University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Grove, in the Palace Garden.
Athelwold, Ethelinda.
Ethelinda.
All this is false in Reason; but your Eloquence,
Proud of its Power, provokes you to offend,
That you may force Forgiveness.—Was it not cold,
Too cold for Love, in all this cruel Length
Of chearless Absence, when your dang'rous Charge too,
Was but to gaze on Beauty, never to write?
Never to bid me hope, the much-fear'd Elfrid
Had left your Heart still partial to my Fondness?
A Fondness that destroy'd me! Turn your Eyes from me;
—They look as they'd reproach me: Do not see me,
But tell me why you made such speed to leave me?
Had you but staid, to add one Hour of Peace
To those of guilty Softness; Had I been yours;
Your Wife, that fatal Morning, you do not know
What Tears it wou'd have sav'd me.

Athelwold.
Oh! speak no more;
Your Words are wing'd with Fire; they pierce my Soul:
They enter, and burn in me!—Oft have I trembled,
As I do now, when Rev'rence and Desire,
Shot from those Angel Eyes, have warr'd within me:
Yet never was I thus distress'd, before!

Ethelinda.
That you are gen'rous, my fond Heart confesses;
Else, how destroy'd a Wretch were Ethelinda!
If, like the Base among your Sex, you shunn'd me,
Nor pitied the kind Weakness that betray'd me,
But added Shame to Guilt, and grew inconstant,
And left me, for another; Save me, ye Saints!
To what a dreadful Depth of startling Misery
Had my lost Honour plung'd me!

Athelwold.
Grac'd, as you are,
With artless Vertue, and unconscious Beauty,
Strengthen'd with Wisdom, sanctified by Truth,
And sainted o'er with Sweetness!—Tho' your Voice
Is tun'd to Transport, and each melting Accent
Shakes to my Soul, and swells Despair, to Musick;
Yet is there something so disorder'd, here,
That I ev'n wish thee silent!—Thy soft Words,
Moving, and warm, and gentle as thy Bosom,
Strike me, like Death, when his eternal Frost
Creeps, in cold Anguish, o'er us!

Ethelinda.
Oh! my kind Lord!
To feel this wondrous Extasy, for me!
This noblest, tend'rest, Mark of mournful Passion!
Is such a sweet Atonement for my Tears,
That I could weep for ever.—Be it my Glory,
My Duty's Pride, and my full Heart's chief Joy,
To give unbounded Love, in soft Exchange,
For your indulg'd Endearment.—Let me not live,
If I prefer not that dear Name, your Wife,
To all those empty Sounds, those titled Nothings,
Which Edgar treasures for his unknown Queen!
—My Lord!—you start;—and tremble, and look pale!
Come;—this quick Sense of Gratitude and Love
Works too intense, and I must chide you for it.

Athelwold.
It is too much:—And Honour and Humanity
Disclaim the brutal Heart that cou'd bear this,
And be less mov'd than I am.—Curse on the wild,
The boundless Luxury of wanton Love!
What have I lost! What am I doom'd to suffer!
Who cou'd heap Suff'rings here!

Ethelinda.
Suff'rings, my Lord!
And wanton Love?—What Love?—Whose Sufferings?

Athelwold.
Mine, mine, thou injur'd Truth!—who cou'd name wanton,
And mix a Thought of thee?

Ethelinda.
But you nam'd Suff'rings!

Athelwold.
What Lover lives without 'em?

Ethelinda.
A Lover's Sufferings
Once past, give present Joys a livelier Relish:
The sacred Tie that firms a Wife's soft Claim,
Will free pain'd Mem'ry from the Blush of Weakness.

Athelwold
aside.
How mean is Guilt, that it must bow the Heart
To Falshood and Disguise!—New in Dissembling,
I shall betray my Grief, and shame my Art.—
—The Suff'ring that I meant, my Ethelinda,
Was, that an ill-tim'd Chance, awhile, with-holds
Our Hands: But what are nuptial Forms, to Love!
Prince Leolyn, my Friend,—alas! he loves you;
Loves you, my Soul's sweet Pain, to such Excess,
That his Life hangs but on his Hope of you!
Jealous, he dies with Fear, that I am now
His Rival in your Love:—what will he feel
When I am own'd your Choice!—May not your Pity
Indulge Appearance, for my Friend's wish'd Ease,
Till Time, or Accident, gives means to save him?
Mean while.—

Ethelinda.
What wou'd you do, mean while, my Lord?
You wou'd not sure! that I receive him? hear him?

