University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE, Matilda's Tent, with a distant view of the Camp.
Matilda, Bertha.
Matilda.
O, Bertha! I have had such frightful dreams,
They harrow'd up my soul.

Bertha.
It is the work
Of busy fancy in thy troubled mind;
Give it no heed.

Matilda.
O! it was more, much more
Than fancy ever form'd; 'twas real all;
It haunts me still, and ev'ry circumstance
Is now before me; but I'll tell thee all.
Scarce had I clos'd my eyes, to seek that rest
Which long had been a stranger, when methought
Alone I wander'd thro' a mazy wood,
Beset with thorns and briars on ev'ry side;
The mournful image of my wretched state:
When, from a winding walk, the beauteous form
Of my lov'd Edwin, seem'd to glide across,
And ran with haste to meet me: But, behold!
A tyger rush'd between, and seiz'd upon him:
I shriek'd aloud.

Bertha.
'Twas terrible.

Matilda.
But mark
What follow'd; for a gleam of light broke in,
And sav'd me from despair: When 'cross the glade
A gen'rous lyon, as with pity mov'd
At the unequal conflict, darted forth
And sprung with vengeance on the spotted beast,
Who turn'd with fury on his nat'ral foe,
And loos'd my Edwin; he escap'd, and fled:
I wak'd in agonies.

Bertha.
Be comforted;
The dream presages good: Some gen'rous friend
Shall save him from the perils of the war,
And give him to thy longing arms again.

Matilda.
O, never, never!

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
Noble lady, one
From William's camp, by Morcar's orders sent,
Wou'd crave a minute's conference, and says
He bears some news that may be welcome.

Matilda.
Ha!
From William's camp! O, flatt'ring hope! who knows
But he may bring some tidings of my love!
Tidings, perhaps, I may not wish to hear.
Perhaps he comes to speak of Edwin's death;
Or Edwin's falshood—Be it as it may,
I cannot be more wretched than I am.
Conduct him hither.
[Exit Officers.
O, my flutt'ring heart!
Look yonder! how imagination forms
What most we wish for; see, he comes—It is,
It is my Edwin—Save me, Bertha! O!

(as he enters she faints.
Enter Edwin.
Edwin.
What do I see? Matilda here! she faints!
Am I deserted then? abandon'd, lost,
Betray'd by her I love? She breathes, she lives!
But not for me—for Morcar; for my brother.

Matilda
, (to Bertha.)
Where is he? O! it was delusion all;
The form deceiv'd me. Had it been my love,
He wou'd have flown with rapture to me—See
He stands far off, and will not look upon me.

Edwin.
I dare not.

Matilda.
Is it thus we meet again?
Is this the kind, the tender, faithful Edwin?

Edwin.
Art thou Matilda? Speak; for I am lost
In wild astonishment. It cannot be.
In Morcar's camp! Is this the lovely captive
That I shou'd meet?

Matilda.
All-seeing heav'n,
Bear witness for me: If, from that sad hour
When last we parted, this devoted heart
Hath ever wander'd, ever cast one thought,
Or form'd a wish for any bliss but thee,
Despise me, Edwin; slight me, cast me off
To infamy and shame.

Edwin.
I must, I must
Believe thee; Yet, 'tis strange—when thou shalt know
From whom I came, and what my errand here.
Thou wilt not call me cruel or unkind,
When I shall tell thee I am come to claim
Another's right, O! heav'n, another's right
To my Matilda; to request thy hand
For Morcar.

Matilda.
For thy brother!

Edwin.
Yes, ev'n now
We parted.—Here he told me I should meet
A beauteous captive; little did I think
It was Matilda, whom he long had woo'd;
Whose gen'rous heart, he hop'd, wou'd now accept
A convert made to loyalty by love;
She only waited for that blest event,
With mutual ardour to return his passion.
Can it be thus? Alas! thy presence here
Confirms it but too well.

Matilda.
Appearance oft,
By strange events and causeless jealousy,
Confounds the guilty with the innocent.
But sure my Edwin's noble mind disdains
To cherish low suspicion; 'tis a vice
Abhorrent to thy nature, and Matilda
Will never practice it on thee. True love
Knows not distrust, or diffidence, but rests
On its own faith secure, and hopes to meet
The truth it merits.

