University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A Saxon hall, with the walls hung round with armour. Mollo, Ethelbert, Selred, Ethwald, Bertha, Sigurtha, and others, are discovered sitting round a table, on which stand goblets and flaggons &c. after a feast.
Eth.
Nay, gentle Bertha, if thou followest him,
Shear off those lovely tresses from thy head,
And with a frowning helmet shade those eyes;
E'en with thy prowess added to his own,
Methinks he will not be surcharg'd of means
To earn his brilliant fortune in the field.

Ber.
Nay, rather will I fill a little scrip
With sick-men's drugs and salves for fest'ring wounds,
And journey by his side a trav'lling leech.

Sel.
That will, indeed, no unmeet comrade be
For one whose fortune must be earn'd with blows
Borne by no substitutes.

Ethw.
Well jested, Thanes!
But some, ere now, with fortune earn'd by blows
Borne by no substitutes, have placed their mates
Above the gorgeous dames of castled lords.
Cheer up, sweet Bertha!
For ev'ry drug ta'en from thy little scrip
I'll pay thee back with—

Eth.
Sticks the word in his throat.

Sel.
It is too great for utt'rance.

Eth.
Here's to your growing honour, future chief;
And here is to the lofty dame who shall be—

[They all drink ironically to Ethw. and Berth.
Mollo.
(seriously).
Here is a father's wish for thee, my son, (To Ethw.)

Better than all the glare of fleeting greatness.
Be thou at home the firm domestic prop
Of thine old father's house, in this as honour'd
As he who bears far hence advent'rous arms!
Nor think thee thus debarr'd from warlike deeds:
Our neighb'ring chiefs are not too peaceable,
And much adventure breed in little space.

Ethw.
What! shall I in their low destructive strife
Put forth my strength, and earn with valiant deeds
The fair renown of mighty Woggarwolfe,
The flower of all those heroes? Hateful ruffian!
He drinks men's blood and human flesh devours!
For scarce a heifer on his pasture feeds
Which hath not cost a gallant warrior's life.
I cry you mercy, father! you are kind,
But I do lack the grace to thank you for it.

[Mollo leans on the table and looks sad.
Sigur.
(to Mol.)
Good uncle, you are sad! Our gen'rous Ethwald
Contemns not his domestic station here,
Though little willing to enrich your walls
With spoils of petty war.

Ethw.
(seeing his father sad, and assuming cheerfulness).
Nay, father, if your heart is set on spoil,
Let it be Woggarwolfe's that you shall covet,
And small persuasion may suffice to tempt me.
To plunder him will be no common gain.
We feasters love the flesh of well-run game:
And, faith! the meanest beeves of all his herds
Have hoof'd it o'er as many weary miles,
With goading pike-men hollaing at their heels,
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods.
His very sheep too all are noble beasts,
For which contending warriors have fought;
And thrifty dames will find their fleece enrich'd
With the productions of full many a soil.

Ber.
How so, my Ethwald?

Ethw.
Countest thou for nought
Furze from the upland moors, and bearded down
Torn from the thistles of the sandy plain,
The sharp-tooth'd bramble of the shaggy woods
And tufted seeds from the dark marsh? Good sooth;
She well may triumph in no vulgar skill
Who spins a coat from it.
And then his wardrobe, too, of costly gear,
Which from the wallets of a hundred thieves.
Has been transferring for a score of years,
In endless change, it will be noble spoil!
[A trumpet is heard without, and Ethw. starts from his seat.
Ha! 'tis the trumpet's voice!
What royal leader this way shapes his route?
[A silent pause.
Ye answer not. and yet ye seem to know.

Enter Servants in haste.
1st serv.
The king! the king! and with five thousand men!

2d serv.
I saw his banners from the battlements
Waving between the woods.

3d serv.
And so did I.
His spearmen onward move in dusky lines,
Like the brown reeds that skirt the winter pool.

Sel.
Well, well, there needs not all this wond'ring din:
He passes on, and we shall do our part.

1st serv.
The foe is three leagues off.

Sel.
Hold thy fool's tongue! I want no information.

[Ethwald remains for a while thoughtful, then running eagerly to the end of the hall, climbs up and snatches from the walls a sword and shield, with which he is about to run out.
Mollo
(tottering from his seat).
O go not forth, my rash impetuous son!
Say yet a term beneath thy father's root,
And, were it at the cost of half my lands,
I'll send thee out accoutred like a Thane.

