University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—A Room in Kensington Palace.
Enter Colonel Green and a Page.
Col. Green.
My business will not stay, sir! 'Tis direct
And urgent. It is done this very hour,
Or not at all. Your own discretion use;
But using it, remove all blame from me.
The council sits; and, as you say, no doubt
On grave affairs; but graver bring me hither.
So tell Lord Portland.

Page.
May I crave your name?

Col. Green.
No, sir; my business is my name; and that
I tell to none but him.

Page.
He scarce will grant
An audience to an unknown visitor.

Col. Green.
And, if I give my name, I am unknown.
What then, sir? Do you know me? No. To you
Or him, I give what name I please; but, save
My own, I shall give none, and that, so please you,
I will not give. My business is of moment!—
Instant in matter vital to the king:
That, for your warrant to perform my wish.
Yet something farther. Tell his lordship, one
Whose life he saved, craves speech with him. The Boyne
Will help his memory as to time and place.
An officer dismounted in the rout,
Who would not ask his life from swords, enow
To give discomfort to a wavering troop:—
His lordship saw my plight—call'd off the dogs,
And saved the game, at bay! He'll recollect,
Else is his memory shorter, sir, than mine;
For I shall ne'er forget it till I die!
Now may I trust you'll pleasure me?

Page.
I shall.

[Goes out.
Col. Green.
No man is bound when evil counsels warp
Those he contracted with on honest grounds.
There's the default of combinations. Men
Respect the compact more than they love truth.
Keep it together when 'tis crack'd and flaw'd
With rank defect, through folly creeping in,
Cunning or crime; and ought to fall to pieces!
Brand me a traitor!—say I am forsworn!—
If I must hold with men, or lose the grasp
Of mine own soul! Away the allegation
That flouts the laws of man—mocks those of Heaven!
My honour's dear content is cheaply kept
At loss of the whole world!—Conscience is all!
But let me not forget the leaguer'd Duke,
Now in the toils of some close enemy—
Belike the Earl of Byerdale.—Revenge
For the rejection of the son! 'Twas strange
They captured him, yet laid not hand on me.
Herein his case I have in full set forth,
And pleaded, as his bearing warranted,
For Wilton's sake. No friend of mine is he!

Enter the Page, conducting in the King.
Page.
This is the person.

King.
So!—You may withdraw.
[Page retires.
I recollect him! though twelve years might serve
A longer memory for plea to lose
A trace of one beheld but once, and then
In wrack of tempest. Yes; it is the man!
Though by his air, more than his person known.
He knows not me. Report, that gatherer
Of all that comes to hand—which oft picks up
Falsehood as truth—has pass'd another for me.
Your business, sir?

Col. Green.
See I at last the man
To whom I owe my life?

King.
You see that man.

Col. Green.
And, if I do, first let me say to him
My debt, although long due, was ne'er forgot;
And though to pay it I am bankrupt, save
In gratitude, yet that has known no waste
From lapse of time; but still has grown and grown,
Till now my heart, half-bursting with its fraught,
Has scarce the power to lay it down before him!

King.
[Aside.]
A man of generous nature well as brave!
Myself befriended, I befriending you!
I recollect you; though the veil which years
Casts o'er the face, they have had time to weave.
I recollect you, sir! A gallant man
Is scarce forgotten by his brother, though
At odds with him—especially when seen
In strait that proves him mettle to the core!
Such as beleaguer'd you. I am very glad
You 'scaped the further hazard of the day,
And live in health to this.

Col. Green.
O, my good lord—

King.
Your business, pray you?

Col. Green.
If I speak of one,
You serve and reverence, by a title, less
Than that you name him by, forgive a man
Who having been the subject of a king
Who had a throne, pays him allegiance now
Without one!

King.
Sir, I understand you. Spare
Excuses! Save compunction! We shall speak
Of William of Nassau. What you would say
Refers to him?

Col. Green.
His safety!

King.
Ay!

Col. Green.
His life!

King.
His life is in High Hands, sir, and to those
He trusts it!

Col. Green.
Those who do not fear such hands
Are arm'd against his life.

