University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A Wood near Oxford.
Enter Wilton, R. as in deep thought: suddenly he rouses himself, and gazes around.
Wil.
Full four miles from the city!
Faith, in my fool's abstraction, I may wander
Wider than prudence dictates. One good hour
Have I spent fruitlessly in moody thought—
No plan matur'd: the pleasing art of vengeance
For those who would excel, is most abstruse;
I'll make it my life's study—yes, I swear it!
Here, as I gaze on yonder towering pile,
Casing the magnets of my hate; a hate
The more intense, being love's mutation.

Enter Antony Rip, L. running, and out of breath. Seeing Wilton, he stops short.
Wil.
(Drawing.)
Ah!
A Puritan!—surrender!

Rip.
This is lucky.
Good Master Wilton, dost not know me—eh?
Not know poor honest Anthony? tis he—
Anthony Rip.

Wil.
Why, scoundrel, hast turn'd traitor?
'Twas thought that thou wert dead: what brings thee hither?

Rip.

When made prisoner at Marston Moor, I thought Puritanism
and life better than loyalty and death; so I swore
fidelity to the Parllament, and forthwith had my hair instead
of my head cropped: this arrangement has just brought me into
a skirmish at Islip Bridge, where I find myself opposed to my
old pot-comrades; and, curse me, if I like to cut throats which
have been moistened from the same black-jack as my own.

Wil.

I see; thou would'st serve again the King, but that
thou'rt bound—

Rip.

Bound? Oh, no! I havn't the slightest tie: I only
gave my oath and honour to the Roundheads; but, then, his
Majesty and Prince Rupert are over severe in military law

but curse me, I'll risk the chance of being hanged for desertion,
rather than remain with such a set of snivelling hypocrites,
who havn't the moral courage to belch out a rattling oath, nor
the sense to get insensibly drunk. Their diabolical system of
prayers and abstinence has so clarified my system, that I'm
absolutely dying of an unterrestrial purity; my body is becoming
too sublimated for my mind, which yearneth for the
salutary debauch of the olden time—sela!

Wil.

Now listen: thou hast ere this done work for me in
which unscrupulousness and secrecy were requisite, and I have
been no niggardly paymaster? What would'st thou now for
me, if I make thy peace with the Royalists?

Rip.

What would I do—what would I not do? Make my
peace, and I give ye my oath I'll forswear myself, cut throats,
rob churches, abduct maids, corrupt wives—in fact, do ought
that an honest, well-meaning fellow may—sela!

Wil.

Dost see that distant building?

Rip.

What, Blechington House? Ah, many a tankard have
I emptied there when Sir Thomas Coggins was master: 'tis
now held by Colonel Wyndebanke. Oh, I see—you'd wish
his brains puffed out—by accident. I now remember he is a
rival of yours for the hand of that delicate damsel, Edith
Fenwicke.

Wil.

He married her yesterday.

Rip.

The devil he did! that's a pity, because what's done is
beyond prevention; but if you still have a fancy for her—

Wil.

Rip, I have done with love.

Rip.

That's right—you're not made for it. Excuse me,
Master Wilton, but you haven't exactly the figure, and decidedly
not the countenance of a lady-killer. Love is mightily
agreeable when not of the sentimental breed, but if you wish
to erry her off—

Wil.

No!

Rip.

Then I don't see how my peculiar talents can serve
you.

Wil.
I said my love had pass'd—but not the memory
How I have lov'd. I said that Wyndebanke
Had married her, but yet I did not say
That I forgave the blasters of my hope
So dearly cherished. Rip, I'll be revenged!
To them and to their house, my life to come,
Will I be as an evil genius—mark me!
Already have I cramm'd Prince Rupert's ear
With hints that make their loyalty suspected.
By this, young Fenwicke—(Edith's brother)—lost
A long besought appointment, and by this
Thy agency, and schemes as yet unripe
I'll work their ruin.

Rip.

Amen! I'm thine. As for that boy, George Fenwicke,
I'd slash his hide with infinite pleasure; 'twas he who
rescued Bess Dimple, just as she had fainted in my arms—he
crossed me in the tender passion of love.

Wil.

Come with me, then; I take thee to my service.

Rip.

