University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An Avenue leading to a Gothic Castle.
Enter Grey, and First Knight.
Grey.
A messenger dispatch'd by lady Salisbury!

Knight.
And in the specious guise he wore, had pass'd
Unquestion'd, had not I, in happy season,
Approach'd, even as th'unwary centinels
Half op'd the gate. By threats o'eraw'd in part,
In part thro' hope of favour won, he own'd,
At length, by whom employed, whither bent,
And for what purpose.

Grey.
Say—

Knight.
Strait to repair
To Marlborough; where now, as fame reports,
Our king resides, with all his peers; and there
To seek the lord de Warren; to what end
This paper will, as I suppose, inform you—
I was about to bear it to lord Raymond.

Grey.
That care be mine. Henceforward it concerns
Us near, our vigilance be doubly firm.

[Exit Knight.
Grey
reads.

The countess of Salisbury, to her illustrious Friend, the lord de Warren.

“I have lost my husband—Me and my lands
“lord Raymond claims, as by royal grant assigned
“to him. He has banished my train, encompassed
“me with his creatures, and holds me a
“prisoner in my own castle. If the memory of
“thy noble friend be dear to thee, haste and
“rescue the afflicted

ELA.”

How near was Raymond's hope, the beauteous hope
He tended with unceasing care, how near
My rising fortunes marr'd—I like not this:
Her, and her rich domains he wou'd possess;
Yet in his breast there lives that kind of heart
Withholds him from the path that's nearest—He,
That wou'd be great, must first be bold.
I hate those motley'd characters;
Something, I know not what, 'twixt good and ill,
Yet neither absolute: all good, all ill
For me—That day, saith he, that happy day,
Which sees the countess mine, shall amply pay
Thy services: a doubtful balance this
Whereon my fortunes hang—This way he moves;
And, by his gait and gesture, ill at ease—
We must be firm;
My hopes demand it, and the time admits
No weak, no scrupulous delay—

Enter Raymond.
Raymond.
To sue,
But ever without grace to sue—oh Grey!
I am even weary of the vain pursuit.

Grey.
It is, in truth, my lord, an irksome labour.

Raymond.
But now I cast me at the fair one's feet;
Pleaded my passion with whatever arts
Might best the gentle purpose aid; but she,
Instead of such return as I might hope,
Repaid me with an eye of cold contempt.
Of her late gallant lord she spoke; his merits
In opposition hateful plac'd to mine.
Urg'd, then, with recollection of her wrongs,
Like the loud torrent, with steep winter rains
O'ercharg'd, in all the loose, ungovern'd sway
Of wrath and indignation, she assail'd me.

Grey.
And did my lord, in this unseemly fashion,
Hear all with equal temper? Wak'd he not
With such a peal?

Raymond.
Thou know'st not what it is
To love like me—Long time (for passion now
Had shed o'er all her charms a brighter glow,
That like Jove's daughter most she look'd, severe
In youthful beauty) long I lay, o'eraw'd
And silenc'd as by some superior being;
Till wak'd by pride, quick from the floor I sprung;
Warn'd her how she provok'd my power;
'Twas great, 'twas now within these walls supreme:
I long had gently woo'd her, but that love,
Tho' patient, would not always brook disdain.

Grey.
'Twas well: and what ensu'd?

Raymond.
Silence at first,
Then tears; bright drops, like May-morn dews that fall
From the sweet blossom'd thorn. Back in her chair
She sunk—Oh! had you seen her then, dissolv'd
In all the soft, the lovely languishment
Of woe; while at her knee, with countenance
Most piteous stood her beauteous boy, and look'd
As if each tear, which from his mother fell,
Wou'd force a passage to his little heart—
I fled; else had I kneel'd, and wept myself
As well as she.

Grey.
O shame to manhood!—suits
Such weakness with our hopes?

Raymond.
She must, she must,
Yes, Grey, she must be mine—and yet—yet fain
Wou'd I persuade the fair one, not compel.

Grey.
Say to what purpose then was seizd her castle?
When she your suit rejected, then perforce
To claim her as the gift of royal favour!
To lord it here so long, and now to falter—
My lord, my lord, the mound is overleapt,
What now forbids but without further pause
To crop the rich, the golden fruits within?

Raymond.
Ungracious is the love reluctance yields;
And cold, cold even as marble is the maid,
Who comes unwilling to another's arms.

Grey.
In brief, would you partake the lady's bed?

Raymond.
What means the question?

Grey.
Look on that, my lord:
Better reluctant come, than not at all.

Raymond.
—How came this to your hand?

Grey.
By one whose cares
Of thee demand no trivial recompence.
His wakeful eye it was descry'd the bearer;
Else had the watch with all their vigilance
Prov'd insufficient.

Raymond.
My better angel interpos'd.

