University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Leolf's Castle, in the neighbourhood of Hastings.
Emma
(alone).
He walks upon the beach. A mind perturbed
Shall find the sea companionable. His
Is sorely troubled or my comment errs,
That is not uninspired. Oh, dearest Leolf!
You see not me with love-discerning eyes,
As I see you, or you would pity me.
When last I saw you, stately was your strength,
And you are now a very noble ruin.
Might I but be the wild flower on the wall
Of that war-wasted tower! A weed, alas!
But with a perfume.—Were I but at court
Soon should I see what currents cross him there.
The King? And if it be ... Here's my soft slave.
Now to your work, my plotting, scheming brains,
And I shall thrive.
Enter Ernway.
Well, Ernway, friend, what cheer?

Ernway.
I thank you, I am well in health. My heart
Is heavy, as you know.

Emma.
'Tis a good heart;
But pitch me overboard this sand and gravel.
With a light heart a meagre wit may pass;
Or with a copious wit a heavy heart;
But when the ship that's vacant of a freight
Labours with nothing but the dead-weight ...

Ernway.
Hush!
Although you love me not, you should not scorn me,
Lest some day you be scorned yourself.

Emma.
'Tis true;
I should be gentle; and, good faith! I love you;
Not amorously, I own, but amicably.
You are a kind and most affectionate fool,
And beautiful besides. I love your eyes,
Your hair, your mouth, your chin; I love you piecemeal;
I love your softness, gracefulness, and warmth;
And putting you together, on the whole
I like to see you at my heart's gate sit
Upon a winter's day and toss you crumbs.
Such is my friendship, and this many a day
I have not taxed you for returns. But now ...

Ernway.
What can I do?

Emma.
What will you?

Ernway.
Nay, what not?
If my weak wit, that you despise so much,
Can compass it, I'll do it.

Emma.
Will you lie?

Ernway.
For you I will: I would not for myself.

Emma.
Thou art a virtuous youth and loving liar.
'Tis better than to be a lying lover;
And yet not good—and would you not be good?

Ernway.
As good as you—no better.

Emma.
I your conscience!
'Tis much to have one soul to answer for!
Yet will I make you sin. As good as I?
I am a liar and a cheat. Now say—
Will you be like me?

Ernway.
I have said I will.

Emma.
You will get nothing for it.

Ernway.
Not a smile?

Emma.
A smile at most—assuredly not more.

Ernway.
I am content to lie and cheat for that.

Emma.
You come from court. There's much of service there
Is of that kind and in that coin requited.
Now you will instantly to court again,
And for the service you can do—'tis this,
To take me with you.

Ernway.
I would kneel for years
But for the blessing of a morning dream
That told me you would ask me this in truth.

Emma.
I tell you, you shall do it. But there's more.
Think not that I will let the word go forth
That I have wandered from my home with you
Unwedded. You must say we're man and wife.

Ernway.
And will you marry me?

Emma.
What, I? Oh no.

Ernway.
At last you will.

Emma.
No, neither last nor first.

Ernway.
Well, I shall fancy that you will; of that
You cannot hinder me.

Emma.
Indeed I can;
And if your fancy once should err so far
I will disforest its demesne for ever,
That nothing wild or free shall wander there;
Dispark its parks, dismantle and destroy
Its cloud-built castles. You are to present
The shadow of a husband—nothing more,
And this but for a season. Oh! my heart!
Dear Ernway, I will not torment you much;
And sooth to say, I'm sorry for your pain.
To-morrow, for a sin you've not committed
I'll teach you to entreat a false forgiveness.
You must ask pardon of your worthy sire
For a clandestine marriage. He will storm,
But heed him not. There, you may kiss my hand;
And now, I pray you, go.

Ernway.
Good-bye, sweet Emma.

Emma.
Call me “Dear Wife”—“Sweet Emma” is too loving;
'Tis an unmarried phrase; whereas “Dear Wife”
Imports the decencies of dry affection.

Ernway.
No, I will say, “Sweet Emma.”

Emma.
What you will
When we're alone. Come with me to the beach.

Scene II.

