University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A rude Bed-chamber. The Jew asleep on a Pallet. Brian enters in a Palmer's habit.
Brian.
The dull brute sleeps. Now, could I make him fear
An instant danger, and so lead him forth
To mine own castle, I'd wring heaps of gold
From his close avarice. This guise will hide
My real seeming. What should he with gold,
But as the mule to bear't for others' use?
Mule, I will ease thee of thy burthen.

Isaac.
(asleep)
Mercy!

Brian.
His slumber speaks: Now for my holy part,
A part I scarce shall prosper in—Awake!

Isaac.
Murd'rer! Hold back thy hand! A hundred marks—
A thousand—for my life, my precious life.

Brian.
Nay, know me better; am I not your friend?

Isaac.
Thou art a Christian;—yet have mercy on me!

Brian.
I am thy friend, and come with friendly purpose.
The Templar's avarice would wring the gold
From thy hard gripe.

Isaac.
And thou will save me?

Brian.
Yes.

Isaac.
O noble youth! a hapless race are we!
And thou wilt guide me forth. The mountain top
Is not more open to the winds of Heaven
Than we to persecution. Gen'rous youth!
Wrong is not wrong when it is done to us;—
We're held a game for service of the rich,
Who fence us from the gripe of meaner hands
To hunt us down themselves.

Brian.
Well; follow me;
I'll be thy safety from the Templar.

Isaac.
Who
Will safe me from thyself?

Brian.
Stay in thy doubt,
And perish.

Isaac.
Hold! I do not doubt—And yet—
Such was the figure, such the voice of him
My dream show'd to me.

Brian.
How! a dream!—

Isaac.
E'en so.
Laugh if you will—But has not heav'n ere now
Through the thin shade of dreams discours'd to man,
Divulging murder when hid fathoms deep?
Are not the dreams of sleep like shadows seen
In doubtful moonlight?

Brian.
Tush.

Isaac.
But hearken, youth,
I follow'd you through night, when, on the sudden,
A dreadful earthquake shook our lower world;
The bosom of the earth was torn; the graves
Yawn'd wide with cold and famish'd maw,
As if, too leanly fed by death, their hunger gap'd
For living food to gorge their appetite.

Brian.
Would'st teach me, like thyself, to shake at shadows.

Isaac.
Strange cries, such as no mortal tongue e'er breath'd,
No mortal ear e'er heard till that sad hour,
Fill'd up the list'ning pauses of the storm.
The light'nings hissed, and flash'd upon the dead,
Who had for ages slumber'd in their darkness:
In the strong blaze I saw their livid cheeks,
The quiv'rings of their blue and writhed lips—
Yea, their op'd eyes glar'd strangely on the living
With fire not of life.—I call'd on thee;
But, while I spoke, the human form drop'd from thee;
And thou a serpent, stood erect before me,
With glaring eyes, and scales made bright with anger.
I heard thy hiss, and the next moment felt
Thy coil ring round me with an iron grasp,
Bruising and crushing; and thy fiery tongue
Shot, like a burning arrow, in mine eyes—
Horror!—the very memory is madness!
I will not follow thee.

Brian.
Thou must—thou shalt.

Isaac.
How say you?

Brian.
Follow me.

Isaac.
Thy wrath betrays thee.
Thou art not the Palmer.

Brian.
Hence then with disguise.

Isaac.
The dream was truth.

Brian.
This avails thee not.
If by denial, slow consent, or cries,
You check my purpose, in that instant is
My dagger at your heart. Now follow, Jew.

Isaac.
Have pity on mine age.

Brian.
Jew, wilt thou follow?

Isaac.
I can not—dare not.

Brian.
Dog, die like a dog.

As Brian attempts to stab Isaac, the Palmer suddenly enters and arrests his hand.
Palmer.
Hold—noble Templar.

Brian.
Slave.

Palmer.
Strike if you dare,
Cold midnight murderer; but yet beware;
We're Cedric's guests, who wants nor will, nor means,
T'avenge his broken hospitality.

Brian.
The present hour is thine; but triumph not;
A time will come, when you shall both well wish
This had not been; I will pursue revenge
In earth, and air, and water, aye in fire.

Isaac.
Oh, Christian—no—hence with ye, pride and hate;
My heart's a humble dwelling, and you love
To throne in more ambitious habitations.
Your pardon, Christian; let the past be past:
Accept my hand.

Brian.
Accept my vow of hate.
Where now I would have taken grains of gold,
I will have tons; Look to it, Jew.

Palmer.
Indeed!

Violent storm.
Isaac.
Hark! how the tempest roars! Does not its voice
Chide thy vain savage boasting? Dost not feel
Another world is clipping thee about?
The howling wind makes faint thy loudest cries!
The thunder shows thee as a sickly babe
Screaming weak anger!—Hark! how it shakes these walls!
While thy poor breath will scarcely move a rush.

A violent burst of wind beats open the window, and shows the blighted arm of an oak.
Isaac.
Ha! see yon blasted oak that flings its arm
Across the window—Once that arm was stout—
Ay, stouter than thine own—Proud earthworm, look!
Behold!—as that once was, so hast thou been;—
As that is now, so shalt thou be—
To the Palmer.
Come! Come!

The Palmer and Isaac go out. Brian remains as if stupified.