University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE continues.
Oswald and Leolyn.
Leolyn.
Patience!—Curse Patience: why dost thou talk of Patience,
With the same Breath, the same cold, tasteless, Calmness
That spoke Distraction to me? Hast thou not told me
That she confesses it? that this proud Beauty,
This haughty, fierce, disdainful, marbly Vertue,
That scorn'd my honest Passion; this austere Frowner!
Has been—Perdition on the Name! 'Twou'd choak me.—
Hast thou not fir'd me with the basest Truth
That ever stung the Heart of a Fool Lover!
And dost thou talk of Patience?—Give it to Statesmen;
I spurn the servile Lesson. Patience! said'st thou?
Rage and Despair have broke upon my Soul,
And wash'd away all Patience.

Oswald.
My Spirit,
Thank Heaven! is none of these wild fiery Racers;
That, like a Spark in Flax, if not strait smother'd,
Burns up the Road it runs thro'; yet I feel Warmth,
When chaf'd by Provocation: And let me tell you,
There may be ways, and we may find 'em, Prince,
To reach this proud Presumer.

Leolyn.
I must not aid thee:
He was my Friend; and then, my Life was his,
By Tie of Duty.—He was, since, my Enemy;
And then, again, 'twas his, by Claim of Conquest.
I've lost Revenge, to Honour.—I have no Right
To lift my Arm against him: For, from a Hand
Oblig'd as mine has been, Justice itself
Would redden into Murder.—But, were I Oswald,
Wrong'd, as thou art, and free to weigh those Wrongs,
Without this Counterpoise of Obligation,
I would hunt Athelwold to the World's Verge;
Nay, would leap after him, and snatch at Vengeance,
Through the unfathom'd Depth of dark Eternity.

Oswald.
I too, perhaps,
Who have as light a Spring as you, Prince Leolyn,
Might try that dreadful Leap, could I be sure
That it was bounded, but by Depth and Darkness:
But, shou'd there lie some Realm of Light beyond,
I should look foolishly, when I fell through,
To find my State grown worse than 'twas before,
And no Road back again.—Methinks, 'tis strange,
That you, hot Fighters, Friends of bare-fac'd Anger,
Have never learnt our safer courtly Art
Of Vengeance without Danger!—You injure me,
And I assault you openly:—Man against Man
Gives Chance an equal Cast: 'Tis you or me:
Suppose, as first you wrong'd, you, now, shou'd kill me?
Where's Vengeance then?—What Equity is here!
No;—let me pay th'Affront, with a first Blow,
Whereby I hazard nothing: That sets us equal;
And, if I not strike home, he's, then, at liberty
To stand on even Terms, and try, once more.

Leolyn.
What dar'st thou do, for Ethelinda's Honour?

Oswald.
Force him—to please her on, and marry her.

Leolyn.
He cannot marry her.

Oswald.
Why truly, he who has, unmarried, won
What others marry for, will wed at leisure.

Leolyn.
Cannot,—I say.—Death! thou art such a Trifler!

Oswald.
If you had said he wou'd not marry her,
Your Doubt had err'd, with Likelihood.—But that a Man
Has taught a Maid what Wives alone should learn,
And cannot therefore make that Maid his Wife,
Is a new Point in Logick!—Troth, I have seen
The Court thick sown with these instructed Virgins,
Who all grew up, to Husbands; and, sometimes,
Have ev'n learnt on, for Life, from their first Teachers.

Leolyn.
Tire me no more, with this provoking Lightness,
Upon a Theme that stings me.—I tell thee, he cannot;—
Mark me,—he cannot marry Ethelinda;
Because—he has already married Elfrid.—

Oswald.
Elfrid! what Elfrid?

Leolyn.
Why, that far-nois'd Elfrid;
What is her Father's Name? The Western Duke?—
Death!—I remember nothing:—Cornwall:—He:
The Duke of Cornwall.—She! whose fancied Charms
The King was wise enough to chuse this Athelwold,
His Ear's Engrosser, and his Eye's Pourveyor,
To go and look at for him.—A strange mad Humour
Work'd in his Brain, that she might prove his Idol,
His wild Church Shadow that you have heard him talk of:
You know it as well as I.—What do you gaze at?
You listen as if I prophesied!

