University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A Hall at Oxford.
Prince Rupert C. Wilton R. and Officers discovered.
Prince R.
What say you, Wilton? Blechington surrendered
Without a single blow! How learned you this?

Wil.
Th' ejected garrison are entering Oxford
With them, their leader, Colonel Wyndebanke.

Prince R.
Know you his motive for this rash surrender?

Wil.
So please ye, there are many rumours current.
Some say 'twas cowardice—while others hint
A private understanding with the Roundheads,
Paving hereby a path, by which, with grace
He may hereafter step into their int'rests.

Prince R.
By heaven, I'll make example of him; be it
Treach'ry or cowardice his life shall answer!

Wil.
He has arrived and waits to see the king.

Prince R.
Conduct him hither!
(Officers go out, L. H.)
'Sdeath, it galls me sore
Such poltroons live to spread contagious poison.
Re-enter Officers and Colonel Wyndebanke, L. H.
Now, Colonel Wyndebanke, few men e'er sin
Lacking some paltry pretext—what is yours?

Wyn.
(Looking around.)
Where is my king?

Prince R.
Your king! whence claim that title?
Have you approved yourself his subject?

Wyn.
Who doubts my loyalty?

Wil.
I'll produce a man
Who'll swear to have heard you, more than once, to speak
Derogatory both of regal function
And majesty.

Wyn.
(Turning to him)
Oh! you'll produce a man
To swear this falsehood—you'll produce him? doubtless!
My lord Prince Rupert, do you know this Wilton?
Know him, I mean, as men should all be known
By their past deeds, the guarantee for what
They're capable of doing: if so enough:
I need but say—he lies! Yet, whence his motive?
I own an envied treasure in a wife
Surpassing praise in wealth of excellence;
Whom fortune in her bounty having given,
Has drawn on me this boundless emmity.

Prince R.
Such language in our presence, Wyndebanke!
Know yourself, sir, and be more temperate.

Wyn.
Great powers! temperate, when slur is cast
Upon my loyalty; when villains dare—

Prince R.
Sir, you should know, you stand in no position
To carp at every doubt of your allegiance;
I more than doubt it, for I cannot think
That the possessor of one grain of manhood
Would, at a time like this, hold out example
So base as yours, from mere rank cowardice;
For that must be the term alone t' award,
If from disloyalty's foul stain we cleanse you.

Wyn.
(Hastily.)
My lord, Prince Rupert—

Prince R.
Curb your passion, sir,
It will not serve you here.

Wyn.
I crave your highness's pardon: I, perchance
Might of another, judge from circumstance
Harshly as you. My lord, I pray you, listen:
The anxiety to justify myself
In estimation of all honest hearts
Urges the explanation, which is due,
(At least I think it,) to my king alone—
To him I promised, that Blechington
Should to the last extremity be held
Against invading power; and when that power,
Led on by Cromwell came—the same resolve
Shrunk not one jot, as can be testified
By many who were with me. Sir, what follows
Appeals more strongly to humanity,
Than to a military sense of duty;
And therefore would I that my king were present.
A youth—George Fenwicke—my wife's only brother,
Most haplessly had fallen in the hands
Of the besiegers. Ruthless Cromwell swore
That lest within an hour the house were yielded,
Upon a gibbet—(which was forthwith rais'd
Within our sight)—the captive youth should die.
Need I to add, the peril of her brother
To my poor wife, induced a mental terror
Verging on madness. She implored me save him!
Relying on my king's indulgent mercy,
I did so.
There is my pretext which I have rehears'd,
Because I'll hear no more of traitorship.

Prince R.
And wherefore is this said George Fenwicke absent?
Has he his liberty?

Wyn.
I know not.

Prince R.
(Sneeringly.)
No?

Wil.
My prince, I pray you, if I speak again
Deem not that malice prompts, Might not all this
Be an enactment, understood full well
'Twixt Cromwell and our gallant Colonel, here,
To blind the garrison? for 'tis reported
That this same Fenwicke heads the skirmishers
From whom this very hour we took a prisoner.