Edwin.
Can this be the voice
Of falshood?—Can those lips?—

Matidla.
Mistaken man!
Cou'dst thou e'er credit the delusive tale?
Cou'dst thou believe I had so soon forgot
My plighted faith? But since I am suspected,
Return, and bear this answer back to Morcar.
First say, I thank him for the choice he made
Of thee to be the herald of his love:
For what is there Matilda can refuse,
That Edwin could request?

Edwin.
O! that recalls
A thousand tender thoughts—

Matilda.
Go tell him too,
What e'er I rashly promis'd but to gain
A few short moments, to preserve my king,
And save a father's life, I never meant
To feign a passion which I coud not feel;
For I was destin'd to another's arms;
To one, who now regardless of his vows
To poor Matilda, after three long years
Of cruel absence from her, comes at last
To doubt her honor, and suspect her love.

Edwin.
O! never, never. Sooner will I doubt
The pow'rs of nature, and believe these eyes
Can misinterpret ev'ry object here,
Than think thee false. O! take me to thy arms
And bury all my doubts.—Can'st thou forgive
The jealous warmth of agonizing passion?

Matilda.
I can; I must. But say, to what blest chance
Am I indebted for this happy moment?

Edwin.
The chance of war. I am a pris'ner here,
And but for thee—

Matilda.
When I shall tell thee all
That I have suffer'd since we parted last
Thou wilt not blame, but pity poor Matilda.
Mean while be calm; it is not now a time
For idle doubts and visionary fears
When real dangers threat. I see already,
By thy imperfect tale, what misery
Must soon await us, when the fiery Earl
Shall know this strange event.

Edwin.
And wherefore know it?
Why not conceal our passion, till some means
Of freedom offer?

Matilda.
I abhor the thought.
No, Edwin, no. The crisis of our fate
Approaches. Never let us stain our loves
With crooked fraud and base dissimulation.
Hark! did'st thou hear a voice in yonder grove?
Siward in conf'rence with the haughty Earl;
Behold them—see—they part—and Morcar hastes,
With quick impatient step, to know his fate.
Now summon all thy pow'rs.

Edwin.
I am prepar'd.
He comes: a few short minutes will determine
Whether Matilda plays the hypocrite,
Or is deserving of her Edwin's love.

Enter Morcar.
Morcar.
At length I hope Matilda's satisfy'd.
Edwin has told thee what a sacrifice
My heart hath made. Ambition, glory, pride,
And fierce resentment bend beneath thy pow'r,
And yield the palm to all-subduing love.
Yes, thou hast conquer'd. I am William's friend;
The struggle's past. I have perform'd the task
Assign'd, and come to claim my just reward.

Matilda.
By virtuous acts the self-approving mind
Is amply paid, nor seeks a recompence
From ought beside. You have redeem'd your honor,
Turn'd to the paths of duty, and discharg'd
The debt you owe your country, and your king:
England and William will be grateful for it.
What can you wish for more?

Morcar.
There is a prize,
More welcome far, beyond what e'er a king
Or kingdom can bestow—thy love—

Matilda.
My lord!

Morcar.
If to have sav'd thee from the brutal rage
Of pitiless ruffians; if to have renounc'd
A victor's claim, and be myself the slave
Of her I conquer'd; if to have releas'd
My bitt'rest foe, because ally'd to thee;
If, after all my cruel wrongs, t'accept
The proud oppressor's hand, can merit ought
I am not quite unworthy of the boon.

Matilda.
The good and just, my lord, demand our praise,
And gen'rous deeds will claim the tribute due,
The debt of humble gratitude; but love,
Love, that must mark the colour of our days
For good or ill, for happiness or woe,
'Tis not the gift of fortune, or of same,
Nor earn'd by merit, nor acquir'd by virtue.
All the rich treasures, which, or wealth, or pow'r
Have to bestow, can never purchase that
Which the free heart alone itself must give.

Morcar.
Give it with freedom then to him who most
Hath study'd to deserve—

Matilda.
You talk, my Lord,
As if the right of conquest cou'd bestow
A right more precious, and a dearer claim;
But know, for now 'tis time to throw aside
The veil that long hath hid from Morcar's eyes
The secret of my soul; and say at last
I never can be thine.

Morcar.
Ha! Never! O,
Recal that word!

Matilda.
I must not: Edwin knows
There is a bar of adamant between,
That must for ever part us.

