University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The great Hall in the Castle of Whitby. Enter a solemn Procession of the Prior, Monks, and Sisterhood of St. Hilda's Abbey, before King Adelbright, who is borne in a Chair of State, sick; King Edel, the Princess Argentile, Lord Oswald, and other Courtiers attending. The Monks and Nuns sing the following Dirge.
CHORUS.
Holy Hilda! hear, and aid,
While our aged King we bear
To thy shrine, thou sainted Maid,
Hilda holy, aid, and hear!

A Monk.
He, whose head a crown invested,
Bows to thee that dying head;
Be his truth in Heav'n attested,
Holy Hilda, hear, and aid!

A Nun.
He, whose hands a sceptre wielded,
Lifts to thee those hands in pray'r;
Be his soul from danger shielded,
Hilda holy, aid, and hear!

Prior.
Faith doth lead him to thy altar,
There his languid limbs to spread,
If in prayer his accents falter,
Holy Hilda, hear, and aid!

A Monk.
Waft to Heav'n each faint petition
In seraphic accents clear;
Pleas'd perform that blest commission;
Hilda holy, aid, and hear!

A Nun.
And, when Death shall free his spirit,
Snatch it from the furnace red;
Bid it endless bliss inherit;
Holy Hilda, hear, and aid!

[The Dirge ended, King Adelbright is brought forward to the middle of the Stage.]
ADELBRIGHT.
Yet bear me forward; now set down your burthen;
And stand, I pray ye, from me, that the air
Have readier passage to my labouring breast.

Ed.
How fares our brother now?

Ad.
In sooth, King Edel,
Death lays that iron mace upon this shoulder
That oft has quell'd a stouter; some few hours
And he will chill what little blood still creeps
In these lank veins. Nay, do not weep, my sweet,
My gentle Argentile; thy Father, child,
Is going but to where his went before him,
And whither thou, and all, when Heav'n so wills,
Must follow him; yet goes he full of days,
And full of, what this oft misdeeming world
Calls, honour; yet, if honour'd false, I trust
Still unreproach'd; for so his conscience whispers,
And in a voice as soothing as the sound
Of this sweet minstrelsy: Do not then weep.
For tho' thy Father leaves thee, Argentile;
Not fatherless he leaves thee; trust me, child,
While this good man, our kingly brother, lives,
Thou ne'er wilt want a father.

Ed.
By the rood
There borne, that hallow'd rood—

[Pointing to one of the Crosses borne in the Procession.
Ad.
No oath, King Edel,
'Twere here sworn needlessly; couldst thou be false,
As sure thou canst not in some lighter cause,
This, in itself, bears its own pledge of faith.
For Argentile is of that courteous kind,
So all made up of dove-like gentleness,
The veriest churl, if brib'd to do her wrong,
Would inly yearn, and, his remorseful heart
Turn truant to his purpose.—Still thou weep'st—

[To Argentile
Arg.
That do I, Sir, and must; yet not from fear
(I trust my uncle gives my words belief)
That he should treat me (you, Sir, with the blest)
Other than kindly; yet I weep, and must,
To see, what shortly I must see no more,
A father, fondest of all fathers, give
His dying moments to his daughter's weal.
And must I lose him? Heav'n!

Ad.
Such is Heav'n's will;
And, to its high and uncontroll'd behests,
Let all like me give the prostration meet
Of heart, as well as head. Yet will I own
(Had it so pleas'd the giver of all good)
I could have wish'd, or e'er I left thee, child,
To have affixt, with my own hand, the signet
Unto that nuptial treaty which consigns thee
To Denmark's youthful heir; this to confirm
Ev'n now an embassy is on the seas,
If not within our ports.

Arg.
In luckless time
Surely it comes; is this a time to think
Of love, or marriage?

Ad.
Dearest Argentile,
Pray thee forbear to interrupt my speech;
Words now are precious to me. With thee, Brother,
I leave this weighty business. Be it thine
To see our daughter, with the royal dower
That I have left, wedded to Denmark's heir.
To which, if, on thy part, it shall thee please
To add such feoffs as may beseem the worth
Of fair Dëira, reign thou then sole king
Of all Northumberland; and she, with dower
Thus amplified by thee, shall hence to Denmark.
But, if thou mak'st election still to rule
With sway united, we do trust the Dane,
If fame belies not his fair qualities,
Will prove to thee a son, his queen thy daughter;
So shall, in both, the loss be recompens'd
Of us, thy loving brother.

Ed.
Adelbright,
So mercy shield me as I rest well-pleas'd
With this sweet princess, and the royal Dane,
Jointly to rule Bernicia, and Dëira.