Wyn.
Venomous reptile! but for ev'ry lie,
I give you back an honest soldier's scorn.
I stand here arm'd with innocence and honour—
Let men of honour judge me.

Prince R.
Yes, this night.
By which time Colonel Wyndebanke, a Court
Will here assemble for your trial. Now
Know that you are arrested.

(Soldiers come forward.
Wyn.
How! a trial
This night?

Prince R.
The exigency of affairs
Admits of no delay. Prepare yourself—
Your case is critical, for this I tell you
If from the evidence your guilt be prov'd,
Cast from you the fallacious hope of mercy.

(Exit R. H.
Wyn.
(Turning to Wilton.)
There has been some malignant tongue at work,
Some envious, busy knave! This is no treatment
For an approved officer

Wil.
(Disregarding his speech.)
Conduct him
To the old guard-room, and secure it well,
And till the trial let no soul approach.

Wyn.
Villain! on what authority—

Wil.
No more!
Away with him! I'll hold no altercation
With traitrous cowards.

Wyn.
(Rushing to him.)
Slave! unsay those words!
Retract I say!

(Strikes Wilton—the Soldiers seize and disarm him.
Wil.
A blow! you'll rue this hour.

Wyn.
'Tis but a prelude to the chastisement
Which, on a future day, I'll help thee to.

Wil.
(Significantly.)
That day will never come: the traitor's fate—
The gibbet, waits thee. Wyndebanke thou'rt doom'd!

Wyn.
I doubt it not, if on your evil efforts
Success should wait; but I defy your craft,
Confiding in the genius of truth.
Bring all your perjur'd evidence, I'll face it!
At your malicious prophecy I laugh,
And thus retaliate. Your doom is this—
A heart to deal in ev'ry paltry vice
With sense to feel the humbling influence—
The lasting torment of a proud ambition,
With but degrading roguery to back it:
Rather than such a mortifying life,
Give me the gibbet which you promis'd.

Wil.
Yes.
Boaster, 'tis nigh at hand—go brood upon't.

(Exeunt Wilton R. H. Wyndebanke and Soldiers L. H.

SCENE II.

—A Guard Room. Benches, Tables, &c. Ticely, bound as a prisoner, sitting beside Rip, who, slightly intoxicated, is drinking and smoking.
Rip.

Come, talk—talk, and look not so gloomy. When a

man hasn't long to live, it behoveth him to be jolly. Look
here; here is but one sup left in this tankard, and but listen
how I smack my lips over it. Ah, ah—the ups and downs of
life, Master Ticely. I knew you governor of Oxford jail. I
was once your prisoner, and—ha, ha—down bumps your end
of the see-saw, and here you are, mine: and serve you rightly.
What made you volunteer into the scurvy Parliament army?

Tice.

I was entrapped by that young Fenwicke, who has
prevailed upon Cromwell to give him a lieutenancy, and, as I
told you, already heads a skirmishing party, from which yoa
captured me.

Rip.

The artful young scamp! And so he was in league
with Noll to frighten the Blechington garrison into a surrender
by pretending to go bare-necked to the scaffold. Ha, ha!
a cunning trick, and well acted. But, harkee, Ticely—if you
can make it appear that Colonel Wyndebanke was privy to and
seconded this stratagem, you will find favour with Wilton, and,
peradventure, save yourself. Do you understand?

Tice.

I'll do it, trust me, effectually.

Rip.

Will you? That's right. Come, drink of this fresh
stoup; I love a pot companion.

Tice.

Then, pray you, good comrade toper, take off these
manacles.

Rip.

No, no, good Master Ticely, I dare not trust myself;
for though I give praise I am of sober habit, yet flesh is
weak, and a little overcomes me, and knowing you to be a
thorough backbone rascal—excuse me—I might chance to lose
you, or have my own throat divided; nevertheless, O be joyful,
and take a pipe. I will e'en light it for thee.

(Sticks a pipe in Ticely's mouth.)
Tice.

No, take it hence. I will not smoke unless you release me.

Rip.
(Cuffing him.)