Morcar.
Ha! for ever!
Distraction! can it be? Take heed, Matilda,
I am not to be mock'd thus. O, my brother!
Did'st thou not her? But astonishment
Has clos'd thy lips in silence—Never mine!
And wherefore not be mine?

(turning to Matilda.
Matilda.
Because I am
Another's—Well I know our hapless sex,
So custom wills, and arbitrary man,
Is taught in fearful silence to conceal
The honest feelings of a tender heart;
Else, wherefore shou'd Matilda blush to own
A virtuous passion for the best of men?

Morcar.
A virtuous passion! grant me patience, heav'n!
I am betray'd, abandon'd, lost. Another's!
Some fawning slave, some Norman plunderer,
Rich with the ravish'd spoils of English valour,
Hath snar'd her easy heart, and tortur'd mine.
But I will drag him from his dark abode;
Where e'er he lurks, he shall not 'scape my veng'ance.
Thou hear'st her, Edwin.

Edwin.
Aye: Who wou'd not wish
To hear the voice of nature, and of love,
Thus nobly pleading by the lips of truth?

Morcar.
Amazement! Thou art link'd with the vile slave
That hath usurp'd my right. All, all conspire
To make me wretched.

Edwin.
Why shou'd Morcar think
That lovely maid wou'd act beneath herself,
And make so mean a choice? Now, on my soul,
I doubt not but the object of her love
Hath earn'd the glorious prize, and will be found
Deserving of it.

Morcar.
Thou know'st him then?

Edwin.
I do;
Know him as brave, as noble as thyself:
One who wou'd scorn, howe'er the outward act
Might seem unworthy of him, to do ought
That shou'd disgrace his family and name.
A man he is of yet untainted honour,
Of birth and valour equal to thy own,
Though fortune frowns upon him.

Morcar.
Now by heav'n,
But that I know thy eyes were never blest
With my Matilda's charms, I shou'd suspect
Thou hadst betray'd the sacred trust repos'd
In thy false heart, by unsuspecting friendship,
And wer't thyself the traitor.

Edwin.
Think so still.
Let fancy, ever busy to torment
The jealous mind, alarm thee with the thought
Of seeing him whom thou hast thus revil'd;
Stand forth and dare the proof; suppose him here
Before thee, ready to assert his claim,
His prior right to all the joys that love
And fair Matilda can bestow: Then look
On me, and know thy rival in—thy brother.

Morcar.
Confusion! horror! misery! O, heav'n!
Can'st thou behold such complicated guilt,
Such unexampled perfidy, and yet
With-hold thy vengeance? Let thy light'nings blast
The base betrayer! O, Matilda! false,
Deceitful, cruel woman!

Matilda.
'Tis the lot
Of unprotected innocence to meet
The cruel censure, which to guilt alone
Is due. I've not deceiv'd, I've not betray'd thee;
And wou'd'st thou listen to the artless tale
I cou'd unfold—

Morcar.
Away! I will not hear,
Nor see, nor think of thee. Deceitful villain!
Was this thy kind concern for Morcar's safety?
Was it for this that subtle Edwin came
A willing captive? Boasted William's strength,
And lur'd me no a base, inglorious peace?
That, like a midnight ruffian, he might steal,
Unseen and unsuspected on my love,
And rob me of Matilda.

Edwin.
I abhor
A thought so mean; the bare suspicion stains,
With such foul blot, my honour and my name,
I will not deign to answer thee. My birth
Alone might prove, to any sense but thine,
That I disdain it: 'Tis enough to say
I am Earl Morcar's brother.

Morcar.
I disclaim
All ties of nature, or of friendship with thee,
And henceforth hold thee as my deadliest foe:
As such I will pursue thee, slave, for know
Thou art my pris'ner still—Who waits there? Seize
And guard this traitor—

(Guards enter and seize on Edwin.
Matilda
, (kneeling to Morcar.)
O, my lord! if e'er
Soft pity touch'd thy breast, if e'er thy heart
Felt the warm glow of sympathetic grief
For the unhappy, do not let the rage
Of thoughtless passion urge thee to a deed,
Of horror, which, too late, thou wilt repent.
O, spare a guiltless brother, spare thyself
The bitter pangs of sad remorse that soon
Shall harrow up thy soul, when radient truth
Shall flash conviction on thee. O! forgive
And pity—

Edwin.
Rise Matilda: 'Tis beneath
The dignity of innocence to kneel
Before proud guilt, and supplicate a tyrant.

