University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Lord Byerdale's Study.—Wilton seated at a table in the act of writing.—Several folded letters before him, other letters lying open, papers, &c.
Wilt.
That memory should feed itself!—wax stronger
In its impression, without agency
Of that which wrought it; till the simulation—
For e'en so much it is—grows palpable
As the original—holds commune with
Our ears and eyes, yet all's within ourself!
At first her image was a dreamy thing
That came and went, and might, for aught I deem'd,
Have gone for ever—now 'tis ever with me!
Substantial presence! steadfast constancy!
I write, I read, I talk, and breaking off
In listless absence, to myself return
In company with her! She is my theme
That supersedes all others! Why is this?
What do I nourish? Hope in spite of hope!
Madness of wishes—never to be bless'd!
Her groom is not beneath her more than I,
The secretary of a haughty lord!
His clerk!—that in his counsels holds no share
More than his pen! What better should I be?—
A man who claims no core of kith or kin
In the wide world! I had a friend—a good
And gracious one—who foster'd me, to play
A higher part. Compell'd by urgent cause
To travel, to this lord he left the care
Of my advancement—left, as to a friend!
But friends at second-hand are doubtful ones!
Where will it end?—O perfect imaging
Of sweetness!—grace!—aspect of soul and form
Most rich in all that man desires in woman!
Rare excellence!—Why, where am I again?
Along with her! Gazing upon her—rapt
With marvel at the glory of her presence!

[Lord Byerdale enters.—Stops short, and stands observing Wilton's abstraction.—Advances and addresses him impatiently.
Lord By.
So! Are those letters finished?

Wilt.
But the seals
And superscriptions.

Lord By.
Get them out of hand!
He grows abstracted. Lady Laura's tone
Had matter in it when she ask'd for him.
Why minds he me of her? She values much,
I hear, the service which he render'd her.
A man of prowess is my secretary,
And presence too! 'Tis not of her he thinks?
Think of an empress!—Does she think of him?
A lady with a will, as I am told!
A judge of merits!—does not take a year
To tell her mind!—That children should have minds!
Be she not of the mind to wed my son,
When he shall sue her—which he shall to-day—
Look to't his Grace of Gaveston! He must plot!
He would reseat the Stuart!—Would he so?
Eyes are upon his Grace he wots not of!
She ask'd for Wilton—never named my son!
The very man, indeed, he is wherewith
Romancists matches disproportionate
Contract—wed pages with their mistresses!
Would my Lord Sunbury had kept at home,
Not palm'd on me his seemly protégé!
He roams to France, and finds a prison there!
There's something in his presence troubles me.
So sat my brother when he play'd the clerk,
With sword on thigh, rather than pen in hand;
You saw the soldier, whatsoe'er he did!
Is it his son? I shall be soon resolved!
My trusty messenger returns to-day.

Wilt.
[Rising.]
My lord, they are ready.

Lord By.
Go and post them, sir,
With your own hand. Tarry, sir; you will pass
His Grace of Gaveston's house; and should you call—

Wilt.
Call there, my lord?

Lord By.
Yes; you do call there?

Wilt.
No.

Lord By.
You have been there?

Wilt.
No, my lord.

Lord By.
Go, post the letters!
[Wilton goes out.
How far above his errand is his gait!
I could believe my brother living still,
And striding forth the door!—He goes not there.
'Tis well he's modest! Will there come the day
When I shall see him knocking at the gate
As though he were at home? Would he were hence!
Why did I ever see him? Ha! Who's come?

[To Williams, who enters.
Will.
My lord, your messenger to Ireland sent.

Lord By.
Admit him. Fear or hope is now at end.
Welcome! What bring you?

[To Harrison, who enters.
Har.
[Giving papers.]
For your lordship these.

Lord By.
[To Harrison, who goes out.]
Go, get refresh'd!
[Reads.]
“They never reach'd the ship!—
“Landed again ten miles below the creek!”
They told me false then. Gold finds out the truth!
So both survived! But Leonard now is dead,
And for the nephew—thanks to self-will'd love—
He breathes without his name! What fear I, then?
What though he be my eldest brother's son!

[Goes out.