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THE BATTLE of HASTINGS, A TRAGEDY. By RICHARD CUMBERLAND, Eſq AS IT IS ACTED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

LONDON. PRINTED FOR EDWARD AND CHARLES DILLY, IN THE POULTRY. MDCCLXXVIII. [PRICE ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE.]

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]

MEN.

HAROLD, King of England,: Mr. BENSLEY.
EDGAR ATHELING,: Mr. HENDERSON.
EARL EDWIN,: Mr. PALMER.
EARL WALTHEOF,: Mr. BRERETON.
EARL of MERCIA, Brother to Harold,: Mr. NORRIS.
EARL of NORTHUMBER⯑LAND,: Mr. AICKIN.
SIFFRIC,: Mr. FARREN.
REGINALD,: Mr. CHAPLIN.
RAYMOND,: Mr. HURST.
DUNCAN, a Scottiſh Seer,: Mr. CHAMBERS.

WOMEN.

MATILDA, Daughter to Harold,: Miſs YOUNGE.
EDWINA,: Mrs. YATES.
SABINA,: Mrs. COLLES.

Attendants on MATILDA, Guards, Foreſters, Wardens, and various Attendants.

PROLOGUE.[]Spoken by MR. HENDERSON.
TO holy land in ſuperſtition's day,
When bare foot pilgrims trode their weary way,
By mother church's unremitting law
Scourg'd into grace, with ſhoulders red and raw;
Kneeling demure before the ſacred ſhrine,
On the hard flint th [...]y begg'd the boon divine;
Pardon for what offending fleſh had done,
And pity for the long long courſe they'd run,
Fines, pains and penalties, ſecurely paſt,
Slow pac'd forgiveneſs met their prayer at laſt,
Full abſolution from conceeding Rome,
Cancell'd all ſin, paſt, preſent and to come.
Your Poet thus prophanely led aſide
To range o'er Tragic land without a guide,
To pick perhaps, with no invidious aim,
A few caſt fallings from the tree of fame.
Damn'd, tho' untried, by the deſpotic rule
Of the ſtern Doctors in detraction's ſchool;
Laſh'd down each column of a public page,
And driv'n o'er burning ploughſhares to the ſtage,
Be rhim'd, be ridicul'd with doggrel wit,
Sues out a pardon from his Pope—the Pit.
Penſive he ſtands in penitential weeds,
With a huge roſary of untold beads;
Sentenc'd for paſt offences to rehearſe,
Ave Apollo's to the God of verſe;
And ſure there's no one but an Author knows
The Penance, which an Author undergoes.
If then your worſhips a few ſtripes award
Let not your beadles lay them on too hard;
For in the world there's not a thing ſo thin,
So full of feeling, as your Poet's ſkin:
What if, perchance, he ſnatch'd a playful kiſs
From that free hearted romp the Comic Miſs;
That frolick's paſt, he's turn'd to years of grace,
And a young ſinner now ſupplies his place.
Sure you'll not grudge a little ſober chat
With this demure old tabby Tragic cat;
No charge lies here of converſation crim
He hopes you'll think her fame, no worſe for him.

EPILOGUE.[]Spoken by MISS YOUNGE.
FROM ancient Theſpis to the preſent age
The world hath oft been term'd a public ſtage,
A thread-bare metaphor, which in its time
Hath patch'd much proſe and heel-piec'd many a rhime;
Ev'n the grave pulpit ſometimes deigns to uſe
The emphatic terms of the proſcribed Muſe,
Calls birth our entry, death our exit calls,
And at life's cloſe exclaims—the curtain falls;
And ſo concludes upon the drama's plan
That fretting, ſtrutting, ſhort-hour actor, man.
Are we all actors then?—yes, all from Adam,
And actreſſes?—I apprehend ſo Madam.
Some fill their caſt with grace, others with none,
Some are ſhov'd off the ſtage, and ſome ſhov'd on;
Some good, ſome bad, ſtill we all act a part,
Whilſt we diſguiſe the language of the heart;
Nature's plain taſte provides a ſimple treat,
But art, the Cook, ſteps in and mars the meat;
The comic blade makes ridicule his teſt,
And on his tomb proclaims that life's a jeſt,
The ſwaggering braggart, in true tragic caſt,
Bellows blank verſe and daggers to the laſt;
Whilſt clubs of neutral petit-maitres boaſt
A kind of opera company at moſt,
Whoſe dreſs, air, action, all is imitation,
A poor, inſipid, ſervile, French tranſlation;
Whoſe tame dull ſcene glides uniform along,
In comi—farei—paſtoral—ſing—ſong—
'Till all awaken'd by the rattling die
Club wits, and make—a modern tragedy;
A tragedy alas! good friends, look round,
What have we left to tread but tragic ground?
Four authors leagu'd to ſhake the human ſoul,
Unſheath the dagger, and infuſe the bowl,
At length deſcending to the leaſt, and laſt,
We hope the terror of the time is paſt,
Full ſated now with battle, blood, and murder,
England is conquer'd—fate can reach no further,
Bid then the weeping Pleiads dry their eyes,
And turn to happier ſcenes and brighter ſkies.

[]THE BATTLE of HASTINGS, A TRAGEDY.

ACT I. SCENE I.

The Outſide of a ſtately antient Caſtle. The Gate cloſed, and the Bugle in the Slings.

Time before Break of Day.

(Earl EDWIN enters.)

EDWIN.

WHETHER 'tis now the ſecret witching hour,

When the ſmart imps work their malignant ſpells

Unfriendly to man's health, or that Heaven ſends

Theſe warnings, theſe miſgivings to forerun

And harbinger ſome ſtrange calamity,

I know not; but there's ſomething paſſing here

Beyond the mind's conjecture ominous.

[2](RAYMOND ſpeaks from the Walls.)

RAYMOND.

Stand! Who goes there?

EDWIN.

A friend.

RAYMOND.

May none but friends

Approach theſe gates? what wakeful man art thou,

Whom buſy care provokes thus early forth,

Ere the grey twilight glimmers in the eaſt?

EDWIN.

Know'ſt thou not me; and needs there light for that?

Sounds not this voice familiar to thine ear,

Or have the darkling wizzards of the night

Confounded thy clear organs? Thee I know;

Raymond, deſcend and open to thy Lord.

RAYMOND.

My Lord, my Maſter!—

He diſappears.

EDWIN

alone.

Venerable pile,

Whoſe plain rough features ſhew like honeſty▪

Cradle of loyalty from earlieſt time;

Ye antique towers, courts, banner-bearing halls,

Trophies and tombs of my renown'd forefathers;

And you, ſurrounding oaks, fathers and ſons,

And old old grandſires, chroniclers of time,

By which the foreſt woodman marks his tale,

If fate will doom you to a Norman maſter,

Farewell, ye periſh in your country's fall.

Raymond comes out from the caſtle.

RAYMOND.

[3]

See, Lord, your caſtle opens wide it's arms,

Your porters, warders, foreſters ſhall rouſe:

Herald, provoke the bugle: ſpread the joy.

Herald goes to ſound the bugle.

EDWIN.

What joy? forbear: there is no joy for Edwin.

RAYMOND.

Are we then loſt; is Normandy victorious?

EDWIN.

No: in the ſwoln and pregnant womb of fate

Lies the yet unborn hour.—Diſmiſs the herald,

And gently cloſe the gate.—

Raymond cloſes the gate.

Ye, who have boſoms,

Unſcarr'd by ſharp vexation's thorny ſcourge,

Sleep while you may. 'Tis well; come hither, Raymond;

Nay, I account thee as a friend—be nearer:

Paſs'd all things quiet on thy watch this night?

RAYMOND.

All things were quiet.

EDWIN.

Far, as well as near;

Wide as thine ear could carry? no rude ſtraggler

Scowring the night? no neighing at the gate?

No trampling heard? no talking, as of parties

Met by aſſignment?

RAYMOND.

[4]

Hah! in very truth

To all theſe queſtions, no.

EDWIN.

I muſt believe thee;

The more I'm loſt in wonder: but confeſs,

At my laſt queſtion wherefore didſt thou ſtart,

And arch thy brow ſignificantly? ſpeak;

Thou may'ſt reveal thy thoughts.

RAYMOND.

Nay, good my Lord,

My thoughts are little worth.

EDWIN,

I ſee thou'rt cautious,

So let it paſs—How fares our ſiſter? blooms

The roſe of health freſh on Edwina's cheek,

As it was wont?

RAYMOND.

It brightens, as it blows.

EDWIN.

Yes, Raymond, ſhe is fair; Heaven for the ſins

Of this offending country made her fair;

Oh, I had treaſur'd up ſuch thoughts!—But mark,

Edmund; the youth whom I have father'd, he,

Who in the beating ſurge of black deſpair,

But for my ſaving arm, had ſunk outright

And periſh'd fathoms deep, laſt night i'th' camp,

Soon as the guard had gone it's ſtated round,

[5]Vaulted the trench like Perſeus on his ſteed,

Then fled, as if he'd overtake the wind,

Whither heav'n knows.

RAYMOND.

Fled; death to honour, fled!

EDWIN.

Fled at this glorious criſis. Oh, it cuts

My heart's beſt hope aſunder!

RAYMOND.

Heavenly vengeance

O'ertake and ſtrike him—!

EDWIN.

Peace!—You muſt not curſe him.

RAYMOND.

Hah! wherefore not?

EDWIN.

Becauſe—expect a wonder—

Becauſe he is thy king.

RAYMOND.

Uphold me, heaven!

EDWIN.

Mine and thy king; of Alfred's line a king;

Edgar, call'd Atheling; the rightful lord

[6]Of this ingrateful realm, which Kentiſh Harold

Audaciouſly uſurps—

RAYMOND.

What do I hear?

Alas I thought him poor, an orphan youth

The child of hard misfortune.

EDWIN.

Think ſo ſtill,

Or keep theſe thoughts untold.

RAYMOND.

Had I known this,

I wou'd have ſerv'd him hourly on my knees:

O noble ſir, direct me where to ſeek him,

How to reſtore him to theſe peaceful ſhades.

EDWIN.

Not for the world; no, if we meet again,

Back to the Engliſh camp he ſhall repair;

The ſcene of all his hopes: Oh ſuch a form

Of majeſty with youthful beauty grac'd,

He was the ſoldier's idol; ſuch a ſpirit

Beam'd from his eyes, his preſence like the ſun

Gladden'd beholders hearts.

RAYMOND.

I have a miſtreſs,

A young and beauteous lady—

EDWIN.

Name her not,

The ſource of all my ſhame: Shall it be ſaid

[7]That Edwin rais'd his ſovereign to the throne,

Only to place a ſiſter at his ſide?

Periſh the thought! Now learn a mighty ſecret—

Matilda loves him; Harold's matchleſs daughter

Loves Edgar Atheling; her dower a kingdom:

Therefore no talk of Edmund and Edwina,

They meet no more. Now, Raymond, had I lodg'd

My ſecret in a light and leaky boſom,

Better my ſword ſhou'd rip it up at once

And take it back again—But thou art honeſt.

RAYMOND.

You were not wont to doubt me.

EDWIN.

Nay, I will not.

Hah! what is this? who bade this muſic forth?

Clarinets at a diſtance.

RAYMOND.

My lord, I know not.

EDWIN.

Whence proceeds it? Mark.

RAYMOND.

If my ear fail not, from the beachen grove,

Weſt of king Alfred's tower.

EDWIN.

Lead to the place.

Exeunt.

[8]Edgar enters with foreſters bearing clarinets.

EDGAR.

Now breathe a ſtrain, if your rude ſtops will let you,

Soft as a lover's ſigh—Nay, you're too loud—

Mark, where you've rous'd the gentle ſleeping deer.

Fellows, begone; away!—Edwina!

Edwina appears at a window.

EDWINA.

Edmund!

Oh, I have ſuffer'd a long age of abſence.

EDGAR.

Come then and make theſe few ſhort moments bleſt.

EDWINA.

How ſhall I come? Tear down theſe iron bars

And leap into thine arms? What ſhall I do?

EDGAR.

Goes to the caſtle gate and diſcovers it to be open.

By all my hopes, the caſtle gate is open;

Deſcend; be ſwift!

EDWINA.

As thine own thoughts.

She diſappears.

EDGAR.

[9]

(alone.)

O Love,

Small elf, who by the glow-worm's twinkling light,

Fine fairy-finger'd child, can'ſt ſlip the bolt,

While the cramm'd warden ſnores, this is thy doing.

