University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

An open Country with Whernside and other hills in the distance. Enter Henry on horseback in the disguise of a Monk (solus).
HENRY.
The holy garb of monks full oft, 'tis said,
Mantles Hypocrisy; and if so, I
Not much shall desecrate these sacred robes
By brief assumption. Admirably they
Will aid my scheme. Under this peaceful frock
May ambush warlike weapons, prompt for use
If comes occasion; and this hood, close-drawn,
Will shade the features which the Lady Margaret
Might recognise beneath a secular hat.
—Now, Fortune, smile! and the fair maiden, wooed
By Alnwick's princely turrets, shall be won
Amid the wilds of Craven.

[Exit Henry.
[The Procession (consisting of Lords, Knights, &c. Billmen, Archers, &c. variously armed, and all on horseback) now appears, headed by the Lady Margaret Percy, the Lady Emma Fenwick, and Cathleen. Henry and Roddam, meeting, come forward as if in conversation.
HENRY.
The Tweed, you say?

RODDAM.
Yes. Some good two hours' ride from Tweed, is placed
The mansion of my fathers.

HENRY.
A fine stream
Old ballads say the Tweed is; I suppose
A noble river.

RODDAM.
Why, 'tis somewhat broader
Than any mountain rivulet which here
Obtains the name.

HENRY.
You wear not yet the belt
And spur of Knighthood?

RODDAM.
For that fault thank Fate,
That wrote me Man five years behind the time
When arms might win them. Since the fight of Flodden,
Our Scottish neighbours have not ventured aught
Beyond a straggling inroad, made in darkness,
And ere the morn abandoned—no fair field
In which the brave reap laurels.

HENRY.
True, and therefore
You come to find them here.

RODDAM.
If laurels grew
In Craven, I do think the sword I bear
Quite sharp enough to crop them, Father. But
I come on milder purpose. I would find
The mistress, Pleasure, not the goddess, Glory,
In these soft vales; and so I deem my friends would.

HENRY.
A goodly number, by the bones of Beckett,
In search of Pleasure! Can you tell, fair sir,
The names of half her votaries?

RODDAM.
O, for these,
I would, sir Monk, you heard the lay of Duncan,
Earl Percy's gray-haired Minstrel, which he sung
What time the wine-cup sparkled, and this jaunt
To Craven was the theme of all; for then
You might have heard the catalogue, adorned
With all the pomp of sound and circumstance.
He sung how out of castle, hall, and bower,
From Tweed to Tyne, from Cheviot to the sea,
Northumberland had called her chivalry!
Then, picturing that as blown which yet was folded
In the intent, his strain described the land
As saddened by desertion: “Wansbeck sees
Each tower she mirrors by its Chief forsaken;
The Coquet murmurs of a similar loss;
The Till laments her Grey; the Beaumont mourns
The absence of her Copeland. Alne alone,”
He sung, “may sea-ward flow in silent joy,
For she hath still her Percy.” Ha, ha, ha,
[Laughing.
I've caught the Bardic measure.

HENRY.
Means the song
That Percy stays behind?

RODDAM.
It doth so, Father;
And sooth it means; the Earl remains in Alnwick.

HENRY.
And trusts his sister here, and thus?

RODDAM.
Sir Monk,
If thou shalt dare insinuate that aught
Unworthy may befall the Lady Margaret,
The Lady Emma, or that other Maiden,
From any noble, knight, or squire thou see'st,—
I give thee warning that thy saintly garb
Will scarce protect thy carcass! Here there rides
Not one that would not battle to the death,
Suffer all tortures—sooner than permit
A single breath to taint the virgin fame
Of the least noble yonder!

HENRY.
Why this heat?
I meant no slur upon your Northern virtues!
But mark me, gentle Squire! if to return
Unscathed from Craven hath in your esteem
A feather's weight,—rein in your fiery temper
With firmer hand. There are, and you may meet them,
Who will not brook what my profession bids me
Sustain with patience.

RODDAM.
Father, I will trust
The sword of Roddam to defend its master,
Whene'er th'emergence comes. Of this enough.
If in my warmth offensive phrase escaped me,
I pray you pardon it. I bear a soul
That scorns to give an insult—least of all
Where it were safely given.

HENRY.
(aside).
Ha! safely! Ha!
Soft, fool; he judges of me as I seem,
And so disarms resentment.

RODDAM.
Did you speak?

HENRY.
I wot not that I did. I was but musing,
And wist not that my thoughts grew into words.—
But you did name, I think, a Lady Emma:
Is she a daughter of the House of Percy?

RODDAM.
No; of the House of Fenwick. She is sister
To the young Noble whom you see in speech
With Lady Margaret.

HENRY.
Bosom friends, of course,
The two fair maidens are?

RODDAM.
As close their union
As that of roses intermingling leaves
On the same stalk. From infancy, their sky
Hath worn one colour—sable now with clouds,
Now azure all and sunny. Side by side,
Their valiant Fathers oft rolled back the surge
Of Border war; and all was triumph. Death
Saddened the towers of Wallington and Alnwick
At the same time; for in one week were slain
The Fenwick and the Percy—one in fight
With the rude Scot, the Percy by the rabble
Led on by Archamber. Then brightly rose
Fair years that bade them cease to sorrow, when,
Admired, beloved, and sued for, in one sphere
The bright companions moved. The Brothers, too,
Prolong the friendship that allied their Fathers;
And rumour says that yet a closer link
Will join their future fortunes.

HENRY
(aside).
Hell and death!

RODDAM.
What moves you so, sir Monk?

HENRY.
This fiery steed
Chafes underneath a rider little skilled
In horsemanship.—But I neglect mine office.
For see, the ladies pause, in doubt, perchance,
Which of yon tracks to follow. Sir, adieu.

[Exit Henry.
RODDAM.
(solus).
Beshrew me, but I do admire this Monk,
He is no canting knave, and hath a spirit
Which better would become a son of Mars,
Than one of his calm order.

[Exit.