University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—The Jews' Burying Ground.—Violent Storm.— Isaac discovered sitting on the Grave of his Wife.
Isaac.
—Awake! awake!—
Will nor this wind, nor rain, nor thunder, wake thee?
Thou must sleep soundly! would I slept as sound!
What light breaks through the clouds? not morn—not morn—
'Twas but the storm-fire—morn is yet far off!
Eternity freeze up the stream of time!
This moment be the ever! Perish time!
Or slumber but a week—a day—an hour—
A Clock strikes Four.
He will not—no he will not—morn will come!
My child will die—I do not think I'm mad—
No—no—not mad—But yet my brain's on fire!—
'Tis but the heat of night. (Storm)
Does it not rain?
I hear the plash upon the leaves! and yet
It falls not on my head: the trees too sob,
And shudder in the wind, and yet no wind
Blows on this burning body.

Violent Storm.
Enter Miriam.
Miriam.
Oh! through night
I've sought you, uncle: pray you now remove
From out the storm: fire, water, thunder, wind,
Contend as if for mastery; the earth
Is reeling, rocking to its strong foundation;
And were in flames, but that the clouds shoot down
River on river on its smoking breast.

Isaac.
I am not mad—no—no—I am not mad.

Miriam.
I pray you now—

Isaac.
What—Miriam?—is it you?
Go home—go home.

Miriam.
I only wait for you.

Isaac.
Sings:
“Then Jeptha wept o'er his child,
“Oh must my daughter die
“For Gileads victory?
“My daughter—oh my child—

Wherefore should men be fathers? they are curs'd
In children's love as in their hate.

Storm.
Miriam.
Come in.

Isaac.
Sings:—
“In the lone wood let me die!
“In the lone wood let me lie!
“Winter shall my sexton be;
“He will shake from some oak tree
“Dry leaves, 'stead of dust, on me.

Miriam.
My dearest uncle! pr'ythee now come in.

Isaac.
(Pointing to Heaven.)
He has not call'd me yet;
But he soon will—look!—look!—dost see?—dost see
Yon eyeless fellow digging up the earth?
'Tis the bald sexton Death—he works for me:
Ha! ha! hark how his dry bones rattle in the toil!
He stops.—Art tir'd? or is it deep enough?
To it again—He shakes at me his glass;
The sands are few—they run like mill- streams—look,
He comes—most horrible—so near! Keep off—
Stretch not thy bony gripe to me—I'll fly—
Fly to earth's centre! open—open—open earth—
Tis thy son calls thee—open—let me in—
Save me from death—he clutches me! too late!
Darkness and winter—

He shudders and falls.
Miriam.
Dearest uncle!—Help!
Help or he dies—Is no one near? help!—help!
What can I do to aid him? Help—oh help.

The sun breaks partially through the clouds.—Robin Hood, Tuck, Scarlet, and Foresters, enter.
Miriam.
He opes his eyes—dear uncle! joy!

Isaac.
Who is it calls me? Daughter is it you?
The sun peeps through my curtains. Is it late?
What, Miriam, strangers—there was something here—
Some heavy cause of grief my child!—'tis gone!
Gone! gone!—all's blank.

Robin Hood.
The wrath of heaven sure
Is on the Jew: or else there could not be
Such misery to man.

Isaac.
Still not a word.
Anon, I shall remember.

Miriam.
Dear Sir.

Isaac.
Hush!
I shall remember. Oh! these waters roar
So fiercely in mine ear—King Jeptha—aye—
I stood before his throne—The Templar Knights—
I cannot—no, I cannot.

Robin Hood.
Poor old man,
I need must pity thee.

Miriam.
Alas—alas!

The bell tolls for Rebecca.
Isaac.
That bell—stay—stay—my brain!
The bell tolls again—Isaac Shrieks.
I know all now!
Too well—too well, my daughter! Oh, my child!

Miriam.
He weeps, and sense returns.

Robin Hood.
Come, look up man!
Here's good hope yet.

Isaac.
Hope! lead me to the place
Where, where my daughter—dies.

Robin Hood.
'Twere best, my girl,
You did to his desire; I shall be there.

Miriam.
Come, dearest uncle, lean on me.

Isaac.
Thou'rt kind—
I love thee well; but thou art not my child!
I'll walk alone.
(Exit Isaac.

Robin Hood.
How's this?

Miriam.
His daughter dies—
Lest some brave Knight against the Templar prove
Her innocence in arms.

