University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A prison.
Enter Guards leading Lord Ernest in chains.
L. Ern.
I pray you do not pity me. I feel
A kind of joy to meet Calamity,
My old, old friend again. Go, tell your lord,
I give him thanks for these his iron bounties.
How now? I thought you led me to a prison,
A dismal antichamber of the tomb,
Where creatures dwell, whose ghosts but half inhabit
Their ruinous flesh-houses; here is air
As fresh as that the bird of morning sings in,
And shade that scarce is dusk, but just enough
To please the meek and twilight-loving eye
Of lone Religion. 'Tis an hermitage
Where I may sit and tell my o'erpassed years,
And fit myself for dying. My old heart
Holds not enough of gratitude to pay
This noble kindness, that in guise of cruelty
Compels me to my good.

Guard.
I am most glad
That you endure thus cheerfully; remember
Your son's one word will give you liberty.

L. Ern.
I know he would not do me so much wrong.
You think, because I'm white with age, I mourn
Such hardships. See, my hand's as firm and steady
As when I broke my first spear in the wars;
Alas! I am so glad, I cannot smile.

Guard.
We sorrow thus to leave thee.

L. Ern.
Sorrow! man,
It is a woman's game: I cannot play it.
Away; your whining but provokes my spleen. (As the guards are retiring he bursts into a harsh laugh: when they have left the stage he stops short.)

They're gone and cannot hear me. Now, then, now,
Eyes weep away my life, heart, if thou hast
A pulse to strain, break, break, oh break! (Enter Hesperus.)

My son,
Come here, I'll tell thee all they've done to me,
How they have scoffed and spurned me, thrown me here
In wretched loneliness

Hesp.
Alas! my father.

L. Ern.
Oh set me free, I cannot bear this air.
If thou dost recollect those fearful hours,
When I kept watch beside my precious boy,
And saw the day but on his pale, dear face;
If thou didst think me, in my gentlest moods,
Patient and mild, and even somewhat kind;
Oh give me back the pity that I lent,
Pretend at least to love and comfort me.

Hesp.
Speak not so harshly; I'm not rich enough
To pay one quarter of the dues of love,
Yet something I would do. Show me the way,
I will revenge thee well.

L. Ern.
But, whilst thou'rt gone,
The dread diseases of the place will come
And kill me wretchedly. No, I'll be free.

Hesp.
Aye, that thou shalt. I'll do; what will I not?
I'll get together all the world's true hearts,
And if they're few, there's spirit in my breast
Enough to animate a thousand dead.

L. Ern.
My son
We need not this; a word of thine will serve.

Hesp.
Were it my soul's last sigh I'd give it thee.

L. Ern.
Marry.

Hesp.
I—cannot.

L. Ern.
But thou dost not know
Thy best-loved woos thee. Oft I've stood unseen,
In some of those sweet evenings you remember,
Watching your innocent and beauteous play,
(More innocent because you thought it secret,
More beautiful because so innocent;)
Oh! then I knew how blessed a thing I was
To have a son so worthy of Olivia.

Hesp.
Olivia!

L. Ern.
Blush not, though I name your mistress;
You soon shall wed her.

Hesp.
I will wed the plague.
I would not grudge my life, for that's a thing,
A misery, thou gavest me: but to wed
Olivia; there's damnation in the thought.

L. Ern.
Come, speak to him, my chains, for ye've a voice
To conquer every heart that's not your kin?
Oh! that ye were my son, for then at least
He would be with me. How I loved him once!
Aye, when I thought him good; but now—Nay, still
He must be good, and I, I have been harsh,
I feel, I have not prized him at his worth:
And yet I think, if Hesperus had erred,
I could have pardoned him, indeed I could.

Hesp.
We'll live together.

L. Ern.
No, for I shall die;
But that's no matter.

Hesp.
Bring the priest, the bride.
Quick, quick. These fetters have infected him
With slavery's sickness. Yet there is a secret,
'Twixt heaven and me, forbids it. Tell me, father;
Were it not best for both to die at once?

L. Ern.
Die! thou hast spoke a word, that makes my heart
Grow sick and wither; thou hast palsied me
To death. Live thou to wed some worthier maid;
Know that thy father chose this sad seclusion;
(Ye rebel lips, why do you call it sad?)
Should I die soon, think not that sorrow caused it,
But, if you recollect my name, bestow it
Upon your best-loved child, and when you give him
His Grandsire's blessing, add not that he perished
A wretched prisoner.

Hesp.
Stop, or I am made
I know not what,—perhaps a villain. Curse me,
Oh if you love me, curse.

L. Ern.
Aye, thou shalt hear
A father's curse; if fate hath put a moment
Of pain into thy life; a sigh, a word,
A dream of woe; be it transferred to mine;
And for thy days; oh! never may a thought
Of others' sorrow, even of old Ernest's,
Darken their calm, uninterrupted bliss;
And be thy end—oh! any thing but mine.

Hesp.
Guilt, thou art sanctified in such a cause;
Guards; (they enter)
I am ready. Let me say't so low,
So quickly that it may escape the ear
Of watchful angels; I will do it all.

L. Ern.
There's nought to do; I've learned to love this solitude.
Farewell, my son. Nay, never heed the fetters;
We can make shift to embrace.

Hesp.
Lead him to freedom,
And tell your lord I will not,—that's I will. [Exeunt Lord Ernest and guards.

Here, fellow; put your hand upon my mouth
Till they are out of hearing. Leave me now.
No, stay; come near me, nearer yet. Now fix
The close attention of your eyes on mine.

Guard.
My lord!

Hesp.
See'st thou not death in them?

Guard.
Forbid it, fate.

Hesp.
Away! ill-omened hound;
I'll be a ghost and play about the graves,
For ghosts can never wed. [Exit guard.

There, there they go; my hopes, my youthful hopes,
Like ingrate flatterers. What have I to do
With life? Ye sickly stars, that look with pity
On this cursed head, be kind and tell the lightning
To scathe me to a cinder; or if that
Be too much blessing for a child of sin,
But strike me mad, I do not ask for more.
Come from your icy caves, ye howling winds,
Clad in your gloomy panoply of clouds,
And call into your cars, as ye pass o'er
The distant quarters of this tortured world,
Every disease of every clime,
Here shall they banquet on a willing victim;
Or with one general ague shake the earth,
The pillars of the sky dissolve and burst,
And let the ebon-tiled roof of night
Come tumbling in upon the doomed world:—
Deaf are they still? then death is all a fable,
A pious lie to make man lick his chains
And look for freedom's dawning through his grate.
Why are we tied unto this wheeling globe,
Still to be racked while traitorous Hope stands by,
And heals the wounds that they may gape again?
Aye to this end the earth is made a ball,
Else crawling to the brink despair would plunge
Into the infinite eternal air,
And leave its sorrows and its sins behind.
Since death will not, come sleep, thou kindred power,
Lock up my senses with thy leaden key,
And darken every crevice that admits
Light, life, and misery, if thou canst, for ever.

Exit.