Lo, where ſhe comes, ſo breaks the morning forth,

Bluſhing and breathing odours—

(Edwina appears)

O thou trembler,

Reſt on my faithful boſom; faireſt, tell me,

Still doſt thou love? ſpeak, is thine Edmund welcome?

EDWINA.

Is the ſun welcome to the wakeful eyes

Of the wreckt mariner, when o'er the waves

The long-expected dayſpring of his hope,

Mounts in the worſhipt eaſt—But why comes Edmund

Thus wrapt in darkneſs at this ſecret hour

As to a guilty meeting?

EDGAR.

'Tis the hour

Sacred to love and me, ere noiſy labour

Wakens the ſun, while yet the fairy elves

Dance in their dewy rounds; the ſilent hour

Before the lark her ſhrill-ton'd matins ſings,

Or morning iſſues from the nuptial eaſt,

And to the boſoms of the nurſing hours

The new-born day commits: It is the hour

When every flying minute ſhould be wafted

Back to the ſkies on downy wings of love.

EDWINA.

[10]

Away, your words affright me; you conſort

With mad ambition, Edmund, and your love

So gentle once, is like the wars you follow,

Fiery and fierce.

EDGAR.

Inſtruct me in thy wiſhes;

Tell me what love ſhou'd be.

EDWINA.

Love ſhou'd be pure,

Harmleſs as pilgrims kiſſes on the ſhrines

Of virgin martyrs; holy as the thoughts

Of dying ſaints, when angels hover o'er them;

Harmonious, gentle, ſoft; ſuch love ſhou'd be,

The zephyr, not the whirlwind, of the ſoul.

EDGAR.

Yes, but my love, like never-ending time,

Will neither be determin'd, nor deſcrib'd.

The poet by the magic of his ſong

Can charm the liſt'ning moon, aſcend the ſpheres,

And in his airy and extravagant flight

Belt wide creation's round; yet can he never

Invent that form of words to ſpeak my paſſion.

EDWINA.

If ſuch your paſſion, why this ſecret meeting;

Why talk of ſilent hours? Let earth and heaven

Look on and witneſs to your love! ſo truth,

So nature ſpeaks; I know no other language.

EDGAR.

[11]

Oh, that the throne of this proud realm were mine,

That I might ſay before the applauding world,

Aſcend, my lovely bride, and be a queen.

EDWINA.

A queen! what idle dreams perplex thy fancy?

Are there no bleſſings for the poor and humble?

EDGAR.

Yes, but a brother's curſe—

EDWINA.

A brother's curſe!

Doth he not love thee, wait upon thee hourly,

Talk of thee ever, bend down his proud ſpirit

Ev'n to a vaſſal's homage? Nay, by heav'n,

With an idolatry of ſoul he loves thee;

And ſhall he not applaud me for my choice?

EDGAR.

He will renounce thee, hate thee for thy choice.

EDWINA.

Away, I'll not believe it: hate, renounce!

It cannot be; hence with this dark reſerve,

If thou know'ſtaught, which honour ſhou'd unfold,

I do conjure thee, ſpeak; tho' late, confeſs.

EDGAR.

By heav'n, thy brother—

[12](EDWIN enters haſtily.)

EDWIN.

Are you found, young ſir?

O ſhame, ſhame, ſhame! Is this the friend, the hero?

Have I deſerv'd this from you?

EDGAR.

If to love

The beſt, the faireſt of her ſex is baſe,

Vile and ingrateful; if it be a ſin

Morning and eve to name her in my prayers,

I am of all moſt guilty.

EDWIN.

You abuſe

The weakneſs of a fond unguarded orphan,

Parlying in ſecret by the moon's pale beam:

The tendereſt flower that withers at the breeze,

Or, if the amorous ſun but ſteal a kiſs,

Drops its ſoft head and dies, is not more frail

Than maiden reputation; 'tis a mirror

Which the firſt ſigh defiles.

EDGAR.

Look at that form;

With all thy cold philoſophy ſurvey it,

And wonder, if thou can'ſt, why I adore.

EDWIN.

Away, nor vex my too, too patient ſpirit

With this fond rhapſody: Hence, and to horſe!

Buckle afreſh your glittering armour on;

[13]For England, not Edwina, now demands you,

By your thrice-plighted oath I do conjure you,

By all the world calls honeſt, by your hopes,

Come to the camp; if you return not with me,

The ſun, which riſes yonder in the Eaſt,

Goes not more ſurely to his ev'ning grave

Than I to mine.

EDGAR.

Lo, I obey your ſummons,

Fierce flinty warrior! in yond beachen grove

Stands my capariſon'd and ready ſteed;

There on the trunk, whoſe living bark records

My lov'd Edwina's name, hangs up my ſword,

My mailed corſlet and my plumed creſt,

With all the proud apparel of the war:

When I am furniſh'd, I ſhall court admittance

To this fair preſence and implore a ſmile,

As my laſt parting boon, which if obtain'd,

Nor ſpells, nor taliſmans ſhall be ſo potent

To ſhield my boſom in the bleeding field,

As the ſweet magic of Edwina's eyes.

EDWINA.

If thou haſt love or pity in thy ſoul,

Return, and tell the reſt.

EDGAR.

O death, to part!

(Exit.)

EDWINA.

Now, ſtern admoniſher, I ſee my fate,

And I will bear it with what grace I can;

Not lightly, as philoſophers preſcribe

[14]To others, when themſelves are well at eaſe,

But deeply, feelingly, as one ſhou'd do,

Whoſe heart by nature and by love made ſoft;

With ſorrow and unkindneſs now is rent.

EDWIN.

You love and you avow it—righteous heav'n!

What is there in the ſcope of human means,

Which my providing foreſight hath not ſummon'd

To fence off this deſtruction? Loſt Edwina;

Hath not thy brother, like a faithful pilot,

Sounded this dang'rous coaſt, where rocks and ſhallows

Wait for the wreck of honour's coſtly freight?

Have I not pointed to the baneful quarter,

Whence cold and blaſting diſappointment blows

Withering thy beauty's bloom?

EDWINA.

Thou haſt, my brother,

Thou haſt done all that man cou'd do to ſave me,

But heav'n is over all.

EDWIN.

When laſt we parted,

Thou helpleſs orphan, what was then my caution?

EDWINA.

You caution'd me againſt unwary love;

You warn'd me how I liſten'd, how I look'd,

'Twas a vain warning; I had look'd and liſten'd,

And whilſt I open'd my weak heart to pity,

I let in love withal.

EDWIN.

[15]

You let in madneſs.

EDWINA.

Did you not pity? I have ſeen your eyes,

Unus'd to weep, turn fountains as they gaz'd!

Did you not love? Your very ſoul was Edmund's;

I know you'll call it friendſhip; ſo did I,

But find too late 'twas love.

EDWIN.

Call it deſpair,

For hope it muſt be never; call it death.

Sure ſome malignant planet rul'd thy birth,

And thou art doom'd to nothing but diſaſter;

Three nights and days thy widow'd mother travail'd

With fruitleſs pangs, the fourth ſucceeding morn

She bleſt her new-born murderer and expir'd;

Then, as 'tis ſaid, my father's ſhade did walk;

Then on the weſtern tower the ominous owl

Scream'd at mid-day, the faithleſs miſletoe

From its maternal oak untwin'd its arms,

And dropt without a blaſt.

EDWINA.

No more; but ſtrike;

Mine is the crime to be belov'd by Edmund:

Draw forth thy ſword and ſtrike it to my heart,

That rebel heart, which will not be commanded,

But, ſpite of death and Edwin, dares to love.

Why doſt thou pauſe?

EDWIN.

Strike to thy heart! O horror!

[16]Not if an angel viſibly deſcended,

And bade me give the blow.

EDWINA.

Wilt thou not kill me?

EDWIN.

By heav'n, I wou'd not harm thee to be Lord

Of ſea and earth.

EDWINA.

Then take me to thine arms,

For ſtill thou lov'ſt me; ſtill thou art my brother.

Embracing.

EDWIN.

I am thy brother ſtill; and hold thy love

Dearer than relicks of departed ſaints,

Richer than hoarded piles of worſhipt gold;

Come then and ſeek content in ſome calm dwelling,

Some ſilent convent from the world withdrawn,

Where pray'r and penance make atonement ſure,

Where meditation communing with heaven

Shall ſooth the rebel paſſions into peace,

Refine the ſoul and conquer love itſelf.

EDWINA.

Talk not of cells and convents; I am Edmund's.

EDWIN.

Thou muſt forget the very name of Edmund.

EDWINA.

His very name! why, for what cauſe? declare.

EDWIN.

[17]

There is a cauſe, a cauſe approv'd by heav'n,

And crown'd with deathleſs glory: Search no further;

This hour he parts; return thou to thy reſt—

When next [...]e meet, thou ſhalt applaud and thank me.

Go, go, Edwina—nay—It muſt be ſo.

Exit.

EDWINA.

(alone)

Why then it ſhall be ſo: Let him to battle;

Tear us aſunder—I can only die;

When I am gone, his fame ſhall be immortal.

So when the bleak and wintry tempeſt rends

The mantling ivy from the worſhipt ſides

Of ſome aſpiring tower, where late it hung;

The ſtately maſs, as with a ſullen ſcorn,

From its proud height looks down upon the wreck,

And diſencumber'd from its feeble gueſt,

Bares its broad boſom and defies the ſtorm.

EDGAR enters arm'd as for battle.

EDGAR.

Alone! O happy chance! at thy fond bidding

Obedient I return.

EDWINA.

Hah! what art thou?

EDGAR.

Doſt thou not know me? Am I not thine Edmund?

EDWINA.

[18]

Away! 'tis loſt—I muſt forget that name.

EDGAR.

Coin what new name thou wilt: Let me be any thing,

So 'tis but what you love, I ſhall be happy.

EDWINA.

Are theſe the ſoft habiliments of love?

This high proud plumage, theſe blood-ſtained arms?

Go to the miſtreſs whom you ſerve, Ambition;

And talk no more of love.

EDGAR.

By heav'n I love thee

More than the ſun-burnt earth loves ſoft'ning ſhowers,

More than new-ranſom'd captives love the day,

Or dying martyrs, breathing forth their ſouls,

The acclamations of whole hoſts of angels.

EDWINA.

Why then leaves Edmund what ſo well he loves?

EDGAR.

But to return more worthy of that love;

Can I, oh tell me, can thine Edmund ſleep

In theſe calm haunts, whilſt war's inſulting ſhout

Fills the wide cope of heav'n, and every blaſt,

That thro' this ſolitary foreſt howls,

Wafts to my ear my country's dying groans?

EDWINA.

[19]

If groans can move thee, why ſo deaf to mine?

Myſterious youth, or now at once reſolve me,

Or now for ever go; Who and what art thou?

Why does my brother wreſt thee from my ſight?

And why with that ſtern brow am I commanded

(Vain fruitleſs mandate) to forget my Edmund,

Forget thy very name and that dear hour,

When firſt he brought thee to theſe happy ſcenes?

What tender charges did he then impoſe!

How did his tongue run over in thy praiſe,

'Till, honouring Edmund for a brother's ſake,

I ſoon perceiv'd I lov'd him for his own.

EDGAR.

Oh, there is ſuch perſuaſion in thy looks,

I ſhall forget myſelf and tell thee all.

EDWINA.

'Twas then that Edwin told us thou waſt ſprung

From the beſt blood which England's Iſle cou'd boaſt;

He ſaid that thou waſt Edgar's neareſt friend,

That with his crown thy fortunes had been loſt;

Bade us revere thee, love thee as the king,

For that ſo cloſe an union knit your ſouls,

Edgar and thou were one.

EDGAR.

And truth he told,

For I am Edgar; I am England's king.

EDWINA.

King! thou the king!

EDGAR.

[20]

Be conſtant.—I am Edgar.

EDWINA.

After a pauſe, ſhe ſinks ſlowly on her knees.

The heavens confirm your right, and build your fortune

To its deſerved greatneſs; on my knees

I beg a bleſſing on you, but for pity

Mock me no more, it is not noble in you,

And tortures my poor heart.

EDGAR.

Hear me, Edwina.—

EDWINA.

Fly me, diſown me, leave me to my fate.

EDGAR.

No, by this fond embrace I ſwear to live

For thee alone; when I forſake Edwina,

Let me chronicled to lateſt ages

For vile and falſe.—Remember'd in thy prayers,

As with impenetrable armour fenc'd,

Fearleſs I part; faireſt, and beſt, farewel!

