University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

A Sacristy, or Chapel, in the Convent of Feversham.
Leicester
enters.
Once more I've visited the house of death,
Where sleep the ancient fathers of my race,
Patriots and heroes great in peace and war.
There, o'er the tomb of the departed chief,
The plumed casque that brac'd his conqu'ring brow,
And time-worn banner, once so proudly borne,
(Their tatter'd remnants now with dust besprent)
Serve but to shew how death's terrific power
Mocks at our frail memorials. Oh, thou King!
The last which Time shall conquer, why so awful
Here in thy dark domain, where silence reigns,
When in the battle's din I've heard thy screams
Rending the air, and fac'd thee undismay'd?
As I pass'd onwards through the vaulted aisles,
A chilly horror seiz'd on all my frame;
Cold damps bedew'd my brow: methought I felt
The marble pavement, upon which I stood,
Tremble beneath my feet. I look'd, and lo!
I was then treading on the very stone,
That cover'd the remains of my dead wife.
Oh horror, horror! her beloved name
Was trampled by my sacrilegious feet.
Instant I knelt, I sunk upon the spot,
I hid my face between my hands, my tears
Water'd the pavement, my whole heart dissolv'd
In agonizing woe—

Ambrose the Monk appears.
Earl of L.
How now! why this?
Who and whence art thou?

Amb.
My thrice-honour'd lord,
The brethren of the convent have perform'd
Their solemn service for your blest return.

Earl of L.
Where are your masses for her soul, who was
The very soul, that gave this body life,
And dying carried with her all its joys?
Why have you buried her in silent earth?
Where is the epitaph, that speaks her praise
And my affliction? Where the stately tomb,
Around whose sculptur'd sides, angels attend
With wings outspread to waft her soul to bliss?
Is this your care for the lamented wife
Of him, who, though in exile, would have risk'd
The forfeit of his life to close her eyes,
Had not Death struck her with so swift an arrow,
That, ere I knew the danger, all was lost?

Amb.
My lord, your humble beadsmen have not ceas'd
To chaunt their requiems o'er your lady's grave;
Nor have they scrupled, from their public stock,
To rear a costly cœnotaph, the which,
Far in advance, but waits the master's hand
To perfect its adornments, and record
To all posterity the honour'd name
Of Leicester's consort, noble Pembroke's daughter.

Earl of L.
In honouring her they take the surest course
To bind me to their service, and I blush
For my unjust complaint. It now remains
To ask their gracious leave for the investment
Of our young Knight, within these sacred walls,
In form and order, as may best become
The wearer and the donor of the scarf.

Amb.
The holy brotherhood are all prepar'd
To give the ceremony such display
As may evince their duty to the Queen,
And grace the hero, destin'd to obtain
The beauteous hand that decks him for the fight.

Earl of L.
You were his teacher, you array'd his mind
In that rich clothing, which so far outshines
The borrow'd splendour of exterior show.
But zeal for those we love sometimes regards
The claims of others with too little care;
And friendship cunningly inclines the beam,
Whilst hood-wink'd justice cannot spy the fraud.
Now tell me, if you were as much my friend
As you are his, would you not pause in doubt
Upon the measure, which you now promote?
Would you, as counsel to the Earl of Leicester,
Advise him to bestow his only child,
The heiress of his honours, on that youth
Mysterious and unknown? Nay, let me add,
Denounc'd by Scroop in such emphatic terms,
As seem to indicate a conscious dread
Of some tremendous secret unreveal'd.

Amb.
To these in order—I admit my zeal
In its full force, but I deny its power
To warp my mind against the truth and you.
For Reginald, I hold him so ennobled
In his own virtue, that I know no name
Or title, which, although by birth obscure,
He by his character would not exalt;
Therefore I hold him worthy to obtain
That hand in marriage, which your promise gives.
As for Sir Walter Scroop and his protest,
I think him either wandering in his reason,
Or dark in his designs, and what is dark
I've rarely fail'd to find is foul withal.
If he knows aught, that should forbid the marriage,
Why does he hide it; if not, wherefore hint it?

Earl of L.
You've said it, and I close with your reply;
Determin'd that if Reginald returns
From Palestine, his honour unimpeach'd,
He weds my daughter.

