University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene.—The Mausoleum.
Enter Edward and Mark.
Edward.
Thy age and wisdom should have taught thee better:
Virtue to such extreme becomes a vice.
Whoever takes an oath to act a crime,
Is bound to break his oath, and Heav'n absolves.
Thou should'st have broke ten thousand thousand oaths,
Rather than suffer'd such a blot on Nature:
'Twas superstitious bigotry, not virtue.

Mark.
Alas! I thought (and who would not have thought?)
That Lucrece' presence would have been enough.
Spare me reproaches, Edward! my old heart
Is not so wither'd with the blast of time,
Or harden'd by experience, but it feels
Acutest pangs for such unearn'd reproach.
Involuntary guilt! yet guilty still.
Would that my death could wipe away affliction!
Would that my death could wipe the crime away!

Edw.
Forgive me, Mark! I did not mean to add
Reproach to sorrow: sorrow such as thine.
I love thy virtues, and I share thy grief.
My heart is doubly loaded: think, ah! think,
Good Mark! how few my years, and yet how bitter!
I just began to know my Father's value,
When I lost him—I find a Mother then,
But find, alas! that Mother an adultress—
A Sister too! a Sister!
Charming and innocent, lost ere she's found.

Mark.
Oh Edward! how I dread the morn's approach,
When Magdeline must meet her Mother's eye,
And the poor child be stunn'd with infamy.

Edw.
Oh the villain! no, she must not, shall not hear it.
In this I'll be the guardian of her peace—
Can we procure his horses?

Mark.
What if we can?

Edw.
I'll send her hence this very moment, Mark!
I'll snatch her from the villain's arms, and bar
By distance, and by ever watchful care,
All avenues of her unhappy story.
On thee she looks as on her father still,
With thee will fly unconscious of the shame
And long may dwell on earth with peace of mind.

Mark.
Oh! bless thee for the thought, thou child of Virtue!—
There's scarce a man about him but detests him,
Who would not rather injure than assist.—
But how to wrest the victim from his talons?
I fear, I fear, the failure of the plan.

Edw.
At least we'll try—thou say'st the villain boasts
His skill at swords?

Mark.
He hath the fame through England.

Edw.
Then will he meet my challenge readily:
Meanwhile seek Magdeline, and fly the Castle.
Lodge her where not a soul that now surrounds us
May dream to find her; when securely lodg'd,
Seek in disguise Report's more open paths:
There suit thy action with the known event.
If Heav'n decree, the Tyrant still must live,
Old as thou art, thou must move actively.
These tablets will be good credentials for thee:
And here's my purse, that still continues heavy:
At Milan fix thy charge, and tell my tale;
There's not a soul, but who will give her welcome:
Leave to oblivion and the wretch the deed,
That, known but once, forever mars her peace.
As for thyself, support thy spirits well,
That thou may'st well perform, what now thou ow'st;
Nor judge thy part by its forlorn event,
For Heav'n regards the pious motives better.
And for my Mother, if she'll follow, well:
If not, why leave her to herself and Heav'n.

Mark.
I'll do my best, if Heav'n but give me strength.
But oh! let pity plead thy Mother's cause!
Misled not vile, seduc'd but not deprav'd;
And for one frailty, a long life of woe.

Edw.
What root could Virtue in that mind have ta'en,
That could be swept away by such a puff,
As this Orlando? Mark! before I knew
She was my Mother, I did doat upon her:
But then to think how she hath us'd my Father.

Mark.
Oh! thou forget'st her many, many virtues.

Edw.
Were they as brilliant as the stars of Heav'n,
The wrongs of Mortimer would tarnish all.—
While thou prepar'st thy flight, I'll to my Mother,
And find how stands her mind towards my plan;
Then meet thee at the villain's chamber door.—
So make good speed—the storm is past, it clears,
And the old moon will light thee on thy way.

Mark.
Oh! spare thy Mother; and remember, Edward!
That Heav'n wills mercy, and not sacrifice.