King.
Sir, every day
Is rife with rumours—every day we hear
Of plots a-hatching, ready to start up;
Yet day succeeds to day and nothing stirs
To cost a wink of sleep!—The King's at ease
Or, if it please you,—William of Nassau!

Col. Green.
Your lordship will compel me say the “King,”
If for my feelings thus you tax your own;
And, yet, I should not say it.

King.
Nothing say
But what you should say. What's the danger, sir,
You hint at?

Col. Green.
What I know on better ground
Than simple rumour! What with my own eyes
I have seen—have heard with mine own ears—had been
A party to, but that, at the first blush,
My soul revolted at the treason!

King.
Treason
To William of Nassau!

Col. Green.
To mine own honour!

King.
I thought, sir, 'twas the life of such a man
I saved! Go on!

Col. Green.
Ere I proceed, I have
A boon to ask—nay, a condition.

King.
Well!
Say a condition, 'tis accorded!—Name it.

Col. Green.
Not to be importuned—far less required—
To divulge a single name!—for they are mates
I hitherto made common cause with—brothers
In honourable venture—bonded with me
By wear of sinew and by waste of blood.
If I defeat the guilt, it is enough;
I'll not betray the guilty, come what may!

King.
It is enough!

Col. Green.
But further yet, my lord;
If aught transpire to bring to perfect light
The plot with its contrivers, I shall stand
Aloof!—no evidence of mine be call'd
To fix the penalty on the accused—
And though it were, I should be mute, and keep
My silence steadfast to the very block.

King.
I think you would!—Have all that you demand—
My honour is impledged! And now the peril?

Col. Green.
Assassination!

King.
That is a base pass
For your king's cause to come to!

Col. Green.
On my soul
He knows it not! Did he, upon the same
Immortal, irrecoverable pledge,
If forfeited—he would denounce it, though
It cost frustration of his regal hopes!

King.
[After a pause.]
You are a loyal man!—What farther, sir,
Concerning William of Nassau? Unless
You throw some farther light, he's struck before
He sees the blow.

Col. Green.
To-morrow he will dine
With my Lord Romney—

King.
Ay?—Behoves our William
He whisper his engagements with his friends!
Well?

Col. Green.
He will be beset with twice the sum
Of his accustom'd guards.

King.
That's matter, sir:
Proceed.

Col. Green.
On Saturday, towards ten at night,
He is like to pass 'cross Turnham Green.

King.
Indeed!
A worse than bootless journey saved perhaps,
Or taken at more charge of retinue!
Aught else?

Col. Green.
If they are baffled there, he hunts;
And, on some breathing-day, they will take care
To turn out such a field that Death himself
Shall ride along with him.

King.
They go to work
In earnest!

Col. Green.
O, my lord! Protect your king!
Counsel him to be wary! Hedge him round
With safety thickly!—thickly, my good lord!
For your own sake—for your fair country's sake,
That loathes the secret stab—Nay for his own!
For he is brave—a thousand miles above
A foul and dastard death!—an upright prince!
As all allow—even his enemies!
Grateful to those who serve him—meaning well,
Even in the act which I and many more
Traverse and bear with blame—Although to him
I ne'er owe fealty, nor bend the knee,
Nor—

King.
Stop!—you are in error all along;
Which, with your leave, I now will set to rights.
'Tis not the lord of Portland talks with you;
'Twas not the lord of Portland saved your life;
His squadrons William of Nassau awhile
In person led. He saw you, thick beset;
He heard the death or quarter proffer'd you;
The latter, point at throat, you would not ask!—
The first, were ready—like a cavalier
Whose soul was in the cause he battled for
And saw was lost—to take! He stopp'd the thrust
Saw you remount, and order'd you free way!
You say it was a debt—well; be it so!
But, if it was, 'tis amply, now, repaid;
And take acquittance full, and thanks, to boot,
From William of Nassau!

Col. Green.
The king!—My life
Your highness' gift!—Then 'tis your highness' due,
And on my knee, I tender it!

King.
Indeed!—
I did not look for this.

Col. Green.
I know it, sire!
And, therefore, tender't the more heartily.