—The Sea-shore, near Hastings.
Leolf
(alone).
Rocks that beheld my boyhood! Perilous shelf
That nursed my infant courage! Once again
I stand before you—not as in other days
In your grey faces smiling—but like you
The worse for weather. Here again I stand,
Again and on the solitary shore
Old ocean plays as on an instrument,
Making that ancient music, when not known!
That ancient music, only not so old
As He who parted ocean from dry land
And saw that it was good. Upon mine ear,
As in the season of susceptive youth,
The mellow murmur falls—but finds the sense
Dull'd by distemper; shall I say—by time?
Enough in action has my life been spent
Through the past decade, to rebate the edge
Of early sensibility. The sun
Rides high, and on the thoroughfares of life
I find myself a man in middle age,
Busy and hard to please. The sun shall soon
Dip westerly,—but oh! how little like
Are life's two twilights! Would the last were first
And the first last! that so we might be soothed
Upon the thoroughfares of busy life
Beneath the noon-day sun, with hope of joy
Fresh as the morn—with hope of breaking lights,
Illuminated mists and spangled lawns
And woodland orisons and unfolding flowers,
As things in expectation.—Weak of faith!
Is not the course of earthly outlook thus
Reversed from Hope, an argument to Hope
That she was licensed to the heart of man
For other than for earthly contemplations,
In that observatory domiciled
For survey of the stars? The night descends,
They sparkle out.—Who comes? 'Tis Wulfstan's daughter.

Enter Emma.
Emma
(to Ernway in the side-scene).
Go now and bring my father.—Good my Lord,
I fear you've fallen in love with solitude.

Leolf.
A growing weakness-not so tyrannous yet
But that I still can welcome from my heart
My pretty friend.

Emma.
I thank you, my good Lord.

Leolf.
You find me here discoursing to the sea
Of ebbs and flows; explaining to the rocks
How from the excavating tide they win
A voice poetic, solacing though sad,
Which when the passionate winds revisit them
Gives utterance to the injuries of time.
Poets, I told them, are thus made.

Emma.
My Lord,
It is not thus through injury, I would hope,
That you are made poetical?

Leolf.
Indeed
There's much that has gone wrong with me, my friend.
How wears the world with you?

Emma.
Truly, my Lord,
I see so little of it, I thank God!
That like a wedding garment seldom used
It keeps its shine.

Leolf.
Why, then, the world wears well:
But where's the wedding garment?

Emma.
Why, my Lord,
'Tis here—for I was married as you see me.

Leolf
Was married, say you?

Emma.
Yes, my Lord, last week;
O' Wednesday, God forgive me!

Leolf.
This is strange!
I pray you say to whom?

Emma.
Alack, my Lord!
To a poor foolish follower of your Lordship's—
Poor Ernway.

Leolf.
What! to him?

Emma.
For fault of better.
Maids that are beggars cannot, you know, be choosers.

Leolf.
Well, if you like him I am glad you have him,
And I will mend his fortunes for your sake.

Emma.
I care not for his fortunes. Oh, my Lord
Your pardon! But I care for nothing now
Save only this,—that you should break the news
To my dear father, and on my behalf
Crave his forgiveness; for he dreams not of it.

Leolf.
He will but dream when he has heard it. Still
This life, and all that it contains, to him
Is but a tissue of illuminous dreams
Filled with book-wisdom, pictured thought, and love
That on its own creations spends itself.
All things he understands, and nothing does.
Profusely eloquent in worthiest praise
Of action, he will talk to you as one
Whose wisdom lay in dealings and transactions;
Yet so much action as might tie his shoe
Cannot his will command; himself alone
By his own wisdom not a jot the gainer.
Of silence and the hundred thousand things
'Tis better not to mention, he will speak,
And still most wisely.—But, behold him there!
Led by your bridegroom, (is it not?) who now
Runs back.

Emma.
Some fifty yards he has to come,
And holding us before him full in sight,
It may be he will find his way to join us.
But lest he wander and forget himself,
I will conduct him hither.

[Exit.
Leolf.
Ernway! Him!
Poets have said that 'tis the immortal mind
And not the face or form that moves to love.
They spoke as they would have it. Yet 'tis strange
That such a maid should so bestow herself.
But with her courage and her confidence,
Her soft sagacity and ready wit,
Mixes the woman's weakness. For the sire,
He will but aptly moralize the theme,
And then forget the fact.

