University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Rome.
Enter Aurelius and Uter, Constantius' two Brothers.
Uter.
E'en now in Rome have we for seven long years
Made this our wearisome and constant sojourn,
I would we were again in Britain.

Aur.
Even so good Uter stands it with myself,
Nay, an thou yearn'st to see thy native land,
How is it then with me that there have left
The jewel of my soul, my dearest Flavia!

Uter.
Nay, good my brother, patience yet a little,
All will be well, Flavia doth love you still.

Aur.
I cannot, will not bear this absence longer.

Enter Servant.
Serv.
A messenger, my lords, attends without
On business of great import.

Aur.
Whence comes he?

Serv.
From Britain.

Aur.
From Britain say'st thou! then admit him straight.

[Exit Serv.
Enter Messenger.
Mes.
My gracious lord, are you the eldest son
Of our good King Constantius?

Aur.
Even so.

Mes.
This packet then, I fear, will news contain
The most afflicting.

Aurelius
reads.
These letters we in haste dispatch'd to tell you,
Of your dear father's death, and to forewarn you
Of your own danger—Murder most foul hath ta'en him.
Vortigern on the Scots hath laid the murder;
But under this pretence much lies conceal'd.
Till you arrive, he is to rule deputed:
But as you prize your lives return not yet.

Aur.
Oh! horror! horror! my dear father murder'd!

Uter.
By whom? speak Messenger, where, when, and how?

Mes.
The plot, good Princes, hath been deeply laid.

Aur.
This is indeed most foul! say on, my friend,
Speak quickly, I intreat thee!

Mes.
Then thus 'tis—Vortigern hath done the deed;
His love of splendour, pomp and sovereignty,
And his great int'rest in the people's minds,
All, all did prompt him to this hellish act.

Aur.
Uter, oh heavens! the father of my Flavia!
It is impossible! It cannot be!

Uter.
Oh! this indeed is damned treachery.
My dear Aurelius, let not stupor choak
The worthy feeling of a just revenge;
Courage, Aurelius! courage, my dear brother!

Aur.
Speak on, speak on, and end thy sad discourse!

Mes.
Thy friends in Britain long suspected this,
And to each port did send their trusty spies,
To learn what vessels there for Rome were bound,
And haply that which did transport me here,
Was to have brought your executioners.

Aur.
Oh! would it had been so. Uter support me!

Uter.
Let us retire a while my gentle brother,
Hereafter we will send and question thee
On these thy tidings, and their direful cause.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rome.
Enter Aurelius, Uter, and Messenger.
Aur.
Our friends in England then have thought it fitting,
That on receipt o'these, your woeful letters,
We should with all speed hie us into Scotland?

Mes.
E'en so did they instruct for weighty reasons.
“Know, Vortigern did alway hate the Scots,
“And hath oft times during your father's reign,
“Fram'd laws, most burthensome unto that people.
“But the keen tooth of hatred and revenge,
“With double fury now will shew itself;
“For every noble Scot then found in London,
“Hath suffer'd under this fell tiger's fangs,
“And this to direst rage, hath stirr'd their blood.”
Your story told, will raise you aid of thousands,
Three years of plenty have, among the Britons,
Sown seeds of luxury and baneful riot,
Therefore, they're unprepar'd, nor think of war.

Uter.
Are vessels ready to convey us thither?

Mes.
Yes, my good lord.

Aur.
Come, brother, let's away then with all speed—
But wer't not better that we change these habits?

Mes.
No! no, your Roman vestments will disguise you,
And may in Scotland greatly aid your cause.

Aur.
Then be it so—farewell to thee, O! Rome;
I ne'er did think that upon quitting thee,
My brimful heart wou'd thus run o'er with sorrow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Hall, discovers Vortigern, Edmunda, Wortimer, &c. at Supper.
Vor.
Seek, Wortimer, thy brother and thy sister:
Tell them it suits but ill their present years,
To tarry thus, when summon'd to our presence.

Wort.
My gracious father, I obey.

Edm.
O! dearest husband, calm thy ruffled soul,
They mean not to offend your grace; perchance
They know not of your wish for their attendance.