May each good ſpirit of the night and day

Watch round thee hourly!—England and Edwina!

End of the Firſt Act.

ACT II. SCENE I.

[21]

The Engliſh Camp. The royal Tent with the Banners of Harold unfurl'd.

EDGAR and EDWIN.

EDWIN.

EDMUND, your ſteed is feather-footed, light

As goſſamour, and you, methinks, did ride,

As you'd o'ertake the couriers of the ſky,

Hors'd on the ſightleſs winds: The camp yet ſleeps;

We have outſtript the hour.

EDGAR.

Mark, Edwin, mark,

How lovingly the ſtrumpet winds ſalute

Theſe ſlanting banners of the Earl of Kent:

Teach me ſome patience—O ye miniſtring ſtorms,

Where did you ſleep, while uſurpation grew

To this proud height?

EDWIN.

No more: remember, Sir,

You are a ſubject here.

EDGAR.

[22]

King Edmund's heir,

Can he be ſubject to Earl Goodwyn's ſon?

If thou wouldſt teach that leſſon, ſluice theſe veins

And let out Alfred's blood.

EDWIN.

You are too loud:

Here comes Northumberland, a fiery ſpirit,

Which fourſcore winters have not yet extinguiſht:

I pray you, though he be your houſe's foe,

Bear yourſelf gently tow'rds him, 'twill be wiſdom.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, SIFFRIC, WALTHEOF, and others.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

The king not forth yet! Oh, it is the ſoul

Of diſcipline to harneſs with the ſun:

Can'ſt thou not, Siffric, call to mind the day

When with a handful of Northumbrian kerns

I foil'd the king of Scots on Tweda's brink?

SIFFRIC.

'Twas on Saint Jude betimes.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

The grey-ey'd morn

Laugh'd to behold the vaunting ſluggard fly,

As we did hollow him with hunter's cries

Back to his native wilds. Soft, who are theſe?

The faction of young Edgar: Said you not

Theſe men had fled the camp—But ſee where comes

Mercia, the princely brother of our king.

[23]Earl of MERCIA with attendants.

MERCIA.

Warriors, well met: health and a happy morn!

And may the ſun, which dances on your plumes,

Still with new glories gild your conqu'ring brows!

The king not yet abroad! ſtill on his knees

For his dear people's ſake.—How wears the day?

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Prince, till our royal leader ſhall come forth

There is no day: Let him once found to battle,

On piles of Norman ſlain we'll build him altars

High as Olympus; in the battle's ſhout

We'll chant our morning oraiſons ſo loud,

That heav'ns high vault ſhall echoe with the peal.

EDGAR.

How valiant-tongu'd we are! heav'ns favor guard us,

And keep off the old adage!

EDWIN.

Be more patient,

And let his humour paſs.

EDGAR.

Hang him, vain dotard,

I ſicken at his folly.

EDWIN.

See! the King.

The curtain of the tent is ſuddenly drawn off, and King Harold appears: He comes forward.

KING.

[24]

Nobles, all hail. O ſight of joyful hope

For ſuffering England; patriot band of worthies

Confederate by the holieſt league on earth

To the beſt deareſt cauſe: How ſay you, friends,

Stand your hearts with us for immediate battle;

Do they all beat to the ſame martial meaſure,

And ſhall we forth at once?

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Forth! Strike the drums;

Seize your bright ſpears, my gallant countrymen,

And let us drive theſe hungry wolves before us

Home to their howling foreſts.

KING.

Valiant chiefs,

You hear Northumberland renown'd in arms:

Is there amongſt us one who wou'd incline

To meaſures of more caution?

SIFFRIC.

My dread Leige,

Well hath Northumberland advis'd for battle;

Of friends, of fame abandon'd be the man,

Who checks the warrior's ardour and impoſes

Vile coward fears beneath the maſk of caution.

EDWIN.

I muſt confeſs my reaſon is not caught

By empty ſounds, nor can I give my voice

For raſh, intemperate and immediate battle:

The foe, dread Sir, is ſixty thouſand ſtrong,

By hardy warriors led and train'd in arms:

[25]Snatch your bright ſpears; cries bold Northumber⯑land,

And chace theſe wolves—Alas, theſe wolves have fangs,

And will not fly for words.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Now by my life,

Edwin, thy heart is not with England's cauſe.

EDGAR.

Not with his country's cauſe! Northumberland▪

Wert thou as great as pagan Hercules,

And I no better than thyſelf, old man,

Ev'n ſuch a wither'd palſied thing as thou art,

Yet wou'd I tell thee to thy teeth 'tis falſe;

As wide as loweſt hell ſtands off from heav'n,

So do thy words from truth.

SIFFRIC.

Who talks of truth?

Where was your truth laſt night, when, like a ſpy,

Darkling, alone, and as you hop'd unſeen,

You leapt the trench and fled?

EDGAR.

Set out the liſts,

Life againſt life, then ſee if I can fly,

Thou daſtardly reviler.

KING.

Peace! and hear me:

Why haſt thou left our camp; where and with whom

Didſt thou conſume the night?

EDGAR.

[26]

Are there no hours

Amidſt a ſoldier's life ſacred to love,

To friendſhip, to repoſe? I am no traitor,

Nor this my noble friend; let it ſuffice

I come a voluntary friend to claim

The privilege of my progenitors,

And die for England.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Periſh he who would not!

This is the friend, my liege, of outlaw'd Edgar,

Of whom report prevails that he now harbours

Somewhere within this realm; let him be queſ⯑tion'd.

KING.

Not for another empire. O Northumberland,

By gentle habits let us draw mens hearts,

And bind them to us not enforcedly,

But lovingly and freely—Hark, our trumpet!

Welcome, brave Reginald, what ſays the Norman

To our defiance?

REGINALD enters.

REGINALD.

Thus he bids me ſay,

Tomorrow with the ſun he will expect you

Army 'gainſt army on the plains of Haſtings.

KING.

Hear ye this, lords? Oh turn upon the foe

Thoſe eyes that interchange their angry fires.

Shall it be ſo, brave friends? What ſays Lord Edmund?

EDGAR.

[27]

There is my gage: Tomorrow be our witneſs,

Who ventures faireſt in his country's cauſe,

Edmund or Siffric.

EDWIN.

When we're call'd to arms

For England's ſafety, private feuds ſhou'd ceaſe,

And every ſon unite in her defence.

KING.

Oh, let us bring one heart to this great cauſe;

Thus banded, who ſhall break us? To your poſts

As friends and ſoldiers; let diſſenſion die,

Learn ſilence of the foe, and keep good watch.

So farewel all?—Edmund.

Exeunt lords.

EDGAR.

What wills the King?

KING.

Stand at my ſide: Wou'd thou cou'dſt love me, Edmund,

As well as thou lov'ſt Edgar: Why doſt eye me

As thou wou'dſt meaſure me from heel to head?

I never did thee wrong: If thou haſt ſorrows,

Give them to me; I'm loaded hard with cares,

For I'm a King; thine is a private lot,

Thou may'ſt be free and happy. Gallant Earl,

Wilt thou commit thy noble charge to me?

I wou'd be private with him.

EDWIN.

Royal ſir,

The intereſt I have in him is thine:

Edmund, remember—

KING.

[28]

Follow me.

EDWIN.

Beware!

Exeunt King and Edgar.

As EDWIN is going out, Lord WALTHEOF, who had waited in the back ſcene, calls to him.

WALTHEOF.

Turn, noble Edwin; look upon a friend.

EDWIN.

A friend, Lord Waltheof?

WALTHEOF.

Have you then forgot

How oft in early youth on Avon's banks

We wak'd the echoes with our rural ſports?

Have you forgot our mutual binding oath

To royal Edgar's cauſe? Ev'n now my heart

True to its former fires expanded ſwells

And labours with a ſecond birth of love.

EDWIN.

Where was your oath on that lamented day,

When Severn's ſtream ran purple with the blood

Of Edgar's murder'd friends? Where was your love,

When at the ſide of ſtern Northumberland

You frown'd defiance at me? Art thou not

[29]The verieſt courtier that ere pag'd the heels

Of pride-ſwoln majeſty?

WALTHEOF.

Were I the wretch,

So ſupple to ambition's ſordid uſe,

So abject as thou mak'ſt me, what forbids

But I ſhou'd ſeize the lucky inſtant, fly

To the abus'd ear of the king and tell him—

EDWIN.

What wou'd'ſt thou tell him?

WALTHEOF.

What! that Edmund is—

But for the world's worth I'll not damn my honour:

Live Edgar but till Waltheof ſhall betray him,

And he muſt be immortal.

EDWIN.

Art thou faithful;

May I believe thee? Oh, if thou betray'ſt him

Hell hath not torments dire enough to plague thee.

WALTHEOF.

Come I am in thy boſom—Learn a truth;

This young Minerva, whom our Engliſh Jove

Leads to his wars—Matilda—ſhall be Edgar's.

EDWIN.

Come to my heart; I do believe thee loyal

And noble as I've known thee.

WALTHEOF.

[30]

Why ſhe loves him

To faſcination.

EDWIN.

Art thou ſure of that?

WALTHEOF.

Have I ſight, hearing, do I live and wake?

Her very ſoul is Edmund's.

EDWIN.

Grant ſhe loves,

Can we be ſure that he returns her love?

WALTHEOF.

Does the ſun warm the boſom that he ſhines on?

So muſt her beauty Edgar: Mark my project—

The king to ſuperſtition much inclines;

Peering in muſty prophecies and fables;

Conſulting with aſtrologers and ſeers,

Diviners and interpreters of dreams,

Omens and prodigies.

EDWIN.

'Tis ever thus

When the mind's ill at eaſe.

WALTHEOF.

There is at hand

An ancient ſoothſayer of Scottiſh birth,

Duncan his name; ev'n ſuch a man, ſo white

And reverend with age, as might impoſe

[31]Credulity upon the warieſt; him,

By the enthuſiaſtic monarch deem'd

Oracular, will I diſpoſe to ſpeak

Of Edgar and his right—

EDWIN.

Break off; behold

The princeſs comes.

WALTHEOF.

Look, Edwin, what a form

Of penſive majeſty: Mark'd you that ſigh;

Thoſe eyes, love's oracles? Poor ſtricken deer,

The ſhaft is in thy heart.

EDWIN.

Let us withdraw.

Exeunt.

MATILDA with her Attendants. A Guard.

MATILDA.

Soldier, retire; your charge extends no further.

Sabina!

The Guard goes off.

SABINA.

What commands my gracious lady?

MATILDA.

You told me on the way you had a ſuit;

What can my faithful handmaids aſk in vain?

SABINA.

[32]

'Tis for a ſtranger, not ourſelves, we aſk;

A virgin ſuitor of no vulgar mein,

But fair in ſpeech and feature; one who bears

The port and ſemblance of illuſtrious birth,

Tho' ſorrow-ſtruck and waining with deſpair.

MATILDA.

Have you denied her aught? ah, if you have▪

Or but demurr'd, me and yourſelves you've wrong'd

And forfeited heav'n's love: What is her ſuit?

SABINA.

In theſe rude times protection and admiſſion

Into our happy number.

MATILDA.

Bring her to us.

Exeunt all but Sabina.

Sabina, ſtay; there's pity in thine eyes,

If this poor ſtranger can provoke theſe drops,

My griefs will drown thee quite.

SABINA.

Alas, what woud'ſt thou?

MATILDA.

What would I? be the pooreſt thing on earth,

Poorer than her whoſe miſeries you weep for,

Be any thing, ſo I were free withal:

Then might I ſee him, wait upon him, watch

And pay him hourly worſhip. On our way

[33]As I did meet the king, and bent my knee,

As is my morning cuſtom, why, Sabina,

When I diſcover'd ſtanding at his ſide

Young Edmund's bright and blooming form be⯑fore me,

Why did my heart, as with a ſudden leap,

Spring to my trembling lips and ſtop my tongue,

That wou'd have beg'd a bleſſing? Every ſenſe

Revolted from its office; my rapt ſoul

Fled at my eyes; I fainted, ſunk and fell.

SABINA.

Ah fatal chance, that ever you ſhou'd ſee him!

MATILDA.

Deeper and deeper ſinks the mortal ſhaft;

My boſom's peace is loſt. Once I was happy;

Clear and ſerene my life's calm current ran,

While ſcarce a breezy wiſh provok'd its tide;

Down the ſmooth flood the tuneful paſſions fell

In eaſy lapſe and ſlumber'd as they paſs'd.

