University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A spacious court with a magnificent building in front; a great concourse of people are discovered as if waiting in expectation of some sight.
1st crowd.

The court is marvellously long of breaking up; I'm tired of waiting; and yet I don't like to lose the sight, after having stayed so long for it.

2d crowd.

I fear it will go hard with the young man.

3d crowd.

I fear it will, poor gentleman!

Woman crowd.

Ah! poor young man! it is an awful end.

2d crowd.

Ay, I remember well the last criminal that was condemned here; a strong-built man he was, though somewhat up in years. O, how pale he looked as they led him out from court! I think I stood upon this very spot as he passed by me; and the fixed strong look of his features too—it was a piteous sight!

3d crowd.

Ah, man! but that was nothing to the execution. I paid half a dollar for a place near the scaffold; and it would have made any body's heart drop blood to have seen him when he lifted up the handkerchief from his eyes, and took his last look of the day-light, and all the living creatures about him.

2d crowd.

Ay, man, that a human creature should be thus thrust out of the world by human creatures like himself; it is a piteous thing?

Enter a man from the court.
Omnes (eagerly).

What news? what news of the prisoner?

Man.

He has just finished his defence, in which he has acquitted himself so nobly, setting off his words too with such a manly grace, that it is thought by every body he will be set free.

2d crowd.

Indeed! I should not have expected this now; spoke so nobly, sayst thou?

1st crowd.

Yes, yes, noble blood makes noble speaking.

Woman crowd.

Well, and is it not best so? poor young man! I'm sure I'm glad of it.

1st crowd.

And aint I so too, milk-faced doll! though I hate to be kept so long staring for nothing. I wonder what brought me here in a murrain to it!

2d woman.

La! then we sha'n't see him pass by with the chains upon his legs.

1st crowd.

No, no! nor nothing at all. Come, let me pass, I have been too long here. (Pressing through the crowd to get out.)

Woman crowd.

O, you tread upon my toes!

1st crowd.

Devil take you and your toes both! can't you keep them out of people's way then?

Woman crowd.

Plague take it! what had we all to do to come here like so many fools!

Enter a second man from the court.
2d crowd.

Here comes another man from the court. (Calling to the man.)
Ho, friend! is he acquitted yet?

2d man.

No, nor like to be; the judge is just about to pronounce sentence upon him, but something came so cold over my heart, I could not stay to hear it.

[Several of the mob climb eagerly up upon the walls of the building, and look in at the uindows.
Crowd (below).

What do you see there, sirs?

Crowd (above).

The judge is just risen from his seat, and the black signal is lifted up.

Omnes.

Hush! hush! and let us listen!

[A deep parst.
Crowd

(above).
Sentence is passed now.

Crowd

(below).
God have mercy on him!

3d crowd.

I would not wear my head upon his shoulders for all the prince's coffers.

1st crowd.

Alas! poor man! he is but a youth.

2d crowd.

Yet he must be cut off in the flower of his days.

1st crowd.

It is an awful thing!

Woman crowd.

Ah! but a youth, and a goodly-looking youth too, I warrant ye.

2d woman.

Alack a-day! many a one falls into crimes, but all do not pay the forfeit.

3d crowd.

Ha! who comes this way so fair and so gentle in her mien; thus toss'd and 'tanglel amidst the pressing crowd, like a stalk of will flower in a bed of nettles? Come, clear the way there, and let the lady pass.

Enter Elizabeth, attended by Richard, the crowd making way for her.
Eliz.

I'm much obliged to you.

Richard.

We thank you, good sirs! My mistress and I are both strangers in this town, and the nearest way to your best inn, as we are told, is through this court; but the crowd is so great I think we had better turn back again.

Eliz.

What is the meaning of this eager multitude, So gather'd round the entry to this palace?

3d crowd.

It is no palace, madam, but a public court: there is a gentleman of noble birth who is just now condemned to death for murder, and we are waiting to see him led forth from his trial; you had better stop a little while and see the sight too.

Eliz.

O, no! I'm come here in an evil hour!— A gentleman of noble birth—Alas! but that the crime is murder, 'twere most piteous.

Omnes

(eagerly).
There he comes! see, see! there he comes!

Enter Rayner, fettered and guarded, from the court, followed by Bertram and others, and advances slowly towards the front of the stage, the crowd opening and making a lane for him on every side.
1st crowd.
What a noble gait he has even in his shackles!

2d crowd.
Oh! oh! that such a man should come to this!

Eliz.
(after gazing eagerly at the distant prisoner).
Merciful heaven! the form has strong resemblance.

Rich.
Sweet mistress, be not terrified with forms;
'Tis but a distant form.

Eliz.
Ha! then it strikes thee too!—Merciful God!

