University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

The Coast of Brittany near Yveloc. Early morning. A Storm.
Enter Sailors, dripping wet.
First Sail.

Hech! how the rain drifts! Sure the
devil's loose to-night.

Sec. Sail.

I'll go no further; skulk under the rock
till it bates.

[Thunder.

First Sail.

Ay, growl away! We are safe this
bout, though I think we ne'er ran so close for't before.

Sec. Sail.

The boson's gone.

First Sail.

Ay, and a dozen more, washed over
like hen-coops. Who was't caught in the shrouds, and
went by with the mizen? How he cried, as the wind
whistled him over!

Third Sail.
(within).

Hollo! comrades!

First Sail.

Was 't a shout, or the wind roaring?

Sec. Sail.

A-hoy!

Third Sail.
(within).

Where? Where?

Sec. Sail.

By the old black rock! Under the dog's nose!

First Sail.

Here's another hath shirked the devil.

Enter Third Sailor.
Well met ashore, lad! Give me thy hand. How cam'st
thou safe, not being i' th' boat?

Third Sail.

They hung us ropes over the cliff, and we shelled up like monkeys.

Sec. Sail.

Where be the rest? Has she parted yet?

Third Sail.

I warrant you. Not a bit as big as your hand left. Is my lord safe?

First Sail.

Ay, ay; and hath brought the dead
lady to shore with him. He stuck to her all night,
though he had nigh drowned for 't twice or thrice.

Third Sail.

She 's a witch, and floats.

First Sail.

And hath charmed our lord,—a plague
of her painted face!

Sec. Sail.

For thy life, man! Yonder he comes!

Enter Eliduke, bearing the dead body of Estreldis, her hair hanging dripping over his arm, a Peasant guiding him.
Eli.

Who 's here? What, from the wreck? Teach
your tongues silence, fellows! Let this night die from
your memories! Alas! you 're drenched. There's
gold. He dies that dares to follow. On, lead on.

[Exeunt Eliduke and Peasant.
Third Sail.

Even lots! even lots! This is true

stuff. I'd run old Davy as close again for the same pay.

First Sail.

Ay, we may be wrecked a dozen
times, for what our betters care; but being aboard
themselves, they see some spice of danger in it, and
that breeds a fellow-feeling. Let's go drink.

Sec. Sail.

Ay, ay, and wash out this salt stuff.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

The inside of a Hut deep in the Woods. A bed of leaves.
Peas.
(without).
What, ho! most reverend father!

Eli.
(without).
Enter! Enter!

Enter Eliduke and Peasant as before.
Peas.
This is the hut I spake of, and the bed.
[Eli. lays the body of Estreldis on the bed.
But for the hermit—

Eli.
Out belike i' the woods.

Peas.
Out! Out indeed, sir! Look! Here is his grave.
Alas, he's dead and buried. Some kind hand
Has laid his ancient bones in earth, and o'er them
Raised this rude cross to mark the spot as sacred.
Surely his soul's in heaven, for he was ever
Most charitable, and that's the nearest way to 't.

Eli.
Does Death still slay old men, then? Oh, begone!

Peas.
Sir, shall we bury her?

Eli.
Beast! she's not yet cold.
Begone, I say!
[Exit Peasant.
O soul of passion! queen of hearts! Estreldis!
Devotion's deep-eyed daughter! only fair!
Unseal those eyes, whose answering flash to mine
Was late my spring of being! Oh, unfold
Those ivory ports of hearing! Only hear,
And to your brain I'll let such music in,
Such clear-toned soundings from the heart of love,
Eloquent whispers, warm upbreathed sighs,
That, faintly mustered in their separate cells,
Your other senses, stirred by sympathy,
Shall from their functions shake the clog of death.
Or answer this my kiss with those your lips,
Moulded for this, where yet the crimson blood
Hath not renounced his painting; and your soul
Being fled away and scattered in thin air,
Suck in the half of mine, and live by that!
Then we shall die together. O fool! She's dead!
Hear! O unnatural rocks and bawling sea,
Conspirators with the felonious wind
To rob the world of comfort! You have slain
The unsurpassable child of bankrupt Nature!
O false Estreldis! Thy new paramour,
Death, is unworthy to compare to me,
Being lean and haggard, built with clanking bones,
Graceless and merciless, unused to love,
Savage, and glaring grim with empty eyes,
Whose ghastly hollow shall freeze up your blood.
O sweet, return! I am thy eldest love!
[Throwing himself on the earth.
Eliduke beats at the dim gates of death!
Will not the monster hear me? Oh, return!