Athelwold.
That were too much. It might, perhaps, suffice,
Shou'd I, more rarely, and with Caution, seek
The Blessing of your Presence.

Ethelinda.
My Lord! my Lord!
You are detected.—My taught Heart, at length,
Blind as Love made it, sees your Baseness through;
And burns with Shame; and bursts with Indignation.
This poor Deceit was form'd, but to evade
My due Repair of Honour. 'Twas the word Wife,
That made this sudden Politician of you!—

Athelwold.
Soften those angry Eyes, which sparkle on me.

Ethelinda.
—Away,—nor bring Contagion to my Soul.
—Oh! what a dreadful Change in my poor Heart
Has one weak Moment made!—scorn'd, like the Vile,
Dishonour'd, infamous, despis'd, for ever,
I must become a Wanderer round the World;
Meet Cold—and Hunger,—Poverty and Shame;
Anguish and Insult.—Better, all, than Man!
The faithless Murd'rer, Man!—What am I doom'd to?
Whom have I trusted! Oh! revenging Heav'n!
See my Distress, and punish me with more;
I cannot be too wretched.—Begone, Deceiver.
I wou'd not curse thee.—I will not wish thee Pain:
But, never, never, let me see thee more.

Athelwold.
Be not transported thus.—

Ethelinda.

Athelwold.
By the sweet Mem'ry of that dearest Night!

Ethelinda.
Curse on th'ill-chosen Oath!—All, you can swear
By That, will be as false and base as you are.
Loosen your hated Hold:—I will not hear you.

Athelwold.
Cou'd you say hated?

Ethelinda.
Off—By the Eye of Heaven,
That saw my Faith betray'd, not all thy Arts
Shall sooth me to forgive thee.—Away.—Be gone.

Athelwold.
Look yonder!—
By all my Hopes of Peace, your Uncle Oswald,
And Leolyn, in Conf'rence!—Oh! think.—Recover
Your scatter'd Spirits; and, round the neighb'ring Grot,
Let us take diff'rent Walks, and shun their Eye.

Ethelinda.
When next I see thee, may my Woes!

Athelwold.
Oh! hold.—
That Oath wou'd kill me.—Why do you tremble thus?
Shall we not meet again?

Ethelinda.
Once—and no more,
Till in Eternity.

Athelwold.
An Hour hence, here.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

Enter Oswald, and Leolyn.
Oswald.
What! and was this your doughty Cause of Quarrel,
Because he boasts to have won from Ethelinda,
That Woman's Toy you sigh for?

Leolyn.
I wish, indeed:
But cannot wish dishonourably.

Oswald.
That is,
You wou'd not tell, as he does:—why that's generous!
Honour, in Love, is silence.—But two such Friends
As you and Athelwold, cannot, methinks,
Have fought an am'rous Quarrel.—Your Rival's Thoughts
Are fill'd with high State Projects? something like Jealousy
Of Trust suppos'd betray'd?—some Plot? some Schemings?
Some Aim your Caution started at? or which
Your Oath to Edgar check'd your wish'd Assent to?
Something like this, no doubt, provok'd proud Athelwold.
No matter.—Fear him not. Oswald has Power:
And can procure you the King's Thanks, perhaps,
Ev'n against favour'd Athelwold.—As for his Tale
Of Ethelinda, Women are passive Agents;
And, when Love prompts them, can out-suffer Martyrs.
I wou'd not swear he wrongs her: yet I think so.
Believe him not, till I have sounded her.
Half Wales, with Leolyn, a Prince restor'd,
Shou'd please a Woman, better than Earl Athelwold,
A Traitor, fall'n from Power.—Was it not thus?
Speak frankly to your Mistress's Disposer,
And let Her thank your Loyalty.

Leolyn.
Lord Oswald,
I am unpractis'd in the Arts of Court;
And my free Thoughts range open as my Eye-balls.
Wrong'd as I am by Athelwold, my Heart
Disdains to hide his Virtues.—He may have wishes:
He may deceive, in Love, but not in Loyalty.
A brave Man cannot serve a Prince, and wrong him.

