University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE, The Palace.
Enter King Edward and Lodowicke.
Edward.
Think'st thou the men of Kent will raise their tythe?

Lodowicke.
My gentle liege, your subjects are enrag'd,
Profaning all our laws, swearing 'tis craft
To level tribute with a holy leer
Upon the sweating husbandman.

Edward.
There's wealth
Sufficient yet in Kent; ten thousand marks
We need. This county, own'd by Goodwin, thrives
With affluence, weigh'd with royalty itself.
Whate'er his friendship, he may not refuse
His native county should obey our laws.

Lodowicke.
That he'll refuse, I'll fearless wage my head.
But there are means to make him silent.

Edward.
How?

Lodowicke.
Suppose we excommunicate him?

Edward.
That
He ever laugh'd at.

Lodowicke.
Then suppose him dead:
May there not be in Goodwin's death, effects
So liberally extensive in their course,
That they may throw into the world's great scale
Such quantity of matter, that the good
To man may more than balance with the ill,
Which is but partial unto him?—I speak
Purely on supposition.

Edward.
Yet thy words
Steal with a force most subtle to the thought,
Raising conjecture of a motley hue.
What man e'er dy'd by a king's wish?

Lodowicke.
A few
Have thus obey'd?

Edward
(aside).
What means this priest?

Lodowicke.
When kings
Must dread a subject, why the choice remains
Which of the two may die.

Edward.
I am convinc'd (Aside).

Abate thy zeal for me. Earl Goodwin's truth
I ever will revere. What! tho' we jarr
In nice opinion, he despising form,
And I most strenuously adhering to it,
Yet would I wage my soul in dreadful lay
Against the heav'n I hope for, that he'd scorn
To take the life of Edward.

Lodowicke.
So would I,
And yet for diff'rent reasons (Aside).
But forgive
My love too ill advis'd; I meant not aught
Seriously striking at the life of Goodwin.
Alas, my king! how could thy justice quit
Thy servant Lodowicke, when join'd in pray'r
With those who sigh for mercy—he being full
Of guile and cruelty?

Edward.
I should abhor thee.
Enter Goodwin and Harold.
Welcome, my friends! again we meet in peace;
No doubt shall henceforth rise, but Edward's act
Find aid from Goodwin's counsel, and the cares
Of royalty be eas'd by gentle friendship.

Goodwin.
Tostie's wild conduct wounds me: yet my sword
Shall still be thine—Goodwin will ne'er indulge
Affection at the cost of virtue. Harold,
I charge thee, when death seals my weary eyes,
To love thy king; his spirit is too mild
For rough exertion. In the field protect him;
Lead on his armies; chase the insect train,
Who sting while they are buzzing in the ear
Of unsuspecting royalty. Be just,
Sincere, and candid in thy friendship to him,
Nor trifle with his real good.

Harold.
May Heav'n
Renounce me if I swerve from truth!

Edward.
Enough!
My brother Harold ever shall be near
My heart; his confidence I will deserve,
By taking it in pure exchange for mine.

Goodwin.
Where is Editha?

Edward.
Waiting thy return
With fond impatience.

Goodwin.
Bring me to her straight.

Enter Editha, Swaine, and Leofwine.
Editha.
My father!

Goodwin.
Do I hold thee?—Oh, Editha!

Lodowicke.
Curse on this soft'ning scene! they drag my soul
Back from the horrid act I must perform.

[Exit Lodowicke.
Goodwin.
From this blest æra thou shalt date thy bliss,
And in thy Edward's love be happy. Time
Will but improve his gentleness to thee.
Be ever, ever blest.

Enter Emma.
Emma.
Are ye not slow,
My noble lords? the banquet waits; our friends,
The valiant Leofricke, Siward, and Girth,
With Rodulfe, have too long expected you:
The witty Siward rallies Lodowicke,
Swearing with very fasting he looks pale.

Edward.
Siward is of most light and chearful nature;
Sorrow ne'er low'ring sits on his smooth brow.
Good mother, we'll attend you. Come, my love.

