University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE—Without the Town.
Enter Llewellyn, David, and Elinor.
ELINOR.
The sky is clouded, through its foggy veil
No star will sparkle, as a treacherous lamp,
To light observers. Let us then escort you
Some distance farther, in your homeward track.
Our absence will not be remark'd, believe me.

LLEWELLYN.
Not a rood farther, sweet. And I take blame
To have permitted enterprize like this—
That I might linger by thy lovely side;
And, longer to embrace that tender form,
Trust its nice sense to the chill breeze of night.

DAVID.
Believe me, t'will be dangerous to proceed.
We have but time to measure back the way,
Ere the town-gates shut.

ELINOR.
Must we part here, then?

LLEWELLYN.
It will be needful, love.—Our friends ere now
Have passed the river Clwyd.

ELINOR.
Look, my Llewellyn,
Where holy hands have reared th'blessed cross,
For parting love to 'iterate its vows,
And strengthen separation with the springs
Of confidence and hope!

LLEWELLYN.
We soon shall meet.
My brother will but watch the time of 'vantage,
And with a martial escort bring you to me.

ELINOR.
O what a word is parting! since, with all
The softening circumstance we grace it by,
It strikes so harshly on the heart!—Farewel!—

LLEWELLYN.
My love, adieu!—

ELINOR.
O, go not from us yet!—
Did we but say farewel, while the quick sun
Pass'd once from west to east, it should be slower!—
And love might whisper fancy, to devize
Visions of joy to bless the bower of sleep.
But now—when danger's horrid shade distends
O'er gloomy wastes, and craggy precipices,
Beset with war's grim furies—O, it asks
A world of prayers for preservation; mixed
With fond profusion of misgiving sighs!
And, to relieve the bursting heart, some tears
That, like the rain-drops to the summer's heat,
Refresh our fev'rous nature!—

LLEWELLYN.
O, thou dear one!
Think not my love the poorer, that it yields
No flowers to deck my speech.—I could content me
To let day rise upon repeated pledges,
And live upon the sounds most precious to me!
But 'twere the folly of a spendthrift boy,
Who wastes the treasure, which should gild the future,
In present lavish use.—My noble brother,
Do thou with kindly violence sunder us—
Or we shall cling thus ever!—

(Embracing her.)
DAVID.
Hark, I hear
The evening drum beat round the city walls,
To call the stragglers home.

LLEWELLYN.
To you, my brother,
And your best care, I yield my only wealth.

DAVID.
With a religious zeal will I preserve it!—
And, though once rival for the golden prize,
Return it unimpaired to your possession.

LLEWELLYN.
Heav'ns blessing be upon you.

ELINOR.
O, my hero! (embracing.)
—Farewel!

[Exeunt.
SCENE—Snowdon.
Cadwall, O'Turloch, Gwyn, and Llewellyn's Soldiers.
CADWALL.

Safe arriv'd, lads. Welcome the old mountain,
once more.

O'TURLOCH.

Oh how a little excursion into foreign parts
recommends home to the taste! But a journey,
after all, to be entertaining, should have a bit of
a female at the end of it; and then the more
windings and turnings there are in the way, the
sweeter the lady of the labyrinth.

GWYN.

By hur grandmother, the flower of Llantaffin,
hur would go twice as far to play the jongelour

to so sweet a princess. She is as gentle as the
kid, and as majestic as Plinlimmon.

O'TURLOCH.

Aye, and such an ear for music too! They
say the man who has no taste for sweet sounds,
must be as black as a negro; and there may be a
small spot in the heart that disdains them; but
in woman, harmony seems to have built up her
organ, and her voice is the sweet pipe, through
which the musical god Cupid breathes forth his
divinity.

GWYN.

Let me hug you for your praises. Heigh-ho!
Aye, I was once a true-lover indeed! My poor
Gwynith!

[This Song is omitted in the representation.]

GWYN.

When Gwynith and I thought of mingling
stocks together, I sent in the tree of my family
for their inspection. I dug down into past ages
for the root, and shewed myself a true Trojan.

O'TURLOCH.