Exeunt.
Scene.—Orlando's Apartments.
Enter Orlando.
The Theban felt not half my weight of guilt.—
What did the Theban? pluck out both his eyes:
He could not bear to see offended Nature—
He pluck'd out both his eyes for very grief.
He knew not—ah! no more did I conceive—
But then he never, never was to blame;
I am myself the source of all this guilt.—
(Takes out a Dagger.
Ah! fatal instrument! I have revolv'd thee:—
Now, now stand forth the friend of Innocence.
If Magdeline awake, she wakes to horror:
Sleep keeps her safely in the paths of peace:—
Then make her sleep forever. Horror, madness,
Can never follow into purer realms.—
Lucretia's curses fall upon me thick—
Death is the sole atonement in my pow'r,
'Tis all I now can give to make her happy,
And thus resolv'd, I bear the bloody gift.
(Goes into the Chamber, then returns.
I will not do't—I'll leave it all to Fate—
(Pauses.
A Mother!—Sister!—'twere indeed a curse!
Distraction! Hell! She cannot, must not live.
(Goes in—it thunders—he returns in wild disorder.
The very Castle trembled at the stroke—
Th' affrighted Elements roll'd deeper thunder—
And the mov'd floor still quakes beneath my feet.
Virginius stabb'd his child with braver heart;
But oh! that was a sacrifice to virtue!—
Claudio!—to what a depth of wickedness—
In vain I wish to think hereafter nothing—
Claudio, I say!—
The meek gave death, the wise forsook his God—
But wisdom, meekness, were no care of mine:
Hypocrisy and passion! on I plung'd—
Ah! Parricide! 'tis fire, 'tis torture, Hell!

Enter Claudio.
Orl.
Come hither Claudio—all the world will shun me
How did they punish parricide at Rome?—
At modern Rome 'tis not so great—this dagger—

Claud.
My Lord! my Lord! 'tis steep'd in blood.

Orl.
Hush! hush! thou fool! let's hide it from the world—
This reeking dagger drew no common blood,
Gave no common death, struck no common murder—
Now, Claudio! dost thou love me, Claudio? Say,
Wilt thou serve me, Claudio?—

Claud.
Try me, my Lord!

Orl.
I will—'tis done, and cannot be undone.—
See, Claudio! 'tis the blood of Magdeline.—
The body rests to bring me to confusion:
Help me in secret to convey it hence;
Quick let us bear it to the Mausoleum.
Found here, 'twill prove resistless evidence:
Ere morning come, Invention may assist
To coin some tale, and stay Enquiry's tongue.—
What shall I do with this?

(Showing the dagger.
Claud.
Convey it hence,
And with the body, leave it in the tomb.

Orl.
We will—There is a frame within will suit
The purpose of a bier.—Come—go in with me.

(Exeunt.
Scene.—Lucretia's Chamber.—Lucretia on a Couch.
Enter Edward.
Edw.
Sleep'st thou so calmly, Mother! then 'tis plain
Thou know'st not yet the horrors that surround thee.
Oh what a sight is this! my heart beats quick:
I feel it melting at great Nature's impulse.
Spirit of Mortimer! assist thy Son
To stem the current that unmans him thus,
And joins the form of Cruelty to Justice.
Rest heart—do I now see, and know my Mother?
Ah! what a softness overwhelms my bosom!
A fondness, yet unfelt, invades my soul.

(Kisses her hand.
Luc.
Go, go, Orlando.

Edw.
Orlando! oh Heav'ns!
Her very dreams are all of him—Sad woman!
Yes! I will tell her she's a wanton woman;
And if she will not leave these damned walls,
Why let her stay, and feed upon th' event:
Come forth my Father! speak to her thyself:
And I will witness how she bears thy words.
(He lays the paper on her pillow.
The time's too short, she must no longer sleep.
Lucrece! awake! is this a time for sleep?

