 | Elfrid : or, the Fair Inconstant |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE. A Bower, Athelwold and Elfrid.Athel.
How goes the Day, my Love; or the Night rather?
Elf.
As much of Night as this gay Season knows
Has sicklied o'er the Visage of the Sky,
Which blush'd but now, to see the am'rous Sun
Play with the Dimples of his smiling Mistress.
Athel.
'Tis after Nine then.
Elf.
Half an Hour at least.
Athel.
You see, fair Elfrid, how you charm my Thoughts,
I cannot count the Hours, while you are by;
My Blessings, like Time's Moments, pass untold,
For the rich Joys, you give, slip by, unmark'd,
While still fresh Joys succeed 'em; my past Bliss
In a contracted Circle strikes Remembrance;
While future Oceans of immense Delight
Roll deeply thro' the Prospects of my Soul!
Oh! cou'd the Sin-led World be blest like me!
Like me, be chastly happy! Vice wou'd dye,
And the deluded Taste of giddy Man
Find Innocence, and Happiness no Strangers!
2
And will you ever be thus kind, my Lord?
Ever thus charming? Ever thus sincere?
Will not Reflection freeze this Marriage Nectar?
Will not your Draughts of Love be bitter'd, think you,
When longer mix'd with Pleasure's Wormwood, Wife?
Athel.
Wife, is as much of Heav'n, as Earth can know!
When Man was, in his Makers Likeness, made,
And wond'ring Angels gaz'd on the bright Form,
Judging that Work as near a full Perfection,
As all, but that Perfection's self, cou'd be;
To prove his glorious Pow'r unlimited,
And bless the late-made Man, Man's mighty Maker
Stamp'd a new Form, still nearer to his own;
That Form was Woman, and that Woman, Wife.
Woman, like soft May Dew, on Morning Flow'rs,
Distills her balmy Influence; Peace, and Rest
Are Woman's Gifts to Man; when Toils, and Cares
Have worn our weary Souls, Woman, Dear Woman,
Is Nature's Downy Pillow of Repose.
Elf.
What must Man be, if Woman be thus charming?
Athel.
Man is the Staff for your weak Sex to lean on.
The Prop, your Beauty's tender Stalk is bound to,
The Wall, to yield your branching Vine a shelter,
Man is the circled Oak; Woman the Ivy.
Elf.
And will you, still, thus let my Ivy bind you?
[Embracing him.
Athel.
Love, built on Truth, may shake, but cannot fall;
For you I left a bounteous Monarch's Court;
For you forsook the Sun-shine of his Favour;
For you I live in Shades, where no Beams shine,
But those, your smiling Beauty darts upon me.
Elf.
The Sun will sooner cease to guide the Day,
Than I to love my doubting Athelwold:
I call you doubting, 'cause I prove you so;
For, if you thought my Love no less than yours,
You wou'd not thus confine me from the Court;
The Court, which, like the Sky, must needs be bright,
Since it has single Stars, which I have seen
Outshine the very Light, by which I saw them.
3
Alas! my Dear, those Stars are gaudy Nothings,
The meanest Cottager, that tills thy Lands,
In one short moment knows more solid Bliss,
Than Ages give those Courtiers.
Elf.
Yet they live,
As if the World knew None, more bless'd than they.
Athel.
Let that, As If, keep place in thy Remembrance,
For three As If's may serve to speak a Courtier;
They talk, As If they wou'd be Friends to Vertue,
They act, As If they had no Aim, but Vice,
They glitter, Gloeworm-like, As if they flam'd,
Yet have no Fire about 'em.
Elf.
But my Lord,
Riches, and Honour make a large Amends
For these Deficiencies.
Athel.
Love, think not so.
False Honour, like a Comet, blazes wide,
But boasts a short-liv'd Reign, its Blaze destroys it;
While real Merit, like the glorious Sun,
Shines out, with mod'rate Rays, and shines for ever.
The poor Man's rich, who wishes not for more,
And Happiness is built upon Content.
Enter Ordgar.
