[]
PERCY, A TRAGEDY.
AS IT IS ACTED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN.
LONDON: PRINTED for T. CADELL, in the Strand. MDCCLXXVIII.
[Price One Shiliing and Sixpence.]
[]
TO EARL PERCY: This TRAGEDY, AS A SMALL TRIBUTE TO HIS ILLUSTRIOUS CHARACTER, IS VERY RESPECTFULLY INSCRIB'D: By His LORDSHIP'S Moſt obedient AND Moſt humble Servant,
THE AUTHOR.
Dramatis Perſonae.
[]MEN.
- PERCY, Earl of Northumberland. Mr.LEWIS.
- EARL DOUGLAS, Mr. WROUGHTON.
- EARL RABY, Elwina's Father, Mr. AICKIN.
- EDRIC, Friend to Douglas, Mr. WHITEFIELD.
- HARCOURT, Friend to Percy, Mr. ROBSON.
- SIR HUBERT, a Knight, Mr. HULL.
WOMEN.
- ELWINA, Mrs. BARRY.
- BIRTHA, Mrs. JACKSON.
KNIGHTS, GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, &c.
SCENE, Raby Caſtle, in Durham.
[]
The Reader deſired to excuſe and correct the fol⯑lowing Errata.
In page 11, line 13, Elwina's Speech ſhould be printed thus,
ELWINA.
My mis'ry, not my crime—Long ſince the battle, &c.
In page 14, the two firſt ſpeeches ſhould be divided thus,
ELWINA.
What diſturbs my lord?
DOUGLAS.
Nothing.—Diſturb? I ne'er was, &c.
In page 33, line 13, the ſpeeches ſhould be thus divided,
BIRTHA.
Elwina—
DOUGLAS.
Speak—
BIRTHA.
Her grief, wrought up to frenzy, She has, &c.
PROLOGUE.
[]Spoken by Mrs. Bulkely.
THO' I'm a female, and the rule is ever,
For us, in Epilogue, to beg your favour,
Yet now I take the lead—and, leaving art
And envy to the men—with a warm heart,
A woman here I come—to take a woman's part.
No little jealouſies my mind perplex,
I come, the friend and champion of my ſex;
I'll prove, ye fair, that let us have our ſwing,
We can, as well as men, do any thing;
Nay, better too, perhaps—for now and then,
Theſe times produce ſome bungling among men,
In ſpite of lordly wits—with force and eaſe,
Can't we write plays, or damn 'em, if we pleaſe?
The men, who grant not much, allow us charms—
Are eyes, ſhapes, dimples, then, our only arms?
To rule this man our ſex dame Nature teaches;
Mount the high horſe we can, and make long ſpeeches;
Nay, and with dignity, ſome wear the breeches;
And why not wear' em?—We ſhall have your votes,
While ſome of t' other ſex wear petticoats.
Did not a Lady Knight, late Chevalier,
A brave, ſmart ſoldier to your eyes appear?
Hey'preſto! paſs! his ſword becomes a fan,
A comely woman riſing from the man.
[]The French their Amazonian maid invite—
She goes—a like well ſkill'd to talk or Write,
Dance, ride, negociate, ſcold, coqet, or fight.
If ſhe ſhould ſet her heart upon a rover,
And be prove falſe, ſhe'd kick her faithleſs lover.
The Greeks and Romans own our boundleſs claim—
The Muſes, Graces, Virtues, Fortune, Fame.
wiſdom and Nature too, they women call;
With this ſweet flatt'ry—yet they mix ſome gall—
'Twill out—the Furies too are females all.
The pow'rs of Riches, Phyſic, War, and Wine,
Sleep, Death, and Devils too—are maſculine.
Are we unfit to rule?—a poor ſuggeſtion!
Auſtria and Ruſſia anſwer well that queſtion.
If joy from ſenſe and matchleſs grace ariſe,
With your own treaſure, Britons, bleſs your eyes.
If ſuch there are—ſure, in an humbler way,
The ſex, without much guilt, may write a play:
That they've done nobler things, there's no denial;
With all your judgment, then, prepare for trial—
Summon your critic pow'rs, your manhood 'ſummon,
A brave man will protect, not hurt a woman;
Let us wiſh modeſtly to ſhare with men,
If not the force, the feather of the pen.
EPILOGUE.
[]Spoken by Mr. Lee Lewes.
I Muſt, will ſpeak—I hope my dreſs and air
Announce the man of faſhion, and no player;
Tho' gentlemen are now forbid the ſcenes,
Yet have I ruſh'd thro' heroes, kings, and queens;
Reſolv'd, in pity to this poliſh'd age,
To drive theſe ballad-heroes from the ſtage—
"To drive the deer with hound and horn,
"Earl Percy took his way;
"The child may rue, that is unborn,
"The hunting of that day."
A pretty baſis, truly, for a modern play!
What! ſhall a ſcribbling, ſenſeleſs woman dare
To your refinements offer ſuch coarſe fare?
Is Douglas, or is Percy fir'd wtth paſſion?
Ready for love or glory, death to daſh on,
Fit company for modern ſtill-life men of faſhion?
Such madneſs will our hearts but ſlightly graze,
We've no ſuch frantic nobles now a-days.
Heart-ſtrings, like fiddleſtrings, vibrate no tone,
Unleſs they're tun'd in perfect uniſon;
And youths of yore, with ours can ne'er agree—
They're in too ſharp, ours in too flat a key.
Could we believe old ſtories, thoſe ſtrange fellows
Married for love—could of their wives be jealous—
[]Nay, conſtant to 'em too—and, what is worſe,
The vulgar ſouls thought cuckoldom a curſe.
Moſt wedded pairs had then site purſe, one mind,
One bed too—ſo prepoſterouſly kind—
From ſuch barbarity (thank heav'n) we're mu'ch refin'd.
Old ſongs their happineſs at home record,
From home they ſep'rate carriages abhorr'd—
One horſe ſerv'd both—my lady rode behind my lord.
'Twas death alone could ſnap their bonds aſunder—
Now tack'd ſo ſlightly, not to ſnap's the wonder.
Nay, death itſelf could not their hearts divide,
They mix'd their love with monumental pride,
For, cut in ſtone, they ſtill lie ſide by ſide,
But why theſe gothic anceſtors produce?
Why ſcour their ruſty armour's? What's the uſe?
'Twould not your nicer optics much regale,
To ſee us beaux bend under coats of mail;
Should we our limbs with iron doublets bruiſe,
Good heav'n! how much court-plaiſter we ſhould uſe;
We wear no armour now—but en our ſhoes.
Let not with barbariſm true taſte be blended,
Old vulgar virtues cannot be defended,
Let the dead reſt—we living can't be mended.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The French Drama, founded on the famous old Story of Raoul de Coucy, ſuggeſted to the Author fome Circumſtances in the former Part of this Tragedy.
PERCY, A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I.
SCENE, A Gothic Hall.
Enter EDRIC and BIRTHA.
BIRTHA.
What may this mean? Earl Douglas has injoin'd thee To meet him here in private?
EDRIC.
Yes, my ſiſter, And this injunction I have oft receiv'd; But when he comes, big with ſome painful ſecret, He ſtarts, looks wild, then drops ambiguous hints, Frowns, heſitates, turns pale; and ſays' twas nothing; Then feigns to ſmile, and by his anxious care. To prove himſelf at eaſe, betrays his pain
BIRTHA.
[2]Since my ſhort ſojourn here, I've mark'd this Earl,
And tho' the ties of blood unite us cloſely,
I ſhudder at his haughtineſs of temper,
Which not his gentle wife, the bright Elwina,
Can charm to reſt. Ill are their ſpirits pair'd,
His is the ſeat of frenzy, her's of ſoftneſs,
His love is tranſport, her's, is trembling duty,
Rage in his ſoul is as the whirlwind fierce,
While her's ne'er felt the pow'r of that rude paſſion,
EDRIC.
Perhaps the mighty ſoul of Douglas mourns,
Becauſe inglorious love detains him here,
While our bold knights, beneath the Chriſtian ſtandard,
Preſs to the bulwarks of Jeruſalem,
BIRTHA.
Tho' every various charm adorns Elwina,
And tho' the noble Douglas doats to madneſs,
Yet ſome dark myſtery involves their fate:
The canker grief devours Elwina's bloom,
And on her brow meek reſignation ſits,
Hopeleſs, yet uncomplaining.
EDRIC.
'Tis moſt ſtrange.
BIRTHA.
Once, not long ſince, ſhe thought herſelf alone;
Twas then the pent-up anguiſh burſt its bounds;
With broken voice, claſp'd hands, and ſtreaming eyes,
She call'd upon her father, call'd him cruel,
And ſaid her duty claim'd far other recompence.
EDRIC
[3]Perhaps the abſence of the good Lord Raby,
Who, at her nuptials, quitted this fair caſtle,
Reſigning it to her, may thus afflict her.
Haſt thou e'er, queſtion'd her, good Birtha?
BIRTHA.
Often; But hitherto in vain, and yet ſhe ſhews me Th'endearing kindneſs of a ſiſter's love; But if I ſpeak of Douglas—
EDRIC.
See! he comes.
It wou'd offend him ſhou'd he find you here.
Enter Douglas.
How! Edric and his ſiſter in cloſe conference?
Do they not ſeem alarm'd at my approach?
And ſee, how ſuddenly they part! Now, Edric,
Exit Birtha.
