopes
Unpitied,—Let my hated Name be blotted
From every List of Honesty and Fame,
If I renounce not Athelwold's false Friendship,
And, from this Moment, hold him for my Foe,
Till he discloses this pretended Secret,
That my Heart springs to snatch at.
Athelwold.
Hot Leolyn!
Rash, headstrong Man!—Now, by th'eternal Power!
By Heaven's all-dreaded Throne! thou shalt not.—
Leolyn.
Shall not! What!
Not marry Ethelinda?
Athelwold.
Impatient Leolyn!
Why dost thou interrupt me?—
Leolyn.
Impatient, said'st thou?
I am Frost, Rock, Ice, Adamant!—Perdition!
Impatient? I am an Anvil.—Shall not marry her?
Athelwold.
I see you mov'd,—and bleed with Pity for you.
You said I was your Rival: Hear me, rash Man!
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Your Levity deserves not.—Am I thy Rival?—
Take then this Secret from me: Yes, Leolyn,
Woman and Love have made a Traitor of me.
I have, indeed, been false; but not to thee:
I have deceiv'd the King,—have married Elfrid;
And found her Beauty more than Fame had spoke her.
This known, destroys me: Yet ev'n this I tell,
To ease the throbbing Doubt of thy fond Heart.
Leolyn.
Ease! what! whom!—said'st thou not that Ethelinda
Must not be mine? that Ethelinda shall not?
And, while Life trembles at it, thou wouldst sooth me
With a slight Tale of Elfrid!—Why dost thou trifle with me?
Or dost thou know, for, by my Heart's lost Hope,
Thou seem'st to mean it,—some black secret Story
That her fair Fame is touch'd by?—Ha!—by that Heaven
That doom'd me, from my Birth, to Wrongs and Shame!
Thou hast thyself betray'd my Ethelinda!
My tortur'd Mem'ry recollects your Looks,
Her Blushes, your Confusion, when by chance
My Entrance has disturb'd your Privacies,
With an unwish'd Intrusion.—Oh! 'tis plain,
Thou hast destroy'd my Peace: Thou hast possess'd her.
Thou!—Thou!—thy guilty Silence owns it; proves it.
Was it not so?—Say; answer me;—speak; tell me?
Athelwold.
Mad, as the Winds in Tempest!—till thou cool'st
I will not answer thee.
Leolyn
, drawing his Sword.
Curse on my Life's best Wishes,
If I not force the Secret from thy Heart,
Or drown it in thy Blood.
Athelwold.
Away, light Threat'ner!—
'Twas Friendship's undeserv'd and gen'rous Delicacy,
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Has wak'd a Jealousy, that will distract thee.—
Honour, forgive me, if, too nicely urg'd,
I seem to wrong thy Laws!—and tell this Madman,
I have myself a Claim to Ethelinda,
That blots out his, for ever.
Leolyn.
Married to Elfrid!
And yet a Claim to Ethelinda too,
That blots out mine!—Die, and be dumb for ever,
Thou lying, babling Traitor.
Athelwold.
Nay, then,
Defend thyself, rash Boaster.
[They fight, Leolyn is disarm'd.
Enter Oswald, with a Guard.
Oswald.
Shame, my good Lords!
Shame on this sudden Boldness of Dispute,
So near the Royal Presence!—At the Hill's Foot
Your Warmth alarm'd the King, and he requires
Your Presence, Prince.
Leolyn.
Oh! that the King's Command
Were kind enough but to indulge the Death
Proud Athelwold despis'd the Power of giving me!
[Exit, with Oswald and Guards.
Athelwold
alone.
Why hop'd I Peace, who had declin'd from Virtue!
The Innocent alone act steadily;
The Guilty can but mean it.—O Ethelinda!—
In the dark Race of Vice, when once begun,
We start on Mischiefs we most wish to shun:
Push'd by the Fate of Guilt, and thence accurs'd,
New Crimes grow needful, to support the first;
Till, from Dishonour, we to Ruin fall,
And one disjointed Virtue loosens all.
Exit.
| Athelwold | |