 | The Sea-Captain ; Or, The Birthright |  |
SCENE I.
The Hall in the Castle of Arundel, as in the last Scene.LADY ARUNDEL.
Gone—gone!—and here he stood, and bless'd the mother
Who did not bless her son!—Ah, Heaven forgive me!
These are the deeds in which I placed my safety,
Now won and worthless!—Oh, how human hearts
Do feed on fire, till, when the flame is slaked
Ashes alone are left!
Enter Sir Maurice.—(Lady Arundel conceals the papers.)
SIR MAURICE.
Well, cousin, fear not:
All is arranged.—Ere cockcrow thou shalt be
Free of thy terrors!—old Sir Maurice still
Is good for something, eh?
LADY ARUNDEL.
What guilty thought
Speaks in thy ominous smile?
SIR MAURICE.
If thus you wrong me
I'm mute;—and yet thou know'st I live to serve thee.
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But in this world there are such covetous knaves,
That, la you now,—I am ashamed to tell thee—
The rogue I have hired wants two thousand pieces
This very night to—
LADY ARUNDEL.
Silence!—I abhor
Thy crooked counsels—thy rapacious guile:—
I've been too long benighted, and pursued
Meteors for guides! Now the cloud rolls away,
And on my terror breaks the morning star.
I'll nought of thee!
SIR MAURICE.
Thou wilt not!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Miser, no!
Thy black and hideous guilt, out-darkening mine,
Had well nigh drowned my soul beneath a sea
Deeper than that to which thy trait'rous craft
Consign'd my first-born! Quit these halls for ever,
And starve beside the chests whose every coin
At the Last Day shall in the Court of Heaven
Witness against thee, Judas!
SIR MAURICE.
Miser! Judas!
I thank thee—no, to-morrow I will thank thee.
This crowns the cup of insult! You and yours,
Your dull-soul'd father, and your lowborn lover—
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To the gross scullion, fattening on your offal—
All—all have broke their idiot jests on me—
Me, but for you, the Lord of Arundel!
Yet all, at need, could fawn on old Sir Maurice—
Eke from his wits their poverty of brain—
And—plague upon this wrath!—thou art not worth it!
I leave these halls. When next we meet, proud dame,
Thy crest may be less lofty! Miser! Judas!
[Exit.
LADY ARUNDEL.
There's meaning in this frontless insolence:
“When next we meet,” said he; “When next we meet!”
Broods he some new and deadlier mischief?—Ha!
Time wanes—Within there!—
Enter Servant.
What's the hour?
SERVANT.
The chime
Just told the quarter, Madam!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Ah! so late?
Where is my son, Lord Ashdale?
SERVANT.
Left the castle
Some minutes since: his grooms and steeds preceded.
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Whither?—
SERVANT.
I know not, madam, but he bade me
Say, that he might return not ere the morning.
LADY ARUNDEL.
The morning!—now the danger glares upon me.
He has whisper'd Percy of the lovers' flight;
And they will meet—the brothers—meet as foes!
Quick—torches—quick—let every menial arm!
Quick—follow—lights here!—Heaven avert this woe—
Forgive the mother—Save, oh, save the sons!
[Exeunt.
| The Sea-Captain ; Or, The Birthright | |