Luc.
Who calls? It was the voice of Mortimer:
I know it well: come hither, Love! where am I?
I shall go mad—my brain is bursting—Oh!
Where's Mercy fled? and where doth Justice hide?
They are not known on earth—they are in Heav'n—
They are—what's here? a paper on my pillow—
Perhaps it brings advice from Heav'n—some Angel
Dropt it here—I think 'tis stain'd with blood:
Did not young Edward talk of such a paper?
(Reads.
Oh Heav'n! he is my Son—where, where is Edward?
Where is my Mortimer? my Mortimer!

(Edward comes forward.
Edw.
Read the sad story of thy injur'd husband.

Luc.
I know it all—but oh! I never knew—
Thou art indeed my Son.

Edw.
I am the Son
Of him that once—my Mother! oh! my Mother!
I am thy Son.

(They embrace.
Luc.
Oh! my sweet Mortimer!
My Son! my Edward! my dear Mortimer!
When first I lov'd thee, had I not good reason?

Edw.
The same good reason sway'd it not my heart?

Luc.
Oh! thou'rt the very stamp of Mortimer.—
Where, where have been my eyes this many a day,
To let thee pass! my Son, my Son, my Son!
And so thy Father died in battle, Edward?

Edw.
My Father, Madam, should have been alive.

Luc.
Why so he should—I thought he had been drown'd—
Thought! what a thought! oh wicked, wicked deed!

Edw.
Ay 'twas a wanton deed, by Hell inspir'd.
Oh! how unlike the Roman Lucrece thou!

Luc.
A wanton deed! by Heav'n! it is not true;
Nor through these veins flow blood, less pure than hers,
Whose well lost life, whose honour franchis'd Rome.—
Before I was thy mother, thou could'st pity;
Now, now I am thy mother, thou would'st scorn.
Hath Mortimer commanded thee to kill me?
Oh! if he hath, I'll welcome the keen edge:
But no, thou can'st not, 'twould be parricide!

Edw.
Forgive me, oh! forgive—I'll err no more—
Indeed, indeed, I had forgot myself:
Forgot how far too great thy suff'rings were.—
Now let me lead thee from this curs'd abode.

Luc.
Oh! 'twere a charity in Heav'n to take me.
I'm sure my senses will not last me long.—
Thy sister, Edward—Oh! my Magdeline—

Edw.
She shall fly with us, Madam, and—

Luc.
She's wedded.

Edw.
Alas!

Luc.
The Father weds the Daughter; Edward!
Far, far I journey'd, to behold my child,
And then I found her in her Father's—ah!
Who says 'tis chance or fate? says he not true?
There's not a Saint in Heav'n but has deceiv'd me:
I'll face them with't, if they'll come down; for I
Must ne'er go up.—

Edw.
Oh! Madam! hear me speak!

Luc.
Speak on, for that's the voice of my Accuser;
The voice of Mortimer:—yet why speak on?
I own thy charges, and prepare for Hell.

Edw.
Mark—

Luc.
That's wrong; I say there is no blame in Mark.

Edw.
Compose thyself—if bliss be not our lot,
We yet may calmly creep through this vile world.
I'll snatch my Sister off this very night,
And place her safely where she ne'er may know
The horrors of her fate.—She dreams not of them:
And we shall well devise some artful tale,
To hold her mind at rest.

Luc.
What's that my Edward?
'Tis something yet: it calls me to myself:
I feel a gleam return for Magdeline.
But how—

Edw.
Our counsell'd plan is ripe already.—
Now trust me, Madam, let us hope success.

Luc.
Oh! Edward! Edward! we may meet hereafter—
Go! take thy Sister—though I fear it much—
But go and try.

Edw.
Wilt thou not go?

Luc.
Fatigue!
That were alone sufficient to restrain me—
But oh! my Son! I feel another clog;
A heavier chain; it is the hand of Death.

Edw.
Nay, talk not thus, my Mother! talk not thus.

