University of Virginia Library

SCENE LAST.

—A Room in Hero's House.
Sir William Sutton seated in the centre—Walsingham, Helen, Lord Athunree, Felton, Officers, &c.
Sir Wil.
Lord Athunree, charged with intent thou stand'st
To break the peace of our right sovereign lord
The king. What answer'st? Or refusest
To plead?—Is this thy hand?—Wilt answer that?
Whose'er it is, it is a villain's, lord!
For the same writer that arranged a fray
Had plann'd a felony—in danger put
A lady's jewelry, so rich to her—
Not all the caskets of the proudest line
Of noble dames, pour'd out into one heap,
Could make a blaze to match it!

Ath.
[Aside.]
Curse my haste
For such remissness, on the back to write
Of the instructions first I pencill'd down
To give the caitiff wretch—whose guess'd miscarriage
Is now accounted for!

Sir Wil.
Lord Athunree,
How say you?

Ath.
For the combat you have marr'd,
My silence or denial nought avails.
You found me in the act. The challenger
You need to seek elsewhere.—I am not he.

Wal.
Sir William, he says right.—He challenged not;
But he such provocation gave, as makes
The challenger more the challenged.—He had stain'd
A lady's credit, bringing it to naught,
Or causing it to pass for nothing more;
Which trespass, capital, her brother here—
In form a stripling, but in mind a man—
Indeed demanded reparation for,
Which to exact, my arm assay'd, but fail'd—
For I had woo'd, and won, and, as I thought,
Alone engaged the maid. Sir William, try,
If from that sacred seat of justice, voice
Of solemn adjuration can avail
To bring the truth to light—first, if the maid
Fell—the knowledge he, alone, of the truth,
Possessing.

Sir Wil.
No, sir! Another
Can vouch she never fell!

Wal.
She never fell?
O, ponder what you say!—Not rashly—O,
Not rashly raise a wretch from the abyss
Into the light, to cast him in again
On darkness heaving darkness! Now, I faint
With the day-flood that seems to burst upon me!
I say, “that seems,” for such transition mocks
The doting of belief!—or heard I right?
Or knew'st thou what thou saidst? or, knowing it,
Knew'st thou didst speak on grounds of solid footing,
Something akin to rock?—It should be rock
Itself, to bear the fabric thou dost raise
Against the sea of doubts that surges on it!
O did she never fall? Did love itself
Take sides with hate to do her hateful wrong?
To blast her—to abandon her—and leave her
A prey to haggard fortune—death or madness?

Sir Wil.
Collect thyself, and further audience lend,
Or bid me hold my tongue. The maiden lives.

Wal.
Lives? Lives? Is innocent, perhaps, and loves;
O does she?

Sir Wil.
Yes.

Wal.
Thou seem'st to know what makes
My all, or naught of being! Innocent,
And lives and loves?

Ath.
First prove her innocent.

Sir Wil.
He cannot! what of that?—Another can!

Ath.
Produce that other.

[Sir William beckons—Lewson enters.
Lew.
Here he is.

Ath.
Betrayed!

Wal.
He hath confess'd—take notice all! The lips
That blurr'd fair Helen's name hath oped themselves,
To damn themselves, and do the maiden right!

Sir Wil.
No need confession from that riven wretch!
To that abhorréd house thou saw'st her quit,
A letter, as from one she knew and loved,
In mortal strait enticed her. There, assail'd
With show of violence from this same man,
That lord premeditated succour brought her,
The whole his foul contrivance! You may leave!
You are known!—What penalty the law awards
For such default, be sure, shall be exacted!

Ath.
Exacted? I defy you! Do your worst!

[Goes out.
[Helen swooning, is caught by Walsingham.
Sir Wil.
Look to thy mistress, Walsingham.

Wal.
Where is she?—
I nothing see except this fainting boy,
Whom help me to restore.

Sir Wil.
To wake him up,
Breathe in his ear the name thou lovest most!
Throw back those ebon clusters thoroughly,
And consciousness will start upon thee straight,
Thou never dream'dst of, and thou shalt confess
That love, howe'er it hath a jealous eye,
Hath not a piercing one.

Wal.
Herself!—my own!
My sweet!—my idolized!—my innocent
Helen!—her eyelids quiver—Helen! Helen!
They ope! Dost thou not know me, love? Revive!
Die not away again! Core of my life!
Helen—my gentle one! My patient one!
My faithful one, unwarp'd by rudest strain!
My loving one!—More loving—yes, I say it
That love thee best—more loving yet than loved!
Look at me! Answer me! This semblance but
Of death, is death itself to me! 'Tis I—
'Tis Walsingham!—'Tis I—repentingly,
Humbly, imploring thee to speak to him,
To look upon him—pity him!—forgive him!

Helen.
I love thee, Walsingham. Have all thou ask'st
In that one little word!

[They retire.
Sir Valentine enters.
Sir Wil.
Sir Valentine!