Robin Hood.
Fine faith is theirs!
A holy crew, these Templars! By St. George!
Speed, Scarlet, to young Ivanhoe! Declare
What you have heard.
(Exit Scarlet.
Miriam, 'twere best you look'd
To the old man; his grief is wild,
And may offend his life.

Miriam.
Ye kind pow'rs above,
Support my weakness in this trying hour.
(Exit Miriam.

Robin Hood.
And now as Richard bid
For Templestowe, that if these Templars dare
To beard our royal lion, our near aid
May swell his scanty numbers.

Tuck.
He'll need all:
The time was short for gathering,

Robin Hood.
Spy thou
The vantage of the time; see all—say nought.
Keep the door lockt, but throw the windows up,

Tuck.
Go to,—I'll shoe my tongue with list; go to—
I will be silent as a mill on Sunday,
An unwound clock, an organ lacking wind,
Or as a woman's tongue.

Robin Hood.
A woman's tongue?

Tuck.
Aye, marry—when she's fast asleep.
(Exit Tuck.

Robin Hood.
Now, then; tough hearts, tough bow, and limber strings.

(Exeunt Robin Hood and Foresters.

SCENE II.

—A Room in Templestowe; a few closing chords of the Harp are heard from an inner Chamber as Brian enters.
Brian.
How sadly sweet! it drops like odours! 'tis
Passion's own tongue, and speaks not to the ear,
But to the heart. She must—she shall be mine!
Rebecca, thou sad maid, come forth! She comes—
Her eyes weigh'd down by tears—as morning dews
Sit heavy on the tulip's golden round,
And stoop its burthen'd tenderness to earth.

Rebecca enters.
Rebecca.
Thou here?

Brian.
Thy friend is here.

Rebecca.
Friends! they, alas!
Are birds that sing but to the summer.

Brian.
Tush!
Tush! take me in my meaning.

Rebecca.
Well.

Brian.
Be mine
And I will save thee—save thee from a death,
Worse than the worst of thoughts.

Rebecca.
To live a life
Worse than the worst of deaths.

Brian.
Be wise in time;
You'll hardly find a champion. Say you do;
My arm is strong—the chance uncertain; pause,—
I ask thy heart—will buy it at the price
Of fame and name, so dearly do I love thee.

Rebecca.
Aye, as bees love the violets of the spring.
To rifle their best fragrance and desert them.

Brian.
Be wise, I say; Death, in his fairest fom,
When sleep hangs on his temples, and his hand
Flings round him poppies, yet's a thing of fear.
But when he comes, as he will come to thee,
With burning fingers plucking out thine eyes.
Oh! bethink thee well; can'st thou bear this?

Rebecca.
He who lays on the load,
Will lend me strength for its endurance.

Brian.
Fond
And peevish girl, I do but ask thy love;
Which, given to thy lover, makes him rich
And leaves not thee the poorer.

Rebecca.
Aye! indeed!
Is not a maiden poorer in the loss
Of maiden fame? I thought, that honor was
To woman what sun is to the day;
Without which, all its beauties are unseen,—
Its roses looking nettles:—gone her fame,
Woman is poorer than a beggars' alms.

Brian.
Fame, 'tis a dream! Oh leave this wintry land,
And hearts as wintry; fly to the rich east;
The quick-wing'd hours shall be our handmaids, each
With a young pleasure, partner of his dance,
Shall beat the greensward with her silver feet,
Like moon-beams dancing on a summer brook;
Odours shall gem their locks, which each quick step
Shall shake on us in showers, as morning's breath
Shakes dew drops from the myrtle.

Rebecca is going; he takes her hand.
Brian.
How, would you leave me?

Rebecca.
Sir, this speech! but no,
Let me be still myself, though his rude tongue
Is drunk with license.

Brian.
Is't not better thus,
Than doing as our sober grey beards do,
To sleep upon the sunny bank of life,
And dream of happiness.

Rebecca.
Look down—look down!
Upon thy servant.

Brian.
Oh! deceives not me,
I know your sex; ice freezes in your looks,
But the warm current flows beneath that ice,
As quick as when the bright unfetter'd stream
Is sparkling to the Sun.

Bell.
Rebecca.
Hark! hark! the bell!
Brian thou art a murderer—Again!
Hark! air and earth and water catch the sound,
And now by day or night, on flood or land,
Whenever time repeats this hour of death,
A voice from all the elements at once,
Shall shriek it in thine ear as I do now,
Brian, thou art a murderer!