Rich.
Patience, dear madam! now as he advances,
We shall be certified of the deception.
Rayner is not so tall as this young man,
Nor of a make so slender; no, nor yet—

Eliz.
Peace, peace! for he advances.

[Watching the prisoner as he advances with a countenance of distracted eagerness, till he comes near her; then, uttering a loud shriek, falls down, and is supported by Richard and several of the crowd.
Offi.
(conducting Rayner).
What fainting maid is this obstructs the way?
Let not the crowd so closely press around her.
Open the way, and let the pris'ner pass.

Ray.
(upon the crowd opening and discovering Elizabeth).
O, sight of misery! my Elizabeth!
The last and fellest stroke of angry heav'n
Falls on this cursed head.

Offi.
What may this mean? let us pass on: we stop not,
Whate'er betide.

Ray.
Nay, but you do: for here there is a power
Stronger than law or judgment. Give me way:
It is permitted me by ev'ry sense
Of human sympathy, were I e'en bound
With chains tenfold enlock'd.
[Bending over Elizabeth.
Thou loveliest and thou dearest! O thou part
Of my most inmost self! art thou thus stricken?
Falls this stroke on thee?
[Kneeling down and endeavouring to support her, but finding himself prevented by his chain.
Is there not strength in the soul's agony
To burst e'en bands of iron?
[Trying furiously to burst his fetters, but cannot; then, with a subdued voice,
Am I indeed a base condemned wretch,
Cut off from ev'ry claim and tie of nature?
[Turning to the officer.
Thou who dost wear the law's authority,
May it not be permitted for the love
Of piteous charity?—Shall strangers' hands
Whilst I am thus—O, do not let it be!

Offi.
No, no! move on: it cannot be permitted.

Ray.
(fiercely roused).
What, sayst thou so?
[Turning to the crowd.
Ye who surround me, too,
Each with the form and countenance of a man,
Say ye 'tis not permitted?
To you I do stretch forth these fetter'd hands,
And call you men: O, let me not miscall you!

Voices from the crowd.
Fie on't! unbind his hands, unbind his hands,
And we will stand his sureties.

Ber.
(stepping forward in a supplicating posture to the officer).
Do but unbind his hands a little space,
And shoot me through the head if he escape.
My arm secured him; be my recompense
This one request.

Offi.
(to Bertram).
Go to; thou art a brave man, but a weak one.
(To the guard.)
Move on: we halt no longer.

Crowd.
By all good saints we stand by the brave Bertram,
And he shall be unshackled.

[Menacingly.
Offi.
Soldiers, present your muskets to these madmen,
And let them speak; the pris'ner halts no longer;
Move on.

[A tumult between the crowd and the guard, and Rayner is forced off the stage by the soldiers.
1st crowd.

Shame light on such hard-hearted cruelty!

2d crowd.

If there had been but six of us with arms in our hands he durst not have put this affront upon us.

3d crowd.

But who looks to the lady? She is amongst strangers it seems, and has only this poor old man to take care of her.

Omnes.

We will take care of her then; we will take care of her: ay, and she shall be waited upon like an empress.

2d crowd.

Ay, so she shall, let the cost be what it will. I am only a poor cobbler, God knows, yet I will pawn the last awl in my stall but she shall be waited upon like an empress. See! see! she begins to revive again.

Eliz.
(opening her eyes with a heavy sigh).
Is it all vanish'd? 'twas a dreadful vision!
[Looking on the crowd around her.
O, no! the crowd is here still—it is real;
And he is led away—horrible! horrible!

[Faints again, and is carried off the stage by Richard and the crowd.

SCENE II.

A square court, surrounded on all sides by the gloomy walls of a prison, the windows of which are narrow and grated, and the heads of one or two of the prisoners seen looking ruefully through the grates. Enter Hardibrand, and looks round him for some time without speaking.
Har.
Gloomy enough, gloomy enough, in faith!
Ah! what a wondrous mass of dreary walls,
Whose frowning sides are riv'n in narrow slips,
As I have seen full oft some sea-worn cliff,
Pierced with the murky holes of savage birds.
Ah! here the birds within are clipt o' wing,
And cannot fly away. Enter Ohio with a tankard in his hand, crossing the stage.

Holla, my friend! I pray thee not so fast;
Inform me, if thou canst, where I may find
The keeper of the prison.

Ohio.
Know you what prince you speak to? saucy knave!
I'll have thee scorch'd and flay'd, and piece-meal torn,
If thou dost call me friend.

Har.
Good words at least; I meant thee no offence.
I see thou hast a tankard in thy hand,
And will not question thy high dignity.
Softly; here's money for thee.