King.
Rise, pray you!
Teach me how I am to name you.
You hesitate!—Enough!—Take your own time
And opportunity. I shall expect
To hear from you.—Nay, since you give me right—
Command you, that you, then, apprise me fully
Touching the knowledge which I now forego!
And now, good morning, sir. If I have found
A subject, well!—if not—you have found a friend!

Col. Green.
A king! my liege.

King.
Then, sir, the better friend!

Col. Green.
O, yet vouchsafe, my liege, another moment:
One who his life imperill'd yesternight,
Discountenancing foulest treachery,
Was in my presence by your messenger
Arrested, and, as truly I believe,
Not upon public but base private grounds—
The Duke of Gaveston.

King.
Ay!—I know the Duke
Affects another's cause; but, by my crown,
I hold him as an open enemy,
And bear no grudge to him.—Concerns that scroll
The Duke?

Col. Green.
[Presenting the scroll.]
It does.

King.
I shall peruse it, sir,
And when I know the man who gave it me—
As now do hold you bound to let me know him—
Declare my judgment on it.

Col. Green.
Yet, my liege,
Another moment.—Deem me not a man
Who loosely cleaves! Had I been such a one,
I had been shaken off by slights, neglects,
Short-comings, and offences, long ago!
Nay, farther,—think not 'tis my personal
Peculiar debt alone determines me
I' the transfer of my duty; for of late,
I have begun to see, despite my wish,
Another good, neglected formerly,
Incorporated with the regal weal
In your more equal, patriotic sway.
I say't with pain of heart, yet hearty faith,
And, to assert it, henceforth draw my breath.

[They go out severally.

SCENE II.

—Lord Byerdale's Library. Wilton discovered sitting. He comes forward.
Wilt.
Hope! ready promiser, unsure performer,
Unequal architect, that builds the mole,
Which breaks the mountain billows into spray;
Or fabrics fragile, as the gossamer's,
That come and vanish with the dews of morn;
Bitter betrayer, yet sweet counsellor,
Voucher believed, with thousand broken oaths!
Friend false, yet, for a fair face, trusted still—
Why do I listen to thee? Joyful dream,
That turns out, oft, on waking, blank despair,
Why do I trust thy visions, and dream on,
Gazing on the good I never may enjoy?
Yet art thou blest so far—The naked wretch
Goes clad by thee, the while—the hungry feasts!
The wobegone forget their tears and smile!
The greater part of being is fill'd up
With solace by thee, and the load, that else
Would break the back, is borne with patience still!
Thou art the anodyne which lulls the pang,
That should not chide thee, though it wakes again!
The stimulant which breaks the lethargy,
Which, though it close on us again, thou robb'st
Of so much being, else were swallow'd up!
Thou art a good, although a doubtful one,
And, wanting thee, this fitful course of life
Were never half run through! I'll deal with thee!
But, yet, with question; so, by thy default
I suffer less, and, if thou keep'st thy word,
Lose nothing of the gain thou promisest!

Enter Williams.
Will.
A lady, sir, would speak with you.

Wilt.
A lady?—
With me?—Conduct her in.
[Williams goes out.
What sympathy
Lives 'twixt my heart and hers that comes, that thus
I am all alarms?
[Williams re-enters, conducting in Lady Laura veiled.
Withdraw.
[Williams goes out. Wilton offers a chair, which is declined.
Will you not sit?
[She declines again.
Madam, your will?

Lady Lau.
The fullest credit, sir,
A gentlewoman in unwonted strait,
Compelling her to slight allowéd forms,
May challenge at a man of honour's hands.

Wilt.
[Aside.]
The voice is hers—her lineaments and form
Her air betrays, which none could mock so well,
As to deceive the eye, instructed once
How symmetry and beauty bear themselves
United in one costly paragon!

Lady Lau.
A tardy answer speaks a doubtful suit;
The boon we wish to grant is graced at once!
I blush enough, believe me, at my boldness,
To need to blush at your rebuff as well.

Wilt.
[Rushing up to her and taking her hand.]
It must be you!