Then take that, for an unsociable cur!
I swear the very first man that comes here shall smoke for
thee, or I will cut his windpipe.

Enter Wabble, L. H.
Wab.

Ah, gentlemen—I beg pardon for alarming you by
my abrupt entrance.

Rip.

Alarmed! Fire and brimstone, what mean you by
alarmed? What d'ye want?

Wab.

I beg your pardon, but—but have you seen Mistress
Wabble?

Rip.

And who is Mistress Wabble?

Wab.

I beg your pardon, but that's my wife. My name's
Wabble.

Rip.

Why, man, what should we do with thy wife—art
drunk?

Wab.

In a few words I'll explain. We were on a wedding

visit at Blechington, which, being delivered to the Round-heads,
we have come to Oxford for safety; and while I was
walking a short time since with Mistress Wabble—that's my
wife—we overheard a soldier to say that Colonel Wyndebanke
was to be tried this very night as a traitor; so nothing
would serve my wife—(she's a good-hearted creature!)—but
we must offer ourselves as witnesses, to tell all about it, and
justify the Colonel. I said, “Be quiet; 'tis no business of
ours; we shall only get ourselves in a mess.” But she is a
wilful body—(my wife)—and off she started without me; so,
after a little consideration, I started after her, and here I am.
Have you seen Mistress Wabble?

Rip.

Is she well-favoured?

Tice.

The plumpest, most inviting little darling you ever
dropt eyes on.

Wab.

Why that is Master Ticely, as I live! Glad to see
you. Have you seen Mistress Wabble—how shall I find her?

Tice.

I would counsel you first to enquire for Captain Horner.

Wab.

Oh, don't mention it. What a devil of a fellow that
is! As I'm a valiant man, here he comes, and—horror and
despair—she—she—my wife—Mistress Wabble is with him!

(Sinks into a chair R. H.
Enter Captain Horner and Mistress Wabble, L. H.
Mrs. W.

Oh, my husband is here. Thank you, Captain
Horner, for your kind protection amongst all those uncouth
soldiers.

Wab.

How can you utter those two sacred words, “my
husband,” without sinking into the floor with your weight of
shame! What do you with that man?

Hor.

How now, friend Wabble—

Wab.

Friend be—Don't friend me, sir. (Crosses.)
That
is Mistress Wabble, sir—my wife, sir. I didn't go to the expense
of marrying her for your gratification, friend as I am.
Take my ox, my ass, my anything else that is mine, but don't
attempt to take her, or look to it, both of ye!

Mrs. W.

Oh, you idiot—

Hor.

I met your wife, endeavouring to make her way to the
guard-room, and assisted her: is there crime in that?

Rip.
(Coming forward.)

Here, I'll be peace-maker. Master
Wabble, be satisfied, and hold your tongue, or this fistlet
shall flatten that noselet of yours—sela! Captain Horner, 'tis
the duty of every soldier to do his best when a woman's in the
case, and I doubt not you have done your duty. Mistress
Wabble, to prove that I think well of you, accept this token—

[Attempts to kiss her.]
Wab.

Yes, yes; she requires no token—thank you all the
same.

Rip.

There, now we are all friends—oh, be joyful!

Wab.

Well, Captain Horner, now let us thoroughly understand
one another: I am not a man to be trifled with—with
respect to my share of my own wife—

Hor.

There, take her to your arms, and fear no wrong from
me. Rip, I have received orders from Wilton to start immediately
with dispatches to Chester. This paper, which I have
just written, contains all the information I am able to give respecting
the surrender of Blechington, and, in my absence,
may be of service to Colonel Wyndebanke. I trust it with
you.

[Gives paper to Rip.]
Rip.

It shall be put to its proper purpose.

Hor.

Ticely, I am sorry to see you in this plight, but 'tis a
just return for your treachery.

Tice.

Reproach me not. I have heartily repented, and shall
endeavour to make reparation by bearing witness—(though to
my own disadvantage)—to the late manly and upright conduct
conduct of Colonel Wyndebanke.

Mrs. W.

Do so, that's a sweet gentleman: we have come
hither for the same purpose.

Hor.