Welcome my Friend! my more than Brother, welcome!
Ordg.
My Lord, I hunted with the King to day,
In the wide Forest, near your Tavestock;
And, while I rode more close than he suspected,
O'er heard him tell Lord Egbert, he design'd
To ride aside, take up his Lodging here,
So to surprize his lov'd Earl Athelwold;
The Lords who follow'd him, were all dismiss'd,
But Egbert only, he attends him hither.
I took a private Road, and spar'd no spurring,
To give you Notice; he'll be here anon.
I left them near the Forrest Verge, and judge,
I have not much outrode them.
4
Coming hither?
Is the King coming hither, say you Sir?
Ordg.
E're half an Hour can pass, he must be here.
Athel.
He takes us unprepared!
Ordg.
He chose to do so.
Athel.
But tell me, Ordgar, does Lord Egbert's Int'rest
Encrease or wane, at Court?
Ordg.
It rises daily,
And honest Men are griev'd, to see your Absence
Give Opportunity to one so base,
To grasp the Fortune of his Prince's Favour.
Athel.
He is your Rival in Ordelia's Love!
Ord.
Oh! I can't fear a Rival, like Lord Egbert,
When wise Ordelia is to judge betwixt us;
Not that I boast my Merit, but my Love;
And that must be superior; for Loves Flame
Burns dim in Villains, as the Lights burn blue,
When midnight Spirits, in their Walks, approach 'em.
But I delay my Bliss; Love wastes no Time,
And you, who once, felt Hopes, and Fears, like mine,
Will pardon my Impatience.
Elf.
Love befriend you.
[Exit Ordg.
What muse you on, my Lord?
Athel.
Oh! Elfrid! Elfrid!
Elf.
What wou'd my Love?
Athel.
I wou'd be happy Elfrid;
Elf.
I thought, you said, you was so!
Athel.
Yes, I was so,
But oh! I was so says not, that I am.
O! Elfrid, oh, my Bosom Comforter,
Thou dearest, richest Cordial to my Soul!
Thou hast a Sea of Pity, pour it on me,
Shed thy soft Dew of Mercy on my Love,
And oh! forgive the Wretch, who kneels before thee;
[Kneeling.
Elf.
Defend me, Heav'n! his Aspect speaks Distraction!
His Colour comes, and goes, and his Joints tremble!
'Tis Madness sure!
5
Oh! worse than Madness, Elfrid!
For Hope, and Fear wage War, within my Soul,
And tear my Quiet thence.
Elf.
Pray, rise, my Lord,
And let me share your Grief!
Athel.
Wou'dst thou do that,
[Rising.
I shou'd feel none; all Grief that threatens me,
Must wound me either through, or from thy self;
Oh, Elfrid! steel thy Soul with Expectation
Of what wou'd most distract it, for I know thee,
Thou hast no Fault but one, and that's Ambition;
And my curs'd Fate will strike that ill-tun'd String,
Whose Jarr must raise a Discord, worse than Death!
Elf.
If Grief must come by me, rejoice for ever,
I wou'd heap Blessings on you, but all Ills
Be far away, my Lord; This is not Love!
Must I, who never made you sigh in vain,
Unpitied, thus shed Tears, for your Unkindness!
Athel.
Oh, Elfrid! I believe thee chast as Snow,
Soft, as the Morning Breezes of the Spring!
Kind, as the billing Turtles; yet I fear thee;
What will not curs'd Ambition work in Woman!
Ambition first taught Angels to rebell;
Ambition made Eve fall; And sure, my Elfrid!
If ever Woman cou'd resist 'twas she,
Who knew no Pow'r to wish, but was her own!
But I will breathe a Secret thro' thy Soul,
That shall alarm this Enemy to Rest.
Guard thee, my Elfrid! call to thy Assistance
Love, Honour, Pity, All the Charms of Woman;
For thou wilt need them all, to prop Forgiveness!
Elf.
When Love, and Honour leave me, leave me Life,
Or leave me Thou, more dear than Life can be,
Leave me, my Guardian Angel, and my Fame!