Lady Lau.
[Throwing back her veil.]
Wilton, 'tis I!—
[Wilton offers to kneel.]
Forbear.
Nay, keep your feet. Knee give me none, save that
Obedience bends! I know not reverence
Of shows and words!—I challenge none at all!
Why should I?—I, that poorly have upheld
My maiden state! or am I, all-forgot?
And did you woo me long?—protest your love
A thousand times ere I would lend an ear?
Sue me with sighs as thick as winter gusts,
To win a breath of faint encouragement?
Besiege each access to my chary love,
My pity, pride, trust, generosity,
Till heart of stone could not withstand the dint
Of such enforcement, and, to yield, became
A grace in most unquestion'd modesty?
Didst thou all these, or any one of these?
Or—was I cheaper than a peasant won,
That's found not, save by seeking?

Wilt.
Lady—

Lady Lau.
Lady!
Ay; I have borne myself most loftily!
Maintain'd my sex's rights with most high hand!
I thought I had!—If I had met you, Wilton,
In a gay ball, I should have pass'd you by
With eye withdrawn soon as it lit on you;
For face and form of man I ne'er perused,
So was I wont to pore upon the spirit
That makes the high romantic in your sex;
But when I mark'd your visage kindling up
With all that prompts what chivalry enacts,
As, single to my foes you stood opposed—
A bastion 'twixt aggression and the weak—
Comely and stately! garrison'd by proof
Of valour, truth, and generosity,
The vision, which, from girlhood e'en till then,
My soul had raised, embodied stood before me,
And all my woman's nature clung to thee!

Wilt.
What mean your words? Something is wrong! What is it?

Lady Lau.
All's wrong!—A maid should be an icicle,
Yielding but drop by drop—and then with chilling
Cold to the last! Melting, not of herself,
But 'gainst her nature!—then she's worth the thawing!
Frankness in her is not a virtue, or
'Tis one that will undo her! She should go
Without a heart!—It is her poverty
To have one! Men aver they prize her for't;
But when they find she has one, and 'tis theirs,
They care for't, as for that they cast away!

Wilt.
And if your heart is mine, my dearest hopes
Were with it cast away.

Lady Lau.
Your dearest hopes!
They are no longer hopes!—You are sure of them!

Wilt.
Madam!

Lady Lau.
Ay, madam!
My Lady Laura Gaveston!—the Duke's daughter!
Tell me the truth! Have I not play'd my part
Most poorly? With most abject, paltry spirit?
O, but a maid's in an extremity
That tells her love! But do me justice, sir;
Or hear me justify myself! I saw you
Of humble rank, but thought your nature noble
Beyond enhancing by a thousand patents!
I saw that you affected me—you did so!
But that, what the mere name of rank had loosed
Its essence tied—your tongue.—I spoke, because
You could not speak—spoke for myself, I own,
But for myself, because I spoke for you;
Else, never!—I had wither'd to a shroud,
And all had wonder'd how! With but my heart
You might have staid content, as I with yours,
My hand, have left to chance! It was not fair
To win it in a strait, without advice
Or hint! No will of mine consulted!—“Yea,”
Or “Nay,” a cipher!—no more option than
A bargain bought and sold! Yours will I be,
But how? With all my heart? No, Wilton!—Go
Not back for what I speak!—I will be thine—
It must be, but alas! how fall'n in pride!
How shamed beyond endurement! how betray'd!
How jarr'd in love—for O, I love you still!
How broken in content at prospering!—
How balk'd in all made hope of union sweet!

Wilt.
How comes this ruin where I nothing see
That's flaw'd, far less gives way?—O lady!—

Lady Lau.
Peace!
Enough! To-night we wed.

Wilt.
We wed to-night!

Lady Lau.
Whence all this wonder where there's nothing new?

Wilt.
All's new to me! All strange that you aver,—
The last most strange of all!

Lady Lau.
And know you naught
Touching the Earl?

Wilt.
[Recollecting himself.]
The Earl!

Lady Lau.
You recollect!—
Your wander'd thoughts come home!