Grey.
Had this it's purpos'd scope attain'd—my lord,
Were this but whisper'd in our Henry's ear—
He gave the royal nod you say: true, he
Permitted, but thus far; that you should woo
The lady, and her choice approving, wed;
No more. By us the public ear is told
She hath approv'd: our artifice hath spread
The rumour; and with some it is receiv'd
That she is now your full-espoused consort:
But truth, my lord, long cannot rest conceal'd;
It will abroad, of that be sure, in spite
Of all our studied wiles.

Raymond.
What's to be done?

Grey.
'Tis critical; and must be manag'd nicely—
But see, with Eleanor the countess comes;
And in her hand the young lord William. Here
Her custom is to walk: retire we now;
And thou observe the counsels of a friend.

[Exeunt ambo.]
Enter Lady Salisbury, Lord William, Eleanor.
Lady Salisbury.
Talk'st thou of patience? What! the very roof,
That shou'd protect and shelter me, become
My prison! Aw'd, and threatened, as I am,
By this intruder!—Cruel destiny!
Had I not more than common griefs before?

Eleanor.
In evil hour thy hospitable gates
Were open'd to receive him.

Lady Salisbury.
Unguarded that I was!—But who could then
Foresee the purpose of his coming?

Eleanor.
Who
Can think even yet, that once repuls'd, he e'er
Wou'd thus presume?

Lady Salisbury.
Is there no succour then?
No generous hand to vindicate my wrongs?—
Oh Salisbury! Salisbury! why, if yet thou liv'st—
Fond hope! he lives not, else with speed of thought
Would he repair to his afflicted Ela.

Eleanor.
Why, dearest lady, will you yield you up
A prey to purpos'd sorrow? Time is fruitful;
And the next hour perhaps may bring thee comfort.

Lady Salisbury.
Day after day I have watch'd the joyless hours;
Night after night, when some fleet courier sent
Before perchance, or letter fraught with sweet
Assurance of his safety might appear;
Five tedious moons have pass'd since first were told
The dismal tidings; no fleet courier sent
Before, alas! nor letter with such sweet
Assurance yet appears—He's gone, he's lost!
And I shall never, never see him more.

Eleanor.
Ah! suffer not the leaden hand of cold
Despair thus weigh thee down; I yet have hope—

Lady Salisbury.
Away with hope, away. No, no; full loud,
As I remember, and outrageous blew
The storm, that even the solid fabric shook
Of yonder walls; deep-rooted oaks gave way;
Churches and spires were overturn'd; nor even
The peasant's humble roof escap'd that hour.
The fleet, save only one, one luckless ship,
Have all return'd; my lord nor hath been seen,
Alas! nor ever heard of since the storm.

Eleanor.
Heaven visit her affliction, and bestow
That patience which she needs.

Lady Salisbury.
No, Eleanor: no more shall he
To these deserted walls return. No more
Shall trophies, won by many a gallant deed,
Thro' the long hall in proud procession move;
No more fair Salisbury's battlements and towers
Re-echo to th'approaching trumpet's voice.
Never, oh! never more shall Ela run
With throbbing bosom at the well-known sound,
T'unlock his helmet, conquest plum'd, to strip
The cuishes from his manly thigh, or snatch
Quick from his breast the plated armour, wont
T'oppose my fond embrace—Sweet times farewel,
These tender offices are now no more.

Lord William.
Mother, why do you speak so? You make me sad.

Lady Salisbury.
It is too soon, my child, for thee to know
What sadness is.

Lord William.

Will not my father come home soon? Eleanor
told me he wou'd: she wou'd not tell a lye.

Lady Salisbury.
No, love.

Lord William.
Then he will come.

Lady Salisbury.
Sweet innocence! I fear he will not.

Lord William.
I hope he is not sick.

Lady Salisbury.
—Go, lovely pratler, seek thy toys; go, go.

Lord William.
I will, good mother; but don't be sad, or I shall be so too.

[Exit.
Lady Salisbury.
Sweet state of childhood! unallay'd with cares;
Serene as spring-tide morn, new welcom'd up
With bleat of lamb, with note of woodlark wild.
With riper years come passions turbulent
And rude, a baleful crew, unnumber'd as
The forest leaves that strew the earth in autumn.
When happiness is round thee, when thou art on
The lap of downy ease, when thou art cherish'd
In the fair bosom of unruffl'd joy,
Comes a fell hand, dashes thee rudely down,
And leaves thee to despair.

Eleanor.
Cease,
Cease, lady, to afflict thee: Raymond may,
I trust he will, e'er long retire, and give
Thee ease again—But hither comes his minion:
Much with his lord he can; and, as he lists,
To purposes of good or ill o'er-rules
His mind: if he accost thee, speak him gently.
Enter Grey.
As you are fair above all other women,
So may you lend to that I would implore
A gracious ear.