Was this well done? or was it like a friend,
When I deſir'd to meet thee here alone,
With all the warmth of truſting confidence,
To lay my boſom naked to thy view,
And ſhew thee all its weakneſs, was it well
To call thy ſiſter here, to let her witneſs
Thy friend's infirmity?—perhaps to tell her—
EDRIC.
My lord, I nothing know; I came to learn.
DOUGLAS.
Nay then thou doſt ſuſpect there's ſomething wrong!
EDRIC.
[4]If we were bred from infancy, together,
If I partook in all thy youthful griefs,
And every joy thou knew'ſt was doubly mine;
Then tell me all the ſecret of thy ſoul:
"Or have theſe few ſhort months of ſeparation,
"The only abſence we have ever known,
"Have theſe ſo rent the bands of love aſunder,
"That Douglas ſhould diſtruſt his Edric's truth?"
DOUGLAS.
My friend, I know thee faithful as thou'rt brave,
And I will truſt ſhee—but not now, good Edric,
'Tis paſt, 'tis gone, it is not worth the telling,
'Twas wrong to cheriſh what diſturb'd my peace;
I'll think of it no more.
EDRIC.
Tranſportihg news!. I fear'd ſome hidden trouble vex'd your quiet. In ſecret I have watch'd—
DOUGLAS.
Ha! watch'd in ſecret?
A ſpy? employ'd, perhaps, to note my actions?
What have I ſaid? Forgive me, thou art noble:
yet do not preſs me to diſcloſe my grief,
For when thou know'ſt it, I perhaps ſhall hate thee
As much, my Edric, as I hate, myſelf
For my ſuſpicions, I am ill at eaſe.
EDRIC.
How will the fair Elwina grieve to hear it!
DOUGLAS.
[5]Hold, Edric, hold—thou haſt touch'd the fatal ſtring
That wakes me into madneſs. Hear me then,
But let the deadly ſecret be ſecur'd
With bars of adamant in thy cloſe breaſt.
Think of the curſe which waits on broken oaths;
A knight is bound by more than vulgar ties,
And perjury in thee were doubly damn'd,
Well then, the king of England—
EDRIC.
Is expected From diſtant Paleſtine.
DOUGLAS.
Forbid it, heaven, For with him comes—
EDRIC.
Ah! who?
DOUGLAS.
Peace, peace, For ſee Elwina's here. Retire, my Edric; When next we meet thou ſhalt know all. Farewel.
Exit Edric.
Now to conceal with care my boſom's anguiſh, And let her beauty chaſe away my ſorrows!
Yes, I wou'd meet her with a face of ſmiles—But 'twill not be.
[6] Enter ELWINA.
ELWINA.
Alas, 'tis ever thus! Thus ever clouded is his angry brow.
(aſide.
DOUGLAS.
I were too bleſt, Elwina, cou'd I hope You met me here by choice, or that your boſom Shar'd the warm tranſports mine muſt ever feel. At your approach.
ELWINA.
My lord, if I intrude,
The cauſe which brings me claims at leaſt for⯑giveneſs:
I ſear you are not well, and come, unbidden,
Except by faithful duty, to enquire,
If haply in my power, my little power,
I have the means to miniſter relief
To your affliction?
DOUGLAS.
What unwonted goodneſs!
O I were bleſt above the lot of man,
if tenderneſs, not duty, brought Elwina;
Cold, ceremonious, and unfeeling duty,
That wretched ſubſtitute for love: But know,
The heart demands a heart; nor will be paid
With leſs than what it gives. E'en now, Elwina,
The gliſtening tear ſtands trembling in your eyes,
Which caſttheir mournful ſweetneſson the ground,
As if they fear'd to raiſe their beams to mine,
And read the language of reproachful love.
ELWINA.
[7]My lord, I hop'd the thouſand daily proofs Of my obedience—
DOUGLAS.
Death to all my hopes!
Heart rending word! obedience? what's obe⯑dience?
'Tis fear, 'tis hate, 'tis terror, 'tis averſion,
'Tis the cold debt of oſtentatious duty,
Paid with insulting caution, to remind me
How much you tremble to offend a tyrant
So terrible as Douglas.—"O Elwina—
"While duty meaſures the regard it owes,
"With ſcrupulous preciſion, and nice juſtice,
"Love never reaſons, but profuſely gives,
"Gives like a thoughtleſs prodigal its all,
"And trembles then, left it has done too little."
ELWIHA.
Indeed I'm moſt unhappy that my cares, And my ſolicitude to pleaſe, offend.
DOUGLAS.
True tenderneſs is leſs ſolicitous,
Leſs prudent and more fond; th'enamour'd heart
Conſcious it loves; and bleſt in being lov'd,
Repoſes on the object it adores,
And truſts the paſſion it inſpires and feels,—
Thou haſt not learnt how terrible it is
To feed a hopeleſs flame.—But hear, Elwina,
Thou moſt obdurate hear me.—
ELWINA.
Say, mylord, For your own lips ſhall vindicate my [...]ame,
[8]Since at the altar I became your wife;
Can malice charge me with an act, a word,
I ought to bluſh at? Have I not ſtill liv'd
As open to the eye of obſervation,
As fearleſs innocence ſhou'd ever live?
I call atteſting angels to be witneſs,
If in my open deed, or ſecret thought,
My conduct, or my heart, they've ought diſcern'd
Which did not emulate their purity,
DOUGLAS.
This vindication e'er you were accus'd,
"This warm defence, repelling all attacks
E'er they are made, and conſtruing caſual words
To formal accusations, truſt me, Madam,"
Shews rather an alarm'd and vigilant ſpirit,
For ever on the watch to guard its ſecret,
Than the ſweet calm of fearleſs innocence.
Who talk'd of guilt? Who teſtified ſuſpicion?
ELWINA.
Learn, Sir, that virtue, while'tis free from blame,
Is modeſt, lowly, meek, and unaſſuming;
Not apt, like fearful vice, to ſhield its weakneſs,
Beneath the ſtudied pomp of boaſtful phraſe,
Which ſwells to hide the poverty it ſhelters;
But when this virtue feels itſelf ſuſpected,
Inſulted, ſet at nought, its whiteneſs ſtain'd,
It then grows proud, forgets its humble worth,
And rates: itſelf above its real value,
DOUGLAS.
I did not mean to chide! But think, O think,
What pangs muſt rend this fearful, doating heart,
To ſee you ſink impatient of the grave,
To feel, diſtracting thought, to feel you hate me!
ELWINA.
[9]What if the ſlender thread by which I hold
This poor precarious being ſoon muſt break;
Is it Elwina's crime, or heav'n's decree?
Yet I ſhall meet, I truſt, the king of terrors,
Submiſſive and reſign'd, without one pang,
One fond regret at leaving this gay world.
DOUGLAS.
Yet, Madam, there is one, one man ador'd, For whom your ſighs will heave, your tears will flow, For whom this hated world will ſtill be dear, For whom you ſtill wou'd live—
ELWINA.
Hold, hold, my lord, What may this mean?
DOUGLAS.
Ah! I have gone too far. What have I ſaid?—Your father, ſure, your father, The good Lord Raby may. at leaſt expect One tender ſigh.
ELWINA.
Alas, my lord, I thought The precious incenſe of a daughter's ſighs Might riſe to heav'n, and not offend its ruler.
DOUGLAS.
'Tis true; yet Raby is no more belov'd
Since he beſtow'd his daughter's hand on Douglas:
That was a crime the dutiful Elwina
[10]Can never pardon; and believe me, Madam,
My love's ſo nice, ſo delicate my honour,
I am aſham'd to owe my happineſs
To ties which make you wretched.
Exit Douglas.
ELWINA.
Ah! how's this?
Tho' I have ever found him fierce and raſh,
Full of obſcure ſurmiſes, and dark hints,
Till now he never ventur'd to accuſe me.
Yet there is one, one man belov'd, ador'd,
For whom your tears will flow—theſe were his words—
And then the wretched ſubterfuge of Raby—
How poor th' evaſion!—But my Birtha comes.
Enter BIRTHA.
BIRTHA.
Croſſing the Portico I met Lord Douglas,
Diſorder'd were his looks, his eyes ſhot fire;
He call'd upon your name with ſuch diſtraction,
I ſear'd ſome ſudden evil had befall'n you.
ELWINA.
Not ſudden; no; long has the ſtorm been ga⯑thering,.
Which threatens ſpeedily to burſt in ruin,
On this devoted head.
BIRTHA.
I ne'er beheld
Your gentle ſoul ſo ruffled, yet I've mark'd you,
While others thought you happieſt of the happy,
Bleſt with whate'er the world calls great, or good,
[11]With all that nature, all that fortune gives,
I've mark'd you beuding with a weight of ſorrow.
ELWINA.
O I will tell thee all! thou cou'dſt not find
An hour, a moment in Elwina's life,
When her full heart ſo long'd to eaſe its burthen,
And pour its ſorrows in thy friendly boſom:
Hear then with pity, hear my tale of woe.
And, O forgive, kind nature, filial piety,
If my preſumptuous lips arraign a father!
Yes, Birtha, that belov'd, that cruel father,
Has doom'd me to a life of hopeleſs anguiſh,
To die of grief e'er half my days are number'd,
Doom'd me to give my trembling hand to Douglas,
'Twas all I had to give, my heart was—Percy's.
BIRTHA.
What do I hear?
ELWINA.
My mis'ry, not my crime.
ELWINA.
