University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Hall in a Castle.
Enter Matilda, and Hunters.
Mat.
Well are you met, my noble lords. This day
Of healthful toil will cheer your hearts, and lend
A triple relish to the social cup.
Be boon and happy, all shall yet be well.

Gar.
The day's events are ominous, and warped
By some inexplicable mystery.—
One comely page is vanished from our troop;
A gallant chieftain fallen in dark affray;
Another rudely mauled; and, lo! a third,
Our noble host, is missing!—Whereto tends it?

Mat.
My yeomen are dispatched to every hill,
With sound of call and bugle, to give voice
To every gale that wanders thro' the night:—
The woods shall howl their larum to the rocks,
The rocks cry to the desart: If the earl
Still lives, he must by this time be discovered.

Gar.
(to Bad.)
My lord, I hope you two met not again?

Mat.
Met! did you say? not otherwise, I ween,
Than as friends meet: Not otherwise than friends,
I trust, they met?

Gar.
Not otherwise than friends have often met;—
But such damned tilting betwixt friends, I hold
More semblative of savages than knights.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
Madam, my master's steed is just come home,
His saddle seemingly bestained with blood;
Himself like furnace smoaking, covered o'er
With clotted foam, snorting and trembling,
As if escaped from mid an host of fiends.

Bad.
(Aside)
Ah! then the earl is slain indeed; 'tis plain.
I may as well take merit from a conquest
Not hitherto by man achieved.—I'll do it.

Mat.
This bodes not well.—Nay, good, my lords, the while
Dismiss your sadness; 'tis of no avail.
Pass to the hall: The banquet chides your stay.
[Exeunt all but Mat. and Bad.
Thou wicked lord! I trow some one can give
Accounts of Crawford: Thou art staunch and true
After thy game!

Bad.
What would I not for thee,
Beauteous Matilda! All the world is naught
If thou art wanting with it.—Well I knew
Of one great bar 'twixt us and tranquil bliss:
Had he been friend, or brother, 'twas the same;
I'm all for love!—I fastened insult on him,
Claimed his first hit, swore it was mine, and proffered
Decision by the sword. He drew on me:
We fought; I drove him round the den, secure
Of conquest; pressed him to the last, and oft
Gave potent mark. It was all over with him:
Had not Glen-Garnet, with officious haste,
Rushed us between, farther he had not stirred.
In pride he would not charge his death on me,
But sullenly retired to die unseen.—
Trust me, his gloom will mar our love no more.

Mat.
Thou hast wrought horror, and my soul recoils
From thee and from thy love: Yet I admire
Thy wondrous might!—What! Crawford, March,
Both in one day! I did not ween there lived
That man could match the arm of my lord Crawford.
O, thou fell fiend! thou hast cut off a knight
Whom, though I loved not, yet am bold to say,
Scotland bears not his equal. Therefore list,—
Hope not to thrive in my affection hence:
Thou hast effaced thy image in my heart,
And placed before mine eye a soul deformed,
Bloated and stained with blood. All I concede
Is, to keep silence till the event is proved.

[Exeunt.
Enter Kilmorack and Coucy.
Kil.
I called thee out, to trust thee with a plot
I mean this night to execute. Thou knowest
This morn how we were treated by old Drummond;
Wilt thou lend me thy aid in bearing off
His lovely daughter?

Cou.
There's my hand on't;—ought
To teaze and mortify the old barbarian.
Your plan? Disclose.—Hem.—Come.

Kil.
My page is gone, in woful guise, to say,
My heart, unable to controul my love,
And sunk before her father's stern displeasure,
Hath moved me to abandon friends and sport,
And hide me from her sight: That all I ask
Is one kind last adieu—one short embrace,
Before we part for ever: That I'll wait
Where'er she shall appoint.—Her heart's so pure
She weens each man's the same, and straight will come.
The girl affects me:—we have sighed and toyed;
And I have kissed her ruby lips, and talked
Of flames, and darts, and most intolerant love:—
I even think her simple heart will yield
To go where I shall guide. Should she refuse,
We bear her off by force.

Cou.
Well; some few flagons more of Crawford's wine,
To front our confidence, and throw a mask
O'er the forbidding features of remorse;
Then hie we to fair Annabel.