Sir Val.
The same, Sir William Sutton.

Sir Wil.
You are welcome.

Sir Val.
In strait where things like life and death depend,
Suspense is but the rack—I'll know my fate!
Sir William Sutton, I am come to crave
An audience of your niece.

Sir Wil.
Apprise my niece
Sir Valentine de Grey would speak with her.

Sir Val.
At thought of sight of that proud form again,
Old motions in me stir—but only stir.
Come thought of Ruth—they are, at once, at rest!
Hero enters, most magnificently attired.
O what a tower of grace and loveliness,
And stateliness, and absolute command,
She bursts upon mine eyes! Were't tenanted
As I would have it!

Hero.
Well, Sir Valentine!
Your will?

Sir Val.
I come a promise to redeem,
Thou'lt think most strange, as I do, though I made it.
A suit I have, the gain or loss of which
Depends on thee, although to thee not pleaded!
Shall I be pardon'd, who, against my will,
Past sufferance presume?

Hero.
Not mine! Say on.

Sir Val.
It is the voice of Ruth! I wonder not
At that—but breathing Ruth's benignity!

Hero.
Shall I entreat thee say thy wish?

Sir Val.
More bland
The accents yet! Can Ruth have told me right,
And does she love me?

Hero.
Sir, 'tis painful to me
To mark such hesitation, when, to have,
You only have to ask; and, asking, do
A pleasure—giving leave to pleasure you.

Sir Val.
[Aside.]
No strain hath love, if this be not its mood.
I win her, and am lost! Yet lose with gain!

Sir Wil.
My niece awaits your question.

Hero.
Uncle, peace.
Give him his time—the measure on't his will!
To look for pleasure is itself a pleasure.
But half they feast who to a feast sit down
The moment it is named. Say, that he wait
An hour, why then, so much I banquet more,
And yet fall to with relish.

Sir Val.
O such words
To fall from Hero's lips a month before!
Come certainty, whate'er along with it!
Dost thou affect me?

Hero.
Yes, Sir Valentine.

Sir Val.
Wilt take me for thy husband?

Hero.
Yes, again.

Sir Val.
Good bye, sweet Ruth!

Hero.
Strange welcome this!

Sir Val.
Good bye
To sweet content of modest happiness!
Lady, my title 's gone!

Hero.
For that receive
More hearty welcome than thou gav'st to me.

Sir Val.
My fortune dwindled.

Hero.
As it sinks, you rise.
For that receive more hearty welcome yet.

Sir Val.
My tastes are alter'd.

Hero.
Tell me what their kind,
They shall be mine—whate'er thy taste, rank, state,
My state, my rank, my tastes, shall be the same!

Sir Val.
Then must we wed.—O for that plumed tiar,
The simple hood!—that costly lace, the coif
Close-pinn'd and modest—clear!—that gorgeous dress,
The gown embroider'd with humility!

Hero.
They are donn'd at thy command, and these cast off.

Sir Val.
And canst thou, too, the vesture of the mind
That made thee cherish these, cast off?

Hero.
I can!
Hard things which love cannot for love perform.

Sir Val.
Such bounty should enrich.—Alas! for me,
Who, spite of all its granting, must be poor.

Clever.
[Entering.]
Friend Ruth, the dinner waits.—Friend Peter here!
And to the world, like thee, gone back again!
Then change of gear for me! Bold serving-man,
Who would be other than his betters are!
No more, friend Obadiah—know me hence
For Master Clever, name and nature one!

Sir Val.
Have I but dreamt 'tis night, and is it day!
A masque is it, I have been acting in,
And known it not? Canst thou be both, yet one?
Is Ruth but Hero—Hero none but Ruth?
Then welcome Hero for the sake of Ruth,
And Ruth more welcome yet for Hero's sake!
And is it so?—or does the fable end
In cold return to dull reality?

Hero.
No; in reality that's born of it
And is its fairer likeness!—real grown
What first was only seeming. I have become
The part, I lately play'd; the thing I was
Before, have ceased to be! Such virtue hath
The only show of virtue! For which change
Thy noble nature do I thank, although
Perhaps, with more than prudent jealousy,
Exacting; and precipitate, where patience
Might well have counsell'd pause. With Hero's form,
Take Ruth's contentment and humility—
Their dress, whate'er your love would have it be!
But here is one unchanged, nor needing change,
[To Helen.
Except where seeming goes for next to naught!
My Helen! thou art happy now!

Helen.
I am!

Wal.
And I, that scarce deserve my happiness!
But what shall make me misbeliever hence?
How could I doubt thee! Strong appearances
By stronger vouchers back'd, it was, that made me.
But that detected now—and these explain'd—
Thy virtue rises like a pyramid
I wonder aught could hide!—A life of trust
Shall for a season of misgiving pay thee!
Yet more I have to say—of that anon—
For guests are here you thought not of, before,
On whom your feast that waits for us depends—
Marr'd, if disrelish'd,—made, if they're content!