University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Scene, The French Camp.
Enter Ribemont solus.
RIBEMONT.
The Troops, array'd, stand ready to advance.
And this short Pause, this silent Interval,
With awful Horror strikes upon my Soul—
I know not whence it comes, but till this Moment,
Ne'er did I feel such Heaviness of Heart.
Fear! thou art still a Stranger here; and Death
Have I not seen in e'ery Form he wears?
Defy'd him, fac'd him,—never fled him yet:
Nor has my Conscience since contracted Guilt,
The Parent of Dismay: then whence is this?
Perhaps 'tis pity for yon hopeless Host—
Pity,—for what?—the brave despise our Pity,
For Death, encounter'd in a noble Cause,
Comes like the gracious Lord of toiling Hinds,
To end all Labours and bestow Reward.
Then let me shake this Lethargy away—
By Heav'n it wo'not off!—The Sweat of Death—
Is on me!—a cold Tremor shakes my Joints!—
My Feet seem riveted! my Blood congeals!—
Almighty Pow'rs!—Those ever awful Form!—
Why art thou present? Wherefore—What! a Sigh!—
O smile of sweet Relief!—if aught from Heav'n
A mortal Ear be worthy to—again
That piteous Action!—that dejected Air!—
Speak out the Cause—I beg thee speak—'tis gone!—
Yet would I gaze, by such Enchantment bound—
Thou pleasing,—dreadful Vision!—O return—
Unfold thy Errand tho' I die with hearing—

Enter Athens
Ath.
You're well encounter'd, Ribemont; the King,
Ere this, has Edward's Answer; as I past
The Bound'ries of our Camp on yonder Side,
In this my Progress to equip the Field,
I saw the Nuncio posting like the Wind!
He and his Train, on Horses white with Foam,
Their Course directed to our Monarch's Tent.
What means this, Ribemont?—thou'rt lost in Thought!

Rib.
Athens!—I am unsoldier'd—I'm unman'd—
Wonder you may, my noble Friend, for see
I shake—I tremble!—

Ath.
Say, at what?

Rib.
Why—nothing.

Ath.
Should the vast Host that here are rang'd for Battle,
(Warm with Impatience eager for the Fray)
Behold that Ribemont alone has Fear,
What Wonder would it cause! For thou, of all,
Art sure deservingly the most renown'd.
Come, be thyself—for Shame—

Rib.
Believe me, Athens,
I am not stricken with a Coward's Feeling:
Not all yon Army to this Sword oppos'd,
Should damp my Vigour, or depress my Heart:
'Tis not the Soldier trembles—but the Son!
Just now a Melancholy seiz'd my Soul,
A sinking!—whence I knew not, 'till, at length,
My Father's Image to my Sight appear'd,
And struck me motionless!

Ath.
'Twas only Fancy.

Rib.
O no, my Athens, plainly I beheld
My Father in the Habit that he wore
When, with paternal Smiles, he hung this Weapon
Upon my youthful Thigh, biding me use it
With Honour—only in my Country's Cause.
Within my Mind I treasur'd up the Charge,
And sacred to the Soldier's publick Call
Have worn it ever. Wherefore then this Visit!
Why in that Garb in which he fixt my Fortune,
And charg'd me to repay his Care with Glory?
If 'tis an Omen of impending Guilt,
O Soul of him I honour, once again
Come from thy Heav'n, and tell me what it is,
Lest erring Ignorance undo my Fame.

Ath.
Nought but a waking Dream—a vapour'd Brain

Rib.
Once his pale Visage seem'd to wear a Smile!
A Look of Approbation—not Reproof.
But the next Moment, with uplifted Hands
And heaving Bosom, sadly on the Earth
He turn'd his Eyes, and sorely seem'd to weep!
I heard—or fancy'd that I heard a Groan,
As from the Ground his Look was rais'd to me!
Then, shaking with a mournful Glance his Head,
He melted into Air.

Ath.
Pr'ythee no more—
You talk'd of Melancholy, that was all;
Some Sickness of the Mind: Occasion'd, oft,
Ev'n by the Fumes of indigested Meals:
To-morrow we will laugh at this Delusion.