Enter Emma with Wulfstan the Wise.
Wulfstan.
For from his youth
His converse hath been profitable; yea,
In teaching him instruction made rebound
And I was wiser for my pains. In truth,
I have considered and have studied him
With peradventure more of curious care
And critical inquiry than befits
A friend so inward; and I'll vouch for this,
That though, as you have said, the vernal bloom
Of his first spirits fading leaves him changed,
'Tis not to worse. His mind is as a meadow
Of various grasses, rich and fresh beneath,
But o'er the surface some that come to seed
Have cast a colour of sobriety.
For he was ever ...

Emma.
But, my dearest father,
He stands before you.

[Exit.
Wulfstan.
By my life, 'tis true!
Well met, my good Lord and my excellent friend!
My daughter warns me of some tiding strange,
Surprising, unimaginable, by you
To be delivered.

Leolf.
Strange it needs must seem;
But should it grieve you, call to mind, I pray,
The precept I have heard a thousand times
From your own lips: philosophy, you said,
If ministering not to practice, were more vain
Than a child's rattle, for the infant's mind
The rattle doth in practice hold at rest.

Wulfstan.
'Tis true; for just philosophy and practice
Are of correlative dependency,
Neither without the other apt or sound
Or certain. For philosophy itself
Smacks of the age it lives in, nor is true
Save by the apposition of the present;
And truths of olden time, though truths they be,
And living through all time eternal truths,
Yet want the seasoning and applying hand
Which Nature sends successive; else the need
Of wisdom should wear out and wisdom cease,
Since needless wisdom were not to be wise;
For surely if...

Leolf.
The theme I have to broach
Respects a certain marriage, which for my sake,
Though it will certes take you unprepared,
Yet you must leniently look upon
And auspicate with smiles.

Wulfstan.
A marriage say you?
My good Lord, I rejoice in your resolve.
To marry wisely is to double wisdom,
And breed a progeny of bright rewards,
Which wisdom single, monachal or lay,
Woefully wants. For think what it must be
To watch in solitude our own decay,
Jealously asking of our observation
If ears, or eyes, or brains, or body fail,
And not to see the while new bodies, brains,
New eyes, new ears, about us springing fresh,
And to ourselves more precious than are ours.
But this it is...

Leolf.
I give you my consent
That a wise marriage is the crowning act
Which queenly Wisdom's sovereignty secures;
For love is wisdom, when 'tis innocent:
But for myself...

Wulfstan.
The season comes with you
When love that's innocent may well be wise.
But not inevitably one with wisdom
Is innocent love at all times and with all.
Love changes with the changing life of man:
In our first youth, sufficient to itself,
Heedless of all beside, it reigns alone,
Revels or storms and spends itself in passion:
In middle age—a garden through whose soil
The roots of neighbouring forest trees have crept,—
It strikes on stringy customs bedded deep,
Perhaps on alien passions; still it grows
And lacks not force nor freshness; but this age
Shall aptly choose as answering best its own
A love that clings not nor is exigent,
Encumbers not the active purposes
Nor drains their source; but proffers with free grace
Pleasure at pleasure touched, at pleasure waived,
A washing of the weary traveller's feet,
A quenching of his thirst, a sweet repose
Alternate and preparative, in groves
Where loving much the flower that loves the shade
And loving much the shade that that flower loves,
He yet is unbewildered, unenslaved,
Thence starting light and pleasantly let go
When serious service calls.

Leolf.
'Tis all most wise,
And worded well. But you mistake my drift;
'Tis of your daughter's marriage, not of mine,
I am to speak.

Wulfstan.
My daughter, my good Lord!
Must she be married?

Leolf.
'Twas her will to be;
And upon Wednesday she gave it way.

Wulfstan.
Was married upon Wednesday! It is strange!
She was a child but yesterday, and now
A woman and a wife! On Wednesday—
And unto whom, I pray you, was she married?

Leolf.
To one whose comeliness in woman's eye
Excels the gifts of fortune that he wants;
To one whose innocence in the eye of Heaven
Excels the excellence of an erring wit:
To Ernway.

Wulfstan.
You astonish me, my Lord.
It is most strange; indeed, 'tis singular!
She never mentioned it to me.

Leolf.
In that
She missed of what was filially due
To a kind parent, for which lapse through me
She craves forgiveness.

Wulfstan.
I have lost my child!

Leolf.
Nay, nay, my worthy friend.

Wulfstan.
My Lord, 'tis so;
She is my daughter, but no more my child;
And therein is a loss to parents' hearts
Exceeding great.