Oswald.
Nobly remark'd.—In Faith your Honour charms me!
We live in dang'rous Times, and Men must learn
To try the Bosoms they wou'd trust their Peace in:
What sudden Ruin might not careless Innocence
Draw on a great Man's Fortune?—Had I unwarily
Espous'd your Int'rest, e're my Art had pois'd
Your hop'd Fidelity, I had not known you!
Now, all that Ethelinda holds is yours
But what's already Athelwold's.

Leolyn.
By Heav'n!
I cannot bear th'insinuated Guilt.
The shadowy doubt distracts my tingling Heart;
And I cou'd kill thee, but for trifling on it.

Oswald.
Kind, temp'rate, Madman!—Take my Thanks, so due
To your indulg'd Forbearance.—By good Saint Austin!
These Lovers are the wildest of all Lunaticks;
Their Ravings have no Intervals!—But see,
Your smiling Stars have sent your Mistress hither;
That Madness may be match'd, and sooth'd with Folly.

Leolyn.
Oh! my full Heart!—Tis she.—

Oswald.
Thou finish'd Lover!
Come—Hear me charge her, for thee.—So, Ethelinda!
Enter Ethelinda.
Alone? and Cheeks thus rosy!—One wou'd have sworn,
The Sun, as lively as He looks to day,
Had wanted warmth, without a Lover's Aid,
To light up that Carnation!

Ethelinda.
I meant, my Lord,
To have left the Garden—But mistook the Walk,
I know not how—I found the Inner Door
Fast lock'd—So came about, this shadier Way.

Oswald.
You seem confus'd, methinks?

Ethelinda.
But warm, my Lord.

Oswald.
'Tis a good Omen to a Lover's Hopes,
That you bring Warmth about you.—Prince Leolyn
Has sigh'd a thousand Raptures, in your Praise,
And, that he loves you truly, take this Mark;
Elsewhere he's Eloquent—Dumb in your Company:
And never look'd so like the Thing he is not,
As you now see him.

Leolyn.
Oh! judge not of my Pain,
By this too light Description.—Did not soft Tremblings
Seize on my Tongue, I cou'd have told my Passion,
In words, that humbler Truths have taught to speak it.

Ethelinda.
'Tis yours, my Lord, by Priviledge of Blood,
To treat me without Ceremony.—But—Sir!
If you wou'd have me think, you really love,
Swear but to grant the first Request I make,
And I shall wish you happy.

Leolyn.
I swear, with Transport.

Ethelinda.
This moment leave me, then, nor ever more,
Speak of your hopeless Passion.

[Exit Leolyn, bowing.
Oswald.
I did not think that thou had'st half this Brav'ry;
Nor knew thee for a Heroine!—why, what a Pity!
This well-tim'd Fierceness, this high Flash of Spirit,
Met not the same deserv'd success, as now,
When try'd against Earl Athelwold!

Ethelinda.
Against Earl Athelwold?

Oswald.
Against him, for him, on him, or about him.
I am not nice, in Women's Rhetorick:—
If I must speak it plainer, it had been well
You had defended your lost Honour, there,
As, here, your peevish Pride.—Come, come,—I know you!
These Secrets keep not long, in our Court Air:
Already 'tis the Whisper of the Drawing-Room;
And by To-morrow the King's Grooms will have it.

Ethelinda.
What have I liv'd to hear!—Is it, my Lord,
A wonder that I tremble?—Who? what bold Villain,
Has gather'd Malice, from the Forge of Hell,
To charge this Falshood on me?

Oswald.
Why, thou woud'st call him,
No Doubt, Sweet Athelwold!—Ay, stare,—no matter.
When next you meet, my Honour against yours,
Great odds, as Things go now! He'll be forgiven.

Ethelinda.
Did Athelwold, the soft, the gen'rous Athelwold!
Say This, of Ethelinda?

Oswald.
Say it?—He sings it;
Boasts it, proclaims it.—Nay, within this Hour,
Hung it on his Sword's Point, and held it out,
To clear the love-dim'd Eyes of Leolyn.

Ethelinda.

Oswald.
Rise, Ethelinda,—and hide thee in thy Chamber:
There, as thou can'st, be comforted.—Anon
I will consider, with thee, what is due
To Pity, what to Honour.—In yon cross Walk
Of meeting Sycamores, or my Eyes cheat me,
Or I discern the King!—Tis he!—Begone.
[Exit Ethelinda.
What brings him hither, at a Time like this?
His step more hasty too, and his rais'd Look
More ardent, and intent, than I have seen it!