Now what a change is wrought! O love, in age

Thou art indeed a child, in power a God.

How now, What ſtranger's this?

EDWINA enters, introduced by the Ladies of MATILDA's train.

SABINA.

You have forgot,

The maid we ſpoke of.

MATILDA.

Pray you pardon me—

Stranger, approach and fear not. I can ſee

[34]Thou art not us'd to aſk, and yet thy looks

Plead moſt enforcingly: If thou doſt need

Such ſhelter as theſe humble coverings give,

Here in the rear of danger thou may'ſt dwell,

And join thy prayers to our's.

EDWINA.

Thanks, noble lady.

In yon fair vale, while peace was there, I dwelt:

One only brother chear'd my orphan ſtate,

And rich in flocks and herds ſerene we liv'd:

Him, the ſupport and ſolace of my life,

Stern duty's iron hand hath wreſted from me,

And ſomewhere in this mighty camp he wars.

What was for me deſerted and forlorn?

With one old faithful ſervant forth I came,

Led ſlowly on thro' unfrequented paths

To her, whoſe fame is bruited thro' the land,

Whoſe gentleneſs and pity climb heav'n's court,

Like an accepted ſacrifice.

MATILDA.

No more.

Praiſe undeſerv'd, what is it but reproach?

(This maid wou'd ſeem leſs noble than ſhe is)

Aſide.

How muſt I call thee, ſtranger?

EDWINA.

Athelina.

(O heav'nly god of truth, be not extreme

With thine offending creature, but accept

Neceſſity my plea.)

Aſide.

MATILDA.

Fair Athelina,

Such welcome as theſe angry times allow,

[35]Freely thou haſt: Ours is no life of eaſe;

We muſt awake before the morning dawn,

Or look to have our ſlumbers broke tomorrow,

When theſe vaſt armies which thou fee'ſt ſhall join,

Rending heav'n's concave with their rival ſhouts

In terrible confliction.

EDWINA.

Power ſupreme!

Whoſe word can bid the gathering clouds diſperſe,

Smooth the vext boſom of the furrow'd ſea,

And chain the ſtubborn and contentious winds,

When they unſeat the everlaſting rocks

And caſt them to the ſky, wilt thou permit

Thy creature man thus to deface thy works?

Or is he ſtronger and in leſs controul

Than theſe fierce elements?

MATILDA.

Baniſh complaint,

Take hope into thy heart, and every thought

Drive far away, that can infect the mind

With fear's unnerved ague. 'Tis the cauſe,

The cauſe, which ſanctifies the warrior's zeal;

It is our country's juſt maternal claim

On all her ſons to fight in her defence.

EDWINA.

I will not whiſper to the babbling winds

My ill-tim'd fears, but huſh them in my breaſt,

And ſmile on ſorrow, tho' my ſad heart break.

MATILDA.

Ah, am not I a woman like thyſelf?

Doth thy heart tremble for a brother's life,

[36]And ſhall a father's plant no cares in mine?

What haſt thou more at ſtake, unleſs perchance

Thy flocks and herds in yon ſequeſter'd vale,

Thy peaceful calm content outweighs a crown.

EDWINA.

Ah, Edmund, Edmund, why did'ſt thou forſake me?

MATILDA.

Whom doſt thou name?

EDWINA.

I pray you pardon me,

The ſad remembrance of an abſent friend

Drew after it a ſhort unheeded ſigh,

The laſt which I will utter.

MATILDA.

Much I fear

Thou haſt untold afflictions, ſecret griefs,

Which ſwell that boſom and provoke thoſe ſighs.

But, come, thy tender frame demands repoſe,

And theſe kind friends will lead thee to their tents.

Tomorrow, virgins, we muſt teach our throats

A loftier ſtrain, and to the ſounding harp

With ſongs of victory hail the riſing morn.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[37]

Scene as before.

EDWIN and WALTHEOF.

WALTHEOF.

LO, he hath dropt the curtain of his tent,

Which tokens privacy: Duncan is there;

I have arm'd the fiery zealot for the charge

With all the ſtars of heaven at his command,

To rouſe the ſleeping conſcience of the king:

That done, my turn ſucceeds to mount the breach

Where ſuperſtition enter'd, whelm his ſoul

With Edgar's wrongs, and then 'twixt hope and fear

Fix this fair project.

EDWIN.

Oh beware, Lord Waltheof,

In Edgar's veins runs the laſt hallow'd ſtream

Of royal Alfred's blood.

WALTHEOF.

[38]

What can defeat us?

Matilda's paſſion makes our purpoſe ſure;

And for the King—but hark, he's coming forth—

Exeunt.

DUNCAN comes haſtily out of the tent, followed by the King.

KING.

Stay, Duncan, ſtay!

DUNCAN.

Let me come forth.

KING.

Oh, ſpeak,

Oh anſwer me this once, prophetic Seer,

Shall we go forth and conquer?

DUNCAN.

Man of ſin,

Conquer thyſelf, take arms againſt ambition,

Drive that invader from thy heart, then talk

Of ſetting England free.

KING.

What is my ſin?

DUNCAN.

And doſt thou aſk? was it a trivial thing

From this fair vineyard to thruſt out the heir,

And rule by ſpoil and rapine?

KING.

[39]

I have ſinn'd;

Yet I've not ſlain him; ſtill young Edgar lives.

DUNCAN.

Lives he and doſt thou reign? Tho' thou ſhou'dſt bribe

Legions of holy men to weary Heaven

Early and late with never-ceaſing prayers,

Vain were their ſuit. Now mark me—All night long

From ſetting to the riſing ſun I watcht,

And on my aged knees put up loud prayers

And frequent for this hapleſs country's ſake—

HAROLD.

Heav'n grant thy prayers! ſay, what declare the ſigns?

DUNCAN.

Ev'n in that moment when the midnight ſphere

Central was pois'd, and yeſterday expir'd,

On the left ſhoulder of the northern bear

Thy natal ſtar aroſe! rayleſs and dim

And watery pale the horoſcope appear'd,

While from the threat'ning Eaſt the hoſtile Moon

Puſh'd thee with adverſe horns, red-mailed Mars

Flam'd in his planetary houſe, and ſcoul'd

With ſtellar rage aſkaunt.

KING.

Diſaſtrous ſigns!

What ſhall I do?

DUNCAN.

[40]

Repent!

KING.

With heart abaſh'd

And low as to the duſt I bow my head

To heav'n's rebuke and thine—What more? Oh ſpeak!

DUNCAN.

"Fight not till Edgar's found"—

KING.

Till Edgar's found?

But when and where? proceed.

DUNCAN.

"Thou haſt a daughter"—

I can no more: Who follows ſhall expound;

What he ſhall counſel, that purſue and proſper!

Exit Duncan.

KING

alone.

Fight not till Edgar's found!—So much is perfect:

Thou haſt a daughter—there the prophet ceas'd;

Who follows ſhall expound—Thus I am left.

This is thy fruit, Ambition; thus it ſeems

Poſſeſſions by ill deeds obtain'd, by worſe

Muſt be upheld or loſt; ſuch league and concord

T [...]ngs vicious hold, that treſpaſſing in one,

[41]We muſt offend in all; woe then to him,

Who from his neighbour's heap purloins a grain,

Yea but one grain; with ſuch ſwift conſequence

Crime follows crime, that none ſhall dare to ſay,

This and no more!

WALTHEOF enters unobſerv'd by HAROLD.

WALTHEOF.

Thus Iſrael's monarch ſtood,

With eyes ſo wedded to the penſive earth,

When at the fable's cloſe his conſcience ſmote him,

While the ſtern meſſenger of God pronounc'd,

Thou art the man!

KING.

Waltheof!

WALTHEOF.

What wou'd my liege?

KING.

Approach! in truth thou'rt welcome. I have ſeen

The old divining hermit, whom we met

Upon the eve of Standford's bloody day,

When Halfager with his Norwegian bands,

And traitrous Toſti fell beneath our ſwords.

WALTHEOF.

And gives he victory ſtill?

KING.

[42]

Atonement now

Is all his theme, and penitence for wrongs

To Edgar done.

WALTHEOF.

Hence with ſuch idle dreamers!

What are the viſions of the cloyſter'd monk,

The hermit's phrenſy, or the coward calls

Of backning Conſcience to ambition's charms?

KING.

Ambition's charms! Accurſed be the hour

When firſt they caught my weak unwary heart!

Full in my view the ſtately phantom ſtood,

Her ſtature charm'd me and the dazling height

Fir'd my young blood! I ſprung to her embrace;

The diſtance vaniſh'd and the ſteep aſcent

Sunk at the touch; ſhe with diſſembling ſmiles

And meretricious glances met my joys;

Upon my head ſhe plac'd a kingly crown;

But in the moment drew a ponyard forth,

And plung'd it in my heart.

WALTHEOF.

Ah, who ſhall envy

Another's greatneſs; call another bleſt,

When thus a king complains?

KING.

I tell thee, Waltheof,

Had I the world at will, I'd yield it up

To be at peace with heav'n.

WALTHEOF.

[43]

Alas, my liege,

Are there no gentler terms of peace with heav'n?

Methinks—but I offend perhaps and preſs

On too high matters—

KING.

I conjure thee ſpeak:

My doom is on thy lips; 'tis thou alone

That can'ſt expound my fate.

WALTHEOF.

Wou'dſt thou atone

For wrongs to Edgar done, and purge thy ſoul

From it's contracted guilt, Thou haſt—

KING.

Proceed—

Nor rack me with ſuſpenſe.

WALTHEOF.

Thou haſt a daughter—

KING.

What follows? there the prophet ceas'd— proceed.

WALTHEOF.

And need I add the reſt? Edgar—Matilda—

How thoſe ſoft names unite! there's muſic in them,

Might make the angrieſt ſtar in heav'n propitious.

KING.

[44]

Join them; eſpouſe them!—is it thus you counſel?

WALTHEOF.

If thus it pleaſe thee; think it elſe a ſound,

Which dies and is forgot.

KING.

Come to my boſom;

Thy voice to me is as the voice of heaven:

It ſhall be ſo; Edgar ſhall wed Matilda;

My darling child ſure will obey and bleſs me.

Men's hearts ſhall be mine own; theſe factious lords

Will all come in—

WALTHEOF.

Duncan ſhall chide no more—

KING.

My country ſhall be ſav'd—but where is Edgar?

Now by the virgin mother of our Lord,

A bow ſhall not be bent againſt the foe,

Nor a ſtone vollied from the ſlinger's arm

'Till Edgar ſhall be found.

WALTHEOF.

Then, ere the ſtar

Of evening ſhall ariſe, expect him here.

KING.

[45]

May I believe thee?

WALTHEOF.

If I bring him not,

Let my head anſwer.

KING.

I am whole again:

Now I have divination on my ſide;

Fight not, the prophet cried, 'till Edgar's found.

Lo! he is found, I may both fight and conquer.

O Waltheof, I do ſurely think that God

To wiſe and holy men ſometimes reveals

A portion of his councils: Here we part—

I to Matilda; you in ſearch of Edgar;

Whom if you bring, I live but to reward you.

Exit.

WALTHEOF

alone.

Thus do I ever make all men mine own,

And ſtill conforming to theſe changeful times,

Like ancient Janus double-fac'd, at once

Follow the ſetting, meet the riſing ſun.

Earl EDWIN

enters.

Welcome, brave lord, rais'd by the faireſt hand

In England's Iſle your prince aſcends the throne:

Harold by Duncan's holy arts prepar'd

With greedy joy adopts the royal youth.

EDWIN.

Thanks, pow'rful ſuperſtition, this atones

For all the miſchief thou haſt wrought on earth!

WALTHEOF.

[46]

Now in this awful interim, whilſt dread

And trembling expectation hangs on all,

Oh let us bring the light of England forth!

So ſhines the day-ſtar out, after rude ſtorms

Have ſhook the palſied night, and high in air

Hangs forth his glittering lamp to chear the world;

At ſight whereof the guilty waves ſubſide,

And the vext ſpirits of the deep diſperſe.

EDWIN.

Would'ſt thou diſcloſe the prince?

WALTHEOF.

Elſe all is loſt;

Vain is our hope, our reconcilement void,

The battle's loſt, and England is no more.

EDWIN.

Let me reflect—Suppoſe that I reveal'd

His paſſion for Edwina—

Aſide.

WALTHEOF.

