University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE, Matilda's Tent, with a view of the distant country.
Matilda, Bertha.
Matilda.
I thank thee, gentle Bertha, for thy goodness;
If aught cou'd sooth the anguish of my soul,
Or raise it from the horrors of despair
To hope and joy, 'twou'd be thy gen'rous friendship:
But I am sunk so deep in misery,
That comfort cannot reach me.

Bertha.
Talk not thus,
My sweet Matilda; innocence, like thine,
Must be the care of all-directing heav'n.
Already hath the interposing hand
Of providence redeem'd thee from the rage
Of savage war, and shelter'd thee within
This calm asylum. Mercia's potent Earl,
The noble Morcar, will protect thy virtues;
And, if I err not, wishes but to share
His conquests with thee.

Matilda.
O my friend, oft times
The flow'ry path that tempts our wand'ring steps
But leads to mis'ry; what thou fondly deem'st
My soul's best comfort, is its bitt'rest woe.
Earl Morcar loves me. To the gen'rous mind
The heaviest debt is that of gratitude,
When 'tis not in our power to repay it.

Bertha.
Oft' have I heard thee say, to him thou ow'st
Thy honour and thy life.

Matilda.
I told thee truth.
Beneath my father's hospitable roof,
I spent my earlier happier days in peace
And safety: When the Norman conqu'ror came,
Discord, thou know'st, soon lit her fatal torch,
And spread destruction o'er this wretched land.
The loyal Ranulph flew to William's aid,
And left me to a faithful peasant's care,
Who liv'd, sequester'd, in the fertile plains
Of rich Northumbria: There awhile I dwelt
In sweet retirement, when the savage Malcolm
Rush'd on our borders.

Bertha.
I remember well
The melancholy hour. Confusion rag'd
On ev'ry side, and desolation spread
Its terrors round us. How did'st thou escape?

Matilda.
A crew of desp'rate ruffians seiz'd upon me,
A helpless prey: For, O! he was not there,
Who best cou'd have defended his Matilda.
Then had I fall'n a wretched sacrifice
To rbutal rage, and lawless violence,
Had not the gen'rous Morcar interpos'd
To save me: Tho' he join'd the guilty cause
Of foul rebellion, yet his soul abhor'd
Such violation. At his awful voice
The surly ruffians left me, and retir'd.
He bore me, half expiring in his arms,
Back to his tent; with ev'ry kind attention
There strove to sooth my griefs, and promis'd, soon
As fit occasion offer'd, to restore me
To my afflicted father.

Bertha.
Something sure
Was due to gen'rous Morcar for his aid,
So timely given.

Matilda.
No doubt: But mark what follow'd.
In my deliverer too soon I found
An ardent lover, sighing at my feet.

Bertha.
And what is there the proudest of our sex
Cou'd wish for more? To be the envy'd bride
Of noble Morcar, first of England's peers,
In fame and fortune.

Matilda.
Never trust, my Bertha,
To outward shew. 'Tis not the smiles of fortune,
The pomp of wealth, or splendor of a court,
Can make us happy. In the mind alone,
Rests solid joy, and true felicity,
Which I can never taste: For, O, my friend!
A secret sorrow weighs upon my heart.

Bertha.
Then pour it in the bosom of thy friend;
Let me partake it with thee.

Matilda.
Gen'rous maid!
Know then, for nought will I conceal from thee,
I honour Mercia's Earl, revere his virtues,
And wish I cou'd repay him with myself;
But, blushing, I acknowledge it, the heart
His vows solicit, is not mine to give.

Bertha.
Has then some happier youth—

Matilda.
Another time
I'll tell thee all the story of our loves.
But, O, my Bertha! did'st thou know to whom
My virgin faith is plighted, thou wou'd'st say
I am indeed unhappy.

Bertha.
Cou'd Matilda
Bestow the treasure of her heart on one
Unworthy of her choice?

Matilda.
Unworthy! No.
I glory in my passion for the best,
The loveliest of his sex. O! he was all
That bounteous nature, prodigal of charms,
Did on her choicest fav'rite e'er bestow.
His graceful form and sweet deportment spoke
The fairer beauties of his kindred soul,
Where e'vry grace and ev'ry virtue shone.
But thou wilt tremble, Bertha, when I tell thee,
He is Earl Morcar's—brother.

