 | Earl Goodwin |  |
Scene changes to the Arch-bishop of Canterbury's Palace, discovers the Archbishop at a Table perusing a Paper.
Canterbury.
Thus far his Holiness the Pope's deceived,
Who bade me act with justice; in this Bull
The name of royal Emma meets a blot.
To recommend our sanctity, the King
With furious zeal applauds, and thus exalts
The Church's sov'reign pow'r.—His grants are large;
His faith most wond'rous; which our busy Monks
Convert to proper use. He is our tool,
And, with him, on his Holiness the Pope
We mean to work for benefit.—'Tis morn;
Why comes not Father Lodowicke? I sent
A mournful scroll, pleading for Alwine's life,
To him, conjuring all the Priests to sign.
Edward denies them nothing: I would gain
The Bishop's pardon, lest my act should wear
A tint too sanguine for the eye of Mercy.
Enter Lodowicke.
Welcome my friend! Well—quickly say, how sped
Thy mild petition?
Lodowicke.
O—as we could wish.
King Edward paus'd, then, turning to the Priests,
Demanded if with Justice he might spare
The life of Alwine? With a piteous groan
They rais'd their eyes to Heav'n, then cross'd themselves,
And faintly sounded “No.”
Canterbury.
Horror! was this
My wish?—Ye blinding hypocrites, away!
You've all conspir'd against me, while I hop'd
To raise your pow'r o'er royalty itself.
But I will to the king, confess myself
Mislead by you, whose craft would foil the devil.
And in return a miracle I'll teach,
More than ye dare, ye knaves! and that is Truth.
Begone!
Lodowicke.
I will, when I have told my errand;
As yet, I've listen'd to thy rage.
Canterbury.
What hope
Can'st thou afford?—Your voices did confirm
The Bishop's death.
Lodwicke.
When Edward had pronounced
The name of Justice, could a Priest deny it?
That were imprudent honesty. Each smil'd
In secret on the other; waved the claim
Of Justice, and convinc'd the godly King
He could not save, but by the rule of Mercy.
Canterbury.
Convenient shift!—thou hast reviv'd me.—Well,
He did forgive him:—speak—
Lodowicke.
He did: but paused;
While o'er his cheek a blush stole gently—prove,
Said he, that Mercy may acquit a man:
May it not also save a weaker woman?
Canterbury.
To that—
Lodowicke.
We answer'd no: bade him reflect
Thro' every age it had been our chief care
To rule the thought of Woman: keep her chaste.
To that sole end, gave her no other merit;
But held the threat of Heav'n, the flame of hell,
And world's contempt, up to her frighted sense,
If once she dar'd Man's free example. More
In policy we spake—that kingly leagues,
Order of government, and social ties,
Depend on woman's faith.—Thus we harangued:
Concluding, that one fair apostate fall'n,
If publicly reprov'd, might save a million.
Canterbury.
If Emma to your monastry be sent,
With all her treasures, it will be enrich'd
With vast endowments, and your order meet
Most superstitious rev'rence from the people.
Editha too, perhaps, may be your guest:
For Edward is so scrupulously pious,
That he forsakes her, and in constant pray'r
Spends the long eve.—Some hints I've lately giv'n him,
Which have alarm'd his fears. Thou must begone,
Summon thy solemn order, and attend
On Emma's trial.
Lodowicke.
Where's the Saxon Earl?
Canterbury.
Goodwin—I know not: we are both at odds.
He checks my glory, and I hate him.—Time
Forbids our further conf'rence.
Lodowicke.
Thro' the vale
That lies this side our monast'ry, this morn
I saw young Harold posting toward the Court,
His horse did champ the bit with wearied jaw,
Nor seem'd to speed with Harold's wish.
Canterbury.
The King
Hath sent to Goodwin; he, with all his sons,
Must soon attend us:
Lodowicke.
By the hour of twelve,
All may be ready.
Canterbury.
Be thou strictly warn'd,
If near the King, to move with solemn pace;
Say little, keep thy hand upon thy breast,
Thine eye bent to the earth; and should he speak,
Preach thou of purity, of self-denial,
Of patience founded on strong faith, that keeps
Religion's votaries humble.
Lodowicke.
Fear me not,
Untainted minds thro' Truth's fair medium gaze,
Nor aught discern, but loveliness in Nature:
Craft wearing holy semblance must deceive.
[Exit Lodowicke.
Canterbury.
Now will I sting the soul of Goodwin! tear
His lov'd Editha from his fond affection!
That he is proud, insulting, and e'en honest,
Yields to me much convenience. To what purport
Should Foxes ply their cunning with each other?
