University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Royal Apartment.
Enter King EDEL and CURAN.
Ed.
Dost thou not boast?

Cur.
In truth I do not, Sir;
Ev'n in our days of greenest infancy
I was his humble play-mate; and, when youth
Nerv'd him for stouter sports, the gallant Prince
Would make me his compeer; to shoot the shaft,
To pitch the bar, to wrestle, race, or tilt,
In these and all like proofs of hardiment,
He ever chose my rivalry.

Ed.
If so,
Haply, thou now couldst counterfeit his person.

Cur.
I could, my Liege, were there a fit occasion.

Ed.
Were we right sure of this, occasion now
Should call thee to the trial.

Cur.
Some have thought
My lineaments did much resemble Curan's.
Nay, once I do remember, in our childhood,
We did in sport change dress; and I the while,
My little heart beating with innocent pride,
So strutted in his plumes, as caus'd a smile
On many a cheek to see with what mock grace
I aped the heir of Denmark.

Ed.
So even now
Thou seem'st to act him o'er again; in sooth
Thou art a peerless boy, and wilt befit
Our business to our wish; which, to tell briefly,
Is this, that thou, in semblance of the prince,
Should'st play the suitor to our royal niece;
For which thy youth, and, wherefore should we rob thee
Of what was Heav'n's own gift, thy comliness
Will stand thee in good stead. Beauty and youth
Are the best weapons in a gallant's hand
To conquer virgin coyness, these thou hast
From nature, these king Edel bids thee use,
Which, if thou dost like one of Cupid's teaching,
Beshrew me, boy, but it will raise thy fortunes
Higher than now thou dream'st of.

Cur.
My dread Liege,
Ye surely mean to mock your humble vassal;
I pray ye scoff not at my poverty.

Ed.
Trust us, fair youth, we do not. By our faith,
A sov'reign's faith, win thou our Argentile
And thou shalt wear her. But she must be won,
Her heart, her soul must be thine own so fixt,
That if we frown and cross awhile your nuptials,
Which for state reasons we perchance may feign,
Thou may'st persuade her to be thine by flight:
This if thou canst atchieve—

Cur.
I know not, Sir,
But this so sudden, so unhoped an honour
O'erpowers me wholly; can you mean, my Liege,
In very truth?

Ed.
By all the saints we do.

Cur.
Then be it so; that gracious smile did seem
To dart a ruddy beam of royalty
Warm to my heart. I am not what I was;
I tread with loftier step; my heart beats high,
As if the blood of Denmark boil'd within it.

Ed.
Excellent boy! his ev'ry word and gesture
Insures success, and tops our highest hope.
In faith, Prince Curan, for thou well dost suit
The gallant title, thou dost please us highly.
Some three hours hence take heed that thou attend
Our summons to our closet: thou shalt there
Have further schooling; meanwhile, on thy life,
Be secret.

Cur.
Take that life, if I am false.

Ed.
We will not doubt thee; favour'd as thou art,
Thou must be true to us, who show such favour,
And mean so to augment it.

Cur.
At thy feet
I swear—

Ed.
Arise, thou hast our confidence,
And soon shalt from our wardrobe have dispens'd
Those vestments, which befit thy state to wear
In audience of our niece.

Cur.
Impatiently,
My Liege, shall I expect them; for these weeds
Seem now to sit untowardly upon me:
I burn to change them.

Ed.
Wait us in our closet.

[Exit King.
Cur.
(solus)
Can it be thus? indeed, indeed men wrong thee,
My mistress Fortune, when they paint thee blind!
Shew me an eagle, that, with firmest eye
Can meet the sun in his meridian march,
And I will call that eye, compar'd with thine,
The bat's that blinks at twilight: were 't not so,
Thou could'st not guide thy hardly-govern'd wheel
So evenly foreright, as now thou dost;
And swift too, as 't would fire its very axle.
O that my Sewold knew!—But truce awhile
With exultation. Pass three little hours
And I have audience of fair Argentile.
How then to act? why, as a spirit would,
Who has the magic power to shift, and turn
From visible t' invisible, as best
May suit his present purpose. Let me see her,
And in her face, I con the ready part
I have to play; the full game thus before me,
I'll win it, or I'll lose it, as I list.

