SCENE II.
A small apartment in
Mollo
's castle. Enter
Ethwald
very thoughtful, who leans against a pillar for
some time without speaking.
Ethw.
(
coming forward).
Is it delusion this?
Or wears the mind of man within itself
A conscious feeling of its destination?
What say these suddenly imposed thoughts,
Which mark such deepen'd traces on the brain
Of vivid real persuasion, as do make
My nerved foot tread firmer on the earth,
And my dilating form tower on its way?
That I am born, within these narrow walls,
The younger brother of a petty chief,
To live my term in dark obscurity,
Until some foul disease or bloody gash,
In low marauding strife, shall lay me low?
My spirit sickens at the hateful thought,
Which hangs upon it with such thick oppression,
As doth the heavy, dense, sulphureous air
Upon the breath it stifles.
[
Pulling up the sleeve of his garment, and baring
his right arm from the shoulder.
A firmer strung, a stronger arm than this
Own'd ever valiant chief of ancient story?
And lacks my soul within, what should impel it?
Ah! but occasion, like th' unveiling moon
Which calls the advent'rer forth, did shine on them!
I sit i' the shade! no star-beam falls on me!
[
Bursts into tears, and throws himself back
against the pillar. A pause; he then starts
forward full of animation, and tosses his arms
high as he speaks.
No; storms are hush'd within their silent cave,
And unflesh'd lions slumber in the den,
But there doth come a time!
Enter
Bertha,
stealing softly upon him before he
is aware.
What, Bertha, is it thou who stealst upon me?
Ber.
I heard thee loud:
Conversest thou with spirits in the air?
Ethw.
With those whose answ'ring voice thou canst not hear.
Ber.
Thou hast of late the friend of such become,
And only them. Thou art indeed so strange,
Thy very dogs have ceas'd to follow thee,
For thou no more their fawning court receiv'st,
Nor callest to them with a master's voice.
What art thou grown, since thou hast lov'd to pore
Upon those magic books?
Ethw.
No matter what! a hermit an' thou wilt.
Ber.
Nay, rather, by thy high assumed gait
And lofty mien, which I have mark'd of late,
Ofttimes thou art, within thy mind's own world,
Some king or mighty chief.
If so it be, tell me thine honour's pitch,
And I will cast my regal mantle on,
And mate thy dignity.
[
Assuming much state.
Ethw.
Out on thy foolery!
Ber.
Dost thou remember
How on our throne of turf, with birchen crowns
And willow branches waving in our hands,
We shook our careless feet, and caroll'd out,
And call'd ourselves the king and queen of Kent?
Ethw.
Yes, children ever in their mimic play
Such fairy state assume.
Ber.
And bearded men
Do sometimes gild the dull unchanging face
Of sombre stilly life with like conceits.
Come, an' you will we'll go to play again.
[
Tripping gaily round him.
Ethw.
Who sent thee here to gambol round me thus?
Ber.
Nay, fie upon thee! for thou knowst right well
It is an errand of my own good will.
Knowest thou not the wand'ring clown is here,
Who doth the osier wands and rushes weave
Into all shapes: who chants gay stories too;
And who was wont to tell thee, when a boy,
Of all the bloody wars of furious Penda?
E'en now he is at work before the gate,
With heaps of pliant rushes round him strew'd;
In which birds, dogs, and children roll and nestle,
Whilst, crouching by his side, with watchful eye
The playful kitten marks each trembling rush
As he entwists his many cireling bands.
Nay, men and matrons, too, around him flock,
And Ethelbert, low seated on a stone,
With arms thus cross'd, o'erlooks his curious craft.
Wilt thou not come?
Ethw.
Away, I care not for it!
Ber.
Nay, do not shake thy head, for thou must come.
This magic girdle will compel thy steps.
[
Throws a girdle round him playfully, and pulls it till it breaks.
Ethw.
(
smiling coldly).
Thou seest it cannot hold me.
[
Bertha's face changes immediately: she bursts
into tears, and turns away to conceal it.
Ethw.
(
soothing her).
My gentle Bertha! little foolish maid!
Why fall those tears? wilt thou not look on me?
Dost thou not know I am a wayward man,
Sullen by fits, but meaning no unkindness?
Ber.
O thou wert wont to make the hall rejoice;
And cheer the gloomy face of dark December!
Ethw.
And will, perhaps, again. Cheer up, my love!
(
Assuming a cheerful voice.)
And plies the wandering clown his pleasing craft,
Whilst dogs and men and children round him flock?
Come, let us join them too.
[
Holding out his hand to her, whilst she smiles through her tears.
How course those glancing drops adown thy cheeks,
Like to a whimp'ring child! fie on thee, Bertha!
[
Wipes off her tears, and leads her out affectionately. [Exeunt.