Long ſince the battle 'twixt the rival houſes,
Of Douglas and of Percy, for whoſe hate
This mighty globe's too ſmall a Theatre,
One ſummer's morn my father chas'd the Deer
On Cheviot Hills, Northumbria's fair domain.—
BIRTHA.
On that fam'd ſpot where firſt the ſeuds com⯑menc'd
Between the Earls?
ELWINA.
[12]The ſame. During the chace,
Some of my father's knights receiv'd an inſult
From the Lord Percy's herdſmen, churliſh foreſters,
Unworthy of the gentle blood they ſerv'd,
My father, proud and jealous of his honour,
(Thou know'ſt the fiery temper of our Barons)
Swore that Northumberland had been concern'd
In this rude outrage, nor wou'd hear of peace,
Or reconcilement which the Percy offer'd;
But bade me hate, renounce, and baniſh him.
O! 'twas a taſk too hard for all my duty,
I ſtrove, and wept, I ſtrove—but ſtill I lov'd.
BIRTHA.
Indeed 'twas moſt unjuſt; but ſay what follow'd?
ELWINA.
Why ſhou'd I dwell on the diſaſtrous tale?
Forbid to ſee me, Percy ſoon embark'd,
With our great king againſt the Saracen.
Soon as the jarring kingdoms were at peace,
Earl Douglas, whom till then I ne'er had ſeen,
Came to this caſtle; 'twas my hapleſs fate
To pleaſe him.—Birtha! thou can'ſt tell what follow'd:
But who ſhall tell the agonies I felt?
My barbarous father forc'd me to diſſolve
The tender vows himſelf had bid me form—
He dragg'd me trembling, dying, to the altar,
I ſigh'd, I ſtruggled, fainted, and—complied.
BIRTHA.
Did Douglas know a marriage had been once Fropos'd 'twixt you and Percy?
ELWINA.
[13]If he did, He thought, like you, it was a match of policy, Nor knew our love ſurpaſs'd our father's prudence.
BIRTHA.
Should he now find he was the inſtrument Of the Lord Raby's vengeance?
ELWINA.
'Twere moſt dreadful!
My father lock'd this motive in his breaſt,
And feign'd to have forgot the Chace of Cheviot.
Some moons have now completed their ſlow courſe
Since my ſad marriage.—Percy ſtill is abſent.
BIRTHA.
Nor will return before his ſov'reign comes.
ELWINA.
Talk not of his return! this coward heart Can know no thought of peace but in his abſence. How, Douglas here again? ſome freſh alarm!
Enter Douglas, agitated, with letters in his hand.
DOUGLAS.
Madam, your pardon—
ELWINA.
[14]What diſturbs my lord?
Nothing.—Diſturb? I ne'er was more at eaſe.
Theſe letters from your father give us notice
He will be here to-night;—He further adds
The king's each hour expected.
ELWINA.
How? the king? Said you the king?
DOUGLAS.
And 'tis Lord Raby's pleaſure
That you among the foremoſt bid him welcome
You muſt attend the court.
ELWINA.
Muſt I, my lord?
DOUGLAS.
Now to obſerve how ſhe receives the news!
Aſide.
ELWINA.
I muſt not, —cannot—By all the tender love
You have ſo oft proſeſs'd for poor Elwina,
Indulge this one requeſt—O let me ſtay!
DOUGLAS.
Enchanting; ſounds! ſhe does not wiſh to go—
Aſide.
ELWINA.
[15]The buſtling world, the pomp which waits on greatneſs,
Ill ſuits my humble, unambitious ſoul;—
Then leave me here, to tread the ſafer path
Of private life, here, where my peaceful courſe
Shall be as ſilent as the ſhades around me;
Nor ſhall one vagrant wiſh be e'er allow'd
To ſtray beyond the bounds of Raby Caſtle.
DOUGLAS.
O muſic to my ears!
Aſide.
Can you reſolveTo hide thoſe wondrous beauties in the ſhade,
Which rival kings wou'd cheaply buy with empire?
Can you renounce the pleaſures of a court,
Whole roofs refound with minſtrelſy and mirth?
ELWINA.
My lord, retirement is a wife's beſt duty,
And virtue's ſafeſt ſtation is retreat.
DOUGLAS.
My ſoul 's in tranſports!
Aſide.
—But can you forego'What wins the ſoul of woman—admiration?
A world, where charms inferior far to yours,
Only preſume to ſhine when you are abſent?
Will you not long to meet the public gaze?
Long to eclipſe the fair, and charm the brave?
ELWINA.
Theſe are delights in which the mind partakes not.
DOUGLAS.
[16]I'll try her farther.
Aſide
(Takes her hand, and looks ſtedfaſtly at her as he ſpeaks.)
But reflect once more;
When yon ſhall hear that England's gallant peers,
Freſh from the fields of war, and gay with glory,
All vain with conqueſt, and elate with ſame,
When you ſhall hear theſe princely youths contend,
In many a tournament for beauty's prize;
When you ſhall hear of revelry, and maſking,
Of mimic combats, and of feſtive halls,
Of lances ſhiver'd in the cauſe of love,
Will you not then repent, then wiſh your fate,
Your happier fate had till that hour reſerv'd you
For ſome plum'd conqueror?
ELWINA.
My fate, my lord, Is now bound up with yours.
DOUGLAS.
Here let me kneel—
Yes, I will kneel, and gaze, and weep, and wonder;
Thou paragon of goodneſs!—pardon, pardon,
(Kiſſes her hand.)
I am convine'd—I can no longer doubt,
Nor talk, nor hear, nor reaſon, nor reflect.
—I muſt retire, and give a looſe to joy.
Exit Douglas.
BIRTHA.
The king returns.
ELWINA.
[17]And with him Percy comes!
BIRTHA.
You needs muſt go.
ELWINA.
Shall I folicit ruin,
And pull deſtruction on me ere its time?
I, who have held it criminal to name him?
I will not go—I diſobey thee, Douglas,
But diſobey thee to preſerve thy honour.
End of the Firſt Act.
ACT II.
[18]SCENE, The Hall.
DOUGLAS, ſpeaking as be enters.
SEE that the traytor inſtantly be feiz'd,
And ſtrictly watch'd: let none have acceſs to him.
O jealouſy, thou aggregate of woes!
Were there no hell, thy torments wou'd create one.
But yet ſhe may be guiltleſs—may? ſhe muſt.
How beautiful ſhe look'd! pernicious beauty!
Yet innocent, as bright, ſeem'd the ſweet bluſh
That mantled on her cheek. But not for me,
But not for me thoſe breathing roſes blow!
And then ſhe wept—what! can I bear her tears?
Well—let her weep—her tears are for another;
O did they fall for me, to dry their ſtreams,
I'd drain the choiceſt blood that feeds this heart,
Nor think the drops I ſhed were half ſo precious.
(He ſtands in a muſing poſture.)
Enter Lord RABY.
RABY.
Sure I miſtake—Am I in Raby Caſtle?
Impoſſible! that was the ſeat of ſmiles;
And Cheerfulneſs, and Joy, were houſehold gods.
[19]I us'd to ſcatter pleaſures when Icame,
And every ſervant ſhar'd his lord's delight.
But now Suſpicion and Diſtruſt dwell here,
And Diſcontent maintains a ſullen ſway.
Where is the ſmile unfeign'd, the jovial welcome,
Which cheer'd the ſad, beguil'd the pilgrim's pain,
And made dependency forget its bonds?
Where is the antient, hoſpitable hall,
Whoſe vaultedroof once rung with harmleſs mirth?
Where every paſſing ſtranger was a gueſt,
And every gueſt a friend. I fear me much,
If once our nobles ſcorn their rural ſeats,
Their rural greatneſs, and their vaſſal's love,
Freedom, and Engliſh grandeur, are no more.
DOUGLAS.
(advancing.)
My lord, you are welcome.
RABY.
Sir, I truſt I am;
But yet, methinks, I ſhall not feel I'm welcome,
Till my Elwina bleſs me with her ſmiles:
She was not wont with ling'ring ſtep to meet me,
Or greet my coming with a cold embrace;
Now, I extend my longing arms in vain,
My child, my darling, does not come to fill them.
O they were happy days when ſhe wou'd fly
To meet me from the camp, or from the chace,
And with her fondneſs overpay my toils!
How eager wou'd her tender hands unbrace
The ponderous armour from my war-worn limbs,
And pluck the helmet which oppos'd her kiſs!
DOUGLAS.
O ſweet delights that never muſt be mine!
RABY.
[20]What do I hear?
DOUGLAS.
Nothing: enquire no farther.
RABY.
My lord, if you reſpect an old man's peace,
If e'er you doated on my much-lov'd child,
As 'tis moſt ſure you made me think you did,
Then, by the pangs which you may one day feel,
When you, like me, ſhall be a fond, fond father,
And tremble for the treaſure of your age,
Tell me, what this alarming ſilence means?
You ſigh, yet do not ſpeak, nay more, you hear not?
Your lab'ring ſoul turns inward on itſelf,
As there were nothing but your own ſad thoughts
Deſerv'd regard. Does my child live?
DOUGLAS.
She does.
RABY.
To bleſs her father!
DOUGLAS.
And to curſe her huſband!
RABY.
Ah! have a care, my lord, I am not ſo old—
DOUGLAS.
[21]Nor I ſo baſe that I ſhould tamely bear it;
Nor am I ſo inur'd to infamy,
That I can ſay without a burning bluſh,
She lives to be my curſe.
RABY.
How's this?
