University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene.—An Apartment of the Castle.
Enter Orlando, with three Ruffians.
Orlando.
Nearer—Ye say ye've wrought your minds to this?

1st Ruf.
We have, my Lord! and are not us'd to flinch.

Orl.
Then look for larger payment as ye thrive.—
Some five miles hence, within the forest precinct,
She must be still upon the broadest path;
And quick dipatch will bring you with her there:
Old Mark, who came to tell of her arrival,
Is gone to meet her; but before he makes
The shorter path to join the greater road,
Ye may o'ertake her long; for fleeter Barbs
Are not on English ground, than are the three
That only wait your mounting,

2d Ruf.
Let's away.

Orl.
Here, Hugo! With her is a youth unarm'd;
Her Paramour; I saw them close embrac'd—
Dispatch him too.

3d Ruf.
My Lord, he shan't escape.

(Exeunt Ruffians.
Orlando
alone.
So much for that—Why let them call it murder.
When noble souls goaded by great Ambition,
Perceive the path that leads the tow'ring wish
Cross'd by some futile life, superfluous air,
They give the bubble vent, and pass along.
Yet what's Ambition to the goad I feel!
This step secures my bliss:—Yet should they fail,
I'll bring religion to my aid—the Church—
For Popes and Monks can sanctify each act,
And mar the possibility of guilt.

Enter Magdeline.
Mag.
What is't disturbs your breast? Is ought amiss?

Orl.
Oh woman! what a source of joy art thou!
The heav'nly refuge from all mortal care!
Delicious antidote of venom'd thought!
Syren! that draws us headlong into bliss.

Mag.
I hope, my Lord, you think no evil of me:
I would not for my life so bear myself,
As to be charg'd with semblance of a Syren.
My Lord! you're ill; and gaze most wildly on me:
Indeed, indeed, you fright me very much.

Orl.
Gaze on thee! I could gaze for ever—
Thus Appius gaz'd upon the Roman maid,
And struck at Justice for the bliss he hop'd—
Thus gaz'd young Tarquin on the Roman dame,
And lost his kingdom for the pleasing transport—
Thus gaz'd Atrides on the Trojan slave,
And with Achilles' wrath prolong'd the war—
Thus ever gaz'd the God of Love, and thus—

Mag.
My Lord! I do not comprehend your words,
I scarce can stand, and my heart palpitates.

Orl.
Thy heart now pants with overwhelming Love.

Mag.
It pants with fear to see you thus, my Lord!
Whither, oh! whither are my parents fled?
Oh send me, send me to their rev'rend arms;
Where I could live most humble and content.
For Love is not a stranger to my heart:
I know it well, and cannot yield, Orlando!
To be deceiv'd, and call a demon Love.
For Love is calm, is joy, is brightness all;
Attends the wishes of the object lov'd,
And swiftly flies to execute the wish;
Then sits repos'd, and meditating good;
But never looks as ready to destroy.

Orl.
Perverse fatality! this very pureness
But heaps the fuel on, and fires me more.

Mag.
My Lord! how very strange it doth appear
To leave our friends, and now the hour of parting;
I came to urge you back.

Orl.
Lead, lead the way:
If Love be such, Nature is then a Demon.

(Exeunt.
Scene.—The Forest.
Enter Edward and Lucretia.
Edw.
How far'st thou now?

Luc.
Why bravely, bravely, Edward!
Th' exhausted animal, the faint machine,
Hath been wound up anew: fresh hope instill'd,
Dear Edward, never fails to give fresh spirits:
Nay I could walk all night, sweet sleep defy,
And dance exulting on my journey's end.

Edw.
I fear the weather for thee: and thy strength,
However better'd by supplying Hope,
Is yet too low to reach the Castle gates,
Before some two hours hence—'tis dark already:
I pray we may not have a storm—the calm
And heat intense portended this.

Luc.
It seems
To threaten us—I hope it will not come;
Yet fearless I could set me down, and brave
The boist'rous winds, beneath a friendly hedge.
I've ta'en a cordial, that will make me proof.
Amid a thousand present ills I'd sit
To meditate to-morrow's joy, and lose
Immediate sense in blest anticipation.

Edw.
Methought I heard—

Luc.
What dost thou see? What is't thou look'st at, Edward?

Edw.
Be not alarm'd—for though I have a doubt
Foul play is meant us, yet thou need'st not fear:
I have a heart will scare a dozen rogues;
And here are only three.

