The Earl of Westmorland A Tragedy |
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 | The Earl of Westmorland |  |
SCENE I.
The Suburbs of York.Enter Osric and Edwin.
Edwin.
Where would you lead, sir—whither do we travel?
Osric.
Hold, we are near the appointment of our journey.
Where do we travel, say'st thou?—O, my son!
To save a treasure, more than mines can boast;
To seize, to snatch her from impending war,
And give a mother to the arms of Edwin.
Edwin.
A mother, sir!—My mother, say you?
Osric.
Yes.
Edwin.
O yet beware, how you excite desires
In a fond heart; a sense of new delights,
To pine with eager and with empty longings!
A mother!—Are you not my father, then?
Osric.
No, Edwin, no—far other than thy sire,
I claim thee as the child of my adoption,
Heir of my heart, and of my soul begotten.
96
O, sir, the creature of your goodness ever!
But then my parents—will you not inform me?
Osric.
Search not too deep; behind their honour'd names,
Lurk deadly dangers.—O, thou noble youth!
There is a secret—and, for thy dear safety,
I wish it ever so—for my sad heart
Misgives me in the issue.—This same Osbert,
The king, who long hath fill'd Northumbria's throne,
Did wrong thy valiant sire: thy sire, provoked
Beyond the bearings of a saint-like sufferance,
Wrench'd the avenging thunder from Heaven's hand,
Levied fierce war, and rent his country's peace.
I was his friend, the inmost of his soul;
And ere his daring purpose was avow'd,
In secret he consigned thyself and mother,
Her to my care, and thee to my adoption—
For well he knew, tho' loyalty withheld
My hand from his rebellion, yet my heart
Rank'd on his side, and bled amid the battle.
Edwin.
A cause, you say, there was—and O, I hope,
A worthy cause.
Osric.
A cause there was, my Edwin!
But not the varying circumstance of things,
Not nature can afford a worthy cause,
For warring on our country—Think of that—
And if—as haply thou shalt hear a tale
Too soon for thy repose—then, Edwin, then,
97
And, to the judgments of vindictive Heaven,
Permit the crimes of man.
Edwin.
O, tell me all—
Osric.
I fear I have reveal'd too much already.
Edwin.
What can you fear from me?—Fear not your Edwin!
Am I not as the creature of your goodness,
Form'd by your hand, and charm'd to your direction?
Osric.
The best of mortals have their hour of frailty—
Fear, Edwin, fear yourself!—I do remember,
When yet thou had'st not breathed five hours of life,
A servant bore thee in thy swathed attire
To the great hall, wherein thy father sate
With many noble friends—An aged pilgrim
Stood at the gate: all piercing was his eye,
But calm his aspect; and his staff appear'd
A prop for piety, and years well spent,
And wisdom, to repose on—He approach'd;
And having eyed thee with a look, that seem'd
To penetrate and sound the depths of time,
He laid thy fingers on his palm—he paused,
And then to these prophetic words gave utterance:
Fear, Edwin, fear yourself!—I do remember,
When yet thou had'st not breathed five hours of life,
A servant bore thee in thy swathed attire
To the great hall, wherein thy father sate
With many noble friends—An aged pilgrim
Stood at the gate: all piercing was his eye,
But calm his aspect; and his staff appear'd
A prop for piety, and years well spent,
And wisdom, to repose on—He approach'd;
And having eyed thee with a look, that seem'd
To penetrate and sound the depths of time,
He laid thy fingers on his palm—he paused,
And then to these prophetic words gave utterance:
Little, feeble, mighty hand!
Thou shalt save a sinking land;
On the salt and circling flood,
Build thy country's wall with wood;
Build the wall of wide renown—
And give one head to Britain's crown!
Thou shalt save a sinking land;
On the salt and circling flood,
Build thy country's wall with wood;
Build the wall of wide renown—
And give one head to Britain's crown!
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Yet, 'ere this or that be done,
The Raven must obscure the sun,
Filling nations with affright,
Covering Britain broad as night!
Thou shalt pierce him as he flies—
On his fall shall Britain rise!
The Raven must obscure the sun,
Filling nations with affright,
Covering Britain broad as night!
Thou shalt pierce him as he flies—
On his fall shall Britain rise!
Yet, O yet, 'ere this be done,
Thou, the subject, and the son,
Shalt lift thy fell and fatal dart,
To pierce thy king and father's heart!
Thou, the subject, and the son,
Shalt lift thy fell and fatal dart,
To pierce thy king and father's heart!
Edwin.
Ha! what a sudden terror shakes my limbs,
And freezes to my heart!—Father, and king!—
Murder my father!—lightnings strike me first.
Prevent this parricide—lop off these hands;
Tear my heart forth; nor leave a power to act,
Or think such horrors!
Osric.
Peace to thy heart—thy father is no more!
Edwin.
He fell not then by my misdeed—thank Heaven!
Osric.
No. But thy mother now demands our care.
This way, my son.
[Exeunt.
| The Earl of Westmorland | |