University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Siffredi. Osmond, discovering himself.
Siffredi.
What! Ha! Earl Osmond, you?—Welcome, once more,
To this glad Roof!—But why in this Disguise?
Would I could hope the King exceeds his Promise!
I have his Faith soon as To-morrow's Sun
Shall gild Sicilia's Cliffs, you should be free.—
Has some good Angel turn'd his Heart to Justice?

Osmond.
It is not by the Favour of Count Tancred
That I am here. As much I scorn his Favour,
As I defy his Tyranny and Threats—
Our Friend Goffredo, who commands the Castle,
On my Parole, ere Dawn, to render back
My Person, has permitted me this Freedom.
Know then, the faithless Outrage of To-day,
By him committed whom you call the King,
Has rouz'd Constantia's Court. Our Friends, the Friends
Of Virtue, Justice, and of Publick Faith,
Ripe for Revolt, are in high Ferment all.
This, this, they say, exceeds whate'er deform'd
The miserable Days we saw beneath
William the Bad. This saps the solid Base,
At once, of Government and private Life;
This shameless Imposition on the Faith,
The Majesty of Senates, this lewd Insult,
This Violation of the Rights of Men.
Added to These, his ignominious Treatment
Of Her th'illustrious Offspring of our Kings,
Sicilia's Hope, and now our Royal Mistress.
You know, my Lord, how grossly These infringe
The late King's Will; which orders, if Count Tancred
Make not Constantia Partner of his Throne,
That He be quite excluded the Succession,
And She to Henry given, King of the Romans,
The potent Emperor Barberossa's Son,
Who seeks with earnest Instance her Alliance.
I thence of You, as Guardian of the Laws,
As Guardian of this Will to you entrusted,
Desire, nay more, demand, your instant Aid,
To see it put in vigorous Execution.

Siffredi.
You cannot doubt, my Lord, of my Concurrence.
Who more than I have labour'd this great Point?
'Tis my own Plan. And, if I drop it now,
I should be justly branded with the shame
Of rash Advice, or despicable Weakness.
But let us not precipitate the Matter.
Constantia's Friends are numerous and strong;
Yet Tancred's, trust me, are of equal Force.
E'er since the Secret of his Birth was known,
The People all are in a Tumult hurl'd
Of boundless Joy, to hear there lives a Prince
Of mighty Guiscard's Line. Numbers, besides,
Of powerful Barons, who at heart had pin'd,
To see the Reign of their renown'd Forefathers,
Won by immortal Deeds of matchless Valour,
Pass from the gallant Normans to the Suevi,
Will, with a kind of rage, espouse his Cause—
'Tis so my Lord—be not by Passion blinded—
'Tis surely so—O if our prating Vertue
Dwells not in Words alone—O let us join,
My generous Osmond, to avert these Woes,
And yet sustain our tottering Norman Kingdom!

Osmond.
But how, Siffredi? how?—If by soft Means
We can maintain our Rights, and save our Country,
May his unnatural Blood first stain the Sword,
Who with unpitying Fury first shall bare it!

Siffredi.
I have a Thought—The glorious Work be thine.
But it requires an awful Flight of Virtue,
Above the Passions of the vulgar Breast,
And thence from thee I hope it, noble Osmond—
Suppose my Daughter, to her God devoted,
Were plac'd within some Convent's sacred Verge,
Beneath the dread Protection of the Altar—

Osmond.
Ere Then, by Heavens! I would devoutly shave
My holy Scalp, turn whining Monk myself,
And pray incessant for the Tyrant's Safety!—
What! How! because an insolent Invader,
A Sacrilegious Tyrant, in Contempt
Of all those noblest Rights, which to maintain
Is Man's peculiar Pride, demands my Wife;
That I shall thus betray the Common Cause
Of Human kind, and tamely yield Her up,
Even in the Manner you propose—O then
I were supremely vile! degraded! sham'd!
The Scorn of Manhood! and abhor'd of Honour!

Siffredi.
There is, my Lord, an Honour, the calm Child
Of Reason, of Humanity and Mercy,
Superior far to this punctilious Demon,
That singly minds it self, and oft embroils
With proud barbarian Niceties the World!

Osmond.
My Lord, my Lord!—I cannot brooke your Prudence—
It holds a Pulse unequal to my Blood—
Unblemish'd Honour is the Flower of Virtue!
The vivifying Soul! and He who slights it
Will leave the other dull and lifeless Dross.

Siffredi.
No more—You are too warm.

Osmond.
You are too cool.

Siffredi.
Too cool, my Lord? I were indeed too cool,
Not to resent this Language, and to tell Thee—
I wish Earl Osmond were as cool as I
To his own Selfish Bliss—ay, and as warm
To That of Others—But of This no more—
My Daughter is thy Wife—I gave her to Thee,
And will against all Force maintain her Thine.
But think not I will catch thy headlong Passions,
Whirl'd in a Blaze of Madness o'er the Land;
Or, till the last Extremity compel me,
Risque the dire Means of War—The King, Tomorrow,
Will set you free; and, if by gentle Means
He does not yield my Daughter to thy Arms,
And wed Constantia, as the Will requires,
Why then expect me on the Side of Justice—
Let that suffice.

Osmond.
It does—Forgive my Heat.
My rankled Mind, by Injuries inflam'd,
May be too prompt to take and give Offence.

Siffredi.
'Tis pass'd—Your Wrongs, I own, may well transport
The wisest Mind—But henceforth, noble Osmond,
Do me more Justice, honour more my Truth,
Nor mark me with an Eye of squint Suspicion—
These Jars apart—You may repose your Soul
On my firm Faith and unremitting Friendship.
Of That I sure have given exalted Proof,
And the next Sun, we see, shall prove it further—
Return, my Son, and from your Friend Goffredo
Release your Word. There try, by soft Repose,
To calm your Breast.

Osmond.
Bid the vext Ocean sleep,
Swept by the Pinions of the raging North—
But your frail Age, by Care and Toil exhausted,
Demands the Balm of all-repairing Rest.

Siffredi.
Soon as To-morrow's Dawn shall streak the Skies,
I, with my Friends in solemn State assembled,
Will to the Palace and demand your Freedom.
Then by calm Reason, or by higher Means,
The King shall quit his Claim, and in the Face
Of Sicily, my Daughter shall be yours.
Farewel.

Osmond.
My Lord, good-night.