University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Hall in a Castle.
Cecil, George.
Cecil.
Come hither, boy.—See'st thou this charge that bears
The royal seal and signature?

Geo.
I do: Pray what imports it?

Cecil.
Imports it, son!
Thou art a fallen, ruin'd, abject slave,
A vagrant on the earth's lean commonage;
Doom'd haply to manure or delve the soil
Thy father call'd his own.—Save this old heritage,
Our broad domains, our honours, and commands,
Are all bestow'd upon that varlet Moore,
That mean, that drivelling, undermining wretch!
I am outwitted, duped, and sore beset.—
But ere I'll stoop to bow the neck to him
And his old dotard sire, I'll brave the worst
That kings, mean parasites, or fiends, can muster.
I'll not be gallow'd by a royal thief,
With all his axes and his scaffoldings,
From most consummate vengeance.—Note me, son:
Small are the bounties I can now bestow;
But go, proclaim it 'mongst my followers,
I'll give my daughter, my loved Caroline,
With half of those poor lands I yet call mine,
To any one, the meanest of them all,
That will bring me the heart of that damn'd cozener,—
That Anthony Moore.

Geo.
The heart of Anthony Moore!—
Oh, honour'd father—

Cecil.
His heart, I say!—Other equivalent
I'll none of—I'll not take head, hand, limb,
Nor any superfice—I'll have his heart!—
I'll have his heart!—
Enter Ralph.
Avaunt, thou dull intruder.
How darest thou rush upon my privacy,
Thus madly staring, without ceremony?
What is't alarms thee now?

Ralph.
O, honour'd sire,
Here do we stand in momentary peril.
Some hellish plot has crept within our walls
And there finds fosterage; for, by this light,
I saw young Moore, the heir of Benendine,
Our most avow'd and mortal enemy,
Steal from our porch in deep disguise, and fly
Like thief across the field.

Cecil.
Hah! He within my walls, and 'scape with life!
Out on thee, craven!—To your arms!—Holloa!—
Get me a steed—Let all the bloodhounds loose—
Ye're traitors all!—Speed the pursuit, I say.

Ralph.
My lord, pursuit is vain; before this time
He's past the bounds of Exeter, and safe.

Cecil.
Ay, ay, I ween'd so—It is always thus.
Each one of you combine to thrall your father,—
To mortify and wound him.—It is well!—
It seems as if the fiends of darkness were
Let loose, and did combine with God and man
To wrack and crush the old grey-headed Cecil.—
He'll brave them all!—Will he not do it?—Yes.
He braves them all!—Ugh!—Do all your worst!

Geo.
O patience, my loved father.

Cecil.
Canting driveller!
Thy soul was motion'd for some crazed monk
That reads dry homilies—Talk to me of patience!
Who late held king and country at my nod,
And now am caged and trampled on by dogs.
Go call up all my slaves—I'll search their souls,
And learn who's in connivance with this Moore.

Ralph.
That thou hast need to do. I'll bring them all.
(Exit Ralph.)

Cec.
To me this stratagem's inexplicable.
'Tis for no good—Here have I taken hold
In my old patrimonial home, and must I
Be ferreted from thence, and hunted down
Upon the open field!—bay'd at by curs!
Enter Ralph, with Male and Female Servants.
George, seek the blockman—See that he be nigh,
Hell's usher with his clinchers and his tools
Yare at a carbonado—Bring the leech,
His is the only antidote for treason.—
Now, my right worthy liegemen, and chaste maidens;
Well tried and trusty gang! Who of you have
Leagued with my foe, that Moore of Benendine,
Against my life?—Declare—for see who comes.

Enter George with the Executioner.
1st Man Ser.
It was nought me, my guod luord, I wote.

2d Man Ser.
Nor me, plaise your guod luordship.

3d Man Ser.
Nor me, &c. &c.

1st Maid Ser.
(Coming forward curtseying.)
Believe me, my good lord, it wes not I.

