 | Ethwald |  |
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The court of a Saxon castle. Ethwald is discovered lying upon the ground as if half asleep. The sound of a horn is heard without, at which he raises his head a little, and lays it down again. The gate of the castle opens at the bottom of the stage, and enter Selred, Ethelbert, and attendants, as if returned from hunting. Sel. and Eth. walk forward to the front, and the others retire by different sides of the stage.Selred.
This morning's sport hath bravely paid our toil.
Have not my dogs done credit to their breed?
Eth.
I grant they have.
Sel.
Mark'd you that tawny hound,
With stretched nostrils snuffing to the ground,
Who still before, with animating yell,
Like the brave leader of a warlike band,
Through many a mazy track his comrades led
Right in the tainted path?
I would not for the weregild of a Thane
That noble creature barter.
Eth.
I do not mean to tempt thee with the sum.
Seest thou where Ethwald, like a cottage cur
On dunghill stretch'd, half sleeping, half awake,
Doth bask his lazy carcass in the sun?
Ho! laggard there!
[To Ethw., who just raises his head, and lays it down again. Eth. going up close to him.
When slowly from the plains and nether woods,
With all their winding streams and hamlets brown,
Updrawn, the morning vapour lifts its veil,
And through its fleecy folds, with soften'd rays,
Like a still'd infant smiling in his tears,
Looks through the early sun:—when from afar
The gleaming lake betrays its wide expanse,
And, lightly curling on the dewy air,
The cottage smoke doth wind its path to heaven:
When larks sing shrill, and village cocks do crow,
And lows the heifer loosen'd from her stall:
When heaven's soft breath plays on the woodman's brow,
And every hare-bell and wild tangled flower
Smells sweetly from its cage of checker'd dew:
Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn,
And from its covert starts the fearful prey;
Who, warm'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins,
Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie,
Shut up from all the fair creation offers? (Ethw. yawns and heeds him not.)
He heeds me not.
Sel.
I will assail him now. (In a louder voice.)
Ho! heads of foxes deck our huntsman's belt,
Which have through tangled woods and ferny moors
With many wiles shaped out their mazy flight,
Have swum deep floods, and from the rocky brows
Of frightful precipices boldly leap'd
Into the gulf below.
Nay, e'en our lesser game hath nobly done;
Across his shoulders hang four furred feet,
That have full twenty miles before us run
In little space. O, it was glorious!
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(raising his head carelessly).
Well well, I know that hares will swiftly run
When dogs pursue them.
(Stretches himself and goes to rest again.)
Eth.
Leave him to rest, he is not to be rous'd.
Sel.
Well, be it so. By heaven, my fretted soul
Did something of this easy stupor lack,
When near the latter limits of our chace
I pass'd the frowning tower of Ruthergeld.
He hangs a helmet o'er his battlements,
As though he were the chief protecting Thane
Of all the country round.
I'll teach th' ennobled Ceorl, within these bounds,
None may pretend in noble birth to vie
With Mollo's honour'd line!
Eth.
(proudly).
Hast thou forgot?
Or didst thou never hear whose blood it is
That fills these swelling veins?
Sel.
I cry you mercy, Thane: I little doubt
Some brave man was the founder of your house.
Eth.
Yes, such an one, at mention of whose name
The brave descendants of two hundred years
Have stately ris'n with more majestic step,
And proudly smiled.
Sel.
Who was this lordly chieftain?
Eth.
A Swabian shepherd's son, who, in dark times,
When ruin dire menaced his native land,
With all his native lordship in his grasp,
A simple maple spear and osier shield,
Making of keen and deep sagacity,
With daring courage and exalted thoughts,
A plain and native warrant of command,
Around him gather'd all the valiant youth;
And, after many a gallant enterprise,
Repell'd the foe, and gave his country peace.
His grateful country bless'd him for the gift,
And offer'd to his worth the regal crown.
Sel.
(bowing respectfully).
I yield me to thy claim.
[Ethwald, who has raised himself up by degrees upon hearing the story, and listened eagerly, now starts up, impatient of the pause, and catches Eth. by the arm.
Ethw.
And did they crown him then?
Eth.
No; with a mind above all selfish wrong,
He gen'rously the splendid gift refused:
And drawing from his distant low retreat
The only remnant of the royal race,
Did fix him firmly on his father's seat;
Proving until his very latest breath
A true and loyal subject.
