University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—The Street.
Enter Wilton Brown and Lord Sherbrooke.
Wilt.
Counsel me, Sherbrooke! I am past advice
Or aidance from myself!—a man in bonds—
Imprison'd—one whose substance goes to rack
On a nefarious plea, which but his face
Would quash, and he's restrain'd from showing it!

Sher.
Collect your thoughts! Be more yourself!

Wilt.
I cannot!
To Lady Laura stand I pledged, to-night
To change my troth with hers before the priest!
Thy father's bondsman am I, further yet,
Until that league of love I implement;
And further still, the Duke's life hostage held,
Which, if I know him, he would forfeit sooner
Than suffer a polluted stream to mix
With the pure current of his costly blood;
Yet there debarr'd of option, by my oath
To keep my secret till his liberty
Is by his own undoing perfected.
What's to be done?

Sher.
What is a man to do
That's in the grasp of stronger men than he,
But go along with them? Scruples that can't
Avail, should never chafe! What I should do,
And could, I would do; but, the power away,
The crime of the omission is away!
Our parentage is not of our own choice,
So its discredit to its framers stick,
Not us; and hang the world that makes it ours!
Sooth, though the banns had never been proclaim'd,
I had been still the goodly youth I am;
The same engaging features—shapely form—
Right gallant carriage—girth and height without
Abatement of the matter of an inch!
The same bold, merry heart, and pranksome wit;
Yea, I believe my blood had been the same,
The same my hair and skin! Tut, Wilton! men
Should answer for themselves, and live and breathe
In others' 'count by their own deeds alone!

Wilt.
A friend that knew my wishes and my strait,
Might, of his own accord, effect for me
What mocks my faculty!

Sher.
And if he did,
How might you thank him by-and-by? No, sir;
I live in hopes to be a god-father,
And can't forego the chance. I would enjoy,
Moreover, the bride's customary bounty—
The blushing kiss, I, else, may never get;
Besides, I wish the race to multiply!
It is a matter that concerns the state,
And I, a loyal subject, should not thwart.
Then I have thoughts, myself, of matrimony,
Although an indefinable mistrust,
And so would profit, like a thorough friend,
By your experiment. 'Sdeath! would you spoil
The chance of such a Benedict as I?

Wilt.
Sherbrooke, you jest; and honour is in question!

Sher.
And if it were, Wilton, I should not jest,
But set you free at thraldom of my life.
Look you; you blush to share my blood! Go to!
I would the share were double what it is!
I would you were my brother! Were you, and
With like discrepancy, my thrice-bound love,
Being the man of merit that you are,
Had, more than even, made the faultless odds!

Wilt.
The friend that soothes me tells me what I am,
Plain as the enemy that bears me hard!
I wear a branded name.

Sher.
No name's a brand
When Virtue is the wearer!

Wilt.
I must seek
A sterner counsellor!

Sher.
Then come with me
To Colonel Green. No question! If there lives
The man to help you, he's the very man.
More could I tell you—what shall soon be known.
Give me my way in this, then take your own!

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Green Dragon.—Colonel Green discovered with papers.
Col. Green.
Why, this is granting favours like a king!
My case was all I stated; and the suit
I might, with doubt, have founded thereupon,
His clemency has of itself inferr'd,
And to his bounty pleaded royally!
One deed of grace has swept all acts away—
All penalties; and, in their place, supplied
Freedom and honour; nor to me alone,
But those I cherish closer than myself.
One only boon I ask'd—that granted too;
Enlargement of the Duke, assoil'd by me.
Thus, Wilton, from the net wherein the Earl
Thinks he has mesh'd him, is, at once, set free!
Why comes he not? Sherbrooke would see him straight—
That goodly sample of the choice and few
Who love so heartily another's weal,
In following it, they overlook their own.
Steps! it is he.
Enter Wilton.
I have expected you.

Wilt.
So was I told; and I am here.

