 | Adelaide |  |
9
ACT I.
An Apartment in the Palace.Prince John and Clifford.
CLIFFORD.
Whence springs this new delay?—For six long years
Has Adelaide been Richard's destin'd bride,
Hostage of Peace between the rival nations.
Yet some vain subterfuge, some weak excuse,
Ever defers the nuptials.
PRINCE JOHN.
Richard's temper
Accords but ill with this protracting policy:
I dread the event.
CLIFFORD.
The sad reverse of fortune
That mark'd his last revolt, when, join'd in arms
With faithless Philip, his victorious sword
Scatter'd our force, might teach our aged monarch
Not wantonly to rouse again his fury.
Now too, when circled by unnumber'd foes
Far from the coasts of England—Our thin squadrons
To Richard all attach'd, and only waiting
His signal to revolt.
10
Well you know
The jealous spirit of my father's counsels,
Ever suspicious of his sons. I fear
Some busy tongue has whisper'd to his mind,
Too apt to listen to such idle rumours,
Doubts of my brother's faith.
CLIFFORD.
May ruin seize
Such turbid spirits, who with doubts distract
The peace of human kind!—Disunion now
Is fraught with sure destruction—All our provinces
In France will snatch the first pretence to shake
Our tottering power.
PRINCE JOHN.
My father builds his hopes
On other grounds—The church's interference.
Philip and Richard, fir'd by youthful ardor,
Have vow'd to lead their powers on Asia's plains
Against the impious Saracen;—and now
A holy Legate, from the Court of Rome,
Is every hour expected to demand
Their instant aid. Victorious Saladin
O'erpowers the Christian force—wins back their conquests—
And threatens to display his silver crescent
O'er Salem's hallow'd altars.
CLIFFORD.
Henry never
Can be so rash, so lost to every sense
Of honor or of prudence, now to suffer
His interference to prevail.
PRINCE JOHN.
Not suffer
The full accomplishment of schemes he planned?
Frustrate his own designs? I'm much deceiv'd,
11
The Legate to persist in his demand.
CLIFFORD.
If this be true, ah! what can be the event
But shame and ruin? Tho' the youthful princes
Are prompt enough with ardent zeal to follow
This meteor of renown, which oft has led
Europe's bold sons to distant war, they never
At such a moment, when the mingled claims
Of glory and of love demand their stay,
Will blindly follow Rome's imperious mandate.
Some deep mysterious cause must surely urge him
To such a rash attempt.
PRINCE JOHN.
That cause to me
Is not so deep a mystery.—The passions
Of Henry are no secret—ever ready
To catch at beauty's flame. Not jealousy
Of Philip's arts, or Richard's rash ambition,
Is the true cause of these suspended nuptials;
There is another jealousy—fair Adelaide!
CLIFFORD.
Base and injurious slander!—not within
Loose probability's extremest verge!
If Henry's firmer years have felt the power
Of beauty's charms too strongly, is it likely,
Worn as he is by time, and sad misfortune's
Still ruder shocks, which with apparent effort
Have min'd the powers of life, he now should throw
One thought that way? No! Other cares than love,
Ill suited to his years, now rack his bosom.
PRINCE JOHN.
That I can hardly credit—I, who know
How oft his breast has burn'd with lawless passion.
The lingering embers of habitual vice
12
How oft his consort, royal Eleanor,
Has wept his wandering fancy; while her sons,
The generous offspring of a legal bed,
Have seen their father's favor basely lavish'd
Upon a spurious brood!
CLIFFORD.
This, sir, to me,
Is barely short of insult! Happy were it
For Henry's peace, if all his legal sons
Had learn'd the pious claims of filial duty
From those whom you have censur'd.
PRINCE JOHN.
You are warm!
CLIFFORD.
Yes, I avow the charge!—I boast, with pride,
A lineage sprung from one of gentle manners,
As well as graceful form and noble birth.
Nor can I envy, while my fond remembrance
Recalls my mother, hapless Rosamond,
The turbulent successors of a queen
Fierce and ungovernable, whose stern passions
Sow'd thorns of sorrow in her husband's bed,
And train'd her sons to treason and rebellion!—
Your insults I despise—yet my breast glows
With indignation, to behold a son,
At such a time, when danger lowers around us,
Try to excite confusion by a tale,
The most improbable that hell-born malice
Could e'er suggest!—I go to cross your schemes,
To counteract such arts—as far at least
As my weak power avails. I go to keep
The few, but valiant, troops that I command,
Free from your wiles, and firm in their allegiance!
[Exit.
13
, alone.
