University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Edelfleda, Bertha.
EDELFLEDA.
Leave me, good Bertha; thy officious love
But wearies me.

BERTHA.
Thy pardon, dearest mistress.

EDELFLEDA.
These cumbrous robes, these idle ornaments,
Oppress my bosom. Thou hast deck'd me out
As 'twere a victim for the sacrifice.—
I am the victim! thou hast wisely done!

BERTHA.
The artful Baldred rules King Cenulph's mind;
Nay, can compel, some say, the stubborn fates,
By prayers, and penance, and mysterious rites.
Through his means haply thou may'st triumph yet.

EDELFLEDA.
Yes! I will triumph yet—but if the means
Recoiling fancy dare but faintly shadow,
Oh Bertha! Bertha! dost thou think kind nature
Form'd me for darkest deeds? Oh, no! her hand
Temper'd my soul to gentleness and love,
And stampt it with a royal loftiness;
But it is given in possession now
To such a friend!—so irresistible!
[Hiding her face in Bertha's bosom.
Thou'rt good and kind!—oh! throw me from thy heart!
I never more shall there deserve a place.

BERTHA.
That heart is thine, my princess,—owns no bounds
To its devotion! nay, take hope—take comfort—
Th' astonish'd king was as thyself indignant.
Thou saw'st the prince in chains! King Cenulph loves thee—
He will annul the marriage.

EDELFLEDA.
How annul it?
Not if she live! he cannot sunder hearts.
No, if she live—it is impossible.
I would have fled ere the ungentle wish
That she were not—

BERTHA.
Then think of her as dead!
Thy wish might stamp her doom.

EDELFLEDA
(with horror).
What, murder her!

BERTHA.
Not that.—Stern policy has instruments
Secret and sure. Thou know'st the envious abbot
Beneath that saintly garb wraps deadly hate.

EDELFLEDA.
Let me not hear—nor guess what thou would'st say.
It will be mine to soothe him when 'tis done!
I must not bear the horrid consciousness
About my heart;—for I will win his love
By virtue then, by tenderness, and patience!
Then did I say? as, then! what thought was that
My guilty soul admitted? oh! is virtue
So convenient? will she? can she dwell again
In the polluted bosom she forsook?
Or if she could—remorse must usher her!
Unutterable woe!—oh, save me!—save me!
[After a pause.
One only means is left may yet preserve
These hands from stain of blood. Some pitying angel
Whispers the thought.—Come, Bertha! let us haste.

[Exeunt.