University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A view of Snowdon with tents at a distance.
QUEEN, and MORTIMER, meeting.
QUEEN.
I joy to meet thee, Mortimer! Thy spirit
Will not, in weak compassion to a woman,
Lull me with false reports: Say! I conjure thee,
Is the King wounded?

MORTIMER.
No! on my life, not wounded!

QUEEN.
Why then, forgetting his accustomed care
To quiet my quick fears, why came he not
Back to my anxious arms, when victory
Restored him from this hot tumultuous conflict?
Where, as his hasty messenger avowed,
Danger, in many a new and hideous shape,
Made e'en the sternest soldiers stand aghast,
And deem their sovereign lost.

MORTIMER.
My royal mistress!
Who reignest o'er the hearts of youth and age,
Trust a rough veteran's word! my voice, unpractised
In uttering falsehood, should I wish to speak it,
Still to thy piercing spirit must betray
The evil it would hide.

QUEEN.
Dost thou assure me
Not one of all those vengeful mountaineers,
Whose rage was pointed at my Edward's life,
Had power to wound the too impetuous hero?

MORTIMER.
No! for he bears an amulet, whose power
Turns peril to security: that courage,
Which on the pressure of occasion, springs
To such exertion, as to common souls
Appeared impossible. Excess of toil
Has tempted him to rest on Snowdon's brow:
As he retired, exhausted to his tent,
He issued orders, that the captive bard
Should to the mountain's open front be led,
And by our archers suffer speedy death.

QUEEN.
Good Heaven! the mandate is not yet fulfilled?

MORTIMER.
Not yet! but guards are passing, to conduct
The hoary traitor to the lofty spot,
Chosen to give his doom conspicuous terror.

QUEEN.
O Mortimer! this order was the dictate
Of an o'er-heated mind: When cooled by slumber,
The generous temper of the King will surely
Incline to pardon; canst thou not suspend—

MORTIMER.
Forgive me, gentle sovereign, if I own
I have no power, nor will, I must avow,
To stop the rebel's death: and I must haste,
According to the King's most anxious bidding,
To watch impassioned Clyfford, lest that youth,
Entangled in the snares of Cambrian beauty,
Should madden at the sufferings of the fair one,
And in his frenzy strive to snatch once more,
Her guilty father, from the stroke of justice.

QUEEN.
I, on my knees, will creep to Edward's couch,
And in the name of that protecting Heaven,
Who has delivered him from signal hazard,
Wake, and inspire his spirit to exert
Its best prerogative, the power to save!

(Exeunt.