Oswald.
'Tis Prophecy!
And happily foretels the long-wish'd Downfal
Of our State Column.—This Atlas Athelwold!
Who bears the Heaven of Favour on his Shoulders,
And shadows all beneath him.—But, are you sure?

Leolyn.
I told it, not to aid thy dark Designings,
But to lament the ruin'd Ethelinda.
What will Fate do with that unhappy Charmer?
Honour forbids me, now, to wish her mine;
And he who has undone her is another's

Enter Edgar hastily.
Edgar.
Who is another's?

Oswald.
The Prince, provok'd to Warmth,
By News scarce credible, and lost in Wonder,
We heard not, Royal Sir! your near Approach.

Edgar.
What News? What Wonder?—Warm?—The Prince was warm?
Yes;—The hot British Blood, your Country's Proverb,
The Lightning of your Tempers, flames, I find,
To its full Violence.—What mad Presumption
Licens'd your Arrogance, so near my Presence,
To quarrel with Earl Athelwold to Day,
Whose Friendship is your Fortune?

Leolyn.
Sir,—a Prince,
Tho' Fortune wrongs him, in Restraint of Power,
Thinks, like a Prince, as when his Throne sustain'd him.

Edgar.
His Throne? Proud Leolyn!
Thy Father was a Rebel.—Detected Treason
Inverts the vanquish'd Traitor's Property,
And he and his lost Blood are Forfeits, all.
—I love the fearless Bravery of free Spirits;
But thy blind Fierceness shocks me.—Urge it no farther:
A moving Pity pleads thy Cause within me;
Nor wish I, thou shouldst blast it.

Oswald.
Gracious Sovereign!
The Prince, unlike his Father, fought your Cause;
And startles me with News, which (when I tell you
It joins the Names of Athelwold—and Traitor)
Will justify the Wonder it has given me.

Edgar.
Traitor—and Athelwold? Profane Conjunction!
As well might the two Poles be press'd, to join,
And crush the unbelieving World, between them.
—Take heed, rash Men! when ye dare touch the Honour
Of envied Athelwold, that ye not fail
To prove his Guilt, till, like a Sun-beam's Glare,
It dazzles my Faith's Eye, and makes it weep;
Or your vile Malice shall but fan the Fire,
That kindles to consume ye?—What has he done?
Leolyn?—Oswald?—Speak:—One of ye, speak?—
Or must I wait, till you invent some Wile,
To skreen your trembling Envy?—What wou'd ye say
Of Athelwold?

Oswald.
Prince Leolyn asserts,
That he has married the fam'd Western Beauty,
And has describ'd her falsly.

Edgar
, after a Pause.
Malicious Ignorance!
Oh! that the Power that rules the Heart of Man
Wou'd, ever, thus, make Mischief impotent!
—See now this Falshood! Learn to know this Traitor!
This Athelwold! whom your inferior Souls
Want Sympathy to judge of?—His Heart's Refinement,
His Elegance of Will, adorning Duty,
Has plotted, with a Subject's sweet Deceit,
To cheat his King, to Extasy!—By Heaven
I had not known, but for your bold mistaking,
That he had form'd this dear Design against me.
To Night he means, when Triumph's weary Noise
Is hush'd in Darkness, and my Mind, unbent,
Has room for mighty Pleasure, to surprize me;
To pour upon my unexpecting Soul
A Tide of Gladness. He but held it back,
To make its Flow more welcome.—But I have seen her;
Thou, too, hast seen her, Oswald.—The big Joy
Bears down all Mem'ry, that you both presum'd
To wrong the Man I love; and I forgive it,
That you may learn to worship Athelwold!

Oswald.
Nay, I have ever said, even to his Enemies,
That he was form'd for Loyalty!

Leolyn.
This doubling Statesman's Baseness, and the Joy
Of his imperious Master, have uprooted
The Prudence of my Patience:—I must speak,
Tho' every Glance of his disdainful Eye
Shot a new Ruin at me.—Sir!—by this Transport
Of a bless'd Lover, near his promis'd Joy,
Judge of the Vastness of my Sister's Grief;
Whom lone Despair, and Sense of hopeless Love,
Abandon to Distraction.

Edgar.
Is it well done
To chuse this Time, this Place, and this rash Manner,
To goad a conscious Frailty?

