 | The Countess of Salisbury |  |
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ACT V.
SCENE a Forest, and Cottage.Enter Ardolf and a Knight.
Ardolf.
The storm is laid; and from the parting clouds
See where the moon steps forth, pale goddess,
Chearing the dark dull brow of haggard night—
This is the forest, that the Cottager's,
Or I do err, th'appointed place of meeting.
Knight.
It is: behold the rock, as was describ'd,
The torrent foaming down his rugged side.
Ardolf.
See, the bright harbinger of morning climbs
The steep of Heaven: they're in the first repose—
Wake, peasant, wake—How balmy sweet the sleep
Of him, who stretches under rustic roof!
His task of labour o'er, content he lays
Him on his rushy couch; nor elves, nor goblins,
The coinage of swol'n surfeit or of guilt,
Approach his peaceful pillow—Wake, I say;
Peasant, awake.
Enter a Peasant from the cottage.
Peasant.
Who calls?
What is your business, that at this late hour
You make the forest echoe with your cries?
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Peasant, are there not certain travellers
Within thy cottage?
Peasant.
No.
What! saw you not
Two stranger pilgrims pass this way?
Peasant.
I did.
Two such arrived e'er the lark had risen
From her moss cabin, or the cock
Gave note of morn.
Ardolf.
Say, gentle cottager,
Where may they now be lodg'd?
Peasant.
Nay, stranger, that
I know not. They went hence about the time
The bat begins her twilight play.
Ardolf.
'Tis strange
They shou'd depart—Left they no message?
Peasant.
None.
They said, they wish'd to see the neighbouring abbey;
But wou'd to-night partake our homely fare.
[Returns into the cottage.
Ardolf.
We now are in the precincts of the castle;
But whether to proceed, or wait, perchance
If they return, I know not—Hark! some one
Approaches—who is there?
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Leroches!
Leroches.
Happily met—where are your friends?
Ardolf.
At hand; and well appointed each—where is my Lord?
Leroches.
In chains; in his own castle basely bound;
Torn from his wife and son—How I escap'd—
But haste; time is too precious now for more:
His life hangs upon each eventful moment.
Ardolf.
In chains! his life in danger!—Ho! my friends!
To horse, quick; we will rescue him, or perish.
Leroches.
Ardolf, pursue the eastern causeway you;
I with a chosen few will trace the path,
Which led me from the postern.
Ardolf.
Wisely caution'd:
Divided thus, we wage an easier war.
[Exeunt omnes.
SCENE within the Castle.
Enter Grey and Morton.
Grey.
My trusty Morton! well hast thou repaid
The nicer hope which I repos'd in thee.
—Their unprovided rest outruns my wishes.
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Fools! not to see thro' my hypocrisy:
That in the borrow'd guise of honest friendship,
I studied but to lure them to my toils—
Conceal'd from upper light, it yields a safe
Retreat; through that they purpos'd their escape.
Grey.
Within the secret womb of that same vault,
When all the castle's hush'd, their bleeding trunks
We will deposit.
Morton.
Yes—we will be bloody.
Grey.
Here is the weapon—Be firm, and prosper.
[Morton receives a dagger and goes out.
—Thou too, unthinking fool, must this hour bleed—
Wou'd it were over—they may chance to wake—
Thou Sleep! still child of sable-hooded Night,
Befriend us. From thy dark Lethean cell
Upconjure all thy store of drowsy charms;
Lock fast their lids, o'erpower each torpid sense,
That they awake not e'er the deed be done—
[Bell tolls.
—The second watch; and like death's curfew, deep
And dismal verberates the solemn knell.
Enter a Knight.
Knight.
A stranger, sir, who calls him Oswald, waits
Without the castle, and wou'd speak with you.
Grey.
Oswald! He is our friend.
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I have not learn'd
His errand, but as it wou'd seem, he comes
With news that much imports thy present hearing.
Grey.
I'll speak with him anon.
Knight.
I know not what
Their purpose, but even now, as on the tower
I stood, which high o'erlooks the eastern causeway,
Methought I heard the distant sound of horse,
As hither bent in full career.
Grey.
The sound
Of horse!—Look out; call up our knights; away.
[Exit Knight.
—What can delay him?—Should my present hopes
Miscarry, I will bear the lady hence,
And make her hostage for my safety; nay,
Perchance, what I have some incentives to,
Supplant them both, the lover and the husband—
He comes!—
Re-enter Morton.
Morton.
Oh! that the earth wou'd yawn and cover me!
