SCENE IV.
Changes to another part of the Valley.
Enter EDITHA disguised in a Forester's Habit.
EDITHA.
Thus far, tho' long and dreary was the way,
Have I adventur'd safely; and am now
Secure from all pursuit. Yet, like the hare
That pants, and trembles, and with prick'd-up ears
Still thinks the hound is nigh, her speed had foil'd;
So do I start, and stop, and fear a foe
In every rustling breeze. The housewife, she
That with her oaten cakes and curdled cream
At yonder homely cabin late refresh'd me,
Has made me much her debtor. Heaven so smile
On this day's business, as its justice merits;
Then to the princess shall my grateful tongue
Make fair memorial of that gentle hostess.
The FALCONER appears on the Brow of a high Hill to the Left.
Fal.
What ho! young Dane, what ho! I have done
my errand, the fleet lie to the south-east trimly array'd
and safely anchored. What ho! do'st not hear me?
Ed.
Ye Saints defend me! sure I heard a voice.
This is no place of safety.
[Exit hastily.
Fal.
What ho! why flyest thou? Have I not done as
thou badest me?
[Descending the hill.]
Murrain take
him! if this young scape-gallows has not left me. What
ho! Master Cup-bearer! I might as well whistle to the
winds as try to recall him. O that a man of my age and
sober sense should ever turn out such a fool! first, he
makes me climb up a hill, as steep as a very ladder, to
look out for the Danish fleet, as if the young knave (who
within the year, I trust, has been many a time whipt for
climbing his neighbours pear-trees) was not far fitter for
such an errand. Up, however, climbs I, at the manifest
risk of bursting my old lungs; does the business; spies
the fleet; advertises him of it, and what get I for my
trouble, but the sight of a pair of light heels, and the
comfort of being left alone in a perilous wood? My only
consolation is, that, being a stranger to the country, he
may peradventure return here for my guidance; therefore
in that expectation will I sit down and rest myself
a little. Hist, hist, what rustling was that in the glen
to the left! Mercy on me! Lord
Oswald himself, the
very man it was our business to seize. And now in the
very nick of time this young traitor has left me. To attack
him by myself were very madness, and yet, had I
but the courage to do it, I were a made man all my life
after. Now, if he were not armed—
Enter OSWALD hastily, and seizes the Falconer by the throat.
Osw.
What errand brought thee here? speak, caitiff, speak.
Fal.
O for mercy! what? speak when I am throtled!
For the love of St. Hilda slacken thy gripe.
Osw.
Quit then thy staff and all thy other arms,
That dagger in thy belt. Lie there, thou ruffian.
[Throws him down and lifts his sword over him.
Nay, if thou stirr'st this point is in thy heart.
Fal.
Spare my life, noble Earl, spare but my life, and
I'll discover the whole truth. I was decoy'd here, it is
true, on the felonious intent of finding where you had
bestowed the Princess Argentile.
Osw.
And dost thou own it, dastard!
Fal.
Alas! what would lying about the matter do for
me? Nay, more, I was spirited up to endeavour to make
seizure of your honour's person. Not that I ever meant
to attempt it single-handed. The young rogue that was
sworn to assist me, has left me here, like a vagabond and
coward as he is. And now, having told the whole truth,
let me beg on my knees—
[Offering to rise.
Osw.
Nay, if thou stirr'st!
Fal.
That frown, gracious Sir, is enough for me. O
for mercy withdraw that lifted blade! only till I say one
short prayer to St. Hilda, that she may intercede with
your honour to spare my life.
[Oswald takes the belt that hung over the Falconer's
shoulder, and with that and the quarter-staff pinions his arms.
Osw.
Now, traitor, thou art safe; I will not kill thee.
Fal.
No, noble Oswald, if thou didst, the more
would be the pity for me, and the less the profit for thyself;
for thereby wouldst thou lose the knowledge of
what once told, would be worth the purchase of my pardon,
nay, of my freedom.
Osw.
Go to: Declare that knowledge.
Fal.
Would you, Sir, be pleased to climb yonder hill
with me, I would show your honour a sight would do you
good to see; for I am shrewdly out of my politics, if he,
that has run away from one king, would not be very fain
to put himself under the protection of another.
Osw.
What mean'st thou, knave?
Fal.
Nothing, please your worship, but this: That
whereas in your present condition, craving your pardon,
you are liable to be taken up for a—(I will not name
the word, it is so hardly favoured) you might by my
honest assistance find safer refuge for yourself, than these
old oaks and underling briars will be long able to afford
you. Now the Danish fleet being at present within
hailing—
Osw.
Sayst thou the Danish fleet? and not yet sail'd!
Fal.
I say it, Sir, and swear it to boot; for I saw it
just now with these eyes, lying snug at anchor in a bay
under the other side of that cliff.
Osw.
Ha! this is news indeed; my royal charge
Is then secure. I'll haste to lead her thither.
[Exit hastily.
Fal.
Nay, for mercy's sake, for the sake of all honour
and justice, take off these gyves first, and let me follow!
Heugh! a lad of sixteen would not have gone off much
more nimbly. He is as quick at the work, as my late
honest friend and companion the Cup-bearer. Honesty,
there is no such thing now-a-days in the world! Youth
and age, sixteen and sixty, makes no difference as to that
matter. I am right serv'd for not bargaining better for
my liberty, before I told my secret; and nothing, but the
manifest fear of death before my eyes, absolves me from
the title and stile of mere driveller. All I have now to do
is to waddle up and down the forest, like a yoked gander,
till some pitiful forester (if there be pity in the kind) sets
me at liberty; in the hope of which I now begin my
pilgrimage.
[Exit Falconer.