Cecil.
(Enraged, mimicking.)
—Ah! wes it not, good madam?
None more like—No one more like
Than such as you to league with such a flasher.
(Growls.)
Ugh!—Get thee gone, thou stalk of gilt corruption!
Thou mouse!—thou doll!—thou babyclout!—away
Out of my sight!—So! 'Twas not you?
Nor you?—Nor you?—Nor you?—No, no,
'Twas none of you!—He of himself alone
Got in and out; and with himself held converse
Throughout the night.—'Tis plain 'twas none of you!
—Damn'd knaves! you're guilty all,
I see it in your looks—I'll have you manacled,
Rack'd, and, one after one, your heads chopp'd off
Till you confess your plot.

Omnes Servants.
(Crying aloud.)
Oh!—Oh what shall we do!

Enter Caroline.
Car.
What means this rout?—My father, thou hast been
Doing somewhat in wrath—in blindfold rage,
Which ever and anon thou dost amiss—
Where lies the offence?

Cecil.
O my loved Caroline!
Thou only sweetener of my life—we're sold.
That herd hath leagued with our insatiate foe,
Cursed Moore of Benendine, to slay us all.
Late was he seen among them; meanly skulking
Among that scum, planning our final ruin.
O, I'll have such ripe vengeance on the crew!

Car.
Now, on my life, 'tis wide misprision all.
Are these the looks of guilt?—these guilty things?
Would I were sure of bliss as of their honesty;
They have not so much mind among them all
As fathom plot for robbing of a roost.

Servants.
What madam says is true, good measter.

Car.
Go, go, poor knaves. Dismiss them to their work,
I stand their bail till farther proof appear.

Cecil.
Thou art the only one on earth, my Caroline,
That I think loves me; therefore at thy suit
I free them now, but they shall well be look'd to.
(Exeunt Servants, who bow to Caroline, and kiss her hand or robe as they pass.)
Ah, Caroline! thy heart is blameless pure.
Thou feel'st thou would'st not league against thy father,
Nor with his hated foes hold intercourse
For nought on earth, and thou think'st all are so.
Poor girl! thou little know'st the ways of men,
Their craft and their deceit!—We must beware,
For this intrigue is of no trivial kind.

Enter Servant, giving a letter.
Ser.
My lord, a henchman gave this in great haste,
Then turn'd and rode as it had been for life.

Cecil.
This is a poor device, to turn the blame
On those are innocent, and all suspicion
From the real caitiff—Hear what this informer,
This nameless, foul impostor writes to me.

(Reads.)
—“My Lord,—To crown all the injuries
you have sustained, and as a last and final indignity,
young Moore of Benendine hath seduced
your daughter by means of a sham marriage. While

I write, he is, to my wotting, in her chamber; and,
if my page's steed holds good, this may reach
your hand before he quits it. The power and influence
of Moore are now so rank and unpruned,
I am forced to conceal my name, but am ever

“A Friend to the house of Cecil.”

(Long pause—Caroline trembles and droops.)
Cecil.
How's this, my children?—Say—Ralph, didst thou see him?
Art' sure thou saw'st him steal from hence this morning?
(Ralph bows; and Cecil turns his eyes slowly and fearfully round on Caroline,—then with fury.)
Ha! Dost thou tremble, girl?—
No, no! It is my aching sight—
Thou dost not tremble—but if thou dost, fly, fly, fly.
No, no! I wrong thee much—thou dost not tremble.
Come near me, smile on me, and swear to me,
Swear by all sacred, and last by thyself,
Thou art not wed, nor sawest Moore last night.
How!—What!—Art thou about to kneel?
(Caroline kneels.)
O do not kneel—presume not, for thy soul!—
Art' going to confess?—O God! O God! O God!
(Raising his closed hands and eyes slowly upwards, and repressing his voice.)
I braved you late, but little ween'd the pangs
You had reserved for a weak proud old man!
This is the last shall reach him thus—Son George,
Bring me my sword—Indignity!
Final indignity, the writer term'd it.
'Tis well!—'Tis consummate!—
Did I kiss that polluted thing to-day?—
Did I embrace her?—I have seen the time
That I would shudder if I saw a toad!
I erst have never seen one!—Out on't, boy!
Why bring'st thou not my sword? Can'st thou not see
That some of us are too long here?—A father!
He that to morrow says I am a father!—
Father to what?—Oh! Oh!

(Exit frenzied.—Caroline still kneeling, her Brothers greatly affected.—Scene closes.)