 | The Curfew |  |
SCENE II.
An Apartment in the Castle.(Bertrand and Florence discovered.)
Flor.
Urge me no more, I will not hear it, Bertrand,
No more I'll risque the breaking of our law,
Lest I bring danger on my father's house
And mine own honour.
Bert.
Well at Curfew then
We'll weep, and bid adieu; yet sure the hour
Sacred to love, when all the world is still,
When lovers cheat stern commandement
Of such a tyrant law, outweighs in value
The dull unvaried round of common time:
For danger gives fresh keenness to delight,
5
And tremble whilst possessing.
Flor.
Tempt me not,
For we must part to-night, to meet no more.
Bert.
Or meet to-night, never to part again.—
The Abbot of St. Cuthbert's is my friend,—
His charitable aid will join our hands,
And make me master of the richest treasure
That ever lover sigh'd for.
Flor.
Nay forbear,
Think of my father—He will ne'er consent.
Bert.
I know he'll take it sternly at the first,—
But as his storm of passion heaves to rest,
Nature will softly whisper for his child;
And his affection take a quicker sense
From his short-liv'd unkindness.—Speak, my Florence.
Flor.
Nay, do not press me.
Bert.
Come, you must be mine.
There is a kind consenting in your eye,
Which mocks the faint refusal of your tongue:
Love on your rising bosom reigns supreme,
And speaks his triumph in this yielding sigh.
Flor.
There is my hand; to-night I will be thine:
My kindred, dwelling, and proud hopes I quit.
To cleave to thee, and thy poor humble fortunes.
Bert.
At sun-set then, you'll meet me at the Abbey.
And lest your person should create suspicion,
Suppose you come apparell'd as a boy:
And wear, like many a gallant, cap'ring knight,
Whose smooth complexion scarce would hazard twice
The keen encounter of the northern wind,
The front of Hector, with a woman's heart.
Flor.
Is it so easy then to play the hero?
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'Tis but to strut, and swell, and knit your brow,
Tell twenty lies in a breath, and round them off
With twice as many oaths, to wear a sword
Longer than other men's, and clap your hand
Upon the hilt, when the wind stirs, to shew
How quick the sense of honour beats within you
How many valiant cowards in brave armour,
Have bluster'd unsuspected to their graves.—
Nay, afterwards, frown'd terrible in marble,
Who at the trumpet's charge, had stood aghast
And shrunk like tortoises into their shells
To die with apprehension?
(Noise without.)
Flor.
Hark! my father.
Bert.
You will not fail?
Flor.
Away, if I appear not
Conclude me dead.
Bert.
Farewell then—
[Exit.
Flor.
It was not fancy—hush! again it comes
Along the gallery.
(Enter the Baron.)
My father!
Bar.
Florence,
What do you here?
Flor.
My Lord—
Bar.
Nay, answer quickly.
Flor.
I came—
Bar.
To meet young Bertrand.
Flor.
You have said it.
Bar.
There have been lights observ'd in the north tow'r,
And voices heard long after Curfew time.
Flor.
The light was mine, Sir.
Bar.
Whose the voices?
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Mine
And Bertrand's.
Bar.
Have I not forbid your meeting?
Flor.
When 'twas too late—you let our early years
Beyond the reach of fate, entwine our hearts;
Then do not in the blossom kill the hope
Which in the bud you cherish'd. I have been ever
A most obedient child—from mem'ry's dawn
Have hung with silent awe upon your lips,
And in my heart your counsels treasur'd up,
Next to the hallow'd precepts of my God.
But with a new delight my bosom throbb'd,
When first you talk'd of Bertrand, you observ'd, Sir,
He was a handsome youth. I thought so too.
A brave one. My heartbeat with fearful joy—
Not rich you added. There I heav'd a sigh
And turn'd my head aside; but whilst the tear
Stood in my eye, you said, that Fortune's gifts
Were poor, compared with Nature's: then, my father,
You bade me learn to love him.
Bar.
Once indeed,
I had a foolish dream of such a thing.
Flor.
Nay, but I dream so still.
Bar.
'Tis time to wake then.
Hear me, and let thy froward heart determine—
If thou hast grace to scorn this abject passion,
Here is thy father's bosom, in it hide
Thy kindling blushes, and be mine again.
What! stubborn to the last, and unrelenting!—
Then hear me, and let thy free choice decide—
If in the headstrong course of thy desires,
And the rank pride of disobedience,
Thou wed'st thyself to this my low-born vassal,
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And when I die, my curses be thy portion.—
You know me resolute, and know my purpose,
And as you dread or slight a father's wrath
So shape your course of action.
[Exit.
Flor.
Stay, my father.—
He's gone and will not listen to his child.
Then, since a cruel parent has disown'd me,
Bertrand, I am all thine.
And now, that I have giv'n up all to thee,
And cast off every other hope of joy,
If thou should'st ever treat me with unkindness,
Reprove me with sharp words, or frowning looks,
Or (which is keenest agony to those
Who deeply love,) torture me to the soul,
With civil, cutting, cold indifference.—
No—thou art truth itself, I will not doubt thee.
[Exit.
| The Curfew | |