University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

To him, Egbert.
Harold.
Welcome, brave Youth.
Thy Fame, and known Pre-eminence in Valour,
Have call'd thee to a generous Task of Duty,
For Britain's Weal.—Thou know'st, by Doom of War,
Full fifty Captives to our Gods must bleed.

Egbert.
So doom your fancy'd Gods, the vain Creation
Of Fear and Cruelty. But righteous Heav'n,
That sees your Blindness with a pitying Eye,
Detests the Sacrifice.

Harold.
Prevent it then.

Egbert.
Name but the Means. If my devoted Blood
Can save my guiltless Countrymen from Death,
I yield it to the Altar.

Harold.
Valiant Egbert,
A gentler Task is thine. A captive Beauty
Brightens yon Tent: She hath subdu'd our General.
The Rage of Love is on him. If thy Tongue
Can win her to his Bed.—

Egbert.
Harold, no more.
Think'st thou, because I drag the Chain of War,
My Soul must wear your Shackles? Fall'n a Captive,
I bear a Briton's Heart: The Coward only
Earns Safety by Dishonour.

Harold.
Yet many a Briton
Wou'd deem it Service, worth a brave Man's Care,
To save devoted Innocence from Death,
At this cheap Price. Weigh'd with the Blood of Man,
What is this unknown Woman's Weal or Woe,
This captive Thyra's Honour?

Egbert.
Thyra?—Thyra?
What Thyra?

Harold.
Athelstan's fair Captive Thyra.
What Terror's in that Name? What wonder moves thee?

Egbert.
Ye Pow'rs of Heav'n!—Harold, if thou'rt a Man;
If ever brave Compassion touch'd thy Breast;
If e'er the tender Names of Wife and Husband,
The bleeding Anguish of despairing Virtue,
The Love of Worth, or Piety to Heav'n,
Did sway thy Heart to great and gen'rous Deeds,
Or melted thee to Pity, hear me now!
That Thyra is my Wife!

Harold.
Indeed? thy Wife?

Egbert.
So sure, as Infamy is hov'ring o'er her,
My Wife! Devoted to this Ruffian's Lust!

Harold.
Egbert, I love the Valour of a Foe:
And Worth like thine turns Enmity to Praise.
How will thy Bosom burn with honest Rage,
When hissing Scorn proclaims—

Egbert.
Oh, thou hast shook
My firmest Fortitude! I thought her dead.
When she was lost, what more cou'd Egbert fear?
Hence cold Despair had gather'd o'er my Soul,
Wrap'd it in Ice from ev'ry Sense of Ill,
And chain'd the struggling Tear. But her lov'd Name
Hath rouz'd me from this Lethargy of Woe,
Hath thaw'd the frozen Horrors of my Heart,
And melted me to Childhood. Grief and Joy,
And Fear, and Hope, in tumult rise within me:
While thro' the moistened Chanels of mine Eyes
These Sorrows flow:—Yes, for thy Sake, thy Egbert
Weeps his Captivity!

Harold.
Waste not in Tears
The precious Minutes. Speed thee to her Tent.
Dishonour and Pollution hover o'er it.

Egbert.
Perdition seize the Robber! Gen'rous Harold,
Lead me to aid this helpless Innocence.
Hear me, brave Countrymen! and witness Heav'n,
That to redeem your death-devoted Blood,
Egbert wou'd yield his own—But oh, my Wife!
What! yield her to a Ruffian's Lust?—Nay rather,
I'll dash her Beauties into Wounds and Horror,
For Lust to start at.—Lead me to her Tent.
My lab'ring Heart will burst!

Harold.
Th' attending Guard
Shall guide thee to her Tent.

[Exeunt.