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
My Lord, there's news from court;
They seek you at the castle, whither is come
Oscar, that's so much trusted of Earl Athulf,
With letters.

Leolf.
Of what purport, did he say?
Does all go well?

Officer.
To take his word, my Lord,
They speak of nothing but prosperity.
My Lord Archbishop, with a loyal will,
Abets the coronation, in whose wake
Comes my Lord Abbot Dunstan, his lean cheek
Surprised with smiles. So smoothly runs the realm
Missives are sent to each confederate Earl
To bid his power disband; and these to you
Are of that import.

Leolf.
Is it so? Oh, Athulf!
Art thou not over-reached? I fear it much.
Dunstan in smiles? A presage to be feared.
I would I were at Kingston with my power.
Conceive you what this smiling may portend?

Wulfstan.
You read it as the scholiast of mankind
Should ever read their acts, conjunctively,
Interpreting the several by the whole.

Leolf.
Then, Hederic, we will expedite the levies.
The daylight's lengthened by yon rounding moon.
Long marches and short nights—and so to Kingston.

Scene III.

—Kingston. A Chamber leading to the Banqueting Hall in the Palace.—The Dish-Thane passes through, followed by other Officers of the Household, by Attendants bearing dishes, and by the Female Cup-bearer. In the back of the scene are a motley crowd, consisting of Musicians tuning their instruments, Two Fortune-tellers, Heida and Thorbiorga; Grimbald, the King's Jester; Bridferth, Dunstan's Chaplain; a few Monks and secular Priests, several Thanes of the second rank, Ceorls and Soldiers. The Persons of the scene are in constant movement, changing their situations or passing in and out, some eagerly, others idly. Once or twice an Earl or Ealderman passes through, but without stopping or mixing with the crowd, which reverently makes way. The parties who are heard to speak are those who pass in front or pause there.
1st Monk.
So! crowned at last! God's will be done! At times
His will it is, for ends best known to Him,
To grant a holiday to Beelzebub,
And there is feasting and a dance in Hell.

1st Soldier.
In the north aisle was I and saw it all.

2nd Soldier.
The bailiff (curse him!) broke my head with his staff
Or I had got there too.

1st Soldier.
Most royally
His Highness played his part from first to last,
And graciously and grandly. At the Abbot
Methought he looked askance, but with the rest...

[They pass.
1st Monk.
In the south aisle. He faltered as he swore
To keep the Church in peace.

2nd Monk.
His cheek was pale.

1st Monk.
It was as white as leprosy.

Bridferth.
No marvel,
For such an eye was on him in that hour
As smote Gehazi.

[They pass.
A Thane
(who advances in company with a Scholar).
Hark ye! are we blind?
The Princess was led in by brave Earl Athulf;
And didst thou mark the manner of it, ha?

Scholar
Methought she leaned upon him and toward him
With a most graceful timid earnestness;
A leaning more of instinct than of purpose,
And yet not undesigned. But think you then...

[They pass.
Heida
(sings to a harp).

1st Priest.
Our gallant Heretoch, the good Earl Leolf,
Should have been there methought.

2nd Priest.
He should have been;
But there are reasons, look ye,—reasons—mum—
Most excellent reasons—softly—in your ear—

[They pass.
Thorbiorga
(sings).

Enter the Great Chamberlain with the Horse-Thane and other Officers of the Household.
Great Chamberlain.
His Highness! Ho! Make way His Highness! Ho!
Sound trumpets!

[A flourish of trumpets.
[The King, wearing his Crown, and leading in the Queen Mother, passes across the back-scene, and is followed by Earl Athulf, leading in Ethilda, by Odo and Dunstan, with Sigeric and Bridferth, by Harcather, Ceolwulf, Æthelric, Eadbald, Ida, Brand, Ecfrid, Gorf and Tosty, all military leaders on the Monastic side; and by Clarenbald, Earl Sidroc, the Bishop of Rochester, and divers great Officers of State and Nobles of the King's party. The procession, when it passes off, enters the Banqueting Hall.
1st Ceorl.
The King stepped proudly.

2nd Ceorl.
But his countenance
Methought was troubled. Is he well in health?

1st Ceorl.
Now comes the Primate.

2nd Ceorl.
What, can this be he
That looks so fierce and haughty? Once before
I saw him, when a cripple asked for alms;
So lowly of demeanour was his Grace,
I had not known, but for the mitred head,
Which was the beggar, which the Lord Archbishop.