Lady Salisbury.
Without more preface, briefly speak thy suit.

Grey.
To love, but ne'er to reap of love the sweet
Returns, is sure the worst of ills,

Lady Salisbury.
And what of that?

Grey.
Tho' love denied, yet pity may do much
To soothe the wound that beauty gives—In brief,
Thou much-rever'd! my suit is in behalf of Raymond.

Lady Salisbury.
Then I will spare us both some cost
Of words—In brief, I love him not, nor pity:
So tell thy lord—I would be private—hence.

Grey.
Your words are brief indeed; but of that kind
I dare not, must not bear my lord.

Lady Salisbury.
Must not!

Grey.
'Tis cruel toward the man who loves so fondly.

Lady Salisbury.
Doth he assume the specious name of love?
Love is a bright, a generous quality,
Heaven gave to noble minds; pure, and unmix'd
With every grosser stuff; a goodly flower,
Shoots up and blossoms in great souls alone.

Grey.
The mind, th'exalted soul thou nam'st, is his.
Lives there a youth more gentle of condition,
In fair accomplishments more grac'd, admir'd?
If beauty sway thy fond regards, if wealth,
I know not in fair England one with him
Can vie.

Lady Salisbury.
Is then the star, the peerless star,
That late was gaz'd on, quite obscur'd? What tho'
He may have set, hath he not left a train
Of glory in the skies?—Th'illustrious name
Of Salisbury yet survives—If wealth—but mark me;
Were he of all the wealth possess'd from where
Th'East Indian bids the sun good-morrow, to where
Th'Atlantic in her wide-extended lap
Receives him setting; cou'd he in each hand
A thousand sceptres place, not all shou'd bribe
Me to his bed—No, Salisbury! thou hast been
The husband of my early love; with thee,
That love was all interr'd; and when I pluck
It forth again, gape wide that earth wherein
Thou liest, quick snatch me from the light of Heaven,
And swallow me within her lowest prison!

Grey.
For pity's sake yet soften; for, oh sure
No former love could ever equal this;
No bosom boast the generous flame wherewith
Lord Raymond glows for thee, admired fair!

Lady Salisbury.
Hear this, ye Heavens, and grant me patience,—where's
My people? where the freedom that I late
Was blest with? Wherefore is my palace throng'd
With strangers? Why, why are my gates shut up
And fortified against their rightful mistress?

Grey.
Madam—

Lady Salisbury.
Is this the love he boasts?
Is this the fair-accomplish'd, this the gentle youth?
Must I recall to mind—Came he not then
Even while the memory of my dear lov'd lord
Was green; while sorrow yet was in mine eyes?
—Tears! ye will choak me—Came he not even then,
And broke in on my sorrows? Like a spoiler
He came, heap'd up the measure of my woes,
Added new anguish to th'afflicted heart,
And swell'd the current of the widow's tears.

Grey.
Madam, where he that spoiler thou proclaim'st,
He need not now thus humbly sue for that
His power long since, unask'd might have extorted.

Lady Salisbury.
Ha!—what art thou that thus presum'st to threaten?
Extorted!—Hence thou rude one, bolder even
Than him who calls thee slave.

Grey.
Madam you speak
As though you knew me not.

Lady Salisbury.
I know thee well—
To what concerns lord Raymond I have spoke,
My final purpose fix'd:
For thee, I charge thee shun my presence; hence,
And learn the distance that befits thy calling.

Grey.
Not ere I speak more fully to the cause—
Nay, lady, look not on me with so stern
An eye, but give me patient hearing—

Lady Salisbury.
No more; I'll hear no more.

Grey.
Not hear!—When next we meet—I will be heard.

[Exit.]
Lady Salisbury.
What meant he, Eleanor?—I will be heard.

Eleanor.
Alas! I know not: but a soul he hath,
Prompt and alert to acts of desperate thinking.
Hardly thou art beset; O lady, lend
An ear to what thy Eleanor would counsel.
When next he come (for that he hath obtain'd
Of Raymond leave to woo thee to his will,
I know) assume a gentler carriage. Seem
As tho' you may hereafter to his suit
Incline. Be rul'd: necessity oft lends
A sanction to deceit. Demand a pause:
My lord of Salisbury's fate yet unconfirm'd
Shall add thereto a seeming colour. Chance,
Mean time, that comes or soon or late to all,
To thee may come with unexpected succour.

Lady Salisbury.
—Sincerity,
Thou spotless as the snowy-vested hill,
Forgive me, if by lawless power constrain'd,
I turn this once from thy long-trodden path;
It must be so—
Oh Salisbury! Salisbury! thou lamented shade!
Descend from those pure mansions, where thou sitst
Exalted; hover o'er me; and as thou
Wert wont, support me in this hour of trial.

[Exeunt ambo.]