O, that Troy was an admirable nursery, and
produced the brood of heroes, fifty in a family,
until one of them crying for a great rocking
horse, made by Ulysses a Greek carpenter, the
whole race took a fancy to ride him, till they
broke his girths, and then down they fell in the
dust.

(Shouts without).

Long live the prince!

CADWALL.
Hark, comrades, from the outposts
The salutation points our prince arrived.

(Flourish trumpets.)
Llewellyn enters.
LLEWELLYN.
Brothers in arms, well met! You see me safe—
Return'd with better hopes than I durst cherish
At my departure. How did you find our forces?

CADWALL.
Much strengthen'd by the rumour of success;
Which from the neighbouring towns has drawn in shoals
The hardy sons of Britain.

LLEWELLYN.
We shall need them.
Edward is making mighty preparation,
And threatens final ruin to our bands.
Thanks be to heav'n, we shall no longer meet him
As a divided race; my brother David,
By awful warning tutor'd into love,
Joins us with speed; and in his escort comes
The Princess Elinor.—Looks this not well?

CADWALL.
Bravely, my sovereign. Now we see our leader,
That heart which gives the British blood its flow,
We look on dangers as we view those clouds
Which blacken yonder down our mountain's sides;
But never with their smoky breath can reach,
To dim his pure, and snow-invested top.

LLEWELLYN.
Right, my young friend! And, come the hour of peace,
We will attend thee to thy early nest,
And give thee to thy bride. Grace shall reach all.
The diamond rough, and dug here in the quarry,
Shall try the polish of a future court,
And grace the throne my Elinor ascends.
Now then to view the troops.—

[Flourish, and Exeunt.
SCENE.—Inside of Shenkin's Cottage.
Enter Shenkin, Winifred.
SHENKIN.

Come, Win, cheer up! What, though Cadwall
has join'd the army, let him not pluck out
all the heart of the hovel along with him.
Fling t'other log upon the fire—and one more
jug of ale, and then to bed. You, Win, shall describe
your visit to the great city. Or—no, I'll not
sleep up, for fear of the night-air.

WINIFRED.

You are merry, sir; my travels set you asleep!

SHENKIN.

To be sure, girl—Who does not doze, over rugged

roads, and barren heaths, and flooded vallies,
and deep rivers, with the muttering of thunder,
and the whistling of winds? Whenever I
hear any of these insipid narratives of perilous
adventures, in a country that has suffered no
change since Noah, I wish the traveller a smart
shock of an earthquake, to electrify me out of
the vapours. No, no, come—a song.

WINIFRED.
SONG—Winifred.

WINIFRED.
Hark, I hear footsteps about the cottage!

SHENKIN.
The cry of one in pain!

Elinor
, without.
For charity's dear sake, admit the stranger.

SHENKIN.
What, are you friends? The times are perilous—
Honesty has a passport notwithstanding
Should find no door unyielding—Say, what are you?

ELINOR.
Travellers, who are journeying on to Snowdon,
But by some lurking foes set on and wounded—
Open, beseech you.

SHENKIN.
Marry will I, youth.

Elinor, in Boys' Clothes, leads in David, wounded.
ELINOR.
Thanks, gentle friends—I pray you lend an arm
To bear him in.

SHENKIN.
Right willingly, young sir.
Beseems he is the master whom you serve.
How chanc't it, boy, you travel at this time?

ELINOR.
Business of import urg'd us to press onward.

SHENKIN.
How are you, sir?—We'll see these wounds of your's.
Our mountain-practice, though not nice nor costly,
Has store of healing herbs, of power approv'd,
That prosper often, when laborious science
Has tir'd itself in vain. How feel you, sir?

DAVID.
Faint from the loss of blood—Yet I do think.
Not dangerously wounded—But, where am I?

SHENKIN.
Sure, I have heard that voice!—Know you one Shenkin?

DAVID.
O yes, by name and character! Thrice happy
The chance that led me to thee—For thou seest,
Wounded and helpless, underneath thy roof,
David, Llewellyn's brother.