1st Ceorl.
He's humble to the poor to spite the rich;
Give me the man that's humble to his peers.

2nd Ceorl.
There's Dunstan.

1st Ceorl.
What, is yonder thing alive?

Grimbald
(the Jester, who has come up behind).
Sir, he's aboveground.

2nd Ceorl.
So we see, my friend.

Grimbald.
For this occasion, Sir. A hole i' the earth
Is where he lives, Sir, mostly: yea, his life
Is of the earth, Sir, earthy.

1st Ceorl.
It was there
That he encountered Sathanas.

Grimbald.

Enter from the Banqueting Hall Two Ushers.
1st Usher.
The third cup has gone round. You're welcome now
To take your places at the lower board.

Grimbald.

[Exeunt into the Banqueting Hall, all but the Ushers and the Scholar.
1st Usher.
The Princess and a certain Earl sit close.

Scholar.
Ah! she is peerless! Happy were the man
That should enthrall her though she were a peasant!
What in another might have seemed amiss
In her was but a freshness and new charm
Loosed from the graceful nakedness of nature.
She ate but half a pigeon, and did you mark
How with her tiny fingers and her teeth
She gnawed and tore the bones, talking 'twixt whiles,
With such a lively and a pretty action,
That appetite itself and all its ways
Seemed mainly spiritual.

2nd Usher.
Hush! Hark to that!

[A flourish of trumpets.
1st Usher.
The ladies leave the board.

Scholar.
I'll see her go.
She ever moves as if she moved to music.
Are you not wanted? Oh! what's like to her?

Scene IV.

—A Chamber in the Palace.
Enter Emma.
Emma.
Credentials? yes—Earl Leolf's may go far;
But truly I was made to thrive at court
With or without them, being merry and wise.
They trust to me already as to one
That works by miracle; and can I not
To clear the proud Elgiva from the path
Of lovelorn Leolf? Married shall she be
Or e'er the sun go down; so shall his wound,
Though deep, have rest and heal. Could twenty Kings
Have turned aside my heart, or in mine eyes
Possessed one-twentieth part the sovereignty
That crowns his kingly head!
Enter Ernway.
In time for once.
Take this to Sheen. Seek Father Ricola out;
Tell him the King shall follow in an hour,
And then Elgiva.—Ernway, if thou lov'st me,
Be sudden and be secret.

Ernway.
Trust me, Emma,
I will be both.

Emma.
Here is the private stair
Which brings you past the ward, and with this key ...
How dark it is! Be careful how you step.

Scene V.

—The Banqueting Hall.—Are seated at the board, all the Male Guests who passed through in the Third Scene. But the King's place is vacant. Goblets are passed from hand to hand. Grimbald the Jester stands behind the chair of state.
Harcather.
Comes not the King again?

Ceolwulf.
Surely he will.

Tosty.
He will! Nay, nay, he must.

Dunstan.
Content yourselves;
It cannot be but he will come again.
He cannot mean us such disparagement
As thus, and at this high and solemn feast,
To quit his guests, the noblest of the land,
Without a “God be with you,” or a word
To sheathe the sharp directness and the sting
Of such a plain offence.

Ida.
'Twere good, my Lords,
We sent our humble duty to the King,
Craving his expedite return.

Great Chamberlain.
Grith, Offa,
Go seek the King; and say his noble guests
Find themselves by his absence overcast
As with a cloud, and crave his swift return.

[Exeunt Grith and Offa.
Grimbald.
Betwixt the new ship and the headland old
The dolphins ducked and the waters rolled.
Worse and more of it! the wind went mad—
But the pilot he drank no more than he had.

Tosty.
Peace, fool! The very hour that he could spare us...

Ceolwulf.
A singular and unadvised retreat.

Tosty.
I say if one of us—I say if I...

Sidroc.
Well, well, he's young.

Tosty.
I say, my Lords, if I,
Not being sick nor drunk, jump from my seat,
And turn on this illustrious company
My back, that is not comelier nor more pleasant
Nor acceptabler than another man's,
Why, then, my Lords, let me be who I may,
I say I offer to this company,
Not being drunk, a strange discourtesy,
And quite the obverse of a salutation.

Æthleric.
Bear this, and we shall.

Clarenbald.
Tut! he'll come again.
Pass round the goblet. Eadric, take the harp,
And sweeten our carouse with minstrelsy.

