 | The Curfew |  |
SCENE III.
The Robber's Cave.Armstrong, Harman, and other Robbers discovered drinking.
CHORUS OF ROBBERS.
From day's all piercing eye,
Yet have we joys, as other men;
Our watchful fears,
Our perils, cares,
We sweeten still with liberty.
We worship his declining ray;
And whilst the midnight cask we drain,
Where sparkling meet,
His light and heat,
We feel alive in ev'ry vein
The spirit of departed day.
Har.
Come push the liquor about—Here's
heavy purses and light fingers.—So, the Captain,
you say, has made free with a Friar's canonicals?
Arm.
Ay, and with his character too, for a
short time.
Har.
And in that disguise means to enter the
Castle?
Hark!
'Tis Conrad's whistle—pass the countersign.
Welcome, lads, welcome—who have you got
there?
Con.
A youth that we pick'd up in our travels
—we found him near the monastery, going,
as I conjecture, to pray for a beard—for his chin
seems to have a marvellous lack of bristle.—
He'll bear some plucking tho'—
(to Armstrong)
Arm.
Ay, ay, the bird's in pretty feather.
—Speak, stripling—who are you? whence come
you? and whither were you going?
Flor.
Good gentlemen, I pray you harm me
not.
Con.
You're too rough with him—the youth's
abash'd at being in strange company—he has'n't
been us'd to converse with gentlemen in our
sphere, and to say the truth I don't wonder he's
a little asham'd—don't be alarm'd, my pretty boy
—there's nothing here to frighten you—our worthy
commander would know your history, that's
all.
Flor.
I am a simple lad—
Honest, tho' very poor, yet what I have
Is freely yours.—This purse contains a trifle,
Would it were better worth your kind acceptance—
But as it is you're very welcome.
Con.
(taking the purse.)
A pretty spoken
youth, and perfectly understands good breeding.
Arm.
Sit down and eat, boy—Our fare is
coarse—but you are welcome—Sit down I say
—do you mistrust us?
Oh no—I never yet did wrong to any—
Whom should I fear then?
Arm.
Well, sit down— (She sits at the table.)
Now, Conrad, you saw our minstrels safely on their journey?
Con.
Ay, and the plan is thus concerted:
After gaining admittance to the Castle—Mind thy
repast, youth
(to Florence)
—they'll easily procure
a night's lodging—what again!
(to her)
—
Within a quarter of an hour, from the tolling of
the Curfew, we must be ready at the northern
gate.
Arm.
Enough—We understand the rest—
But what is this same Curfew, that has made such
a noise lately?
Con.
What is it?—Why it's a new mode with
your great statesmen of keeping the people in the
dark.—After this same bell has toll'd, 'tis a misdemeanor
for a horse-shoe to strike a spark from
a flint, and high treason for a glow-worm to carry
fire in his tail.
Arm.
A truce with thy jests.
Con.
Why then, in sober sadness, this Curfew
custom is a clever invention of this Norman prince
of darkness, to set honest men snoring, and give
rogues an earlier opportunity of cutting their
throats; and which, by shortening their days, will
most probably lengthen ours.
Arm.
Still listening
(seeing Florence attentive.)
I like not that boy
(to Herman)
. He has
been deeply attentive to our discourse.
Herm.
Dispatch him then.
Arm.
'Twere safest.
Herm.
Robert shall do it—Being last enter'd
in our troop, it is his office—
(beckons Robert)
.
(to Robert.)
Robert, that boy has
overheard our whole design.
Herm.
And may betray us.
Robt.
There's no fear of that.
Herm.
Not when he's dead—
Robt.
How?
Herm.
You must do it.
Robt.
Murder him?
Herm.
Call it what you please, you must dispatch
him.
Robt.
Keep him a prisoner till to-morrow.
Arm.
I tell you our lives are in his breath—
And he must die.
Robt.
Well, if it must be so—
Herm.
It shall—I like not that hesitating
eye.
(aside)
Arm.
We will but skirt the wood and then
return—You'll remember.
(to Robert)
Robt.
Ay, ay.
Herm.
I'll stay and see it done—My mind
misgives me, he may want assistance.
(aside)
[All the Robbers go out except Herman, who conceals himself.
Flor.
What mean their dark looks, and half smother'd speeches,
Where more the eye interprets than the tongue,
And silence is most horrible?