[Ethwald's countenance changes, then turning from Eth. he slowly retires to the bottom of the stage and exit. Eth. follows him attentively with his eye as he retires.
Eth.
Mark'd you the changes of the stripling's eye?
You do complain that he of late has grown
A musing sluggard. Selred, mark me well:
Brooding in secret, grows within his breast
That which no kindred owns to sloth or ease.
And is your father fix'd to keep him pent
Still here at home? Doth the old wizard's prophecy,
That the destruction of his noble line
Should from the valour of his youngest son,
In royal warfare, spring, still haunt his mind?
This close confinement makes the pining youth
More eager to be free.
Sel.
Nay, rather say, the lore he had from thee
Hath o'er him cast this sullen gloom. Ere this,
Where was the fiercest courser of our stalls
That did not shortly under him become
As gentle as the lamb? What bow so stiff
But he would urge and strain his youthful strength,
Till every sinew o'er his body rose,
Like to the sooty forger's swelling arm,
Until it bent to him? What flood so deep
That on its foaming waves he would not throw
His naked breast, and beat each curling surge,
Until he gain'd the far opposing shore?
But since he learnt from thee that letter'd art,
Which only sacred priests were meant to know,
See how it is, I pray! His father's house
Has unto him become a cheerless den.
His pleasant tales and sprightly playful talk,
Which still our social meals were wont to cheer,
Now visit us but like a hasty beam
Between the showery clouds. Nay, e'en the maid
My careful father destines for his bride,
That he may still retain him here at home,
Fair as she is, receives, when she appears,
His cold and cheerless smile.
Surely thy penanced pilgrimage to Rome,
And the displeasure of our holy saint,
Might well have taught thee that such sacred art
Was good for priests alone. Thou'st spoilt the youth.
Eth.
I've spoilt the youth! What thinkst thou then of me?
Sel.
I'll not believe that thou at dead of night
Unto dark spirits sayst unholy rhymes;
Nor that the torch, on holy altars burnt,
Sinks into smoth'ring smoke at thy approach;
Nor that foul fiends about thy castle yell,
What time the darken'd earth is rock'd with storms;
Though many do such frightful credence hold,
And sign themselves when thou dost cross their way.
I'll not believe—
Eth.
By the bless'd light of heaven !—
Sel.
I cannot think—
Eth.
Nay, by this well-proved sword!
Sel.
Patience, good Thane! I meant to speak thy praise.
Eth.
My praise, sayst thou?
Sel.
Thy praise. I would have said,
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So bravely fought, and still in the honour'd cause,
Should hold unhallow'd league with damned sprites,
I never will believe.” Yet much I grieve
That thou with bold intrusive forwardness,
Hast enter'd into that which holy men
Hold sacred for themselves;
And that thou hast, with little prudence too,
Entrapp'd my brother with this wicked lore,
Although methinks thou didst not mean him harm.
Eth.
I thank thee, Selred; listen now to me,
And thou shalt hear a plain and simple tale,
As true as it is artless.
These cunning priests full loudly blast my fàme,
Because that I with diligence and cost,
Have had myself instructed how to read
Our sacred Scriptures, which, they would maintain,
No eye profane may dare to violate.
If I am wrong, they have themselves to blame;
It was their hard extortions first impell'd me
To search that precious book, from which they draw
Their right, as they pretend, to lord it thus.
But what thinkst thou, my Selred, read I there?
Of one sent down from heav'n in sov'reign pomp,
To give into the hands of leagued priests
All power to hold th' immortal soul of man
In everlasting thraldom? O far otherwise!
[Taking Selred 's hand with great earnestness.
Of one who health restored unto the sick,
Who made the lame to walk, the blind to see,
Who fed the hungry, and who rais'd the dead,
Yet had no place wherein to lay His head.
Of one from ev'ry spot of tainting sin
Holy and pure; and yet so lenient,
That He with soft and unupbraiding love
Did woo the wand'ring sinner from his ways,
As doth the elder brother of a house
The erring stripling guide. Of one, my friend,
Wiser by far than all the sons of men,
Yet teaching ignorance in simple speech,
As thou wouldst take an infant on thy lap
And lesson him with his own artless tale.