SONG.

In the hall of Leodwulf was made good cheer;
On the board was a bowl, by the wall was a spear;
The spear and the bowl looked each at each,
And the thoughts that rose in them wrought to speech.

Bowl.
Thou in the corner so grim and spare,
Who sent thee hither? What dost thou there?

Spear.
I came of the ash-tree Ygdrasil,
And do her bidding for woe or weal.

Bowl.
For whom the weal, for whom the woe?

Spear.
Say who thou art, and thou shalt know.

Bowl.
Broach the cask and fill me full—
I am the bold Logbrogdad's skull.

Spear.
Thou liest, or else thou leak'st; for once
I pierced the bold Logbrogdad's sconce.

Bowl.
I neither lie nor leak. Behold!
The hole is here and pieced with gold.

Spear.
I pray thee grace. 'Twas through that hole
Passed out the bold Logbrogdad's soul.

Bowl.
Then answer make that all may know,
For whom the weal, for whom the woe?

Spear.
The weal is their's who do no wrong,
And crown with gifts the sons of song.
The woe is theirs who fain would flood
Their father's land with brethren's blood.
Their deeds the eagle and the kite
Shall judge, and God shall guard the right.

[Re-enter Grith and Offa.]
Great Chamberlain.
How now?

Offa.
My Lords, his Highness greets you well.
He bids us say that he has calls elsewhere,
And loves not too much quaffing, which is wont
To leave you with less reason than the beasts,
Rolling upon the floor. Wherefore, my Lords,
He prays you with all love and courtesy
To hold his Grace excused, for he is young,
And loves not quaffing.

Odo.
Will ye suffer this?
If rated thus for nothing, what's your fate
When standing for your liberties ye check him?
If thus affronted at the festive board,
What in the Witenagemót awaits you?

Tosty.
He loves not quaffing!

Harcather.
Rolling on the floor!

Athulf.
Sirs, for his Highness's too hasty message,
I grant it ill-advised; but, Sirs, his youth,
If ye will temperately consider . . .

Harcather.
Youth!
Hath youth a privilege to maltreat the old?

Ecfrid.
He loves not quaffing! Ah, my good Lord Athulf,
But what else loves he? There are sins beside.
Say he had left us for a lady's bower—
There is a revelling he impugns not.

Dunstan.
Ha!

Ecfrid.
What lady she may be, my good Lord Athulf,
Concerns not us.

Odo.
Ho! some of you go forth
And seek the King, and say to him from me
That he, or willingly or not, perforce
Must instantly return; and see ye bring him.

Athulf.
Whoso shall take that errand from this hall,
Let him take that therewith.

[Throws his glove on the floor. Three or four Earls start up in their seats. In the mean time Gurmo has entered, and spoken apart to Dunstan.
Dunstan
(rising).
My Lords, sit still. I'll bring the boy myself.
Here, varlets, sweep this litter from the floor.

[Spurns the glove with his foot as he passes and exit.
Athulf.
(his hand on his sword).
Which of you here that wears not frock nor hood
Will this vile Abbot's vilest act avouch?

[Several Earls of the Monachal party lay their hands on their swords and spring upon the floor. The company rises in disorder.
Seneschal.
Peace, ho! My Lords, bethink ye where ye are;
He that within the palace draws his sword
Doth forfeit an Earl's were. Peace, peace, be still!
Keep the King's peace!

Harcather.
Not I, for one.

Tosty.
Nor I.

Others.
Nor I; nor I.

Seneschal.
Then who will keep it not
Let him withdraw, and not pollute with blood
The precincts of the palace.

Eadbald.
Then withdraw.

Many voices.
Withdraw! withdraw!

Harcather.
Keep the King's peace? If longer than three minutes
I keep it, may I die in my bed like a cow!

I have been induced here to preserve a flower of speech recorded in one of the chronicles of the time, though perhaps a little more peculiar than what I should otherwise have employed.

Scene VI.

—An Apartment leading to an Oratory in the Royal Residence at Sheen.—As the scene opens, Edwin and Elgiva are discovered before the altar in the Oratory, and Ricola, the King's Chaplain, is joining their hands. They all three then advance out of the Oratory to the front.
Ricola.
So be ye one from this time forth for ever,
And God for ever be your gracious guide
In love and peace to live! A hasty rite
Hath solemnized your nuptials; not the less
Be ye observant of the sacred bonds
Wherein ye stand contracted for all time.
My Sovereign Lord and Lady, ye are young,
And these are times and yours beyond compare
Stations of trial: Be ye each to each
Helpful, and fullest of comfort, next to God.
And so, my blessing poured in tears upon you,
I bid you well to fare.