Luc.
See they dismount,
Intent on mischief—they are villains, Edward!
Ah my frail nature! sure they will not kill us.—

Edw.
We'll make alliance with this friendly oak.—
I am not without arms; this trusty point
Is made of toughest iron, and will give
A fatal blow to unprovok'd oppression.

Enter the Ruffians.
1st Ruf.
You are sure he is unarm'd?

2d Ruf.
My Lord told me so.

1st Ruf.
Then what is that he carries in his hand?

3d Ruf.

Why he's a Pilgrim: can't you perceive it
is the Cross.

1st Ruf.

If that be all, we'll cross him presently.

You know our agreement—dispatch him out of hand,
and bind her: 'tis time enough to send her to Heaven.

Edw.
Off, villains, off.

(They attack Edward, who keeps his ground, till one of the Ruffians forces him to quit it, by slipping behind the tree.—He beats the other two off the Stage.)
Luc.
(to one of the Ruffians, who struggles to bind her.)
Oh Heav'n! I pray you do not kill me, Sir!
What would you of so poor a wretch as I?
Now, as you hope for mercy, spare my life!
Help! Edward, help! Help! Help!

(Edward returns, and beats off the Ruffian.)
Luc.
Oh! do not leave me:
Edward, return! thou can'st not overtake them—
For Mercy's sake return!

(Edward returns, and she runs to him.)
Edw.
They will not rally;
For cowardice, that clings to villany,
Spurs on their flight, and gives the speed of wings.
Come now, take courage.

Mark
(within).
Ho! Lucretia!

Edw.
Softly!

Mark
(within).
Lucretia! what, Lucretia! ho! Lucretia!

Luc.
What can this mean? perhaps my Lord hath sent—

Edw.
Retire, and let me speak.

Mark
(within).
What! ho! Lucretia!

Enter Mark.
Edw.
Whom seek'st thou, Sir?

Mark.
Oh! hast thou seen a Lady
Traverse the Forest in a Pilgrim's garb?

Edw.
I have; and now what would'st thou with the Lady?

Mark.
Oh bring me to her, Sir! She is my Lady.
I heard a fray: I hope no harm hath reach'd her—
Ha! by my hopes, thou art the very youth
Who tends upon her steps—She must be near—
Where art thou, Madam? 'tis Mark, old Mark,
Thy faithful servant Mark, that calls—Sir—I—
Nay, tell me, is the Lady's name Lucretia?

Luc.
Oh! my good friend, it is, it is Lucretia.

Mark.
Blest be the hour! this is the act of Heav'n;
And welcome! welcome! thus on my knees
Oh! suffer me to kiss these welcome hands.

Luc.
And art thou still alive? my good old friend!
And still the father of my Magdeline?
Oh thou'rt a worthy good old man.

Mark.
Ah! Madam!
Still do I tremble at the recollection:—
My dreadful oath—Orlando—

Luc.
I've seen Orlando,
Here in the forest, while the sun was setting:
He told me of my child, and Heav'n be prais'd
She lives to recompence my suff'rings all.
Oh! you must all of you have thought me dead:
But now the worst is past, we'll grieve no more,
For lasting joy is come again amongst us.

Mark.
Then Heav'n be prais'd! and sure I will not mar
The present joys.—The blessed Saints have sent thee:
Yet wish I must, (my heart is us'd to bode)
The virtues thou bring'st back may find reward.

Luc.
Nay, do not doubt it, Mark! my Lord is gone,
Yielding to my inflexible request,
Against his inclination gone, to make
The Castle ready for his Pilgrim guests.
There stands, my friend, a paragon for youth:
Embrace him, Mark! for he hath sav'd me twice,
And times unnumber'd hath reliev'd my pains.

Mark.
Nay, I could love him for his mien alone,
That speaks his heart to be both brave and good.

Edw.
Good Sir! thy presence is most timely for us,
And hath reliev'd thy Lady of her fears.

Luc.
I had forgot them at the sight of Mark:
Though scarce a second ere thou cam'st my life
Was at the stake: ah! had'st thou seen my champion,
How bravely he oppos'd himself to three,
And singly vanquish'd their united force!
Oh my deliverer!

(Takes Edward's hand, he kisses hers.
Edw.
Such recompence
Would tempt a wish for further proofs of service.
Sir, are these villanies committed often?

Mark.
Once is too oft; for in the Forest grounds
I never recollect the like before;
And my suspicious soul forebodes no good.

Edw.
Thou need'st not fear, they will not come again.

Mark.
The coursers which they rode, I saw them fly,
Are far too good to call such villains masters—
Ah Madam! was Orlando kind?

