University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE within the Castle.
Enter Raymond and Grey.
Raymond.
I see nor cause my joys to check, nor boast
As yet securely.

Grey.
Think, that Hope, the young,
The merry-minded fair, exalts us oft,
To make our fall the greater.

Raymond.
Why this cold,
This prudent maxim?—

Grey.
Mark the wary falcon;
Forward he shoots his piercing eye, and kens
The quarry from afar; like his be thine—
Perhaps, my lord, mine are but nicer fears,
Wak'd in a heart o'er anxious of thy welfare;
Yet hath the younger of those strangers rais'd
In me suspicions of alarming hue,
Lest, underneath this honest guise, there lurk
Some subtle mischief. Lady Salisbury saw him:
Their conference, as 'twas long, so was it held
In secret; wou'd we had been present.

Raymond.
Granting
Our presence had been seemly, wherefore spoke
You not this counsel ere they met?

Grey.
I saw not then the danger.
His honest carriage, and the recent change
Within her mind had lull'd each nicer fear.

Raymond.
'Till now unmov'd, say what hath wak'd suspicion?

Grey.
I know not well—wou'd she were firmly thine,
Beyond the reach and grasp of wayward fortune.
The knight, whose office was to introduce
Him to the countess, he dismiss'd ere they
Approach'd th'apartment.

Raymond.
Indeed!

Grey.
This, too—Is it not strange, tho' night, and this
Thy proffer'd roof, invited his sojourn,
He wou'd not wait th'approach of morning?

Raymond.
Are they gone?

Grey.
Amid th'unguarded joy
Which held us, they escap'd unheeded.

Enter Second Knight.
Knight.
My lord,
Two strangers, it is said, in Palmer's weeds
Attir'd, have lodg'd since morning in a hut;
You may have mark'd it in the darksome glen,
Near to the forest of wild oaks, just where
The stream white rushes down the shelving cliff.

Raymond.
Since morning say'st thou?

Knight.
Further I have learn'd,
Their guise, as doth appear from certain words
O'erheard, is borrow'd with design to mask
Some secret purpose.

[Exit.]
Grey.
It must be so;
Their close-concerted arts have foil'd our caution.

Raymond.
They scarce have measur'd half the precincts yet,
Send forth my knights, we will pursue them.

Grey.
No: one way there is, and only one—But hence,
I hear the countess—She loves lord William well;
And much, much will a pious mother sure,
To save an only son.

[Exeunt ambo.]
Enter Lady Salisbury and Eleanor.
Lady Salisbury.
In spite of this event, this blest event,
That hath restor'd the lord of this fond bosom,
Yet is my mind with doubts and fears disturb'd;
With images and wild conceits, of form
Unsightly; such as hover oft in dreams
About the curtains of the sick—Alas!
Whilst others joy within the friendly roof,
Of night regardless and the storm that beats
Without, he struggles hard; or hies at best
To the dank shelter of the dripping wood.
Besides what unknown perils may assail him,
Unnaided thus against whatever ill—
Wou'd he had waited the return of morn.

Eleanor.
The night is dark indeed, the tempest high;
But hear me, lady, hear a pious lesson,
Which thy own lips to me have oft repeated:
There is a Power unseen, whose charge it is,
With ever wakeful eye to watch the good;
And peaceful ever is that breast, which trusts
In his angelic guard—The hand
Of Heaven, that hitherto hath been his shield,
Will minister safe convoy to his steps,
Tho' night and darkness shed their thickest gloom.

Lady Salisbury.
Misdeem not of my fears; or think I speak,
As over diffident of that same power
Thou nam'st, whose all surveying eye wakes ever;
Clear, unobstructed, either when the sun
Shrowds in night's shadowy veil, or when at noon
He shines reveal'd on his meridian throne.
But where's the bosom throbs not, if it hope?
Hope ever is attended with a train
Of wakeful doubts; and where the sweet nymph harbours,
There flutters also her pale sister Fear—
But hence, as was our purpose, to the shrine;
Where, as is meet, for my dear lord restor'd
I will with grateful adoration—

Enter Lord William.
Lord William.

Mother—I fain would know that stranger, who
he is that just now met me.

Lady Salisbury.

And wherefore would'st thou know him, love?

Lord William.

Gentle he was, and mild, not like those grimfac'd
ones I see here every day: and such kind
things he did, as make me love him dearly.

Lady Salisbury.

Say, what were they?

Lord William.

He kiss'd me, strok'd my head, and patted me
upon the cheek, and said—

Lady Salisbury.
What said, he, sweet?

Lord William.

He said—Heaven bless thy beauteous head,
sweet boy!

Enter Grey.
Grey.
Permit me, honour'd dame, I have a word
Or two, that claims thine ear.