Enter FALCONER.
Fal.

Where is the King's Majesty? lead me instantly to the King's Majesty's own personal presence! Mercy

on me, I have hardly breath left me to deliver that news to him which, I trust, will choak him with choler. Brave master Cup-bearer, present me unto him this moment. —There is no time to be lost, I can assure you; by this they must be at least six miles deep, look you, in the forest.

Cur.

They! say, who mean you?

Fal.

Yes, in good troth, that is a likely story; and from a man of my years and experience, who has been about court, man and boy, for full fifty years come next all-hallow tide; to expect now by one single, and, with your leave, simple question, to get such a secret out of such a man! But you are a green courtier, master Cup-bearer, and are therefore to be excused. Come, lead me to the King's Majesty; it will suffice, I trust, if I unbosom unto his Grace those I mean by my they, that are now in the forest.

Cur.

Thou art indeed an old and full-bred courtier Thus to forget—

Fal.

What! that you gave me certain angels of late to drink to your God-speed? The service for which those angels were given was conscientiously performed. Why then should the memory of the gift remain, when the cause of it is cancell'd. Nevertheless I do remember those angels so well, and the number of them, as to know that, were they increas'd in tenfold proportion, they would not purchase an answer to thy present question, though compriz'd in a tiney single syllable. Enough for thee to

know, that the secret is for royal ears, to which I command thee to lead me.

Cur.
I will lead no man to the royal presence,
Who brings unpleasant tidings.

Fal.

Thou art a shrewd stripling, that must be said for thee, having already guest so much of my secret, as to know it is no very pleasant one.

Cur.
Who then, but thee, would bear it to the King?
Was it a secret he would joy to hear,
Thy fee might chance be ample; as it is,
Trust me, he'll only pay thee with a frown,
Fitting the sort and colour of that secret.

Fal.

Why indeed I do believe it will make his Majesty swear a little.

Cur.
Surely it will—to go without his leave
By stealth, and thro' the forest. Then their rank,
Men he so much had honour'd.—

Fal.

Nay, there you are out; there is but one man in the party.

Cur.
The princess surely has not fled the court.

Fal.

Since thou dealest with the devil, I find it will be most prudent in me to make thee a party concern'd. —Know then most assuredly, that the princess has fled the court, accompanied only with old Lord Oswald.

Cur.
Death to my hopes—but art thou sure of this?

Fal.

If seeing is believing, that am I; but to tell thee the matter in form and circumstance. I was practising a tarsel at the lure, in a deep sort of a dell, some two miles

distant from the castle; where I heard a rustling of leaves in a sidelong road to the left; there, thro' the thicket, I saw the princess brush briskly on that white palfry, on which she has hawked these two last seasons; before her gallop'd Lord Oswald on his stout bay gelding, who is half brother to King Edel's Swift; that very same steed he rode on yesterday, when thou sang'st thyself into thy preferment. They made as much haste, I can assure thee, as a vile, stony, uphill, bridle-style road would suffer them. But this is not all; for, hast'ning home with my news, I met with another strong cause of suspicion that they are bent on no honest errand; for, crossing the road that leads to the west gate, I saw a smock-fac'd kind of youth, more smock-fac'd even than thyself, bless the mark, in a green doublet and hose, trudging away as fast as a pair of very spindle-shanked legs could carry him; 'twas a face I had seen before, but could not rightly tell where; nor did I recollect it till I had enter'd the castle-gate. But now I'll take my Bible oath 'twas no boy but a girl, and that girl my Lady Editha, the princess's fav'rite waiting-gentlewoman.

Cur.
Did she pursue her mistress?

Fal.

No, no, she took quite a different road, yet a footpath, that meets the other some eight miles distance: she went down the valley, whereas the princess and Lord Oswald took up the hill.

Cur.

And would'st thou bear such tidings to the King?