Vor.
Peace then, and with thy words, whet not I pray
That wrath, which kindles sore within my breast!
Again, dost hear me, bid thy tongue be silent,
'Twere better else thou did'st retire.

Edm.
I go, and though a vulture gnaw my heart,
I'd bear it all with meekness and with patience,
Rather than this my voice shou'd e'er offend thee.

[Exit.
Wort.
My gracious Sir, I've search'd the chambers through,
And call'd aloud, but answer had I none,
Save but my own words, return'd upon mine ear,
In airy sound.

Vor.
What! scorn'd and thus defied, I will not bear it,
Send for my prating wife, and shou'd I find
That she in any wise did aid their flight,
Let her beware of my revenge.—What ho!

Enter Servant.
Vor.
Quick to my wife, and say I'd speak with her.
As yet from those dull sluggards sent to Rome,
No tidings have I heard. But here she comes.

Enter Edmunda.
Edm.
What is your pleasure, Sir?

Vor.
Where are my recreant son and daughter gone;
Nay, think not with those eye drops to deceive me,
Tell me I say, thou know'st full well their flight!

Edm.
If in these veins doth run the blood of life,
Or there be truth on earth, I know not of them.

Vor.
Deceive me not I say, thou speak'st most false,
I know the quality of women's eyes,
That in a breath can weep, can laugh, or frown,
Say not these waters flow for loss o'them;
I know thee well, thou hast conspir'd with them;
'Twere better thou mak'st known their hiding place.

Edm.
O! Sir, these tears do stop my pow'r o'speech,
Which wou'd again vouch that I uttered.

Vor.
It is most false, but look to't, and dost hear me,
Come not athwart me and my purposes,
Lest thou shoud'st add to that fierce hate I bear thee.
[Exit Vor.

Edm.
And can this be? these ears were sure deceiv'd,
Yet I sleep not, nor is my brain distemper'd,
It was not so, he said not he did hate me;
O! heav'ns, in your great mercy aid me now,
And if your pleasure be not to torment
Man's poor existence in this span of life,
Aid me to bear my weight o'miseries!
Oh! yet again! my son and daughter gone,
And tell not me the cause o'this their flight.
My brain grows hot, I can no longer bear it;
Forbid his presence too! O! I am distracted!
And sleep will quiet me, I'll to the poppy
And with its juices drench these feverous lips!
O! I ha' need of med'cine and of comfort;
Again my wits do wander, I'll retire,
And lest the bleak winds battle with my head,
I'll to my couch and lay me on its pillow.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Wood.
Enter Pascentius, Flavia disguised, and Fool.
Pas.
Speak, dearest sister, say, how fares it with thee?
For those soft limbs were form'd for gentler usage,
But cheer thee up, my Flavia, whilst I'm with thee,
Thou must not faint, if there be comfort near
I'll seek it, and from out the tiger's jaw
I'll tear thee food, or if the thirsty lion
Should stand betwixt me and the bubbling brook,
This arm shou'd find a passage to his heart.
But an thou need'st nor food, nor element,
Then will I sit and comfort thy sweet tears,
And as the smaller stream doth oft times mingle,
And add its nothingness to the vast sea,
So on thy streaming cheek will I let fall
One pitying tear, one tender drop of sorrow.

Fla.
Oh! gentle, excellent, most loving brother,
It is my aching heart which thus o'ercomes me,
Wretch that I am! what hath my mother done,
That lacking pity I could leave her thus,
How can her drooping heart bear this sad shock?
Can her meek soul my father's rage encounter;
No, no, impossible! then am I wretched.
Then O! you righteous and all powerful Judge,
If breath of man, with pure soul offer'd up,
Can touch you, or obtain your gentle hearing,
Behold a maiden for a mother begs,
And on her bended knee sues for protection.
Let some kind angel, minister of mercy,
Pour on her wounded soul the balm of comfort,
And in the place of overwhelming sorrow,
Let the dear plant of smiling joy bud forth;
And shou'd she weep, then may her dewy tears
Be those of tender peace and charity.

Fool.