Scene III.

A Hall in the Castle of Yveloc.
Walter and a Sea Captain.
Walt.
Why, were you with him there?

Capt.
Ay was I, sir.

Walt.
And how came she aboard?

Capt.
I know not that;
Only I know she came like one that fled,
With frequent eye cast back upon her track,
And cheek whose whiteness seemed to blanch the night;
And when we sailed, she on the quarter-deck
Kneeled, voiding her full eyes, and sadly cried,
“O my dear father! O my native land!”
And when he kissed her, looked up smilingly,
And said, “Dear lord, deal kindly by me now;
I have but only thee.”

Walt.
Alas! poor soul!—
And he?—

Capt.
Looked strangely, and bade us steer away
To any land, save only Brittany.

Walt.
How came you here, then?

Capt.
Heard you not the storm?
We scarce had heaved our anchor a good hour,
When the dull sea began to moan and swell,
And all the rippling waves were tipped with foam;
And yet no breath of wind, only the air
Heaved hollow sighs. Then you might see the sailors
Whisp'ring each other, and with hasty hands
Furling their canvas, clapping to their ports,
And with the straining of their pitchy cordage
Tightening the sinews of their boat for storm.
Scarce had they finished, and the trembling lady
(Ill clad for such a night) been safely cabined,
When the north-west, shouting tumultuously,
And brushing his black wings against the heaven,
Swooped on the shuddering sea; and the good ship,
Like some strong wrestler overmatched in grip,
Stooped till her maintop almost touched the waves,
Then, springing up before the whistling wind,
Raced at her topmost speed towards our shore;
Which when our lord saw, he with iron hand
Grasping the helm would have outmatched the storm,
Or steeped us all in death, but the weak engine
Cracked with the strain, and helpless on we drifted
Through the black throat of night. “God's hand,” he said,
And in the cabin wrapped his manly arms
About the lady, in whose shaking frame
Life seemed to flicker.

Walt.
She died, did she not?

Capt.
But not of fear. The superstitious sailors,
Losing their reverence in their greater awe
Of death, sole master now, began to mutter
Against their lord, saying this storm was bred
Out of his sin; and thronging to his cabin,
Threatened to throw the lady overboard
To appease the waves; coarsely upbraiding him
Adulterously to carry off this maid,
Having a wife at home; which when she heard,
Though he with storming strove to drown their words,
“A wife!” she cried, and heaving back her head,
Stiffened in death. Eliduke, frenzy-mad,
Seized the ringleader by his foot, and hurled him
Into the gaping deep, which quelled the rest.
Now day began to dawn, and sullen Dark,
Wrapping his hair about his moody brow,
Went trampling the dim west down to the sea,
Which now showed calmer, and we found ourselves
Close on the Yveloc cliffs, and by our boats
Gained the dry shore.

Walt.
Eliduke with you, then?

Capt.
And the dead lady.

Walt.
Whither went he then?

Capt.
Indeed I wonder greatly; for no sooner
Had we run keel upon the sea-drencht sand
Than he, with hasty foot, made towards the woods,
Pointing an angry sword against pursuit:
Since that I saw him not.

Walt.
Sir, this is strange,—
Too strange for common ears. I would not have you,
Valuing his wife's dear peace, as sure you must,
Breathe any whisper of this night's events.
You were too loose to open them to me.

Capt.
I did it at the instance of my lord,
Who in the boat bade me seal up your lips,
Who knew his object. Therefore, look, be silent;
As for myself, I did not lack your warning
To be as dumb as death.

Walt.
I am glad to hear it. Fear you not for me.

Enter hastily Castabel, Blancaflor, and Roland.
Cast..
Where? where? Is this he? Speak, man! were you with him?
Where is your lord?

Capt.
'Beseech you, be not frighted,
If I must say I do not know.

Cast..
Not know?—
Your arm.

[To Blancaflor.
Rol.
O God!

Blanc.
Sweet sister!

