University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE: The Garden.
Ethelinda, alone.
Ethelinda.
Oh! Shame! Why keep'st thou this alarming Distance?
Cruelly kind, press inward, on my Heart;
But fright not Reason, cling not to my Thought,
Blot, blot Remembrance out, strike Home, at Life,
Pour, all at once, Oblivion on my Soul,
And quench me, into Quiet.

Enter Athelwold.
Athelwold.
Madam,—

Ethelinda.
Murderer!—

Athelwold.
I come.—

Ethelinda.
How darest thou?

Athelwold.
I would find a Voice
To tell thee, I cou'd die, to bring thee Comfort.

Ethelinda.
Comfort from thee!—False Man! till thou wer't base
I never wanted Comfort.—
Till my wrong'd Heart had Weakness, to believe,
And share the Pains I gave, I knew no Grief:
Honour, and Peace, and Innocence were mine:
I never felt a Wish, that was my own,
Or Woe, but for another.—Now, thou seest me
Shun'd, hopeless, blasted, infamous, and scorn'd;
Cut off from every social Joy of Life;
Pitied by others, hated by myself,
Forsaken even by thee, for whose sole sake,
All other Joys forsook me!—Yet thou dar'st
Insult my murder'd Peace; and, proudly charitable,
Feed famish'd Hope with the cold Alms of Pity!

Athelwold.
Be Witness for me, That all-dreaded Power,
Who made my tortur'd Heart, and knows it best,
Till Elfrid's fatal Beauty forc'd my Will,
I never had a Wish, beyond thy Love.
My Hopes dwelt on thee, and my doating Soul
Drew Taste and Purpose from thee. At thy Voice
Awaken'd Life leapt, list'ning, to my Ear,
And I became all Eye, whene'er I saw thee.
Thou wer't Possession and Desire, combin'd,
All that Ambition wish'd, or Fancy form'd:
With thee there was no Grief, no Joy without thee.

Ethelinda.
Inhuman Flatt'ry all! and Smiling Murder!
The barb'rous Elegance of Man's soft Art,
To cheat believing Innocence!—E'er long
Thy Elfrid, the resistless Charmer!—She!
Will hear thee poorly urge the same Excuse,
When some third Fool believes thee.

Athelwold.
Wou'd kind Fate
Point my lost Heart a Way to prove its Pain,
What wou'd I not, with Transport, suffer for thee,
To ease the Woes I gave?

Ethelinda.
One Way there is,
And Love, and Honour point it. But have a Care;
Refuse not to my kindled Hope its Claim;
Lest in my half-hush'd Bosom, thou should'st rouse
New Swarms of torturing Mischiefs, whose dire Stings
Will drive us both to Madness.

Athelwold.
Name it to me,
And if I not obey the wish'd Command,
Think me, indeed, the Wretch thy Anger paints me.

Ethelinda.
Redeem me from the Shame I suffer for thee:
Forsake this Woman, who usurps my Right,
And do a noble Justice, to my Love,
And thy own injur'd Honour.

Athelwold.
She's my Wife.
The Law's firm Knot has bound her mine, forever.

Ethelinda.
Thy Wife!—O patient Heaven! What less am I?
Did not, I, first, receive the plighted Vow?
Did not I fondly trust th'affianc'd Faith
Of nuptial Contract?—If to join her Hand,
In Breach of Oaths that bound thy Soul, to mine,
Firms her thy Wife, and sets aside my Claim,
So sacred, and so sworn!—Then, solid Rights
Are Shadows; and the empty Forms of Time
Take Place of Truth, and Reason.

