University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

The Cloisters.
Ellisif, Prior, and a Messenger.
Ellisif.
Nay he shall know it, Prior! and at once;
'Twill soon be learn'd else-how; so let me seem
The first to have heard this sudden tempest rising:
I shall be thank'd for my solicitude.

Prior.
Lips that, howe'er so honied, bring bad news,
Are touch'd with wormwood by it; he will hate thee!

Ellisif.
Ah! this stout fellow here shall bear it all,
Then I'll step in as soother. Say thou comest
From Maiden Ellisif, all haste and terror,
What shall betide him: be much out of breath,
And stretch your neck forth with the horrible news;
Let fear give worse intelligence through your eyes,
Make pale your lips, and so bechalk your cheeks
That he shall stare as wild!—Go, you've the trick of it!

[Exit Messenger.
Prior.
'Twill give his grace the ear-ache for a time!

Ellisif.
'Twill be a thunderbolt! he will stand, after it,
Like the scathed oak, a rind of lingering life,
Within—a pillar of ashes!

Prior.
Such a blow
Must of needs prostrate him, that has received
One worse than other from thy hand but now.

Ellisif.
You know not all! You know not all!—Stay, stay!

Prior.
Prince Edmund's flight struck deep. Will he hold up?
Methinks I see him, haggard—wan of hue—
His twisted locks self-loosing them—his eyes
Cast wildly earthward, seeking out his grave!
A man's but heated clay when he's heart-broken.

Ellisif.
Ethelstan?—he heart-broken?—if it be so,
For his dread sins, his crimes damnation-deep,
Upon the wheel of Conscience hath his heart
Been broken! and by that fell ratchet torn
In trembling mutilation scarce survives!
Ay! there he stands, fiend-haunted! thinking how
From hundred-handed Vengeance he shall scape
Haply through death's dark loophole—

Prior.
'Tis a way!

Ellisif.
Yet fears to drop into the chasm beneath
Lest a worse Torturer seize him!—O he dream'd
Again, last evening, such another dream!

Prior.
Why not relieve him now from life so burdensome?
He cannot well fare worse, whate'er he fears.

Ellisif.
No gentle Prior! he must live to help me,
Despite himself, else other friends might bustle them
Between my goal and me. I hope this news
Will not prove apoplectic to his stoutness:
Now will I go, and be his—comforter!

[Exit.
Prior.
Kind Lady!—To what depth of guile, of guilt,
Will disappointed love, blasted ambition,
Lead that fair devil some call—angel Woman!

[Exit.