SHENKIN.
Art thou he?
Thou, that false brother, and thy country's shame—
Stand off—sink, die, rot, carrion for the vulture!
Since I wore man upon my chin, till now,
I never knew misfortune seek my hut,
But it was open, as the gentle Dee,
For the nigh-wreck'd to harbour in—But here,
My honest nature scorns a sympathy.

ELINOR.
Forbear, rash peasant!—nor by zeal mistaken
Endanger him, whom thou should'st die to serve.

SHENKIN.
Boy, thou dost well—he is thy master still:
But I owe nothing to a parricide.

DAVID.
Yet hear me—for the sake of him you honor!
My brother and myself are link'd in love;
I journey now to meet him.—

SHENKIN.
Well bethought thee!
Thou wert the jackall to the deadly lion,
That hunts him in the toils.—Thy feints are seen through.
Hence! leave my cottage! Take thy wretched life—
I will not rob thee of the hour of anguish.
High sanguine villainy can laugh at duty.
But there's a salutary sting in pain,
Which wakes us from prosperity's dull opiate,
To long-forgotten ties, and sore repentance.

ELINOR.
Owe you no homage to your country's prince?

SHENKIN.
The question's somewhat roundly put, good youth;
I will not jest with misery. My prince!
While he is truly so, I deem my life,
And all the little substance I call mine,
Held but in trust, to risk in his support.—
That's my side of the reckoning.—He to me
Owes nothing but the undeserted pledge
His honour gave to be his country's champion:—
Make him her deadly foe, the bond is cancell'd,
And injur'd love feels tenfold aggravation.

WINIFRED.
Beseech you, let him stay till morning dawn.

SHENKIN.
Dost thou plead for him? I shall hate thee, girl
I am not to be shaken.—You must hence.

ELINOR.
Ha! I have seen that face—It is my minstrel!
Who brought me tidings from my love, Llewellyn!
Droop not, my Lord—I can dispel their error.
(Taking out a letter.)
Fair Winifred behold this—You remember—

WINIFRED.
'Tis the self-same I bore the Lady Elinor!
She never would resign it but in death—
Perhaps—that habit!—Yes, it is the princess!

ELINOR.
Well, good old friend, your doubt's dispell'd, I trust.—
The Lady Elinor herself assures you,
That the best proof of love for your great master
Is now to shelter and relieve his brother.

DAVID.
I see relenting nature in thine eye,
Look as it would extenuate thy roughness:
But no apology. Had I remain'd
What once, alas! I was, I should deserve
The harshest treatment honesty could offer.

SHENKIN.
'Faith, my good lord, I do not mean to make one.
I feel too earnest in the cause I chuse,
Not to be stern and rigid till it triumph.
But reconcil'd in love to my dear lord,
You may command old Shenkin.—My good Win,
Some of your office; this Lord's hurts demand it.
If any savage could be found so fell
As to refuse his soul to woman's charms,
Let him but see her gentle patience wait
Around the sick-man's pillow, and his heart
Were adamant did it not melt before her.

WINIFRED.
Do, pray, your Grace, lean on me!—To your chamber!
And restoration settle on your couch.

DAVID.
My inmost soul shall thank you.

WINIFRED.
This way, sir.

(She leads him off.)
SHENKIN.
Now, madam, let me ask the news of you.—
The king prepares against us.—

ELINOR.
His main force,
It now appears, had been, in slender parties,
Long since brought round from various points, awaiting
Their final orders, to invest your mountains.
One of these bands assail'd our escort here.
Amid the slaughterous fray, the prince, intent
Alone on saving me, retreating fought.
His adversaries, seeing how he bore him,
Desisted from pursuit.—Night favour'd us,
And, though his wounds are deep, we reach'd your cottage.

SHENKIN.
I'll in and see his hurts; and, gracious mistress,
If any skill I have, to thread these mountains,
Can miss the ravagers, to-morrow's sun
Shall place ye in the deep retreats of Snowdon.

ELINOR.
I am for ever bounden to you, father;
But grieve the times allow your age no rest.

SHENKIN.
'Tis green and lusty, lady. By St. David,
Rouse but the native choler of my race,
And put two trim'd-up warriors in my path,
My quarter-staff should clear a passage through 'em,
And brain the dainty knaves for wolves to feed on.