Of one so mighty
That He did say unto the raging sea
“Be thou at peace,” and it obeyed His voice;
Yet bow'd Himself unto the painful death
That we might live.—They say that I am proud—
O! had they like their gentle master been,
I would, with suppliant knee bent to the ground,
Have kiss'd their very feet.
But, had they been like Him, they would have pardon'd me
Ere yet my bending knee had touch'd the earth.
Sel.
Forbear, nor tempt me with thy moving words!
I'm a plain soldier, and unfit to judge
Of mysteries which but concern the learn'd.
Eth.
I know thou art, nor do I mean to tempt thee.
But in thy younger brother I had mark'd
A searching mind of freer exercise,
Untrammell'd with the thoughts of other men:
And like to one, who, in a gloomy night,
Watching alone amidst a sleeping host,
Sees suddenly along the darken'd sky
Some beauteous meteor play, and with his hand
Wakens a kindred sleeper by his side
To see the glorious sight, e'en so did I.
With pains and cost I divers books procured,
Telling of wars, and arms, and famous men;
Thinking it would his young attention rouse;
Would combat best a learner's difficulty,
And pave the way at length for better things.
But here his seized soul has wrapp'd itself,
And from the means is heedless of the end.
If wrong I've done, I do repent me of it.
And now, good Selred, as thou'st seen me fight
Like a brave chief, and still in th' honour'd cause,
By that good token kindly think of me,
As of a man who long has suffered wrong
Rather than one deserving so to suffer.
Sel.
I do, brave Ethelbert.
Eth.
I thank thee, friend.
And now we'll go and wash us from this dust:
We are not fit at goodly boards to sit.
Is not your feast-hour near?
Sel.
I think it is.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A small apartment in Mollo 's castle. Enter Ethwald very thoughtful, who leans against a pillar for some time without speaking.Ethw.
(coming forward).
Is it delusion this?
Or wears the mind of man within itself
A conscious feeling of its destination?
What say these suddenly imposed thoughts,
Which mark such deepen'd traces on the brain
Of vivid real persuasion, as do make
My nerved foot tread firmer on the earth,
And my dilating form tower on its way?
That I am born, within these narrow walls,
The younger brother of a petty chief,
To live my term in dark obscurity,
Until some foul disease or bloody gash,
In low marauding strife, shall lay me low?
My spirit sickens at the hateful thought,
Which hangs upon it with such thick oppression,
As doth the heavy, dense, sulphureous air
Upon the breath it stifles.
[Pulling up the sleeve of his garment, and baring his right arm from the shoulder.
A firmer strung, a stronger arm than this
Own'd ever valiant chief of ancient story?
And lacks my soul within, what should impel it?
Ah! but occasion, like th' unveiling moon
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I sit i' the shade! no star-beam falls on me!
[Bursts into tears, and throws himself back against the pillar. A pause; he then starts forward full of animation, and tosses his arms high as he speaks.
No; storms are hush'd within their silent cave,
And unflesh'd lions slumber in the den,
But there doth come a time!
Enter Bertha, stealing softly upon him before he is aware.
What, Bertha, is it thou who stealst upon me?
Ber.
I heard thee loud:
Conversest thou with spirits in the air?
Ethw.
With those whose answ'ring voice thou canst not hear.
Ber.
Thou hast of late the friend of such become,
And only them. Thou art indeed so strange,
Thy very dogs have ceas'd to follow thee,
For thou no more their fawning court receiv'st,
Nor callest to them with a master's voice.
What art thou grown, since thou hast lov'd to pore
Upon those magic books?
Ethw.
No matter what! a hermit an' thou wilt.
Ber.
Nay, rather, by thy high assumed gait
And lofty mien, which I have mark'd of late,
Ofttimes thou art, within thy mind's own world,
Some king or mighty chief.
If so it be, tell me thine honour's pitch,
And I will cast my regal mantle on,
And mate thy dignity.
[Assuming much state.
Ethw.
Out on thy foolery!
Ber.
Dost thou remember
How on our throne of turf, with birchen crowns
And willow branches waving in our hands,
We shook our careless feet, and caroll'd out,
And call'd ourselves the king and queen of Kent?
Ethw.
Yes, children ever in their mimic play
Such fairy state assume.
Ber.
And bearded men
Do sometimes gild the dull unchanging face
Of sombre stilly life with like conceits.
Come, an' you will we'll go to play again.