Or that Heaven's quick-devouring fires had shrunk
And wither'd up this arm when it was rais'd—
Eyes; eyes! why clos'd you not e'er you beheld.
The ghastly ruin?
Grey.
Speak direct; are they dispos'd?
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Away—thou hast destroy'd my peace for ever—
Had you beheld him as he lay, struggling
In the cold gripe of death; his cheek o'erspread
With livid pale; those eyes, that late shot forth
So radiant, now quite sunk; their burning lamps
Extinct; while from the deep-mouth'd wound,
As from a copious fountain, issued forth
Life's purple springs—
I wou'd have fled, but horror for a space
Suspended every power.
Grey.
'Tis well—
Hast thou then slain Lord Salisbury?
At thy own peril be it—Help! he has slain
The innocent!
They're murder'd, foully murder'd by a slave.
[Exit.
Morton.
The earth has teem'd with prodigies, this sure
Out-monsters all.
Enter Raymond, hastily, with a sword in his hand.
Raymond.
On what purpose art thou here?
Morton.
Lord Raymond cannot be a stranger sure.
Raymond.
A dagger!—what hast thou done?
Morton.
Did not my lord approve the deed?
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What deed?
Morton.
How's this?—My lord,
I had your sanction, ratified by Grey,
With promise of high recompence the hour
When Salisbury shou'd expire.
Raymond.
Accurs'd be he that told thee so, and thou
That gav'st him credit!
Morton.
This is strange!
Raymond.
Approve!
I did not; by the pow'rs of Truth I did not—
Remorseless villain!—Where, where shall I hide
Me? whither shall I fly?—Oh deed of horror!—
Thy blood, detested hireling, shall in part
Compensate—
Morton.
Hold—He cannot sure dissemble—
Wish you, my lord, this deed were yet undone?
Raymond.
What wou'd the monster?—Oh! cou'd I recall
His life by killing twenty thousand slaves
Like thee, it were a comfort.
Morton.
I believe
That you are innocent; know then, my lord—
He lives—he sleeps; and sleeps secure of harm.
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Take heed thou dost not trifle.
Morton.
I will confess
Me true, and Heav'n forgive my foul intent!
I undertook to slay this innocent;
Approach'd him as a friend—I saw his sufferings;
Saw his distracted wife: at length I curs'd,
And in my heart abjur'd the wicked purpose.
Raymond.
Had'st thou the goodness? Then, perhaps—
Morton.
I thought
Haply that you yourself might soon relent.
This instrument of purpos'd cruelty,
I took; and with a fair-devised tale
Of Salisbury's death, amus'd the guilty wretch
That would ensnare your quiet.
Raymond.
Is this honest?
Morton.
Approach, my lord, approach, and let your eye
Be witness of my truth—In doing thus,
I thought I should be deem'd Lord Raymond's friend.
Raymond.
Thou wert the best of friends!—Retire thou now—
[Exit Mor.
One way there yet remains to reconcile
This double war, and heal my tortur'd bosom—
Thou, that so soundly sleep'st, unguarded thus
[going towards the side scene.
Against whatever ill that may approach thee,
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And see who comes to greet thee.
Enter Lord Salisbury.
Lord Salisbury.
—Do I dream?
Or am I in the regions of the unblest,
Beset with monsters?—Tho' thou art a fiend,
I will attempt thee.
Raymond.
Rush not on my weapon.
I have sought thee on a cause which honour loves,
And wou'd not have thee marr my soul's fair purpose.
Lord Salisbury.
Inglorious! base! O shame to manhood!—Dearly
Shalt thou atone the accumulated wrongs
That I do bleed withal. Nor sea, nor earth,
Tho' thou should'st traverse her remotest climes,
Shall shelter thee from my determin'd fury.
Raymond.
Think not that I shall fly thee; or that I
Have sought thee now, but on such terms as even
May challenge thy applause. I come a foe
Indeed, but I do come a generous foe.
Lord Salisbury.
A generous foe!—The brave indeed aspire
To generous acts; their every thought looks up,
And honour's dictates are their only function:
But thou!—what terms woud'st thou propose? What act
Of that essential virtue, that may raze
The ignoble stains wherewith thou art polluted?
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The ignoble, and the brave alike have err'd;
And he, that re-ascends to virtue's height,
Does often snatch a wreath, which never bloom'd
On safer wisdom's brow—First let me loose
Those ignominious bonds, which have indeed
My own dishonour'd, not the wearer's arm.