Col. Green.
At last.
I gave you invitation long before,
Which, in the way of common courtesy,
You might have honour'd; gave you hint, beside,
Of knowledge which concern'd you—which, to gain,
A visit might suffice.

Wilt.
I know too much!

Col. Green.
Not so. You must know more.

Wilt.
Time flies!

Col. Green.
It does!
But trust and fortune match its utmost speed!

Wilt.
The first I have, the second have to find.

Col. Green.
It may be nearer than you count.

Wilt.
How, sir?

Col. Green.
It may be close at hand. Heaven will send help
When man believes to look for it is vain.
You trust in Heaven?

Wilt.
I have no other trust!

Col. Green.
[Giving a paper.]
There!

Wilt.
How!—The liberation of the Duke!
Can I believe it?

Col. Green.
Can you doubt it? Fresh!—
And from the king's own hand.

Wilt.
God save the king!

Col. Green.
Now, have you leisure for a word or two?

Wilt.
Twenty, if spoken quickly—for my soul
Is on the wing to thwart iniquity,
And do a righteous deed.

Col. Green.
The instrument
That paper?—How will you employ it?

Wilt.
Set
The Duke at liberty; and, then, the spot
That blurs me laying open to the day,
Release him from his promise to the Earl,
Forego his daughter's hand, and, as I may,
Buffet the world with shamed, but manly front!

Col. Green.
Fathers, young man, are hardly in their graves
When, from their children, thus, their spirits breathe!

Wilt.
Knew you my father?

Col. Green.
Yes; of him I'd speak—
Not much—of one he loved, a little more.
I chanced to be the nearest friend of both—
I mean, the heart-friend. Have you patience?

Wilt.
Ask
When you observe me fail!

Col. Green.
[Having placed chairs for himself and Wilton.]
Your father died
In battle, fighting for the banish'd king!
His brother—

Wilt.
What! the Earl?

Col. Green.
No; he had two,
Of whom the Earl was but the younger one.
I speak of the elder. Death, that struck your father,
Miss'd him; and, as in spite at his escape,
Left him almost a broken heart—for much
He loved your father! Well; the fight was o'er;
The second brother bann'd—flight was his chance;
But you, an infant, must be left behind
Without a friend.—He linger'd still for you;
For well he knew his younger brother's ward—
For reasons, now to tell were waste of time—
Had more of danger than of safety in't.
Still had he motives for soliciting
That brother's aid—a purse without a doit!—
He sought it. It was granted readily;
For in succession, failing you, he stood
Next to his elder brother.

Wilt.
He was next.
I was, alas! no bar—I say “alas!”
But for the cause.—It had rejoiced my soul
That elder brother had been heir to all!

Col. Green.
Again your father speaks.—Let me go on!
Time flies.

Wilt.
I heed not time!—I list to you!

Col. Green.
Means were supplied. Upon the western coast,
One lowering night, both brothers stood with you;
Your hand in his who loved you as his son!
A barque was in the offing, heavily
Riding at anchor, bound that night to sail;
A boat was waiting—

Wilt.
Ah!—I recollect
That father-uncle!—He leap'd into it
With me in his arms!

Col. Green.
Yes; while his brother stood
And utter'd no dissuasion, though the waves,
Warning the shore with louder waxing swell,
Gave token that the sea was rousing up;
Though the rough wind advised him of its mood,
Bawling against you, as to turn you back;
Though from your eyes the sun, just setting, hid,
As if averse to tempt you with a look;
Though on the land sat gloom and doubt and dread,
As though it cried “God help you!”—not “God speed!”
There stood that brother, like a barren rock,
Above the shingles, that were following you
With clamour, like rough friends, but kind, that wail
“Good bye” to those they doubt to see again!

Wilt.
We did not reach the ship!

Col. Green.
'Twas well!—She sank
With every soul on board.—It was not meant
That you should reach her, though 'twas thought you did,
By those who wish'd you partners of her fate.
Your course was changed advisedly; the land
Was made again, though many miles away;
Distance was safety to you!—Ask no more.
Hands for your fosterage, on which you held
Some claims of blood upon your mother's side,
Your uncle sought; but, reaching found them cold,
Not in defection towards you, but in death.
They were proud ones!—The proudest must shake hands
With Death at last!