Athel.
Oh! Words to palliate Woe! and soften Death!
Sit down, thou, what would'st thou be call'd? Thou Wife!
For Wife, howe'er misunderstood by some,
Is sure the softest Name, that Love can give thee!
Let us sit here; And now, my Elfrid, say,
What wou'dst thou quit to keep thy Athelwold?
6
Why, to keep thee, I cou'd forego my Joy,
Wander from Pleasure, Peace, and Happiness,
But oh! that cannot be, for Peace and Joy,
And everlasting Pleasure dwell in thee.
For thee, were I possess'd of Diadems,
I cou'd exchange my Crowns for Rural Crooks,
And follow grazing Flocks, to follow thee.
Rather than fill a Throne, and reign without thee.
Athel.
Sound, ye harmonious Strings of Nature's Musick,
And strike a Tune of Joy, to rowse my Soul!
And thou, pale Monster Fear! stalk thou away,
And leave my Bosom free for none, but Elfrid;
Oh! thou endearing Specimen of Heav'n!
Thou,—I wou'd call thee somewhat higher still!
But, when my Thoughts search Heav'n for Appellations,
They echo back the Sov'reign Name of WOMAN;
Thou WOMAN, therefore! Oh! thou loveliest WOMAN!
Elf.
Shall I not know this Secret, gentle Love?
Athel.
Shall I know any thing, unknown to thee!
Thou hast my Soul; thou keep'st my Key of Thought;
How can my Secrets, then, be hid from thee!
Yes! I will tell thee, tho' my Death succeeds it;
Thou know'st, if thou can'st e'er employ thy Thoughts
So ill, as to remember ought of me;
That, just before the Duke, your Father, dy'd,
I came, a Stranger to your House, and you,
Elf.
To practise your engaging Courtly Charms,
Which first won me, and next, my Father's Will,
That, having made a short Return to Court,
You shou'd come back, to Marriage Rites, and me.
Athel.
I did so, Elfrid; and, to bless my self,
Have curs'd my Sov'reign with the Loss of thee;
For, know, the Charmer, who is now my Wife,
Had I been faithful, shou'd have been my Queen,
And shar'd the Bed of Edgar, England's King!
Elf.
What say'st thou, Athelwold, I, Edgar's Queen!
Athel.
Thou wer't still Queen of all his Subject's Hearts;
Fame blew her Trumpet hoarse, to sound thy Beauty;
England, in thee possess'd a Western Magnet,
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Than e'er the Northern Loadstone Needles t'other!
Thy loud-tongu'd Praise, at last reach'd Edgar's Ear;
Edgar! who never heard of Beauty, but he wish'd it!
A Prince, the justest, noblest of the Earth,
In all things, Love excepted! there he falls!
Fickle, and fierce, as raging Whirlwinds blow,
His Love is Lust, base Lust! and thence, his Fire,
Like Heaps of Straw, soon kindles, soon burns out.
Elf.
And is this then the King's just Character;
Athel.
I need not tell thee how he trusted me,
I was the darling Object of his Favour;
One Day he call'd me to him, and spoke thus,
Fame sounds at large—how aged Devonshire
Is blest with matchless Beauty, in a Daughter,
Whose Name is Elfrid—I dare trust your Honour;
Go, see, and judge of her, Men speak so fair,
If she deserves the Character she bears,
I'll make her, what her Merits claim, my Queen.
Elf.
[Aside.]
Fate! what a mighty Fortune have I miss'd!
To Athel.]
So then you came not to our House by Choice,
But, sent, to judge of me?
Athel.
And how I judg'd,
My Sighs, my Looks, my Pray'rs, and Vows inform'd thee!
Elf.
And pray what Answer did you bear the King?
Athel.
Oh! think on all the Arts, that Love can use,
To gain the Object Lov'd! those Arts were mine!