Bertha.
Ha! his brother!
The noble Edwin! Often have I heard
My father—

Matilda.
Did Lord Edrick know him then?

Bertha.
He knew his virtues, and his fame in arms,
And often wou'd lament the dire effects
Of civil discord, that cou'd thus dissolve
The ties of nature, and of brethren make
The bitt'rest foes. If right I learn, Lord Edwin
Is William's firmest friend, and still supports
His royal master.

Matilda.
Yes, my Bertha, there
I still find comfort: Edwin ne'er was stain'd
As Morcar is, with foul disloyalty,
But stands betwixt his sov'reign and the rage
Of rebel multitudes, to guard his throne.
If nobly fighting in his country's cause,
My hero falls, I shall not weep alone;
The king he lov'd and honour'd, will lament him,
And grateful England mix her tears with mine.

Bertha.
And doth Earl Morcar know of Edwin's love?

Matilda.
O, no! I wou'd not for a thousand worlds
He shou'd suspect it, lest his fiery soul
Shou'd catch th'alarm, and kindle to a flame
That might destroy us all.

Bertha.
I know his warmth
And vehemence of temper, unrestrain'd
By laws, and spurning at the royal pow'r
Which he contemns, he rules despotic here.

Matilda.
Alas! how man from man, and brother oft
From brother differs! Edwin's tender passion
Is soft and gentle as the balmy breath
Of vernal zephyrs; whilst the savage north,
That curls the angry ocean into storms,
Is a faint image of Earl Morcar's love:
'Tis rage, 'tis fury all. When last we met
He knit his angry brow, and frown'd severe
Upon me; then, with wild distracted look,
Bade me beware of trifling with his passion,
He wou'd not brook it—trembling I retir'd,
And bath'd my couch in tears.

Bertha.
Unhappy maid!
But time, that softens ev'ry human woe,
Will bring some blest event, and lighten thine.

Matilda.
Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love.
Haply thy tender heart hath never felt
The tortures of that soul-bewitching passion.
Its joys are sweet and poignant, but its pangs
Are exquisite, as I have known too well:
For, O! my Bertha, since the fatal hour
When Edwin left me, never hath sweet peace,
That us'd to dwell with all its comforts here,
'E'er deign'd to visit this afflicted breast.

Bertha.
Too plain, alas! I read thy sorrows; grief
Sits in sad triumph on thy faded cheek,
And half obscures the lustre of thy beauties.

Matilda.
Talk not of beauty, 'tis our sex's bane,
And leads but to destruction. I abhor
The fatal gift. O! would it had pleas'd heav'n
To brand my homely features with the mark
Of foul deformity, or let me pass
Unknown, and undistinguish'd from the herd
Of vulgar forms, save by the partial eye
Of my lov'd Edwin; then had I been blest
With charms unenvy'd, and a guiltless love.

Bertha.
Where is thy Edwin now?

Matilda.
Alas! I know not.
'Tis now three years since last these eyes beheld
Their dearest object. In that humble vale,
Whence, as I told thee, Malcolm's fury drove me,
There first we met. O! how I cherish still
The fond remembrance! There we first exchang'd
Our mutual vows, the day of happiness
Was fixt; it came, and in a few short hours
He had been made indissolubly mine,
When fortune, envious of our happiness,
And William's danger, call'd him to the field.

Bertha.
And since that parting have ye never met?

Matilda.
O never, Bertha, never but in thought.
Imagination, kind anticipator
Of love's pleasures, brings us oft' together.
Oft' as I sit within my lonely tent,
And cast my wishful eyes o'er yonder plain,
In ev'ry passing traveller I strive
To trace his image, hear his lovely voice
In ev'ry sound, and fain wou'd flatter me
Edwin still lives, still loves his lost Matilda.

Bertha.
Who knows but fate, propitious to thy love,
May guide him hither.

Matilda.
Gracious heav'n forbid!
Consider, Bertha, if the chance of war
Shou'd this way lead him, he must come in arms
Against his brother: Oh! 'tis horrible
To think on. Shou'd they meet, and Edwin fall,
What shall support me? And if vict'ry smiles
Upon my love, how dear will be the purchase
By Morcar's blood! Then must I lose my friend,
My guardian, my protector—ev'ry way
Matilda must be wretched.

Bertha.
Is there ought
In Bertha's pow'r?