Doubt not, Edwin,

Nor for an empty ſcruple caſt away

This ſacred moment, upon which depends

All that is dear, our king's, our country's fate,

Fame, virtue, freedom, all that we eſteem

Beneath the ſkies, all we expect above.

EDWIN.

Go! to thy charge, O Waltheof, I commit

The fate of Edgar and of England; Go!

Yet ſtay—reſolve me, haſt thou weigh'd the danger?

Haſt thou with wary eye lookt thro' the heart

[47]Of this ambitious man? Art thou right, ſure

There's no diſſimulation lurking there?

Swear to me this, as thou haſt hope in heaven,

And I will yield the prince.

WALTHEOF.

So heaven to me

Its loving mercy deal, as I believe

In very truth there's not on earth that thing

Of Harold ſo deſir'd, as this alliance.

EDWIN.

Go then ere I recall the word, begone!

Tell the uſurper—but thy own diſcretion

Will tutor thee more wiſely.—Hence! 'tis paſt.

Exit Waltheof.

EDGAR enters haſtily.

EDGAR.

Edwin, thou'ſt been conferring with lord Waltheof;

That man hath eyes which penetrate the heart;

And he of all our Engliſh nobles here

Knows me for Edgar; make him then thine own;

Print on his lips the ſeal of holy faith,

And keep my name ſacred as heav'n's own records

Lockt in thy breaſt.

EDWIN.

Prince, doſt thou love thy country?

Wou'd'ſt thou preſerve her matrons from diſhonor,

Her youth from ſlaviſh bonds and chace theſe ſpoilers

From her affrighted ſhore?

EDGAR.

[48]

Wou'd I? juſt heav'n

Thou know'ſt what I have done, and thou can'ſt tell

What more that ſpirit thou haſt giv'n wou'd do.

EDWIN.

Nay, 'tis no irkſome taſk. No toil, no danger,

But joy and love and glory crown the deed.

EDGAR.

No more, but to the point.

EDWIN.

In one plain word

Thus then I open all thy fate—Matilda!—

Nay ſtart not, Sir—thy tried and loving ſervant,

Edwin, thy ever faithful creature tells thee

That thou muſt wed Matilda.

EDGAR.

Hah! muſt wed!

What if I love her not?

EDWIN.

All men muſt love her.

EDGAR.

Muſt wed, muſt love! Away! Did the great maſter

Put in thy hand thoſe fine and ſecret ſprings,

Which guide the various movements of the ſoul?

Rouſe it to hate, or melt it into love?

No, there is that in every human breaſt,

Which heav'n made free and tyrants cannot reach.

EDWIN.

[49]

Wilt thou not meet the hand that lifts thee up

From low deſpair and ſeats thee on a throne?

EDGAR.

Periſh ambition! periſh every hope

Rather than this ſhould be!

EDWIN.

Go then, ye ſons

Of freedom, go! your ſacred birthright fell

To Norman maſters; hence, like ſcatter'd ſheep

Without a ſhepherd, for there's none to watch

But hirelings; he, the maſter of the flock,

Shrinks from his duty and forſakes the fold.

EDGAR.

Edwin, this patriot rage becomes thee well,

But let me glory in my choice, the crown,

Nay, was it mine, the world wou'd be Edwina's:

And know, I'd rather be the roving kern,

That prints Arabia's ſands with burning feet,

And ſend my heart amidſt the tawny tribes

To fix where love ſhou'd point, than be a king

To wed as ſordid policy preſcribes.

Exit.

EDWIN

alone.

Death to my hopes, he has no ſoul for empire.

Heav'ns! that a man born for a nation's glory,

Can ſell his birthright at ſo vile a price,

For ſuch a toy as beauty!—O Edwina,

(And muſt I call thee ſiſter?) fatal ſyren,

Thou haſt done this: If Waltheof ſees the King

Edgar is loſt; that, that muſt be prevented

[50]With my beſt ſpeed, for oh! I love him ſtill,

Still my heart tells me I wou'd die to ſave him.

Exit.

MATILDA and EDWINA.

MATILDA.

A little further yet—I ſee you wonder

Why I have brought you to this place apart:

It is becauſe a ſympathy of ſoul

Draws and unites me to you; 'tis becauſe

There ſits a weeping cherub in your eyes,

That ſilently demands why I am ſad,

And I muſt ſpeak to it: The worldly-wiſe,

Who ſlowly climb by cold degrees to friendſhip,

Such are my ſcorn; at ſight of Athelina

Affection from my breaſt ſprung forth at once

Mature as Pallas from the brain of Jove.

EDWINA.

Your bounty, like the ſun, warms where it ſhines.

And what it feels, inſpires.

MATILDA.

O Athelina,

I am ordain'd to miſery, ſoul-enſlav'd

And ſentenc'd ſore againſt the heart's proteſt

To wed and be a wretch.

EDWINA.

And who compels

Matilda! victim-like what tyrant drags thee

As to a pagan altar, there to offer

Conſtrain'd obeiſance, and put on the vow

As ſlaves do fetters with an aking heart?

MATILDA.

[51]

So wills my father; never till this hour

Did I behold him ſo poſſeſs'd with paſſion,

So terrible in wrath.

EDWINA.

O ſhame to nature!

And what is he 'mongſt Europe's kings ſo great,

That you of force muſt wed?

MATILDA.

Nor great is he,

Nor number'd amongſt Europe's kings, but one,

Of whoſe inheritance there is not left,

Save the free air he breathes, and one faint ſpark

Of ſickly hope, that viſits his ſad heart

To rack it with recollection of loſt right.

EDWINA.

What do I hear?

MATILDA.

Nay thou can'ſt never gueſs him;

The laſt, the loweſt in thy thoughts—

EDWINA.

Indeed!

MATILDA.

To ſum up my afflictions in a word,

'Tis Edgar Atheling.

EDWINA.

Heav'ns grace forbid it!

Have they diſcover'd him?

MATILDA.

[52]

Who; What's diſcover'd?

EDWINA.

Periſh the medling politic contriver,

Who ſet this miſchief going!—Oh if Edgar—

MATILDA.

Who talks, who thinks of Edgar? Thou'rt poſſeſt.

EDWINA.

Who can be patient and yet hear ſuch things?

The king commands! what then? will he com⯑mand

The ſoul and it's affections? Deareſt lady,

Your father tho' he be, is he ſo great

As to give law to nature?

MATILDA.

I am fixt:

Therefore be patient; had he aſkt my life,

I wou'd obey and grant it, but my heart

That is another's; I cannot beſtow

What I do not poſſeſs.

EDWINA.

Then you'll not wed—

MATILDA.

To Edgar never, be aſſur'd of that.

EDWINA.

Oh 'tis a deed will chronicle your name

In fame's eternal records; you diſdain

[53]To make a lying contract with your lips

And ſwerve with your affections; you are fixt;

You love another: Oh, may he you love,

(Kneeling I make it my moſt ardent prayer)

Be your reward and glory; live for you,

And you alone; and may you meet delights,

Pure as your virtue, laſting as your truth!

MATILDA.

Kind Athelina, thanks? bear with my weakneſs,

And let me tell thee all my love's fond ſtory

From the firſt hour I met him; the bright ſun,

Smote on his helm, which ſhot a fiery gleam,

That dazzled all the plain; before his troop,

Arm'd at all points, upon a ſnow-white ſteed

Graceful he rode; invention never yok'd

A fairer courſer to Apollo's car,

When with the zephyrs and the roſy hours

Thro' heav'n's bright portal he aſcends the eaſt,

And on his beamy forehead brings the morn.

EDWINA.

A ſnow-white ſteed! New terrors ſtrike my ſoul.

Aſide.

MATILDA.

At ſight of me he ſtopt, and from his ſteed

Active and feathery-light he leapt to earth.

EDWINA.

Give me your pardon; ſerves he in this camp?

MATILDA.

Yes, but report prevails, he left the camp

Laſt night o' th' ſudden; and this morn, 'tis ſad,

Being return'd, in preſence of the King,

[54]Some proud high-ſtomach'd lords did ſharply urge

And whet him to much rage; him and his friend

Earl Edwin.—

EDWINA.

Hah! 'tis he.

Aſide.

MATILDA.

Alas, what ſhakes you?

You ſtart and tremble, and your up-caſt eyes

Cling to heav'n's throne: Know you the youth I ſpeak of?

EDWINA.

As yet you have not told his name.

MATILLA.

'Tis Edmund.

EDWINA.

I had a friend and Edmund was his name,

But now that name's no more.

MATILDA.

You had a friend—

I knew it, Athelina; yes I ſaw,

I ſaw your ſorrows and I lov'd you for them;

Your friend is now no more—Alas! Tomorrow

May lay my Edmund low as your's; but I,

I ſhall not live, as thou haſt liv'd, to tell it.

Oh, were he Edgar, had he Edgar's birth,

My young, unknown, untitled, blooming ruſtic,

Did his blood flow—but what of that? My father

Reigns tho' a ſubject born, and ſo ſhall Edmund,

If virtue hath an intereſt in heaven,

And England's throne outſtands tomorrow's ſtorm.

EDWINA.

Indeed!

MATILDA.

No power can ſtir me.

EDWINA.

[55]

What if Edmund,

What if the youth you love perchance hath made

Some humbler fair his choice—

MATILDA.

Periſh the thought,

It brings diſtraction with it: I command you

Not to ſuppoſe he can prefer another;

I took you for my comforter, and lo

You fix a ſcorpion to my breaſt.

EDWINA.

A ſcorpion!

I pray you be not angry; I wou'd kneel

And beg a bleſſing for you; but alas,

Leaden affliction lies ſo heavy on me,

Imagination cannot ſtretch a wing

To raiſe me from the duſt.

MATILDA.

Nay, now you melt me;

Prithee go in, good maid, I am right ſorry

I ſpake ſo harſhly to you: Do not weep,

For my ſake do not—yet 'tis ever thus,

When the fond thought of ſome departed friend

Burſts unawares from memory's guſhing fount,

And in a flood of ſorrow whelms the ſoul.

Exeunt,

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

[56]

EDWIN and WALTHEOF.

EDWIN.

LORD Waltheof, if thou haſt not yet diſclos'd

The royal youth, forbear, I do revoke

The word I gave thee.—

WALTHEOF.

Why, on what pretence?

EDWIN.

Edgar commands it; he diſclaims ambition

And will not wed Matilda.

WALTHEOF.

Will not wed?

Edgar, the moſt forlorn loſt thing on earth,

Not wed Matilda? Strengthen my belief,

Some wonder-working power! It cannot be.

EDWIN.

By heav'n that knows my heart, I have aſſail'd him

With words, tears, menaces, entreaties, pray'rs;

But all all fruitleſs: he is fixt.

WALTHEOF.

[57]

For ſhame!

Some little grov'ling paſſion lurks about him,

Some vulgar village wench, whoſe ruddy health

And ruſtic manners fit his narrow ſoul,

And kindle ſomething he miſtakes for love.

EDWIN.

Reſtrain yourſelf, my lord; your rage tranſports you,

And yet to ſhow I ſcorn a mean diſguiſe,

I own, in bitterneſs of ſoul I own it,

Your charge in part is true; there is a maid,

But not of low degree, whom Edgar loves,

Fatally loves, but not of ruſtic manners

Or name ignoble.

WALTHEOF.

Whoſoe'er ſhe be,

Evil betide her beauty! ſhe hath poiſon'd

The deareſt hopes of a moſt bleſſed creature;

Accurſed as ſhe is, ſhe hath undone

The happineſs of one, with whom compar'd

She were an aethiop.

EDWIN.

Peace, unholy railer,

You know not whom you curſe—ſhe is my ſiſter.

WALTHEOF.

Thy ſiſter! Ah, is this well done, my lord?

Thus am I us'd? thus like your baſeſt lacquey,

Call'd and recall'd and fool'd at pleaſure? death!

I ſtand for Harold; him I ſerve; if Edgar

[58]Fondly prefers thy ſiſter to the crown

Of England and Matilda, be it ſo;

Let Edgar ſo declare it to the king,

I ſhall fulfil my promiſe.

EDWIN.

How, betrayer!

You paſs no more this way but thro' my guard.

You ſtand for Harold, you; for Juſtice I,

Draws his ſword.

For ſuffering innocence, for truth and Edgar.

WALTHEOF.

No more; put up your ſword; the king advances:

Thus to be found were death to both.

Exit.

EDWIN.

Away!

It is my cauſe that conquers, not my ſword.

Exit.