Capt.
Oh, be calm!
I can assure him safe.

Cast..
He is not safe.
You do but tell me this. You forge a tale,
Setting my sorrow in a frame of hope,
Wrapping your bitter medicine in sweet words,
Building me up to pull me down again,
Saying he's safe, because he is in heaven.
I know! I know!

Capt.
La—

Cast..
Stop, stop, man! I am faint!
Be not so hasty, let me hang awhile;
You have not said it yet; I have not yet
Shook hands with hope and you with certainty—
He's dead! O heart!

Capt.
Lady!

Rol.
Be still, I say!

Capt.
I say he lives; myself three hours ago
Saw him alive. Is all the world gone mad?

Cast..
How dare you, then, shake me with terrors thus?
Ha!
Enter Eliduke; she flies to his arms.
Do you not smile? Are you not glad? Oh, dark!

[She falls at his feet.
Rol.
Great heaven! She's dead!

Eli.
'Tis common. Why not she?

Rol.
Gently, sweet Blancaflor.

Blanc.
Why, Margaret! Helen!

Enter Women.
Wom.
O my dear lady!

Rol.
Water! Stop! she breathes.
Softly! oh, softly!

Cast..
Ah me!

[Exeunt Castabel, Blancaflor, and Women.
Rol.
Do you stand thus? [To Eliduke.
]—I pray you, give us leave.
[Exeunt Walter and Captain.
What's this, my lord, that you should let her fall,
Even at your feet? What wrong hath she committed,
That at your coming you should stand like stone,
And never lift an eye to meet her welcome?
What's this, my lord? Perhaps you think me bold,
That set my foot within your wedlock rights,
And interfere me in your sanctities.
Why, what care I? That title of her husband
Gives you the claim to cherish and to love her,
To live within her soul, and see yourself
Written in her eyes,—lays heaven bare to you;
But if you are become so black a devil
As make it pretext for a right to wrong her,
Why then I may come in;—and, look, I will!
Nor all the favouring puissances of hell
Shall save you from my arm. Nay, stand awhile!
You have come back, and therefore have not done
The wrong you made such talk of; but since then
You have o'erstepped that wrong a thousand times,—
Looked coldly on your wife. Ha! why was this?
I am angry, and I am not made to play with.
I will not see it.

Eli.
Pray you, talk not with me;
I am not in the answering mood to-day.

[Exit.
Rol.
What, gone? I cannot think he meant her wrong;
He is too noble. I was wrong to urge him.
How placidly he bore it from my tongue,
Who to most men had answered with his sword!
Something hath shaken him much;—I was too hasty.

[Exit.

Scene IV.

The Hut in the Woods. Night, near morning.
Eliduke alone with the body of Estreldis on the bed.
Eli.
Hang on my weary soul, black-fronted night!
Oh, be eternal, and perplex the day
With an unbroken dark! Dim-shafted trees
And solemn woods, hold in your whispering breath!
Close up thy crescent, pale inconstant fire;
And you, the girdling torches of the blue,
Stand in your occidental passages!
Put out the sun, and undisturbed rest
Hang his broad hand over the busy world!
Let Silence stride the deep. Only grim Death,
On muffled wing, steal to his purposes,
Since none may cope with him;—grim Death, that is
The king of quiet and sole emperor.
O most mysterious Death! close consort thou
And co-mate of the very soul of change,
Art thou divorced from this thine olden bride,
That she remains uninjured lying here,
Most terrible in her unfading bloom?
Art thou, O Death, that monster men present thee,
That grizzled terror and lean spectacle;
Or rather not some young voluptuous king,
Fair as Endymion and more amorous,
That pluck'st with so distinguishing a hand
The youngest and the fairest? Look, she smiles!
Hither have I come many a secret night
To bury her; but while she smiles so brightly
No earth shall lie upon her angel face;
But here I'll sit, watching my handiwork,
Till daylight spreads the east. Already, look,
The sickly dawn puts up. Oh, come away!
I dare not see her by the light of day!

[Exit.
Enter Castabel and Page.
Page.
This way, my lady; here he comes o' nights.

Cast..
Here will I wait his coming. Stand without,
And if he comes, go home.

Page.
I will, my lady;
But much I doubt he will not come again,
For mostly with the morning he goes home.