Wilt.
I see it all!
Something has been transacted which you think
I have lent aidance to,—with which my wish,
You think, has gone along, or my consent!
I am clear as your unquestionable self
In each of these respects! The Earl—

Lady Lau.
Go on!—
There is the shoal that wrecks me, or, escaped,
Sees me at anchor with a freight to scorn
An argosie!—Go on!—

Wilt.
What you aver
Shall come to pass, he told me should arrive.

Lady Lau.
But not the means?—Wilton, if yet I doubt,
It is with yearning for the clearing up,
That brightness may be perfect—not a wreath
To flit across the welkin of my hopes,—
But sun! all sun!—But not the means?

Wilt.
No!

Lady Lau.
No?
I am thy wife to-night! At ten to-night
I plight thee troth for troth!

Wilt.
Where?

Lady Lau.
Bless thee for
That question!

Wilt.
Where?

Lady Lau.
Again? Nor once too oft—
O my tenacious soul, not pleased enough
With proof on proof, but grasps at more and more.
Where?—Guess!

Wilt.
Thy father's house?

Lady Lau.
My father's jail!

Wilt.
His jail!

Lady Lau.
The Tower! Nay, do not gasp; and yet
Didst thou not, Wilton, I should stint for breath,
I should not heed, though ne'er again I drew!
Forgive me! Clear thou nothing know'st! Forgive me!

[Kneels to Wilton.
Wilt.
Rise!

Lady Lau.
To thy arms I will—my pardon seal'd!

Wilt.
[Raising her.]
O, hope outdone—reality undream'd.

Lady Lau.
Listen, lest opportunity be gone,
My father on a charge of treason bides
A pris'ner in the Tower. These are times
When not men's reasons, but their passions, fill
The judgment-seat; wherefore, it oft goes hard
With innocence itself. The axe alone
Is sure of its rights, and those, and more, it gets;
And takes them sudden quick!—Ah, Wilton!—Well!—
This knows my father—this the Earl has urged:
Has plann'd evasion of, and will afford;
Upon condition that the hour which sets
My father free, shall see his child in bonds
She'll wear with all her heart—put on by thee!
Forbear! I know thy thoughts!—Speak not!—Hear mine!
It must be!—More a maiden should not say!
Yet wherefore?—Love that's not ingenuous
Does not deserve and should abjure the name!
Whate'er the motives of the subtle Earl,
Let it be, Wilton, for my father's sake!
If not for his sake, let it be for thine!
If that lacks cogency, for my sake, then!
[Knocking.
Listen—a summons at the portal!—Wilton,
Pay me no tendance as I leave the house;
Let me go forth as I were nobody!
Thou'lt do my bidding?

Wilt.
Yes.

Lady Lau.
Thy word's my soul!
At ten to-night, thou wedd'st me in the Tower!

[Goes out.
Wilt.
With faculties more lapsed, ne'er vision left
The rapt beholder—vanishing, while yet
His soul was on the strain, where tension stops,
Or snaps! Belief at once recoils, and trusts;
Questions the senses, with their evidence
Distinct and strong as e'er defied disproof!
Asks “Is it so?” and answer'd to content
Of reason, starts a doubt, and asks again,
Without a ground save its own strange amaze!
Give loose to joy, and welcome Fortune, though
Her visit is unlook'd for, and she comes
With face all bright, where scarce you hoped a smile!
The Earl?—Why, how is this?—Why breaks he up
The goodly company of my fair thoughts,
That fly at his approach!

Lord Byer.
[Entering.]
Wilton, good news!
I would have been the harbinger, but find
A friend has been beforehand with me—still
I say “Good news!” and give thee hearty joy!
The Lady Laura weds thee, boy, to-night;
And hence you bear her! Said I not, good Wilton,
It should be so? And that it is so, take
The warrant of the Duke.—
[Gives a paper.
You have his child's;
I met her as I enter'd. Sooth, she well
Affects thee!—a fair bride, and free as fair!
See how her father makes thee full amends
For all the slight he show'd thee.

Wilt.
[Reading.]
From the Tower?

Lord Byer.
Ay, Wilton. He would meddle—take a part—
In the game arch-traitors play—The cards were struck
From his hands, though scarce in time to save the stake,
His life—which he must owe to thee.—You read?