Wilt.
Then was my mother of
A noble stock?

Col. Green.
She was. Inquire as yet
No more. Thy uncle was no guardian for thee—
Unsafe the ward of plots and enterprises—
Heaven sent a friend at last!—he gave you to him.
The nobleman who train'd you, Wilton, till
You grew the man you are—who placed you with
The Earl, who never half-redeem'd his pledge
To see your fortunes better'd—but, beholding
Your father's face in yours, gave credit to
The elements for ruth he grudged them have,
And through inquiries, back'd by power and gold,
Proved his surmises true.

Wilt.
Speak not of him!
But tell me of that uncle—how fared he?

Col. Green.
Remain'd an outlaw still.

Wilt.
Is he alive?

Col. Green.
Better, perhaps, of him we speak no more.

Wilt.
Is he alive?

Col. Green.
Alive?—You well may ask,
When every hour the gibbet look'd for him.

Wilt.
The gibbet!—Heaven!

Col. Green.
Ay, sir. It had been well
For you, your uncle in his bed had died!

Wilt.
I heed not how
My uncle died—I only heed his death.
The manner of it, but for him, I wish
Other than what it was, if such it was!
I heed the shame? Were he alive, and now
In jeopardy of such extremity,
With all the dismal stages yet to pass,
I'd stand beside him in the felon's dock;
I'd lie beside him in the convict's cell;
I'd walk beside him to the fatal tree—
Which, if I could, with marble I'd supplant—
A monument, whereon I would record
His honour'd name, and all he did for me,
And under-grave my own in love and gratitude!
[Col. Green rushes up to the table, throws himself into a chair, and hides his face in his hands.
What ails you, sir? You are convulsed. Sir!—sir!
What ails you?—Speak to me!—Or can't you speak,
Or don't you hear?—You shake from head to foot.
What shall be brought you?—Whom shall I call for?

Col. Green.
[Starting up.]
Call
For Henry Sherbrooke!—If you know not him,
Then find me Wilton Brown.—'Tis all the same—
Child—stripling—man—my eldest brother's son—
The boy that stood upon the beach with me
Twelve years and more ago!

Wilt.
My uncle!

Col. Green.
Ay!
Unscathed! Alive! as ne'er he was before.
The uncle in whose arms you lay, the night
We took the boat upon that stormy beach

Wilt.
Take me again to them, or else I drop!

Col. Green.
Rouse thee, boy, rouse thee! Something is to do!
Collect thyself—The Duke!—'Tis near the time!

Wilt.
From what a trance have you awaken'd me
Of happiness, to what reality!

Col. Green.
Reality! Why, Wilton, look on me;
Aged in my prime, the work of years outdone
By watchings, strugglings, strainings, spent in vain!
Of glory deeply smit, as you, with love,
Yet baffled in my wooing worse than you!
Reality! There's none, boy, but the thought
Of doing right! He grasps who holds to that!
You'll do your duty?

Wilt.
Will I not?

Col. Green.
You will!

Wilt.
Uncle, 'tis death!—but I'll go through with't still!

[They go out.

SCENE III.

—A place near Kensington Palace.
Lord Byer.
This summons to the king fell out perversely.
As jaded traveller, when drawing near
His journey's end, feels every mile a league,
So, my revenge, at hand, but still delay'd,
Turns minutes into hours! Ten stages Time
Has paced since noon, still lagging more and more;
And now he seems to stop! Will he go on?
He's half-way to the next; yet, to my thought,
He has not stirr'd! Life, measured by suspense,
Lasts ages!—Talk of threescore years and ten!
A day, an hour, has durance of a life!
Yet am I ill at ease on more accounts
Than this. My colleagues eye me with strange looks;
Whisper apart! I heard them name—and more
Than once—Lord Sunbury.—Is he expected?
And if he is, my office near the king
Draws to a close. No matter!—I am still
The Earl of Byerdale! My brother's death,
My nephew's spurious birth, assure me that!
Whate'er hangs loose, hate can't unrobe me there.
I'll home! What keeps my coach? Will't never come?
I need its help! Impatience yearns for speed.