[Giving him money.
Ohio.
Silver pieces!
He! he! he! he! hast thou got more of them!

Har.
Nay, thou art greedy; answer first my question;
Tell me at which of all these gloomy doors
I needs must knock to find out the chief gaoler.
Thou lookst like some fetch-carry to the prisoners;
Dost understand me?

Ohio.
Ay, there's the place, go knock at yonder door.

Har.
(after knocking).
This door is close nail'd up, and cannot open.

Ohio
(grinning maliciously, and pointing to another door).
No, thou art wrong; it is the door hard by,
With those black portals.
[Hardibrand knocks at the other door.
Knock a little louder.

Har.
(after knocking some time).
A plague upon't! there is no one within.

Ohio
(still grinning maliciously).
No, thou art wrong again: it is not there:
It is that door upon the other side.

[Pointing to the opposite wall.
Har.
What, dost thou jest with me, malicious varlet?
I'll beat thee if thou tell me false again.

Ohio.
Negroes be very stupid, master friend.

Enter the Keeper of the prison.
Keeper
(to Ohio).
Thou canker-worm! thou black-envenom'd toad!
Art thou a-playing thy malicious tricks?
Get from my sight, thou pitchy viper, go!

[Exit Ohio.
Har.
What black thing is it? it appears, methinks,
Not worth thine anger.

Keeper.
That man, may't please you, sir, was born a prince.

Har.
I do not catch thy jest.

Keeper.
I do not jest; I speak in sober earnest;
He is an Afric prince of royal line.

Har.
What sayst thou? that poor wretch who sneaketh yonder
Upon those two black shanks?

[Pointing off the stage.
Keeper.
Yes, even he:
When but a youth, stol'n from his noble parents,
He for a slave was sold, and many hardships
By sea and land hath pass'd.

Har.
And now to be the base thing that he is!
Well, well, proceed.

Keeper.
At last a surly master brought him here,
Who, thinking him unfit for further service,
As then a fest'ring wound wore hard upon him,
With but a scanty sum to bury him,
Left him with me. He ne'ertheless recover'd;
And though full proud and sullen at the first,
Tamed by the love of wine which strongly tempts him,
He by degrees forgot his princely pride,
And has been long establish'd in these walls
To carry liquor for the prisoners.
But such a cursed, spite-envenom'd toad!—

Har.
Out on't! thou'st told a tale that wrings my heart.
Of royal line; born to command, and dignified
By sufferings and dangers past, which make
The meanest man ennobled: yet behold him;
[Pointing off the stage.
How by the wall he sidelong straddles on
With his base tankard!—O, the sneaking varlet!
It makes me weep to hear his piteous tale,
Yet my blood boils to run and cudgel him.
But let us on our way.

Keeper.
You are a noble stranger, as I guess,
And wish to be conducted through the prison.
It is an ancient building of great strength,
And many strangers visit it.

Har.
It is indeed a place of ancient note.
Have you at present many criminals
Within these walls?

Keeper.
Our number is, thank God! respectable,
Though not what it has been in better days.

Har.
In better days!—Well, do thou lead the way.

[As they are about to go off the stage, they are stopped by a voice singing from one of the highest windows.
Har.
Alas, poor soul! I would that thou wert free!
What weary thrall is this that sings so sweetly?

Keeper.
A restless, daring outlaw;
A fellow who hath awed the country round,
And levied contributions like a king,
To feast his jolly mates in wood and wild;
Yea, been the very arbiter of fortune,
And as his freakish humours bit, hath lifted
At one broad sweep the churl's saved store to leave it
In the poor lab'rer's cot, whose hard-worn palm
Had never chuck'd a ducat 'gainst its fellow.

Har.
'Tis a brave heart! has he been long confined?
But list! he sings again.

Har.
Poor pent up wretch! thy sou roves far from home.

Har.
'Tis even so, brave heart, or blunt or keen,
Thy measure has its stint. Enter Bertram from one of the doors of the prison.

I think thou hast the air of an old soldier:
[To Bertram as he is burrying past him.
Such, without greeting, never pass me by.
Ha, Bertram! is it thou?

Ber.
What, mine old general?

Har.
Yes, and mine old soldier.
How dost thou, man? how has it fared with thee
Since thou hast left the service?

Ber.
I thank your honour; much as others find it;
I have no cause to grumble at my lot.

Har.
'Tis well, but what's the matter with thee now?
Thine eyes are red with weeping, and thy face
Looks ruefully.

Ber.
I've been to visit, here, a noble youth,
Who is condemn'd to die.

Har.
A noble youth!

Ber.
Yea, a soldier too.

Har.
A soldier!

Ber.
Ay, your honour, and the son
Of a most gallant soldier.

Har.
But he is innocent?