I have also information respecting red-nosed Noll's
movements, well worth a few gold pieces.

Wil.

Follow! be honest in my cause, and thou shalt prosper.

(Exit R. H.
Rip.

Oh, I will; honesty's the best policy— (Aside)
—if you
want to starve. No, this is a villainous world, and I flatter
myself that I am a man of the world. O be joyful—sela!

(Exit R. H.

SCENE II.

—A Grand Hall in Blechington House. Music is playing, and through folding doors in C. are seen Mrs. Wabble, Horner and Guests at a table.
Enter George Fenwicke R. C. and comes forward, followed by Ticely.
Tice.
Why do you leave the board so suddenly?

Fen.
Because I cannot, with a zealous heart
Pledge the king's health as they are doing now.
Sir, this some time has been my reasoning—
(Albeit to none but you as yet I've own'd it)—
Why should I owe allegiance to a monarch
Who values not my service? why not I
Like to a proud, spurned suitor, turn my zeal
To a more flattering object?

Tice.
True—why not?
I'm glad to know you think so far with me
Who throws a weapon from him should not marvel
If his antagonist assails him with it.
No, you have youthful ardour, which should raise you
High in men's admiration—shall't be crush'd
By non-appreciation? Take appointment
In the re-modell'd army, under Cromwell.

Fen.
But how t' obtain it?

Tice.
I will tell thee that.
Anon I'll join thee.—others are approaching.

(Fenwicke retires, C.
Enter Wabble, R. C. and comes down C.
Wab.

By Jupiter, the gallant Colonel is an incomparable
host, as I said to his wife, if he gives such nuptial festivals as
these, I hope he may marry every year. I never had such a

two days feast: I've laughed till my sides ache, danced till my
legs ache, and eaten till my—

—(Putting his hand on his stomach.)
Tice.

Ah, this is the sugar that cases the matrimonial pill—
it soon dissolves, and then—But you have been some time
married, friend Wabble, and know the dread secrets of the hymeneal
world.

Wab.

Oh, lord bless ye: my dear little wife and I live like
a pair of turtle doves. I've no inconsiderable degree of affection
for her, and she—(bless her!)—doats on me—literally doats
upon me. No jealousy—no wrangling—my word is unquestionable
law. “Do it,” say I, and it is done—now that's comfortable,
isn't it?

Tice.

Oh, very. Is not that your lady, yonder?

Wab.

Yes, that's she, talking with young Captain Horner.

Tice.

Aye, she has been by his side all day Captain Horner
is a promising youth?

Wab.

Well, I think he's a very fine young fellow—of remarkably
prepossessing address.

Tice.

Remarkably so—especially to the ladies.

Wab.

Eh?

Tice.

He boasts that he never fails to create a strong impression.

Wab.

Eh?

Tice.

Either with single or married females.

Wab.

Eh?

Tice.

Did you ever hear the tale of his carrying off the miller's
wife?

Wab.

Eh?

Tice.

Oh, it's true.

Wab.

Is it? (Calling Mrs. W.)
Patty, come here! (Mistress

Wabble leaves Horner, and comes forward, L.)
My dear,
we'll e'en go homeward now.

Mrs. W.

Oh, no—we'll stay until to-morrow. I am but
just beginning thoroughly to enjoy the company.

Wab.

My dear, I say, we'll go.

Mrs. W.

Then e'en go by yourself Master Wabble; I shall
not. But now I promised Captain Horner that I would not
depart until the morrow.

Wab.

Oh, lord! (Aside to Ticely.)
I say, are you sure it
was true respecting the miller's wife?

Tice.

Quite true

Wab.

My love, I insist upon our departure.

Mrs. W.

Insist, sir? Insist! dare to repeat that word, and
I'll never go home again.

Wab.
(Aside to Ticely.)

That Horner's done the mischief
already. Here he comes. (Captain Horner comes down from

back, L. H.)

Hor.
Come, come: in company, a conference
'Twixt man and wife is not allowable.

Wab.
There—there's a doctrine! Is it not allowed?
Then more's the pity, sir: 'twere better
Than that the wife should flirt with libertines—
The miller's wife to wit!

Hor.
The miller's wife
Explain, sir.

Mrs. W.
Yes, explain.