Goodwin.
Go on, my sons, I'll follow.—Stay, Editha.
[Exit all but Goodwin and Editha.
I feel a strange oppression here; my heart
Would share those sorrows it can ne'er throw off
With thee. Iknow not why, yet busy thought
Brings on thy mother's image: sweetness, truth,
Thy ev'ry charm was her's. Fain would I chase
The beauteous shadow from my pensive mind,
That vainly follows me thro' this poor world.
Soon, very soon, if spirits may exist,
I sure shall meet her.

Editha.
Cease! I pray you, cease!
Why dwell on scenes that never can return,
Checking the present hour's best joy? Could man
Be wisely cautious how he rang'd the past,
Would he not shun the path mark'd out by woe,
Nor drag the spectre from the shades of time?

Goodwin.
Thy voice like melody prevails, and charms
The mind to sweet forgetfulness.—Yet hear,
I'm swiftly leaving the strong heights of fate,
And in the deep descent, e'en you, Editha,
Are less'ning to my view. It must be so!
When I am gone, be sure thou keep thy hold
Of sacred virtue; let not insult, scorn,
Slighted affection, or, what's worse, the sting
Of black ingratitude from those thou lov'st,
Rob thee of self-applause. Repentance comes
A late and painful comforter. 'Tis brave
To give our wishes up when they are snares;
But we are slaves when error claims atonement.

Editha.
Your precepts and example shall inspire me.
Only this night be happy; crown the joy
Of those who love you.

Goodwin.
Mem'ry's outstretch'd wing
Spreads o'er my life, takes in my infant hours,
Youth's ardent scene, ripe manhood's fearless stage,
So soon ran o'er, and all is vision.

Editha.
Mirth,
Friendship, and filial love, shall cheer your mind,
When you behold your children blest. To you
We'll turn amid our highest joy; on you
We'll gaze, while grateful tears in silence speak
How much we love you; and your gen'rous heart
Shall share the transport you bestow.

Goodwin.
Thy hand,
My lov'd Editha; lead me to the king.

[Exeunt.
Enter Lodowicke with a Phial.
Lodowicke.
Not yet! not yet! O pity! fly my soul,
Nor shriek at my resolve!—Once done, I'll hear thee.
In this small phial lies eternal sleep
For him who tastes;—for me it holds ambition,
Wealth, world-subduing sway, and sov'reign rule.
Goodwin remov'd, the bigot Edward yields
To my conducting.—Why this doubtful pause?
This strong reluctance?—Ye who dare deny
The spirit's working in this solid flesh,
Assist me!—Come, ye sophists, who are wont
To plead that neither good or ill can rest
On mortal act, and laugh me to the work!
I need internal strength—What pow'r shall give it?
Who gives it is the cause, and I'm approv'd.

[Exit.
SCENE changes—Draws and discovers King Edward, Emma, Editha, Goodwin, Harold, Swaine, Girth, Leofwine, Rodulfe, Leofricke, Lodowicke, and Siward, at a Banquet.
Emma
(to Goodwin.)
Do you not like our wine, my lord?

Goodwin.
Fair queen,
It is too harsh, and my full spirits soar
Already in strange extacy. The wine
I drank with pious Lodowicke, awhile
Was nectar to my taste. The rigid priest
Gave out, he would not pay the rosy God
Fit adoration; and, my thirst allayed,
I left it, hoping here to find as good.

Emma.
We'll send for what remains.

Harold.
(to an Attendant.)
My father's cup
Stands on the marble of the antichamber.
Go fetch it to him.

[Exit Attendant.
Goodwin.
I have drank enough.
Praise to our gracious Emma, who regales
Her friends luxuriously.
(To the Attendant, who returns with the Cup.)
Nay, set it down;
I'll not be free to wide excess.

[Attendant sets down the Cup at a Distance.
Emma.
Brave Siward,
Your wit is out.

Siward.
Great lady, by the mass,
My wit is in, and I do lack a stroke
Most masterly to fetch it out.

Edward.
What mark
Stands best for narrow-pointed wit? Be free,
Good Siward; we dispense with form, and speech
Shall have full licence for this night: Then say,
What mark suits wit?

Siward.
True merit.