[Tripping gaily round him.
Ethw.
Who sent thee here to gambol round me thus?
Ber.
Nay, fie upon thee! for thou knowst right well
It is an errand of my own good will.
Knowest thou not the wand'ring clown is here,
Who doth the osier wands and rushes weave
Into all shapes: who chants gay stories too;
And who was wont to tell thee, when a boy,
Of all the bloody wars of furious Penda?
E'en now he is at work before the gate,
With heaps of pliant rushes round him strew'd;
In which birds, dogs, and children roll and nestle,
Whilst, crouching by his side, with watchful eye
The playful kitten marks each trembling rush
As he entwists his many cireling bands.
Nay, men and matrons, too, around him flock,
And Ethelbert, low seated on a stone,
With arms thus cross'd, o'erlooks his curious craft.
Wilt thou not come?
Ethw.
Away, I care not for it!
Ber.
Nay, do not shake thy head, for thou must come.
This magic girdle will compel thy steps.
[Throws a girdle round him playfully, and pulls it till it breaks.
Ethw.
(smiling coldly).
Thou seest it cannot hold me.
[Bertha's face changes immediately: she bursts into tears, and turns away to conceal it.
Ethw.
(soothing her).
My gentle Bertha! little foolish maid!
Why fall those tears? wilt thou not look on me?
Dost thou not know I am a wayward man,
Sullen by fits, but meaning no unkindness?
Ber.
O thou wert wont to make the hall rejoice;
And cheer the gloomy face of dark December!
Ethw.
And will, perhaps, again. Cheer up, my love! (Assuming a cheerful voice.)
And plies the wandering clown his pleasing craft,
Whilst dogs and men and children round him flock?
Come, let us join them too.
[Holding out his hand to her, whilst she smiles through her tears.
How course those glancing drops adown thy cheeks,
Like to a whimp'ring child! fie on thee, Bertha!
[Wipes off her tears, and leads her out affectionately. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A narrow stone gallery or passage.(Voice without.)
Haste, lazy comrade, there!
Enter two servants by opposite sides, one of them carrying mats of rushes in his arms.
1st serv.
Setst thou thy feet thus softly to the ground,—
As if thou hadst been paid to count thy steps?
What made thee stay so long?
2d serv.
Heard you the news?
1st serv.
The news?
2d serv.
Ay, by the mass! sharp news indeed.
And mark me well! beforehand I have said it;
Some of those spears now hanging in the hall
Will wag i' the field ere long.
1st serv.
Thou hast a marv'llous gift of prophecy.
I know it well; but let us hear thy news.
2d serv.
Marry! the Britons and their restless prince,
Join'd with West Anglia's king, a goodly host,
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And over and besides, God save us all!
They are but five leagues off.
'Tis true. And over and besides again,
Our king is on his way to give them battle.
Ay, and moreover all, if the late floods
Have broken down the bridge, as it is fear'd
He must perforce pass by our castle walls,
And then thou shalt behold a goodly show!
1st serv.
Who brought the tidings?
2d serv.
A soldier sent on horseback, all express:
E'en now I heard him tell it to the Thane,
Who caution'd me to tell it unto none,
That Ethwald might not hear it.
1st serv.
And thou in sooth obeyst his caution well.
Now hear thou this from me; thou art a lout;
And over and besides a babbling fool;
Ay, and moreover all, I'll break thy head
If thou dost tell again, in any wise,
The smallest tittle of it.
2d serv.
Marry! I can be secret as thyself!
I tell not those who blab.
1st serv.
Yes, yes, thy caution is most scrupulous;
Thou'lt whisper it in Ethwald's hither ear,
And bid the further not to know of it.
Give me those trusses.
2d serv.
Yes, this is made for my old master's seat,
And this, so soft, for gentle lady Bertha. (Giving the mats.)
And this, and this, and this for Ethelbert.
But see thou put a sprig of mountain-ash
Beneath it snugly. Dost thou understand?
1st serv.
What is thy meaning?
2d serv.
It hath a power to cross all wicked spells;
So that a man may sit next stool to th' devil,
If he can lay but slily such a twig
Beneath his seat, nor suffer any harm.
1st serv.
I wish there were some herb of secret power
To save from daily scath of blund'ring fools:
I know beneath whose stool it should be press'd.