Matilda.
Wilt thou dispatch, my friend,
Some trusty messenger with these?—Away.
(gives her letters.
I'll meet thee in my tent—farewel.

[Exit Bertha.
Matilda
. (alone.)
Mean time
One hope remains, the gen'rous Siward—he
Might save me still. His sympathetic heart
Can feel for the afflicted.—I have heard,
(Such is the magic pow'r of sacred friendship)
When the impetuous Morcar scatters fear
And terror round him, he, and he alone
Can stem the rapid torrent of his passion,
And bend him, tho' reluctant, to his will;
And see, in happy hour, he comes this way.
Now fortune, be propitious! if there be,
As I have heard, an eloquence in grief,
And those can most persuade, who are most wretched,
I shall not pass unpitied.

Enter Siward.
Siward.
Ha! in tears,
Matilda! What new grief, what cruel foe
To innocence and beauty, thus cou'd vex
Thy gentle spirit?

Matilda.
Canst thou ask the cause,
When thou behold'st me still in shameful bonds,
A wretched captive, friendless and forlorn,
Without one ray of hope to sooth my sorrows.

Siward.
Can she, whose beauteous form, and fair demeanor,
Charm ev'ry eye, and conquer ev'ry heart,
Can she be wretched? can she want a friend,
Whom Siward honours, and whom Morcar loves?
O! if thou knew'st with what unceasing ardor,
What unexampled tenderness and truth,
He doats upon thee, sure thou might'st be wrought
At least to pity.

Matilda.
Urge no more, my Lord,
Th'ungrateful subject; but too well I know
How much thy friend deserves, how much, alas,
I owe him!—If it be Earl Morcar's wish
To make me happy, why am I detain'd
A pris'ner here: Spight of his solemn promise
He would restore me to my royal master,
Or send me back to the desiring arms
Of the afflicted Ranulph, who in tears
Of bitt'rest anguish, mourns his long-lost daughter?
Surely, my Lord, it ill becomes a soldier
To forfeit thus his honor and his word.

Siward.
I own it; yet the cause pleads strongly for him.
If by thy own too pow'rful charms misled,
He deviates from the paths of rigid honour,
Matilda might forgive. Thou know'st he lives
But in thy smiles; his love-enchanted soul
Hangs on those beauties he wou'd wish to keep
For ever in his sight.

Matilda.
Indulgent heav'n
Keep me for ever from it! O, my Lord!
If e'er thy heart with gen'rous pity glow'd
For the distress'd; if e'er thy honest zeal
Cou'd boast an influence o'er the man you love;
O! now exert thy pow'r, assist, direct,
And save thy friend from ruin and Matilda.
There are, my Lord, who most offend, where most
They wish to please. Such often is the fate
Of thy unhappy friend, when he pours forth
His ardent soul in vows of tend'rest passion;
'Tis with such rude and boist'rous violence
As suits but ill the hero or the lover.

Siward.
I know his weakness, know his follies all,
And feel 'em but too well: He loves with transport,
And hates with fury. Warm'd with fierce desire,
Or strong resentment, his impetuous soul
Is hurried on, 'till reason quits her seat,
And passion takes the loosely-flowing rein;
Then all is rage, confusion, and despair.
And yet, when cool reflection hath remov'd
The veil of error, he will weep his faults
With such a sweet contrition, as wou'd melt
The hardest heart to pity and forgiveness.
O! he has virtues that may well attone
For all his venial rashness, that deserve
A sov'reign's love, and claim a nation's praise;
Virtues that merit happiness and thee.
Why wilt thou thus despise my noble friend?
His birth and fortune, with the rank he bears
Amongst the first of England's peers, will raise thee
As far above thy sex, in wealth and pow'r,
As now thou art in beauty.

Matilda.
O, my Lord!
'Tis not the pride, the luxury of life,
The splendid robe and glitt'ring gem, that knits
The lasting bonds of mutual happiness:
Where manners differ, where affections jarr,
And will not kindly mix together, where
The sweet harmonious concord of the mind
Is wanting, all is misery and woe.

Siward.
By heav'n, thou plead'st thy own and virtue's cause,
With such bewitching eloquence, the more
Thy heart, alarm'd by diffidence, still urges
Against this union with my friend, the more
I wish to see him blest with worth like thine.