Go and exult in your illustrious birth,
And honest folly—These uncertain hints,
Or I am much deceiv'd, will find from Richard
A better welcome. His unguarded passions
Will catch at once the probable suspicion,
And kindle into rage. My mother's arts
Have set aside the infant Arthur's claim,
And well I hop'd this frantic hero Richard
Would leave his bones in Palestine; while I
Stood fair for England's throne. This purpos'd marriage
May bar my expectations—'Tis not Rome
Will check his course, while love for Adelaide
Inflames his bosom—I must move his fancy
To doubt her faith—My father!
Enter King Henry.
KING HENRY.
I am much
Perplex'd—your doubts alarm me—yet I dread
Impetuous Richard's violence, should this marriage
Be once again postpon'd. Added to this—
Is not my faith to royal Philip pledg'd?
By solemn treaty pledg'd?
PRINCE JOHN.
That solemn treaty
Deprives you of your crown—For know, the moment
The altar seals the nuptial vows of Adelaide,
False Philip join'd with my unnatural brother
In impious league, will seize upon your person,
And place the crown of England on the brow
Of Richard.
KING HENRY.
Monstrous perfidy! If this
Be true—
14
Has ever yet my faith to you
Been tainted by the breath of foul suspicion?
KING HENRY.
Never, my duteous son—yet these dire tidings,
So fatal to my peace, this cruel treachery,
Have pierc'd my soul with anguish.—But, does Philip
So poorly deem of England's potent monarch?
Is Henry's name in arms so little known,
That he can for a moment think I'll yield,
Nor strike a blow for freedom and for empire?
Rouse all my gallant warriors! We will meet
His coward perfidy with manly vengeance.
PRINCE JOHN.
Where are those gallant warriors! Distant far
From England's happy shores and faithful swains,
True to their Prince of Egbert's royal line—
Guarded by doubtful Normans—All your hope
Is to delay these nuptials.
KING HENRY.
How delay them?—
PRINCE JOHN.
The Legate.
KING HENRY.
What of him?
PRINCE JOHN.
He is, I know,
Employ'd by Rome to hasten the departure
Of Philip and my brother for the plains
Of holy Palestine. And yet, perhaps,
Even Rome's commands may not be proof against
The arts of their ambition. He may barter
The church's interest for the gold of France—
Then counteract their schemes—in private second,
15
The Legate's perseverance.
KING HENRY.
With reluctance
I yield to such a measure—dire necessity
Alone compels me.—O my son, beware
How you permit your bosom e'er to harbor
The demons of ambition.—Did you know
The scorpion thoughts that sting a monarch's heart,
When base ingratitude, with envious eye
Surveys his purest actions, and imputes
His best designs to tyranny and pride,
You would avoid the splendid load of empire
As the worst burthen Heaven can lay on man.
[Exit.
PRINCE JOHN.
Such is the language of a sickly mind
Sated with power. My free, undaunted spirit
Looks up with eager transport to this burthen,
This splendid weight of royalty; nor fears
To meet the glorious toil that empire brings.
My brother here?—'tis well—now art assist me.
Enter Prince Richard.
PRINCE RICHARD.
O give my passions way—my tortur'd bosom
Is torn, is agitated, ev'n to madness!
PRINCE JOHN.
What has enrag'd you thus?
PRINCE RICHARD.
Have you not heard?—
Henry has found another mean pretence
To cross my promis'd nuptials, tho' confirm'd,
By solemn oath, between the rival monarchs.
PRINCE JOHN.
Say on what ground?
16
The cause assigned is this.
He waits the arrival of the Roman legate;
To ratify his right to those dominions
Which Philip gives in dower with Adelaide—
Injurious claim!—Must Rome's encroaching priest
Thus with our treaties interfere? Shall we—
Shall Europe's independent monarchs suffer
Such gross indignity?
PRINCE JOHN.
But you are bound
By holy ties—you have assum'd the cross;
Till you are freed from those by Rome's decree,
You cannot wed.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Let the proud Roman pontiff
Beware how he offends me—I am still,
A few short months first to my love devoted,
Ready to lead our gallant English troops
To check the furious Saracen. If thus
He dare insult the champion of the cross,
Will Richard draw a sword in such a cause?
Confusion!—Do my sufferings move your mirth?
PRINCE JOHN.
Indeed they do not. Yet I smile to see
You turn your anger on the Roman pontiff,
When nearer much, perhaps, the real cause
Of this delay may lie.
PRINCE RICHARD.
I'm lost in wonder—
Ten thousand wild conjectures cloud at once
My troubled senses. Tell me—instant tell me,
Where your suspicions point.
PRINCE JOHN.
Enquire no more—
Perhaps 'tis mere conjecture, and my thoughts
Would but distract you.