You will do well. Rip, may I advise that you remove
his bands, and treat him indulgently. (Rip removes the manacles.)

I would have desired to have seen Wyndebanke before I
started, but learn that access is strictly prohibited. Commend
me to him. Adieu!

[Exit L. H.
Rip.

Now, Wabble, sit down and drink. I desire to cultivate
your acquaintance, and this pretty wife of yours shall
sit beside me. [They sit. Wabble, R. and Rip and Mrs. W.

L. of table Rip kisses Mrs. W.]

Wab.
[Rising.]

Stop: allow me to say that is not agreeable
to the feelings of a husband. Mistress Wabble, come here.

Rip.

Pshaw, man, this is nothing: if the sight pleases you
not, turn your back on us, and we'll put up with the rudeness.

Wab.

Mistress Wabble, we will not remain here.

Rip.

Harkee, Wabble; perchance you do not know me. I
am Anthony Rip, celebrated for cutting throats and blowing
brains out. Look—here is my pistol, crammed to the muzzle:
a word or two from you will pull the trigger, and silence
your tongue for ever. [Loudly.]
Obey me, sirrah, d'ye hear?
Empty that flagon! [Wabble timidly takes the flagon, and

drinks, but stops for want of breath]
Drink it up, or by the
ceiling above, and the floor beneath, I'll—

Wab.
[Out of breath.]

I—I cannot take any more, I—

Rip.
[In a voice of thunder.]

Empty the can, d'ye hear?
[Wabble drinks again.]
Now take a pipe, and light it.

Wab.
[Aside.]

Oh, lord—oh, lord! Excuse me, I can't
smoke.

Wab.
[Taking up pistol.]

Smoke!

Wab.

How d'ye do it?

Rip.

Here's a light. [Lights the paper which Horner gave

him.]

Wab.

Do you know what you've done? That paper is—

Rip.

Hold your tongue, and smoke.

Wab.
[Aside.]

Oh, lord—here's a situation! [He lights

pipe.]

Rip.

Now if you dare to let that pipe out, I'll blow out your
brains.

Mrs. W.

Oh, he'll be so ill directly, poor fellow.

Rip.

My love, never mind him. Now, sir, turn your back
to us— [Wabble unwillingly turns.]
—and whenever you hear
me kiss Mrs. Wabble, take up the flagon by your side and
drink, or listen to the crack of this pistol.

Wab.
[Aside.]

Oh, dear—that wife will be the death of me.

Enter Wilton, R. H.
Wil.

Rip, come hither. (Rip rises aad comes forward, L.)

Has Captain Horner departed?

Rip.

Yes.

Wil.

That is well: and what of Ticely?

Rip.

He'll do anything you wish.

Wil.

'Tis well again: and who are these?

Rip.

Two simple bodies, who desire to be witnesses in favour
of the Colonel: but leave them to mo—I'll prevent their
appearance.

Wil.

Enough. Master Ticely, follow me: I would speak
with you.

(Exit, followed by Ticely, R. H.
Rip,

Why, curse me, that fellow has turned round. Turn
back again, knave, or—

Wab.

An it please you, this tobacco does not agree with me.

Rip.

Qualify it with strong ale, and I warrant 'twill agree.
(Kisses Mistress Wabble, and lays his hand on his pistol.
Wabble drinks.)
There—now they have left us alone, let us
be joyful. Come, I'll sing ye a song; and, mark ye, the burthen
of each verse is a kiss. (During symphony Rip kisses
Mistress Wabble, and Wabble, who is becoming intoxicated,
drinks.)

SONG.—RIP.
If 'twere not for women and wine, what were life,
A compound of trouble, of toil, and of strife—
But the bottle in hand, and the wench on my knee,
The devil may take all dull care, boys, for me.
For I laugh, and I quaff, and I toy and I kiss,
And where's the specific for sorrow like this?
With my lass, and my glass,
All care, boys, shall pass,
For where's the specific for sorrow like this?
What charming confusion those two things impart—
The wine in the head, and the wench in the heart.
If the woman be fair, and the bottle be free,
The devil may take all dull care, boys, for me—
For I laugh, and I quaff, and I toy, and I kiss,
And where's the specific for sorrow like this?
With my lass, and my glass, &c.