No:—trail the Lion, fasten on his firmness,
Straighten his toils, till wearied he give o'er,
And e'en in dying, scorns his wily foe!
[Exit.
Canterbury.
Thus far his Holiness the Pope's deceived,
Who bade me act with justice; in this Bull
The name of royal Emma meets a blot.
To recommend our sanctity, the King
With furious zeal applauds, and thus exalts
The Church's sov'reign pow'r.—His grants are large;
His faith most wond'rous; which our busy Monks
Convert to proper use. He is our tool,
And, with him, on his Holiness the Pope
We mean to work for benefit.—'Tis morn;
Why comes not Father Lodowicke? I sent
A mournful scroll, pleading for Alwine's life,
To him, conjuring all the Priests to sign.
Edward denies them nothing: I would gain
The Bishop's pardon, lest my act should wear
A tint too sanguine for the eye of Mercy.
Enter Lodowicke.
Welcome my friend! Well—quickly say, how sped
Thy mild petition?
Lodowicke.
O—as we could wish.
King Edward paus'd, then, turning to the Priests,
Demanded if with Justice he might spare
The life of Alwine? With a piteous groan
They rais'd their eyes to Heav'n, then cross'd themselves,
And faintly sounded “No.”
13
Horror! was this
My wish?—Ye blinding hypocrites, away!
You've all conspir'd against me, while I hop'd
To raise your pow'r o'er royalty itself.
But I will to the king, confess myself
Mislead by you, whose craft would foil the devil.
And in return a miracle I'll teach,
More than ye dare, ye knaves! and that is Truth.
Begone!
Lodowicke.
I will, when I have told my errand;
As yet, I've listen'd to thy rage.
Canterbury.
What hope
Can'st thou afford?—Your voices did confirm
The Bishop's death.
Lodwicke.
When Edward had pronounced
The name of Justice, could a Priest deny it?
That were imprudent honesty. Each smil'd
In secret on the other; waved the claim
Of Justice, and convinc'd the godly King
He could not save, but by the rule of Mercy.
Canterbury.
Convenient shift!—thou hast reviv'd me.—Well,
He did forgive him:—speak—
Lodowicke.
He did: but paused;
While o'er his cheek a blush stole gently—prove,
Said he, that Mercy may acquit a man:
May it not also save a weaker woman?
Canterbury.
To that—
14
We answer'd no: bade him reflect
Thro' every age it had been our chief care
To rule the thought of Woman: keep her chaste.
To that sole end, gave her no other merit;
But held the threat of Heav'n, the flame of hell,
And world's contempt, up to her frighted sense,
If once she dar'd Man's free example. More
In policy we spake—that kingly leagues,
Order of government, and social ties,
Depend on woman's faith.—Thus we harangued:
Concluding, that one fair apostate fall'n,
If publicly reprov'd, might save a million.
Canterbury.
If Emma to your monastry be sent,
With all her treasures, it will be enrich'd
With vast endowments, and your order meet
Most superstitious rev'rence from the people.
Editha too, perhaps, may be your guest:
For Edward is so scrupulously pious,
That he forsakes her, and in constant pray'r
Spends the long eve.—Some hints I've lately giv'n him,
Which have alarm'd his fears. Thou must begone,
Summon thy solemn order, and attend
On Emma's trial.
Lodowicke.
Where's the Saxon Earl?
Canterbury.
Goodwin—I know not: we are both at odds.
He checks my glory, and I hate him.—Time
Forbids our further conf'rence.
Lodowicke.
Thro' the vale
That lies this side our monast'ry, this morn
15
His horse did champ the bit with wearied jaw,
Nor seem'd to speed with Harold's wish.
Canterbury.
The King
Hath sent to Goodwin; he, with all his sons,
Must soon attend us:
Lodowicke.
By the hour of twelve,
All may be ready.
Canterbury.
Be thou strictly warn'd,
If near the King, to move with solemn pace;
Say little, keep thy hand upon thy breast,
Thine eye bent to the earth; and should he speak,
Preach thou of purity, of self-denial,
Of patience founded on strong faith, that keeps
Religion's votaries humble.
Lodowicke.
Fear me not,
Untainted minds thro' Truth's fair medium gaze,
Nor aught discern, but loveliness in Nature:
Craft wearing holy semblance must deceive.
[Exit Lodowicke.
Canterbury.
Now will I sting the soul of Goodwin! tear
His lov'd Editha from his fond affection!
That he is proud, insulting, and e'en honest,
Yields to me much convenience. To what purport
Should Foxes ply their cunning with each other?
No:—trail the Lion, fasten on his firmness,
Straighten his toils, till wearied he give o'er,
And e'en in dying, scorns his wily foe!
[Exit.
| Earl Goodwin | |