Wab.
(To Ticely.)
Here—you explain.

Tice.
What mean you?

Hor.
Sir, you're drunk.

Mrs. W.
Yes, you're drunk.

Tice.
You're drunk.

Wab.
It's a falsehood!

Mrs. W.
What, dare you, sir, to charge me with a falsehood?

Tice.
Or me, sir?

Hor.
Or dare you say, sir, I affirm a falsehood?

Wab.

What, three on one? I'll neither be bearded nor intimidated:
whoever says I'm drunk, says a lie!

Mrs. W.
(Slaps his face.)

That for your insolence! and for
the rest, tarry till we're at home.

Tice.
You're rightly serv'd.

Hor.
(Pulls his nose.)
And that, sir—

Tice.
Very good.

Wab.
Here—help, here! Murder!

(Guests come forward.)
Enter Colonel Wyndebanke and Fenwicke, R. C.
Col. W.
What, friends at words? How's this? Avoid, I pray,
The evil omen of a bridal feud.
Do ye lack entrrtainment, that dissension
Obtrudes its brawling presence? I have news
Shall furnish fresh discourse. At Islip Bridge
The king's brigade of horse is now encount'ring
A force led on by Cromwell.

Wab.
Islip Bridge!
But five miles hence.

Tice.
If Cromwell is so near
There's danger. We were best depart, and each
Look to the safety of his proper home.

Wab.
I think so too.

First Guest.
And I.

Second Guest.
And I!

Wab.
Egad,
There's no one in my house who, to protect it,
Will cry out “For the Roundheads!” I must go.

Tice.
The Roundheads, Wabble? Wouldst thou shout for them?
I thought thou wert a king'sman.

Wab.
Certainly—
If king'smen are the victors. I do wish
That one or other of these parties would
Gain questionless ascendancy. You see,
These see-saw battles keep a man, as 'twere,
Uncertain of his conscience's inclining.

Col. W.
I would that others lack'd, as thou dost, wit
To hide pusillanimity. Well, friends,
Go hence, if't be your wish; for know, I've pledged
My soldier's honour to King Charles to hold,
To the very last extremity, this house,
Should it e'er be besieg'd. I swore it, friends,
When late his Majesty did honour us
With his most gracious presence, and to the letter
Depend on't will I keep my troth, e'en though
Successful Cromwell plant himself before it.

Wab.
Thank you; we'll go. I think that I may speak
The hearts of all your guests, and say, your fare
Has been most princely. Ha—here comes the bride!
Enter Edith, R. C.
Madam, may all the comforts of your state—
(I mean, of course, the matrimonial state)—
Attend you through the remnant of your life:
Obey and love your husband, and—

Mrs. W.
Come hence:
Don't talk such nonsense.

Wab.
Well, my love, I've done:
So, fare ye well, my friends.

(The Guests take leave: as they are going up the Stage, a Messenger enters hastily, L. C.)
Mes.
Sir—sir, the royal forces have been beaten,
And victor Cromwell comes in hot pursuit!
Without are numbers of the fugitives,
Who crave admittance and protection.

Col. W.
Give it!
Admit as many as you safely may,
But yield no egress; now it is too late.
When they have enter'd, barricade the portal.
(Exit Messenger, L. C.
Friends, now ye must perforce remain with me.

Fen.
And why perforce? Is this like courtesy,
To make us accessary to your measures,
And share their dangers? I can tell you, sir,
You cannot hold this house a three days' siege;
A time sufficient only to exasperate.

Col. W.
(Resolutely.)
I'll hold it, George, until they beard me here—
Here, in my chamber!

Wab.
If it comes to that,
They'll stick us all without an explanation!

Fen.
(Approaching Colonel.)
Soh! Colonel Wyndebanke, your lust of fame
Drowns all consideration of your friends,
Kindred, or wife: all these you'd sacrifice
For---

[_]

(bigot's synonyme)

—that loyalty,
For one who—

Col. W.
Hold, sir! should you dare to speak
One word aspersive of my king, perchance
I may forget you own the honoured title—
My loved wife's brother.

Fen.
You've forgotten that
Already.

Edith.
Husband—brother—be not angered
At such a moment.

Fen.
Anger'd? I'm resolved!
On his own head alight the consequence.
Hence I depart, and who shall stay me?