Ad.
We like it well; and in full proof we do,
See, to thy hands we trust this peerless gem,
Soul of our soul, our gentle Argentile.
Now let her kneel before me, while these palms
On her dear head seal my last blessing. “Hear,
“Thou Virgin pure! hear, Queen of highest Heav'n,
“A father's earnest prayer! O bless my child
“With length of days, and not one day be dimm'd
“With lack of honour! may the realm she rules,
“In right of me, be blest, and she by it;
“Ev'n by th' allegiance of a well-rul'd people!—
Prior of Whitby, now, all that remain'd
Of worldly care is finish'd; what few hours
Of life are left to Heav'n we consecrate,
And holy rites; bear me, my chamberlains,
Unto the Abbey. Argentile, King Edel,
Oswald attend us to the chauntry steps;
And there farewell; then, at St. Hilda's shrine,
These holy men shall spread my dying limbs,
And sing my requiem; for, at that high shrine,
Old Adelbright doth wish to breathe his last.

[Exeunt the King borne, Edel, &c. attending, the Choir repeating the Dirge. Manent two LORDS.
F. Lord.
Go, and Heav'n's holiest band of Saints receive thee!
Go, for the goodliest piece of majesty
That ever blest Dëira. Yet, methinks,
Old as thou art, thou dost too hastily
Make this devotement of thy soul to Heav'n.
Had I been thee, ev'n to life's latest gasp
This act had been delay'd, however holy;
If, by such lett, fair Argentile might gain
A surer tenure in her father's rights
Than lip-security.

S. Lord.
Do others also
Nourish suspicious doubts? Beshrew me, Lord,
But I was giv'n to hope the yellow fiend
Haunted me singly; nay, was prompt to chide
My brain for giving the base inmate harbour.

F. Lord.
Nay, my good Lord, suspicions like to thine
Be but too rife; a mean clerk he must be,
Who cannot spell so much i' th' page of man
As may afford him scope to comment grossly
On Edel's late demeanour; and, from thence,
To frame sad forecast of what soon may turn
To this poor realm's mishap. This he may do,
And be no prophet neither.

S. Lord.
Certes, Sir,
Since good King Adelbright took to his chamber,
His brother, vested with the double purple,
Did teach that robe to puff and swell about him
Ev'n to a tyrant size.—But, see, here comes
Lord Oswald, and his honest eye doth borrow
Enough of the hawk's keenness, I not doubt,
To see as far as we do, haply further,
In this black prospect. Health to noble Oswald!

Enter OSWALD.
Osw.
Now mercy shield me, friends, from so much shriving.
What with their vigils, penances, and bead-work,
These priests have worn out our old master sooner
Than he that made him meant. Call a physician,
He'll let your soul alone; let him but plague
Your body, he, good leach, rests satisfied.
But, if you trust a monk with your soul's cure,
Trust me, not soul alone but body pays for it.

F. Lord.
Shrewdly remark'd; but say, my noble Lord,
How left ye the good king?

Osw.
Ev'n as I tell you,
O'erdone with sanctity. Hast thou ne'er seen
A steed of generous blood, when overweighted,
Lag ere his latest stage, which, but for that,
Had paced with spirit to his journey's end,
And neigh'd at his ungirthing? Sirs, I left him,
Just where he bade us, at the chauntry steps;
The lovely princess, over-charg'd with grief,
Was led in private, thro' the garden postern,
Back to the castle by her now step-father.
Pray Heav'n, his sex may make him 'scape the proverb.

S. Lord.
That little word, good Earl, which now you drop
Gives us to think your fears do square with ours,
Ev'n but too nicely.

Osw.
What, for quoting ye
A thread-bare proverb! Troth a pleasant jest.
What, are all step-things curst! my gallants twain,
I find my tongue must wear a closer curb
Whene'er I let it amble in your purlieus.

S. Lord.
There is no need.

Osw.
Nay, be there need, or not,
I scarce shall have the caution. I have ever
Giv'n forth my free thoughts freely, and am now
Too old for closer training. Take then, Sirs,
My mind unmask'd. I do indeed distrust
Our now sole master, with a phlegm as fixt,
As e'er a subject did.

F. Lord.
And I.

S. Lord.
And I.

Osw.
And many more, I trust, right honest men,
Not present at our parley; for myself
Thus far conceive me, I shall closely watch
King Edel's 'haviour; and, if I perceive
From his bleak quarter comes that blighting wind
May nip the blossom'd hopes of Argentile,
I'll be that broad old oak shall shield them from it.

F. Lord.
So doing, noble Oswald, thou wilt prove
Thou hold'st the memory of our good old master
As dear, as, when alive, thou held'st his person.

Osw.
My friends, I lov'd my good king fervently;
These salt tears speak it, for they course down cheeks
Not wont to find them channels, but at times
When the moist dew becomes them. Nature made me
Of her mixt metal, but I trust no base one,
Much more of steel, than silver; yet of this
Enough for honest pliancy; but not
To spin me out, as wire, just as you list.
For tho' you see me now like very wax,
Yet, strive to mould me to a traytor shape,
I'll break before I bend; thus of himself
Old Oswald boasts, and, tho' himself's the boaster,
He wrongs him that mistrusts him. Sirs, farewell.