Edward.
O! how keen,
How deeply poison'd, is the dart that wounds it!

Siward.
Wit needs nice prey, my liege, and ever turns
From full-siz'd ignorance; envy is its nurse;
Contumely feeds it; pride from her foul string
Shoots the hot arrow of insulting wit.
O, wit is the rank scorpion of the world,
Batt'ning on its sweet kernel, leaving man
The part which merit loathes. Thus merit starves,
My liege, in these our days.—Lords, dare ye own her?
No, merit ne'er appears i' the court.

Goodwin.
If wit
Be her sole enemy, here were much room;
E'en Siward must give way.

Siward.
When Goodwin gives
His merit to corruption, I shall lose
My object and turn fool.

Goodwin.
Now should'st thou swear
Flatt'ry is merit, if thou dar'st avow
Thou hast her in possession.

Siward.
Hail me, lords!
As I wear truth and honesty at court,
To prove myself a miracle.

[Lords drink.
All.
Hail, Siward!

Siward.
Hail, our most gracious king! hail, every friend,
That dare support him and his country's freedom!
But we are dull; here's music in the palace,
And I've some lines for Lodowicke.

Lodowicke.
For me!
I'll not be charg'd with them.

Siward.
I'll charge thee not
With any thing that's good. Why what is life,
But an odd scene of many colour'd hours;
Wherein the good, the ill, the sad, the chearful,
Are blended with promiscuous throw so fully,
That each man chooses what he may. How vain
Is then thy cold austerity?

Goodwin
(to Lodowicke.)
Thy looks
Are full of anguish, Lodowicke; thou art ill.
Why dost thou tremble? Thy inconstant cheek
Wears now the lily, and anon the rose.
Such tokens speak an agitated soul.

Lodowicke
(confused).
I do not tremble, earl; I do not wear
The changeable hue of guilt.

Goodwin.
Nay, more and more
Thou dost yield to some secret shock of health.
Retire, good Lodowicke; thou art not well.

Lodowicke.
I—I—shall soon be well.

Siward.
Shall soon be well!
A priest is never well but while he sleeps.

Edward.
Siward, thy lines.

Siward.
SONG.

Goodwin.
Give me thy hand, for thou hast boldly chid
The blinding spirit of delusive craft.
Had John but reach'd his king a friendly hand,
We would have bless'd him.

Edward
(smiling).
Much my promise serves
The gallant Siward.

[Goodwin leans upon his Hand, silently putting his Handkerchief to his Face.
Siward.
Lodowicke!

Lodowicke.
My lord?

Siward.
Thou shall be king, I will be pope, and Goodwin
Shall be—shall be—a sober, lifeless—Lodowicke,
Can'st thou tell fortunes?

Lodowicke.
No.

Siward.
Then thou'rt no priest.

Goodwin
(looking up calmly, after having endeavoured to conceal an apparent Emotion).
Tremendous pow'r! is this the awful moment,
When time shall with my weary'd soul be o'er?
If so, O mitigate these inward pangs!
And give me fortitude to throw off life
With manly seeming!

[Goodwin again resumes his silent Attitude. Lords all rise.
Editha.
Why that sigh?—Ah! speak,
My much-lov'd lord!

Goodwin.
Be seated—O my daughter!
Give me thy hand; for thee I yet would live,
Thou treasure of my soul! My veins are scorch'd.
Ah! whence these dreadful burnings?

Editha
(kneeling).
Power supreme!
If thou hast but one single joy in store
For poor Editha, that one joy withhold
From her, and grant it to her tender father!
Give me a life of wretchedness and pain,
So thou but bless his hours of drooping age
With mercy's gentle ray! Hear, righteous Heav'n!
Let him sink down with less than mortal anguish,
Whose life was worth thy care! Spare, spare him yet!
Or bid Editha follow!

Goodwin.
Lay me down,
Editha—Hark! thy mother calls.—I come,
Thou long-departed spirit! long forgot
'Mid life's too active scene. Now we shall meet;
Now floating thro' the paths of light, enjoy
The hour eternal.

[Editha faints.
Edward.
Bear Editha off.
Queen Emma, leave this dreadful scene.