Rib.
To-morrow!—O that Mention of To-morrow—
There are Opinions, Athens, that our Friends
Can pass the Boundaries of Nature back,
To warn us when the Hour of Death is nigh.
If that thy Business was, thou aweful Shade!
I thank thee, and this Interval of Life,
However short, which Heaven vouchsafes me yet,
I will endeavour as I ought to spend.

Ath.
See thro' yon Clouds of Dust, with much speed
The Nuncio hastens to the English Camp!
Perhaps the Terms for Safety are agreed,
Then where's a meaning for thy fancy'd Vision?

Rib.
No matter where, my Spirits are grown light:
Returning Vigour braces up again
My Nerves and Sinews to their wonted Tone.
My Heart beats freely, and, in nimble Rounds,
The Streams of Life pursue their ready Course:
Lead on; our Duty calls us to the King.

Scene changes to the Prince of Wales's Tent.
Enter Prince, Chandos, and Attendants, meeting Audley.
Prince.
Well, Audley, are the Soldiers all refresh'd?

Aud.
All: And although, perchance, their last of Meals,
It seem'd so chearful as surpass'd my Hope,
Still joining Hands, as off they drain'd the Bowl,
Success to England's Arms was all the Cry.
At length a hoary Vet'ran rais'd his Voice,
And thus addrest his Fellows, “Courage, Brothers!
“The French have never beat us, nor shall now.
“Our great Third Edward's Fortune waits our Arms;
“And his brave Son, whose formidable Helmet
“Nods Terror to our Foes, directs the Fight!
“In his black Armour, we will soon behold him
“Piercing their throng'd Battalions! Shall not we,
“At humble Distance, emulate his Ardor,
“And gather Laurels to adorn his Triumph?”
Then did they smile again, shake hand and shout!
While, quite transported at the pleasing Sight,
I wept, insensibly, with Love and Joy!

Prince.
I too could weep!—O Audley, Chandos, there,
There rest I all my Hope!—My honest Soldiers,
I know, will do their Duty.

Enter Gentleman.
Gent.
Royal Sir,
A Person, muffled in a close Disguise,
Arriv'd this Instant from the adverse Camp,
As he reports; solicits to receive
An Audience of your Highness, and alone.

Prince.
Retire, my Lords.—Conduct him straightway in.

[Exit Gent.
Chan.
Your Highness will not trust yourself unguarded:
It may be dangerous. Consider, Sir.—

Prince.
Caution is now my Slave, and Fear I scorn:
This is no Hour for idle Apprehensions.
[Exeunt Lords, &c.
Enter Arnold in a Disguise, which he throws off.
Your Business, Sir, with—Arnold!—Get thee hence.

Arn.
Behold a Wretch laid prostrate at your Feet,
His guilty Neck ev'n humbled to the Earth;
Tread on it, Sir,—it is most fit you should.
I am unworthy Life, nor hope Compassion—
But could not die 'till here I'd stream'd my Tears
In token of Contrition, Pain and Shame.

Prince.
Up, and this Instant from my Sight remove,
Ere Indignation urges me to pay
Thy horrid Treasons with a Traitor's Fate.

Arn.
Death if I'd fear'd, I had not ventur'd hither;
Conscious I merit all you can inflict:
But doom'd to Torture as by Guilt I am,
I hop'd some Ease in begging here to die;
That I might manifest, where most I ought,
My own Abhorrence of my hated Crime.
Thus, on my Knees, lay I my Life before you;
Nor ask Remission of the heavy Sentence,
Your Justice must pronounce. Yet, Royal Sir,
One little Favour let me humbly hope:
(And may the Blessings of high Heav'n repay it:)
'Tis when you shall report my Crime and Suffering,
Only to add—“He gave himself to Death,
“The voluntary Victim of Remorse.”

Prince.
I shall disgrace my Soldiership, and melt
To Woman's Weakness, at a Villain's Sorrow!
O Justice! with thy Fillet seal my Eyes;
Shut out, at once, his Tears, and hide my own.

[Aside.
Arn.
Am I rejected in my low Petition
For such a Boon!—Nor can I yet complain.
Your Royal Favours follow Approbation,
And I of all Mankind have least Pretence
To hope the Bounty of a Word to ease me.