Enter Edgar.
Edgar.
Oswald!—where is she?—pass'd she not this Way?

Oswald.
Who? Gracious Sovereign!

Edgar.
She,—the only She:—
Star of my Hope! The Phantom of Desire!
The Power! that, thro' my Eyes, rush'd on my Soul,
And reigns, unnam'd, within me!—Mounted, but now,
I led the shouting Thousands slowly on:
Rounding the Hill, beneath the terrass'd Garden,
There, from above, her Angel Form look'd over,
And beam'd Amazement on me.—As once, in Arms,
Thou did'st behold me, like the Lightning's Flash,
Shoot from my Saddle, to the Aid of Athelwold,
Dismounted, and in Danger; such was the Fire
With which I leapt, from my wide-starting Horse,
That side-long fled my Shadow! Low on the Ground,
I knelt, and gaz'd up at her!—The sudden Stop
Spread an Alarm thro'out; and the check'd Triumph
Halted, in short Confusion.—This, when she saw,
Surpriz'd, she darted inward from my Sight,
And left Despair behind her!

Oswald.
Was it now,
My Ever-gracious Lord?

Edgar.
This Instant; now.
Blest by unusual Chance, a private Key
Gave me swift Entrance, thro' the Postern Door,
To seek her, in the Garden.—Am I awake!
Enter Elfrid.
Look! Oswald, look!—Again, the shining Vision
Breaks on my glowing Eyes!—Thou Pride of Day-light!
Thou fairest, loveliest, noblest Work of Nature!
If thou art mortal, as my beating Heart,
And my fierce Wishes promise, how have I lost thee?
Where is the Happy Corner of the World,
That cou'd, thus long, conceal thee?
Elfrid aside.
Again, the King!—
Such was the conqu'ring, the commanding Softness,
With which he knelt, at the remember'd Altar,
Whence my long Woes took Date!—Sir,—is it generous,
With this light Freedom of licentious Raillery,
To shock a Stranger's Modesty?

Oswald.
Madam—

Edgar.
Be dumb.—
[Exit Oswald.
Why have those piercing Eyes so ill distinguish'd
The Rev'rence of my Ardour?—Licence and Freedom
Wou'd, in your Presence, be dissolv'd to Awe,
And flow in Sighs to soften you.—This Hand!
Oh! give it me,—and I will swear upon it,
That my charm'd Spirits never rose, till now,
In such a Tide of Extacy!—That Heaven
Has left your Sex in shade, to light up you,
With every Grace that swells Desire in Mortals;
Or gives your Guardian Angel Pride to view you!

Elfrid.

Edgar.
If Athelwold
Protects you, I am Athelwold's Protector;
And you are doubly safe.—

Elfrid.
Perhaps, my Sovereign!—
Forgive an Ign'rance, that cou'd see and hear you,
Yet waited, to be told, you were a King.
Heaven has diffus'd around your speaking Air
A Glow of Majesty, that marks you Royal.
I shou'd have knelt, before, and paid this Duty,
Undoubting that I ow'd it.

Edgar.
Rise—dear Divinity!
And charm me with the sweet, the heav'nly, Name
You must be worshipp'd by?—You said that Athelwold
Was your Protector: Are you of his Blood?
Nothing but that can make him dearer to me!

Elfrid.
Ask me not, what I must of Force conceal,
And shou'd have more conceal'd, but my Surprize
Drew it unpurpos'd from me. There is a Reason,
A pow'rful Reason! why I must insist
You suffer me to leave you: my Stay wou'd ruin me.
If you have ever felt an am'rous Tenderness,
And have not feign'd it now, you will not wish
To make a Woman wretched.—I dare no more
Than this—You cannot love, if you detain me.

Edgar.
Riddles and Torture!—my charm'd Soul is fill'd
With unspoke Meanings for an Age to come,
And you are measuring Moments!

Elfrid.
Are you a King?
Is it your Right to rule?—Command your Passion.—
There is a Liberty, that dwells with Love,
Too brave for forc'd Submission.—Stir not to follow me:
For, if you do, by all that's holy here,
And dreadful in Eternity! I swear,
I will be lost for ever.
[Exit Elfrid.

Edgar.