Col. W.
Go!
Not I. I would not in my walls detain
A waverer in loyalty or valour.

Fen.
(Returning.)
In valour, Wyndebanke—was that your word?
By heaven, I now could find it in my heart—

Edith.
Nay, brother—for my sake, forbear!

Fen.
I will.
(To Colonel.)
Another time you'll answer this foul hint.
Come, sister; if he has a manly heart,
He will not here detain you.

Col. W.
How? my wife!
Wouldst take her hence—my bride of yesterday?
Well, Edith, an' you wish it, go with him.

Edith.
What, leave thee? no! Dear brother, fare you well!
Come weal or woe, where he is, there am I:
Safety without my husband's worse than peril;
With him I dread no danger.

Fen.
Foolish girl!
Remember, sir, that indirectly, you
Have termed me coward! That dissolves all tie
Of new-formed kin. I say, remember it,
For these are times when vengeance may be had
With little seeking. Should it visit you,
Deem it not causeless—you have called me coward!

(Exit U. E. L. H.
Wab.
Come, friends, we'll follow him.

Col. W.
No; I forbid ye.
I cannot change my order, though I've made
Here an exception. I have cogent reasons
For urging ye to tarry.

Wab.
(Imitating Fenwicke.)
Well, that's pleasant!
Now, who shall stop me, sir?

(Swaggering.)
Col. W.
(To Ticely.)
With you I leave
The charge of these, my friends. Come, Edith, with me.
Nay, girl, look not so pale. The King, at Oxford,
Will soon have notice of our present plight.
To those who love our monarch, this detainment
Cannot offend; and those who love him not
Are enemies of mine, and I am heedless
Of their ill-favour.

(Exit with Edith, U. E. R. H.
Wab.

Well, this is devilish pleasant! We are to stay here,
and quietly have our throats cut. No, I will be curst if I do!
I'll go boldly, and have a personal explanation with General
Cromwell. Don't be alarmed, friends; I'll save your lives, or
perish in the attempt!

(Rushes out, U. E. L. H.
Tice.
Ho, there!
Enter Servant, R. H.
Bring back yon fugitive;
Against the Colonel's orders he would leave.
(Exit Servant, U. E. L. H.
Come, Horner, enter thou this chamber—there
Administer some comfort to this lady.
(Horner, Mrs. Wabble, & Guests enter Chamber, 2 E. R. H.
Now to find means to ope the gates to Cromwell;
'Twould pave my way to fortune.

(Servants enter U. E. L. bringing back Wabble.)
Wab.
How dare you, sir, detain me?

Tice.
You must stay!

Serv.

Ay, that must he; for Cromwell, with his whole
force, is now before the gates, and threatens death to the whole
garrison, if the house be not immediately surrendered.

Wab.

Oh, lord! oh, lord! My throat—Mistress Wabble's
throat! Where is she?

Tice.

Trouble not yourself concerning your wife. Captain
Horner has taken charge of her.

Wab.

Eh—what—when—where? Restore her to me! I
won't die dishonoured! Where is Mistress Wabble?

Tice.

Nay, then, we will lock you up alone: you're turbulent!
Come, sir— (Ticely and Servants force Wabble into

another chamber, L. H. as he exclaims loudly “Mrs. Wabble!

Mrs. Wabble!”

SCENE III.

—An Anti-Chamber in Blechington House.
Enter Colonel Wyndebanke and Edith, R. H.
Wyn.
Thus, then, is all secure 'gainst stratagem,
And time alone, with perseverance, vanquish.
(To Edith.)
Why dost thou wear that terror-stricken brow?
And, Edith, how thou tremblest. Shame upon thee!
But yet, poor girl, no marvel. 'Tis indeed
A rude induction to our honeymoon:
Still fear not, dearest, at the worst thou'rt safe,
For e'en this Cromwell, after his own fashion,
Tempers asperity with gallantry.
(Edith buries her head in his bosom.
Edith—dear Edith, where has fled thy courage?
But now you boldly said you'd stay with me,
And brave all dangers.

Edith.
So I would with you—
Aught—aught with you. My dread is of a parting!
If they subdue us, they will tear you from me,
Or murder you! Oh, what will be your fate,
If in the hands of these stern men we fall!