Matilda.
My Lord, it must not be; for grant him all
The fair perfections you already see,
And I cou'd wish to find, there is a bar
That must for ever dis-unite us—Born
Of Norman race, and from my earliest years
Attach'd to William's cause; I love my king
And wish my country's peace: That king, my Lord,
Whom Morcar wishes to dethrone; that peace
Which he destroys: Had he an angel's form,
With all the virtues that adorn his sex,
With all the riches fortune can bestow,
I wou'd not wed a traitor.

Siward.
Call not his errors by so harsh a name;
He has been deeply wrong'd, and souls like his,
Must feel the wounds of honour, and resent them.
Alas! with thee I weep my country's fate,
Nay wish, perhaps, as well to William's cause,
And England's peace, as can the loyal daughter
Of gallant Ranulph, and wou'd, therefore, joy
To see Matilda lend a gracious ear
To Morcar's suit. Thy reconciling charms
Might sooth his troubled soul, might heal the wounds
Of bleeding England, and unite us all
In one bright chain of harmony and love.
The gallant Edwin too.

Matilda.
Ha! what of him?
Know'st thou that noble youth?

Siward.
So many years
Have past since last we met, by diff'rent views,
And our unhappy feuds, so long divided,
I shou'd not recollect him; but report
Speaks loudly of his virtues. He, no doubt,
If yet he lives—

Matilda.
Yet lives!—Why, what, my Lord?

Siward.
You seem much mov'd.

Matilda.
Forgive me, but whene'er
This sad idea rises to my mind,
Of brother against brother arm'd, my soul
Recoils with horror.

Siward.
'Tis a dreadful thought:
Wou'd I cou'd heal that cruel breach! but then
Thou might'st do much, the task is left for thee.

Matilda.
For me? Alas! it is not in my pow'r.

Siward.
In thine, and thine alone. O think, Matilda!
How great thy glory, and how great thy praise,
To be the blessed instrument of peace;
The band of union 'twixt contending brothers.
Thou see'st them now like two descending floods,
Whose rapid torrents meeting, half o'erwhelm
The neighb'ring plains: Thy gentle voice might still
The angry waves, and bid their waters flow
In one united stream, to bless the land.

Matilda.
That flatt'ring thought beams comfort on my soul,
Amidst my sorrows; bear me witness, heav'n!
Cou'd poor Matilda be the happy means
Of reconcilement: Cou'd these eyes behold
The noble youths embracing, and embrac'd
In the firm cords of amity and love.
O! it wou'd make me ample recompence
For all my griefs, nor wou'd I more complain,
But rest me in the silent grave, well pleas'd
To think, at last, I had not liv'd in vain.

Siward.
Cherish that virtuous thought, illustrious maid,
And let me hope my friend may still be happy.

Matilda.
I wish it from my soul: But see, my Lord,
Earl Morcar comes this way, with hasty steps,
Across the lawn. I must retire: Farewel!
You'll not forget my humble suit.

Siward.
O! no,
I will do all that loveliest innocence
And worth, like thine, deserve. Farewel: Mean time
Remember, Siward's ev'ry wish, the bliss
Of Morcar, Edwin's life, the public peace,
And England's welfare, all depend—on thee.

[Exit Matilda.
Siward
. (alone.)
There's no alternative but this; my friend
Must quit Matilda, or desert the cause
We've rashly promis'd to support—Perhaps
The last were best—both shall be try'd—he comes.

Enter Morcar.
Morcar.
O, Siward! was not that
The fair Matilda, whom you parted from?

Siward.
It was.

Morcar.
What says she? the dear, cruel maid!
Is she still deaf? inexorable still?

Siward.
You must not think of her.

Morcar.
What say'st thou, Siward?
Not think of her!

Siward.
No. Root her from thy heart,
And gaze no more. I blush to see my friend
So lost to honour: Is it for a man,
On whom the fate of England may depend,
To quit the dang'rous post, where duty calls,
And all the bus'ness of the war, to sigh
And whine in corners for a captive woman?
Resume the hero, Morcar, and subdue
This idle passion.

Morcar.
Talk not thus of love,
The great refiner of the human heart,
The source of all that's great, of all that's good;
Of joy, of pleasure—If it be a weakness,
It is a weakness which the best have felt:
I wou'd not wish to be a stranger to it.

Siward.
Let me entreat thee, if thou valuest life,
Or fame, or honour, quit Matilda.