Lady Salisbury.
Then but a word;
My present cares ill brook long interruption.

Grey.
Behold the blossom of the spring, how fair!
Yet in his velvet bosom lurks the worm,
And hourly wastes him of his choicest sweets;
Not less a foe is slow-consuming grief
To beauty—
You may remember when we last conferr'd
The gracious purport of your words to what
Concern'd lord Raymond, when you taught his suit
To hope a prosperous issue; thus by me he speaks:
In the recesses of the hallow'd shrine,
Where with him stands the sable-vested priest,
He waits thy coming; there with pious vows
Exchang'd even now to consecrate thee his.
May every rose lip'd son of light look down,
And smile propitious on the joyful hour!

Lady Salisbury.
Is this a season meet for a such a theme?

Grey.
For gracious acts all seasons should be meet;
Heaven shews the bright example; ever prompt
T'incline when virtue lifts her suppliant eye.
But say, that for the present he forbore
His earnest suit, say, shall tomorrow make
Him happy? or tomorrow's night perchance?
Or—what shall be the bright succeeding day?

Lady Salisbury.
I know not: nor will I submit me or
To promis'd league or tye; no, tho' thou shouidst plead
Even with an angel's tongue.

Grey.
You will not, lady!
Know then—this night, this hour must make thee his.

Lady Salisbury.
This night! this hour! who'll make me his this hour?

Grey.
A power, my lady, thou shalt learn to fear:
Force, force superior, that with giant hand
Plucks e'en the monarch from his throne; difrobes
The virgin of her honour, while distress
With streaming eyes and loose dishevel'd hair
Holds forth her supplicating hands in vain.

Lady Salisbury.
I know the monster thou woud'st fright me with,
But I despise his power—Hast thou ne'er heard?
Learn then of me a truth, a golden truth,
Grav'd on the register of hoary Time:
Virtue, with her own native strength upheld,
Can brave the shock of ruffian force, unmov'd
As is the rock, whose firm-set base not all
The tumult of the western surge can shake,
Tho' the fierce winds uplift him to the stars.

Grey.
This is a truth indeed may hold a place
On fancy's tinsel page, what will avail
Thy virtue's boasted powers when thou shalt see
Torn from thy feeble arms all thou hold'st dear?
Yes, lady, thy lord William, thy lov'd son.

Lady Salisbury.
—Ha! save him Heaven!—He dare not sure—and yet—

Grey.
Think, lady, think upon thy son.

Lady Salisbury.
Protect
Him, O ye powers celestial, angels watch
His steps, and hover round his harmless head!

Grey.
Say, will you to the altar, lady?

Lady Salisbury.
Sooner to my grave.

Grey.
Thy obstinacy on his head—Who waits?

Enter a Ruffian.
Lady Salisbury.
What would'st thou here? Hence, execrable wretch!
Thou mak'st my blood run cold.

Lord William.
Oh mother! I am frighten'd.

Lady Salisbury.
Dearest lamb!
Hast thou no terrors for thyself?—Oh Salisbury!—
Hast thou no fears?—Oh! I cou'd tell thee what
Like thunder wou'd apal thy hearing, shrink
Up every nerve within thy blasted frame,
And make thee nothing—Fear not, love.

Grey.
Think not
With empty sounds to shake our purpose, say,
Will you comply?

Lady Salisbury.
My little innocent!
Thou dar'st not, fell as is thy nature—my love!
My life!

Grey.
Convey lord William hence.

Lord William.
Oh! save me, mother, save me.

Lady Salisbury.
Forbear your impious hands, forbear.

Grey.
Or to the altar, or by all therein
I swear, this moment wrests him from thy view.

Lady Salisbury.
Inhuman that thou art! can nothing move
Thee?—Oh! those little harmless looks wou'd preach
Even to the hungry lion, make him pause,
And turn his rage to pity.

Grey.
Nay, madam—

Lady Salisbury.
Forbear, and I will go,—whither?
Distraction! I will rouse
The castle—help—my cries shall tear the roofs.
Help, help, Oh help!—the mother and the son.

Grey.
Your cries are vain—

Enter Lord Salisbury.
Lord Salisbury.
Hold!—what is't ye do?

Grey.
He here again!

Lord Salisbury.
Speak, lady, would these men have wrong'd thee?
Pale fear is on thy cheek—

[Eleanor removes lord William. Exit Grey and Ruffian.]
Lady Salisbury.
Cold horror hath o'ercome me.

Lord Salisbury.
Ever lov'd!
Sure thou wert sore distress'd, I heard thee cry.

Lady Salisbury.
Ah sore distress'd indeed! the hand of peril
Was on me; violence and murder star'd
Me full in all their hideous forms!