[Exeunt.
SCENE—A Curtain of rocky Scenery.
Enter King Edward, Hereford, Mortimer, &c.
KING EDWARD.
'Tis a wild night, my lords, and suits our purpose.
Such conflicts of the elements not seldom
Abate an enemy's vigilance. Security
Withdraws him to repose; and dreams not then
Of foes less scrupulous to tempt the storm.

HEREFORD.
Our troops, my liege, creep onward heavily.
The torrents that have wash'd these precipices
Render their footing frail. And the quick lightning,
Which strikes and plays around their steely helms,
Confounds the sight; and many on the cliffs
Sliddering, are from the mountain's verge plung'd down,
And die, ere the far-dashing of the wave,
Speak them engulph'd and lost.

MORTIMER.
'Tis terrible!
Never, in all the warfare I have pass'd,
Have I contended with such natural foes!
'Tis as the genius of the country rose,
Arm'd with ten thousand terrors to resist us!
Let me entreat your majesty, regard
Your person's safety!—Till the dawn appear
Proceed no further.

KING EDWARD.
Peace, for shame, my lord!
Think you I led the soldier hither, but
To gaze and shudder at the wonders Nature
Flings from her daring hand, and so retire?
No—They were meant to temper men to heroes.
Let the drum beat the line of march.—Away!

[Exeunt.
SCENE.
(The scene changes to a narrow pass, along which the King's army must march. A rough and angry torrent bounds it in front, overhung by inaccessible crags. The drum of the invading army is heard and louder as they approach. At the moment when the King attended enters upon the stage, with a hideous yell, the Bards rush to the verge of the cliffs, and with haggard forms, seen only by the glare of the torches they carry, like furies pour out their execrations upon his head, in a full chorus to the harp only.)
CHORUS.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Havock choak thy furious way!
Desolation's raven wing
Sweep thee from the eye of day!
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.

HEREFORD.
Say, what are these?—The spirits of the mountain
Yelling amid the storm!

MORTIMER.
Despair sustain me!—
To arms!

HEREFORD.
Behold, my lord! from forth the band
One rushes on—and, by the sudden silence,
Prepares to speak. Th'undaunted king advances!

1st BARD.
Edward, I call thee! If thou dar'st, then hear me.
Would I could add the eagle's piercing scream,
And all the savage sounds that awe the desert,
To thunder on thee—tyrant, persecutor!—
Cool, unrelenting, bloody ravager!—
Behold the last remains of that high race
Thy policy has butcher'd! Fondly deeming,
That with the bard, who gave the brave to fame,
Freedom itself, and courage would expire!
Impious and vain! Think'st thou the British muse
Within thy power to quench? Give death the reins,
Summon his demons from profoundest hell,
And flood these rocks with blood—I tell thee, King,
The sacred stream will be as dew to them,
And from the freshen'd soil new bards arise,
To animate the breasts, which glow for freedom!

CHORUS interposes.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King.

1st BARD.
Inhuman tendency of giant pride!
Is sanguine victory the only goddess
Whom thy soul worships? Be her triumphs thine!—
What do they yield to deck the bed of death?
Prophetic fury brings thine full upon me;
And leaps the gulph of time with joy to seize it.
Yes, mighty lord, I see that fiery eye,
Veil'd by the last thin film, and none so fond
To prop thy burning head, and preach false comfort.
Then, while the tears of pain scald thy wan cheek,
And life is ebbing fast, I shall stand terrible
Close by thy lonely couch, and wake despair,
To drown thy hopes of pardon in my blood.

KING EDWARD.
I'll bear no longer! To your arms, my friends!
Let not these haggard wretches thus dismay ye!
Silence the race for ever!