Athelwold.
'Twill not be.—
My Soul is torn with a vain War of Passions:
Honour, and Shame, and Grief, and gen'rous Pity,
Desire perplex'd, and strong divided Will,
To doat forever on the Guilt I hate,
And shun the Worth that charms me!—Righteous Heaven!
Look down on Ethelinda! Revenge her Wrongs,
Do her that Justice, which in vain I wish her;
Curse this despairing Wretch, who cannot bless her,
And dart thy blastful Light'nings, on a Flame
No earthly Fire can conquer.—I am a Traitor;
A mean abandon'd Starter from my Faith;
A false forsworn Deceiver!—Give me thy Pity;
And, if thou can'st have Goodness so extreme,
Refuse me not thy Pardon.—But for Love!—
Alas! forget it.—Fly me,—hate me,—fear me,—
Oh! share not in the Misery I am doom'd to;
Join not thy Virtue to a Fate so curs'd,
So fall'n, beyond the Reach of lost Relief,
As the unhoping Athelwold's.

Ethelinda.
I thank thee:
Thou hast awaken'd me, to feel Heaven's Justice;—
But, now, so low, so poor, dost thou appear
To my returning Reason, that I hate not
My Guilt itself more bitterly than thee,
Or than my own weak Heart, for having lov'd thee!
What Woman e'er shall live, belov'd, and flatter'd;
Yet, timely, wise enough to think it possible,
That one, she sees, and hears, as thou hast been,
She ever can behold, as thou art now!
Inhuman Sex! who smile us into Ruin!
And love us into Infamy!—Begone—
Fear for thyself: Kneel, pray, solicit Heav'n,
Think not of me, or my Afflictions, more:
But, by Repentance, wash away the Stains
From thy own perjur'd Soul, lest my shock'd Spirit,
When it meets thine, in a less guilty World,
Renews its Pangs, ev'n there, to see thee tortur'd,
Beyond my Pow'r to bear, tho' doom'd, for me.

[Exit in Disorder.]
Athelwold
alone.

[Throws himself on the Earth.]
Enter Edgar, and Elfrid.
Edgar.
Athelwold! I was once thy Friend, and thought thee
The Wealth of a King's Heart. I trusted thee,
And was deceiv'd. Thou! in whose Breast I lodg'd
My Hopes of Peace, hast let in Misery on me!
What shall I do, to save insulted Majesty
From the Contempt of Weakness?—Yet convince thee,
That I can bid my Pity be thy Punishment.

Elfrid.
Alas! my gracious Sovereign, wound him not
With too severe Reproach, whom your great Soul
Determines to receive to unhop'd Mercy.
—The King, my Lord! too gen'rous to revenge
The Lover's Falshood, on the Subject's Faith,
In kind Rememb'rance of your Virtue's Strength,
Forgets your am'rous Weakness.—'Twere too much
For gaining me, to lose a Monarch's Love.

Athelwold!
No—Madam!—I am fall'n, beneath your Favour.—
Kings,—born to think supremely, know 'tis Glory
To rise, above Revenge.—But you, who thus
Can speak, and look, the Queen you are not, yet,
Must find it difficult to pardon Guilt,
That robs you of your Royalty.

Elfrid.
My Lord!
That jealous Brow, and those reproachful Accents,
Wrong the good Meaning of a Heart that loves you.

Edgar.
Shame on thy Blindness, arrogant Mistaker!
So cold to Sense of thy own Guilt! so warm
To charge another's Innocence!—Her Prayer
First won me from my Anger.—For her Sake,
I force my struggling Soul to mean thee Pardon.
But take it, with Condition.—Take it, thus,
[Gives him his Sword.
And heedfully remark it. If, henceforth,
Thou dar'st aspire to Elfrid, call her thine,
Or talk, or think, or dream of thy bold Claim,
Thou shalt not live an Hour.—Till then, breathe on.
The Infamy of thy disloyal Act
Is Vengeance, as severe as I can wish thee.

Athelwold.
Oh Sir! resume a Gift, I cannot stoop
To hold, on such Conditions. Death wou'd bless me.
'Tis what I wish, and merit. I deserve
All Punishments, but Life, with Loss of Elfrid.