Ethw.
No, reverend sire, these be my patrimony!
I ask of thee no more.

Ber.
And wilt thou leave us?

Mollo.
Ay, he'll break thy heart,
And lay me in the dust!

[Trumpet sounds again, and Ethw. turning hastily from them, runs out.
Ber.
Oh! he is gone for ever!

Eth.
Patience, sweet Bertha!

Sd.
The castle gates are shut by my command,
He cannot now escape. Holla, good friends!

[To those without.
Enter Followers.
Eth.
Send out my scout to climb the farther hill,
And spy if that my bands are yet in sight.
[Exeunt followers.
Now let us try to tame this lion's whelp.

Enter Servant in haste.
Sel.
What tidings, man? Is Ethwald at the gate?

Ser.
No, good my lord, nor yet within the walls.

Sel.
What, have they open'd to him?

Ser.
No, my lord,
Loudly he call'd, but when it was refus'd,
With glaring eyes, like an enchafed wolf,
He hied him where the lowest southern wall
Rises but little o'er the rugged rock;
There, aided by a half-projecting stone,
He scal'd its height, and holding o'er his head
His sword and shield, grasp'd in his better hand,
Swam the full moat.

Eth.
(to Sel.)
O, noble youth!
Did I not say, you might as well arrest
The fire of heav'n within its pitchy cloud
As keep him here?
[Bertha faints away.
Alas, poor maid!

[Whilst Sigurtha and Eth. &c. attend to Bertha, enter followers and retainers, and begin to take down the armour from the walls.
Enter Woggarwolfe.
Wog.
(to Sel.)
They would have shut your gate upon me now,
But I, commission'd on the king's affairs,
Commanded entrance. Oswal greets you, chiefs,
And gives you orders, with your followers,
To join him speedily. (Seeing Bertha.)

What, swooning women here?

Sel.
Ethwald is gone in spite of all our care,
And she, thou knowst, my father's niece's child,
Brought up with him from early infancy.
Is therein much affected.

Wog.
(smiling).
O, it is ever thus, I know it well,
When striplings are concern'd! Once on a time.
A youthful chief I seiz'd in his own hall,
When, on the instant, was the floor around
With fainting maids and shrieking matrons strew'd,
As though the end of all things had been link'd
Unto my fatal grasp.

Sel.
(eagerly).
Thou didst not slay him?

Wog.
(smiling contemptuously).
Asks Selred if I slew mine enemy?

Sel.
Then, by heav'n's light, it was a ruffian's deed!

Wog.
I cry thee grace! wearst thou a virgin sword?
Maidens turn pale when they do look on blood,
And men there be who sicken at the sight,
If men they may be call'd.

Sel.
Ay, men there be,
Who sicken at the sight of crimson butchery,
Yet in the battle's heat will far out-dare
A thousand shedders of unkindled blood.

Eth.
(coming forward).
Peace, Thanes! this is no time for angry words.

[Bertha giving a deep sigh, Eth. and Sel. go to her and leave Wog., who heeds her not, but looks at the men taking the arms from the walls.—Observing one who hesitates between the swords.
Wog.
Fool, choose the other blade!
That weight of steel will noble gashes make!
Nay, rightly guided in a hand like thine,
Might cleave a man down to the nether ribs.

Sig.
(to Bertha, as she is recovering).
My gentle child, how art thou?

Ber.
And no kind hand to hold him!

Eth.
Be not cast down, sweet maid; he'll soon return;
All are not lost who join in chanceful war.

Ber.
I know right well, good Thane, all are not lost.
The native children of rude jarring war,
Full oft returning from the field, become
Beneath their shading helmets aged men:
But, ah! the kind, the playful, and the gay;
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter-fire, do they return?
[Shaking her head sorrowfully.
I grieve you all: I will no more complain.
Dear mother, lead me hence. (To Sig.)
(To Sel.)

I thank you, gentle Selred, this suffices.

[Exit Bertha, supported by Sigurtha.
Sel.
(to Mollo, who has sat for some time with his face covered).
What, so o'ercome, my father?

Moll.
I am o'ercome, my son! lend me thine arm.

[Exeunt.