DOUGLAS.
I thought
The lily op'ning to the heav'n's ſoft dews,
Was not ſo fragrant, and was not ſo chaſte.
RABY.
Has ſhe prov'd otherwiſe? I'll not believe it.
Who has traduc'd my ſweet, my innocent child?
Yet ſhe's too good to 'ſcape calumnious tongues.
I know that Slander loves a lofty mark:
It ſaw her ſoar a flight above her fellows,
And hurl'd its arrow to her glorious height,
To reach her heart, and bring her to the ground.
DOUGLAS.
Had the raſh tongue of Slander ſo prefum'd,
My vengeance had not been of that ſlow ſort,
To need a prompter; nor ſhould any arm,
No, not a father's, dare diſpute with mine,
The privilege to die in her defence,
None dares accuſe Elwina, but—
RABY.
But who?
DOUGLAS.
[22]But Douglas.
RABY.
(puts his hand to his ſword.)
You?—O ſpare my age's weakneſs!
You do not know what 'tis to be a father,
You do not know, or you would pity me;
The thouſand tender throbs, the nameleſs feelings,
The dread to aſk, and yet the wiſh to know,
When we adore and fear; but wherefore fear?
Does not the blood of Raby fill her veins?
DOUGLAS.
Percy!—know'ſt thou that name?
RABY.
How? what of Percy?
DOUGLAS.
He loves Elwina, and my curſes on him, He is belov'd again.
RABY.
I'm on the rack!
DOUGLAS.
Not the two Theban brothers bore each other
Such deep, ſuch deadly hate, as I and Percy.
RABY.
But tell me of my child.
DOUGLAS
[23](no' minding him.)
As I and Percy!
When at the marriage rites, O rites accurs'd!
I ſeiz'd her trembling hand, ſhe ſtarted back,
Cold horror thrill'd her veins, her tears flow'd faſt.
Fool that I was, I thought 'twas maiden fear,
Dull, doating ignorance! beneath thoſe terrors,
Hatred for me, and love for Percy lurk'd.
RABY.
What proof of guilt is this?
DOUGLAS.
E'er ſince our marriage.
Our days have ſtill been cold and joyleſs all;
"Painful reſtraint, and hatred ill diſguis'd,
"Her ſole return for all my waſte of fondneſs."
This very morn I told her 'twas your will
She ſhould repair to court; with all thoſe graces,
Which firſt ſubdu'd my ſoul, and ſtill enſlave it,
She begg'd to ſtay behind in Raby Caſtle,
For courts, and cities had no charms for her.
Curſe my blind love! I was again enſnar'd,
And doated on the ſweetneſs which deceiv'd me.
Juſt at the hour ſhe thought I ſhou'd be abſent,
(For chance cou'd ne'er have tim'd their guilt ſo well,)
Arriv'd young Harcourt, one of Percy's knights,
Strictly enjoin'd to ſpeak to none but her,
I ſeiz'd the miſcreant; hitherto he's ſilent,
But tortures ſoon ſhall force him to confeſs.
RABY.
Percy is abſent—They have never met.
DOUGLAS.
[24]At what a feeble hold you graſp for ſuccour!
Will it content me that her perſon's pure?
No, if her alien heart doats on another,
She is unchaſte were not that other Percy.
Let vulgar ſpirits baſely wait for proof,
She loves another—'tis enough for Douglas.
RABY.
Be patient.
DOUGLAS.
Be a tame convenient huſband?
And meanly wait for circumſtantial guilt?
No—I am nice as the firſt Caeſar was,
And ſtart at bare ſuſpicion.
going
RABY
(holding him.)
Douglas, hear me;
Thou haſt nam'd a Roman huſband; if ſhe's falſe,
I mean to prove myſelf a Roman father.
Exit Douglas.
This marriage was my work, and thus I'm puniſh'd!
Enter ELWINA.
ELWINA.
Where is my father? let me fly to meet him,
O let me claſp his venerable knees,
And die of joy in his belov'd embrace.
RABY
(avoiding her embrace.)
Elwina!
ELWINA.
And is that all? ſo cold?
RABY
[25](ſternly.)
Elwina!
ELWINA.
Then I'm Undone indeed! How ſtern his looks!
I will not be repuls'd, I am your child,
The child of that dear mother you ador'd;
You ſhall not throw me off, I will grow here,
And, like the patriarch, wreſtle for a bleſſing.
RABY
(holding her from him.)
Before I take thee in theſe aged arms,
Preſs thee with tranſport to this beating heart,
And give a looſe to all a parent's fondneſs,
Anſwer, and ſee thou anſwer me as truly
As if the dread enquiry came from heaven:—
Does no interior ſenſe of guilt confound thee?
Canſt thou lay all thy naked ſoul before me?
Can thy unconſcious eye encounter mine?
Canſt thou endure the probe, and never ſhrink?
Can thy firm hand meet mine and never tremble?
Art thou prepar'd to meet the rigid judge?
Or to embrace the fond, the melting father?
ELWINA.
Myſterious heav'n! to what am I reſerv'd?
RABY.
Shou'd ſome raſh man, regardleſs of thy ſame,
And in defiance of thy marriage vows,
Preſume to plead a guilty paſſion for thee,
What woud'ſt thou do?
ELWINA.
What honour bids me do.
RABY.
[26]Come to my arms!
they embrace.
ELWINA.
My father!
RABY.
Yes, Elwina,
Thou art my child—thy mother's perfect image.
ELWINA.
Forgive theſe tears of mingled joy and doubt;
For why that queſtion? who ſhould ſeek to pleaſe
The deſolate Elwina?
RABY.
But if any
Should ſo preſume, can'ſt thou reſolve to hate him,
Whate'er his name, whate'er his pride of blood,
Whate'er his former arrogant pretenſions?
ELWINA.
Ha!
RABY.
Doſt thou falter? Have a care, Elwina.
ELWINA.
Sir, do not fear me; am I not your daughter?
RABY.
Thou haſt a higher claim upon thy honour;
Thou art Earl Douglas' Wife.
ELWINA
[27](weeps.)
I am indeed!
RABY.
Unhappy Douglas!
ELWINA.
Has he then complain'd?
Has he preſum'd to ſully my white fame?
RABY.
He knows that Percy—
ELWINA.
Was my deſtin'd huſband;
By your own promiſe mine, a father's promiſe,
And by a tie more ſtrong, more ſacred ſtill,
Mine, by the faſt firm bond of mutual love.
RABY.
Now, by my fears, thy huſband told me truth.
ELWINA.
If he has told thee that thy only child
Was forc'd, a helpleſs victim to the altar,
Torn from his arms, who had her virgin heart,
And forc'd to make falſe vows to one ſhe hated,
Then, I confeſs, that he has told thee truth.
RABY.
Her words are barbed arrows in my heart.
But 'tis too late.
(aſide)
Thou haſt appointed HarcourtTo ſee thee here by ſtealth in Douglas' abſence.
ELWINA.
[28]No, by my life, nor knew I till this moment
That Harcourt was return'd. Was it for this
I taught my heart to ſtruggle with its feelings?
Was it for this I bore my wrongs in ſilence?
When the fond ties of early love were broken,
Did my weak ſoul break out in fond complaints?
Did I reproach thee? Did I call thee cruel?
No—I endur'd it all; and weary'd heaven
To bleſs the father who deſtroy'd my peace.
Enter MESSENGER.
MESSENGER.
My lord, a knight, Sir Hubert as I think,
But newly landed from the holy wars,
Intreats admittance,
RABY.
Let the warrior enter.
Exit Meſſenger.
All private intereſts ſink at his approach;
All ſelfiſh cares be for a moment baniſh'd!
I've now no child, no kindred but my country.
ELWINA.
Weak heart be ſtill, for what haſt thou to fear?
Enter Sir HUBERT.
RABY.
Welcome; thou gallant knight, Sir Hubert,
welcome!
[29]Welcome to Raby Caſtle!—In one word,
Is the king ſafe? Is Paleſtine ſubdued?
Sir HUBERT.
HUBERT.
The king is ſafe, and Paleſtine ſubdued.
RABY.
Bleſt be the god of armies! Now, Sir Hubert,
By all the ſaints thou'rt a right noble knight!
O why was I too old for this cruſade?
I think it wou'd have made me young again,
Cou'd I, like thee, have ſeen the hated Creſcent,
Yield to the Chriſtian croſs.—How now, Elwina!
What! cold at news which might awake the dead!
If there's a drop in thy degenerate veins
That glows not now, thou art not Raby's daughter.
It is religion's cauſe, the cauſe of heav'n!
ELWINA.
When policy aſſumes religion's name,
And wears the ſanctimonious garb of faith,
Only to colour fraud, and licenſe murder,
War then is tenfold guilt.
RABY.
Blaſpheming girl!
ELWINA.
'Tis not the croſier, nor the pontiff's robe,
The ſaintly look, nor elevated eye,
Nor Paleſtine deſtroy'd, nor Jordan's banks
Delug'd with blood of ſlaughter'd infidels,
No, nor th' extinction of the Eaſtern world,
Nor all the mad, pernicious, bigot rage
[30]Of your cruſades, can bribe that pow'r, who ſees
The motive with the act. O blind to think
That cruel war can pleaſe the prince of peace!
He who erects his altar in the heart,
Abhors the ſacrifice of human blood,
And all the falſe devotion of that zeal,
Which maſſacres the world he died to ſave.
RABY.