Prince.
Rise, Arnold,—Thou wert long my chosen Servant;
An Infant-Fondness was our early Tie:
But with our Years (Companions as we liv'd)
Affection rooted, and Esteem grew Love.
Nor was my Soul a Niggard to thy Wishes;
There set no Sun but saw my Bounty flow,
No Hour scarce past unmark'd by Favour from me.
The Prince and Master yet I set apart,
And singly here arraign thee in the Friend.
Was it for thee, in Fortune's first Assault,
Amidst these Thousands, all by far less favour'd,
To be the first, the only to forsake me?
Was it for thee, for thee to seek my Foe,
And take thy Safety from the Means that sunk
The Man, of all the World that lov'd thee most?—
In spite of me my Eyes will overflow—
And I must weep the Wrongs I should revenge.

Arn.
Tears for such Guilt as mine!—O blasting Sight!—
Cover me, Mountains!—hide me and my Shame!—
A Traitor's Fate would here be kind Relief
From the excessive Anguish I endure.

Prince.
Having thus fairly stated our Account,
How great's the Balance that appears against thee!
And what remains?—I will not more reproach thee.
Love thee I must not, and 'twere Guilt to pity.
All that with Honour I can grant is this:
Live—but remove for ever from my Sight.
If I escape the Dangers that surround me,
I must forget that Arnold e'er had Being:
I must forget, in Pity to Mankind,
(Lest it should freeze Affection in my Heart)
That e'er such Friendship met with such Return.

Arn.
O Mercy more afflicting than ev'n Rage!—
That I could answer to with Tears and Pray'rs;
But conscious Shame, with Kindness, strikes me mute.
Great Sir, (forgive Intrusion on your Goodness)
My Boon you have mistaken, Life I ask'd not;
'Twas but to witness to the deep Remorse,
That with a Harpy's Talons tears my Bosom.
Love, the pernicious Pois'ner of my Honour,
In poor Atonement's sacrific'd already:
And Life, devoted as the All I've left,
I'm ready now and resolute to pay.
But as my Miseries have touch'd your Soul,
And gain'd Remission of a Traitor's Fate,
O add one Favour—and compleat my Wishes.
To the dear Country that must scorn my Name,
(Tho' I still love it as I honour you)
Permit my Sword to lend its little Aid,
To pay a dying Tribute: Grant but that,
And I will weep my Gratitude with Blood.

Prince.
Stain'd and polluted as my Eyes behold thee,
Honour no longer can endure thy Sight.
If 'tis in Valour to accomplish it,
Redeem thy Reputation; but if not,
To fall in Fight will be thy happiest Hope.
Away, nor more reply.

Arn.
Exalted Goodness.

[Exit.
Prince solus.
Prince.
If Passions conquer'd are our noblest Boasts,
Misruling Anger, ever mad Revenge,
And thou, too partial Biaser, Affection:
Confess I once have acted as I ought.
[Trumpets.
Hah!—By those Trumpets, sure, the Nuncio's come!
[A Gentleman appears and retires.
Who's there?—Acquaint the Lords I wish to see 'em.
Now does the Medley War begin to work!
A thousand Hopes and Fears all crowd upon me!—
Enter Warwick, Salisbury, Audley, Chandos, Lords and Attendants.
O welcome Friends!—But see the Cardinal—
[Trumpets.
Enter Cardinal Perigort, attended.
Well, gen'rous Advocate,—we wait our Doom.

Per.
Prepare, prepare, for an immediate Battle:
Inflexible is France in her Demands,
And all my Pray'rs and Tears have prov'd in vain.

Prince.
Lord Cardinal, may righteous Heav'n reward
The pious Charity of Soul you've shewn.
If France insists so high, it shall be try'd;
The desp'rate Chance of Battle shall be try'd!—
The Fates attend, the Balance is prepar'd;
And whosoe'er shall have the Lot to mount,
May Heav'n stretch wide its everlasting Doors,
And give them happy Entrance all.—

Per.
Amen.—
Illustrious Prince, and you his noble Followers,
Remains there aught that I can do to serve ye?
My Function suits not with a Field of Slaughter,
In Poictiers, therefore, must I seek my Safety.
There, while the Battle rages, round and round
My Beads shall drop to Pray'rs, that ev'ry Saint
Will succour and support the English Arms.
But should the Fortune of your Foes prevail,
And leave ye Victims to immortal Honour!
The pious Offices I'll make my own,
O'er ev'ry Grave to breathe a thousand Blessings,
And water all your Ashes with my Tears.

