 | The Heroine of Cambria |  |
SCENE III.
KING EDWARD, CLYFFORD, QUEEN.(While Clyfford raises his dagger, the Queen enters and seizes his arm.)
QUEEN.
Hold! frantic Clyfford! hold! can mad affection
Urge thy young heart to worse than parricide?
Has not the bounteous King cherished thy youth,
With care surpassing e'en a father's fondness?
CLYFFORD.
He has, angelic Eleanor! and I
Prepared to stab him sleeping: but these tears,
That burst perforce from my o'er-burthened heart,
Tell thee, I feel how curst a wretch I am.
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Be comforted! for timely penitence
Makes solid virtue of ideal guilt.
CLYFFORD.
Guide of my life! and guardian of my soul!
Thou art too good: I have not merited,
Thus on thy pure and heavenly form to rest
A brain, that burns with complicated anguish.
KING EDWARD,
(starting up.)
Give me my battle-axe! I will pursue
Those trait'rous fugitives: 'twas but a dream.
Ha! my sweet love! art thou within my tent?
Say! what mischance has given our youthful Clyfford
That pallid air of anguish, and dismay?
QUEEN.
O my too fearless Edward! who that live,
As we do in thy life, could be informed
Of thy undaunted eagerness to court
Extremes of danger, with thy dread escape
From toils so full of terror, and retain
The native quiet of untroubled features?
CLYFFORD.
No! thou benignant angel, think not thus
With tenderness unmerited, to hide
The wild atrocity of one, whose heart
Was never formed for guilt, or for disguise.
Ingratitude, hypocrisy are fiends,
That, frantic as I am, I still abjure.
KING EDWARD.
Thy looks, and language equally exceed
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CLYFFORD.
Royal Edward!
Relentless as thou art, thy soul is noble;
Thou never wilt surmise, thy fostered Clyfford
Could lift against thee an assassin's dagger;
But to a heart like mine the worst of tortures
Would be concealment of intended crimes.
Had not this lovely seraph been thy guard,
I had destroyed my King, my friend, my father!
My guilt is manifest: my misery
Beyond endurance: I conjure thee, now
Let both thy justice, and thy pity grant me
The death I have deserved!
KING EDWARD.
Unhappy youth!
Thy hasty passion for the Cambrian fair,
Whose stubborn father scorned our terms of pardon,
Has harrassed thee to madness.
QUEEN.
Let his sufferings,
His duty, his remorse, and my fond prayers
Now plead for each offender!
(A Dead March is heard.)
Gracious Heaven!
What mean these notes of death?
KING EDWARD.
Those sounds announce,
What even thy entreaty, best beloved!
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See! the guards lead him from the vale below.
CLYFFORD.
Inhuman ministers of death! suspend
Your fatal march, for ye mistake your victim.
Glory and life should be Llandorvin's portion;
Disgrace and death belong to me alone;
I fly to save him by the just exchange.
(Rushes madly out.
KING EDWARD.
Stay! thou rash youth!—His madness will not hear me.
QUEEN.
Lord of my heart!—If, by a life of duty,
I yet may plead against thy settled purpose—
KING EDWARD.
No! Eleanor, 'tis fixt: I must not cancel
The firm decree of policy and justice,
To soothe the amorous frenzy of a boy,
Tho' dear to me, as if he were my child.
But let me lead thee to yon neighbouring tent,
To save thee better from this mournful scene,
And seek an active guardian, who may watch
O'er the wild steps of this distracted stripling!
(Exeunt.
| The Heroine of Cambria | |