[Takes off his chains.]
Lord Salisbury.
—Say, to what purpose tends this honest seeming?
Raymond.
That I have wrong'd thee, I confess—take this
[Gives him a sword, and draws another.]
The only restitution I have left.
I know thou never canst forgive, nor I
Forget; the sword then judge between.
Lord Salisbury.
—Indeed!
Lives there so much of honour then within thee?
Spite of the mighty wrongs which thou hast done
Me, I do thank thee—
Raymond.
Now Fortune mark her favourite!—
[Loses his sword in the encounter.
Then she is partial, and I must submit.
Lord Salisbury.
Take up thy sword again; my fair revenge
Disdains too cheap a conquest.
Raymond.
'Tis too much.
Oh! generous! generous even to cruelty!—
Some way I wou'd repay thee—Oh! that I
[Takes up his sword.
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Then let me tear for ever from my breast
The guilty passion: thus I thank thee—thus
[Wounds himself.
Atone the mischiefs, that—oh—
[Falls.
Lord Salisbury.
This indeed
Atones for all. Thou much-misguided youth!
What tempted thee to stray so wide from honour?
Raymond.
Ask, ask that villain; he will answer all—
That villain Grey! whose wicked arts seduc'd me—
Forgive—I die, I die; a dreadful proof
What ills await the wretch, who gives his ear—
To vicious counsels—
Lord Salisbury.
Dreadful proof, indeed!—
I do forgive thee, so forgive thee Heaven!
Re-enter Morton.
Now where's my wife? where is my friend Leroches?
Morton.
My lord, by my assistance he has fled.
I saw how vain your purpose to escape;
His single flight was unobserv'd—your friends
In quest of whom he hasted, are arriv'd;
[A trumpet is heard.
That trumpet speaks it.
Lord Salisbury.
It is, it is sir Ardolf!—See! he comes.
Enter Ardolf, and Knights.
Ardolf.
My noble friend!—safe! crown'd with conquest too!
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Saw you Leroches?
Ardolf.
My lord,
He sought the castle by a private path;
I thought he had been here by this.
Lord Salisbury.
'Tis well.
But where's my wife? my son? my soul is maim'd
Of half it's joys till I've again embrac'd them.
Enter Eleanor.
Eleanor.
My lord! my lord! the countess and lord William—
Send, send and save them from destruction.
With horses that outstrip the winds, the villains
Have borne her from the castle.
Lord Salisbury.
Ravish'd by villains!—Mount your horses, haste—
Ardolf.
Say, which way have they fled?
Eleanor.
West of the castle:
Heaven grant their swiftness mock not your best speed!
Ardolf.
Now good my lord, if I might speak—
Lord Salisbury.
Speak not
To me, but forth and scower the country—
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Hark!
Methought I heard a voice—
Eleanor.
And I, methought—
Perhaps Heav'n has been kind; perhaps 'tis she.
Lady Salisbury
entering.
Now hush'd be ev'ry fear—Where, where's my heroe,
That I may once more hold him to my bosom.
Enter Lady Salisbury and Lord William, conducted by Leroches.
Lord Salisbury.
'Tis she! 'tis she!—
My wife is in my arms again!—Speak, speak;
O! whence this precious, this unlook'd event?
Lady Salisbury.
When the fell ruffian,
When Grey with impious hands had snatch'd us hence,
Then came my guardian angel, came your friend,
And rescued us from ruin.
Leroches.
Happy hour!
I took the path which brought me to their rescue!
The atrocious villain fell beneath this arm.
Lord Salisbury.
My wife!
My son! my friend! my God! my guardian God!
Eleanor.
O joy! that they are here again!
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They're here! they're here! my wife and son are here!—
Proclaim it, O ye sons of light! spread wide
Your starry pinions, angels, spread them wide,
And trumpet-loud throughout th'unmeasur'd tracts
Of highest Heaven, that virtue is made happy.
Lady Salisbury.
Let the Sun cease to shine, the Planets cease,
Drop every star from his ethereal height,
E'er I forget thee, source of every good!
Lord Salisbury.
Friends, I am much beholden to you all.
My love! the gloom, that overspread our morn,
Is now dispers'd; our late mishaps
Recall'd, shall be th'amusing narrative,
And story of our future evening, oft
Rehears'd. Our son too—he shall hang upon
The sounds, and lift his little hands in praise
To Heav'n; taught by his mother's bright example,
That, to be truly good, is to be bless'd.
FINIS.
| The Countess of Salisbury | |