Elfrid.
Shock'd, and unworthy a Debate, like this,
I shou'd be still less worthy, cou'd I hear it,
Unconscious of the Wound it gives my Honour.
—Oh! Thou, Eternal Ruler of the World!
Here, by thy dreadful Name, I kneel and swear,
I will be neither Athelwold's nor Edgar's.—
Safe, at Thy Altar's consecrated Foot,
In some still Convent's solitary Gloom,
Aweful Religion shall benight my Eyes,
And hide me from the World.—There will I weep,
And wish myself forgotten.

Edgar.
Oh!—recall,
Explain, or limit, the too-hasty Vow.
Thou mean'st but to retire, till I am dead,
Or till his Death who wrong'd thee.

Elfrid.
Shou'd he fall
For me, may Heav'n refuse my parting Soul,
If I not keep my Vow, unbroke, for ever!

Edgar.
Hear this—and blush, at thy base Jealousy,
Thou blind Profaner!

[A Shriek without.
Elfrid.
That alarming Shriek
Rings to my trembling Heart, and wakes its Fear
For One, more wretched yet,—more lost, than I.

[Exit hastily, and Athelwold is following.
Edgar.
Athelwold!—Come back.

Athelwold.
A Curse on Guilt;
It sinks the Brave, to Cowards!—It was, once,
My Heart's proud Joy, to meet my Sovereign's Eye.
'Tis, now, my Soul's worst Torment.—Hide me, Earth,
From Edgar's angry Brow: From my own Shame,
Not Death itself can hide me.

Edgar.
I have bethought me,
That Love and Fate deny, we both should live;
The Heart of Elfrid, when thou art no more,
May teach her to forget thee.—I, or Thou,
Must fall.—It was the King's Intent to pardon
The Subject's Treason. The King does forgive thee;
But the Friend cannot pardon.—Let us, then,
On equal Terms, dispute our doubtful Claim,
To Death and Quiet, or to Life and Elfrid.
Here I renounce Distinction, give Allegiance
To the wild Winds, as thou hast done, before,
And seek an Equal's Vengeance for my Wrongs.
[Draws.
—I know that I descend, and that the Throne
Disdains a Subject Foe. But I disclaim
That cold Prerogative of a King's Safety;
To teach thee, that I need no borrow'd Pow'r:
Myself the Guardian of my injur'd Honour,
Myself my Strength, when my false Friend betrays me.

Athelwold.
[Kneeling.]
O gen'rous Edgar! my Imperial Master,
Whose Spirit reigns, distinguish'd among Souls,
As among Kings, thy Person; think me not,
How plung'd soever in the Guilt of Falshood,
So lost to Sense of the unmeasur'd Distance,
Between my Prince and me, to dare defend
One aching Atom of this hated Breast,
Against a Wound he wishes me.—No; take
[Lays his Sword at the King's Feet.
My Sword.—It has been drawn, with some Success,
In your lov'd Cause; direct it to the Heart
Of this new Traitor. At your sacred Feet,
The tainted Blood will flow, with willing Waste,
And wash away the Mem'ry of his Crime,
Who lives too long, when he not lives for you.

Edgar.
Rise, and provoke me, if thou would'st be kind,
By some wish'd Mark of Arrogance.—Presume,
Talk insolently of thy Worth; defy me;
Smile at my Sword's rais'd Point; threaten,—accuse,—
Deny,—Calumniate.—Any Thing, but this!
Spare this soft Sorrow, hide this sweet Humility,
And I shall keep my Purpose.—O Athelwold!
Why hast thou pain'd my Soul, with this sharp Conflict?
Why hast thou wrong'd me, into Will to hurt thee?

[Throws down his Sword.
Athelwold.
How ill shou'd I deserve your unwish'd Mercy,
Did not my Life become more odious to me
Than was the Guilt I fall for!—From my Birth,
With fix'd, unalterable, deadly Hate,
I punish'd faithless Rebels. Trust me, now,
Against myself. My Sovereign shall not need
Revenge his Wrongs, on Athelwold.—One Pray'r
Has Boldness, yet, to urge your royal Ear;
Then, I have done with Wishes, and the World.—
Prince Leolyn, whom I have made unhappy,
Now suffers, for my Guilt. So greatly wrong'd,
I shall not rest, in Death, till your try'd Goodness
Permits his Freedom, and bestows on Him
My forfeit Honours, and the Lands I leave.