SCENE IV.

—A Chamber in Lord Byerdale's.
Enter the Duke of Gaveston and Lady Laura.
Lady Lau.
Why, father, come we hither?

Duke of Gav.
They know best
Who guided us. The ceremony here
They judge, perhaps, with better grace perform'd
Than in my prison-house. Their compact kept,
The stipulation it was granted on,
Although abandon'd as to hour and place,
I shall fulfil, whate'er the hour and place,
Much as my blood rebels!

Lady Lau.
Came they not in
Along with us?

Duke of Gav.
Yes; but held back to speak.

Lady Lau.
[Aside.]
I saw no priest;
I read no bridals in his looks—though love
Was there—but such as finds its hopes a blank!
Not once he took my hand, nor came so much
As even within reach on't; when, had I seen
One proffering step, I had met his half-way.
I thought to be his wife to-morrow, and
The day is farther off, if e'er to come,
Or I mistake, when he shall call me bride!
He comes!—Why comes he?—To forbid the banns!—
I know it.—Can he find no other lips
With theme so harsh to jar his lady's ear?

Enter Wilton and Colonel Green, and Lord Sunbury.
Duke of Gav.
So far we have done your pleasure passively,
Nor halt we yet. The stipulation
Whereon our full enlargement was vouchsafed—
Your union with my daughter—though foregone
By your own choice, when by agreement due,
Lies at your option still. This hand is yours
When he, whose holy act of two makes one,
Shall minister the nuptial ceremony.

Wilt.
First let me bless this hand so proffer'd me!
Bless for the life that it would give to me,
Enrich'd by all that fondest heart of man
E'er fancied in its wildest coveting,
Of beauty, chastity, and goodness—all
Enrich'd by holiest, most surpassing love!
May plighting wait it from some happy palm
Of purer blood than his who holds it now,
Of clasp as honest—will as strong to cleave!—
Else!—ere the priest for ever makes it his,
May Heaven in its sweet mercy wrest it thence,
And save the gift that else were cast away,
As now 'tis torn from mine!

Lady Lau.
Wilton!

Duke of Gav.
My child!
Hold up! If, sir, my scruples sway this act,
This act, that gives them way, has vanquish'd them.
The Earl has kept his word, and the condition
Whereon 'twas pledged, and which I had withheld
With all my heart, with all my heart I yield.

Wilt.
The Earl has kept his word, but was forestall'd.
To wed your daughter I was doubly bound,
And am so still, so you will have us wed;
Whereof the choice now solely rests with you,
Now fully freed from all contingencies.
My birth was yet a secret to me, which
I knew the Earl possess'd, and which to win,
I pledged an oath ne'er to divulge to you
The knowledge on't, while yet the trench remain'd
'Twixt you and liberty. The knowledge came,
And with it such abasement of my blood,
As, well I knew, no drop of yours would brook!
What course was I to take?—Time pacing on!
The hour almost within a stride!—your life
In jeopardy, as I believed!—your shame
The ransom, without option to refuse
Or grant!—my will beleaguer'd solemnly—
All that of endless din, and strife, and wrack
Is told of chaos, gather'd up and penn'd,
I felt within my soul!

Lady Lau.
Is this man noble?
Is he not, father? If he be not, rend
All patents that make birth! Wilton, go on!
I see the end! you sought for other means
To set my father free?

Wilt.
I did. A friend
Supplied me with them. 'Twas the king that oped
Your prison door. You are at liberty
Without the aid of barque or foreign land,
Without the gift of child or aught to me—
A man whose birth, what'er his truth may be,
Bearing, or reach, refuses him a name,
Drawing the breath he could not help but draw,
Unsanction'd by the priest!

