University of Virginia Library

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.