Matilda
, (rising.)
I feel the just reproach—Forgive me, Edwin;
Henceforth I never will disgrace thy love,
By mean submission. Morcar, if thou hop'st
For future peace, or pardon, set us free.

Morcar.
I'll hear no more, convey her to her tent.

Matilda.
Edwin, adieu! If honour, virtue, truth,
And mutual love, protect the innocent,
We yet shall meet in happiness—farewel!
[Exit Matilda guarded.

Morcar.
Let none have entrance there, but faithful Siward.
Wou'd he were here, that I might pour my sorrows
Into his friendly bosom! O, Siward!
Where art thou?—Ha, he comes!

Enter Siward.
Siward.
My Lord, the troops
Flush'd with their late success, refuse all terms
Of peace with William, and cry out for war
And vengeance—

Morcar.
They shall have it. Now, by heav'n,
Thou bring'st me glorious tidings—well, what more?

Siward.
They have discover'd that the noble pris'ner,
Who had surrender'd, is thy brother Edwin;
This hath alarm'd them; they suspect you both
Of vile collusion, to betray their cause,
And yield them to the tyrant. If, they say,
You mean them fair, let Edwin be confin'd,
And answer for the treason, with his life.

Morcar.
And so he shall: They cou'd not ask a boon
Which Morcar wou'd more readily bestow;
Already their request is granted.—See
The traitor is secur'd. All-seeing heav'n!
Thou see'st how justice will o'ertake the wicked!

Siward.
What can this mean? Since last I saw my friend,
How the fair day that shone so bright upon us,
Is suddenly o'ercast.

Morcar.
Alas, my Siward!
When thou shalt know—but 'tis enough to fay
Matilda's false, and Edwin is—a villain.

Siward.
Amazement! can it be?

Morcar.
It is too true;
And I am lost for ever, O, Matilda!
Deceitful woman!

Siward.
'Tis not now a time
For idle plaints: Consult your safety: Fly
This moment to the camp—your presence there,
And that alone, may quell the rising storm:
Leave Edwin to my care.

Morcar.
I go, my Siward,
Safe in thy friendship; I entrust to thee
My just revenge. Yon moss-grown tow'r that hangs
O'er the deep flood—'tis under thy command—
Place double guard—he must not 'scape—his fate
Shall be determin'd soon. What e'er it prove,
It cannot be more wretched than my own.
[Exit Mor.

Edwin, Siward.
Edwin
. (pointing to the guards.)
Where is my dungeon? My conductors here
Wait but your orders; give 'em their commission;
For you, it seems, Sir, are to execute
The friendly office: Do it, and be happy.

Siward.
Guards, set your pris'ner free—Thou little know'st
Of Siward's soul, to think it joys in ought
That gives another pain. I've learnt too well,
In sad affliction's hard, but wholesome school,
The lesson of humanity.

Edwin.
O gen'rous Siward, if thou hast a heart
To feel for others mis'ries, pity mine,
And poor Matilda's: She has not deserv'd
A fate like this.

Siward.
Alas! it rives my soul
To see the tender bonds of amity
Thus torn asunder by the very means,
I fondly thought for ever wou'd unite them;
And the fair structure, which my hopes had rais'd,
Of love and friendship, in a moment shrunk
From its weak base, and bury'd all in ruin.
If thou can'st prove thy innocence, as yet
I hope thou wilt, for in that noble mien
I read a conscious pride, that wou'd not stoop
To ought that's base—Still may I hope to heal
These bleeding wounds, and sooth him to forgiveness.
Mean time be free. Give me thy sacred word,
The soldier's oath, thou wilt be found when e'er
I call upon thee; and yon tent alone
Shall be thy prison; free to range around,
Far as my guard extends.

Edwin.
Accept my thanks,
The humble tribute of a grateful heart;
'Tis all I have to give. The time may come
When Edwin shall repay thee as he ought.

Siward.
Is there ought more, which honour, and the duty
I owe my friend permits me to bestow,
That thou wou'd'st ask?

Edwin.
O, grant me to behold
That injur'd maid, to take my last farewel;
Then act as fate and Morcar shall determine,
I give the pledge of safety thou requir'st,
And will be found—speak, wilt thou listen to me?

Siward.
Of that we'll talk hereafter—come—within
I'll hear thy story—Thou but know'st me yet
As Morcar's friend; hereafter thou may'st find
I am still more the friend—of truth and virtue.