Lord Salisbury.
Gracious powers! my fear, my fear, new-wak'd
For thee it was, as Heaven decreed, that urg'd
Me back, and brought me to thy timely rescue.

Lady Salisbury.
'Twas Heaven indeed that brought thee hither now!
Yet I have wonderous fears: thou art but one
Surrounded by a legion of those fiends.

Enter Raymond, Grey and armed Knights.
Raymond.
Where is the audacious man that hath presum'd
To question with such bold intrusion?

Lord Salisbury.
If him you mean
Who took the part of feeble innocence
Against the ruffian's arm,—he's here.

Raymond.
Which of you, slaves have suffer'd him to enter?

Knight.
My lord, he bad us to unbar the gates,
Driven by the tempest, as he said, to seek
The proffer'd shelter he had late declin'd:
Pardon, if deeming him your honour'd guest,
We answer'd him with prompt compliance.

Raymond.
Say what dark purpose is't hath brought thee hither?
Confess thee true, or by the blessed Saints
Thou shalt have cause to mourn the hour which mov'd
Thee, daring as thou art, t'approach our castle.

Lord Salisbury.
To other regions, other climes with threats
Like these, where proud oppression lords it: here
The free-born subject knows not what it is
To be in awe of arbitrary power.

Raymond.
I will know what thou art.

Lord Salisbury.
Even what thou seest
Am I; a man not prompt to offer wrong,
Yet of that frame, I brook not to behold
A noble lady made the prey of ruffians.

Raymond.
Intruder bold as thou art officious! wherefore
Should'st thou concern thee in this lady's cause?

Lord Salisbury.
The cause of innocence should be the cause
Of all—Confess thee, lord, was't nobly done,
To let those bold, those rude assailants loose,
And give a sanction to such foul proceedings?

Raymond.
Pilgrim, hast thou forgot thee? Who am I?

Lord Salisbury.
Who art thou! Ask, ask thy deeds,
And they will answer. The breath of fame hath told
How base they have been; they are gone abroad,
And the pure air is tainted with their foulness.

Raymond.
Presuming slave! whoe'er thou art, for thy
Unlicenc'd bearing dearly shalt thou answer.
Hence with the bold defamer; bind him fast;
Be instant death his lot should he resist—
Seize him, I say.

Lady Salisbury.
Oh spare him, spare—

Lord Salisbury.
Out servile ministers!
Ye know not who it is ye wou'd attempt—
Oppressive lord! whom nor the sacred bond
Of justice, nor of hospitality
Controls, regard me: while with sight
More dire than e'er of Gorgon feign'd, I strike thee—
Now, Raymond, if thou hast of noble fire
One spark within thee, draw thy sword; come on,
And meet my arm; wake all that's man within thee.
Come on—
'Tis Salisbury, Salisbury, calls thee to the strife.

[Flings off his disguise.]
Lady Salisbury.
Heaven shield my dearest lord!

Raymond.
—Salisbury!—then what am I?—

Lord Salisbury.
Vengeance at length is arm'd; thy fate cries out,
And honour, injur'd honour claims aloud
Her victim.

Raymond.
—Secure thou seem'st of fate, but fall who will
A victim, let the sword—

[Drawing.]
Grey.
What would you do?—
[Aside. Holding his arm.]
Look not to know him, all may yet be well—
Be not abus'd, my lord: this is a plot,
Devis'd with purpose to effect thy ruin.

Lord Salisbury.
Ha! what dost say?

Grey.
Believe him not, my lord. He! he lord Salisbury!
'Tis all a trick, an artful cheat, and he
A lyar trac'd—

Lord Salisbury.
Nay then my sword—
—Dishonest knights!

[Going to attack Raymond, he is disarmed.]
Lady Salisbury.
Now by these tears do him no violence;
He is, he is my husband.

Grey.
Regard her not:
He hath conspir'd against thee, and demands
The hand of justice.

Lord Salisbury.
Will ye not ope ye heavens, and instant send
Your thunder to my aid?—Unhand me villains,
Or, by the powers of vengeance, I will dash
You piecemeal.

Raymond.
Bear the traitor hence, and bind
His stubborn arms: bestow the lady safe
Within her chamber.

Lady Salisbury.
I will not part my husband—Hold your hands—
They overpower me—Barbarous, barbarous men!

Lord Salisbury.
Ruffians forbear your more than impious hands.

Lady Salisbury.
Yet hear me, Raymond—by these streaming eyes
Oh! hear me yet—

Raymond.
Away—

Lord Salisbury.
Slaves! murderers!

[They are forced off severally.]
Raymond.
Away with him, away—honour is lost,
And shame must henceforth be my only portion.

[Exeunt omnes.]