Luc.
'Tis more than Nature's self prescrib'd to matter,
When she compounded it with animation.
There's not a vein or fibre in my heart
But what hath lost it's tone; and my poor brain—
The storm hath reach'd my brain—confusion rolls—
Idea heaping fast upon idea
Fall into masses of unshap'd conception,
And make all horror big—bigger than life.—
Oh! while I have a ray of mem'ry left,
My blessing take: Oh! bless thee! bless thee, Edward!
Bless thee, my Mortimer! but haste, my Son!
Lose not the moments that should save thy Sister;
Fly to her redemption, Edward! and Heav'n,
Heav'n bless thee! Yet remember, if thou can'st,
If without danger, thou can'st come again
To close thy wretched Mother's eyes, oh! come!
Come and pray by me; weep upon my corpse,
And though I have been guilty, shed a tear!

Edw.
Oh! Madam! strive to calm—

Luc.
No, no, 'tis vain!
But do not loiter Edward! While I live,
Yield me the only comfort left my hope,
To know my child hath fled the reach of knowledge.—
Heav'n bless you both!

(Embraces him.
Edw.
Yes! I will come again;
Never will I forsake thee.

Luc.
Bless you both!

(Exit Edward.—Lucretia retires to the Couch, and the Scene closes.
Enter Orlando and Claudio from the chamber.
Orl.
Claudio! go on, and see if all be clear.

Claud.
I cannot go alone.

Orl.
What fear'st thou, fool?

Claud.
Softly, my Lord! we're lost—here's some one coming.—

Orl.
Go in, go in, haste, haste, go in.

(They go in.
Enter Edward and Mark, meeting.
Mark.
Edward!

Edw.
Mark!

Mark.
God save thee!

Edw.
God save thee, Mark!

Mark.
Heard you the thunder-clap, just when we parted?

Edw.
It shook the Castle walls; 'twas the last burst
And clearing of the storm. Well, my good friend!
How hast thou succeeded?

Mark.
To our best wishes.—
The steeds are almost ready, and the groom
Now waiting for us: the poor youth resolves
To fly the Country, for he hates his Lord,
And will not meet his rage.

Edw.
Most fortunate!

Mark.
Behold the Sword I promis'd to procure:
Thou can'st not use it in a better cause.
It was thy Father's—bought 'mong other things—
I lov'd him much, and for his sake I kept
The rust from feeding on the valu'd blade.
Take it, I think thy cause too good to fail.

Edw.
Dear Blade! the cause is thine as well as Edward's.
Oh! had thy valiant master had fair play,
Thou had'st not been consign'd to this poor hand:
Dear Blade! I am thy master's Son: be firm!
Now leave me, Mark! but keep thyself prepar'd.

Mark.
I'll see the horses out, and give thee time
To draw him hence, then back for Magdeline.
Oh! may'st thou prosper!

Edward.
alone.
Never doubt it Mark.—
Omniscient Pow'r! thou know'st my inmost thoughts;
The bottom of my heart is open to thee;
If there are latent seeds of vices there,
Forgive me, for the firm resolve thou see'st
Ne'er basely to submit to Hellish Pow'rs:
If thou dost see the justice of my cause,
Then give me strength to foil this hell-born villain!
But if I fail, oh! speed me to my Father!

Enter Orlando.
Orl.
Still here—I hope there's no suspicion stirring.—
'Tis the young stranger: what can bring him up?
I must go out, to move him from this place.—
(Comes forward, shutting the door after him.
I'm sorry, Sir, to find your rest disturb'd.

Edw.
Look at me, Sir; look well: can'st thou not trace
One feature of the injur'd Mortimer?

Orl.
Of Mortimer! all Nature arms against me.

Edw.
Yes, Lord! to thy confusion, Mortimer.
Villain! the world shall not contain us both.—
I have been told thou art profess'd in arms,
E'en in the night I find thou wear'st thy sword;
I do myself a little boast the science:—
The moon's now bright, I'll take thee to a spot,
Where we may pass some time in exercise.

Orl.
(aside).
To raise the Castle now were sure detection.—
(To Edward.)
Rash youth! thou urgest instant death—my skill—
Come I will make amends.—

Edw.
Confusion seize thee!