Get thee along! the feast smokes in the hall.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Saxon hall, with the walls hung round with armour. Mollo, Ethelbert, Selred, Ethwald, Bertha, Sigurtha, and others, are discovered sitting round a table, on which stand goblets and flaggons &c. after a feast.Eth.
Nay, gentle Bertha, if thou followest him,
Shear off those lovely tresses from thy head,
And with a frowning helmet shade those eyes;
E'en with thy prowess added to his own,
Methinks he will not be surcharg'd of means
To earn his brilliant fortune in the field.
Ber.
Nay, rather will I fill a little scrip
With sick-men's drugs and salves for fest'ring wounds,
And journey by his side a trav'lling leech.
Sel.
That will, indeed, no unmeet comrade be
For one whose fortune must be earn'd with blows
Borne by no substitutes.
Ethw.
Well jested, Thanes!
But some, ere now, with fortune earn'd by blows
Borne by no substitutes, have placed their mates
Above the gorgeous dames of castled lords.
Cheer up, sweet Bertha!
For ev'ry drug ta'en from thy little scrip
I'll pay thee back with—
Eth.
Sticks the word in his throat.
Sel.
It is too great for utt'rance.
Eth.
Here's to your growing honour, future chief;
And here is to the lofty dame who shall be—
[They all drink ironically to Ethw. and Berth.
Mollo.
(seriously).
Here is a father's wish for thee, my son, (To Ethw.)
Better than all the glare of fleeting greatness.
Be thou at home the firm domestic prop
Of thine old father's house, in this as honour'd
As he who bears far hence advent'rous arms!
Nor think thee thus debarr'd from warlike deeds:
Our neighb'ring chiefs are not too peaceable,
And much adventure breed in little space.
Ethw.
What! shall I in their low destructive strife
Put forth my strength, and earn with valiant deeds
The fair renown of mighty Woggarwolfe,
The flower of all those heroes? Hateful ruffian!
He drinks men's blood and human flesh devours!
For scarce a heifer on his pasture feeds
Which hath not cost a gallant warrior's life.
I cry you mercy, father! you are kind,
But I do lack the grace to thank you for it.
[Mollo leans on the table and looks sad.
Sigur.
(to Mol.)
Good uncle, you are sad! Our gen'rous Ethwald
Contemns not his domestic station here,
Though little willing to enrich your walls
With spoils of petty war.
Ethw.
(seeing his father sad, and assuming cheerfulness).
Nay, father, if your heart is set on spoil,
Let it be Woggarwolfe's that you shall covet,
And small persuasion may suffice to tempt me.
To plunder him will be no common gain.
We feasters love the flesh of well-run game:
And, faith! the meanest beeves of all his herds
Have hoof'd it o'er as many weary miles,
With goading pike-men hollaing at their heels,
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods.
His very sheep too all are noble beasts,
For which contending warriors have fought;
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With the productions of full many a soil.
Ber.
How so, my Ethwald?
Ethw.
Countest thou for nought
Furze from the upland moors, and bearded down
Torn from the thistles of the sandy plain,
The sharp-tooth'd bramble of the shaggy woods
And tufted seeds from the dark marsh? Good sooth;
She well may triumph in no vulgar skill
Who spins a coat from it.
And then his wardrobe, too, of costly gear,
Which from the wallets of a hundred thieves.
Has been transferring for a score of years,
In endless change, it will be noble spoil!
[A trumpet is heard without, and Ethw. starts from his seat.
Ha! 'tis the trumpet's voice!
What royal leader this way shapes his route?
[A silent pause.
Ye answer not. and yet ye seem to know.
Enter Servants in haste.
Good fellows, what say ye?
1st serv.
The king! the king! and with five thousand men!
2d serv.
I saw his banners from the battlements
Waving between the woods.
3d serv.
And so did I.
His spearmen onward move in dusky lines,
Like the brown reeds that skirt the winter pool.
Sel.
Well, well, there needs not all this wond'ring din:
He passes on, and we shall do our part.
1st serv.
The foe is three leagues off.
Sel.
Hold thy fool's tongue! I want no information.
[Ethwald remains for a while thoughtful, then running eagerly to the end of the hall, climbs up and snatches from the walls a sword and shield, with which he is about to run out.
Mollo
(tottering from his seat).
O go not forth, my rash impetuous son!