The KING enters follow'd by EDGAR.

KING.

Now if indeed thou art that loving friend

Of Edgar Atheling, which fame reports thee,

Lend me thy patient ear. Thou'rt not to learn,

How, when his grandſire good king Edmund died,

Our Engliſh nobles put him from his right;

And me a ſubject born, earl Goodwyn's ſon,

Call'd to the vacant throne; ſo call'd, of force

Obey'd I them, and by a king's beſt title,

My ſubjects free election, took the crown.

EDGAR.

[59]

And took you peace withal and fair content

And conſcious rectitude? You took the crown!

So would not I, tho' it had brought dominion

Wide as the world. Have you ſweet ſleep at nights?

Do no ill-omen'd viſions haunt your couch,

And ſmile the eyelids of the morn upon you,

When you ſalute the light?

KING.

Urge me no further:

I ſee thou'rt noble, and that manly plainneſs,

Which ſome wou'd ſhrink from, knits me cloſer to thee:

Nay I will own thou haſt call'd up a thought,

Which like unweildy armour weighs me down.

I do perceive ſhame and remorſe are handmaids,

That wait on guilt, as darkneſs on the night.

EDGAR.

Methinks there needs no oracle for this;

To tell me man is cruel, falſe, ambitious,

Full of groſs appetency and unjuſt,

Is to ſay man is man, a general truth,

To which your meaneſt centinel ſhall witneſs

As amply as myſelf: call in your camp,

Our conference needs no privacy; you ſay

Heaven goads the guilty breaſt, and well you ſay,

For goad it ſhall, or heav'n muſt not be heaven.

KING.

Give me thy patience: what thou yet haſt heard,

Think but the prelude to more weighty matter.

I have a daughter—need I call her fair,

Virtuous and full of grace?—my realm's ſole heireſs:

[60]Her, in reſpect of his deſcended right,

Tho' fortune-wreckt and bankrupt ev'n in hope,

Edgar ſhall wed.

EDGAR.

Shall wed?

KING.

Hah! doſt thou pauſe?

EDGAR.

No, if affection moves at thy command,

And love muſt follow where ambition points,

Edgar ſhall wed Matilda.

KING.

This to me?

EDGAR.

But if love owns no law but of the heart;

And if perchance ſome humbler maid hath drawn

Such vows from Edgar's lips, as honour frames

And fond believing innocence admits,

Then—

KING.

What then?

EDGAR.

Not upon the peopled earth,

No, nor above the clouds reſides that power,

Can wrench the conſcious witneſs from his heart,

And ſay to Edgar he ſhall wed Matilda.

KING.

[61]

What, ſhall a needy outlaw talk of love?

A beggar plead affections and reject

Her, to whom Europe's kings have knelt in vain?

EDGAR.

Yes, for ſince beggars have aſpir'd to crowns,

Kings have declin'd to beggars.

KING.

Hence, audacious,

Nor feign for Edgar, what were Edgar preſent

And known he dare not for his life avow.

EDGAR.

Know then 'tis Edgar ſpeaks, 'tis Atheling

Rejects your offer'd terms, with ſcorn rejects them.

KING.

Thou Edgar!

EDGAR.

I am Edgar.

KING.

Guards! arreſt him.

Guards advance.

Yet ſtay; a moment's pauſe: Let me be calm;

Collect thy ſcatter'd thoughts; we yet are friends.

EDGAR.

No, when I league with guilt and yield to fear

What honour ſhou'd withhold, heav'n ſhall meet hell,

[62]Things the moſt fierce and oppoſite in nature

Shall ſtart from their extremes and band together.

Fly to thy guards, defenceleſs and embay'd,

With only truth and juſtice on my ſide,

Both naked, both unarm'd, I do defy thee.

KING.

Doſt thou defy me? take back thy defiance,

With death to better it.

As Harold is giving the ſignal to the guard for ar⯑reſting Edgar, Matilda enters haſtily.

MATILDA.

Health to my father!

Why dart thine eyes ſuch angry lightnings forth?

Why ſtand theſe guards like hounds upon the ſlip?

Is this their victim? ah! can he offend?

Never look'd guilt like him; he errs perhaps

And with too bold a ſpeech affronts the ear

Of majeſty; a ſtranger is not bound

To all a ſubject's forms: Let me prevail;

Send him aſide and hear thy daughter ſpeak.

KING.

My daughter ſhall be heard; is there a thing

I ever yet denied thee? Lead him off,

And wait our pleaſure. —Hah! that look hath language.

As the guard lead off Edgar, Matilda looks tenderly at him.

Matilda, know'ſt thou him thou doſt ſurvey

With ſuch fond ſcrutiny?

MATILDA.

[63]

You bade me know him,

Protect and cheriſh; by his youthful graces

Conquer'd yourſelf, you turn'd them upon me:

And now what cauſe alas! provokes this change?

KING.

Thou art the cauſe; 'tis for thy ſake he dies.

MATILDA.

Die for my ſake? Not if his death cou'd add

Myriads of years to my extended life,

And every year bring myriads of delights.

KING.

Theſe are empaſſion'd words: Alas, my child,

If thou doſt love this youth—

MATILDA.

Thou wilt deſtroy him;

It is the ſavage policy of kings.

KING.

Thou lov'ſt him then—confeſs.

MATILDA.

To deſperation,

To death.

KING.

Then heaven cannot afflict thee deeper.

MATILDA.

I know it, but your daughter, Sir, can die:

I ſpeak for nature; mine is not a heart,

[64]That can transfer affection; tear him hence,

You tear life too, there is no room for Edgar.

KING.

Say'ſt thou for Edgar? He, that youth is Edgar.

MATILDA.

Harold catches her, as ſhe is falling, in his arms. After a pauſe ſhe proceeds.

Save me, ſupport me!—O my much-lov'd father,

If he, that youth be Edgar, wou'dſt thou kill

Him that ſhall be my huſband.

KING.

What but killing

Merits that monſter, who rejects Matilda?

MATILDA.

Rejects Matilda? Am I then rejected?

Oh that ſome friend had plung'd a dagger here,

Ere I had met this moment!

KING.

Nay, be patient.

MATILDA.

Let me behold him and I will be patient.

Was thine ear faithful? did no wrongs provoke him?

I found thee high in wrath, he too was angry,

He was, he was and ſpake he knew not what.

KING.

Grant heav'n he did! I am no practis'd ſuitor,

And undeſerv'd misfortune makes men proud.

[65]Hoa, guards!—produce the youth you have in charge.

May he who arm'd thine eyes, inſpire thy lips!

See where he comes—

Exit King.

EDGAR

enters guarded.

Prince, (ſo I now muſt call you)

If, while it pleas'd you to aſſume the name

And ſimple ſtile of a plain Scottiſh knight,

Friendſhip for Edmund caus'd me to omit

What Edgar's high pretenſions might have claim'd,

I ſhall expect your pardon.

EDGAR.

Take my thanks,

For they are much thy due.

MATILDA.

Nay I am told

You are too proud to be Matilda's debtor,

Crowns, by her hand preſented, you reject

And ſcorn the encumber'd boon: Vindictive Edgar,

Is it your ſport to ſteal away our hearts,

Like heathen Jove, beneath a borrow'd form,

Then reaſſume the god, aſcend your ſkies,

And leave the ſlighted maid to die with weeping?

EDGAR.

What ſhall I ſay? that I diſclaim ambition?

That long eſtrang'd and exil'd from my realm,

My heart forgets its home and draws no ſighs,

Which point to England and my native right?

Or with an eye of cold philoſophy

Shall I affect to view that radiant form,

[66]And not confeſs its charms? I feel their power,

But cannot give that heart which is another's.

MATILDA.

Another's! where, in what proud realm is found

She, from whoſe ſight diminiſh'd rivals ſhrink,

And leave the choice of all mankind to her?

EDGAR.

In rural ſilence dwells the maid I love,

With her in ſome lone corner of your iſle,

Far from ambition's walk, let me reſide,

Nor ſhake the quiet of Matilda's ſoul.

MATILDA.

Sure of all forms, which cruelty aſſumes,

Humility can moſt inſult mankind:

Away, nor cheat me with theſe fairy ſcenes;

There is no beauty in our iſle for Edgar,

No ſoft ſequeſter'd maid, no truth, no love,

Save what this fond rejected heart contains.

EDGAR.

Thus urg'd, t'were meanneſs to withhold the truth:

In Hackley's ſhades a Sylvan goddeſs holds

Her lonely haunts; Edwina is her name;

Earl Edwin's ſiſter—

MATILDA.

Take her, and be ſtill

That abject thing thou art; take Edwin's ſiſter,

A ſubject beauty fits a ſubject's choice.

Go to my father, tell him thou haſt pierc'd

[67]His daughter's heart, and give him ſtab for ſtab:

Away, away! thou haſt thy full revenge.

EDGAR.

Revenge! my heart diſclaims it: O Matilda!

My prayers—I can no more—farewel for ever!

Exit.

As EDGAR is parting from MATILDA, EDWINA enters.

EDWINA.

'Tis Edgar!—Hah, he parts and ſees me not.

MATILDA.

Stay, Athelina, turn, beloved maid,

Turn from that monſter thine abhorrent eyes;

Approach and ſave me!

EDWINA.

What afflicts Matilda?

MATILDA.

And is there need of words? break, break, my heart!

Open thou priſon-houſe of the ſoul, diſſolve

And give a wretched captive it's releaſe!

EDWINA.

Be calm.

MATILDA.

As death. Why look'd you on that youth?

EDWINA.

[68]

I look'd not on his face.

MATILDA.

Ah if thou had'ſt,

If thou had'ſt look'd, thou woud'ſt have lov'd like me,

And like me been a wretch.

EDWINA.

Alas, I pity thee.

MATILDA.

Then thou haſt lov'd, for love will teach thee pity.

Coud'ſt thou believe it, he, (O heaven!) that Edmund,

Whoſe very name's a lye; that Edgar Atheling

For Edwin's ſiſter ſlights, rejects Matilda;

A princeſs for a clown; me for Edwina.

Strike her ſmooth form all o'er with lep'rous blanes,

Ye ſprites, whom magic incantations charm!

Shake her with palſied uglineſs, ye demons,

And ſo preſent her to her lover's arms

To kill him with the touch.—O Athelina,

If thou doſt love me join and aid the curſe!

EDWINA.

Shall I curſe her, who never hath offended?

MATILDA.

Turn then on him thy deepeſt direſt curſe;

Call up the damn'd, and darken heav'n with ſpells.

EDWINA.

[69]

Mercy forbid!

MATILDA.

No mercy, but revenge:

Give me revenge. He dies.

EDWINA.

Ah take my life:

Lo, at thy feet a wretched virgin kneels

And prays for mercy.

MATILDA.

Hence! you'll anger me.

EDWINA.

I wou'd I cou'd: Turn thy revenge on me;

But ſpare my Edgar's life.

MATILDA.

Thy Edgar ſay'ſt thou?

Who and what art thou? Speak.

EDWINA.

I am Edwina.

MATILDA.

What do I hear? thou art—

EDWINA.

I am Edwina:

Here is that boſom thou wou'dſt plant with ſores

And ſpotted leproſy, that fatal form,

Which thou wou'dſt rouſe the demons up from hell,

To ſtrike with palſied uglineſs; behold!—

[70]I am the wretch whom thou didſt call to aid

Thy curſe on Edgar: Mark how I will curſe him.

O all ye ſaints and angels, every ſpirit

Kneeling.

Who wing'ſt this nether air with pinions dipt

In heav'n's etherial dew, make him your care,

And, gathering o'er his head your plumed band,

Form a celeſtial canopy above him

To fence off this deſtroyer!

MATILDA.

Peace, deceiver:

Thy prayers are vain; he dies this moment.—

She is going.

EDWINA.

Stay!

Tho' not in pity, yet in honour hear me:

I aſk no mercy; prayers indeed are vain;

Edwina pleads not ev'n for Edgar's life:

For if when I, the fatal cauſe of all,

Lye at thy feet a bloody breathleſs corſe,

Thy rage ſhou'd ſtill demand his guiltleſs life,

Who ſhall oppoſe it? All that I ſhall do,

All that I can, is thus—to die for Edgar.

Offers to kill herſelf, but is prevented by Matilda.

MATILDA.

Stop thy raſh hand; thou ſhalt not die: This courage

Dazzles my rage; I ſtiffen with ſurpriſe;

Thy preſence, like the faſcinating eye

Of the fixt baſiliſk, takes motion from me

And roots me in the earth—

EDWINA.