Leolyn.
To-morrow, Sir,
Had been too late: For, when your Heart is fill'd
With Elfrid, and with Rapture, how should I hope
There can be room, for Thoughts of a past Promise,
Or absent Emma's Claim?

Edgar.
Now, by the Stings,
Which thy abrupt, unartful Insolence
Has rouz'd, to fix their Points on my touch'd Heart,
The Power of Millions, warring on my Realms,
Shou'd never force me to thy Sister's Arms.
Had she a Charm, for every Fault of thine,
Nature has curs'd her with one single Stain,
That blots out all her Vertues. The Part, she shares
Of thy rebellious Blood, is Bane to Love.
—O Athelwold! how am I blest in thee!
The Guilt of others, held against thy Worth,
Reflects it stronger on me.—Well may Traitors
Malign thy Loyalty. Antipathies
Hate, by the Law of Nature.—Take his Sword:
Why have I Power, if not to curb Presumption,
When it insults my Pity?—
See him a Prisoner in the Castle-Tower?
And, when I am no longer angry,—ask me
What I resolve concerning him?
[Exit Edgar.

Leolyn.
'Tis well:
The World and I, grown weary of each other,
Can separate, without Sorrow.

Oswald.
See, if good Fortune
Brings not Earl Athelwold into the Garden!
Dissemble your Concern; and I will move him
To stir in your Behalf, and reconcile you
To the King's Pardon.

Leolyn.
Shame on thy supple Soul!
Thou art the moving Shadow, on the Dial:
Point'st at each diff'rent Hour, with equal Ease;
But, measuring all, art nothing.—

Oswald.
By good Saint Austin,
An apt and keen Conceit!—The Castle-Tower,
And Solitude, will ripen Meditation,
Till your Wit quickens, and your Fire flames double.

Enter Athelwold, starting at Sight of Leolyn.
Athelwold.
Prince Leolyn!—of all th'unwelcome World,
The last I wou'd have met!

[Retiring.
Leolyn.
Hold, Sir;—a Word.—

Oswald.
He has bethought him of my good Advice,
And takes the Hint, he scoff'd at.—

Leolyn.
When my Friend serves me, I forget him not.—
Let me discharge a Debt my full Heart owes you;
It may be long, e're we shall meet again;
Therefore, before we part, I judge it needful
To whisper in your Ear—that Athelwold
Is a detested Villain.—

Athelwold
, drawing.
A Villain? Leolyn?—
[After a Pause.
Yet—keep thy Life.—Thou hast been injur'd by me.—
The wrongs that I have done, forbid Revenge
Against the Wrongs I suffer.

[Puts up his Sword.
Leolyn.
Racks on thy Heart!
Forbid Revenge? how dar'st thou name Revenge?
Thou loose Betrayer! Thou Reproach of Greatness!
Thou dignified Deceiver! Revenge!—Great Heaven!
Let Ethelinda's ruin'd Innocence
Rise-on thy trembling Soul,—'twill fright Revenge,
And shake thee into Sense of silent Shame.
Thou calm, cold, Ruiner!

Athelwold.
Nay, now, thou know'st, thou wrong'st me:
I have been, too Resolv'd, and dar'd a Guilt,
I will not dare to justify.—Farewel;
When, in some cooler Moment, thou deserv'st
To hear my serious Thoughts, I may confess
I have been faithless to thee.

Leolyn.
Stay—e're thou goest,
Let my exulting Heart proclaim one Joy;
Edgar, betray'd like me, has Power, and Will,
To punish his Betrayer.—I have told it,
Oswald already knows;—the King too knows it;
And the whole World shall join, to curse thee for it,
That thou hast married Elfrid.—That happy Secret
Was all, that Fortune left me, for my Vengeance,
And I have given it to the Tongues of Millions.

Athelwold.
Thou hast not done that Outrage on thy Honour?

Leolyn.
Not done it?—By the Pangs which wrung my Soul
For Ethelinda's Ruin, but I have—
Not done it?—'Twas the last, the liveliest Stroke,
That I cou'd pierce thy Heart with.—

Athelwold
, drawing again.
Then, thou shalt die.
My Guilt, absolv'd, by baser of thy own,
Disclaims Contrition,—re-assumes Revenge,
And gives thee up, to my remorseless Anger.—
Defend thy Life, more bravely than before,
Or thy hot Blood shall blush upon my Point,
To expiate thy Dishonesty.—

Leolyn.
See, where my Sword,
Lodg'd in a colder Hand, secures thy Bravings.
Now boast the well-tim'd Triumphs of thy Tongue,
That, safely, dares a Prisoner.