Amb.
Bear with me awhile—
Have you consider'd how, by this delay,
You risque the health, the happiness, the life
Of your beloved daughter?

Earl of L.
Hah! the life?—

Amb.
Hear me with patience!—I did say the life;
And, knowing all the force of her affection,
I do repeat, and seriously affirm
My full conviction, that I've us'd no word
Too strong for the occasion.

Earl of L.
That she loves him
I cannot doubt.

Amb.
Her's is no common love,
Be sure of that; no momentary passion.
The blood of Leicester and of Pembroke glows
In her high-swelling heart, and ere it bends
To the strong gust of sorrow, it will break.
But see! they come—I could have spar'd them now.

[Aside.
Reginald and Adela enter.
Lady A.
My father here! We are betray'd, my Reginald.
The monk, the monk, has fail'd us.

[Apart.
Sir R.
Be compos'd!—
Illustrious lord, we are not unprepar'd
For this encounter, nor have far to seek
For him, whom we must thank for the occasion.
As for myself, my course of life is known;
But where to search for those, who gave me life,
If there be one that knows, I am not he.
Lost to all filial feelings, nature still
Speaks in my heart, alive to all the claims
That man is heir to: beauty charms my sight,
Virtue my soul; but when they both unite
In this fair creature, should I be a man,
If I did not confess and feel their power?
This is at once my crime and my defence.
Conscious of my obscurity, I strive,
I struggle with my passion, but in vain;
Destin'd at once to love and to despair.

Earl of L.
Now, daughter, on your part pursue the strain
Of fair confession. I am turn'd to hear.

Lady A.
My part is easy, for my plea is short.
As by his courage I was sav'd from death,
So, if bereft of him, it had been well
That I had died at once, nor been reserv'd
For torments worse than those which I escap'd.

Earl of L.
But you agnize in me a father's right
To guide your judgment, and approve your choice.

Lady A.
When banishment bereft me of your care,
I was an orphan with a living father:
My mother too was lost; Heav'n claim'd its saint,
And took her up from this bad world to bliss.
The Lady Scroop (may blessings light upon her!)
Was kind and tender—She was humble also;
She taught me where to place my just regards,
And virtue for its own sake how to prize.
Then, then it was this noble hero came,
With all his laurels clustering on his brow,
And, with the love of glory at my heart,
(To which, as Leicester's daughter, I was born,)
I gave that heart to him, who, if the world
Had been the prize for valour, would have won it.

Earl of L.
And he shall win fresh laurels to adorn
The nuptial couch, that waits his glad return.

Sir R.
Here I must claim your patience, and demand
Of that good father if he has divulg'd
The secret purpose that has brought us hither.

Amb.
No, no, my son. Where would your question point?

Sir R.
To that tribunal, which in every heart
Conscience erects, and at whose bar arraigns
The meditation of each guilty thought.
My lord, I have no claim upon your promise,
For I came hither to espouse your daughter,
Thereto encourag'd by this pious man.
He'll not deny it.

Amb.
No; I meet the charge,
And trust the motive justifies the deed.

Earl of L.
Can any motive justify a fraud?

Amb.
Was it in Reginald a fraud to save
Your daughter from the flames? By the like fraud
I purpos'd to preserve and bless her life.
If nothing but your promise were oppos'd
'Twixt life and death, death would have been her lot.
I search'd her heart, was inmost with her thoughts;
You only scann'd her with a stranger's eye.
If more there needs for my defence, the Queen
Stands in the peril, and avows the fraud,
If such it can be call'd when own'd by her.

Earl of L.
Have you the proof of this?

Amb.
I have the proof
Imperative, by noble Lacy vouch'd.

Earl of L.
If this Sir Hugh de Lacy shall attest,
And the Queen wills it so, so let it be!
I am content: in me is no delay.
But first in order let the fair betroth'd
Fulfil the royal mandate, and array
Her Knight, or e'er she weds him. That perform'd,
Prepare the altar; let the rites proceed.

[Exit.
Sir R.
Now, Adela, with honour unimpeach'd,
And a clear conscience, I embrace my blessing.

Lady A.
Thus twice by Heav'n and you preserv'd, I claim
The right, which other loyal wives enjoy,
To share the voyage with my wedded knight.