[Exit.
[Castabel comes forward, and sees Estreldis stretched on the bed.
Cast..
Oh, now I do perceive it! now indeed!
O Eliduke, thou soul of my soul's soul!
How hast thou left me hopeless! O my God!
I am blind with tears, and know not what to do.
What have I done, O God, what monstrous crime,
That I should live to see so sad a sight?
Patience, give me some patience, thou good Heaven!
I would not now forget my fortitude,
Or task thy will. Give me a little time.
Look what a tearful face I do uplift
Into thy court, O God! Look down upon me!
Methinks the kindly gates of heaven are shut,
And I alone am only miserable.

[She swoons.
Enter Page hastily.
Page.
My lady! What, two ladies! She is senseless.
Oh, for some water! Hold! I'll try the flower.

[He touches the lips of Castabel with a scarlet flower in his hand.
Cast..
What place is this? Where am I? All's not well.

Page.
My lady, here's the strangest thing alive.

Cast..
Nay, here's a stranger thing to match it, boy.

Page.
My lady, as I stood without i' th' wood,
Over the greensward came two weazels running,
Gambolling in and out among the trees,
Close to my very feet. I with my staff
Struck one, and killed it.

Cast..
Eliduke that was't—
Nay, I'll be patient.

Page.
Do but hear me, lady.
The other, seeing him dead, stood over him
As if in grief, and smelled and snuffed him round,
To see if any life yet hung in him;
Then slipped into the wood, and in an instant
Came back, bearing this flower here in his mouth,
Wherewith he touched his fellow-weazel's lips,
Who straight revived from death;—as dead as stone
He lay before. I killed him with my staff.

Cast..
What's this thou tell'st?

Page.
And when I now came in,
And found you swooned, this flower, touching your lips,
Straight summoned back your sense, and you awoke.

Cast..
Give me the flower. I'll touch her lips with it.
Perchance she is not dead; as I have heard
Of ice-cold swoons wherein men lie as dead,
And in that thought are buried,—when they wake
In silent graves, and die again of horror.
Let's see this face. Oh, wondrous beautiful!
Surely she sleeps. No; cold. O Eliduke,
Your kiss when you came back to me was cold,—
These lips had stolen its warmth. This was the face
Whose brighter properties have ousted me
From the fair heaven of my lord's affections.
I am desolate. Now only unto Thee,
Only to Thee, my God, I turn myself,—
My sole last refuge. Oh, uphold me now,
And teach me so to act in this as may
Show worthiest and noblest! Eliduke,
I scarce can blame thee, if thy love to her
Be measured by the love I bear to thee;
And yet methinks, being so long his wife,
And having served him with so true a zeal,
He should have borne with me,—shouldst thou not, love?
How long I stand, and dare not touch her lips.
[She touches Estreldis' lips with the flower.
The colour comes! Death takes his finger off!
Her eyes! O heavenly orbs! Can you not speak?
She lies, and lets her eyes drink in the light.

Page.
Yonder my lord comes hither through the wood.

Cast..
Oh, fly!

Page.
Look, here's a door. In here!

Cast..
Quick! quick!

[Exeunt into an inner room.
Enter Eliduke; he pauses near the door.
Eli.
Should this be true, that the immortal soul,
Being dispossessed, unthreads not all at once
Its mortal wrappings, but here lingering
On the half-visible skirts of the Eternal,
Is caged in some fine links of earthly stain,
Making it to our grosser sense perceptible
(As men have seen their friends' departed ghosts
At the same moment that they died elsewhere),—
Why, then, perhaps her spirit here inhabits—

Est.
My lord!

Eli.
I heard it speak.

Est.
My lord!

Eli.
Again.
O unsubstantial spirit, dost thou hang
In the invisible air? Stoop to my lips,
And let me feel thee there. I do but dream,
And Fancy tunes the silence to a sound.
Yet I'll believe she stays here, which makes plain
Decay's forbearance; for her white-robed ghost
Sits watching her dead head, and drives away
The reverence-stricken beast, ill-eyed Corruption.
I'll look upon her. Shape of betrayed Estreldis!

Est.
Eliduke!