What ſhall I ſay?

I own thee wretched and myſelf the cauſe:

But do not let remorſeleſs fury rend

[71]The god from out thine heart, which nature's hand

Set up, as in a ſhrine of human kindneſs,

That miſery like mine might find a ſhelter.

MATILDA.

No more; I once had pity; the poor bird,

Which kills herſelf to feed her gaping brood,

Was not more pitiful; but it is paſt;

The wolf hath ſlain the lamb; bloody revenge

Hath thruſt out all remorſe—I muſt have vengeance.

EDWINA.

Take it; 'tis in thine hand—Take full revenge:

Thou haſt a dagger, ſtrike to Edgar's heart;

Lay his lov'd form a breathleſs corſe before thee,

And ſate thy thirſt for vengeance—Hah! 'tis paſt—

Heaven opens in thine eyes.

MATILDA.

'Tis in my heart:

I feel its breath, like dew, deſcend upon me;

Amidſt the whirl of paſſion Mercy ſits,

And whiſpers patience in a voice ſo charming,

To hear is to obey—Thy Edgar lives.

EDWINA.

Lives he? May angels waft the word to heaven,

And bring a bleſſing thence!

MATILDA.

Stay not to thank me,

Bear from my ſight that too-engaging form:

Leave me to my afflictions, they'll ſtay with me,

And be my cloſe companions—Fare thee well!

EDWINA.

[72]

Farewel, thou ſuffering virtue! Oh, remember,

Remember Edgar—

Exit Edwina.

MATILDA.

Whither was I ſinking,

When this bright deed reſtor'd me? So the wretch

With felon ſteps, on murderous act intent,

Steals on the ſleeping night; when if at once

Launch'd from ſulphureous clouds the vollied fires

Quick-glancing burſt upon his ruffian head

With dazzling bright ſuffuſion, horror-ſeiz'd,

Trembling, aghaſt he ſtarts, lets fall the knife

Ev'n at the victim's throat and flies—as I do.

Exeunt ſeverally.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

[73]

Harold is diſcover'd in his Tent before break of Day; the Guards in various Attitudes reſting on their Arms: He riſes from his Couch and advances.

KING.

WHEN will this night have end? ariſe, break forth;

I'm weary of invoking thee, O ſun!

Lo, in yon red'ning cloud I ſee thee mount;

Not as thou'rt wont with odour-breathing gales,

Serene and marſhall'd by the dancing hours

Up to the laughing Eaſt; but warrior-like

With ratling quiver and loud ſtormy march

And bloody enſigns, by the furies rear'd

Aloft and floating in the flecker'd ſky:

So ſhall the day be ſuited to its deeds.

A trumpet.

Stand to your arms there, ſoldiers! Up, awake!

The guards riſe.

Earl of MERCIA enters.

MERCIA.

Hail to my king and brother! on my knee

I beg a boon.

KING.

What is it, gallant Mercia?

MERCIA.

[74]

The leading of the Kentiſhmen.

KING.

'Tis thine:

Draw the firm phalanx forth; 'tis thine to guide

The thunder of the war: There be thy poſt.

Farewel! The word is victory or death.

Exit Mercia.

He ſpeaks to one of the Guard.

Come hither, Soldier! haſte thou to lord Reginald,

Bid him to plant his bowmen in the copſe,

Which flanks the Norman camp, he knows the place;

Thence as our foes advance with level front

And regulated files, he may perplex

And gall their battle—Take this enſign, Soldier,

In Standford's fight I ſaw thee bravely win it,

Defend it now as bravely.

SOLDIER.

With my life.

Exit Soldier.

WALTHEOF enters.

WALTHEOF.

Health and a happy morn to England's king!

Would heav'n, that all our warriors like their chief

Had thus outſtript the ſun!

KING.

Where is the promiſe,

With which ſo high you fed my pamper'd hope?

Edgar rejects my ſuit: no power can move him.

WALTHEOF.

[75]

Alas, you are too mild.

KING.

He's deaf to reaſon.

WALTHEOF.

Be deaf to him, O Heaven, when he does kneel

And cry for mercy! Put your terrors forth,

My life upon't he yields.

KING.

Set him before us.

Exit Waltheof.

EDGAR enters guarded.

EDGAR.

Your meſſenger conven'd me to your tent;

Lo, I expect your pleaſure.

KING.

Mark me then,

While to thy free election I hold up

Two different mirrors; in the one you ſee

The fair preſentment of a kingly crown,

Where love and beauty weave the nuptial knot,

That binds it to thy brow; in plainer terms,

My daughter and my empire wait thy choice.

EDGAR.

I have a vow noted in heav'n's own volume,

Where ſaints have witneſs'd it.

KING.

Oh ſeize the moment!

If you eſpouſe my daughter I go forth

[76]To certain conqueſt; from my ſoul I think

That England's fate now hangs on thy reſolve.

Heal then the breaches of the land, my ſon,

And make us all one heart. Come then, ye nations,

And ſhroud old Ocean with your hoſtile ſails;

By her own ſons defended and belov'd

England ſhall ſtand unſhaken and ſecure,

And only fall, when time itſelf expires.

EDGAR.

Bid me go forth; conduct me to the charge:

Plant me upon the laſt forlorneſt hope,

Where the fight burns, where the mad furies toſs

Their flaming torches, and wide-waſting death

Up to the ribs in blood, with giant ſtroke

Widows the nations: thither let me go

To fight, to fall; but never dare to hope

Tho' you'd a Seraph's eloquence to tempt,

A Seraph's truth to vouch for your prediction,

That I wou'd yield my boſom to diſgrace,

Cancel the vow which I have given Edwina,

And ſave my country at my ſoul's expence.

KING.

Then know, obdurate—

EDGAR.

What?

KING.

My country calls;

Trumpets ſound a charge.

'Tis her laſt awful invocation; hark!

The altar burns; a royal lady waits,

And this her bridal dower: receive it, prince;

He tenders the crown to Edgar.

What can a king give more? What has a father

More dear to offer than his only child?

EDGAR.

[77]

Forbear; 'tis mockery when the ſoul is fixt.

KING.

Then thou art loſt—Oh yet preſerve thy country!

EDGAR.

My honour and my oath—

KING.

Thy life—

EDGAR.

My love.

KING.

Die then! What hoa! my guards. Strike off his head.

MATILDA enters haſtily and interpoſes herſelf between EDGAR and the Guards, as they are advancing to ſeize him

MATILDA.

Strike off his head! By him who made the heavens,

Whoſe great primaeval interdiction cries

Thro' all creation's round, thou ſhalt not kill,

I do adjure you ſtop!

The guards fall back.

KING.

What phrenſy moves thee?

MATILDA.

Or ſpare him, or expect to ſee me fall

And daſh my deſperate brains.—Upon my knees,

Father, I do beſeech thee, grant him life.

[78] NORTHUMBERLAND, SIFFRIC, and other Chiefs enter.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

To horſe, dread ſir; brace on your beaver ſtrait,

Capariſon with ſpeed, and meet the ſun,

Who thron'd and beaming on the upland edge,

Stands in his fiery wane with glowing wheels

And panting courſers to behold a ſcene,

Worth his diurnal round.

KING.

Warriors, lead on!

Tho' hell aſſume her thouſand hideous ſhapes,

Phantoms and fiends and fierce anatomies

To ſhake me from my courſe; tho' Duncan croſs me

With auguries and ſpells, tho' this proud youth

Bid ſharp vexation with its wolfiſh fangs

Harrow my heart, in me is no delay.

For thee, my child, whoſe interceſſion turns

Yet once again from this devoted head

The uplifted hand of death, take, ſince thou wilt,

The thankleſs life, thou mak'ſt ſo much thy care;

And now farewel!

Embracing Matilda.

MATILDA.

The god of battle guide thee!

I will not ſhame thee with a tear; Farewel!

KING.

Come forth, bright ſword; hence, nature, from my heart:

Now take me, England; I am all thine own.

Exit with his train.

MATILDA.

Go, ye brave Engliſh; go, as ye are wont,

[79]To glorious conqueſt: Oh remember, friends,

Ye ſtrike for us, for freedom, for your country.

Angels of victory ſurround your hoſt

And fight upon your ſide. Tranſporting ſounds!

A diſtant ſhout.

With joyful ſhoutings they ſalute their king,

And ſtrike their ſhields in token of applauſe.

Edgar!

Turning from the ſide ſcene to Edgar.

EDGAR.

Matilda! Arm me with a ſword;

Or, like the Decii, ſelf-devoted thus

I'll ruſh upon the foe.

MATILDA.

Yet e're the ſhock

Of battle ſevers us perchance for ever,

Reſolve me, had it been my lot to meet thee,

With free affections and a vacant heart,

Cou'd'ſt thou have deign'd to caſt away a thought

On loſt Matilda? Ah, Cou'dſt thou have lov'd her?

EDGAR.

Born to each grace, with every virtue bleſt,

How can Matilda aſk of Edgar this?

Sure I were loſt to every manly feeling,

If honour'd thus, I ſhou'd forbear to hold,

Whilſt memory lives, thy image preſent here,

And cheriſh it with gratitude, with love.

MATILDA.

It is enough: Hear, angels, and record it!

Now take this ſword; if in yon bleeding ranks

You meet the King, or fainting with his wounds,

Or preſt with numbers, think he had a daughter,

[80]And ſave her father, as ſhe reſcued thee.

Matilda is going.

EDGAR.

Ev'n to the teeth of death I will obey thee.

Yet ſtay! one word—Tis to exact from virtue

More than frail nature warrants; yet thy ſoul

Is large; Oh ſay, wilt thou protect Edwina?

MATILDA.

Whilſt I have life.

EDGAR.

Then thou art truly great.

MATILDA.

What, know'ſt thou not Edwina is my gueſt?

EDGAR.

Edwina here! thy gueſt!

MATILDA.

One tent contains us:

Beneath a borrow'd name (Oh let the truth

Henceforth be ſacred!) ſhe beſought protection;

I took her, laid her neareſt to my heart,

And fed her with its beſt, its deareſt hopes—

But hark! the battle joins—Farewel for ever.

Exit.

A general charge.

EDGAR.

Live, live and ſave Edwina! Hark, they ſhout!

There's victory in the ſound. O day and night!

They ſtop, they turn. Behold, the Normans fly;

I ſee bright glory flaming in the van;

Tiptoe ſhe ſtands in ſkiey-tinctur'd ſtole,

Her head high-rear'd and pointing to the ſkies,

With pinions bent for flight: Stay, godlike viſion,

And let me fly to ſnatch—Edwina!

[81] EDWINA enters.

As he is haſtening out, EDWINA meets him.

EDWINA.

Edgar!

And do we live to meet? Oh, ſnatch the moment,

And ſave thyſelf and me. Whence this impatience?

Why that diſorder'd rolling of thine eye?

What ails thee, prince?

EDGAR.

And can'ſt thou aſk?—Behold!

EDWINA.

O horrible! a ſcene of death—

EDGAR.

Of glory;

Of fame immortal, of triumphant rapture—

And wou'dſt thou hold me here?

She takes hold of his hand.

EDWINA.

Wilt thou forſake me?

EDGAR.

Let go my hand: if you perſiſt, Edwina,

To hold me thus, a thouſand, thouſand furies,

And each more horrible than death ſhall haunt me,

'Till phrenſy-ſtruck, with mine own hand I ſeize

This recreant heart and pluck it from my breaſt.

EDWIN enters haſtily.

EDWIN.

Thus art thou found? Thro' deluges of blood,

[82]Launch'd from the nobleſt veins in all this Iſle,

Fighting I ſought thee: Fly, ill-fated prince—

EDGAR.

What do I hear? Is it not victory?

EDWIN.

Curſe on the ſtrumpet Fortune, ſhe revolts

And ſides with Normandy, their ſeeming flight

Was but a feint; upon the word they halted,

Check'd in their mid career; then wheeling ſwift

With thick-clos'd files charg'd our diſorder'd ranks,

That reel'd upon the ſhock: A faithleſs band

Led by Earl Waltheof, that ſtill veering traitor,

Went over to the foe.

EDGAR.

Lives Harold yet?

EDWIN.

From helmet to the heel all red with blood,

And gaſh'd with glorious wounds, he call'd me to him,

And bade me ſay, that with his dying breath

To thee and to Matilda he bequeathes

All that is left of England.

EDGAR.

Lead me to him.