Morcar.
Yes:
I thank you for your council. 'Tis th'advice
Of cold unfeeling wisdom, kindly meant
To make me prudent, and to leave me wretched:
But thus it is, that proud exulting health
Is ever ready to prescribe a cure
For pain and sickness which it never knew.

Siward.
There too thou err'st; for I have known its joys
And sorrows too. In early life I lost
The partner of my soul. E'er since that hour
I bade adieu to love, and taught my soul
To offer her devotions at the shrine
Of sacred friendship; there my vows are paid:
Morcar best knows the idol of my worship.

Morcar.
I know and love thee for it: But O! my friend,
I cannot force this tyrant from my breast;
E'en now I feel her here, she sits enthron'd
Within the foldings of my heart, and he
Who tears her thence must draw the life-blood from me.
My morning slumbers, and my midnight dreams,
Are haunted by Matilda.

Siward.
To be thus
The slave of one that scorns thee, O! 'tis base,
Mean, and unworthy of thee.

Morcar.
I will bear
That scorn no longer: Thou hast rous'd me, Siward;
I will enjoy the glorious prize; she's mine,
By right of conquest mine. I will assert
A victor's claim, and force her to be happy.

Siward.
That must not be. It ill becomes the man
Who takes up arms against a tyrant's pow'r,
T'adopt a tyrant's maxims; force and love
Are terms that never can be reconcil'd.
You will not, must not do it.

Morcar.
Must not! who
Shall dare oppose me?

Siward.
Honour, conscience, love,
The sense of shame, your virtue, and your friend.
Whilst I have life, or pow'r, I will not see
Matilda wrong'd.

Morcar.
You are her champion then
It seems, her favour'd, happy friend, perhaps
Her fond admirer too. I'll-fated Morcar!
I see it but too well. I'm lost, abandon'd;
Alike betray'd by friendship and by love.
I thank you, Sir, you have perform'd your office,
And merit your reward.

Siward.
Unkind reproach!
Did I for this desert my Sov'reign's cause,
My peaceful home, and all its joys, to serve
Ungrateful Morcar? Why did I rebel?
The haughty William never injur'd me.
For thee alone I fought, for thee I conquer'd;
And, but for thee, long since I had employ'd
My gallant soldiers to a nobler purpose,
Than loit'ring thus in idle camp to hear
A love-sick tale, and sooth a mad man's phrenzy.

Morcar.
You could? Away, and leave me then: With-draw
Your boasted aid, and bid Northumbria's sons
Bend to the tyrant's yoke, whilst I alone
Defend the cause of freedom, and my country.
Here let us part. Remove your loiterers,
And join th'usurper.

Siward.
Mark the diff'rence now
Betwixt blind passion and undaunted friendship:
You are impatient of the keen reproof,
Because you merit: I can bear it all,
Because I've not deserv'd it.

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
Good my Lords
Forgive this rough intrusion, but the danger
I trust, will plead my pardon. As I watch'd
From yonder tow'r, a dusky cloud appear'd,
As if from distant troops advancing, soon
I saw their armour glitter in the sun;
With rapid motion they approach'd; each moment
We must expect them here.

Siward.
Why, let 'em come,
Already I have order'd fit disposal
Of all our little force. Away, good Osmond,
Be silent and be ready.
(Exit Officer.
Now, my friend,
Thou art as welcome to thy Siward's breast,
As dear as ever.—When the man I love,
Walks in the paths of error, I reprove him
With honest freedom; but when danger comes
Upon him, I forget his faults, and flee
With all a lover's ardour to his rescue;
His sorrows and his wants alone remember'd,
And all his follies buried in oblivion.

Morcar.
Thou hast disarm'd me now. This pierces more
Than all the bitter poison of reproach,
Which thou hast pour'd upon me. O! 'twas treason
Against the sacred majesty of friendship,
To doubt thy honour, or suspect thy virtue.
Thou wilt forgive: But when the wounded mind
Is torn with passion, ev'ry touch is pain;
You should not probe so deeply.

Siward.
'Twas my duty.
But come, no more of that. The foe advances.
If we succeed, as my prophetic soul
Foretells we shall—I have some comfort for you—
If not, we'll borrow courage from despair,
And die like men. Thou stand'st upon the rock
Of danger, and the yawning precipice
Opens before us; I will snatch thee from it,
Or leap the gulph, and perish with my friend.