University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Hall of a Baron's Castle. Martial Music. Enter, at opposite Doors, Albemarle with Norman Lords, and Arden with the Saxon, Archbishop, Barons, Knights, and Squires in complete Armour, and with the Train of chivalry.
Archbishop.
Barons of England's realm, high Lords of parliament,
Hereditary guardians of the kingdom!
Your country calls you to her last defence.
Our antient laws, our liberties, our lives
May in a moment fall. Red o'er our heads
The ruthless tyrant holds oppression's rod,
Which, if not warded, by heroic hands,
Will crush the British liberties for ever.
Ourselves, our children, our posterity
Are slaves or free from this decisive hour.
For now the crisis of our fate is come,
And England's in the scale.

Albemarle.
I boast no more
The fire and spirit of my youthful days;
Days when, with Richard in the grand croisade,
We raised the siege of Ascalon; displayed
The British banners in the Holy Land,
Drove from the field the millions of the East,
Compell'd the mighty Saladine to fly,
And o'er the crescent raised the glorious cross.
My arm refuses now to draw the sword;
But let my counsel weigh: Our quarrel's dropt,
Let factions now unite; with one accord
Let us deliberate for public good;
We stand united, or divided fall.

Arden.
Deliberation does not suit the time;
This is the hour of action and of war.
While we consult, the tyrant, on his march,
Comes like a conflagration thro' the land,
Marking his way with ruin. Every step
Treads on the mangled bodies of the dying.
The wail of England weeping o'er her sons,
The voice of Justice, and the cry of blood,
Call loud “To arms, to arms!”

Baron.
The voice we hear:
It sounds not to the deaf. You gallant host
Return this answer which we now return.

[Drawing their swords and coming forward.
Archbishop.
I love your zeal: It is a flame from heaven;
'Tis the high temper of the Briton bold.
And while this ardour in your bosom burns
You never will be slaves. At such a time
When order's fled, when government dissolves,
When the great course of justice thwarted stops,
And in the roar and riot of misrule
The voice of Law is silent, Nature then
Resumes her antient rights, ascends anew
A sovereign on her throne; recalls the sword
Which with the scepter to the King she gave,
And whirls it flaming in her own right hand,
To dash the tyrant from his blood-stained car,
And guard her free-born sons.

Arden.
The glorious sons
Of Gothic sires who broke the Roman arm
Stretch'd out to wield the sceptre of the world,
Who on the ruins of imperial Rome,
And in the blood of nations and of Kings
The firm foundation of their freedom laid,
Will never bend beneath a tyrant's yoke.
Rather than wear dishonourable chains,
Or follow captives at the trophied car,
Give us again the wildness of our woods,
And the fierce freedom of our great forefathers!

Archbishop.
Forbid it Heaven, that Britain see anew
What these sad eyes have seen! When o'er the land,
The dire devoted land, the curse of Rome
Flew like the thunder of avenging Heaven,
And smote the people. Then religion fled.
No bell did summon to the house of prayer;
No vested priest attoned the wrath of heaven;
But sitting solitary, wept, and wailed
His fane forsaken and his altar low.
Un-named, unsprinkled in the fount of life,
The infant raised the lamentable shriek.
The bridegroom and the bride bewailed apart
Their rites unfinished and their luckless love.
Against the dying saint heaven's gate was shut.
They sung no requiem to the parting soul,
Nor laid the ashes in the hallowed ground;
Earth seem'd a charnel-house, and men like ghosts
Who cross in silence at the midnight hour,
And beckon with the hand.

Arden.
Yes, Barons, Britons,
The history of the tyrant's reign has run
A period marked with the tears, the groans,
The blood of Britons. He began in blood
His direful reign, and with unnatural hand
Stabb'd his own nephew kneeling at his feet,
And pleading for his life. Have you not seen him
The mighty hunter of the human prey
In a waste forest? Has not England seen
The cradle of her infants stained with blood;
The bower of chastity, the bed of love
Assaulted, violated? Lo! you stand
Upon the recent tomb of parents slain!
Had such dire bloodshed curs'd the former age,
Our valiant fathers would have shook the throne.