O impious rage! If thou wou'dſt ſhun my curſe
No more, I charge thee.—Tell me, good Sir Hubert,
Say, have our arms atchiev'd this glorious deed,
(I fear to aſk,) without much Chriſtian bloodſhed?
ELWINA.
Now heaven ſupport me!
aſide.
Sir HUBERT.
HUBERT
My good lord of Raby,
Imperfect is the ſum of human glory!
Wou'd I cou'd tell thee that the field was won,
Without the death of ſuch illuſtrious knights,
As make the high fluſh'd cheek of victory pale.
ELWINA.
Why ſhou'd I tremble thus?
aſide.
RABY.
Who have we loſt?
Sir HUBERT.
HUBERT.
The noble Clifford, Walſingham, and Grey,
[31]Sir Harry Haſtings, and the valiant Pembroke.
All men of choiceſt note.
RABY.
O that my name
Had been enroll'd in ſuch a liſt of heroes!
If I was too infirm to ſerve my country,
I might have prov'd my love by dying for her.
ELWINA.
Were there no more?
Sir HUBERT.
But few of noble blood.
But the brave youth who gain'd the palm of glory,
The flower of Knighthood, and the plume of war,
Who bore his banner foremoſt in the field,
Yet conquer'd more by mercy than the ſword,
Was Percy.
ELWINA.
Then he lives!
aſide.
RABY.
Did he? Did Percy?
O gallant boy, then I'm thy foe no more;
Who conquers for my country is my friend!
His ſame ſhall add new glories to a houſe,
Where never maid was falſe, nor knight diſloyal.
Sir HUBERT.
You do embalm him, lady, with your tears:
They grace the grave of glory where he lies.
He died the death of honour.
ELWINA.
[32]Said'ſt thou—died?
Sir HUBERT.
Beneath the towers of Solyma he fell.
ELWINA.
Oh!
Sir HUBERT.
Look to the lady.
(Elwina faints in her father's arms.)
RABY.
Gentle knight retire—
'Tis an infirmity of nature in her,
She ever mourns at any tale of blood,
She will be well anon—mean time, Sir Hubert,
You'll grace our caſtle with your friendly ſojourn.
Sir HUBERT.
I muſt return with ſpeed—health to the lady.
Exit Hubert.
RABY.
Look up Elwina. Shou'd her huſband come!
Yet ſhe revives not.
Enter DOUGLAS.
DOUGLAS.
Ha—Elwina fainting?
My lord, I fear you have too harſhly chid her.
[33]Her gentle nature could not brook your ſternneſs.
She wakes, ſhe ſtirs, ſhe feels returning life.
My love!
(He takes her hand.)
ELWINA.
O Percy!
DOUGLAS.
(Starts.)
Do my ſenſes fail me?
ELWINA.
My Percy, tis Elwina calls.
DOUGLAS.
Hell, hell!
RABY.
Retire awhile my daughter.
ELWINA.
Douglas here?
My father and my huſband!—O for pity.
Exit Elwina, caſting a look of anguiſh on both.
DOUGLAS.
Now, now confeſs ſhe well deſerves my vengeance!
Before my face to call upon, my foe!
RABY.
Upon a foe who has no power to hurt thee.
Earl Percy's ſlain.
ELWINA.
[]Now heaven ſupport me:
aſide
Sir HUBERT.
My good lord of Raby,
Imperfect is the ſum of human glory!
Wou'd I cou'd tell thee that the field was won,
Without the death of ſuch illuſtrious knights,
As make the high fluſh'd cheek of victory pale.
ELWINA.
Why ſhou'd I tremble thus?
aſide.
RABY.
Who have we loſt?
Sir HUBERT.
The noble Clifford, Walſingham, and Grey,
[] [...]
But the brave youth who gain [...]d the pa [...] of glory,
The flower of knighthood, and the plume of war,
Who bore his banner foremoſt in the field,
Yet conquer'd more by mercy than the ſword;
Was Percy.
ELWINA.
Then he lives!
aſide.
RABY.
Did he? Did Percy?
O gallant boy, then I'm thy foe no more;
Who conquers for my country is my friend!
His fame ſhall add new glories to a houſe,
Where never maid was falſe, nor knight diſloyal.
Sir HUBERT.
You do embalm him, lady, with your tears:
They grace the grave of glory where he lies.
He died the death of honour.
[32] [...][33] [...]DOUGLAS.
[34]I live again.—But hold—
Did ſhe not weep? ſhe did, and wept for Percy.
If ſhe laments him, he's my rival ſtill,
And not the grave can bary my reſentment.
RABY.
The truly brave are ſtill the truly gen'rous;
Now, Douglas, is the time to prove thee both.
If it be true that ſhe did once love Percy,
Thou haſt no more to fear, ſince he is dead.
Releaſe young Harcourt, let him ſee Elwina,
'Twill ſerve a double purpoſe, 'twill at once
Prove Percy's death, and thy unchang'd affection.
Be gentle to my child, and win her heart,
By confidence, and unreproaching love.
DOUGLAS.
By heav'n thou counſel'ſt well: it ſhall be done.
Go get him free, and let him have admittance
To my Elwina's preſence.
RABY.
Farewel, Douglas.
Shew thou believ'ſt her faithful and ſhe'll prove ſo.
Exit Raby.
DOUGLAS.
Northumberland is dead—that thought is peace!
Her heart may yet be mine, tranſporting hope!
Percy was gentle, ev'n a foe avows it,
And I'll be milder than a ſummer's breeze.
Yes, thou moſt lovely, moſt ador'd of women,
I'll copy every virtue, every grace,
Of my bleſs'd rival, happier ev'n in death.
To be thus lov'd, than living to be ſcorn'd.
End of Act the Second.
ACT III.
[35]SCENE, A Garden at Raby Caſtle, with a Bower.
Enter PERCY and Sir HUBERT.
Sir HUBERT.
THAT Percy lives, and is return'd in ſafety,
More joys my ſoul, than all the mighty conqueſts
That ſun beheld, which roſe on Syria's ruin.
PERCY.
I've told thee, good Sir Hubert, by what wonder
I was preſerv'd, tho' number'd with the ſlain.
Sir HUBERT.
'Twas ſtrange indeed!
PERCY.
'Twas heav'ns immediate work!
But let me now indulge a dearer joy,
[36]Talk of a richer gift of Mercy's hand;
A gift ſo precious to my doating heart,
That life preſerv'd is but a ſecond bleſſing.
O Hubert, let my ſoul indulge its ſoftneſs!
The hour, the ſpot is ſacred to Elwina.
This was her fav'rite walk; I well remember,
(For who forgets that loves as I have lov'd?)
'Twas in that very bower ſhe gave this ſcarf,
Wrought by the hand of love; ſhe bound it on,
And, ſmiling, cried, Whate'er befal us, Percy,
Be this the ſacred pledge of faith between us.
I knelt, and ſwore, call'd every pow'r to witneſs,
No time, nor circumſtance, ſhou'd force it from me!
But I wou'd loſe my life and that together.
Here I repeat my vow.
Sir HUBERT.
Is this the man
Beneath whoſe ſingle arm an hoſt was cruſh'd?
He, at whoſe name the Saracen turn'd pale?
And when he fell, victorious armies wept,
And mourn'd a conqueſt they had bought ſo dear?
How has he chang'd the trumpet's martial note,
And all the ſtirring clangor of the war,
For the ſoft melting of the lover's lute!
Why are thine eyes ſtill bent upon the bower?
PERCY.
O Hubert, Hubert, to a ſoul enamour'd,
There is a ſort of local ſympathy,
Which, when we view the ſeenes of early paſſion,
Paints the bright image of the object lov'd,
In ſtronger colours, than remoter ſcenes
Cou'd ever pant it, realizes ſhade,
[37]Dreſſes it up in all the charms it wore,
Talks to it nearer, frames its anſwers kinder,
Gives form to fancy, and embodies thought.
Sir HUBERT.
I ſhould not be believ'd in Percy's camp,
If I ſhou'd tell them that their gallant leader,
The thunder of the war, the bold Northumberland,
Renouncing Mars, diſſolv'd in amorous wiſhes,
Loiter'd in ſhades, and pin'd in roſy bowers,
To catch a tranſient glance of two bright eyes.
PERCY.
Enough of conqueſt, and enough of war!
Ambition's cloy'd—the heart reſumes its rights.
When England's king, and England's good re⯑quir'd,
This arm not idly the keen falchion brandiſh'd:
Enough—for vaunting miſbecomes a ſoldier.
I live, I am return'd—am near Elwina!
See'ſt thou thoſe turrets? Yes, that caſtle holds her.
But wherefore tell thee this? for thou haſt ſeen her.
How look'd, what ſaid ſhe? Did ſhe hear the tale
Of my imagin'd death without emotion?
Sir HUBERT.
Percy, thou haſt ſeen the muſk-roſe newly blown,
Diſcloſe its baſhful beauties to the ſun,
Till an unfriendly, chilling ſtorm deſcended,
Cruſh'd all its bluſhing glories in their prime,
Bow'd its fair head, and blaſted all its ſweetneſs.
So droop'd the maid, beneath the cruel weight
Of my ſad tale.
PERCY.
[38]So tender, and ſo true!
Sir HUBERT.
I left her fainting in her father's arms,
The dying flower yet hanging on the tree.
Ev'n Raby melted at the news I brought,
And envy'd thee thy glory.
PERCY.
Then I am bleſt!
His hate ſubdued, I've nothing more to fear.