Fal.

Marry that would I, and must too, for they be true ones.

Cur.
Go then and meet his wrath, who didst neglect
To seize the handmaid. Go and meet his wrath
For this thy tardiness. Know'st not that the time
Thou here hast spent with me, is worse than lost:
This when he knows, he'll on thy back inflict
A stripe for every moment.

Fal.

Mercy on me! why would'st thou detain me? lead me to him directly.

Cur.
Falconer, I am thy friend. I'll point a way
Much safer than to Edel. Hence with me
This instant in pursuit of the lost princess.

Fal.

What! before we acquaint the King's Majesty of her elopement, and have his royal writ to arrest her highness?

Cur.
I grant thee, wert thou sure of such commission,
It might be well to seek it: but her flight
Once known, he will dismiss some earl or knight,
Or valorous captain, on such high pursuit,
Not thee, poor peasant; what then shall become
Of thy reward? now thou and I together
Are a full match for Oswald. Him subdued,
And Argentile recover'd, double knighthood
Will surely be our fee.

Fal.

Earl Oswald, let me tell you, tho' old, is stout and well timber'd, and may not be so easily master'd as your vanity may imagine.

Cur.
But we will raise the country to assist us,
When once we find them.

Fal.

Yes indeed, that bears some likelihood. The posse comitatus, and we at the head of them! he cannot make them all knights, and as we shall appear to be the first movers in the business, you know; and the King's patent servants before that—

Cur.
True, true, but time is precious. Haste we hence.
Lead me the way they went, and trust me, Falconer,
Soon as we find them, our reward is sure.

SCENE II.

An outer Court in the Castle.
Enter two LORDS.
F. Lord.
In these Earl Oswald's letters, briefly penn'd
The hour they took their flight, you read the sum
Of this black business; nor have now to ask
For proof more formal or of the King's baseness,
Or the Earl's honesty; ere this, I trust,
He has lodg'd the princess in some place of safety.

S. Lord.
I praise his prudence: ev'n in that loud note
I'd thunder out destruction to the tyrant,
Could words destroy him; but that calls for deeds.

F. Lord.
And deeds shall be attempted. Mark me, Sir,
Already I've bestirr'd me to this end
With hope of fair success; prompted by me,
Your cousin Aldred, captain of the guards,
Ev'n now is sowing thro' the soldiery
The seeds of hot commotion. You, my Lord,
Can boast much interest with our honest burghers,
Which might be us'd.

S. Lord.
And shall to th' full extent
Of my best faculties, for which in pledge
I lock this hand of fellowship in thine,
And swear to risk my fortune, honour, life,
In Argentile's just cause. Nor doubt I, Lord,
Before to-morrow's dawn, to head in arms
Three thousand citizens. But see the tyrant!
Let's hide our honest hate in loyal seemings,
Till execution ripens.

Enter King EDEL hastily, A Courtier and Ralph following.
EDEL.
Brings the slave
No plainer tidings?

Court.
None, my gracious Liege.

Ed.
Fellow, be brief, and tell us all thou saw'st.

Ral.

Please your Majesty, your Majesty's yeoman falconer and I, who by your Majesty's favour am his deputy, were some hours agone practising a young hawk at the lure in a place on the side of the forest called Deadman's Dell; where we saw the Princess and Earl Oswald ride hastily thro' the thick coppice on the left, just as the gentleman has inform'd your Highness. My

master, on seeing them, left me with the bird, and said he would hie him to the castle, and give your Majesty information thereof.

Ed.
And why in this did the vile traitor fail?

Ral.

Of that, please your Highness, I am innocent. All I know is, that when I had given my bird its exercise, and was returning to our lodge in the great park, I spied my master at some distance, and the young stripling with him, now your Majesty's cup-bearer.

Ed.
Ha! said'st thou he, the Danish minstrel!

Ral.