Albemarle.
We are as valiant as your fathers were;
Nor does the Norman to the Saxon yield.
To curb the tyrant, not to shake the throne,
We draw the sword—Arden, remember—

Archbishop.
Barons,
This is no time for quarrel. Have you heard
That the perfidious Dauphin—

Albemarle.
What! Perfidious?—

Archbishop.
The Dauphin, whom you courted to your aid;
He whom your great deliverer you hailed,
Means to make you his ministers, to gain
A kingdom to himself, and then to take
Your heads, as traitors, to your native Prince.
Melun, entrusted with the bloody secret,
In his last hour revealed it.

Arden.
God of heaven!—

Archbishop.

Albemarle.
With dire intestine ills the nation groans,
And would to Heaven the remedy were found!

Arden.
So every lover of his country prays.

Archbishop.
Then hear the oracle of heavenly truth!
You both are brave; both thro' the world renown'd;
And now the time demands an Union firm,
Never to be dissolved. The past forgot,
And ever blotted from the book of fame,
In cordial concord let the future run.
Your wisdom will suggest some solemn rite,
Or public deed, to ratify th'event,
A bond of union, and a pledge of peace,
For ages to remain.—You, Albemarle,
Are happy in a daughter fair, the boast
And beauty of the isle: On whom can you
So well bestow her hand, as on the man
To whom the bravest of our warriours bow?
Your rival houses will be reconciled,
And one the Norman and the Saxon prove.

Albemarle.
There is a bar which cannot be removed.
Elvine, the gallant lover of her youth,
Returning, laurel'd, from the holy war,
Reigns in her heart.

Baron.
He's in the Dauphin's camp,
And fights the battles of perfidious France
Against his native land.

Another Baron.
The brave Lorraine,
His chosen friend in distant Palestine,
Whose beauteous sister is the flower of France,
Has won that hero to the Dauphin's side.

Albemarle.
Tho' William's royal blood flow in his veins,
And he ranks nearest to the Norman line,
Yet to my country I devote myself,
Devote my all. Give me thy hand, my son,
I know that thou art brave.

[Saxons and Normans meet with one another, and embrace.
Archbishop.
Illustrious chiefs,
I praise your wisdom, equal to your zeal.
Propitious Providence! I hail the day
That makes one nation of the British race.
Now quarrels cease, and faction is no more.
For freedom, and the laws, we draw the sword,
And lose the private in the public cause.
One effort more remains: So great an host
Requires a General to lead them forth.
This day determines that important choice.
[To Arden.]
To you two nations, now in union joined,
Look up, and hail their leader and their chief.

[Barons express their consent.
Arden.
Barons, the soldier of your choice will strive
To prove him equal to supreme command,
And worthy of your trust. When I behold
The warlike spirit spread from man to man,
And wide the flame of liberty extend,
I hear, with joy, the trumpet's sound, which calls
The host to freedom, and the chiefs to fame.

Archbishop.
Then to the holy altar let us march,
And in the fane, which future times will reverence,
Renew our league, and seal our sacred bond.
[Gates of the chapel open. Procession to the altar. Barons kneel around. Archbishop administering the oath.
Now, at the Altar, in the name of Heaven,
And in the presence of th'Eternal Power,
You ratify your bond of peace! You swear
To march the champions of your native land,
Never to sheathe the sword, till you restore
The antient rights and liberties of England;
And, while you bind a tyrant by the laws,
To guard the glory of the British crown!

Barons.
This, in the presence of High Heaven, we swear!

SCENE II.

Trumpets, French Ambassador, Barons.
Ambassador.
The Dauphin, anxious for his noble friends,
And eager for the hour that shall restore
To rescued England liberty and law,
Entreats you, Lords, to name the fittest time
To join our forces for the future fight.

Arden.
Our forces never shall with his be joined;
Nor English freedom e'er depend on France.

Ambassador.
What means my gracious Lord?

Arden.
My meaning's plain.
We have detected his designs. We know him.
Go tell your master—instant to depart,
And waft his army to the coast of France.
Tell him, that Britain never will become
The province of a foreign kingdom. Tell him,
That when he wields the thunder, and gives law
To the wild ocean, and the wind of heaven;
Then let him think on Britain.

Ambassador
to Albemarle.
Noble Lord,
The illustrious Dauphin, and the heir of France,
Entrusts a message to your private ear.

Albemarle.
I have no secret with him. Speak it out.

Ambassador.
I best can speak it to yourself alone.

Albemarle.
Speak it to all the world.

Ambassador.
Illustrious Lord,
On you the Dauphin's happiness depends.