Edwin.
My honoured friend,
We thank you for this service, one of many,
But of the many greatest. For awhile
Our secret kept, the Queen abides with you.
I must return to Kingston; but ere night
Once more you'll see me here. Farewell till then.
Shortly the Queen shall follow you.
[Exit Ricola.
Elgiva!
Oh, past expression beautiful and dear,
And now my own for ever! Let my soul
Be satisfied, for 'tis a joy so great
To know you mine, that nature for my bound
Seems insufficient, and my spirit yearns
Intent with you to pass from this pale earth
Into that rosy and celestial clime
Where life is ever thus.

Elgiva.
How joy fulfilled
Makes the heart tremble! Now no change can come
That is not to be feared.

Re-enter Ricola.
Ricola.
My Lord, my Liege,
Forgive me—but I fear . . . I'm old, my Lord,
And shake at trifles, but I strangely fear
That mischief is afoot.

Edwin.
At Kingston?

Ricola.
There,
And coming hitherward; the poor fool Grimbald
Came flying like the scud o' the storm before
To warn you.

Edwin.
And what says he? Call him in.
[Ricola goes to the door and returns with Grimbald.
Well, my good fool, and what hast thou to tell?

Grimbald.
There was grace after meat with a fist on the board
And down went the morat and out flew the sword.

Elgiva.
Truce to thy calling for a while, good fool,
And tell us plainly what befell.

Grimbald.
By the ears
The nobles went together; in the fray
The Horse-Thane and the Dish-Thane were o'erborne
And sent to prison. Then I took to my heels
To bring you word.

Elgiva.
Earl Athulf? Where is he?

Grimbald.
He stood against Harcather hand to hand
When I departed; but I know no more.

Enter the Queen Mother.
Queen Mother.
So you are here, my son, and Madam, you!
And is it for this you scurry from your place?
Is it for this you quit your noble guests?
Is it for this you vex the kingdom? Yea,
To shedding of blood—for there has blood been shed—
For nought but this? Oh, fie! for dalliance—oh!
And whiles you waste the hours in wantonness . . .

Edwin.
Good mother, speak of what you know. Not here
Was either wantonness or waste of time.
You little think how little idly spent
Has been the hour that's gone.

Queen Mother.
How spent? oh, son!
But here come those can speak. Lo! here they come!

Enter Dunstan and Odo,with two or three Thanes following, who are gradually augmented as the scene proceeds till the stage is filled with Dunstan's adherents.
Ricola.
Will't please you to withdraw?

Elgiva.
I thank you, no.

Edwin.
You are too bold, my Lord Archbishop; hence!
Go hence, and trouble not my privacy.
When I did leave you 'twas my will to leave you.
Am I your King, or am I not?

Odo.
Sir, Sir,
'Tis true, with suffrage of the Witena
You were anointed with the holy oil
And crown'd this day by me. But deem not thence
That you are free to spurn us. Rather deem
That calls more urgent, bonds of stricter claim,
Enjoin the duties of your sovereignty;
Amongst which duties eminently first
Is this, that when your Lords and Councillors,
The pillars of the realm, in conference meet,
You should be with them, wisely there to learn
From the assembled wisdom of the State.

Edwin.
'Twas for carousal, not for conference,
They met to-day.

Dunstan.
Sirs, stand ye all apart
And suffer that I reason with the King,
Whose youth betrays him. Oh, unruly flesh!
Oh, wanton blood of youth! the primal sin!
The first offender still! The original snare!
Perdition came of Woman, and alway since
When Time was big with mischief and mischance
He felt his forelock in a soft white hand.

Elgiva.
Of Woman say'st thou that perdition came?
'Twas of the Serpent, Priest.

Queen Mother.
What, break'st thou in?
Thou bold and naughty jade! Thou pit! thou snare!

Edwin.
Oh, mother, hold! Know you at whom you rail?
Deem her your daughter or me not your son.

Queen Mother.
Thou art not and thou shalt not be my son.
If thou demean'st thyself to her—a witch!
A practiser of sorceries!