Emma.
I go
With heart most heavy. This good duke is wrong'd.
Ah, Edward! where wilt thou find tears to wash
The 'graven tablets of thy mem'ry?—Time
Shall deeper cut this monument of woe,
Recording with one busy hand the acts
Of faithful Goodwin; while the other points
To the black volume, fill'd but with his murder.

[Goodwin endeavours to hold Editha—is too weak. She is borne off.
[Exit Emma.
Goodwin.
Soft I would stay her but a few short moments;
For all will soon be still.—O freezing death!
Thou wilt be victor. Feeble arm, thy sword
Were useless now.—They bear her from me!—Hold,
Ungentle maid!—She's gone! for ever gone!—
Then farewel life! thy ev'ry charm is fled.

[Lodowicke having stood for some time unnoticed, rushes forward.
Lodowicke.
Away! away!—He shall not die!—Oh, Goodwin!
Live! live a few short moments to forgive me!
I soon must follow—soon shall meet thy shade
Beyond the vale of perishable being.

Goodwin.
What would'st thou?

Lodowicke.
I have poison'd thee!

Goodwin.
What cause
Thou had'st I know not. We've but little time
For reconcilement.—On thy wretched bosom
Permit a dying friend to breath his last.

[Goodwin lays his Head on the Bosom of Lodowicke.
Lodowicke.
Oh agony!—Could I recal thy life!—
But we shall meet—

Enter Alwine.
Alwine.
Where is earl Goodwin?—Ha!
I am too late. Read that, my king.

[Alwine gives a Paper to Edward, who reads.
Edward.
O Harold!
Read here—and drag that villain from my sight;
He hath o'erwhelm'd my soul!—Farewel, my father!
For thee thy king shall ever ever mourn,
Tho' Goodwin's injur'd spirit strike my thought
With everlasting horror.

[Exit Edward wildly.
Lodowicke.
Kings have lost
Their pow'r o'er me—I wish for death.

Goodwin.
Adieu,
My children! Weep not, friends!—Thou pitying judge,
In whose fix'd eye each particle of life
Holds equal estimation, unto thee
My spirit comes. Forgive my murd'rer! Take
My humble soul, free as thy will hath made her,
And bless—Oh bless Editha!

[Dies.
Harold.
In that sigh
Flew a pure spirit from a treach'rous world.
Ah Lodowicke! what hast thou done? This oath
Seals up thy dread account.
(Reads aloud)
“By heav'n I swear,
“To end the life of Goodwin!—Safe and quick
“Is poison, and most secret.
“Signed Lodowicke.”
Good Alwine, whence this dreadful proof of guilt?

Alwine.
Hast'ning to Winchester, within a wood
We found the wretched Canterbury, stabb'd
By Tostie. There he died; and to the village
That nearest lay the body was conveyed.
From his cold bosom dropp'd that fatal paper.
We came too late.

Lodowicke.
What would ye more? Behold
A man so wretched that he scorns your rage.
One act remains of dark unfinish'd horror,
More vile than Goodwin's murder. Life I hate;
And to avoid your flames justly deserv'd,
This dagger would befriend me.
[Draws a Dagger from his Bosom.
But to fly,
From man's weak wrath as an affrighted coward,
Yet dare my God as a vindictive bravo,
Is e'en too much for Lodowicke. How poor,
How inconsistent, and how meanly proud,
Is the self-murd'er!

[Throws away the Dagger.
Harold.
In his final pray'r
My father begg'd forgiveness for thee. Live!
Live, and repent!

Alwine.
Harold, he does repent:
No keener torment man should wish for man,
Than that the soul be stung by her own guilt.
Here may fell Guilt her hideous portrait view,
Start from her colouring, and bright Truth pursue.
Truth, lovely fugitive, awhile may fly,
Raise ev'ry pow'r, and all our ardour try;
'Mid life's dark windings sometimes leave our sight,
And seem to lessen in her distant flight:
But he that loves her will her footsteps trace,
Nor yield the prize, tho' panting in the chace;
Thro' all her secret haunts will boldly dare,
And, clasping Truth, possess the Good and Fair.