Edgar.
I charge thee, as thy Heart wou'd wish my Pardon,
Attempt not on thy Life. Wait, and expect
Thy Doom, from the slow Workings of my Soul,
That labours to resolve, but knows not how;
For Leolyn, thy gen'rous Wish has mov'd me.
Go—bring him to my Presence.—I will walk,
And meditate, alone, till thy Return.

[Exit Athelwold.
Edgar.
[Alone.]
How shall I move, in this dark Maze of Passion!
'Tis true, my Favourite has betray'd me, basely;
But he was first, himself, betray'd by Love;
That Tyrant of the Heart, more King than I,
Ranks Monarchs with his Slaves.—Let me weigh Athelwold
By my own Wishes, and, then, punish him,
When I can see, unmov'd, those Eyes which charm'd him.
How shall I act? at once, to shield my Fame,
And satisfy my Love.—Cou'd Reason's Force
Tear the unlicens'd Image from my Heart,
Or, patient, leave to Time, th'unhasten'd Means,
To bless my fierce Desires; Who knows what Chance,
Or Death, or Thought, or Woman's changeful Will,
Or my own conquer'd Wishes, may produce.
—Kings should, however injur'd, do no Wrong:
They cannot err alone, since what They act,
They authorize in others.—Let me, then,
Extinguish low Desires, lest, at my Flame,
I light a Nation's Wishes.—I will strive
To check this rising Passion; and forget
That she who charms me thus is in my Power,
Till I can bend that Pow'r, to Reason's Rule.
—They come!—I will avoid them,—and reflect
What Measures to resolve on.
[Exit Edgar

Re-enter Athelwold, followed by Leolyn.
Leolyn.
Turn—whither would'st thou lead me?

Athelwold.
In this Place,
But now, I left the King.—A little farther,
And we shall find him, soon.

Leolyn.
Stay—for we find,
In these provided Swords, what well reminds us
Of our late Parting.—Thou hast perform'd thy Promise,
With Bravery so noble, that, again,
'Spite of my burning Wrongs, I almost love thee.
—It cannot need, that I shou'd spur thy Will,
To what remains unfinish'd.

[Taking up a Sword
Athelwold.
I had forgot it.
Guilt, and Repentance, and the Tears of Shame,
Had wash'd the Indignation from my Heart.
—Methinks we were not born for Enemies:
Enough, already, have we wrong'd our Friendship.
Let us be Foes no more.

Leolyn.
First, perish Leolyn.
Didst thou not blast my Honour by a Blow?
Fir'd with a Ruffian's Boldness, strike a Prince!
And can he live to pardon?—Shame to thy Heart,
Or give my Glory the Revenge it claims,
Or I will brand thee with a Coward's Marks,
And teach light Boys to scorn thee.

Athelwold.
If it must be,
Spare me a Moment's Pause—'Twill soon be past,
And Death will want no Time to sate his Purpose.
—What shall I do?—To trust him with my Softness,
To tell him what, at my Request, the King
Was won to grant him, were to seem afraid,
And shrink from his Revenge.—O fatal Chain
Of long depending Woes, that Guilt is bound to!
Conflicting Passions blast the bad Man's Hopes,
And all his Thoughts are Whirlwind!—

Leolyn.
Come on.—
Thy Blow burns hot, and I will wait no longer.

Athelwold.
Hold—Leolyn! Be slow.—The Chance of Conquest
Is various, and unknown—and, shou'd I fall,
Thou wilt have Cause to grieve, thou didst not hear me.

Leolyn.
Never—till Vengeance has been paid its Full,
Never will I grow tame, and hear thee more.

Athelwold.
[Taking up the other Sword.]
Take thy own Way then.—Let Destruction fall,
And find thee, without Shelter.—But see, the King,
His coming—(in this Place) prevents our Purpose,
On, to th'appointed Terras.—Follow me.