The same; but in an English forester's garb. Whereupon I was at first minded to go and ask master whether he had waited on your Highness. But when I considered that he was in company with a gentleman of such high office, it behoved me, as I thought, to keep my distance, being assured I should only gain one of my master's heaviest oaths, if not blows, in answer to my question. However, still suspecting that your Majesty might not be privy to the matter, I came forthwith to consult this gentleman, who, under your Majesty's favour, heretofore procured me my place.

Ed.
Enough, enough; come forward, good my Lords
And trusty counsellors. You see your king
Struck to the very soul at the strange flight
Of our fond niece. Young as the wanton was,
We did not think she would so far debase
Her royal lineage, as (we blush to own it)
This act declares she has.

F. Lord.
But, gracious Sov'reign,
We marvel most Earl Oswald led her forth.

Ed.
True; but we live in such a world, my Lords,
That, whoso marvels at like wickedness,
May pass thro' life, feeling no other passion
Than blank astonishment. Full well we guess
The trait'rous purpose why the Earl contriv'd
Our niece's flight; nay, we can count the sums
That Denmark long has paid into his coffers.
More at our council board will we unfold,
Whereat this evening, with our other Lords,
We bid ye to attend us.

F. Lord.
Sire, in all
Command our ready duty.

Ed.
We there mean
To take your voices, who may best supply
The throne our truant niece has vacated.
But first we'll bend us at St. Hilda's shrine,
And ask, most needful in a strait like this,
Heav'n's holy aid to guide us in our councils.

[Exeunt Edel, &c.

SCENE III.

Changes to the Vale of Hakeness; a Hermit's Cell in front near a Rivulet.
Sewold comes out of the Cell, follow'd by Edwin disguis'd as a Hermit, but without his beard.
SEWOLD.
Thanks to thy courtesy, thou reverend Seer;
For youth like thine is reverend. Solitude
And silence, inmates of this peaceful vale,
Have given thee, what a length of busy years,
Spent in the noise and turmoil of the world,
Oft fail to give, rich store of useful truths,
Well rang'd on memory's tablet. Yet I marvel,
Young Lord, what led thee in thy life's fair prime
To this so close seclusion; thou hast said,
It was not for that end, which ignorance
Misdeems religion, and I trust it was not
For that still falser end, which rankling spleen
Miscalls philosophy.

Ed.
Indeed it was not.
Yet there are ills, begot of sad mischance,
Which sacred solitude alone can cure;
And some there are, of such a stubborn sort,
As mock her powers medicinal; yet still
Where'er she fails to cure, she serves to sooth,
For this I use her opiate; ever far
From perfect remedy, yet much reliev'd
By her emollient aid.

Sew.
There is, young Lord,
Another leach, whose drugs have passing power
O'er every malady that mars the mind.
That leach is Friendship; he would probe thy wound
With tenderest hand, and, while he opens, heal.
O that my son were here! for I, alas,
Am all unequal, from discordant years,
To the sweet task! his youthful converse gay,
Mixt with soft sympathy and smiling tears,
Would lure thee to unbosom in his breast
Thy every care, and, opening thus a course
To thy pent sorrows, bid them run to waste,
Or change them into pleasures.

Ed.
Think not, Dane,
That solitude has blunted in this breast
The inborn taste for choice society,
Or that still richer relish for blest friendship,
Which Nature gives her votaries. Think not, Dane,
Quitting the world, I meant to quit that love
Instinctive, that each creature owes its kind,
And, chief of these, that man still owes to man.

Sew.
I trust indeed thou didst not.—But methinks
I hear some footstep. 'Tis perchance my son—
Ah no—my vassal Baldwin from the fleet.

Enter a DANISH SAILOR.
Sail.
My Lord, a fly-boat from yon neighb'ring port,
Its freight one seaman only, hail'd our ships;
And, when we bade him quietly approach,
Row'd sidelong to the first, and on its deck
This packet flung, and hied him back with speed.

[Sewold takes the letter, opens it, and reads.

“To the Lord Ambassador of Denmark,

Greeting.