Eli.
All's unreal; and the dead
Rise to upbraid me. I have found it now.
Some angel has usurped the place of her soul,
As angry that so unsurpassed a form
Should waste untenanted. Oh, if thou be'st Estreldis,
New wakened from the dead—

Est.
Oh, lift me up!

Eli.
Thy kiss is warm.

Est.
Upon thy lips I live.

Eli.
This is so great and unapproached a joy,
It will not last until the hand of Time
Can pen it in his records. Let us die
Before the grasp of a revolving chance
Shake out a change. Dear love, this cannot last.

Est.
Let last what will, only I fold you here.
I thought we were at sea, and dreamed strange dreams.
Where am I now?

Eli.
Locked in my arms, sweet soul.—
Who moves within there? God! it is my wife!

Enter Castabel.
Est.
Thy wife! Alas! I do remember me.
O wretched me!

Cast..
Lady, be not afraid;
And you, dear husband, for the latest time
That I must use that title, lift your eyes.
I do not come to say I loved you much,
And blame you that you threw away my heart;
I cannot chide, I only come to say
I will not stand between your joy and you.
I give you up my rights, and set you free
From the solemnity of outward ties
That only made you mine. Why should these last,
When you have cracked those more essential strings
Once tied our souls? I'll to a nunnery;
Which temporal death shall set you free again,
And there in prayer and heavenward meditation
Strive to forget how rich a joy I owned once.
Give me your hand, my lord—husband no more.
Give me your hand, sweet lady; thus I join them,
And happiness wait on you evermore!

Eli.
Kneel down, Estreldis. We are earthly mould,
And this divine. Look, at thy feet I kneel,
And dare not lift my guilty countenance
Up to your eyes. O angel Castabel,
How much unworthy am I of thy love!

Cast..
Oh, speak not thus, or you will shake away
My new-lodged soul from heaven. Fare you well!
You shall not look upon my face again
Till I have doffed these weeds, and put upon me
Some clean religious garb. Heaven favour you!

[Exit.
Eli.
Do I stand here? Was this my wife was here?
Is this your hand I hold? Do we not dream?

Est.
You will become the spectacle of men
To let her leave you thus. Was this your wife?
Having so excellent a heart at home,
Why did you lure me from my father's house,
And in my young ear whisper treachery?

Eli.
I am wrapt in double shames. Do not look on me.

Est.
I am beyond expression miserable,
Having no home, no friend, no any thing;
And he that was my rock falser than water.

Eli.
Not false to thee, though false to all the world,
And false to heaven above,—not false to thee.
Thou art the very centre of my soul,
My poise of being and my breath of life;
And stript of thee, the gorgeous-mantled earth
Is but a clod;—not false to thee, my soul!

Est.
What shall I do? Why did you make me love you?

Eli.
We will be wedded; Castabel herself
Joined here our hands, and gave her sanction to it.

Est.
Oh, never, never! Shall I so wrong your wife?
O false, false Eliduke!

Eli.
Will you not wed me?
It was your eye that drew me into ruin;
It was your beauty heaped this shame upon me,
And sucked my truth away. Only for you
Did I desert my wife. And will you now
Build up the copestone of my ignominy,
And make my name a proverb of contempt,
That men may say, “As vile as Eliduke,
Who left a fair wife and a noble fame
To gain a proud girl's scorn”?

Est.
I am not scornful,
Only most miserable.

Eli.
O Estreldis,
Wilt thou desert me now, that have for thee
Exchanged all other hopes in earth and heaven?
Rob me of this, I'm beggared then indeed.

Est.
We may not wed!

Eli.
Do you not love me, then?

Est.
O Eliduke!

Eli.
You do not love me, or you would not now
Put by our union. Look, our law allows it;
All circumstance points thither; your redemption
Out of Death's hand;—Castabel takes the veil;—
Do not thou turn sole bar. Evil once acted
Admits no remedy. Thy share in this
Is but an angel's, that unstained and taintless
May comfort the most guilty.

Est.
Into what sweet perdition do you drag me!

Eli.
Thee not, for thou art guiltless. Come with me,
When I'll bestow thee in some secret place
For these few days, till my wife turn a nun,
And then we'll top delight with marriage joys.

Est.
I am not easy.

Eli.
Thou art innocent.
Me only fits a sad and changing brow;
For joy sin-mixed relishes bitter-sweet.