[Exeunt together.
Re-enter Edgar, with an Officer.
Edgar.
What Oswald told me, of a second Quarrel,
Renews my Anger against Leolyn,
And wakes me, into Fear of some new Consequence,
From his Enlargement.—Take a Guard, and bring him,
To answer this Presumption.—

[Exit Officer.
Enter Oswald.
Oswald.
Oh, Sir!—Unhappy Ethelinda rests;
Her Sorrows are no more.

Edgar.
What has Fate done?

Oswald.
See, Sir! Yon Terras, which o'erhangs the Sea!
Thence, falling steep at once, the frighted Eye
Akes, down a Depth of Rocks, to reach the Surge,
That breaks, unheard, below!—There walking swift,
With frantick Action, in a long, loud, Speech,
The poor distress'd Complainer talk'd, and wept
To the wild Ocean; told the Waves her Woes;
And, list'ning, earnest, oft, in dumb Suspence,
Paus'd, for an Answer:—'Till, at last, more shrill,
She scream'd Resentment, to the distant Deep.
—Thou art, she cry'd, as cold, and deaf, as Athelwold.
Then, sudden, from her Breast, in rash Despair,
Snatching a Dagger.—She, with all the Rage
Of a resolv'd Destruction, plung'd it, thrice,
In her distracted Bosom.

Edgar.
Alas! for Athelwold!
How will he meet this Sight?

Re-enter Officer, and Guards, with Leolyn.
Edgar.
Answer me quickly,—where is Athelwold?

Leolyn.
Immortal,—and at Peace.

Edgar.
What!—Hast thou murder'd him?
Ungrateful, and detested! Murder'd Him!
Him, who alone obtain'd thy Freedom from me;
And, in the gen'rous Anguish of his Guilt,
Pray'd, that his Titles, and his forfeit Lands,
Might all be Thine! whom, as he wrong'd in Life,
He could not rest in Death, to leave unhappy.

Leolyn.
This had been Daggers to my guilty Soul,
Could he have fall'n, by me:—But, like a God,
Who smiles, and pardons, when provok'd by Mortals,
He met my Rage, with a serene Contempt,
Master'd, a second time, my failing Sword,
And gave me Life, in Punishment.—Live, Leolyn!
He cry'd, and spoke it with an Air unmov'd,
Superior, not insulting.—Live—and know,
That, had not conscious guilt a Point, more strong
Than thine,—No Wound could reach the Breast of Athelwold.
—Yet, tho' he will not be compell'd to die,
He chuses not to live;—for he has wrong'd thee.
Come, and see Justice done thee.—At that Instant,
The Shock of Ethelinda's dreadful Fate,
Heard, as we pass'd, upon th'extended Terras,
Alarm'd his Care, too late.—I saw him, Sir,—

Edgar.
Go on.—

Leolyn.
I saw him, Sir, as I drew near,
Raise his fall'n Victim, from the bloody Ground,
And, on his Cheek, support her bending Head;
But her weak Joints soft sinking from their Trust,
She hung sustain'd, and bled upon his Bosom.
He groan'd,—look'd wild,—call'd loud upon her Name,
And, for a Moment, stopt her flying Soul.
Twice, at his Voice, she stretch'd her dying Eyes,
And gasp'd,—and struggl'd,—and wou'd fain have spoke;
But, failing—in a short, convulsive, Sigh,
Breath'd out her Soul,—and sunk upon his Bosom.
He!—standing near the downfal of the Cliff,
Strain'd her, with Rapture, in his circling Arms,
O Leolyn! he cry'd, forgive me, now:
Tell the wrong'd King, I leave his Elfrid, free,
And, thus, too late, do Right to Ethelinda.—
Then, springing furious, o'er the dreadful Rock,
Leap'd, with the Dead, to Death!—Together, both
Fell, frightful, to the Deep; which, closing o'er them,
Veils them, from Sense of Woe, in Rest, forever.

Edgar.