University of Virginia Library

SCENA IV.

Enter Earl of Oxford, Lord Chandew.
Oxford.
Twice through our Quarters I have walk'd the Round,
And to my Wonder, have not Richmond found:
Can he his Person in a Season hid,
When the next Day must Royalty decide?
The knowledge of his absence from the Camp
Would all the Courage of our Army damp.

Chandew.
In Common Souldiers I did never see
Minds so prepar'd for Fight, and Victorie.

Oxford.
My Lord, this Land does yield a sturdy breed,
Which, when they are well fed will freely bleed:
You French have question'd, if they eat, or fight
With greater appetite, or more delight?

Chandew.
I must allow, though yet a stranger here,
That your Clime only such a Race does bear.
French courage is to Noble Blood confin'd;
The rest are Slaves in Body, and in Mind.

[Enter Officer and delivers a Message. Exit.]
Oxford.
My Lord, this message does encrease my Fear;
We nothing yet can of our Gen'ral hear.

Chandew.
Heaven give him safety; and I only crave,
He may a Conquest find, and I a Grave.

Oxford.
By sudden starts you shew a smother'd grief:
Unvented Sorrows seldom find relief.

Chandew.
I long have wisht to empty in your Breast
A grief, which may be pity'd, not redrest:
A grief, whose lenitive is such a Pain,
As strongest Nature hardly can sustain:
A Daughter's Death is all the Favour now,
That Heaven's Compassion can a Parent shew.

Oxford.
What most you love, you hope and wish to lose:
What sadder Object can your Fears propose?

Chandew.
Here you the height of my affliction see;
I hope her Death, I fear her Infamie.

Oxford.
Your Grief concludes too fast; you cannot know,
But that she's safe in Life, and Honour too.

Chandew.
My Lord, when I have told my Story out,
I shall too easily remove the doubt.
That Daughter, who did once make all my Joy,
And all my Happiness does now destroy,
Did so forsake me in a Fatal Night,
That she twelve Moons has wasted out of sight:
And this with Horrour does my Grief renew,
For, if by Force surpris'd, she's murther'd too.
If not; I dread an uncompell'd Escape
More, then the mischief of a bloody Rape,

Oxford.
In this sad Story I confess, there are
Just grounds of Fear, but not of your despair:
Those motives, which induc'd her to withdraw,
Perhaps may do no wrong to Honour's Law:
For, if she lives, she does a Mind derive
From you, which cannot loss of Fame survive.

Chandew.
Your Friendship puts a favourable Gloss
On actions, which imply her Honour's loss.
But in this strait of Time I will forbear
To make you longer a Joynt-sufferer.

Oxford.
The Night does waste; and to the publick Eye
'Tis fit our General's absence we supply.

[Exeunt.