17
Brother, is this well?—
Is this a friendly part? Your cooler temper
Feels not the whirlwind of tempestuous passion
That tears my struggling bosom.
PRINCE JOHN.
My surmises,
Devoid perhaps of truth, might raise that passion
To giddy violence—let me be silent—
I have said too much already.
PRINCE RICHARD.
If you know
Aught that concerns my peace, at once unfold it.
To play thus with my passions, nor becomes
A brother nor a friend. Those names are cancell'd
If longer you refuse to clear the mystery
That hangs on all your words.
PRINCE JOHN.
When thus adjur'd,
Tho' heaven knows how unwillingly, I give
The secret councils of my bosom. Know
Your Adelaide has charms in other eyes.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Amazement! It can never be.—Who dares
Even cast a look toward her—form even a thought
That tends that way?
PRINCE JOHN.
O there are daring spirits,
Who, feeling love's strong influence, will attempt
Whate'er that love suggests.
PRINCE RICHARD.
But let that hero,
That daring spirit, guard his bosom well
Against my just resentment. By the powers,
The awful powers of vengeance, safer might he
18
My love for Adelaide!
PRINCE JOHN.
And yet—
PRINCE RICHARD.
Yet what?
PRINCE JOHN.
Perhaps I am deceived; perhaps my fancy
Too freely construes what my eye observes.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Your eye observes?—Curse on your hesitation,
Speak out at once, and give me instant ease;
Even torture is a bliss to what I feel!
PRINCE JOHN.
Collect yourself—be calm—and I will speak.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Well, I am calm; proceed.
PRINCE JOHN.
Then—I suspect
Your father is your rival.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Ha! my father!
PRINCE JOHN.
Does that excite your wonder? Is his heart
Dead to the power of beauty? He has eyes—
And Adelaide has charms.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Henry my rival?—
It cannot be. Slave as he is to passion,
It's wildest stretch of fury ne'er could drive him
To such a monstrous thought—to sink within him
All sense of shame—I never can believe it.
PRINCE JOHN.
You must be right—I'm glad you take it thus—
'Twas only my suspicion, first excited
19
For your eternal welfare, solely moves him
To wait the purpose of the Roman See.
We know his pious zeal, his warm attachment
To Rome's dominion.
PRINCE RICHARD.
I am undeceiv'd—
Your words have flash'd conviction on my soul.—
And is it thus? Is this the kind return
Of love parental for my faithful service?
Was it for this, in many a bloody field
My daring arm pierc'd thro' Ierne's squadrons,
And crown'd his brows with conquest? While these limbs
Brav'd in his cause the adverse elements—
A father reckless of his son, and breaking
Vows form'd in the face of Heav'n, violating
The sacred laws of hospitality,
My dearest rights invaded.
It is too much, my agonizing soul
Bursts at the thought.
PRINCE JOHN.
Yet, hear me for a moment.
PRINCE RICHARD.
O! you have rais'd a tempest in my soul,
And every calmer thought is driv'n before it—
Yes, I will have revenge—my sword shall right me—
The duty of a son, a subject's faith,
By this foul deed are void. Had I no friend,
No brother, no companion sworn in arms,
Who would with generous force oppose such tyranny,
And shield my plighted bride?—O torture! torture!
20
Her easy faith at once—Perfidious Adelaide!
PRINCE JOHN.
Restrain yourself—give not the rein to fury—
Suspend your violence 'till clearer proof
Confirm this tale of guilt.
PRINCE RICHARD.
What clearer proof
Can there be of her falsehood? Had she not
Listen'd with pleasure to my father's vows,
I should have shar'd her grief—The horrid tale
Conceal'd from me, proclaims her infamy.
PRINCE JOHN.
Perhaps her timid caution threw a veil
Over his base designs, lest indignation
Should drive you to some fatal act.
PRINCE RICHARD.
Such caution
Was treason to my love. But here I vow
To leave her and these guilty walls for ever—
The vile abode of outrage. Triumph, Philip!
I come once more to combat on your side.
Yet, ere I go, perfidious, cruel maid,
I will again behold you, will upbraid you
With this unheard-of baseness.
PRINCE JOHN.
If you prize
Your just revenge, your honor, shun, O shun
The dangerous interview—Her syren tears
Will shake your firmness.
PRINCE RICHARD.
What are tears to me!
When I have proof of her inconstancy
Engraven on my heart, in characters
No circumstance can alter. Were she fairer
21
Can image beauties fairer than her own—
She should not dupe the injur'd soul of Richard—
No—I will scorn her wiles, and proudly tell her
I laugh at ties her perjur'd heart has broken.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
| Adelaide | |