Ber.
He is condemn'd.

Har.
Shame on it! were he twenty times condemn'd,
He's innocent as are these silver'd locks.
[Laying his hand vehemently on his head.
What is his name?

Ber.
Rayner.

Har.
Ha! son to my old comrade, Rayner!
Out on the fools! I would as soon believe
That this right hand of mine had pilfer'd gold
As Rayner's son had done a deed of shame.
Come, lead me back with thee, for I must see him.

Ber.
Heav'n bless your honour! O, if by your means
He might have grace!

Har.
Come, let us go to him.

Ber.
Not now, an' please you: he is now engaged
With one most dear to him. But an hour hence
I will conduct you to his cell.

Har.
So be it!
Mean time, stay thou with me, and tell me more
Of this unhappy youth: I have a mind,
With the good keeper's leave, to view the prison.

[Exeunt.
Enter Mira and Alice by opposite sides, both muffled up in cloaks and their faces concealed.
Mira
(stopping Alice).
Nay, glide not past me thus with muffled face:
'Tis I, a visitor to these grim walls,
On the same errand with thyself. How goes it
With our enthralled colleague? doth he promise
Silence to keep in that which touches us
Of this transaction, for the which he's bound?

Alice.
He is but half persuaded; go thyself
And use thy arts—hush, here's a stranger near us.
[Enter a man who gives a letter mysteriously to Mira, and upon her making a sign to him, retires to the bottom of the stage whilst she reads it.
What readst thou there, I pray thee, that thy brows
Knit thus ungraciously at ev'ry line?

Mira.
Knowst thou that I must doff my silken robes,
Despoil my hair of its fair ornaments,
And clothe me in a gown of palmer's grey,
With clouted shoon and pilgrim's staff in hand
To bear me o'er rude glens and dreary wastes
To share a stony couch and empty board,
All for the proving of my right true love
For one in great distress. Ha! ha! ha! ha!
So doth this letter modestly request:
I pray thee read it.

Alice
(reading the letter).
“A deadly wound rankles in my side, and I have no skilful hand to dress it, and no kind friend to comfort me. I am laid upon the cold earth, and feel many wants I never knew before. If thou hast any love for me, and as thou hast often wished to prove that love, come to me quickly: but conceal thyself in the coarse weeds of a pilgrim; my life is a forfeit to the law if any one should discover where I am. A friend in disguise will give into thy hands this letter, and conduct thee to thy miserable Zaterloo.”
(Returning the letter.)
And what sayst thou to this?

Mira.
I have, in truth, upon my hands already
Troubles enough; this is, thou knowst, no time
To take upon me ruin'd men's distresses.

Alice.
But 'tis thyself hast brought this ruin on him:
'Twas thy extravagance.

Mira.
Thou art a fool!
His life's a forfeit to the law: 'tis time,
Good time, in faith! I should have done with him.
Why dost thou bend these frowning looks on me?
How many in my place would for the recompense
Betray him to the officers of justice!
But I, thou knowst right well, detest all baseness,
Therefore I will not.

Alice.
Hush, hush! thou speakst too loud:
Some one approaches.

Enter Countess Zaterloo.
Countess
(to Mira).
I pray you, madam, pardon this intrusion;
Tracing your steps, I have made bold to follow you.
I am the mother of an only son,
Whom for these many days I have not seen:
I know right well nought is conceal'd from you
Of what concerns him; let me know, I pray you,
Where I may find my child.

Mira.
Madam, you speak to one who in his secrets
Has small concern.

Countess.
Nay, now, I pray you, do not keep it from me:
I come not with a parent's stern rebuke:
O tell me where he is, for love of grace:
But, if you will not, say if he is sick,
Or if he is distress'd with any want.
Tell, for love's sake! I have no child but him.

Mira
(giving her the letter).
There, madam; this is all I know of him.
'Twas yonder stranger gave it to my hand;
[Pointing to the man.
We need not interrupt you with our presence;
And so good day.

[Exeunt Mira and Alice.
Countess
(after reading the letter).
Alas, my son! and art thou low and wounded?
Stretch'd on the cold ground of thy hiding place
In want and fear? Oh art thou come to this?
Thou who didst smile in thy fair op'ning morn,
As cherubs smile who point the way to heaven.
And wouldst thou have a stranger come to thee?
Alas! alas! where can thy aching head
So softly rest as on a parent's lap?
Yes, I will wrap me in the pilgrim's weeds,
Nor storm nor rugged wild shall bar my way.
And though declining years impair my strength,
These arms shall yet support thy feeble frame,
When fairer friends desert thee.
(To the messenger, beckoning him to come forward.)
Good friend, this is no place to question thee!
Come with me to my home.

[Exeunt.