Lady Lau.
Why start you, father?

Duke of Gav.
No priest the union of your parents bless'd?

Wilt.
None, sir; what noble dame would wed with me?

Lady Lau.
I—or I never wed!

Duke of Gav.
Daughter!

Lady Lau.
Where worth is,
Give honour, or nowhere! O, truth! lives shame
Where you abide? Manhood, go beg, if flaws
In your escutcheon point you out to scorn!
He who foregoes high fortune for a blur
That in his proper nature owns no germ,
She doubly should enforce her favours on!
Confess it, father, noble as thou art!
Thy blood it is that's speaking in thy child;
To generosity be generous!
Thy daughter's heart is wedded to his worth;
Give him the thing that's second to her heart—
The hand it nourishes!

Duke of Gav.
Never!

Lady Lau.
[After a pause, throwing herself on Wilton's neck.]
O, Wilton!

[Lord Byerdale enters in the back-ground.
Lord Byer.
Tied!—Tied!—Fast tied! and now my triumph comes!
Solace for e'en disgrace! [Comes forward.]
Joy, my lord duke!
Joy of your son-in-law? I told your grace
He was of noble stock, and told you true—
My eldest brother's love-begotten son!
His father's title and estates, 'tis true,
Cleave not, by custom, to his parentage:
But what o' that? Fowlers that miss the game,
But yet come near to it, find comfort there!
Your daughter had been married to an earl,
Had but some dozen words been mumbled, ere
Her husband's mother gave him to the light!

Wilt.
My lord, we are not wed.

Lord Byer.
How came you here?
'Tis false! Without the priest's due offices
I took full heed no bolt should yield him way.

Wilt.
The master of the prison drew the bolt.

Lord Byer.
The governor?

Wilt.
The governor of him.
The king's own order the good Duke enlarged,
Enabled me to keep my oath, without
Offence against my honour—snared by thee,
Unnatural uncle! Thus of half its aim
Thy malice balk'd, these are unscathed and free;
Thy only victim thy own brother's son!

Lady Lau.
Unscathed and free!—and thou a victim, Wilton?
Lop off the part of a limb, and, if you will,
Call what remains unscathed—there may be gain;
But here is loss and loss, and nothing else!
Unscathed! O Heaven!—and thou with galléd quick!
Father, the word you gave, I ne'er gave back.
It made me his by pledge—I stand so still!
To fortune, honour, I had let him go,
But not to woe and shame! They knot me to him!
Wilton, I share thy voyage, come what will!
I take the sea with thee whate'er thy boat,
Howe'er the wind—where'er the shoal or rock,
Yea, or the whirlpool, which a mouthful makes
Of mariners and ship!—storms, strandings, wrecks,
Engulfings, there am I, where you're afloat;
Be it but upon a plank—where you go down
I sink!

Col. Green.
[Tapping Lord Byerdale on the shoulder.]
A triumph worthy of a man,
To place a goodly youth in such a strait,
That virginhood, at dint of very ruth,
Casts chariness aside—pays heed to naught
Save love, at pity's promptings all resolved,
Whate'er the cost, to succour and to save him!

Lord Byer.
Who is he that makes so bold?

Col. Green.
One to bold things
Accustom'd; but allow'd ones, at the worst;
Not bann'd, at least, by Nature's common laws—
Whose life, at risk, he would not hesitate
To save at peril of another man's.
Yet—could not see his enemy take boat,
With certainty to founder when at sea,
Without dissuading him—yea, grappling him
With arms and heart—though foot to foot next day
Assured to stand against him—life 'gainst life!

Lord Byer.
What are you?

Col. Green.
One at home beneath a roof
As proud as even this!

Lord Byer.
Wretch!