(Charge sounded.—The soldiers rush out.—The bards, all but the principal one, fly.—The woods are seen to take fire in the distance.)
1st BARD.
That I laugh at.
He who dares die is master of the means.
My fate is plac'd beyond thee. Think not, king,
The generous stream that beats here shall embathe
A ruffian's falchion.—I hear the groans.
Of my dear dying friends!—Their parting breath
Shrieks curses on thee!—May it fall like mist,
And deadly vapours poison all around thee!—
Hark! the last feeble wail!—and now all's silent.
See, where their thin shades flit among the clouds!—
Behold! they beckon me! and thus I join them.—

(He flings himself into the torrent below him, and with the sound of trumpets the scene drops.)
SCENE—Llewellyn's Post upon the Mountains.
Enter Llewellyn, Gwyn.
LLEWELLYN.
'Tis strange we have no tidings from my brother.
Alas! I fear the num'rous bands which search
The passes of these mountains, have surpriz'd him,
And he is slain, or made their prisoner.

GWYN.

The best compliment is no flattery. He is too
brave a man to survive the disgrace of capture.
What! is he not brother to hur commander?
O the sweet lady too, what may her delicate
heart suffer, in the rough handling of a scuffle!

LLEWELLYN.
Possess me not with terrors for her safety.
Bring the blood-scenting wolf across her track,
Her angel-look might sooth his savage heart,
To gaze on her with love, and let her pass.

Enter Cadwall.
CADWALL.
O, my dear lord, I have been so affected!

LLEWELLYN.
With what, my soldier?

CADWALL.
My lord, as venturing down the winding path,
O'erhung by intertwining thorns and brambles,
I crept to view the gathering foes around us,
In a dark delving issue from the lane,
I heard the cry of some one suffering;
And, guided by the sound, turn'd to the object:
At last, a cold and trembling hand seiz'd mine,
And with convulsive pressure drew me onward.—
I bade the person tell his name, and danger—
When think, my lord, my horror and amazement,
To hear the voice of Dynevor.

LLEWELLYN.
That traitor!

CADWALL.
The dying wretch—for he was near expiring—
Then with a sigh, which anguish made a groan,
Besought me thus: O, stranger, if thy breast
Love loyalty, and would preserve that love,
Listen my fatal story!—From my master,
The brave and gracious master whom I served,
I fled, a craven traitor and a villain!—
His enemy received me—harbour'd me;
But set distrust to watch my doubted conduct:
That stung me deeply.—Well I knew the worst;
And soon determin'd to escape from shame.
I join'd the prince, my royal master's brother,
Who, with his friends, convoy'd our beauteous mistress.—

LLEWELLYN.
What!—what of this?

CADWALL.
At length he went on thus:—
A party of the enemy attack'd us;
I flung me reckless 'gainst an host of foes.—
Thus wounded ev'n to death, I crawl'd at length
Into this secret pass, I once commanded—
With purpose then to throw my dear repentance
In my life-blood at my good master's feet;
And so implore his pardon, and expire.

LLEWELLYN.
My soldier, how thy dismal story racks me!

CADWALL.
And now, cried he, if ever thou hast hope
To bear unsullied innocence to heav'n,
Fly to his presence! O, I know his nature!
(Wretch that I was to wrong it!)—he will weep—
His kind forgiving tear shall wash away
The blot upon my fame!—I sobb'd assent;
Which, when he heard, with a convulsive joy,
He pluck'd a javelin from his wounded side,
And sunk, to speak no more.

LLEWELLYN.
Be witness, heav'n, how dear to my affection
Is his repentant death-bed!—At more leisure
We'll bury him with honour, and inscribe
Upon his covering rock—‘Here lies a virtue,
‘Which, from one fatal error clear'd by conscience,
‘Sought death, to prove his penitence sincere.’
Fair sorrow, by your leave—
(Drum sounds.)
What means that drum?

CADWALL.
A flag of truce.—The bearer now approaches.

Enter Hereford, preceded by a Banner.
HEREFORD.
Thus to the prince of Wales says my great master:
Ere we, who seek him in the heart of Snowdon,
Try our respective strengths, to let him see
Which way our wishes bend, dismissing form,
We send the hostage he demands for parley;
And thus invite immediate conference.

LLEWELLYN.
The princely Hereford will do us justice.
Peace would be cheap, if bought on any terms
But forfeit honour. We accept the hostage;
And set forth in full confidence. My friends,
Let this illustrious warrior here receive
That courtesy, which intermitting peace
Gladdens the soldier's heart to give and welcome;
Hope trusts it may receive no further rupture:
But if it must, the man of courage loves
To shew his personal fondness for his foe,
And that the cause alone inspires his enmity.
You, friends, attend me to their camp.—Farewel.