Sir HUBERT.
My embaſſy diſpatch'd, I left the caſtle,
Nor ſpoke to any of Lord Raby's houſehold,
For fear the king ſhou'd chide the tardineſs
Of my return. My joy to find you living,
You have already heard.
PERCY.
But where is Harcourt?
E'er this he ſhou'd have ſeen her, told her all,
How I ſurviv'd, return'd, and how I love!
I tremble at the near approach of bliſs,
And ſcarcely can ſuſtain the joy which waits me.
Sir HUBERT.
Grant heaven the fair-one prove but half ſo true!
PERCY.
O ſhe is truth itſelf!
Sir HUBERT.
[39]She may be chang'd,
Spite of her tears, her fainting, and alarms.
I know the ſex, know them as nature made 'em,
Not ſuch as lovers; wiſh, and poets feign.
PERCY.
To doubt her virtue were ſuſpecting heaven,
'Twere little leſs than infidelity!
And yet I tremble. Why does terror; ſhake
Theſe firm-ſtrung nerves? But 'twill be ever thus,
When fate prepares us more than mortal bliſs,
And gives us only human ſtrength to bear it.
Sir HUBERT.
What beam of brightneſs breaks thro' yonder gloom?
PERCY.
Hubert—ſhe comes! By all my hopes ſhe comes!
'Tis ſhe—the bliſsful, viſion is Elwina!
But ah! what mean thoſe tears?—She weeps for me!
O tranſport!—go.—I'll liſten unobſerv'd,—
And for a moment taſte the precious joy,
The banquet of a tear which falls for love.
Exit Sir Hubert.
Percy goes into the Bower.
[40] Enter ELWINA.
ELWINA.
Shall I not weep, and have I then no cauſe?
If I cou'd break th' eternal bands of death,
And wrench the ſceptre from his iron graſp;
If I cou'd bid the yawning ſepulchre
Reſtore to life its long committed duſt;
If I could teach the ſlaught'ring hand of war,
To give me back, my dear, my murder'd Percy,
Then I indeed might once more ceaſe to weep.
[Percy comes out of the Bower.]
PERCY.
Then ceaſe, for Percy lives.
ELWINA.
Proteſt me heav'n!
PERCY.
O joy unſpeakable! My life, my love!
End of my toils, and crown of all my cares!
Kind as conſenting peace, as conqueſt bright,
Dearer than arms, and lovelier than renown!
ELWINA.
It is his voice—it is, it is my Percy!
And doſt thou live?
PERCY.
I never liv'd till now.
ELWINA.
[41]And did, my ſighs, and did my ſorrows reach thee?
And art thou come at laſt to dry my tears?
How didſt thou ſcape the fury of the foe?
PERCY.
Thy guardian genius hover'd o'er the field;
And turn'd the hoſtile ſpear from Percy's breaſt,
Left thy fair image ſhou'd be wounded there.
But Harcourt ſhould have told thee all my fate.
How I ſurviv'd—
ELWINA.
Alas! I have not ſeen him.
Oh! I have ſuffer'd much.
PERCY.
Of that no more;
For every minute of our future lives.
Shall be ſo bleſs d, that we will learn to wonder,
How we cou'd ever think we were unhappy.
ELWINA.
Percy—I cannot ſpeak.
PERCY.
Thoſe tears how eloquent!
I would not change this motlionleſs, mute joy
For the ſweet ſtrains of angels: I look down,
With pity on the reſt of human kind,
However great may be their ſame of happineſs,
And think their niggard fate has giv'n them no⯑thing.
[42]Not giving thee; or granting ſome ſmall bleſſing,
Denies them my capacity to feel it.
ELWINA.
Alas! what mean you?
PERCY.
Can I ſpeak my meaning?
Tis of ſuch magnitude that words wou'd wrong it;
But ſurely my Elwina's faithful boſom,
Shou'd beat in kind reſponſes of delight,
And feel, but never queſtion what I mean.
ELWINA.
Hold, hold, my heart, thou haſt much more to ſuffer!
PERCY.
Let the ſlow form, and tedious ceremony
Wait on the ſplendid victims of ambition.
Love ſtays for none of theſe. Thy father's ſoften'd,
He will forget the fatal Cheviot Chace;
Raby is brave, and I have ſerv'd my country;
I wou'd not boaſt, it was for thee I conquer'd.
Then come, my love.
ELWINA.
O never, never, never.
PERCY.
Am I awake? Is that Elwina's voice?
ELWINA.
Percy, thou moſt ador'd—and moſt deceiv'd!
If ever fortitude ſuſtain'd thy ſoul,
[43]When vulgar minds hare ſunk beneath the ſtroke,
Let thy imperial ſpirit now ſupport thee.—
If thou canſt be ſo wondrous merciful,
Do not, O do not curſe me!—but thou wilt,
Thou muſt—for I have done a fearful deed,
A deed of wild deſpair, a deed of horror.
I am, I am—
PERCY.
Speak, ſay, what art thou?
ELWINA.
Married.
PERCY.
Oh!
ELWINA.
Percy, I think I begg'd thee not to curſe me;
But now I do revoke the fond petition.
Speak! eaſe thy burſting ſoul; reproach, upbraid,
O'erwhelm me with thy wrongs—I'll bear it all.
PERCY.
Open, thou earth, and hide me from her ſight!
Didſt thou not bid me curſe thee?
ELWINA.
Mercy! mercy!
PERCY.
And have I 'ſcap'd the Saracen's fell ſword,
Only to periſh by Elwina's guilt?
I wou'd have bar'd my boſom to the foe,
I wou'd have died, had I but known you wiſh'd it.
ELWINA.
[44]Percy, I lov'd thee moſt when moſt I wrong'd thee:
Yes, by theſe tears I did.
PERCY.
Married! juſt heav'n!
Married? to whom? Yet wherefore ſhould I know?
It cannot add freſh horrors to thy crime,
Or my deſtruction.
ELWINA.
Oh! 'twill add to both.
How ſhall I tell? Prepare for ſomething dreadful.
Haſt thou not heard of—Douglas?
PERCY.
Why 'tis well!
Thou awful power why waſte thy wrath on me?
Why arm omnipotence to cruſh a worm?
I cou'd have fall'n without this waſte of ruin.
Married to Douglas! By my wrongs I like it,
'Tis perfidy compleat, 'tis finiſh'd falſehood,
'Tis adding freſh perdition to the ſin,
And filling up the meaſure of offence!
ELWINA.
Oh! 'twas my father's deed! he made his child
An inſtrument of vengeance on thy head.
He wept and threaten'd, ſooth'd me, and com⯑manded.
PERCY.
And you complied, moſt duteouſly complied!
ELWINA.
[45]I cou'd withſtand his fury; but his tears,
Ah, they undid me! Percy, doſt thou know
The cruel tyranny of tenderneſs?
Haſt thou e'er felt a father's warm embrace?
Haſt thou e'er ſeen a father's flowing tears,
And known that thou cou'dſt wipe thoſe tears away?
If thou haſt felt, and haſt reſiſted theſe,
Then thou may'ſt curſe my weakneſs; but if not,
Thou canſt not pity, for thou canſt not judge.
PERCY.
Let me not hear the muſic of thy voice,
Or I ſhall love thee ſtill; I ſhall forget
Thy fatal marriage, and my ſavage wrongs.
ELWINA.
Doſt thou not hate me, Percy?
PERCY.
Hate thee? Yes,
As dying martyrs hate the righteous cauſe
Of that bleſs'd Power for whom they bleed—I hate thee.
They look at each other in ſilent agony.
Enter HARCOURT.
HARCOURT
Forgive, my lord, your faithful knight—
PERCY.
Come, Harcourt,
Come and behold the wretch who once was Percy.
HARCOURT.
[46]With grief I've learn'd the whole unhappy tale.
Earl Douglas, whoſe ſuſpicion never ſleeps—
PERCY.
What, is the tyrant jealous?
ELWINA.
Hear him, Percy.
PERCY.
I will command my rage—Go on.
HARCOURT.
Earl Douglas
Knew by my arms, and my accoutrements,
That I belong'd to you; he queſtion'd much,
And much he menaced me, but both alike
In vain, he then arreſted and confin'd me.
PERCY.
Arreſt my knight? The Scot ſhall anſwer it.
ELWINA.
How came you now releas'd?
HARCOURT.
Your noble father
Obtain'd my freedom, having learn'd from Hubert
The news of Percy's death. The good old Lord,
Hearing the king's return, has left the Caſtle
To do him homage.
To Percy.
Sir, you had beſt retire;
Your ſafety is endanger'd by your ſtay.
I fear ſhou'd Douglas know—
PERCY.
[47]Shou'd Douglas know?
Why what new magic's in the name of Douglas,
That it ſhou'd ſtrike Northumberland with fear?
Go, ſeek the haughty Scot, and tell him—no—
Conduct me to his preſence.
ELWINA.
Percy, hold;
Think not 'tis Douglas—'tis—
PERCY.
I know it well,
Thou mean'ſt to tell me 'tis Elwina's huſband;
But that inflames me to ſuperior madneſs.
This happy huſband, this triumphant Douglas,
Shall not inſult my miſery with his bliſs.
I'll blaſt the golden promiſe of his joys.
Conduct me to him—nay, I will have way —
Come, let us ſeek this huſband.
ELWINA.
Percy, hear me.