Col. Green.
Give that name
To him who sold a falling monarch's cause
For hope to supersede an elder brother,
Too stanch to heed the westing of the sun!
Or him who bore that brother's infant heir
Such love, he watch'd its fosterage with spies
Who roughly question'd, but persuadingly
Betray'd his orders to abstract the boy,
For what kind purpose, charity may guess;
Or him who for a second brother—bann'd!
Mulcted of scrip and friendship!—far and wide
Inquiries plied in hopes to find him—not
Alive, but dead—the man who made his breast,
Thrice in one day, a shield to ward the blows
Had carried death to his!

Lord Byer.
Whom speak'st thou of?

Col. Green.
Of thee—but make amends within thy power,
By one benignant, all-absolving act,
Resigning title and estates to him
Should be thy brother's heir!

Lord Byer.
To Wilton Brown!
That boy without a name—save such a one
As any dog may challenge—what it pleases
The fancy of the owner give to him—

Col. Green.
[Interposing.]
Silence, sir!

Lord Byer.
Sir!—You know my title—

Col. Green.
Yes;
And give it you.

Lord Byer.
Sir!

Col. Green.
Silence, sir, again!

Lord Byer.
Who art thou, villain, that accost'st me thus?

Col. Green.
No less a villain than your second brother!

Lord Byer.
A traitor!—an attainted traitor! come
To wrest my rights from me! Wretch!—I attach you
In virtue of my office!

Lord Sun.
That is gone.

Lord Byer.
Lord Sunbury!—Return'd from France!

Lord Sun.
In time
To thank your lordship for your patronage
Of this, his noble ward! farther, relieve you
Of the charge of office, whereto bear I here
His Majesty's commands. Your power is gone!

Col. Green.
And, were it not, its virtue here were void,
By supersedence of the royal grace;
There is the king's free pardon! Farther; there,
Restoral of my proper patrimony,
Engulf'd, with the rest, by thy rapacity!
And, farther, still, to make that grace complete,
Here recognition of your nephew's rights,
As your first brother's son!

Lord Byer.
There, 'twixt the king
And me the laws will stand! No spurious son
Can hold succession, such as he allows.

Col. Green.
Who said a spurious son? I mean a son
In lawful wedlock born!

Lord Byer.
Where is he?

Col. Green.
There,
Bless'd in the bride his worth alone has won!
His worth, which, to the crowning trial put,
Has shown itself the paragon of proof!

Lord Byer.
We must have documents for this.

Col. Green.
You shall!
Such as the witness'd vouchers of his birth—
O' the nuptials of his parents—fully proved;
Of the grounds for their concealment full set forth—
Whereof some portion is referr'd to you—
Your brother's will, moreover, duly seal'd,
And fixing the succession on his child.

Lord Byer.
May!—

Col. Green.
Imprecations stick to guilty heads,
But from the innocent fall harmless off,
So do not utter them.

Lord Byer.
What's in my heart
You can't prevent its uttering to itself.
Take your good fortune—Wear it—as I wish!

[Rushes out.
Lord Sun.
Wilton, I give you joy!

Wilt.
My benefactor,
That foster'd me in boyhood, welcome back!

Duke.
[Stepping between Wilton and Laura.]
Wilton, I know I must not ask your pardon.
All the atonement I can make, I do;
And take it as thou wilt.

[Joins their hands.
Wilt.
With reverence,
With honour, gratitude, and endless love!

Sher.
[Rushing in.]
I cannot be away, howe'er unbidden!
O, credit me for all a son should feel;
I own to a tear, but yet it is not one
That falls at your good fortune. That I loved you,
You know—that I withheld the confidence
Which should in couples ever go with love,
Our honest uncle bear the blame, who likes
To see the way clear, ere he takes the road.
I am not one that will not venture forth
Long as a cloud hangs out a threat of rain;
He is, and I was bound to do his will.
The king hath made the perfect clearing up!
'Tis true I am a loser; but, indeed,
One that o'erlooks his losses—in your gains.

Wilt.
Sherbrooke, we'll have one fortune as one heart!
Why, all goes well.

Lady Lau.
All?

Col. Green.
All, if these our friends
Cry us Good speed, and parting bear no grudge:
Kind looks outstrip kind tongues. We part—good friends.