Wyn.
A forethought most unworthy of a soldier,
Or e'en a soldier's wife.
To entertain it were to doubt success,
To doubt, to lose our purpose—but we will not.
My Edith, were I reckless of my name,
The thought that on this brow a blush might mantle,
At future question of thy husband's valour,
Alone would make me valiant—urge me on
To give a precedent of proper firmness
To royal partizans. How now—what tidings?

Enter a Soldier, L. H. with a letter.
Soldier.
This missive, sir, from General Cromwell.
(Exit Soldier, L. H.

(As Colonel Wyndebanke reads, his countenance, which is eagerly watched by Edith, undergoes a marked change.)
Wyn.
(To himself.)
Ha!
Is't so indeed? Unfortunate! His stubborness
Has brought this on him: I had rather given
The all that I possess, except my honour,
Than this should have befallen. Luckless!

Edith.
Edward!

Wyn.
(Not heeding her.)
I should have stayed him: had it been by force.
Self-will'd young man! What now wert best to do?

Edith.
Edward, you are disturb'd. What says the paper?

Wyn.
(Still aside.)
And she, poor Edith, to her other care
Will now have heap'd a thousand apprehensions
For his—her brother's life. She must not know.

Edith.
For Heaven's sake, Edward, tell me what disturbs you?
I am not trembling now, and so beseech you
Hold me not in this agony of doubt.
Come, let me see it—

Wyn.
(Aside.)
Yet she soon must learn it.
(To her.)
Edith— (Aside.)
I know not how to tell it! Edith,
Your brother has fallen in the hands of Cromwell.

Edith.
(Alarmed.)
My brother captive! But his life—his life!
At least that's safe—is't not?

Wyn.
At present, yes.

Edith.
Oh, Heaven be thanked for that. What saith the letter?

Wyn.
(Evading her importunity.)
Nothing of import.
(Aside.)
'Sdeath, 'tis most distressing!
(Drops the paper.)
So brief a time, too, for deliberation.
This Cromwell is a man, report affirms,
To lit'ralize a threat. Well, well, the youth
Has drawn this peril on himself—but Edith—

Edith.
(Having picked up the paper, reads with great emotion.)

“Unless Blechington House be delivered up within an
hour, the said George Fenwicke will be hanged on a gibbet in
full sight of the garrison.” Oh, horrible! “But by your
peaceable relinquishment your kinsman will be set at liberty,
and yourselves allowed to depart unmolested.”

His life so threaten'd—what may be his terror
At this dread moment! What anxiety,
Perchance, while now awaiting your reply.
Oh, do not hold him, Edward, in suspense.

Wyn.
I must, by loud remonstrance and pretence
Of treating for more advantageous terms,
Gain time to adopt some measure.

Edith.
Yet, what measure?
But one will save my brother.

Wyn.
Stay, my Edith—
I know not that. Perchance while parleying,
And thus alluring them to slacken guard,
We may effect a sortie for a rescue:
I'll mount, and note if their position, now,
Favours this bold attempt. Rest, Edith, here.

Edith.
No, Edward, no: with you I will remain—
Come, let us hasten; think of my poor brother—

Wyn.
(Impressively.)
But not forgetting honour, Edith—come!

Exeunt L. H.

SCENE IV.

—The Turrets of Blechington House. Sunset.
Ticely and Horner are discovered in conversation, while Soldiers, &c. are busy fixing pieces of ordnance, &c. Others on guard.
Hor.
Egad, we'll tease these rascals. Here we'll grin,
And let them shew their teeth.

Tice.
The garrison
Is not so firm; th' example of young Fenwicke
Has shaken confidence. For my own part,
I'd say 'tis madness to hold out.

Hor.
You would!
The devil claim young Fenwicke, then, say I,
A proud, ambitious boy. He's rightly served,
Thus falling in the hands of Oliver;
Though, sooth to say, I think him now with those
He would not scruple to accept as comrades.
'Tis said King Charles refused him an appointment—
Know you upon what ground?

Tice.
'Twas thought his father
Had entertained a disaffected spirit—
But, see, the Colonel comes. I will descend
And look to the ammunition.