Orl.
Now, thou shalt have thy Father's lands again.—

Edw.
Amends! and lands! consummate villain! lands!
Now, wilt thou go, I say?

Orl.
We'll meet to-morrow—
From this I will not budge a foot to-night—
Go to thy chamber now—we'll meet to-morrow.

Edw.
On both to-morrow's sun shall never shine—
Come forth, I say, adult'rous dastard villain!

Orl.
Boy-like rave on, I keep this door to-night.

Edw.
Then let me tell thee, I will ope that door.—
(Draws, and throws away the scabbard.
I'll have thy Daughter out, incestuous wretch!
Thou know'st she is thy daughter: Devil! Devil!

Orl.
Then all is o'er, and I've but this to save me.—
(Draws.
Here's for thy heart.—

Edw.
And this for thine—come on.—

(They fight, and Orlando falls.
Orl.
Perdition! oh I'm lost!

Edw.
So, Heav'n be prais'd!

Luc.
(within).
What sounds are these? I hear the clash of swords.

Edw.
My Mother's voice!

Luc.
Where is my wretched child?

Enter Lucretia, Mark, and Servants with lights.
Orl.
Away! begone! oh take that spirit hence!—
What! art thou come to lead me to my pit?
Hast made it hot enough?—damnation!—oh!

(Dies.
Luc.
Edward! what hast thou done? oh murder! murder!
Where is Orlando? tell me where he is?
Hast thou secur'd thy Sister's passage? hast thou?
No! then she shall go along with me—

Edw.
Oh Madam!

Luc.
Danger! there is no danger in the voyage.

Edw.
Alas! alas! her senses are quite gone.

Luc.
I tell thee, Boy, thou should'st have had my daughter;
But thou hast slain her Father—am I blind?
Dost think I cannot see him lying there?
Forget it, Boy! I'll marry her myself.—
Dead! oh!

(Goes to Orlando, raises his hand, screams, and faints.
Edw.
Mark! help me to support my Mother.

Mark.
Oh what a sight!

Edw.
A bitter sight to me.

(Claudio comes out of the chamber.
Mark.
Claudio!

Claud.
Vouchsafe to hear a wretch with patience,
Who comes to add fresh horror to the scene:
A damned deed, and which I scarce can speak.
'Tis murder—for my Lord hath stabb'd his Lady,
And brought me to convey the body hence.
Spare! spare my life! I knew not of the murder.

Luc.
Who knew not of the murder? who? what murder?
Alas! my child! my child! my Magdeline!—
I'll see if this be true—

Edw.
Thou must not go:—
Go, Mark! while I do gently hold her here.

(Exit Mark.
Luc.
Oh! let me see my child, and take one kiss!
But one, for pity's sake! before I die:
Hereafter I will do thee ev'ry service—
Do let me—

Edw.
Oh! 'tis more than I can bear.

Luc.
Was she murder'd?—Oh what a smile is that!
Then Mortimer forgives, and thou my child—
What means that bloody stream adown thy breast?—
Yes I am coming to you—shall we join?—
The charges will go home.—

Mark
(returning).
Oh Edward! Edward!

(They whisper.
Luc.
So! so! while they contrive these worldly matters,
I'll make the wretch secure, and bring him with me.
(She goes to Orlando, stabs, and seizes the body.
See there! I've got him fast: oh! help me, help!

Edw.
Oh my distracted Mother!

Luc.
Are ye going?
Will ye not help me to secure him first?
He struggles hard—I am not strong enough.
(Quits hold of the body.
There! there! he's gone! I told you he would slip—
Oh! do not go—but take me, take me with you!
My Mortimer! my Magdeline!—this chain!—
Orlando is in Hell; I heard him fall,
And heard th' Infernals yell aloud their joy—
I mount, I come; now, now I break the chain—
'Tis done—I'm gone—Edward, awhile farewell!
My soul perceives a balmy restoration,
While Intellect increasing rushes on me:
Atonement has been made, I rise refin'd,
And now awake to everlasting bliss.

(Dies.