Albemarle.
On me!—

Ambassador.
You have a daughter . . . fair Elvina—
The crown of France may sit upon her head.

Albemarle.
My daughter's to that noble Lord betrothed.

Arden.
to the Ambassador.
You may withdraw.

SCENE III.

Barons, Archbishop.
Arden.
Barons, we now are one;
We are invincible. An host like ours,
A league of patriots, and a band of friends,
Will front the world. We need no foreign aid.
Britain's almighty in the cause of Britain.

SCENE IV.

Albemarle, Arden.
Albemarle.
By my command my daughter hither comes.
Arden, the affection of a friend I've shewn;
Now let the counsel of a parent weigh.
Valiant thou art; invincible in war;
But that avails not now. The accent stern,
The fierce demeanour, and the lofty look,
Will not invite th'affection of the fair.
Now let the warriour to the lover yield;
Put on the gay caparison of courtship;
Caress and conquer. Women, to be won,
Must first be woo'd. Engage the tender sex
By tender cares, and merit love by loving.
When softened to a smile, the brave and bold
Assume the accents, and the looks of love,
They win at once the heart of womankind.

Arden.
I do not know these arts. The pliant face,
The honey'd accent, and the silken smile,
The sport of boys and girls, are not for me.
The manners of my fathers I retain,
The Saxon spirit, and the Saxon garb.
They did not bow the knee to womankind,
Nor at the gate of beauty beg a boon.
In antient days, the days of mighty men,
Love was the meed of valour and renown;
The bravest warriour clasp'd the fairest maid.
But what the honour of a Baron owes,
And what the daughter of a Baron claims,
Shall be perform'd. Behold, the virgin comes.

SCENE V.

Albemarle, Arden, Elvina.
Elvina.
You sent for me, my father?

Albemarle.
Yes, my child.
In these heroic but disastrous times
All have their part to act: For who would wish
To let such great occasion pass away,
Nor mark it with renown? Who does not hear
The voice of glory when his country calls?
A change of times arranges human minds,
And noblest spirits find the highest place.
Your's, as becomes you, is a brilliant sphere.
This hero, chosen to the chief command
Of England's patriot host, intreats your hand
In noble love; the Barons have agreed,
The time requires, and I have pledg'd my word
That he shall be your husband.

Elvina.
Heavens! My husband!—

Arden.
Let not my honest speech offend thee, Lady.
Bred in a camp, my business has been war.
The tent has been my home; and oft this hand
Has reap'd the harvest of the bloody field.
If high respect for your illustrious line,
And true affection to a form so fair,
Win your approving smile, you send me forth
Your champion to the field, at once to gain
The palm of beauty and the prize of arms.

Elvina.
My Lord, my heart yet trembles from the shock
Of such a serious unforeseen event,
On which my future destiny may turn.
Forgive me, if alarm'd, I seek to pour
My secret accents in a father's ear.

SCENE VI.

Albemarle, Elvina.
Elvina.
Alas! I have no more a father's ear
To hear my voice; no more a parent's breast
That yearns with pity for his daughter's woes!
And will you give me to the deadly foe
Of all your house, and wed me to despair?

Albemarle.
Be calm, my child. He is no more a foe.
Think of the noble and the patriot ends
Of such an union: Antient feuds will cease;
Our rival houses will be reconciled,
And, from the Normans and the Saxons joined,
One mighty nation will go conquering forth;
And the whole land will raise a grateful eye
To thee, the cause of all.

Elvina.
To quell the feuds,
And reconcile the families of foes,
Am I the sacrifice? Alas! my Father,
And will you offer up, with your own hands,
Your child a victim?—What have I to do
With states or nations?—I've a single heart,
And it is Elvine's.—Dost thou then forsake
Thine ancient friend?—

Albemarle.
He hath forsaken us.
Now in the Dauphin's camp he draws the sword
Against his native country; if thou hast
The sense of honour glowing in thy frame,
Thy country's spirit, or thy father's blood,
Thou too wilt cast him off.—

Elvina.
I cast him off—
I cast off Elvine!—O, thou knowest him not!

Albemarle.
I know him false. A traitor to his country
Will ne'er to friendship or to love be true.

Elvina.
He is no traitor. He hath been belied.
Soaring above the sphere of common men,
They aim the secret and the venom'd shafts
To bring that eagle from his sky of fame.
Ah! once he was beloved!—

Albemarle.
My child, no more
Think of that passion as a toy of youth,
And with the geugaws of thy early days
Be it dismiss'd. Think of thy duty now.
Respect thy Father, and regard thyself.