Wilt.
I do, my lord.

Lord Byer.
He speaks his wishes plainly?

Wilt.
He does.

Lord Byer.
And urgently?

Wilt.
And urgently.

Lord Byer.
I said it should be so.

Wilt.
You did—but—

Lord Byer.
But!—
Do you demur? Well?—What?—Is the Duke to die?

Wilt.
I would but ask—

Lord Byer.
You would but ask—

Wilt.
My lord!—

Lord Byer.
Ask nothing when your wish is at the door!
But welcome it, lest, if you shut it out,
It ne'er may come again! I have done my best,
And brook not questioning. Are you content,
Or are you not? If not, no harm is done
To you; and, for the Duke he must abide
The issue whereto you abandon him!
Speaks the Duke plainly?

Wilt.
Yes.

Lord Byer.
The lady said
That you stood bound to her to do his will.
Good sooth, it cost no effort, I should think!
Why start a hindrance now?

Wilt.
I started none:
I only—

Lord Byer.
Only is too much—offence
My honour will not brook. You doubt the means—
I know you do.—Doubt on, and lose the end!
The actor vouches for the act, and scorns
Interpretations—which come gracelessly
From those he means to serve! I am content;
Let that suffice!—If not, why let it pass!
And on good fortune turn the thankless back.

Wilt.
I am not unthankful.

Lord Byer.
No? Then close at once;
And, without more ado, with what's proposed:
Do you?

Wilt.
I do.

Lord Byer.
Your honour to't!

Wilt.
'Tis given.

Lord Byer.
Take in exchange the bridegroom's joy to-night,
Who at the altar clasps the maid he loves
In that embrace, which fathers can't unlock.
I'll write a word or two.

[Sits and writes.
Wilt.
I feel as one
Who walks 'midst quicksands, and at every step
Fears to be swallow'd up. My heart misgives—
Tells me some gulf's at hand—yet must I on!

Lord Byer.
This gives you entrance to the Tower, and this
Egress with whom you will. I'll wait you here.
Ten is the hour. The chaplain of the fortress
Has been bespoken, and will tie the knot
Quickly and fast. Prepare you for love's voyage;
Hence shall you hie to ship! Fair winds attend you!—

Wilt.
O, yet a word, my lord—No doubt—a boon,
Touching myself alone! You said my blood
Was richly noble—tell me who I am!

Lord Byer.
[After a pause.]
I will, upon condition of an oath.

Wilt.
Propound it.

Lord Byer.
That what I divulge you'll keep
Strict from your mistress and the Duke, until
His prison walls are pass'd. It alters naught
Which ought to stand.—Thou art of noble blood—

Wilt.
Am I?—I give my oath.

Lord Byer.
[Aside.]
I nothing risk!
It is a triumph which invites me now,
And longer to delay were misery.

Wilt.
O speak, my lord!

Lord Byer.
I see you burn to know.
Wilton, we share one blood.

Wilt.
My gracious lord!

Lord Byer.
I am your uncle!—

Wilt.
If my duty—

Lord Byer.
Nay;
I claim no duty from you! You are e'en
My eldest brother's son.

Wilt.
His son, my lord!

Lord Byer.
But not his heir.—There was a bar to that!

Wilt.
A bar! What bar?

Lord Byer.
Your mother bless'd his bed;
But not that bed, the priest—She loved and fell!
Wilton, I have kept my word!—Keep thou thy oath!

[Goes out.
Wilt.
Monster!—O, double malice! Hate 'gainst me!
Revenge against the Duke!—Both in the clutch
Of his most devilish craft! The Duke with life
In jeopardy—which but these nuptials save!
The terms of liberty, which, till he gains,
My lips are seal'd. No option left him, thus,
Betwixt disgrace and death! With branded brow
Espouse his trusting honourable child!
Swear in the very act of such betrayal,
To love and cherish her! Myself a monster,
Save I incur the blight of perjury!
Dilemma hideous and inextricable!
Guidance! Help! Succour! Where shall they be found?

[Goes out.