I told him you were fair indeed, and good,
But, far, oh, very far from what Fame spoke you;
'Twas easie then to win on his Belief
For my Advantage, I persuaded him,
You were not fit for Majesty; but said,
I had receiv'd some silent Marks of Favour,
Which gave me room to hope, I might obtain you.
The kind, consenting Prince, who knew you rich,
Made no Denial; I return'd with Joy,
The rest, your self, who crown'd that Joy, can tell.
But, oh! what is to come, I dare not think.
The King! the am'rous King, my Elfrid, comes!
8
Still are your Fears Disturbers of your Rest!
Athel.
I had some Fears, but they are vanish'd now;
Yet oh! my Elfrid, let not Edgar see thee!
Temptation is the Father of all Sin;
Elf.
Nay, now, my Athelwold, you are unkind!
There is no Merit, where there is no Trial;
And, till Experience stamps the mark of Strength,
Cowards may pass for Hero's, Fear for Courage.
Athel.
Woman was made to yield, as well as conquer,
And shou'd not hazard Peace, by meeting Danger!
Elf.
To let thee see, how much I really love thee,
I will, against my very Will obey thee.
Obedience is a galling Weight on Woman,
And leaves no room for Doubt, that Love goes with it.
Athel.
Ordelia, thy kind Sister shall appear,
Ordelia—moderately fair—but good,
Beyond a moderate measure—she shall save me,
She shall consent to personate my Elfrid,
While thou shalt in her Chamber veil thy Sun-shine,
Till, with to morrows Dawn, the King departs.
Elf.
But you forget that Egbert's with the King.
Athel.
He loves your Sister, haste, advise her, Dear,
To work the am'rous Villain into Secrecy.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
My Lord! the King, attended by Earl Egbert,
And some few Guards, this moment are alighting,
At the Court Gate!
Athel.
Oh fly—my Elfrid, fly!
[Exit hastily.
Elf.
[Alone.]
—Why, what a Hill of Glory had I clim'd,
Had not this Athelwold deceiv'd me thus!
A Queen! Oh, Heav'ns! There's something in the Name,
That strikes a kind of unknown Pleasure here,
And says,—A Crown was, what my Stars design'd me!
Well! and it may be yet my Lot! Perhaps
This Athelwold may die! I do not wish it,
He makes a good, dull, faithful, vulgar Husband,
9
But, oh! he wants a Throne for me to shine on!
There's somewhat, very heav'nly in a Throne!
And those are God-like Souls, who burn for Pow'r;
Pow'r is the darling Attribute of Heav'n!
But, ha! they come. Oh, Pow'r, oh, glorious Majesty!
[Exit.
Re-enter Athelwold; the King, Egbert, and Guards.
King.
Nay, nay, my Lord! we know your Modesty,
But we allow it not; when one, so brave,
So just, so wise, so great as Athelwold
Retires to Solitudes, the Court must miss him;
And since you will not visit us, we come
To give you one Nights Trouble for a Punishment.
Athel.
Honours, thus great, and undeserv'd, from Kings,
Shou'd silence Subjects Tongues; and my poor House
Will, from this time, be look'd on, worth Mens Notice,
When they shall know, the Majesty of Edgar,
Was pleas'd to grace its Walls!
King.
Indeed, my Lord!
The Country's happy, whose alluring Groves
Can keep, not shade, a Worth, so bright as yours!
But there's, I think, another Charm, that binds you,
I ought to give you Joy of a new Life.
You married since we saw you!
Athel.
Sir, I did;
My Wife will hear the Honour, we receive,
With too much Gratitude and Duty, Sir,
To be long absent from your Princely Feet.
King.
Believe us, Athelwold, we hold you dear;
Nor can forget your Merit, in your Absence.
I must ask Leave to be retir'd a while,
Till I dispatch some Letters.
Athel.
This way, Sir,
Will lead your Majesty to the best Part
Of the poor Pile, you honour with your Presence.
[Exeunt.
We boast no stately Ornaments of Art,
King.
A King's best Lodging is his Subjects Heart.
| Elfrid : or, the Fair Inconstant | |