University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

A small dark chamber, with a low couch near the front of the stage, on which Alwy is discovered asleep. Enter Ethwald with a haggard countenance, bearing a lamp.
Ethw.
He sleeps—I hear him breathe—he soundly sleeps,
Seems not this circumstance to check my purpose,
And bid me still to pause? (Setting down the lamp.)

But wherefore pause?
This deed must be, or, like a scared thief
Who starts and trembles o'er his grasped store
At ev'ry breezy whisper of the night,
I now must wear this crown, which I have bought
With brave men's blood, in fields of battle shed.
Ah! would that all it cost had there been shed!
This deed must be; for, like a haggard ghost
His image haunts me wheresoe'er I move,
And will not let me rest.
His love hath been to me my bosom's sting;
His gen'rous trust hath gnaw'd me like a worm.
Oh! would a swelt'ring snake had wreath'd my neck
When first his arms embraced me!
He is by fortune made my bane, my curse,
And, were he gentle as the breast of love,
I needs must crush him.
Prison'd or free, where'er he breathes, lives one
Whom Ethwald fears. Alas! this thing must be,
From th' imaged form of which I still have shrunk,
And started back as from my fancy's fiend.
The dark and silent cope of night is o'er us,
When vision'd horrors, through perturbed sleep,
Harden to deeds of blood the dreamer's breast;
When from the nether world fell demons rise
To guide with lurid flames the murd'rer's way.
I'll wake him now; should morning dawn upon me,
My soul again might from its purpose swerve. (In a loud energetic voice.)

Alwy, awake! sleepest thou? sleepest thou, Alwy? (Alwy wakes.)

Nay, rouse thyself, and be thou fully waking.
What I would say must have thy mind's full bent;
Must not be spoken to a drowsy ear.

Alwy
(rising quickly).
I fully am awake; I hear, I see,
As in the noon of day.

Ethw.
Nay, but thou dost not.
Thy garish eye looks wildly on the light,
Like a strange vistor.

Alwy.
So do the eyes of one pent in the dark,
When sudden light breaks on them, though he slept not.
But why, my lord, at this untimely hour,
Are you awake, and come to seek me here?

Ethw.
Alwy, I cannot sleep: my mind is toss'd
With many warring thoughts. I am push'd on
To do the very act from which my soul
Has still held back: fate doth compel me to it.

Alwy.
Being your fate, who may its power resist?

Ethw.
E'en call it so, for it, in truth, must be.
Knowst thou one who would do a ruthless deed,
And do it pitifully?

Alwy.
He who will do it surest, does it best!
And he who surely strikes, strikes quickly too,
And therefore pitifully strikes. I know
A brawny ruffian, whose firm clenched gripe
No struggles can unlock; whose lifted dagger,
True to its aim, gives not a second stroke!

Ethw.
(covering his face hastily).
Oh! must it needs be so? (Catching Alwy eagerly by the arm.)

But hark thee well!
I will have no foul butchery done upon him.

Alwy.
It shall be done, e'en to the smallest tittle,
As you yourself shall order.

Ethw.
Nay, nay! do thou contrive the fashion of it,
I've done enough.

Alwy.
But, good my lord! cast it not from you thus:
There must be warrant and authority
For such a deed, and strong protection too.

Ethw.
Well, well, thou hast it all: thou hast my word.

Alwy.
Ay, but the murder'd corse must be inspected,
That no deceit be fear'd, nor after doubts;
Nor bold impostors rising in the North,
Protected by your treach'rous Thanes, and plum'd,
To scare you afterwards with Edward's name.

Ethw.
Have not thine eyes on bloody death oft look'd?
Do it thyself.

Alwy.
If you, my lord, will put this trust in me,
Swear that when after-rumours shall arise,
As like there may, your faith will be unshaken.

Ethw.
Yes; I will truly trust thee— (Vehemently, after a short pause.)

No, I will not!
I'll trust to no man's vision but mine own.
Is the moon dark to-night?

Alwy.
It is, an please you.

Ethw.
And will be so to-morrow?

Alwy.
Yes, my lord.

Ethw.
When all is still in sleep—I hear a noise.

Alwy.
Regard it not, it is the whisp'ring winds
Along those pillar'd walls.

Ethw.
It is a strange sound, though. Come to my chamber,
I will not here remain: come to my chamber,
And do not leave me till the morning break.
I am a wretched man!

[Exeunt.