HEREFORD.
May your accommodation be the herald
To summon my return!

[Exeunt Llewellyn, Cadwall, Gwyn, &c.
SCENE—The Tent of Edward.
A Throne of State, his Generals attending.
(Flourish of Trumpets.)
KING EDWARD.
The duke returns not.—We may then expect
The Prince of Wales in conference. My lords,
Let every honour wait upon his entrance.

Enter Edwin.
EDWIN.
My sovereign liege, a party of your troops,
In a rude cottage of the neighbour mountain,
Discover'd wounded, harbour'd by a peasant,
Prince David, and with him the lady Elinor,
Disguis'd as his attendant.

KING EDWARD.
See them brought,
With all observance to our tent; but kept
Apart from notice, till we call for them.
[Exit Edwin.

MORTIMER.
A flag of truce approaches with the prince.

(A pause.)
LATIMER.
He is advancing through the lines.
(A pause.)
He now
(The trumpets sound.)
Ascends with manly port this eminence.

(A pause.)
MORTIMER.
My liege, he's near your royal tent.

KING EDWARD.
Admit him.
(Llewellyn enters, covered. He advances with a firm step, and a composed and intrepid demeanor, until he faces the king; he then takes off his helmet, which he delivers to an attendant, and profoundly bows. The king inclines to him, as he sits.)
I could have wish'd, renowned prince of Wales,
This conference had earlier pass'd between us.
You may remember that I should not now
First ask the grievances Llewellyn suffers,
But that with insult he profess'd a fear
His freedom might be injur'd in the parley.

LLEWELLYN.
Intended insult, king, that prince disclaims:
'Tis the vain froth of prosperous meanness. I
Had reason for the fear; which, with that frankness
That must be mine in every state of fortune,
I will, with due respect, submit to you.

KING EDWARD.
Speak freely, warrior.

LLEWELLYN.
There are modes of warfare,
Which, in the strife that states like subjects kindle,
Are grac'd by something generous in their nature:
And being undisguis'd and open quarrel,
Like fleshly wounds, but suppurate their evil,
And close at length in perfect sanity.—
Others there are insidious, dark and deadly,
Which baffle the soft healing hand of peace,
And rankling hate for ever fester there.

KING EDWARD.
'Tis freely spoken.—But proceed, Llewellyn.

LLEWELLYN.
I have a brother—(on his former errors
Light he rebuke, for I have pardon'd them)—
But from his country and his prince he fled:
Your arms receiv'd him.—Some of less esteem,
Yet subjects also, left me in my danger:
They found a welcome too.—I tell thee, monarch,
Had any in your court, with traitor hearts,
Brought to my weakness their best strength in arms,
And lent their counsels to betray your purposes,
I would have sent them guarded to your justice,
And scorn'd ev'n conquest, aided by dishonour!

KING EDWARD.
There is less difference here, than you imagine.—
Your rebels never shar'd my councils, prince—
But you refus'd the homage to our crown,
Paid by your ancestors.—In Henry's time,
Your bards will tell you, one of them in zeal,
When that great monarch sought the coast of Wales,
Plung'd in the sea to clasp him in his arms,
And from the wafting boat bore him to land.

LLEWELLYN.
I'm sorry for the fact, since it proclaims
The name Llewellyn once meant slave and coward!

KING EDWARD.
What in this case would'st thou of choice have done?

LLEWELLYN.
Call'd to my mind my country's former glory:
Disdain'd to blot her history with submission.
Rather than fawn away the trusted sum
Of my brave people's independence, I
Had driv'n, like brave Bonduca, my arm'd chariots
Down our white cliffs to the insulted shore,
And whelm'd the rash invader in destruction.