(Exit.
Brian.
Hear me;—she is gone!
Now by St. Paul—Revenge! I'll be reveng'd!
Proud girl—Rebecca! wilt thou not return?
But for a moment—Still deaf to my pray'r!
So deaf will I be when thy screams affright
The vulture wheeling o'er thy head in watch
For his burnt offering.—Revenge—Revenge!

(Exit.

SCENE LAST.

A level plain, surrounded on all sides by hills, so as to form an amphitheatre. In the back is a rivulet, over which is a low bridge; on either side of the scene are rude seats, rising one above the other: in the middle is a stake, with chains, surrounded with faggots; near it is a black chair; six Saracen slaves stand about it, four of which bear lighted torches: a crowd assembled below; Tuck in front, watching the people: Gurth enters.
Gurth.
What! Friar Tuck.

Tuck.
I answer not to that.

Gurth.
I cry you mercy; you possess, I know,
A wardrobe of good names; and which suits now
Will't please you wear?

Tuck.
Call me Clerk Anselm.

Gurth.
Good!
But what's your bus'ness here?

Tuck.
My curious friend,
That's no part of your bus'ness to inquire.
Howbeit, I care not much an if you know;
I keep a running reck'ning with St. Dunstan,
He scores me up my sins; I score to him,
Per contra, all my virtues: now it haps,
The balance runs most horribly against me;
A round score of wenches kiss'd, as many deer
Kill'd in the moonlight, twice so many cups,
In twice so many days, beyond full measure.
These stand on his page, mine's all white; at best
Some lean-gut virtues written there; whereon
I deem it wise to join this holy work;
The burning of a witch will make all even.

A bell tolls: a Knight enters, bearing the great Standard of the Temple, on which is inscribed, “Le Beau Seant.” Six trumpeters precede, sounding a mournful march; Knights preceptors, two and two, pass over to their seats. The Grand Master follows, carrying in his hand the Abacus, and takes an exalted place among them; the Banner, Le Beau Seant, is fixed behind him, and waves over his head. After him Brian de Bois Guilbert enters, De Bracy at his side, followed immediately by a Herald; these three take their places in the lists below; when all the above-mentioned are on the stage, the trumpets cease, and a Hymn with its Chorus is sung by the Neophites, who enter two by two in black vestments; a guard of Warders follow, in the midst of which Rebecca walks, habited in coarse white garments: She is led to the chair by the stake. Tuck and Gurth mix with the crowd.
[Neophites.]
Chorus.
Hymn.
Chorus.
Hymn.
Chorus.

Grand Master.
Our Temple's champion!

Brian.
Ready to thy hest.

Grand Master.
Ask then the maid if yet she yield her guilty.

Brian goes to Rebecca: Isaac enters, followed by Miriam.
Isaac.
Mir—Miriam.

Miriam.
I am here.

Isaac.
Lend me thine arm.
Look thou, and tell me.

He pauses, unable to speak.
Miriam.
What, dear uncle?

Isaac.
Look:—
How does she bear this trial? Does not fear
Shake her young limbs? a horrid ghastly fear?

Miriam.
I dare not look.

Isaac.
I will—her father will.

Brian returns to his place: De Bracy steps forward, and lays Rebecca's glove at the feet of the Grand Master.
Grand Master.
She doth deny—sound, Herald, for our champion.

Herald sounds the trumpet.
Grand Master.
Again.

Herald sounds a second time.
Grand Master.
Again.

Herald sounds a third time.
Isaac.
Hush, hush! 'tis but the echo's voice,
No trumpet answers for the Hebrew—none!
All that is human leaves us!—All!—all!—all!
Hear me, kind heaven! Hear an old man's pray'r,
Who bites the dust in agony—let these grey locks be death,
And each an agony! I'll die them all
To save my child—or in atonement take
These tears—this broken heart, this bloody sweat,
Which cold, cold anguish wringeth from by brow,
And save my child!

Grand Master.
No champion comes; but yet
My mercy gives thee limit 'till yon clouds
Shall dark the sun; Go, to thy father go;
Bid farewell to the earth, and all of earth.

Rebecca.
Thy blessing be upon me.

Isaac.
Thou image of thy mother!—can it be
That ought so sweet should perish—look down, heav'n,
See how she lies on this cold wither'd heart,
A snow drop on the breast of winter!—Spare
My bud of spring, and let these white snows melt,
If such thy pleasure, into earth again.