Luc.
He was.

Mark.
What! very kind?

Luc.
When once his wonder dropt,
His kindness overflow'd: he would have stay'd;
But I denied, and forc'd him to the Castle.

Mark.
Then to the Castle let us follow quick:
And to the utmost urge thy strength, dear Lady!
For I have horrid doubts I fain would end.

Luc.
Well, Mark! end how they will, I'll not complain:
Refin'd attention long hath pass'd my hopes.

Edw.
That's well resolv'd:—let's on; the wind increases,
And sulphur fills the air.

Mark.
Pray use our arms,
For on we must—I'll lead the shortest way.

Luc.
See my supports! brave Edward, and the Cross!
The strength that bore me homeward to my joys.

(Exeunt.
Scene.—The Castle.
Enter Magdeline and Constance.
Con.
Think better of your lot, my dearest Lady.

Mag.
Oh! Constance! I've already overleap'd
The frightful precipice of Misery:
And all day long have felt increasing swiftness,
Doubling each instant, speed me to the bottom,
Where must be dash'd my ev'ry hope of comfort.

Con.
'Tis now too late.

Mag.
Alas! it is, it is.

Con.
Then make the best of the necessity.

Mag.
Oh! what a comfort that! so Dev'ls themselves
May make the best of their damnation too.

Con.
I fain would comfort if I could, but fear
The evil is by much too deeply rooted.
Is such reluctance to apparent good
Th' effect alone of virgin modesty?
Ah! Magdeline! I dread some prior love
Hath ta'en possession of your tender heart.

Mag.
True Constance, true! I'll tell thee whom I love.

Con.
Nay do not tell—I dread the confidence—
For should Orlando ever know—

Mag.
The love
That Magdeline confesses now, good Constance!
Will neither make her blush, nor bring thee danger.—
Oh Mark! oh Beatrice! why have ye left me?
Why have ye now forsaken me? at last
Giv'n me to Sorrow's chain, when ye so long
Had fed my hopes ye never would consent?
'Twas ye possess'd the love of Magdeline.
Yes Constance! 'twas my father and my mother—
And they have giv'n me up—thyself my Constance
The dreadful sentence brought, the joyless letter,
That robb'd their daughter of her mortal peace:—
And then to urge it in their absence too.

Con.
'Tis hard indeed! but trust me had you seen
The piteous manner of the aged pair,
Your heart had melted in their gratitude.

Mag.
Yet, oh! it shudders at its gloomy prospect:
I never, never can approve Orlando;
For he's so boist'rous, and so little lov'd
Of any, and so little amiable:—
His very kindness seems to me all rage.

Con.
'Tis youth and inexperience that talk thus:
Orlando hath a comeliness and beauty,
That surely might awake within your breast
The riper feelings of impassion'd love.

Mag.
Impassion'd love! alas! I know not passion—
My blood is icicled to all mankind;
And all the love I know is calm and pure.

Con.
Come, come, my Lady! I too am a woman—
You may, demurely if you will, deny
The genial feelings Nature's self matures,
But I know well there's none exempt her law.

Mag.
Now then, Constance! by all the Saints I swear
I know not what thou mean'st.

Con.
Nay, do not swear.—
Why after all then did you give consent?

Mag.
That, that indeed is Nature's work: I own
The influence. All Nature cries, return!
Give good for evil is a law divine;
But good for good's a law e'en mortal Nature
Could suggest, and Dev'ls alone deny.—
Constance! I owe Orlando much; a debt
I must repay, e'en though I lose myself.
Yes, I will strive to conquer misery,
Catch at each twig to flatter me with bliss,
And try at least to hide my pangs from him.

(Exeunt.
Enter Orlando.
Now, by my stars! such formal friendship tires:
I thought they never would have left the Castle.—
Ere this my ruffians have dispos'd their prey—
Murder my wife! why will the thought intrude?
Rebellious thought! that will not yield obedience
To any sway.—I'll think of Magdeline,
Who now prepares with panting expectation—
Panting her last breath—while Hugo's dagger
Reeks with the parting life—Ah bloody villain!
Another purse would point the weapon here.—
Oh! coward, coward heart!—what! shall I ne'er
Shake off these fev'rish apprehensions?
Dwelling on horrid phantasies, though vain,
Till my disorder'd frame is all on motion,
And my soul harrow'd by ideal forms.
Avaunt ye idle dreams! my Magdeline
Henceforth shall banish ev'ry thought but Love.

(Exit.