Sir R.
Father, your pardon! I confess I wrong'd you,
When, on the sight of Leicester, I believ'd
You had disclos'd the purpose of our meeting.

Amb.
No more of that: your error has been happy,
And I forgive it; but on this condition,
That you attend me to the oratory;
That so, with hearts prepar'd, you may approach
The sacred altar, there to join your hands.

[Exeunt.
Scene, as at the opening of the play.
Andrew and Griffith meeting.
Grif.

I pray you, honest friend, am I in my
right way to the convent?

And.

Truly, sir, I should doubt it. You are
in your right way to the Holy Land, I perceive,
but whether that will lead you to the convent
may deserve some pause.

Grif.

My question was a simple one. Don't
let me spend more time upon your answer than
I should save by your information.

And.

You shall lose neither time nor patience
by me, sir; for I will attend you to the very
convent's gate. I have been a soldier myself,
and the very sight of a soldier exhilarates my
heart. May I request the communication of
your name and rank?

Grif.

My name is Griffith, at your service: I
have the honour to be attach'd to Sir Hugh de
Lacy, as his body-squire, and my business is
with him.

And.

Sir Hugh de Lacy is a valorous gentleman;
a more accomplish'd knight Christendom
does not boast. He was governor of Ireland,
and I remember to be told, that when O Ruark,
the Irish chieftain, drew him to a parley, and
treacherously attempted to knock out his brains
with his battle-axe, a gallant Welshman of your
name thrust his rapier through the body of the
assassin, and laid him dead at his feet.

Grif.

He did. That Welshman was my father!

And.

Blessed be Saint David for his sake!
Sir, I kiss the very hem of your garment with
the most profound respect.

Grif.

By no means: only put me in my way
to the convent; we can discourse as we walk.

And.

We can so, and truly I shall be happy
to know your sentiments of this war, that is
about to be set on foot in Palestine.

Grif.

The war in Palestine will be a bloody
war.

And.

You are right, perfectly right. Wars
are apt to be bloody. I have been in Palestine;
these eyes have seen Jerusalem.

Grif.

I almost doubt if mine will see the convent.

And.

They need not, sir, for look! your knight
is coming. I told you you would lose no time
with me.

Sir Hugh de Lacy and Sir Walter Scroop.
Sir H.
Griffith, well met! What tidings of our knights?

Grif.
All ready, all accoutred bright in arms,
To grace the ceremony, that invests
Their brave associate with the royal scarf;
They only wait till you shall give the word.

Sir H.
Bear them my greetings back, and say the hour
Is now at hand to put themselves in march.
Tell them withal, that for their courtesy
I render them my thanks with all my heart,
In brotherly regard, and will report
This their kind service, as it well deserves,
To the Queen-regent, my most gracious mistress.

Grif.
This I shall do. What farther?

Sir H.
Nothing more.
Farewell, brave Griffith!—Use your best dispatch.

[Exit Grif.
And.

Most puissant and magnanimous knight,

I humbly crave your pardon, upon the very
knees of my heart, for the deficiency of my
respect, when you were pleas'd to command my
services to conduct you to Sir Walter Scroop;
at which time I had not cognizance of your illustrious
and princely person.

Sir H.

Friend, your behaviour needed no apology.

And.

Oh, my thrice-honour'd sir, if I had
known it was Sir Hugh de Lacy I was speaking
to, I would have strove to put my language into
better trim; for I may say without offence to
any, there is not in the realm a man, who holds
your excellency in more true respect.

Sir W.

Silence that foolish tongue, and know
your distance! you have said enough. Depart!

And.

That you should think I have said
enough, I do not marvel, having yourself said
nothing till this moment. But I depart, and
humbly take my leave.

[Exit.
Sir H.
Sir Walter Scroop, it moves my wonder much,
Whilst all these honours fall so thick upon you,
You are not happy? what's the cause of this?

Sir W.
Our spirits rise and fall without a cause.

Sir H.
The health indeed is out of fortune's reach.
But you are thankful to the bounteous Queen.

Sir W.
Heaven knows my heart.

Sir H.
Lord Scroop of Feversham—
A princely mansion and a rich domain—
These are no trivial boons—

Sir W.
Far, far above
My mean deservings.

