University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—The interior of a Prison.
Mrs. Hargrave discovered lying on a couch at the back of the Stage. Enter Hargrave.
Har.
She sleeps. Now, mercy with thy sacred balm,
Anoint her soul, and the sweet dew of peace
Drop on her heart, that she may glow of Heaven,
Ere Heaven receive her pure and gentle spirit.

[Mrs. H. rises, and perceiving her husband, approaches him.
Mrs. H.
I have wish'd to see you, Henry; they have made me
Guiltier than truth could make me—they have sought
My life, and they will take my life, by means
That even murder's self would shudder at.
One fear, and only one, remains: can you
Believe me the vile wretch they falsely make me?

Har.
I have deserv'd this at your hands, and feel
The deep reproach. Oh, Margaret, Margaret,
My words are words that have no space to hold
The feelings that oppress me. Could my soul speak,
You had not ask'd that question.

Mrs. H.
It has spoken.
Thank God for that. Forgive me—I am happy.

Har.
Can you be happy in an hour like this?

Mrs. H.
I could—but to leave you and the dear children—
This is death's bitterness.

Har.
They are protected.

Mrs. H.
And you, dear Henry?

Har.
Heaven will not desert me.

Mrs. H.
In whom I trust. Oh, Henry, I have pray'd,
And have not pray'd in vain. No heart so weak,
But Heaven can fill it with an angel's strength:
That strength, my husband, is effus'd from prayer.
The world, which once, I fear, we lov'd too well,
Thought of too much—applied ourselves too long
In vain to satisfy, is pass'd away,
Like a thin shadow—which it is—'tis vanish'd,
Melted, and all my hopes are gone before me,
To the one kingdom.

Har.
Why, 'tis well—'tis well.
You have done with a most worthless world—'tis well—
And through the wide and ever-open gate
Of death, would pass to glory—but the death,—
You have not thought of that—the ignominy,
The hideous shame, whose engines cauterize
Our name for ever: that might be escap'd.
Might it not be escap'd? I would out-tire
A thousand years in prison, so that this
Dishonour might be spar'd.

Mrs. H.
Do not talk thus:
Pray for me, rather, that my nature fail not
In the last dreadful moment.

Har.
I cannot.
The time is near at hand, and I must speak.
This shall not be; I should go mad to know it—
I must not see you perish on the scaffold,
A public spectacle of shame—a show,
For myriads to gaze upon with horror.

Mrs. H.
Speak not thus wildly to me—it must be—
My life is forfeit to the laws, and I
Must pay the penalty.

Har.
Yes, but how? but how?
Forestall the act—anticipate the doom,—
We have the precious means in our own hands.

Mrs. H.
What means are these?

Har.
Here! [Produces a phial.]
Let us die together.

Mrs. H.
Oh, weak, rash man! what is a shameful death,
If this is glorious? Because the night is dark,
Who tempts the lightning? Do you wish to die
Because you fear to live, and yet would rush
Into a world of never-ending life,
And endless woe to those that came unsought.
Promise me this—swear to me you will live.
We are not as ourselves, but as our keepers
In trust for others, dearer than ourselves,
And for their sake—

Har.
You torture me in vain.
I cannot bear the thought—must not endure it.
You plead as ever, like yourself and virtue,
But now your words rebound from my full heart,
And fall unheeded.

Mrs. H.
Yet reflect, reflect—
The power that has permitted the event
Forecasts the issue. Trust that—mistrust yourself.

May.
(Without.)
Where are they? Conduct me to them instantly.

Har.
They come to take their last farewell of you:
The time's at hand, and they will bear you hence,
To instant execution. I will not live
To see it. [Hargrave is about to take the poison, when Mrs. Hargrave, with a shriek, snatches it from his hand.]


Enter Maynard, followed by his Wife.
May.
I have such tidings for you.

Mrs. H.
Oh, speak them—speak them!

May.
The woman has confess'd—Beauchamp's secur'd—
A respite has been granted—the King's pardon
Will follow it betimes.

[Hargrave drops upon his knees.
Mrs. A.
(After a pause.)
Oh, my friends—
Your timely news has sav'd two lives—perhaps,
Two souls—but that must not be dwelt on now.
My husband!

Har.
Margaret!

[They embrace]
Mrs. H.
Let none with impious doubt,
Suggest to Providence the way to guide him
Which when he least perceives, and would defy her,
Is then most prompt to serve him.