(As Rip is about to kiss Mistress Wabble again, she, expressing a dislike to his familiarity, slaps his face—a struggle ensues—Wabble rises to assist, but overcome with liquor, falls beneath the table. The Scene closes in.)

SCENE III.

—The Interior of a Cottage.
Enter Fenwicke, L. H. followed by a Puritan Soldier, to whom he gives his arms and accoutrements.
Fen.
This hut must be our resting-place to-night.
(Shouts without.
Go, learn what means that tumult.
(Exit Soldier, L. H.
Oh, fortune, fortune, how art thou attain'd!
I sicken even at my setting out.
The road to fame should not be rashly chosen,
For in progression we should find delight
To nerve us for Ambition's ceaseless toil.
No sickening qualms of conscience—no vile doubts
Of the true honour of our cause, or—Pshaw!
Whence tend these thoughts? I half despise myself
For mingling in my nature such a compound
Of rashness and irresolution. Well,
What if I have from unweighed impulse started—
Who madly choose should madly persevere,
Or they but court due scorn for the first folly.

Re-enter Soldier, L. H. conducting Captain Horner.
Sold.
So please ye, here is one has been arrested
On the high road: he is a Royalist,
And Serjeant Hughes pronounces him a spy.

Hor.
George Fenwicke!
Are you the leader of these men?

(Fenwicke motions to Soldier, who takes arms from Horner, and exit R. H.
Fen.
I am.

Hor.
The tale which I did hold as scandal,
Is, then, too true. Oh, shame!

Fen.
And wherefore, Horner?
Are you infallible, that you dare use
That word to all dissentients.

Hor.
To you—
To you I use it, not unto your cause,
But for your method of adopting it;
I use it, too, for Colonel Wyndebanke,
Whom I now view in so debas'd a light,
That richly he deserved the traitor's fate
Now threat'ning him.

Fen.
What fate—what threatens him?
Nay, hear me, Horner—he is no colleague.
I swear most solemnly that Wydebanke
Knew nought of my proceeding nor design—
And, sooth to say, I bitterly repent
The trick I put on him.

Hor.
What trick?

Fen.
'Twas I
Suggested the expedient to Cromwell
Of feigning to have ta'en me captive. I,
Knowing to common threat he would not yield,
Led him to think my life in peril: that,
That was unworthy of a man, ambitious
T' acquire a soldier's fame.

Hor.
Indeed! and this
Is but an afterthought? Is't possible
The doing on't—the anticipation even,
Breath'd no conviction of th' enormity?
Could you, but for a moment, entertain
A thought of building on your kinsman's life
The unsecure foundation of your fortune?

Fen.
Nay, Horner, neither on his name nor life.

Hor.
I say, his life—your sister's life, dependent
On that of him she loves. In prison now
He waits this coming eve to take his trial:
So rancorous is the general feeling 'gainst him,
That, but his life, will sate that indignation
Which you, shame on ye, have created.

Fen.
Heav'n! say ye so—

Hor.
But that is nought to you.
You've made his head your stepping stone to fortune—
If the contempt of honest men is fortune;
Your sister's misery has brought you fortune,
If to become a heartless monster's fortune;
Honour and name you've bartered well for fortune,
If sacrifice of self-esteem be fortune;
But why talk I—I'm but your humble captive—
There may be danger in't.

Fen.
Oh, speak not thus.
I am no personal foe to you, although
Your party's adversary.

Hor.
Well, how then?
At heart my monarch's interest is mine,
Therefore you are my personal enemy!
I ask no favour at your hands, because
I loathe you and your paltry power.

Fen.
Horner,
Beware—I'll not be goaded thus.

Hor.
You—pshaw!
A vile dissembler—trickster— (Crosses R. H.)