Sir H.
I wo'nt call them such.
Your loyalty has stood the test of time
In various trials; but I'll not disguise
How much her Highness holds you in esteem
For your paternal care of the young knight,
Whose fortune she espouses.

Sir W.
What I've done
For him, in Christian charity I've done
As for a creature thrown upon my mercy.
I look'd not to her favour for reward.

Sir H.
And yet, without expecting it, you find
Your charity is no unfruitful virtue.
This creature, that was thrown upon your mercy,
Has brought good fortune with him to your house,
And gives no less protection than he finds.

Sir W.
The Queen is wondrous kind. Were she his mother,
She could not be more zealous.

Sir H.
Hah! his mother?
You say that by the way of illustration;
But 'tis too bold a figure. Such a word,
Dropt in the ears of babblers, might induce
Dangerous conjectures.

Sir W.
Misconceive me not,
Where the deep secret of his birth is buried,
There I have left it.

Sir H.
Let it there abide
Till his great deeds shall throw concealment off,
And he stand forth confest in all his fame.

Sir W.
That day will never come.

Sir H.
That day is come;
If Leicester makes conditions for his daughter,
And states his high nobility debas'd.

Sir W.
He must not dare to think of Leicester's daughter.

Sir H.
Not dare to think! Let me not meet the man,
Yourself excepted, who dares tell me that.

Sir W.
Be witness for me, truth, I did not court
This painful subject: It was forc'd upon me.
But if the Earl of Leicester gives his daughter
To the mysterious youth, whom I have foster'd,
He is disgrac'd, undone, and lost for ever.

Sir H.
I'll hear no more. You neither know of whom
You speak these words, nor who I am that hear them.

The Earl of Leicester enters.
Earl of L.
How now, my friends! why do your eyes exchange
Those angry glances? what has pass'd between you?

Sir H.
Whate'er it was, your coming has dispers'd it,
For in the presence of an honour'd friend
Anger has time to cool.

Earl of L.
Heaven's grace forbid
The falling out of friends, each to the other
So dear, and both to me so truly kind.
In you, Sir Walter, and your worthy Lady,
I see the guardians of my long-lost child;
You nurs'd her native virtues, but you left
Her gentle heart accessible to love.
From you, Sir Hugh de Lacy, I receiv'd
The first impressions, that dispos'd my mind
Towards the young hero, of whose gallant deeds
You made such fair report. In him I saw
That courtly 'haviour and becoming grace,
That mark the august and sacred character
Of chivalry, and when I heard my child
With artless innocence confess her love,
I listen'd without anger, and forgave her;
Nay, more—I promis'd, when the war was over,
I would confirm her choice, and join their hands.

Sir H.
And where's the man, who will presume to say,
That Leicester is degraded by that choice?
You're silent, sir—

[To Sir Walter.
Earl of L.
Be patient, my good friend!
No man will say it; 'twould be now too late.
My sacred word is pledg'd—They wed this night.

Sir W.
Angels of mercy, interpose to save them!

Sir H.
There is my gage! I hurl it to the ground
With indignation, and demand the lists
Against the man, who dares to breathe a word
Injurious to Sir Reginald de Tours;
Whom I pronounce a true and noble knight,
In all points worthy of great Leicester's choice—
[Sir Walter Scroop turns away and exit.
Lo where he goes! 'Tis so detraction shrinks
When truth provokes the appeal.

Earl of L.
Redoubted knight,
If you regard me, take your gauntlet up.
Let us not stain our festival with blood.

Sir H.
My heart goes with my hand in what I've done;
Why should I draw it back? Not I alone,
The Queen herself, who by her scarf creates
Sir Reginald the Servant of her love,
Is pledg'd in honour to defend her knight.

Earl of L.
And who but Leicester shall defend the Queen?
I hold that right as mine. Leave Scroop to me.
If, as report suggests, he is infirm
Of mind and craz'd, he may demand your pity,
He cannot stir your anger.

Sir H.
On that plea
I take my gauntlet up. And now, my lord,
Confiding in your word, (as who may not?)
I shall convoke our knights, who wait my call,
To grace the nuptials of your noble daughter
With their companion, Reginald de Tours.

[Exeunt severally.