Edwin
(kneeling).
Oh, God!
I pray Thee that Thou shorten not my days,
Ceasing to honour this disnatured flesh
That was my mother.

This is borrowed from “The Revenger's Tragedy,” by Cyril Tourner.

“Forgive me, Heaven, to call my mother wicked!
Oh, lessen not my days upon the earth:
I cannot honour her.”

Elgiva.
Never was she that:
O Edwin, had God granted thee a mother,
What honour had we rendered her!

Dunstan.
Thou darest!
And seest thou in what presence? Be thou warned!
Thy witcheries that inflame this carnal King
Far other fires shall kindle in the Church—
The channel as of mercies, so of wrath.
Thou stand'st before its excellent Archbishop,
And me its humblest minister; men both
Dead to the flesh and loathing from their souls
To company with women. To us thy charms
Are flat and futile as thy sins are sharp
And spur us to that vengeance God inflicts
Through us on scorners.

Edwin.
Heed them not, Elgiva.

Elgiva.
Content thee! never were they heeded less
By God or by His Angels than by me.

Edwin.
Insolent Churchmen! You renounce the world!
All in it that is loving or can be loved
You'll teach yourself and others to renounce,
Because cold vanities with meagre heats
Alternate have consumed you to the core
And given your hearts the dry-rot. Meddlesome monks!
The love it is not in you or to feel
For women or from womankind to win
You ostentatiously deny yourselves,
As atrophy denies itself to fatten.

Elgiva.
What worth are you to us, that set no store
By you or by your threats? I tell thee, Priest,
I make no more account of thee and thine
Than of so many kites and crows.

Dunstan.
Fly hence,
Pale prostitute! Avaunt, rebellious Fiend
Which speakest through her!

Edwin.
And I tell thee more,
She is thy Sovereign Mistress and thy Queen,
My lawful wedded wife.

Queen Mother.
Ah, woe is me!

Odo.
Thy lawful wife! How lawful? By what law?
Incest and fornication!

Dunstan.
Who art thou?
I see thee and I know thee-yea, I smell thee!
Again 'tis Satan meets me front to front,
Again I triumph! Where, and by what rite,
And by what miscreant minister of God
And rotten member, was this mockery,
That was no marriage, made to seem a marriage?

Ricola.
Lord Abbot, by no . . .

Dunstan.
What then, was it thou?
The Church shall cut thee off and pluck thee out!
A Synod shall be summoned! Chains for both!
Chains for that harlot and for this dog-priest!
Oh, wall of Jezreel!

Edwin.
Villains, stand ye back!
Stand from the Queen . . . Oh, had I but a sword!
What—felons! Ye shall hang for this ere long—
Loose me or I will . . .

Odo.
Sir, be calm, and know
'Tis for your own behoof and for your crown's.

Elgiva.
Be of good comfort, Edwin; we shall meet
Where none can part us. Are ye men? Hold off!
I will not put you to that shame to force me.

[She is taken out.
Odo.
Thou Queen! Go, get thee gone! A crown for thee!
No, nor a head to put it on to-morrow.

Queen Mother.
Alack! the law is sharp. But, Gurmo, run,
See she have Christian burial; speed thee, Gurmo.

Dunstan.
Madam, your pardon. Gurmo, wait on me.

Edwin.
Elgiva, oh, Elgiva! Oh, my wife!
I'll find thee friends, though now . . . Oh, traitors! slaves!
When I have raised my force, I'll bring you bound
With halters round your necks, to lick the dust
Before her footstool. I will have you scourged
By hangmen's hands in every market town—
Yes, you, my Lords!—And, mother, oh! repent,
Or I shall cast thee off and curse the fate
That made thy hateful womb my habitation
Ere my blind soul could choose. Perfidious monk!
Smilest thou, villain! But I will raise a force . . .

[Exit.
Dunstan.
Lord Primate, thou hast crowned a baby's brow.
May it please you follow lest he come to harm.
[Exit Odo.
Friends, quit not my Lord Primate. Follow all.
[Exeunt all but Harcather, who stays behind on a sign from Dunstan.
Harcather, haste; convey Elgiva hence
With speed to Chester, and in strictest ward
Confine her there; but keep her life untouched.
[Exit Harcather.
So shall we brandish o'er the enamoured King
A trenchant terror.—See we next what friends
Will stead us in the Synod.—Break, thou storm!
And learn thou which is strongest, thou or I.