Fen.
(Angrily.)
Silence, sir,
Or, impulse-madden'd, I may something do
My cooler thought shall wish recalled. Oh, Horner,
(Changing his tone.
You speak as though it were my nature's due
To meet abhorrence—is it? You have known me
From childhood; more than once I've sought your counsel
In matters of perplexity, and found it
Wrapp'd in frank love: accord once more such friendship,
And tell me how to cancel this past folly.

Hor.
Die like Iscariot, your archetype,
And thereby in an ocean of contempt
Mix one small drop of pity for your weakness.

Fen.
Why, then, I'll have nor wav'ring nor remorse—
Let the worst come—I'm callous!
If there is no regaining honour lost,
I'll woo more ardently it's opposite:
Give me men's hate rather than their contempt,
Henceforth I'm conscienceless, and, braggart, you
Who play the heroic with such arrogance,
Shall make no boast of having 'scap'd the flame
You've so unwisely fann'd; for now, forthwith
I'll have you led to Cromwell. (Crosses to R. H.)
Ho, there, guard!
Render account to him; and for your life
Look not to me. Were you my brother—father—
And I could save you by—
Enter Soldier, R. H.
Remove this man.
Bid Hughes call out a guard of twenty men
T' escort him to the General: first search,
And hither bring whate'er you find on him.
(Horner and Soldier, R. H. Fenwicke hesitates.)
Stay—leave him with me but a moment longer.
(Exit Soldier, R. H.
(after a pause.)
I cannot do it—no, by heaven I cannot!
I am not what I think myself. Come, sir,
I care not for yout taunting words, not I,
So little have they stung, so harden'd am I,
That I will set you on your way again
In perfect safety. Aye, go spread abroad
My perfidy—my vacillation—shame,
Or what you will. Come, follow me: I'll see
That unmolested you depart. (Going, then turning.)
You said
The life of Wyndebanke was threaten'd, did you?
And that I'd sealed my sister's misery—
But that affects me not. I am unmoved,
Although 'twas I—Oh, God! Come, follow me!

(Exeunt L. H.

SCENE IV.

—The Old Guard Room.
Colonel Wyndebanke is led in by Serjeant Maye and Soldiers, U. R.
Serj.
This chamber, sir, you'll occupy until—

Wyn.
To-morrow, only. What is now the hour?

Serj.
Eight has just struck.

Wyn.
By that, then, but twelve hours
Are all I have to live.

Serj.
Your lady, sir—
(Who yesterday in vain sued for the favour)—
Now waits admittance; by Prince Rupert's order:
The trial over, now 'twill be permitted.

(Exit with Soldiers, L. H.
Wyn.
Poor Edith, thou hast placed me here. To die
To-morrow. Oh, how gladly would I yield
To that same death, were ignominious stain,
As undeserved as base, cleans'd from my name.
'Tis hard to die suspected; but to die
With all th' apparent evidence of guilt,
And scarce a hope that rectifying time
May tell the world it err'd—'tis terrible!
George Fenwicke, what a villain thou hast prov'd—
No matter—

Enter Edith, L. H. who runs to Wyndebanke.
Edith.
Edward!

Wyn.
(Gently displacing her.)
No, this must not be,
Till you resolve me of a cruel doubt
Which shames me in the utterance. Oh, Edith,
Have you been party to that treachery
By which my life, but what is more, my honour
Is sacrific'd?

Edith.
(Sobbing.)
Oh, Edward!

Wyn.
Still I ask
Were you an agent in your brother's scheme?

Edith.
(Eagerly.)
Did he betray you, then?

Wyn.
Oh, answer me!
Were you a plotter with him 'gainst your husband?

Edith.
No! no! ah, could you think it?

(Falls in his arms.)
Wyn.
'Tis enough!
Then my poor wife, of nothing but affection
Will I accuse you: 'gainst untoward fate
We are unarm'd by prescience. Look up!
I was a brute unworthy of thy love,
To offer such an insult as suspicion.
Forgive me, Edith—speak! alas, the time
For our communion is but brief—then speak!

Edith.
(Glancing round.)
Edward, to this I've brought you—'tis my deed.
Oh, do not speak so kindly—I did this!