Prince.
My gentle Friend—such Goodness will renown you.

Per.
Take from my Hand, my Heart,—my very Soul,
My amplest Benediction to you all.
[They bow.
I now can stifle in my Tears no longer—
O gallant Prince—farewel.—Farewel to all—
Heav'n guard your Lives, and give your Arms Success!

[Exit with his Attendants.
On the Cardinal's going out, the Prince and Lords continue for some time fixt and mute.
Aud.
You loiter, Sir.—Our Enemies advance,
And we're in no Array.

Prince.
Away, dispatch—
Marshal the Army by the Plan I gave:
Then march it straight to yonder Eminence:
Whence I'll endeavour to inflame their Zeal,
And fit them for the Toils this Day demands.

[Exeunt severally.
Scene changes to another Part of the English Camp.
Enter Mariana and Louisa.
Loui.
Thus, Madam, has Obedience prov'd my Duty:
The Hurry and Confusion of the Field
Giving us Opportunity to 'scape,
We've reach'd the English Camp. But whither now?
Where would you bend your Course? behold, around,
How the arm'd Soldiers, as they form in Ranks,
Dart from impassion'd Looks ten thousand Terrors!
The Scene is dreadful!—

Mar.
Then it suits my Mind,
The Seat of Horrors terrible to bear.
On,—let me find him—

Loui.
Dearest Lady, think—
Nor follow one that rudely spurn'd you from him.

Mar.
It was not Arnold spurn'd me, 'twas his Guilt,
The Guilt I plung'd him in. Louisa, thou
Has ne'er experienc'd Passions in Extremes,
Or thou would'st know that Love, and Hate, and Scorn!
All Opposites together meet, and blend
In the wild Whirl of a distracted Soul!

Loui.
Behold he comes!

Mar.
Support me, gracious Pow'rs!—

Enter Arnold.
Arn.
Hah! Mariana!—when will Torture end!

[Aside.
Mar.
How shall I stand the Shock of his Reproaches!

[Aside.
Arn.
Why art thou here?—O why, unhappy Maid?

Mar.
Since my too fatal Rashness wrought thy Ruin,
'Tis fit, at least, that I should share it with thee.
Therefore my Friends, my Father, and my Country,
I have forsook for ever; and am come
To claim a Portion here in all you suffer.

Arn.
Return again I beg thee; I conjure thee,
By all the wondrous Love that fir'd our Hearts,
And wrought—But let not that be more remember'd.
If thou hast Wish for Happiness or Peace,
Go to thy Father back, and think no more
Of a lost Wretch who hastens to Oblivion.

Mar.
Request it not; I never will forsake thee:
One Fortune shall conduct, one Fate involve us.
I'll shew the World that my unhappy Crime
Was neither Child of Treachery or Fear,
But Love—Love only! and the Guilt it caus'd,
As I inspir'd, I'll share its Punishment.

Arn.
You cannot, nay, you must not—think not of it:
You broke no Faith—I only was to blame.
And, to engage thee to secure thy Safety,
Know the dire State of my determin'd Soul.
Heav'n and my Prince permitting, I have sworn
To brave all Dangers in the coming Fight:
And when my Sword has done its best for England,
To lay my Load of Misery and Shame
Together down for ever, Death I'll hunt,
So very closely that he shan't escape me.
Be timely then in thy Retreat: And Heav'n!
And all good Angels guard thee! On thy Lips
I'll seal my fervent Pray'rs for Blessings on thee—
[Kisses her.
O what a Treasure does my Soul give up
A Sacrifice to Honour!—

[Going.
Mar.
Stop a Moment—
One single Moment, Arnold: Let me gather
A little Strength to bear this dreadful parting.
And must it be—hold—hold, my Heart, for ever?
O bitter Potion! Kind Physician, pour
One Drop of Hope to sweeten it a little.

Arn.
Hope ev'ry thing: Hope all that Earth can give,
Or Heav'n bestow on Virtues such as thine.
[Trumpet.
That Trumpet summons me!—I must away—
O measure by thy own the Pangs I feel.

[Exit.
Mar.
Then they are mighty; not to be express'd
Not to be borne, nor ever to be cur'd.
My Head runs round! my bursting Brain divides!
O for an Ocean to ingulph me quick!—
Or Flames capacious as all Hell's Extent!
That I might plunge, and stifle Torture there.