“The unkingly manner, in which your high Embassage has been treated, by him who was bound by oath given to the dying King Adelbright to treat it with all due honour, has awaken'd much displeasure in the breast of many honest Saxons, who are at once friends to their own country and well affected to the majesty of Denmark. Amongst these no man is more strongly offended than the writer of this letter, who hereby promises, if so that your Excellency shall think meet to anchor two days longer in your present station, to convey safely to your fleet (if Heav'n favours his just design) the fair object of your embassage. Hoping that ere this shall reach your hands, he shall have already secur'd her from the wiles of the tyrant. “Signed, OSWALD.”

Ed.
Oswald!

[Starting.
Sew.
That start bespeaks you know him.

Ed.
Know him!

Sew.
Methinks I see the tears gush from your eye.
Say, Sir, I pray ye, is he of such rank
And influence in the court, that I may trust
On what he here doth promise?

Ed.
Noble Dane,
He is the very soul of honesty.
In virtue as superior as in birth,
And from that birth as high an earldom holds
As Anglia gives; his virtues are his own.
Your pardon, Sir, I cannot count the sum
Of his just praises.—Peace, my fluttering heart,
He is—but rather let me say, he was—
And yet, perchance, now he is Edel's foe,
He may be still my father.

Sew.
Say'st thou, Youth,
Thy father? then we need no more credentials.
And yet, it seems, from the disjointed phrase
That gave this to my knowledge, some harsh treatment,
Which sure to such a son—May I not press
Thy further confidence?

Ed.
To such sage ears
To tell a tale of disappointed love
Must make the teller blush: suffice to say,
That for this cause I lodg'd me in this cell;
Because, by cruel Edel's arts misled,
He frown'd on my chaste wishes; since the day
I hid me here twice has yon golden orb
Finish'd his annual round, and here did mean
To end that life in pining solitude,
I was forbid t' enjoy in virtuous love.
Yet trust me, Dane, if, as those letters speak,
The genius stern of liberty is rous'd,
And threats the tyrant's fall, this hermitage
No more shall shroud me. Trust me, noble stranger,
I'll instant list beneath fair Freedom's banners,
Eager to plant my dagger in the breast
Of her fell foe. Then farewell these hoar vestments,
And welcome helm and hawberk.

Sew.
Gallant Youth,
This zeal sits well upon thy manly front,
And soon, I deem, thy father and thy country
Will call it into action. For the moment,
I hasten to the fleet to spread new orders
Touching its further stay. My son, I hope,
Will soon be here; for this thy cell was fixt
Our place of meeting. If, ere my return,
The youth arrives, thy courtesy, I trust,
Will bid him kindly welcome.

Ed.
As a brother.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE IV.

Changes to another part of the Valley.
Enter EDITHA disguised in a Forester's Habit.
EDITHA.
Thus far, tho' long and dreary was the way,
Have I adventur'd safely; and am now
Secure from all pursuit. Yet, like the hare
That pants, and trembles, and with prick'd-up ears
Still thinks the hound is nigh, her speed had foil'd;
So do I start, and stop, and fear a foe
In every rustling breeze. The housewife, she
That with her oaten cakes and curdled cream
At yonder homely cabin late refresh'd me,
Has made me much her debtor. Heaven so smile
On this day's business, as its justice merits;
Then to the princess shall my grateful tongue
Make fair memorial of that gentle hostess.

The FALCONER appears on the Brow of a high Hill to the Left.
Fal.

What ho! young Dane, what ho! I have done my errand, the fleet lie to the south-east trimly array'd and safely anchored. What ho! do'st not hear me?

Ed.
Ye Saints defend me! sure I heard a voice.
This is no place of safety.

[Exit hastily.
Fal.