When I was robb'd of all my peace of mind,
My cruel fortune left me ſtill one bleſſing,
One ſolitary bleſſing, to conſole me;
It was my fame.—'Tis a rich jewel, Percy,
And I muſt keep it ſpotleſs, and unſoil'd:
But thou wou'dſt plunder what e'en Douglas ſpar'd,
And rob this ſingle gem of all its brightneſs.
PERCY.
[48]Go—thou waſt born to rule the fate of Percy.
Thou art my conqueror ſtill.
ELWINA.
What noiſe is that?
Harcourt goes to the ſide of the Stage.
PERCY.
Why art thou thus alarm'd?
ELWINA.
Alas! I feel
The cowardice and terrors of the wicked.
Without their ſenſe of guilt.
HARCOURT.
My lord, 'tis Douglas.
ELWINA.
Fly, Percy, and for ever?
PERCY.
Fly from Douglas?
ELWINA.
Then ſtay, barbarian, and at once deſtroy My life and fame.
PERCY.
That thought is death. I go.
My honour to thy dearer honour yields.
ELWINA
[49]Yet, yet thou art not gone!
PERCY
Farewel, farewel!
Exit Percy.
ELWINA.
I dare not meet the ſearching eye of Douglas.
I muſt conceal my terrors;
Douglas at the Side with his ſword drawn, Edric holds him
DOUGLAS.
Give me way.
EDRIC.
Thou ſhalt not enter.
DOUGLAS ſtruggling with Edric:
If there were no hell,
It wou'd defraud my vengeance of it's edge,
And he ſhou'd live.
(Breaks from Edric and comes forward.)
Curs'd chance! he is not here;
ELWINA.
Let us retire, my friend, the ſtorm is up;
dare not meet its fury.
DOUGLAS.
See ſhe flies
With ev'ry mark of guilt.—Go ſearch the Bow'r,
Aſide to Edric.
[50]He ſhall not thus eſcape. Madam, return.
Aloud.
Now honeſt Douglas learn of her to feign.
Aſide.
Alone, Elwina? who juſt parted hence?
With affected compoſure.
ELWINA.
My lord, 'twas Harcourt; ſure you muſt have met him.
DOUGLAS.
O exquiſite diſſembler! No one elſe?
ELWINA.
My lord!
DOUGLAS.
How I enjoy her criminal confuſion!
You tremble, Madam.
ELWINA.
Wherefore ſhou'd I tremble?
By your permiſſion Harcourt was admitted;
'Twas no myſterious, ſecret introduction.
DOUGLAS.
And yet you ſeem alarm'd. If Harcourt's preſence
Thus agitates each nerve, makes ev'ry pulſe
Thus wildly throb, and the warm tides of blood,
Mount in quick ruſhing tumults to your cheek;
If friendihip can excite ſuch ſtrong emotions,
What tremors had a lover's preſence caus'd?
ELWINA.
Ungenerous man!
DOUGLAS.
[51]I feaſt upon her terrors.
Aſide.
The ſtory of his death was well contriv'd,
to her.
But it affects not me; I have a wife,
Compar'd with whom cold Dian was unchaſte.
Takes her hand.
But mark me well—tho' it concerns not you—
If there's a ſin more deeply black than others,
Diſtinguiſh'd from the liſt of common crimes,
A legion in itſelf, and doubly dear
To the dark prince of hell, it is—hypocriſy.
Throws her from him and Exit.
ELWINA.
Yes, I will bear his fearful indignation!
Thou melting heart be firm as adamant;
Ye ſhatter'd nerves be ſtrung with manly force,
That I may conquer all my ſex's weakneſs,
Nor let this bleeding boſom lodge one thought,
Cheriſh one wiſh, or harbour one deſire,
That angels may not hear, and Douglas know.
End of the Third Act.
ACT IV.
[52]SCENE, The Hall.
Enter DOUGLAS, his ſword drawn and bloody in one hand, in the other a letter. HARCOURT wounded.
DOUGLAS.
TRAYTOR no more. This letter ſhews thy office.
Twice haſt thou robb'd me of my dear revenge.
I took thee for thy leader.—Thy baſe blood
Wou'd ſtain the noble temper of my ſword,
But as the pander to thy maſter's luſt,
Thou juſtly fall'ſt by a wrong'd huſband's hand.
HARCOURT.
Thy wife is innocent.
DOUGLAS.
Take him away.
HARCOURT.
Percy, revenge my fall!
Guards bear Harcourt in.
DOUGLAS.
[53]Now for the letter!
Het begs once more to ſee her.—ſo 'tis plain
They have already met!—but to the reſt—
Reads,
"In vain you wiſh me to reſtore the ſcarf,
Dear pledge of love, while I have life I'll wear it,
'Tis next my heart; no pow'r ſhall force it thence.
Whene'er you ſee it in another's hand
Conclude me dead."—My curſes on them both!
How tamely I peruſe my ſhame! But thus,
Thus, let me tear the guilty chtacters
Which regiſter my infamy. And thus,
Thus wou'd I ſcatter to the winds of heav'n,
The vile complotters of my ſoul diſhonour.
Tears the letter in the utmoſt agitation.
Enter EDRIC.
EDRIC.
My lord—
DOUGLAS.
(in the utmoſt fury, not ſeeing Edric)
The ſcarf!
EDRIC.
Lord Douglas.
DOUGLAS
(ſtill not hearing him)
Yes, the ſcarf!
Percy, I thank thee for the glorious thought!
I'll cheriſh it; 'twill ſweeten all my pangs,
And add a higher reliſh to revenge!
EDRIC.
[54]My lord!
DOUGLAS.
How, Edric here?
EDRIC.
What new diſtreſs?
DOUGLAS.
Doſt thou expect I ſhou'd recount my ſhame?
Dwell on each circumſtance of my diſgrace,
And ſwell my infamy into a tale?
Rage will not let me—But—my wife is falſe.
EDRIC.
Art thou convinc'd?
DOUGLAS.
The chronicles of hell
Cannot produce a falſer.—But what news
Of her curs'd paramour?
EDRIC.
He has eſcap'd.
DOUGLAS.
Haſt thou examin'd ev'ry avenue?
Each ſpot? The grove? the bower, her fav'rite haunt?
EDRIC.
I've ſcarch'd them all.
DOUGLAS.
[55]He ſhall be yet purſu'd.
Set guards at every gate—Let none depart,
Or gain admittance here without my knowledge,
EDRIC.
What can their purpoſe be?
DOUGLAS.
Is it not clear?
Harcourt has rais'd his arm againſt my life?
He fail'd; the blow is now reſerv'd for Percy;
Then with his ſword freſh reeking from my heart,
He'll revel with that wanton o'er my tomb;
Nor will he bring her ought ſhe'll hold ſo dear,
As the curs'd hand with which he ſlew her huſband.
But he ſhall die! I'll drown my rage in blood,
Which I will offer as a rich libation,
On thy infernal altar, black Revenge!
Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the Garden.
Enter ELWINA.
ELWINA.
Each avenue is ſo beſet with guards,
And lynx-ey'd Jealouſy ſo broad awake,
He cannot paſs unſeen. Protect him heav'n!
Enter Birtha.
My Birtha, is he ſafe? Has he eſcap'd?
BIRTHA.
[56]I know not. I diſpatch'd young Harcourt to him
To bid him quit the Caſtle, as you order'd,
Reſtore the ſcarf, and never ſee you more.
But how the hard injunction was receiv'd,
Or what has happen'd ſince, I'm yet to learn,
ELWINA.
O when ſhall I be eas'd of all my cares,
And in the quiet boſom of the grave
Lay down this weary head?—I'm ſick at heart
Shou'd. Douglas intercept his flight?
BIRTHA.
Be calm;
Douglas this very moment left the Caſtle,
With ſeeming peace.
ELWINA.
Ah, then indeed there's danger!
Birtha, whene'er Suſpicion ſeigns to ſleep,
'Tis but to make its careleſs prey ſecure.
BIRTHA.
Shou'd Percy once again entreat to ſee thee;
'Twere beſt admit him; from thy lips alone,
He will ſubmit to hear his final doom
Of everlaſting exile,
ELWINA.
Birtha, no:
If honour wou'd allow the wife of Douglas
To meet his rival, yet I durſt not do it.
Percy! too much this rebel heart is thine:
[57]Too deeply ſhould I feel each pang I gave;
I cannot hate—but I will baniſh thee.
Inexorable duty, O forgive,
If I can do no more!
BIRTHA.
If he remains,
As I ſuſpect, within the caſtle walls,
'Twere beſt I ſought him out.
ELWINA.
Then tell him, Birtha,
But Oh! with gentleneſs, with mercy tell him,
'That we muſt never, never meet again.
The purport of thy tale muſt be ſevere,
But let thy tenderneſs embalm the wound
My virtue gives. O ſoften his deſpair;
But ſay—we meet no more.
Enter Percy.
Raſh man, he's here!
(She attempts to go, he ſeizes her hand.)
PERCY.
I will be heard; nay, fly not; I will ſpeak;
Loſt as I am, I will not be denied
The mournful conſolation to complain.
ELWINA.
Percy, I charge thee, leave me.
PERCY.
[58]Tyrant, no:
I bluſh at my obedience, bluſh to think
I left thee here alone, to brave the danger
I now return to ſhare.
ELWINA.
That danger's paſt:
Douglas was ſoon appeas'd; he nothing knows.
Then leave me I conjure thee, nor again
Endanger my repoſe. Yet, e'er thou goeſt,
Reſtore the ſcarf.
