University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

GWENDYLEN, CLYFFORD.
CLYFFORD.
Lovely, sequestered fair! whose native graces
Surpass, what I have seen, of finished beauty!
I gaze upon thee with delight, and anguish:
The admiration, that thy charms inspire,
Is turned to torture by the fears I feel
Of ills, that threaten thee, which yet thou know'st not.

GWENDYLEN.
Have they surprised my father? Noble youth!
If thou indeed hast pity for our wrongs,
Rack not my soul with ignorance and terror!

CLYFFORD.
No lovely Gwendylen! thy father yet
Retains the liberty, thy virtue gave him.

GWENDYLEN.
Blest be the voice, which gives me that assurance!
It has disolved the icy bonds, that seemed
To rob my heart of motion. In his safety
I live again; and feeling but for him,
Smile at adversity, whose baffled force
Falls on myself alone.

CLYFFORD.
Thou sweet perfection!
That Heaven should form thee for a fate so cruel!
E'en now thou seem'st to my afflicted sense
Like a lost infant, seeing not its peril,
Wandering with sightless eyes in active slumber
Upon a turret's roof:—another step
Is sure destruction. How! how shall I save thee?

GWENDYLEN.
What means thy kind inquietude? Is Edward
So ruthless, as to thirst for blood like mine?
Nay, if he is, lament not, generous Clyfford!
I have not passed my days with such a father,
Untaught in life's great lesson, how to die!

CLYFFORD.
No! not thy blood! O thou enchanting fair one!
Thy beauty, and thy perils will distract
My troubled brain, and turn me to a traitor
Against th'imperial patron of my youth.
My heart recoils, when I attempt to speak
Against the bounteous Edward, but his rage
To crush all opposition to his sway
In this devoted country, may induce him—
No! no! I am to blame—his noble nature—
I will not shew thee that detested image,
Which my o'er-anxious fancy had created,

GWENDYLEN.
My young ingenuous friend! I see, and honor
The struggle in thy soul between just pity
To the sunk victims of abhorred oppression,
And fond attachment to an artful tyrant,
Allied to thee in blood, but not in virtue.

CLYFFORD.
If thus thou think'st of Edward, I may banish
My groundless dread, lest his imperial offers
Of splendid favour might induce thy candor
To call thy wand'ring father to our court;
And then behold him in some fatal season,
When stern necessity of state might prompt
To faithless rigor—but the King returns:
Treasure my caution in thy tender bosom!
And know me for thy friend in fate's worst hour.