(Exit L. H.
Hor.
I like not
That fellow's bearing. Faith, I'll watch him closely.

Enter Wyndebanke, R. H.
Wyn.
So, friends, the news is bad; our kinsman ta'en,
And thence held out a threat. How stand their men?
Can we— (Aside, and looking out, L. U. E.)
By heaven, I doubt it! They are drawn
In palpable anticipation on't.
No, no: attack is hopeless.

Enter Edith, R. H.
Edith.
See, Edward, they're in motion, and engaged
Upon some work close underneath the wall.
Look, Edward: what is that huge thing they're raising?

(Goes back.
Hor.
(To Wyn.)
It looks most marvellously like a gibbet.

Wyn.
(Aside to Horner.)
Hush, I beseech you!

(Wyndebanke motions him to keep silence, and gives directions. Exit Horner, L. H.
Edith.
(Who has caught Horner's words.)
Oh, my poor brother! Edward—dearest Edward—
For mercy's sake, delay not e'en a moment—
The time is passing. Since you must surrender,
Oh, do it quickly, I beseech you!

Wyn.
(Drawing her to him.)
Edith,
I beg—nay, I command you, do not utter
Within the hearing of my soldiery
One word of yielding. I again remind you
Of the strict pledge I gave my king.

Edith.
(Almost choking with emotion, and entirely disregarding his caution.)
Oh, horror!
My brother—Edward, is he, then, to die?

Wyn.
I hope not, dearest. Cromwell will not dare—
'Tis but a threat to terrify. Retire,
I beg you, Edith. Depend on't I'll do all
That can be done consistent with my pledge.

Edith.
Edward—my brother—is he, then, to die?

Wyn.
I hope not.

Edith.
How! you hope not—say he shall not!
What is a hasty promise to a life?
Think you your king would wish you to become
A monster of such inhumanity,
Because in ignorance of casualty
A pledge was offered.
(She bursts into tears, and falls at his feet.)
Edward—dearest Edward,
The time—the hour is passing rapidly—
Will you permit your bride to sue in vain?
Oh, if my love is valued, and you'd not
That of my dear affection, I should tear
Each vestige from my heart—this instant save—
Save my poor brother, nor for a moment think
Of being what I should ever after hold you—
His murderer!

Wyn.
(Greatly moved.)
Hush, girl. You do not know
The wily arts of Cromwell. We've no proof
As yet, that George is truly in his hands.

Edith.
(Having again, approached parapet.)
Look—look, then, there! Ah, look—they lead him forth—
His hands are bound—his neck is bare—yes, look,
They lead him towards the gibbet— (Rushing to him.)
—Edward—husband—
For God's sake, save him!
(The Soldiers, standing by, murmur. Wyndebanke, as though almost bewildered, passes his hand across his brow, but, recovering himself, says in a deep but trembling tone:

Wyn.
Dearly as I love you,
You shall not make me waver in my honour
That, as his life, belongs unto the king,
And were I, Edith, in that youth's position,
And he in mine, I'd hold the self-same tenet,
And gladly die to do my monarch service.

Edith.
But such a death—so terrible—oh, horror!

Enter Horner, hastily, L.
Hor.
The treacherous Ticely, Wyndebanke—

Wyn.
Well, speak—

Hor.
Is even now inciting those below
To throw the portal open to the enemy.

Edith.
Thank heaven!

Wyn.
(Angrily.)
Silence! Horner, will you aid me?
I know you will. Take, then, some trusty men,
And plant them in the court yard: let them fire
On him who dares attempt to cross it first
Without my special order.

Hor.
I will do it.

(Exit L.
Edith.
He mounts the scaffold—see! (Altering her tone from entreaty to firm determination.)
Inhuman husband!
I'll not long survive him!
(She suddenly plants herself on the extreme verge of the parapet, L. C.)
Now save my brother—save him instantly,
Or, by the heaven above, I spring from hence,
And make you thus the cruel murderer
Of him and me!

(The Soldiers murmur loudly.)
Wyn.
Bring forth the signal!
(A white flag is brought forward, which Wynde, seizes, and waves from the parapet, L. C. Distant shouts are heard—Edith descends and embraces the knees of Wyndebanke, who, as he raises her, exclaims:
There, woman! Teach me now to face my king!