Rebecca.
A bitter hour it is! but it will pass,
As others oft have pass'd, of no less woe;
Time will moss o'er my memory, dear father,
And the quick hours, trampling o'er my tomb,
With constant feet wear out my epitaph.

Isaac.
Thy calmness ghasts me? Oh, so look the dead!
So marble calm! So horribly repos'd.

Rebecca.
Grief, like the waters of some chilling fount,
Whose coldness numbs the light woven flower to stone,
Has wrought mysteriously about my heart,
And frozen it to ice.

Grand Master.
No champion comes.

Isaac.
The dark clouds roll—roll—roll—
Be hush'd, ye winds! their edge is on the sun!
Burst, fall in show'rs—look, they pause!—Ah! no—
They shut out light, and with it shut out life!
Why should I live? break, break thou stubborn heart.

The Grand Master gives a sign to the Saracens to seize Rebecca.
Rebecca.
Off, off, tis but a dream! pass—pass away;
What strange and ghastly forms—can I not wake,
Can I not shut thee out? I'll close mine eyes
They'll pass away.

Isaac.
Rebecca!

Grand Master.
To the stake!

Rebecca.
Tis real! oh, forbear! but for a moment.
She clasps her Father's arm.
Hold me dear father! in thine arms I'll die,
Murder me here—I will not shriek, off—off—
Father! They'll slay me—save, oh save thy child!

Isaac.
Stay, hark, a champion comes! I hear the tramp
Of horses on the earth! it nears—and hark—
A trumpet sounds!

De Bracy.
The Jew speaks truth—

Isaac.
Again!
Earth, air, and heaven—hark!
He comes—he's here.

Ivanhoe.
A champion to Rebecca,
Am I too late?

Grand Master.
How!

Brian.
Ivanhoe!

Rebecca.
Thank heaven.

Isaac.
The noble youth! a Sampson to our cause!

Ivanhoe.
Dost license me thy champion?—Speak.

Rebecca.
I do:
Yet no, thy wounds are fresh, thy strength is weak;
Better to die than peril thee.

Isaac.
Behold
Thy father's agony—Rebecca!—child!
See you this furrow'd brow?

Rebecca.
I do—I do
Accept thee for my champion.

Ivanhoe.
You have heard
She takes me for her champion.

Brian.
I'll not fight,
With one thus half himself; go, get thee heal'd;
In fitting time, it may be I will scourge
Thy boyish pride.

Ivanhoe.
Twice beaten, and thus brave!
Do battle to thy pledge; or recreant yield.

Brian.
Dog of a Saxon! arm thee to thy death.

Isaac.
Most merciful! most mighty one!—Be not
His father's sins remember'd in this hour!

The Herald retires from the Lists: The Grand Master flings down Rebecca's glove—Brian and Ivanhoe advance.
Ivanhoe.
Why dost thou droop thy sword?

Brian.
What light was that
Which shot across my face—I am withered—blasted;
I've sin'd against earth and heaven—I die—

Brian reels: his Squire catches him in his arms and unclasps his Helmet.
Isaac.
Lo! heaven's wrath,
The strong one is struck down! though helm and mail
Tremble proud dust! your arms avail ye not,
Pow'r clips ye as the air, felt though unseen.

The Templars lay down their arms.)
Grand Master.
Give freedom to the Jewess. Take, old man,
Thy daughter at our hands.

Isaac.
Where is she?
An unkind mist is gathering between us;
Speak to me let me hear thee.

Rebecca.
Art thou ill,
Dear father?

Isaac.
Give me thy hand!

Rebecca.
'Tis here.

Isaac.
Where?—Where?

Rebecca.
You hold it now.

Ivanhoe.
Fear not my love:
'Tis but the first gush of exceeding joy.

Isaac starts from the arms of those who hold him, and gazes for a moment at his Daughter.
Isaac.
My child, wilt not, wilt not, to these old arms?

Rebecca.
Oh my dear father! (Falls into his arms.)


Isaac.
Earth recedes—ah now
I feel the presence of another world;
The heaven's unclasp their gates of burning light,
The seat of immortality's unveil'd
Where the great mover beams mid'st angel hosts;
A sun 'midst untold stars—'Tis sweet to die.

Isaac sinks into the arms of Ivanhoe: Rebecca kneels grasping her father's hand: the Curtain slowly falls to a plaintive melody.