By my troth, mine eyes did never water
so before, sweet mistress, an thou hast charm'd
thy Fool, methinks the choir o'angels needs must

listen to thy pray'r; and yet these underprops
o'mine do sorely ach, and wherefore shou'd they?
for an I do eat, then am I loaded, and do bear it
well, but now that I am empty, these porters
won't carry me, this is strange, and needs more
wisdom to unveil, than lies in my poor foolish
brain.

Fla.
Methinks I'd sit and rest me here a-while.

Pas.
Then to the shade of yon imperial oak
I'll lead thee, there thou calmly may'st repose;
Our honest knave here, he shall sing the while,
And sooth thy sad and secret melancholy.

Fool.

Why, to be brief good master, I needs
wou'd sing, but that gentle lady hath crack'd the
strings o'my voice; an 'twill please you weep,
marry I'll take the loudest pipe, and shou'd I fail
in giving entertainment, why then I'll to Paul's,
and there i'the presence of Bonner, be whipp'd for
a slanderer.

Pas.

I pray thee Fool do as I list.

Fool.

Now then I'll pipe, but by my troth you
seem sad, and needs will me to sing merrily; well,
an folly will please you, I'll to't straight.

Fool sings.

Fla.

Good honest Fool, I do sincerely thank thee.

Fool.

Nay, nay, say not so, an I had flatter'd,
why then perchance I had merited this, but i'faith
gentle lady, he that says nought, save the bare
truth, doth oft times meet but a bare compliment.
But an you do flatter, methinks the compliment
will savour more of untruth, than did the flattery,
but thus it goes with our slippery world.

Pas.
Who is it comes this way?

Fla.
Let us retire,
Perchance it may be one of our pursuers.

Fool.

An thou'lt listen a while to me I'll tell
thee thou need'st not fear, 'tis but the Post on's
way to your father's palace.

Enter Post.
Pas.
Friend, thou out runnest almost speed itself;
Whither ar't bound?

Post.
I am for London, Sir.

Pas.
Nay stop one moment, I conjure thee stop!
Say what these tidings that demand such haste?

Post.
That which my packets do contain.

Pas.
An thou will tell me their contents, there's gold.

Fool.

Now, i'troth, thou'lt unlock letters,
packets, and all, look, look, the knave doth handle
it with good grace, sirrah an thou play'dst on
David's harp, thy fingers ne'er wou'd move so
glibly o'er the strings, as o'er yon gold, do'st hear
me.

Post.
Thy gold indeed doth please, it fills my purse,
And though it should not, yet what matters it?
I am well fee'd for telling that alone,
Which every simple peasant soon must know,
Then thus it is; Vortigern is accus'd
Of the base murder of Constantius!

Fla.
Heavens!

Post.
Yea, and even now the Princes marching hither
From Scotland, with them bring a numerous army.

Pas.
Alas my father! yet I do beseech thee,
How know they this? Who was't instructed them?

Post.
Swift messengers dispatch'd by friends to Rome,
Further I know not—therefore must away
[Exit Post.

Fool.

Go to, go to, I do believe thee; marry
an thou art humble, thy purse is somewhat prouder.
Good Sir, wer't not best we put on, I am
faint at heart; marry 'tis pity my wits did not fill
their owner, as well as those who do beg them.

Pas.
Let's on, and yet what course is't fit we take?
The night doth throw his sooty mantle round,
And robs us of the cheering light of day.

Fla.
Oh! Wou'd this night cou'd pluck my sorrow from me,
Or that the long eternal sleep of death
Wou'd close life's wretched, weary pilgrimage.

Pas.
Oh! Sister an thou lov'st me grieve not so.

Fla.
If charity be meek, so will I be,
And where thou lead'st, resign'd I'll follow thee.

Fool.

Marry, an you'll listen to a fool, perchance
he may for once speek wisely.

Pas.

Out with thy council then.

Fool.

Thus it is—chance hath made me your
fool, and chance will now that your fool speak
something like wisdom; marry is not this the
road to Scotland? Do'st understand me?

Pas.

Truly, I understand thee.

Fool.

To't again, what say'st thou o'joining the
young Princes on their march?

Pas.
It is most wisely utter'd, my good Fool.
Come gentle sister, we'll to th'skirt o'th'wood,
And find some cottage that may serve to night,
As 'twere a palace—all will yet be well.

[Exeunt.