[Exeunt.

Scene V.

The great Hall in the Castle of Yveloc prepared for a wedding. An Altar, &c.
Roland and a Friar.
Friar.
How happened it you heard not this before?

Rol.
Marvel enough I chanced to hear it now.
Some days I've been away, and well I think
Hadst thou not told me, I had scarcely heard it.
Ha, Eliduke, I read thy riddles now!
Oh, shame of manhood!

Friar.
You look angry, sir.

Rol.
Do I look angry? Man, you will not wed them?

Friar.
I must. His former wife hath taken the veil,
And by our law she is considered dead,
Which sets him free to marry whom he will.

Rol.
You will not. Think; a hand in such a deed
Would pluck the whitest angel down to hell.

Friar.
Good sir, I must not go against the law.

Rol.
God's servant thou, that sticklest for men's laws,
Which to uphold must break His own to bits?
Listen to me. I am the Lord Rolando,
That never yet broke word with friend or foe;
And here I swear upon this altar-stone
These two shall never wed.

Friar.
You will not hurt me?

Rol.
Not I.

Friar.
Nor stay me in my holy office?

Rol.
Between their plighting troths I'll thrust my sword,
Even at the junction. Peace! I hear the music.

Sweet Music. Enter the Marriage Procession. Eliduke leading Estreldis; before them fair Children treading backwards and scattering flowers. They sing.
Rol.
These flowers become Death's road. Fling down your buds!

Eli.
What hoarse-tongued villain jars us with death? Play on!

Enter Castabel dressed as a nun, leading her two Children; an Abbess with her.
Blancaflor and Women.
Rol.
Rot in thy scabbard, sword! Not while she's here,
I will not kill him.

Cast..
My most gracious lord,
And you fair lady,—

[She kneels.
Rol.
O you hanging heavens,
Can you see this, nor fall!

Cast..
On bended knees,
Unused to stoop so low, I ask a boon.

Eli.
Ask, Castabel. All that I have is thine.

Est.
Alas, I've nothing, save what thou hast given me,
More rich in that than all the world besides.

Cast..
If ever I was grateful to your eyes,
And in your youthful liking found some favour;
If I have served you with a true affection,
And this my yielding weighs at all with you,
Oh, grant me this:—let not, for my surrender,
My boy be wronged; let me retain his rights,
Though I forego my own. The boy is noble,
Becomes thy name,—he is thy eldest born.
Oh, let him not be ousted for another!

Eli.
He shall not, by my soul!

Est.
No son of mine
Shall ever set his foot upon his head.

Cast..
Deal rightly by the boy, so Heaven help you!
And now, sweet lady, take this charge of me.
Into your hands I give these little ones:
Tender them dearly, and be kind to them;
They were my dearest, next to that I gave you;
I give you all, look; oh, be kind to them!

Est.
Indeed, indeed I will. I were more monstrous
Than Fancy paints, could I be harsh to these.—
I'm thy new mother; wilt thou come to me?

Boy.
You're finer than my mother. I'll go with you.

Cast..
She wins my very children's hearts away.

Girl
(nestling in her mother's breast).
Mother, I'll stay.

Cast..
What, cherub, wilt thou stay?
Alas, thou must not. Helen, take the child.
Bring her to see me at the grate sometimes,
And the proud boy. I thank you for those tears.
To heaven my steps I turn. Farewell, my lord, for ever!

[Exeunt Cast., Abb., Blanc. &c.
Rol.
Look down, O God!

Eli.
On to the altar, sweet;
We most religiously will keep our vow.
Why dost thou shake so, Friar? O love, think
This office is so solemn, it doth put
Into its minister a soul of fear.—
Ask first, for form, if there be any bar.

Friar.
Knows any here of lawful bar or stoppage
Why these two should not be conjoined in wedlock?

Rol.
Ay, that do I!

Eli.
Roland!

Rol.
Your cheeks become you.
Am I come back in time to mar your marriage?

Friar.
What fit impediment canst thou assign?

Rol.
Will you see it? It is here!
[Lifting his sword at arm's length above his head.
Stand away, Friar!
Ha, thou false shame of manhood, where thou standest!
Thou blot upon the face of honesty!
Thou blush o' the world! whitewashed iniquity!
Thou outside face of fair, rotten within!