Wyn.
Nay, nay! but were it even so—'tis now
Your office to make ample reparation.

Edith.
O tell me how—for mercy's sake, oh, tell me,
How can I make atonement?

Wyn.
Edith, thus:
Enable me to die with fortitude,
Such as becomes a soldier.

Edith.
(Aghast.)
Die! to die?

Wyn.
To-morrow; so my judges have decreed:
And may the firmness of my parting moment
Wipe from my character the foul aspersion
Cast on it by my harsh accusers. Edith,
No one but you can shake my firmness!

Edith.
Merciful heaven, die! You must be saved.
You shall not die—no, no—why say it?
They do not know the crime was mine. Oh, Edward!

(Embraces him.
Enter Wilton, armed, L. H. followed by Serj. Maye.
Wil.
(To Maye.)
Who was it granted this? The interview
Was meant to be permitted but an hour
Before the execution—who has pass'd her?

Maye.
Sir, 'twas the Prince's word—

Wil.
'Tis false, I say!
Retire, and wait my call without.
(Exit Serj. L. H.
Well, Colonel Wyndebanke, your late espousal
Of this most dainty type of fair perfection,
Has stimulated you to noble deeds.
Oft have I heard contemners of the passion,
Prate of the soft'ning influence of love:
Then soldiers should abjure it, since it seems
It melts the spirit e'en to cowardice.

Wyn.
Edith, look there upon that fiend who taunts me!
Once the presumptuous wretch—(the saints forgive him)—
Aspired to the possession of your hand.
Your choice and still 'tis bliss to say it—fell
Upon myself. Do you repent that choice,
Though sorrow is the sequence—though you hear,
The name of coward hurl'd in malice at me?
I would die fair in the esteem of all
But chiefly you my bride; then tell me, Edith,
Which is the coward—he, whose heart is mov'd
To act as I did—from humanity—
Or he, who like that grov'ling villain there,
By lies and stratagem subdues a rival,
And then, ere death can snatch him from his malice,
Comes swagg'ring to his unarmed, helpless victim,
And like a slave insults his misery
By coarse reviling—say, which is the coward?

Wil.
What should I do for the great wrong I've suffer'd?
Come with magnanimous condolement, or
Sue for you to authority for pardon?

Edith.
(Falling at his feet.)
Oh, save him—save him Wilton! you can do it.
Be generous, and deepest gratitude—

Wyn.
(Raising her.
Rise Edith, 'ere I curse you! Kneel to him!
Debase yourself and me—defy him rather—
He has no power but what grows from guilt.
(Edith again attempts to kneel.
Woman, dost hear me? is it not enough
To bear the charge of shame—would you bring more
By disobeying my command—kneel not!

Edith.
(Rising.)
I will not. Ah, you do reproach me, then—
I brought that shame upon you.

Wil.
(With exultation.)
Still I have lived to see it: see her here—
Here at my feet—she who once spurn'd my suit!
Aye, you may take her hence, but still her heart
Is kneeling here before me—still she begs
In abject humbleness of me, your life;
And thus I answer her. I lov'd you once
With more sincerity than you might credit;
But pitiless, you cast me off, for him
Now waiting death. I then became a fiend
I own it—glory in it—were your husband
Now—(as he soon will be)—bound, blindfolded,
The carbines pois'd, and I, by finger-raising,
Could turn his doom aside, I would not do it,
But wait expectant for the joyous moment
To see his crimson'd corse roll prostrate.

Edith.
Monster!
He shall not die—I'll hasten to the king,
Fall at his feet, and never quit his presence
Till I have wrench'd from him a pardon.

Wil.
Why that you'll scarcely do. His majesty
One hour since set forth for Burford

Edith.
Alas! No, I will not despair—to Burford!
I'll follow there. Ah, Edward, let me hence
To Burford. I will save you, husband, yet
Or perish, too, myself. To Burford, on!
I must not waste one moment—on to Burford!

(Rushes out, L. H.
Wil.
(Pointing after her.
A noble-minded lady! it is hard
To leave such charms for ever. Think you now,
That she can save you?

Wyn.
Leave me!

