University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in the Baron's Castle—A Picture of Matilda, to which the Baron is discovered kneeling.
Baron.
Thou frail memorial of that blessed spirit,
Which, after earthly martyrdom, now sittest
Thron'd with rejoicing angels, see me kneel
With the prone spirit of contrition,
And deep despair to do thee rev'rence:
If that foul deeds, as horrible as mine,
Do ever at the throne of grace find mercy,
Be thou my advocate, with boundless love
Larger than thy exceeding wrongs, plead for me,
That what cannot be pardon'd, may thro' thee
Provoke a lighter penance. (Rises.)
So—that done,
My heart hath heav'd off somewhat of its load—
For when in full confession, we pour forth
The inward meditation of dark deeds,
They cease awhile to haunt us.

(Enter Philip.)
Bar.
What brings you?

Phil.

Old Walter, the Curfew toller, is without,
and impatient to speak with your Lordship.

Bar.
Let him come in.
[Exit Philip.
A talkative old fool!—
What can he want?
[Enter Walter.
Well, Sir, your business briefly.

Wal.

Out of respect to your Lordship, I will
dispatch it with all brevity and circumlocution.

Bar.

Proceed then.

Wal.

Your Lordship has no doubt heard of
old Margery—

Bar.

What, the strange woman on the heath?

Wal.

Ay, my Lord, they say all over the village
that she's a witch, and has dealings with the
devil, brings blight upon the corn, and murrain
among the cattle—she is charged with having
conjured the late terrible drought, and she certainly
caused the flood that followed it, for she
was heard the day before to wish for rain—she
turns her nose up at all our country pastimes,
pores all day over books of magic, and prowls
all night about the lanes and hedges, gathering
poisonous herbs, which she boils in a three corner'd
kettle—she has more hard words at her
tongue's end than a convent of monks, and has
actually been seen taking an airing on a broomstick
—'Tis plain she converses with people of
the other world, for she never talks to any body
in this, and 'tis impossible that any woman can
be always holding her tongue.

Bar.

What's this to me?

Wal.

They wish your Lordship to have her to
the Castle, and examine her, for if she be a witch

your Lordship knows we have a very wise law,
that she must be drown'd alive, or in plainer
terms suffer conflagration.

Bar.

Well, well, we'll send for her—Is there
aught else?

Wal.

Something that more nearly concerns
your Lordship.

Bar.

That concerns me?

Wal.

Your Lordship cannot be ignorant that
I am an officer of the peace to his most gracious
Majesty King William, whose business it is, to
see that all his Majesty's merry-making subjects,
put out fire and candle at the tolling of
my bell—I am a sort of eight o'clock extinguisher.

Bar.

And is this, fellow, what so nearly concerns
me?

Wal.

Your Lordship shall hear.—In going
my rounds, I have noted, for some evenings past,
a glimmering light after curfew time, in the
north tower of your Lordship's Castle.

Bar.

A light in the north tower? Thou
dreamest, fellow; 'tis uninhabited.

Wal.

Why then 'twas the devil, or a will-o'-the
wisp—tho' they never open their mouths, and
I'm sure I heard voices.

Bar.

Are you sure of that?

Wal.

Positive, my Lord; they didn't talk
very loud indeed, for when people are doing things
contrary to law, they seldom make much noise.

Bar.

You've mentioned this to no one?

Wal.

Not to a post saving your Lordship.

Bar.

Then keep your counsel still.

Wal.

Yes, my Lord—I hope your Lordship
is not offended.

Bar.

No, no—you've done your duty.

Wal.

Your Lordship knows if a rushlight

be seen to twinkle in the hamlet, after the stopping
of my clapper (my bell-clapper I mean, my
Lord), I am in visible danger of losing my place,
and his Majesty a most faithful officer.

Bar.

Psha, this tediousness!

Wal.

Tediousness? (aside.)
I wish your
Lordship a good day—my tediousness (aside.)

I wish your Lordship many happy returns of
it—you your Lordship won't forget to examine
old Margery—

[Exit.
Bar.
A light in the north tower, and voices heard?
What should this mean? Can it be possible?
Oh Florence, if in spite of my forbidding,
Basely forgetting your high rank and fortune,
You have declin'd upon a peasant slave,
Sorrow and shame light on you.

[Exit.