Eli.
I knew that this must come.

Rol.
What mutterest thou?
Was it for this you won my mistress' heart,
To cast her when your appetite should change?
Was it for this that I became your friend,
That you might fit me to your purposes?
Was it for this I took your house in charge,
Unwittingly made up by your device
A pander to your Cornish paramour?
Was there none other to be made a stale
But only I? O injured Castabel,
Not for my wrongs I shake this angry sword.
Let's see this face that hath beguiled you so.
Ho, young adulteress, do you cover it?
Up with this veil! thou hast no sense of shame.

Eli.
Hold back thy hand!
Now for this thing thou diest.

Rol.
On! come on!
I mean to kill thee; cast the sheath away.

Eli.
Follow me, then!

Rol.
Not I! I'll kill thee here,
And at this altar wed thee unto death.
[Exit Eli.
Wilt thou not stay? Nay, then, I'll come to thee.

[Exit Roland. Estreldis rushes out after them. A clash of swords is heard behind the back of the scene; then a scream from Estreldis.
Walt.
What cry is this? Fling back the folding-doors!

[The back of the stage is thrown open, and discovers Roland sword in hand, and Eliduke wounded, with Estreldis dead in his arms; he carries her forward.
Rol.
I have killed the woman! Why did she fling herself
Between our swords?

Eli.
This is no painted masque;
Now thou art dead indeed. Lie there, pale case,
Till I avenge thee; and in air above
Let thy lapsed spirit wait a little while;
Mine shall be with it straight.—You were ever generous;
[To Roland.
Bind up my wounds, that I may live to kill thee.

Rol.
(binding his wounds).
Live, and repent.
There's blood enough been spilt.

Eli.
I will not slay thee, Roland, in revenge,
Knowing I well deserved your contumely,
For which I do forgive you; but because
You slandered this Estreldis, who is white
And chaste as is cold ice, I'll offer you
A sacrificial victim to her honour.

Rol.
Alas! you scarcely can uplift your sword.

Eli.
Into thy heart!—
[He beats down Roland's sword, and kills him.
Dead, then! Alas! Estreldis,
It was the noblest heart that ever beat.
My turn comes next. Off, clogs!
[Plucks off the bandages.
Stand back, I say!
I can strike yet. He dies that dares to help me!
The end is come; let me lie down and die.
The end is come; and I, that should have been
A torch to light men onward, must now die,—
Die with the hand of shame thus hot upon me.

Enter Blancaflor and Women.
Blanc.
D'ye keep this wedding with the clash of swords,
Startling my sister at her orisons?
What's this? Lord Roland! Who hath done this thing?

Eli.
I, Blancaflor!

Blanc.
Thou art the plague o' the world,
[She throws herself on the body of Roland.
And with thy bloody hand thou hast defaced
The image of all excellence! Might he not live
Till he had smiled a single smile upon me?—
Look up thy last! What, dead? thou soul of honour!

Eli.
I slew him. Turn, and ask who slew Estreldis,
And with a mournful voice I'll answer, I.
Who slew myself? Why, still I'll answer, I.
I am the root of ill; only from me
This spreading misery springs. Look, look upon me!
I was your man of war, your general,
Your lord, your leader. Look, how low I lie,
Not that I die, but am dropped down from virtue!
Some kind soul pray for me!—Give me more air!
How dim your lights burn! I am failing fast.—
Night gathers.—Oh, not yet!—Your hand, cold child!

[Dies, stretching towards Estreldis.
Walt.
Horror sits only here! Lift up the lady.

Blanc.
Leave me alone! Look, Helen, Margaret,
Roland is dead, the continent of valour,
And speaking tongue of truth; look where he lies!
Back to the nunnery! there I'll end my days,
Nor ever look into the world again.
Roland is dead! I'll hang for ever here!

Walt.
Roland is dead. Passionate Eliduke,
Thy mischief hath beguiled us all to death;
Upon thy soul I heap this load of ills.

A Lord.
He seemed a star, and up his eastern sky
Rose blazing, for his deeds became a man;
And in the very zenith of his fortune,
Shot by false love, stooped, and went out in ashes.
Send to the King. The wedding-day is marred.