Wil.
Long before
She can return you'll be—

Wyn.
Fiend! leave me! (Wilton smiles and exit L. H. Colonel Wyndebanke sinks on seat and buries his head in his hands.)

SCENE V.

—A Street. Evening.
Enter Wabble, R. H.
Wab.

Has anybody seen Mistress Wabble? Oh, my head!
how disgustingly intoxicated that fellow made me this afternoon;
and when I became myself—that is, when I became
sensible, the trial was all over, and the poor Colonel sentenced
to be shot. I wax exceeding wrath with that fellow Rip,
when I think of—Oh dear, has any body seen Mistress
Wabble? Yes, it's a different case when a man drinks voluntarily,
but I've been made drunk against my inclination, and
finally kicked out—literally kicked out—not pushed out—(I'll
swear I felt the rascal's square toe at my—that is, when my
back was turned)—and told to go seek my business elsewhere.
Oh, that rascal Rip has behaved shamefully to me, and I dare
say still worse to my wife. Where is Mistress Wabble? They
told me she was at liberty as well as myself. Here comes
somebody. Pray have you seen Mistress Wabble?

Enter Edith, hurriedly, L. H.
Edith.
Oh, will you aid me?

Wab.
Lady, is it you?
What can I do?

Edith.
I must away to Burford
To seek my husband's pardon, or—oh, horror!
He will be slain. Procure me friend, a horse,
This instant, or—

Wab.
A horse! there's nothing scarcer,
They've all turn'd cavalry recruits—

Edith.
Oh, heaven!
Delay at such a time! I'll go on foot:
My love will lend me speed, and you, if e'er
You felt as one possessing friendship should—
If you possess commisseration, go,
Hence to Prince Rupert—plead—implore—nay, force
A temporary respite, and bid those
Who know and love my husband, add entreaty;
Waste not one instant! Tell me, tell me quickly,
Which is the road to Burford?

Wab.
That before you.

Edith.
Forget not! heaven lend me speed—it is
To save his life—his life

(Exit R. H.
Wab.
(Calling after her)

But stop, I say—have you seen
Mistress Wabble? Oh, lord, where can she be? I can't attend
to anybody else's affairs until I have found Mistress Wabble.
I know she's at liberty, because I heard a soldier say so as I
was coming out—and I heard him say, too, that Horner was
dispatched some distance on a commission. I was glad to hear
that; it's a comfort to know she's not with him, at any rate.

Enter Captain Horner, and Mistress Wabble, L. H.

Eh? oh! Fiend—devil—again! Oh, my brain's on fire—why
do you haunt me thus? why do you haunt my wife? There's
no doubt of it now. False wife—broken vows—wronged husband
—oh, oh, oh!

Hor.

Silence—our meeting was but accidental.

Wab.

Of course, viper, and I'll accidentally cut your throat.
Oh, misery! why didn't I die in infancy—why was I born or
even thought of? That it should come to this!

Mrs. W.

Come, don't be foolish: or, if you must be so, not
not now. Think of poor Wyndebanke!

Wab.

Think of poor Wabble I don't care for Wyndebanke,
when my own case is so desperate—let every one look to himself!

Mrs. W.

Wabble, I thought you had a feeling heart—
For shame!

Hor.
Upon the honour of a soldier
You've no just cause for jealousy. Few words
Will tell the cause of my return, in which
I've ventured on a serious breach of duty.
I've met with certain tidings which may 'stablish
The innocence of Wyndebanke.
Knowing his danger imminent, I'm hast'ning
To inform Prince Rupert of th' intelligence.

Wab.
Give me your hand. (Crosses to C.)
Come, I will go with you
And tell him all I know. (Looking at him and then at Mrs. Wabble.)
Is it all right?
I think it is—come on! We'll plead right stoutly
For the poor Colonel. Are you sure your meeting
Was accidental? His poor wife—(poor thing)—
Is in a desperate way. It is suspicious
That you should meet so often. Lose no time—
Come to Prince Rupert, we will save the Colonel!
No, not so near my wife—come on!

(Exeunt R. H.