Loui.
Hence, my dear Lady; for your Peace go hence.

Mar.
I'll dig these Eyes out; these pernicious Eyes,
Enslaving Arnold, have undone him—Hah—
[Trumpet.
That Raven Trumpet sounds the Knell of Death!—
Behold!—The dreadful bloody Work begins!—
What ghastly Wounds!—What piteous, piercing Shrieks!—
O stop that fatal Falchion! If it falls
It kills my Arnold!—Save him, save him, save—

[Exit running, Louisa follows.
Scene changes to a rural Eminence, with the distant Prospect of a Camp.
Enter Prince solus.
Prince.
The Hour advances, the decisive Hour,
That lifts me to the Summit of Renown;
Or leaves me, on the Earth, a lifeless Coarse.—
The Buz and Bustle of the Field before me,
The Twang of Bow-strings, and the Clash of Spears,
With ev'ry Circumstance of Preparation,
Strike a tremendous Awe!—Hark: Shouts are echo'd
To drown Dismay, and blow up Resolution
Ev'n to its utmost Swell!—From Hearts so firm,
Whom Dangers fortify, and Toils inspire,
What has a Leader not to hope! and yet
The Weight of Apprehension weighs me down.
O Soul of Nature! great, eternal Cause!
[Kneels.
Who gave and govern'st all that's here below!
'Tis by the Aid of thy Almighty Arm
The Weak exist, the Virtuous are secure.
If to your sacred Laws obedient ever,
My Sword, my Soul, have own'd no other Guide!—
O if your Honour, if the Rights of Men,
My Country's Happiness, my King's Renown!
Were Motives worthy of a Warriour's Zeal;
Crown your poor Servant with Success this Day,
And be the Praise and Glory all thy own.

[Rises.
Enter Audley.
Aud.
Now, Royal Edward, is the Hour at hand,
That shall beyond the Boast of ancient Story,
Ennoble English Arms; forgive my Hero,
That I presume so far, but I have sworn
To rise your Rival in the common Fight.
We'll start together for the Goal of Glory,
And work such Wonders, that our Fear-struck Foes
Shall call us more than Mortals! As of old,
Where matchless Vigour mark'd victorious Chiefs!
The baffl'd Host, to cover their Disgrace,
Cry'd out the Gods assum'd Commanders' Forms,
And partial Heav'n had fought the Field against them!

Prince.
Audley, thy Soul is noble: Then together
(Safe from the prying Eye of Observation)
Let us unmask our Hearts. Alas, my Friend,
To such a dreadful Precipice we're got,
It giddies to look down! No Hold, no Hope,
But in the Succour of Almighty Pow'r!
For nothing but a Miracle can save us.

Aud.
I stifle Apprehensions as they rise,
Nor e'er allow myself to weigh our Danger.

Prince.
'Tis wisely done. And we'll, at least, endeavour
(Like the brave Handful at Thermopylæ)
To make such gallant Sacrifice of Life
As shall confound our Enemies. O think
On the great Glory of devoted Heroes,
And let us emulate the godlike Flame,
That dignify'd the Chiefs of Greece and Rome!
Souls greatly rais'd, above all partial Bonds;
Who knew no Tye, no Happiness distinct,
But made the gen'ral Weal their only Care.
That was their Aim, their Hope, their Pride!—the End
For which they labour'd, suffer'd, conquer'd,—bled!

Aud.
Exalted, great Incitement!

Prince.
What may happen,
Since none can say, prepare we for the worst.
Then as a Man whom I have lov'd and honour'd,
Come to my Arms, and take a kind Farewel.
[They embrace.
If we survive we will again embrace,
And greet each other's everlasting Fame!
If not, with him whose Justice never Errs,
Remains our fit Reward.

Aud.
You melt me, Sir!—
I thought my Nature was above such Weakness,
But Tears will out—

Prince.
They're no Reproach to Manhood;
But we've not Leisure now for their Indulgence.

Aud.
True, glorious Leader, to more active Duties
The sev'ral Functions of our Souls are summon'd.
Safety and Honour, Liberty, Renown!
Hope's precious Prospect, and Possession's Bliss!
All that are great or lovely; urge together,
The Arm of Valour in their dear Defence.