Say yet a term beneath thy father's root,
And, were it at the cost of half my lands,
I'll send thee out accoutred like a Thane.
Ethw.
No, reverend sire, these be my patrimony!
I ask of thee no more.
Ber.
And wilt thou leave us?
Mollo.
Ay, he'll break thy heart,
And lay me in the dust!
[Trumpet sounds again, and Ethw. turning hastily from them, runs out.
Ber.
Oh! he is gone for ever!
Eth.
Patience, sweet Bertha!
Sd.
The castle gates are shut by my command,
He cannot now escape. Holla, good friends!
[To those without.
Enter Followers.
All quickly arm yourselves, and be prepared
To follow me before the fall of eve.
Eth.
To follow me before the fall of eve.
Send out my scout to climb the farther hill,
And spy if that my bands are yet in sight.
[Exeunt followers.
Now let us try to tame this lion's whelp.
Enter Servant in haste.
Sel.
What tidings, man? Is Ethwald at the gate?
Ser.
No, good my lord, nor yet within the walls.
Sel.
What, have they open'd to him?
Ser.
No, my lord,
Loudly he call'd, but when it was refus'd,
With glaring eyes, like an enchafed wolf,
He hied him where the lowest southern wall
Rises but little o'er the rugged rock;
There, aided by a half-projecting stone,
He scal'd its height, and holding o'er his head
His sword and shield, grasp'd in his better hand,
Swam the full moat.
Eth.
(to Sel.)
O, noble youth!
Did I not say, you might as well arrest
The fire of heav'n within its pitchy cloud
As keep him here?
[Bertha faints away.
Alas, poor maid!
[Whilst Sigurtha and Eth. &c. attend to Bertha, enter followers and retainers, and begin to take down the armour from the walls.
Enter Woggarwolfe.
Wog.
(to Sel.)
They would have shut your gate upon me now,
But I, commission'd on the king's affairs,
Commanded entrance. Oswal greets you, chiefs,
And gives you orders, with your followers,
To join him speedily. (Seeing Bertha.)
What, swooning women here?
Sel.
Ethwald is gone in spite of all our care,
And she, thou knowst, my father's niece's child,
Brought up with him from early infancy.
Is therein much affected.
Wog.
(smiling).
O, it is ever thus, I know it well,
When striplings are concern'd! Once on a time.
A youthful chief I seiz'd in his own hall,
When, on the instant, was the floor around
With fainting maids and shrieking matrons strew'd,
As though the end of all things had been link'd
Unto my fatal grasp.
Sel.
(eagerly).
Thou didst not slay him?
Wog.
(smiling contemptuously).
Asks Selred if I slew mine enemy?
Sel.
Then, by heav'n's light, it was a ruffian's deed!
Wog.
I cry thee grace! wearst thou a virgin sword?
Maidens turn pale when they do look on blood,
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If men they may be call'd.
Sel.
Ay, men there be,
Who sicken at the sight of crimson butchery,
Yet in the battle's heat will far out-dare
A thousand shedders of unkindled blood.
Eth.
(coming forward).
Peace, Thanes! this is no time for angry words.
[Bertha giving a deep sigh, Eth. and Sel. go to her and leave Wog., who heeds her not, but looks at the men taking the arms from the walls.—Observing one who hesitates between the swords.
Wog.
Fool, choose the other blade!
That weight of steel will noble gashes make!
Nay, rightly guided in a hand like thine,
Might cleave a man down to the nether ribs.
Sig.
(to Bertha, as she is recovering).
My gentle child, how art thou?
Ber.
And no kind hand to hold him!
Eth.
Be not cast down, sweet maid; he'll soon return;
All are not lost who join in chanceful war.
Ber.
I know right well, good Thane, all are not lost.
The native children of rude jarring war,
Full oft returning from the field, become
Beneath their shading helmets aged men:
But, ah! the kind, the playful, and the gay;
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter-fire, do they return?
[Shaking her head sorrowfully.
I grieve you all: I will no more complain.
Dear mother, lead me hence. (To Sig.)
(To Sel.)
I thank you, gentle Selred, this suffices.
[Exit Bertha, supported by Sigurtha.
Sel.
(to Mollo, who has sat for some time with his face covered).
What, so o'ercome, my father?
Moll.
I am o'ercome, my son! lend me thine arm.
[Exeunt.
| Ethwald | |