University of Virginia Library

SCENE—A Glade in a Wood.
Enter Raymond, Bramville, and armed Peasants.
BRAMVILLE.
Your faithful servants offer
Their lives, my Lord, to give your wish success.
This is the moment: On the field the King
Now greets the foe with dreadful salutation.

RAYMOND.
Then on my friends—Good heaven, why shake my knees
With sudden faltering! Why this chilly tremor!
That never seiz'd me in the eve of battle!
Oh judge not you, who never felt my passion;
Ye leaden-hearted Herd, whose cold base temper
Takes no impression but of sordid stamp,
Judge not my feelings—Oh Erminia!
Go I to murder thee!—Oh horror! horror!
Yet Heaven's own justice fires me.

Enter Ronsard in haste.
RONSARD.
Not, my Lord.
Not to the Castle—In a flowery arbour,
By yonder glade, the sylvan Goddess rests
Her wearied limbs—

RAYMOND.
Waiting her paramour
When crown'd with victory. Eternal justice!
This, this is thy tremendous hour—
—On, on my friends!
Dark are the paths of Fate; but, led by honour,
Firm is our footing, and our peace secure.

RONSARD.
Now, now, my Lord, that life you bravely sav'd
When I was down in battle, when you rush'd
Between me and the lifted pole-ax, now
That life shall serve you—

[Exeunt.