Athelwold.
Restore it, Oswald;
How, or by whose Command, 'tis thine, no matter.—
I have not Leisure now, to ask, or hear it:
Give him his Sword, this Instant.—

Oswald.
My Lord, I hold it by the King's Command.

Athelwold
, forcing the Sword from Oswald.
Talk not to me of Kings!—Less than a God
Wou'd now want Power to keep it;—give me the Sword,
On Pain of thy own Life, refuse it not.
Away—nor interrupt us.

Oswald.
Alas! Alas!
How fruitless is good Counsel!

[Runs out hastily.
Athelwold.
Here, take thy Sword,
And teach it, if it can, to guard thy Baseness.

Leolyn.
Oh! that my boiling Blood had no Restraint,
But Fear of what thou threaten'st!—and that this Morning
Had left Resentment free; nor curs'd my Memory
With that loath'd Life, which, since 'twas spar'd by thee,
Is mine no more, against thee.—

Athelwold.
Perish the poor Pretence
That covers thy Confusion!—If aught, I did,
Had Merit to with-hold thy Arm, take Notice,
That I renounce it.—I despise thy Gratitude,
False, as thy Boastings.—If thou want'st yet more,
To re-inspire thy Rage, and wake thy Honour,—
I will invent Disgraces, to provoke thee!
If, in Contempt of thy too weak Resistance,
I spar'd thy Life,—Against my Mercy, weigh
My Triumph, o'er her Innocence who charm'd thee;
That makes the Balance even.—Oh! Thou hast rais'd me
To such a burning, such unmaster'd, Anger,
That I grow base, as thou art,—and thy Blood
Will stream in vain to quench it.

Leolyn.
Rail on.—I'll wait,
'Spite of thy Arrogance, I'll wait,—nor kill thee:
Till some new Injury sets free my Rage,
And blots out Obligation.

Athelwold.
Tortures and Fire!
Shalt thou inflame me thus,—Unseat my Soul;
Tear out wrong'd Patience from my bleeding Heart,
And work me into Tempest! Then grow cool,
And, insolently mild, with Stoick Tameness,
Hope,—thou coud'st stop me, in the steepest Fall
Of my whole hurried Vengeance.—No,—if thou wait'st
New Provocation, it attends thy Call;
This will enrage thee, to renew thy Rashness;
[Strikes him.
And meet the Death I mean thee.

Leolyn
, drawing.
Yes—That has done it:
Now, thou hast freed me, from all fond Reluctance,
And sanctified the Will, that sinn'd before.

[They fight.
Oswald
, without.
Haste—or we come too late.—

[Enter Guards, and beat down their Swords.
Athelwold.
We are prevented.

Leolyn.
Then I must wait, and groan for Liberty,
To thank thee, as I ought.

Athelwold.
For Liberty!
Oh! doubt it not.—By Heaven it shall be thine:
I will, myself, find means to force thy Freedom,
That I may claim thy Life, in just Exchange.
Where shall we meet?

[Softly.
Leolyn.
West, on yon terrass'd Cliff.

Athelwold.
Expect Deliverance, e're an Hour be past;
Then haste,—and find me there.

Enter Oswald.
Oswald.
Quick—seize Prince Leolyn.

Leolyn.
It shall not need; my Sword is yours, again,
Conduct me, at your Pleasure.

Oswald
, to the Guards.
Lead to the Tower.

[Exeunt Leolyn, Oswald, and Guards.
Athelwold.
Be hush'd, my Heart;—forget this rash Man's Rage,
And, till I meet him next, be weak as Woman;
For Ethelinda comes, and brings Reproach,
That bows me to the Dust, in conscious Shame.

Enter Ethelinda, to Athelwold.
Ethelinda.
Cool'd, by a short Reflection, into Hope,
That I mistook your Purpose, let me, yet, say,
You are well-met, my Lord.