Robt.
My mother's a witch sure enough—
She prophesied I should soon turn cut-throat—
Well, youth, you can guess I suppose why they
have left us alone.
Flor.
Indeed I know not—for no harm, I hope.
Robt.
That I should kill thee.
Flor.
Nay, but you will not do it, my good fellow.
Robt.
You ne'er offended me.
Flor.
Nor any that doth bear a human form.
I never wrong'd the smallest living thing,
Or trod designedly upon a worm,—
For I was bred to gentleness, and know
Nought that hath fleeting breath, too mean for mercy.
Why seek you then my life, which gone from me
Will never add a moment's breath to your's?
Robt.
Peace, boy!
Flor.
Oh, think upon the horror of the deed.
You have a friend, who knows;—perhaps a parent,
A father or a mother, think on them—
'Twould almost break their hearts to learn your death
In nature's common course—How would they start
To hear you had been slaughter'd in cold blood—
But if they knew you were a murderer,
Oh, they would curse the hour that gave you birth,
And die stark mad with agony.
Robt.
I cannot strike—he withers up my arm
—Now then I'll do't.—Speak, youth, are you prepared.
Flor.
Oh no—for life is sweet—death terrible.—
The firmest Stoic meet it with a pang.
How then should I, an unschool'd simple boy,
Look calm at that, which makes the sternest shudder?
Robt.
You must die, youth.
Flor.
Nay—yet you will not do it—
You cannot—for your cold relaxing hand
Loosens its gripe, and all your limbs too tremble.
Now then.
Flor.
Nay turn not thus your head aside,
I fain would see how stern the butcher looks
When he doth strike the lamb—You tremble still:
And in your eyes, twin drops of mercy stand.
They fall upon your cheek—nay then you cannot.
Robt.
Hear me; I have pass'd my word to
my comrades that you shall die: my hand may
shrink, mine eye may drop a tear.—No matter,
'tis past, and thus—
(Lifts his hand to strike.)
Flor.
Have mercy on my sex—I am a woman!
Robt.
A woman!!!
Flor.
What have I said? A thought more horrible
Then death runs through me now.
Robt.
To save her would be great.
Flor.
Oh 'twould be glorious—that one single act
Shall clear thee at the great day of account.
Robt.
You have prevailed.
Flor.
And will you save me?
Robt.
Were ye a man, I couldn't hurt you
now—for you have made me woman.
Flor.
I've no fit means to thank you—but my
tears, my warmest prayers.
Robt.
Here is a recompence, which those
who once have felt, will want no other motive
to humanity. But the night wears, my companions
will soon return.—Can you trust yourself
with an assassin?
Flor.
Ay, thro' the world.
Robt.
Come then I'll guide you faithfully.
(As they are going out Herman interposes.)
Herm.
You pass not here.
Robt.
Herman!
Herm.
The same, good trusty Robert.
Stand by and let us pass—it is a woman.
Herm.
Were it an angel, what then?
Robt.
Young, fair, and innocent—nay look upon her,
Can you resist that supplicating eye?
Herm.
I know my duty.
Robt.
Do it then—the first duty of our sex, is
to protect the helplessness of hers—Come, come,
let us pass—You can't be serious.
Herm.
You'll find me so.
Robt:
Nay look upon her, Herman.
Herm.
Well.
Robt.
Can neither her youth, her beauty, her
sex or her condition move you?
Herm.
Not a step.
Robt.
You are a devil then.
Herm.
If you attempt to pass, you'll find me
one.
Robt.
Why then there's left no argument but
this.
Herm.
Which thus I answer.
Robt.
If blood must be shed, it shall be man's
blood.
Herm.
Your's or mine.
Robt.
Come on then (they fight off the stage.)
Flor.
Now sit upon the righteous sword, just Heav'n,
And where the cause is honest, give the power—
Hark! the rude clashing of their angry steel
Gives way to death-like silence.
Re-enter Robert.
Robt.
Now then, lady.
Flor.
What, is he dead?
Robt.
And buried, I have thrown him
Both for his shroud and knell.—Think not of him!—
He was a wretch without remorse or pity,
Who bloodily hath bought a bloody end:
Come, 'tis no time for words.
[Exeunt.
| The Curfew | |