What ho! why flyest thou? Have I not done as

thou badest me? [Descending the hill.]
Murrain take him! if this young scape-gallows has not left me. What ho! Master Cup-bearer! I might as well whistle to the winds as try to recall him. O that a man of my age and sober sense should ever turn out such a fool! first, he makes me climb up a hill, as steep as a very ladder, to look out for the Danish fleet, as if the young knave (who within the year, I trust, has been many a time whipt for climbing his neighbours pear-trees) was not far fitter for such an errand. Up, however, climbs I, at the manifest risk of bursting my old lungs; does the business; spies the fleet; advertises him of it, and what get I for my trouble, but the sight of a pair of light heels, and the comfort of being left alone in a perilous wood? My only consolation is, that, being a stranger to the country, he may peradventure return here for my guidance; therefore in that expectation will I sit down and rest myself a little. Hist, hist, what rustling was that in the glen to the left! Mercy on me! Lord Oswald himself, the very man it was our business to seize. And now in the very nick of time this young traitor has left me. To attack him by myself were very madness, and yet, had I but the courage to do it, I were a made man all my life after. Now, if he were not armed—

Enter OSWALD hastily, and seizes the Falconer by the throat.
Osw.

What errand brought thee here? speak, caitiff, speak.

Fal.

O for mercy! what? speak when I am throtled! For the love of St. Hilda slacken thy gripe.

Osw.

Quit then thy staff and all thy other arms, That dagger in thy belt. Lie there, thou ruffian. [Throws him down and lifts his sword over him.
Nay, if thou stirr'st this point is in thy heart.

Fal.

Spare my life, noble Earl, spare but my life, and I'll discover the whole truth. I was decoy'd here, it is true, on the felonious intent of finding where you had bestowed the Princess Argentile.

Osw.

And dost thou own it, dastard!

Fal.

Alas! what would lying about the matter do for me? Nay, more, I was spirited up to endeavour to make seizure of your honour's person. Not that I ever meant to attempt it single-handed. The young rogue that was sworn to assist me, has left me here, like a vagabond and coward as he is. And now, having told the whole truth, let me beg on my knees—

[Offering to rise.
Osw.

Nay, if thou stirr'st!

Fal.

That frown, gracious Sir, is enough for me. O for mercy withdraw that lifted blade! only till I say one short prayer to St. Hilda, that she may intercede with your honour to spare my life.

[Oswald takes the belt that hung over the Falconer's shoulder, and with that and the quarter-staff pinions his arms.
Osw.

Now, traitor, thou art safe; I will not kill thee.

Fal.

No, noble Oswald, if thou didst, the more

would be the pity for me, and the less the profit for thyself; for thereby wouldst thou lose the knowledge of what once told, would be worth the purchase of my pardon, nay, of my freedom.

Osw.

Go to: Declare that knowledge.

Fal.

Would you, Sir, be pleased to climb yonder hill with me, I would show your honour a sight would do you good to see; for I am shrewdly out of my politics, if he, that has run away from one king, would not be very fain to put himself under the protection of another.

Osw.

What mean'st thou, knave?

Fal.

Nothing, please your worship, but this: That whereas in your present condition, craving your pardon, you are liable to be taken up for a—(I will not name the word, it is so hardly favoured) you might by my honest assistance find safer refuge for yourself, than these old oaks and underling briars will be long able to afford you. Now the Danish fleet being at present within hailing—

Osw.

Sayst thou the Danish fleet? and not yet sail'd!

Fal.

I say it, Sir, and swear it to boot; for I saw it just now with these eyes, lying snug at anchor in a bay under the other side of that cliff.

Osw.

Ha! this is news indeed; my royal charge Is then secure. I'll haste to lead her thither.

[Exit hastily.
Fal.

Nay, for mercy's sake, for the sake of all honour and justice, take off these gyves first, and let me follow!

Heugh! a lad of sixteen would not have gone off much more nimbly. He is as quick at the work, as my late honest friend and companion the Cup-bearer. Honesty, there is no such thing now-a-days in the world! Youth and age, sixteen and sixty, makes no difference as to that matter. I am right serv'd for not bargaining better for my liberty, before I told my secret; and nothing, but the manifest fear of death before my eyes, absolves me from the title and stile of mere driveller. All I have now to do is to waddle up and down the forest, like a yoked gander, till some pitiful forester (if there be pity in the kind) sets me at liberty; in the hope of which I now begin my pilgrimage.

[Exit Falconer.