EDWINA.

To death as ſoon.

EDWIN.

Retire to ſafer ground.

EDGAR.

Retire! ſhall Edgar fly, whilſt Harold fights?

Off, let me go.

EDWINA.

[83]

Nay, if my arms can't hold thee—

EDGAR.

O thou ſoft Syren! take her noble Edwin,

Take my ſoul's better part before I ſink

To infamy—Oh, take her from my heart.

Exit.

EDWINA.

If thou haſt love or pity in thy boſom,

Haſte and preſerve him!

Exit. Edwin.

Oh, this rives my heart.

Earth, earth, receive a wretch.

She falls on the ground.

MATILDA enters with attendants, having diſcover'd EDWINA on the ground, ſhe advances haſtily to her.

MATILDA.

She faints; ſhe falls!

Look up, Edwina! Is it death's reſemblance,

Or death itſelf? ſhe lives. Help me to raiſe her.

They raiſe her.

EDWINA.

Matilda!

MATILDA.

Start not! I am yet thy friend.

EDWINA.

Fly then and ſave—O heaven!

MATILDA.

Thy Edgar—No.

I ſaw your hero dart into the fight

As the train'd ſwimmer ſprings into the flood.

EDWINA.

Art thou a woman?

MATILDA.

[84]

Wou'd to heaven I were not!

Then had I grappled to your warrior's ſide

And ſtruck for England, for my father—Oh!

I lookt but now, and ſaw a ſtorm of blood,

A raging ocean ſcatter'd o'er with wrecks:

Fir'd at the ſight I ſnatcht a javelin up

Some warrior's haſte had dropt—the feeble weapon

Fell from my woman's hand: Again I lookt,

No Engliſh banner floated in the air,

Save where my father fought; revolting nature

Shrunk from the ſcene, and ſoon a ſcalding flood

Of tears burſt forth that quench'd theſe orbs of ſight.

EDWINA.

Where ſhall I turn?

MATILDA.

To death.

EDWINA.

Dreadful reſort!

MATILDA.

And yet when Hope, our laſt kind nurſing friend,

Forſakes her patient's couch and dark deſpair

Puts out that light, which like a nightly beacon

Points to the harbour, where the foundering bark

Of miſery may ſteer, Ah whither then

Shall life's benighted paſſenger reſort,

But to oblivion and the all-covering grave?

EDWINA.

Why then, when death had arm'd my uplifted hand,

Didſt thou prevent the blow and bid me live?

MATILDA.

Live but till Edgar falls, then rear the blow,

I'll not prevent it—Hah, what bleeding man!

[85] NORTHUMBERLAND enters, ſupported by Soldiers.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

A little onward yet—Enough, enough!

Good fellow, hold thy kerchief to my ſide.

Run one of you and bring me ſpeedy word,

What troops thoſe are, which wilfully maintain

A dying kind of combat; if there's hope,

Make ſignal with your hand and ſhout—ſtaunch, ſtaunch my wound—

My curſe upon that Norman boar Fitz Hugh,

His tuſk has ript my heart-ſtrings; yet I cleft him,

Did I not, ſoldier?—Soft, for mercy's ſake,

Jeſu Maria, what a pang was that!

Look out; no ſign of hope?—None, none; all's loſt—

He ſmites his breaſt with anguiſh. Hence, ſtand off,

He breaks from the ſoldiers who ſupport him.

Wide as the grave I rend this bleeding breach.

He tears open his wound.

Fall England! fall Northumberland—'Tis paſt.

He falls into his ſoldiers arms and expires.

MATILDA.

Farewel, ſtout heart! how better thus to fall

By death hewn down, than to outlive the leaf,

And drop a ſapleſs ruin! let me view thee:

Is death no more than this? Why thou, Edwina,

Or I, or any one may do as much.

Life, like a worn-out garment, is caſt off

And there's an end: I thank thee for the leſſon,

'Twill ſtand me much in uſe—bear him away.

The ſoldiers take off the body.

EDGAR enters with EDWIN and Soldiers.

EDWIN.

He lives, he comes! hence to the winds, my fears;

There's blood upon thy ſcarf.

EDGAR.

[86]

Then it was ſtruck

From Norman veins.

MATILDA.

Where is my father?

EDGAR.

Hah!

Edwin!

EDWIN.

My lord.

EDGAR.

The foe ſuſpends purſuit,

And calls his conquering legions back from ſlaughter;

Run, Edwin, run and take this enſign with thee;

Here on the craggy ſummit of the cliff

Wave it aloft, and call the ſtragglers up

To form upon the heights; theſe ſtill are ours.

Exit Edwin.

MATILDA.

Where is my father? Where are all the heroes,

Whom I have ſeen return triumphant home,

With victory eagle-wing'd upon their helms?

EDGAR.

All loſt with thouſands upon thouſands ſunk

And ſwallow'd up in death?

MATILDA.

Death, ſay'ſt thou?

EDGAR.

Hearken!

The hireling troops had fled; one native phalanx

Fatally brave yet ſtood; there deep-engulph'd

[87]Within the Norman hoſt I found thy father,

Mounted like Mars upon a pile of ſlain:

Frowning he fought, and wore his helmet up,

His batter'd harneſs at each ghaſtly ſluice

Streaming with blood; life guſh'd at every vein;

Yet liv'd he, as in proud deſpight of nature,

His mighty ſoul unwilling to forſake

Its princely dwelling; ſwift as thought I flew;

And as a ſturdy churl his pole-axe aim'd

Full at the hero's creſt, I ſprung upon him

And ſheath'd my rapier in the caitiff's throat.

MATILDA.

Didſt thou? then thou art faithful. Open wide

And ſhower your bleſſings on his head, ye heav'ns!

EDGAR.

A while the fainting hero we upheld,

(For Edwin now had join'd me) but as well

We might have driv'n the mountain cataract

Back to its ſource, as ſtemm'd the battle's tide.

I ſaw the imperial Duke, and with loud inſults

Provok'd him to the combat, but in vain;

The purſey braggart now ſecure of conqueſt

Rein'd in his ſteed, and wing'd his ſquadron round

To cut us from retreat; cold death had ſtopt

Thy father's heart; ev'n hope itſelf had died:

'Midſt ſhowers of darts we bore him from the field,

And now, ſupported on his ſoldiers pikes,

The venerable ruin comes. Behold!

The body of Harold is brought in.

MATILDA.

Soldiers for this laſt mournful office thanks!

Bear him within the tent, upon the couch

Lay ye the body, ſpread his mantle o'er him,

And all depart: For this I thank you, Nature,

[88]That when you ſent calamity on earth,

And bade it walk o'er all this vale of tears,

You ſent deliv'rance alſo, and with death,

And with a land-mark, bounded its domain,

As open'd an aſylum in the grave.

The body is carried into the tent, Matilda follows.

Exit Matilda.

EDWINA.

Lo, where ſhe follows her dead father's body,

She hath a ſoul that will not bend to grief

And diſappointment.

EDGAR.

Haſte, beloved maid,

And force her from the body—

Exit Edwina.

Earl SIFFRIC enters.

SIFFRIC.

And doſt thou live, brave youth; doſt thou ſurvive

Thoſe miracles of valour which I ſaw,

And bluſhing ſaw? for Oh, too ſure I wrong'd thee;

Give me thy pardon; thou haſt more than conquer'd.

EDGAR.

Siffric, enough! It is not now a time.

For Engliſh hands to ſtrike at Engliſh hearts,

Elſe—but 'tis paſt. Where's old Northumberland;

Where valiant Mercia? Ah! is't ſo with both?

Earl Siffric makes ſignal of their death.

EDWIN returns with ſoldiers.

Welcome, brave Edwin! thou bring'ſt hope for England.

[89] EDWINA comes out of the Tent.

EDWINA.

Horror on horror! when will death have end?

Some fiery dog ſtar reigns and deadly madneſs

Strikes all below the moon. Scarce had they ſet

Their mournful burthen down, when [...]ollowing quick

She ruſh'd into the tent, and raiſing up

Her father's mantle, ſnatcht one eager look;

Then with uplifted eyes and heaving ſighs

Seizing his ſword with ſtrong determin'd graſp

Plung'd it into her breaſt. Behold, ſhe comes!

MATILDA enters ſupported.

MATILDA.

'Tis done! the faithful point hath reach'd my life,

And ſpoke it's errand fairly: Now, my ſoul,

Now ſpread thy wings, and fly.

EDWINA.

O killing ſight!

EDGAR.

O deed of horror!

MATILDA.

Huſh, no more of that.

Think'ſt thou the Almighty's mercy ſhall not reach

To take affliction in? look well at me;

Of friends, crown, country, kinſmen, father reſt,

Love-lorn, of reaſon more than half beguil'd,

Heart-broke and ſtruck from out the book of hope,

What cou'd I do but die?

EDGAR.

Heaven's joys receive thee!

MATILDA.

[90]

Amen! the voice is Edgar's, but my eyes

Grow dim, alas, 'tis hard I cannot ſee thee:

Give me the crown; quick, reach it to my hand.

They bring the crown and preſent it to Matilda.

Ay, now I have it, ſhorn of pow'r indeed,

But light'ned of it's cares; Edgar, o'er thee

This radient circle like a cloud may paſs,

But thy poſterity to lateſt time

Shall bind it on their brows. Receive it, prince,

And noble as thou art, Oh, ſpare the dead

Nor ſtir my father's aſhes with thy curſe.

Edgar receives the crown.

EDGAR.

Peace to his ſhade, ſo heaven my ſins forgive

As I thy father.

MATILDA.

'Tis enough: farewel!

Life's ſtorm is paſt; wave after wave ſubſides,

The turbid paſſions ſink and all is peace:

Ambition, jealouſy, nay love itſelf,

Laſt, ling'ring, drops into the grave and dies.

She ſinks into the arms of her attendants and expires.

EDGAR.

There fled a mighty ſoul—Angels, receive it,

And waft it to the manſions of the bleſt!

And art thou mine?—

To the Crown.

Friends, ſoldiers, ſubjects now,

Lord Edwin, Siffric, England's brave remains,

I, Edgar Atheling, king Edmund's heir,

Now take this mournful relique of my right.

If you are with me, warriors, ſtrike your ſheilds.

Thanks, gallant countrymen!

They ſtrike.

EDWIN.

[91]

Lo, on his knee

Edwin ſalutes thee; king of England, hail!

EDGAR.

Come to my heart, my friend, my more than father!

To Edwin.

SIFFRIC.

Siffric, the convert of thy valour, kneels

And every faculty of head, heart, hand,

To thy free ſervice dedicates.

EDGAR.

Ariſe!

And take, ('tis all your king can give) my thanks.

And now, my fair betroth'd, reach forth thine hand,

And touch this golden ſymbol, whilſt I ſwear,

Here ſtanding in the awful eye of heaven,

To ſhare it with Edwina.

EDWINA.

On my knees

I yield thee thanks, whilſt before heaven I ſwear,

Tho' thou hadſt nothing to beſtow but chains

And beggary and want and torturing ſtripes

And dungeon darkneſs, ſtill thy poor Edwina

For thee alone ſhall live, with thee ſhall die.

EDGAR.

Now, warriors, how reſolve you? View that field;

The Norman, like a lion, ſwill'd with ſlaughter,

Sleeps o'er his bloody meſs; our ſcatter'd troops

Collect and form around.

SIFFRIC.

We live in Edgar;

Save the laſt hope of England and retreat.

EDGAR.

[92]

Retreat! ſhall Engliſh warriors hear that word

And from an Engliſh king! No, Siffric, never.

Unfurl the Saxon ſtandard! See, my lords,

Twice taken in the fight and twice recover'd,

The hereditary glory lives with Edgar.

Beneath that banner godlike Alfred conquer'd;

Beneath that banner, drench'd in Daniſh blood,

My grandſire Iron-ſided Edmund fought;

Wrench'd from my infant graſp, a bold uſurper

Seiz'd it, poſſeſt it, died in it's defence:

And ſhall I, in the tame reſpect of life,

With cloſe-furl'd enſigns, trailing in the duſt,

Halt in the rear of fame? No, gallant Engliſh,

Turn not, but as the galled panther turns,

To lick his wounds, and with recruited fury

Spring to the fight afreſh: So turn; ſo ſtand!

And from this height, ennobled by your valour

Hurl bold defiance to the foe beneath.

Drums, &c.

THE END.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3834 The battle of Hastings a tragedy By Richard Cumberland Esq As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5E53-E