University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A confused noise of a battle is heard. The scene draws up and discovers the British and Mercian armies engaged. Near the front of the stage they are seen in close fight, and the ground strewed with several wounded and dead soldiers, as if they had been fighting for some time. Farther off, missile weapons and showers of arrows darken the air, and the view of the more distant battle is concealed in thick clouds of dust. The Mercians gain ground upon the Britons; and loud cries are raised by them to encourage one another. An active Mercian falls, and their progress is stopped whilst they endeavour to bear him off.
Fallen Mercian.
I'm slain, I'm slain! tread o'er me, and push forward.

Mer. Chief.
O stop not thus! to it again, brave Mercians!

[The Mercians push on, encouraging one another with cries and clashing of arms; one of their bravest soldiers is wounded on the front of the stage and staggers backwards.
Wounded Mer.
Ay, this is death; O that my life had held
To see the end of this most noble game!
[Falls down, but seeing the Mercians about to push the Britons off the stage, raises himself half from the ground and claps his hands exultingly.
Well fought, brave Mercians! On, my noble Mercians!
[Sinks down again.
I am in darkness now! a clod o' the earth!

[Dies.
Britons
(without).
Fresh succour, Britons! courage! victory!
Carwallen and fresh succour!

[The Britons now raise a terrible yell, and push back the Mercians, who yield ground and become spiritless and relaxed as their enemy becomes bolder. The Britons at last seize the Mercian standard, and raise another terrible yell, whilst the Mercians give way on every side.
1st falling Mer.
Horror and death! the hand of wrath is o'er us!

2d falling Mer.
A fell and fearful end! a bloody lair!
The trampling foe to tread out brave men's breath.

[The Britons yell again, and the Mercians are nearly beat off the stage.
(Voice without.)
Ethwald! the valiant Ethwald! succour, Mercians!
(Voice within.)
Hear ye, brave comrades? Ethwald is at hand.
Enter Ethwald with his sword drawn.
Ethw.
What, soldiers! yield ye thus, while vict'ry smiles
And bids us on to th' bent? Your northern comrades
Mock at their savage howls, and drive before them
These chafed beasts of prey. Come! to it bravely!
To it, and let their mountain matrons howl,
For these will soon be silent.
Give me the standard.

Voice.
They have taken it.

Ethw.
Taken! no, by the spirits of the brave!
Standard of ours on Snowdon winds to float!
No! this shall fetch it back!

[Taking off his helmet and throwing it into the midst of the enemy, then rushing upon them bare-headed and sword in hand. The Mercians clash their arms and raise a great shout: the Britons are driven off the stage; whilst many of the dying Mercians clap their hands and raise a feeble shout after their comrades. The scene closes.