Athelwold.
Oh!—wou'd I were!
The Time has been, when if we two were met,
There was no World beyond us.—
But, now, I wander, like some fabled Ghost,
Trembling, and earnest to impart his Secret,
Yet wanting Power to speak it.

Ethelinda.
Such Ghosts, they say,
Wait, to be spoke to, first; then, they reveal
Their dreadful Wills, and vanish.—'Twill be thus
With your proud Heart: Soon as I have accus'd you,
Cover'd with Shame, your Answer will be short,
Confus'd, and fatal; and you will vanish from me,
Alas! I fear, for ever.—Look on me, Athelwold!
Raise your fal'n Eyes:—They once cou'd gaze, delighted,
And hung their Beams on mine, as both were form'd,
Of one divided Flame, which parted, hard,
And struggled for Re-union.—Teach 'em, once more,
To fix an unmov'd, stedfast, Look upon me;
Hold them, thus earnest, nor decline their Lids,
Till you have answer'd me this one sad Question:
What have I done, that could deserve, from Athelwold,
That he should boast my ruin'd Peace, to Leolyn?
Your conscious Eye sinks, guilty.—My Lord! my Lord!
The Virtue that inspires this gen'rous Shame,
Had shewn a nobler Influence, had it taught you,
That Insult, always base, is doubly so,
When he who caus'd the Crime, upbraids it too.

Athelwold.
Can you believe me so deprav'd a Wretch,
So lost to Honour, Gratitude, and Shame,
As to be conscious of a purpos'd Guilt,
Thus infamously vile?

Ethelinda.
I do, by Heaven!
Nay, know you guilty; for, since I saw you last,
My Uncle cruelly reproach'd me with it,
And told me, you proclaim'd it.

Athelwold.
Proclaim'd it! No:
I am unhappy, but I am not base.
It were too long, and too perplex'd a Tale,
While Misery lies, unloaded, on my Heart,
To undeceive thee, now.—If thou believ'st
I am that low unmanly Wretch thou speak'st me,
Take this dishonour'd Sword, pierce my false Breast,
Revenge thy Wrongs, and save my Tongue the Shame
Of what it, soon, must tell thee.

Ethelinda.
What would'st thou tell me?
Thou tremblest! and I read some dreadful Meaning,
That struggles to break on me!—Why wilt thou kneel?
There glows a gen'rous Tenderness about thee,
Which half absolves thy Purpose, and bids me hear thee
With Firmness, and with Pity.

Athelwold.
Oh! Ethelinda!—

Ethelinda.
Out with it,—speak,—Wou'dst thou not say,—I hate thee?

Athelwold.
No, by my Soul, tho' Time has chang'd my Love,
'Tis chang'd, but as the Diamond, that grows brighter,
And lost but Dust, in polishing.—'Tis, now,
No more a fierce wild Flame; but, in its Place,
Truth, calmer, and more lasting. 'Tis soft Respect;
'Tis tender Thought, kind Will, and grateful Mem'ry.
'Tis Friendship.—'Tis such Love as Angels feel,
Who mix their meeting Fires;—and flame together.

Ethelinda.
Such was the false, the artful Eloquence,
That lur'd me to my Ruin. But my Heart,
Instructed by Distress, can now read Meanings.
Who, that is new in Passion, could believe,
That this fair Picture, of thy faded Love,
But proves, thou lov'st another?

Athelwold.
What wilt thou say,
When thou shalt hear me own, That Fear is just?
When I confess, abhorrent of Deceit,
That Love, which seem'd to root my Soul in thee,
Has new transplanted it, to Elfrid's Bosom?
You start! as if my Guilt were yet a Secret,
Tho' Leolyn, confesses he has told it:
For, in his ill-retaining Breast, I trusted
The fatal Secret, of my double Falshood,
Both to my King, and thee. He should have added,
How I was lost.—That Will, and Faith, and Reason,
At once gave Way, beneath a Weight of Passion;
And against Judgment, Honour, Love of thee,
Fame, and Allegiance, I was born away,
Till she, who should have been my Master's Queen,
Deceiv'd, like thee, became,—oh!—turn aside
Thy Eyes—while I have Voice to say—my Wife.

Ethelinda.
Go on.—

Athelwold.
Thou art not mov'd.—Some Power divine
Sustains thy gentle Soul!