Elvina.
I need not try to alter your resolves!
Which now seem firm, inflexible, and arm'd
Against your daughter: Let me just recall
That, in your eye, and with your kind consent,
I loved my hero with the love of youth.
'Twas you that kindled first the tender sparks
Of an eternal flame. Blooming you brought,
In infant beauty, to Aldarno's vale,
The noble orphan of the Norman race,
The lovely sun-beam of a setting line.
When hand in hand we sported in your hall,
You fondly marked with paternal smiles
The young Elvina for young Elvine's bride.

Albemarle.
My child, you trespass on a parent's love
To name the trifles of your early days.

Elvina.
Let me, at least, repeat your gracious words!
Would, too, I could recall the tender looks
With which you spoke them. Sometimes you have design'd
To bless Elvina with a fonder glance.
—My mother too: And her you will not blame,
For I have seen you weep upon her grave;
And now she shines above a saint in heaven!
My mother, sitting on that ghastly bed
From which she never rose; call'd us around;
Held us embraced with cold and dying hands;
Then lifted up her closing eyes to heaven—
“O God! to thee, to thee I leave my children.”
She spoke no more.—One parting kiss she gave;
Then join'd our hands, and died. . . I see you weep—
I see the father melting in your eye,
[Falling at his feet.
I am yet your child—O! if you ever loved me!
Oh! if my life be precious in thy sight;
If e'er my woes did wet a father's cheek!
If e'er my shrieks did pierce a parent's ear!—
O! if the future fortune of my life,
My peace on earth, or happiness in heaven,
Can aught avail to win me to thy heart,
O! save me, save me from the worst of woes,
Save me, my father!—

Albemarle.
Rise my lovely child!
Come to thy mansion in a parent's heart!
But ha!—Alas!—what can thy father do?
I've sworn that you shall be the wife of Arden!

Elvina.
Sworn? . . . .

Albemarle.
At the altar.

Elvina.
Sworn that I be Arden's? . . . .

Albemarle.
Hear me, Elvina: Hear a parent speak.
Till now you've ever been a duteous daughter,
And often made this aged heart o'erflow
With secret gladness: In the lonely hour,
I've lifted up my hands, and blest the day
When thou wert born. Not often have I blamed thee,
Or used the harsh tone of authority.
It is not so that we have lived, Elvina!
But here the Baron issues his command.
If, when this storm of war is pass'd away,
You do not wed the leader of our host,
You are no child of mine: I cast you off.
You hear my fix'd, irrevocable word.

Elvina.
If I am doom'd to wretchedness and wo,
And doom'd by you!—your will shall be obey'd.

SCENE VII.

Elvina, Emma.
Elvina.
Oh! Emma! I am wretched. Arden. . . Heavens!
Shall Arden be my husband? Gracious powers!
Forbid that hour!—Now in my deep distress,
Ah! where is he who used to bring relief?
'Tis well, by heaven!—he's in the Dauphin's camp.
Invite th'Ambassador.—

[Writes a letter in great agitation, tears it, and writes again.
Emma returns with the Ambassador.
Elvina.
Say, is not Elvine in the Dauphin's camp?

Ambassador.
Lady, the camp is honour'd with his presence.

Elvina.
May an unfortunate and friendless maid
Intreat the favour of a gallant knight
To give these letters to his secret hand?

Ambassador.
Lady, by beauty and by birth renown'd,
His hand shall hold them ere the day decline.

Elvina
[giving him the letter.
Forlorn, forsaken, to your care I trust
My future fate, the secret of my soul.
Howe'er by faction or by feuds disjoin'd,
No deadly hate in man to woman dwells;
The knight is courteous to the hapless maid.

SCENE VIII.

Ambassador
alone, looking at the Letter.
No superscription here. Her troubled mind
Forgot to add the name. Ha! Yes, by heaven!—
It dawns, the work of fortune and of fate—
This to the Dauphin I will straight address,
And warn the wishing bridegroom of the secret.
A passion slighted, and a rival loved!
This is the insult, the fell injury
Which man or woman never can forgive.
With Albemarle then Arden is at war;
The Normans hence and Saxons will divide,
And thus divided may be conquered still.
Ardent in arms impetuous Britain sights,
Refined in arts, France plots and overcomes.