Prince.
And Valour well shall answer the Demand;
Our Foes, to wear the Trophies of the Day,
Must wade thro' Blood to win 'em. Heav'n can tell
How many Souls may pay the fatal Price,
Or whose may be the Lot. If mine be one,
Say, Audley, to my Father, to my Country,
Living they had my Service;—at my Death,
My Pray'rs and Wishes for eternal Welfare.

Aud.
Request not that which, if the Day be lost,
I ne'er shall execute.—I have to ask
A Favour, which I hope you'll not refuse.

Prince.
Nothing that suits my Audley to solicit.

Aud.
It is that I may be the first to charge:
I think I can rely upon my Courage
To set a good Example

Prince.
Be it thine—
And see! the Troops approach!—

[Trumpets.
Aud.
Each upright Form
Darting Defiance as they move, to France!
Where is the Pow'r can cope with Souls like these?
Resolv'd on Conquest or a glorious Fate!
Unmoveable as Rocks, they'll stand the Torrent
Of rushing Fury, and disdain to shrink:
But let yon panting Wasps discharge their Stings,
And then in Clusters crush 'em.

[Trumpets.
Enter Warwick, Salisbury, Chandos and other Commanders. Parties of Soldiers appear between all the Wings, with Officers leading them, so seeming as if the whole Army was drawn up.
Prince.
Countrymen,
We're here assembled for the toughest Fight,
That ever strain'd the Force of English Arms.
See yon wide Field with glitt'ring Numbers gay!
Vain of their Strength, they challenge us for Slaves,
And bid us yield their Pris'ners at Discretion.
If there's an Englishman among ye all,
Whose Soul can basely truckle to such Bondage;
Let him depart. For me, I swear by Heav'n!
By my great Father's Soul! and by my Fame!
My Country ne'er shall pay a Ransom for me,
Nor will I stoop to drag out Life in Bondage,
And take my Pittance from a Frenchman's Hands:
This I resolve and hope, brave Countrymen,
Ye all resolve the same.

Sold.
All, all resolve it.

Sal.
Conquest or Death is ev'ry Briton's Choice.

Prince.
O glorious Choice! And know my gallant Soldiers,
That Valour is superior far to Numbers,
There are no Odds against the truly brave:
Let us resolve on Conquest, and 'tis ours.
But should the worst that can befal us—Death!
'Twill be a Fate to envy more than pity.
And we have Fathers, Brothers, Sons or Friends,
That will revenge our Slaughter.

Sold.
On, lead on.

Prince.
I see the gen'rous Indignation rise,
That soon will shake the boasted Pow'r of France:
Their Monarch trembles midst his gaudy Train,
To think the Troops he now prepares to meet,
Are such as never fainted yet with Toil.
They're such as yet no Pow'r on Earth could awe,
No Army baffle, and no Town withstand.
Heav'ns with what Pleasure, with what Love I gaze,
In ev'ry Face to view his Father's Greatness!
Those Fathers, those undaunted Fathers, who
In Gallic Blood have dy'd their Swords.
Those Fathers who in Cyprus wrought such Feats,
Who taught the Syracusians to submit,
Tam'd the Calabrians, the fierce Saracens,
And have subdu'd in many a stubborn Fight
The Palestinean Warriours. Scotland's Fields,
That have so oft been drench'd with native Gore,
Bear noble Record! and the fertile Isle,
Of fair Hibernia, by their Swords subjected,
An ample Tribute and Obedience pays.
On her high Mountains Wales receiv'd their Laws,
And the whole World has witness'd to their Glory!

Aud.
Lead us to Action, and each Briton here
Will prove himself the Son of those brave Fathers.

Prince.
View all yon glitt'ring Grandeur as your Spoils,
The sure Reward of this Day's Victory.
Strain ev'ry Faculty, and let your Minds,
Your Hopes, your Ardours, reach their utmost Bounds!
Follow your Standards with a fearless Spirit;
Follow the great Examples of your Sires;
Follow the noble Genius that inspires ye;
Follow this Train of wise and valiant Leaders,
Follow, in me, your Brother, Prince and Friend.
Draw, fellow Soldiers,—catch th'inspiring Flame!
We fight for England, Liberty and Fame.

[They draw their Swords and go out. Trumpets sounding.]