Ethelinda.
I pity thee So mean a Stratagem,
Shamefully form'd, to force me upon Leolyn,
And free thee from the Pain of long dissembling.
Go on,—that I may teach my Heart to hate thee.
This low Contrivance, this poor Trick of Art,
Is baser than Inconstancy!

Athelwold.
Sorrow, like mine,
Sinks the sad Heart too low, for Artifice,
And my proud Soul out-swells, and floats above it.
That I am lost, beyond Redemption lost,
My Roof, that once grew proud, in Hopes of thee,
Conceals too clear a Witness.—Yet may'st thou curse me,
If I not rev'rence and esteem thee, still,
With my Heart's inmost Softness. Thy Power improves,
Ev'n by Defection. Lost, to my frailer Sense,
My Soul adores thee, like some nameless Being,
In which, the Woman mixes with the Angel,
And makes a new Divinity.

Ethelinda.
Thy Words,
Thy Looks, disorder'd, and thy trembling Frame,
Fill me with Fear and Wonder.—It cannot be,
Thou should'st, thus mov'd, and movingly, dissemble:
By Heav'n! I will be satisfy'd.—Thou say'st,
This Rival, this imaginary Elfrid,
Is now in thy Apartment: I will fly thither;
And, when I have unravel'd all thy Guilt,
Let loose Despair, at once, and die, distracted.

Athelwold.
Oh! stay:—For Pity's Sake! for your own Sake!
For mine! For the King's Quiet!—

Ethelinda.
I'll not be held,
Tho' Kings, and Flames, and War, and Devastation,
And Death himself stood threatning.

[Breaks away, and runs off.]
Edgar.
[without.]
What! hoa!—Lord, Athelwold.

Athelwold.
'Tis the King's Voice!

Edgar.
What has, thus long, disjoin'd thee from my Joy?
Hid from thy Sight, by the dark Grot between us,
Thy Voice took Pity on my Heart's Impatience,
And taught me how to trace thee. Pomp cou'd not please,
While Friendship waited for me: Sudden, I left
Th'unfinish'd Triumph, fill'd with a nobler Joy,
And wanting Soul to taste it, in thy Absence.
—But thou art grown a Lover, Athelwold!
An angry Lady left thee!—Is it possible,
That the unjudging Sex have Wills, so blind,
That Athelwold, in Love, can sigh in vain,
Punish the peevish Beauty with Neglect,
And fly to thy King's Heart, for Refuge from her.

Athelwold.
I blush,—and am confounded,—my gracious Lord!
To be surpriz'd in my unguarded Weakness,
By your too piercing Eye.—Yet Woman's Power—

Edgar.
Teach the tall Pine to bend, before the Wind.—
What! has not Edgar felt the Power of Woman?
They toy with Scepters,—and the Frowns of Kings
Serve them to smile at. When the wanton Tyrants
Play over their soft Triflings to the Heart,
They set their Eyes on Fire, to light us up,
Then, melt us into Warmth, that softens Wisdom,
And we receive the Stamp their Folly gives us.
But why hast thou deceiv'd thy Prince's Trust?
Thou art for ever forming some kind Plot,
To quicken Pleasure's Relish, by Surprize:
But I have now detected thee,—and mean,
For once, to spoil the Grace of thy Design,
And break upon thy Purpose.

Athelwold.
Royal Sir!
If some malicious Foe—

Edgar.
Yes, yes, they charge thee,
And all thy Guilt lies open:—But thy Plottings
Make Loyalty look dull, and shame plain Duty.
I have unveil'd the Secret. Lead—to thy Lodgings:
When we are there, I will convict thee, Athelwold,
Of such Designs against thy Sov'reign's Rest,
As more than I shall thank thee for.

Athelwold.
[aside.]
Whither will Fortune drag me?—I am discover'd,
And he but puts on Joy, to shame my Ruin
With the Contempt of Easiness.

Edgar.
Yes, Athelwold,
Statesmen shall learn, from thy deserv'd Renown,
From Honours thou shalt owe my strengthen'd Crown;
That, where the Monarch is not blind of Heart,
Affection is the Favourite's wisest Art:
While, to Self-servers, due Contempt is shown,
Let Friends, who seek our Int'rest, find their own.