University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Country—A Battle-Field in the distance.
Moore, Collier.
Moore.
Ah, it has been a day of desperate strife!
Sanguine and stern!—nor is the victory
Yet certain; for I saw our right borne back,
Reeling and cumber'd, to yon hollow dell.
Let henchman speed to Faucet, and return
Swift with the tidings.

Enter Messenger.
Mes.
Captains, the day is ours!
The Scots, for all their desperate might, are foil'd,
And hie them for the Border.

Moore.
Then to the spoil, brave fellow.

Mes.
Spoil, my lord!
They have not left in all their camp one thing
An Englishman would lift—some flabby shoes,
Most villainous of make, with goatskin wallets,
And meazled bags stuff'd with unseemly bran.

Moore.
Ah, they are yare
And hardy knaves!—We are well rid of them.
Is Faucet safe?—And Howard, is he well?

Mes.
Howard is well, and urging the pursuit;
But ah, my lord, it grieves me to inform you,
Brave Faucet is no more.

Moore.
Has Faucet fallen?
'Tis then a costly victory for England!
We have no braver captain left behind.

Mes.
By the resistless Douglas he was slain,
Who bore down all before him.—When they met,
O never was such dread encounter seen!
The ranks paused and look'd on—But Faucet fell!
We bore him off, for at that time our troops
Began to reel amain—I by him stood
Till his last breath, and found him sore amazed,
And grievously perplex'd about somewhat
That did concern yourself, Sir Anthony:
“Ah, could I see him!—One short word with him
Would give my heart relief—But Collier will—
Collier will tell him all—Ah, should he not!—
Say unto Collier, he must tell him all;”
Were the last words he utter'd.

Moore.
What can this mean?—Can'st thou unriddle it?

(Collier beckons to the Messenger, who departs.)
Col.
Full well—Captain, thou hast a tale to hear
Will chill thy heart!—It is of Caroline.

Moore.
Talk not of her.

Col.
Yes, I must talk of her;
For ne'er was beauty, purity, and love
So foully, and so impiously belied.
Ay, thou may'st stare! List me, now thou art calm.
To hide the boldest and the deepest plot
That e'er by man was framed—a plot that brought
Proud Cecil to the dust, and raised up thee
With all thy friends, the falsehood was devised.
I knew it all.

Moore.
Then, Collier, thou art damn'd
If thou knew'st that—Oh, if this tale be true—

Col.
Sooth, my good lord, it is—There is no mind,
Nor mould that love can frame, or fancy draw,
More pure than Caroline Cecil.

Moore.
Then what a dolt, and what a wretch was I!
But I will love her in amends for this,
O doubly dear!—There is no speech nor tongue
Can paint how I will love my injured bride!
And I'll again love all the human race
For sake of Caroline!—Now I can think
With calmness on our nature, which erewhile
For days and nights hath quite unhinged the powers
Of memory, and shook the throne of reason.
Go, Collier, find her out and comfort her:
Say I have labour'd under sad derangement—
Say any thing to cheer her; but do not
Re-wound that kind and virtuous heart, by hint
That I believed her false.—I'll post away
To Benendine, and speed preparative
Such as hath never welcomed English bride.
Now I am well again with all mankind!
Set that intolerant spirit of ambition
Aside, and men are beings of regard.
And woman!—There is not on nature's face
Aught half so pure, so loving, and so sweet,
As I deem woman—and my heart exults
That such a feeling now revisits it.