KING EDWARD.
If victory, then, had shunn'd Llewellyn's standard—

LLEWELLYN.
I had been conquer'd, lord, and died in arms.—
One infamy my foe too would have 'scap'd—
The pains, by subtle sophisters and traitors,
To taint the heart of duty in my subjects!
Malign my government, insult my feelings,
And preach rebellion 'gainst their general father!
Your highness now may gather from my speech
My purposes, my griefs, and apprehensions.
If skill'd to read the soul, you will perceive
The true avowal of an adversary;
If of a mind that loves it, you will know
The way to quench his honest enmity,
And win a firm ally—a faithful friend.

KING EDWARD.
Such language, prince, can only flow from honour!
But do not wonder, I remind you, lord,
Of provocations, calling for redress:
How often have your chiefs, who rule the borders,
Wasted our neighbour lands, and to the sword
Put our defenceless, unsuspecting subjects?
If you had never sanction'd such destruction,
The coward ravagers had kept their homes.

LLEWELLYN.
Whether complaint like this might not be answer'd
By similar aggressions on your part,
I will not now enquire.—This is my answer:
When nations draw their swords against each other,
Think you the quarrel in the general mass?
No, it resides in some few desperate villains,
Who seizing power, determine to retain it.—
Ours is a common cause—Cement our union,
And soon the growing mischief dies before it.

KING EDWARD.
By holy Paul, the evil stands declar'd!
Prince, for a moment we will seek our council;
And straight return, confirm'd by their advice.

(Flourish trumpets.)
[Exit. King and Officers.
Enter Elinor.
ELINOR.
Joy, my Llewellyn, joy!—The generous king,
Permits me thus, like the returning dove,
To announce reviving peace. Your brother too,
Though wounded, yet recov'ring, comes to greet you.

LLEWELLYN.
O thou cold guide, Prudence, may I rely
Upon this op'ning heav'n of happiness?
My Elinor, art thou thus giv'n to me
Freely, no weight of base conditions hung
About thee, to ensnare my yielding soul?

ELINOR.
As freely, I do think, as yonder sun-beams,
Which, after a long night of thick'ning horrors,
Enforce a smile on Nature's suff'ring face.

Enter David.
DAVID.
My brother, let me greet thy prosp'rous fortunes.
The wounds I yet do something smart beneath
Are precious, since they bring me to the sight
Of thy admitted sovereignty.

LLEWELLYN.
O rise;
And let me know each circumstance that laid
So rude a tax upon my brother's love.

(They retire.)
Enter Winifred, who flies to Cadwall.
CADWALL.

So, Win, our wars are ended—and thou'rt here
in time to save me a new expedition.

WINIFRED.

What, was there more peril to be dar'd?

CADWALL.

But little, I believe—I should have begg'd leave
of absence—hurried home—kiss'd thee first—
then claim'd performance of thy promise; and
laid my cares asleep for ever in thy lap.

WINIFRED.

See, your brave, generous father!

Enter Shenkin.—Cadwall kneels to him.
SHENKIN.

Bless thee, bless thee, boy! Pshaw, foolish
heart!—tears now upon this rock-work? I thought
the spring was dry.

CADWALL.

Clasping your honour'd knees, I beg your
blessing, sir.

SHENKIN.

Thou hast it—it has ever clung about thee.
Pardon a father's superstition, son; but I do
think that a fond parent's blessing on his child is
a protecting angel to his life, till guilt dispel the
charm.

GWYN.

Joy to you, comrade—Got in his goot mercies
pless you, Winifred; and Heaf'n pless hur prince
and his bride.

SHENKIN.

The first gush of joy is apt to overflow the
measure! I have more still than I can contain,
and it will have way. Giver of all joy, hear me!
a patriot's sum of blessing is his country.—May
it flourish, and be the source of genuine truth
and honour! May every rash attempt at its annoyance
ensure its own destruction; and her sons
drive all invaders from the shore, as her proud
cliffs repel the rising waves, that dash the rocky
bulwark and retire!

(Flourish trumpets.)
King Edward enters, and taking a hand of each, advances between Llewellyn and Elinor.
KING EDWARD.
All thought of conquest, prince, I here disclaim;
And I exact no tribute. Be my friend—
My nearest, best ally; and, in her perils,
Let England ever find her warmest champion,
Her grace, her glory, in the prince of Wales!

LLEWELLYN.
CHORUS.