PERCY.
Unkind Elwina, never.
'Tis all that's left me of my buried, joys,
All, which' reminds me that I once was happy.
My letter told thee! wou'd ne'er reſtore it.
ELWINA.
Letter? what letter?
PERCY.
That I ſent by Harcourt.
ELWINA.
Which I have ne'er receiv'd. Douglas, perhaps—Who knows?
BIRTHA.
Harcourt, t' elude his watchfulneſs,
Might prudently retire.
ELWINA.
[59]Grant heav'n it prove ſo!
(Elwina going, Percy holds her.)
PERCY.
Hear me, Elwina, the moſt ſavage honour
Forbids not that poor grace.
ELWINA.
It bids me fly thee,
PERCY.
Then e'er thou go'ſt, if we indeed muſt part,
To ſooth the horrors of eternal exile,
Say but—thou pity'ſt me!
ELWINA.
(weeps.)
O Percy—pity thee!
Imperious honour!—ſurely I may pity him.
Yet, wherefore pity? no, I envy thee:
For thou haſt ſtill the liberty to weep,
in thee 'twill be no crime; thy tears are guiltleſs,
For they infringe no duty, ſtain no honour,
And blot no vow: But mine are criminal,
Are drops of ſhame which waſh the cheek of guilt,
And every tear I ſhed diſhonours Douglas.
PERCY.
I ſwear my jealous love e'en grudges thee
Thy ſad pre-eminence in wretchedneſs.
ELWINA.
[60]Rouſe, rouſe, my ſlumb'ring virtue! Percy, hear me.
Heav'n, when it gives ſuch high-wrought ſouls as thine,
Still gives as great occaſions to exert them.
If thou waſt form'd ſo noble, great, and gen'rous,
'Twas to ſurmount the paſſions which enſlave
The groſs of humankind.—Then think, O think,
She, whom thou once didſt love, is now another's.
PERCY.
Go on—and tell me that that other's Douglas.
ELWINA.
Whate'er his name, he claims reſpect from me:
His honour's in my keeping, and I hold
The truſt ſo pure, its ſanctity is hurt,
Ev'n by thy preſence.
PERCY.
Thou again haſt conquer'd.
Celeſtial Virtue, like the angel-ſpirit,
Whoſe flaming ſword defended Paradiſe,
Stands guard on ev'ry charm.—Elwina, yes,
To triumph over Douglas, we'll be virtuous.
ELWINA.
'Tis not enough to be,—we muſt appear ſo:
Great ſouls diſdain the ſhadow of offence,
Nor muſt their whiteneſs wear the ſtain of guilt.
PERCY.
[61]I ſhall retract—I dare not gaze upon thee;
My feeble virtue ſtaggers, and again
The fiends of jealouſy torment and haunt me.
They tear my heart-ſtrings.—Oh!
ELWINA.
No more;
But ſpare my injur'd honour the affront
To vindicate, itſelf.
PERCY.
But love!
ELWINA.
But glory!
PERCY.
Enough! a ray of thy ſublimer ſpirit,
Has wann'd my dying honour to a flame!
One effort, and 'tis done. The world ſhall ſay,
When they ſhall ſpeak of my diſaſtrous love,
Percy deſerv'd Elwina though he loſt her.
Fond tears blind me not yet! a little longer,
Let my ſad eyes a little longer gaze,
And leave their laſt beams here.
ELWINA. turns from him.
I do not weep.
PERCY.
Not weep? Then why thoſe eyes avoiding mine?
[62]And why that broken voice? thoſe trembling accents?
That ſigh which rends my ſoul?
ELWINA.
No more, no more.
PERCY.
That pang decides it. Come—I'll die at once;
Thou pow'r ſupreme! take all the length of days,
And all the bleſſings kept in ſtore for me,
And add to her account;—Yet turn once more.
One little look, one laſt, ſhort glimpſe of day,
And then a long, dark night.—Hold, hold my heart.
O break not yet, while I behold her ſweetneſs;
For after this dear, mournful, tender moment,
I ſhall have nothing more to do with life,
ELWINA.
I do conjure thee go.
PERCY.
'Tis terrible to nature?
With pangs like theſe the ſoul and body part!
And thus, but Oh, with far leſs agony,
The poor departing wretch ſtill graſps at being,
Thus clings to life, thus dreads the dark unknown,
Thus ſtruggles to the laſt to keep his hold;
And when the dire convulſive groan of death
Diſlodges the ſad ſpirit—thus it ſtays,
And fondly hovers o'er the form it lov'd.
Once, and no more—farewel, farewel!
ELWINA.
[63]For ever!
They look at each other for ſome time, then
Exit Percy.
After a pauſe,
'Tis paſt—the conflict's paſt! retire, my Birtha,
I wou'd addreſs me to the throne of grace.
BIRTHA.
May heav'n reſtore that peace thy boſom wants?
Exit Birtha.
ELWINA.
kneels.
Look, down, thou awful, heart-inſpecting judge,
Look down, with mercy, on thy erring creature,
And teach my ſoul the lowlineſs it needs!
And if ſome ſad remains of human weakneſs,
Shou'd ſometimes mingle with my beſt reſolves,
O breathe thy ſpirit on this wayward heart,
And teach me to repent th' intruding ſin,
In its firſt birth of thought!
(Noiſe without)
What noiſe is that?
The claſh of ſwords! Shou'd Douglas be return'd?
Enter Douglas and Percy fighting.
DOUGLAS.
Yield, villain, yield.
PERCY.
Not till this good right arm
Shall fail its maſter.
DOUGLAS.
[64]This to thy heart then.
PERCY.
Defend thy own.
(They fight. Percy diſarms Douglas.)
DOUGLAS.
Confuſion, death, and hell!
EDRIC.
(Without.)
This way I heard the noiſe.
(Enter Edric and many Knights and Guards from every part of the Stage.)
PERCY.
Curs'd treachery!
But dearly will I ſell my life.
DOUGLAS.
Seize on him.
PERCY.
I'm taken in the toils.
Percy is ſurrounded by Guards, who take his ſword.
DOUGLAS.
In the curs'd ſnare
Thou laid'ſt for me, traytor, thyſelf art caught.
ELWINA.
He never ſought thy life.
DOUGLAS.
[65]Adultereſs, peace.
The villain Harcourt too—but he's at reſt.
PERCY.
Douglas, I'm in thy pow'r; but do not triumph,
Percy's betray'd, not conquer'd. Come, diſpatch me.
ELWINA.
(to Douglas.)
O do not, do not kill him!
PERCY.
Madam, forbear;
For by the glorious ſhades of my great fathers,
Their godlike ſpirit is not ſo extinct,
That I ſhou'd owe my life to that vile Scot.
Tho' dangers cloſe me round on every ſide,
And death beſets me—I am Percy ſtill.
DOUGLAS.
Sorcereſs, I'll diſappoint thee—he ſhall die;
Thy minion ſhall expire before thy face,
That I may feaſt my hatred with your pangs,
And make his dying groans, and thy fond tears,
A banquet for my vengeance.
ELWINA.
Savage tyrant!
I wou'd have fall'n a ſilent ſacrifice,
So thou had'ſt ſpar'd my fame. I never wrong'd thee,
PERCY.
She knew not of my coming; I alone,
Have been to blame—ſpite of her interdiction,
I hither came. She's pure as ſpotleſs ſaints.
ELWINA.
[66]I will not be excus'd by Percy's crime;
So white my innocence, it does not aſk
The ſhade of others' faults to ſet it off;
Nor ſhall he need to fully his fair fame,
To throw a brighter luſtre round my virtue.
PERCY.
Enough of words. Thou know'ſt. I hate thee, Douglas;
'Tis ſtedfaſt, fix'd, hereditary hate,
As thine for me; our fathers did bequeath it,
As part of our unalienable birthright,
Which nought but death can end.—Come, end it here.
ELWINA.
(kneels.)
Hold, Douglas, hold!—not for myſelf I kneel,
I do not plead for Percy, but for thee:
Arm not thy hand againſt thy future peace,
Spare thy brave breaſt the tortures of remorſe,—
Stain not a life of unpolluted, honour,
For oh! as ſurely as thou ſtrik'ſt at Percy,
Thou wilt for ever ſtab the ſame of Douglas.
PERCY.
Finiſh the bloody work.
DOUGLAS.
[67]Then take thy wiſh.
PERCY.
Why doſt thou ſtart?
Percy bares his boſom, Douglas advances to ſtab him, and diſcovers the Scarf.
DOUGLAS.
Her ſcarf upon his breaſt!
The blaſting ſight converts me into ſtone;
Withers my powers like cowardice, or age,
Curdles the blood within my ſhiv'ring veins,
And palſies my bold arm.
PERCY.
(ironically to the Knights.)
Hear you, his friends!
Bear witneſs to the glorious, great exploit,
Record it in the annals of his race,
That Douglas the renown'd—the valiant Douglas.
Fenc'd round with guards, and ſafe in his own caſtle,
Surpris'd a knight unarm'd, and bravely ſlew him.
DOUGLAS.
(throwing away his dagger.)
'Tis true—I am the very ſtain of knighthood.
How is my glory dimm'd!
ELWINA.
It blazes brighter!
Douglas was only brave—he now is gen'rous!
PERCY.
[68]This action has reſtor'd thee to thy rank,
And makes thee worthy to contend with Percy.
DOUGLAS.
Thy joy will be as ſhort, as tis inſulting.
(to Elwina.)
And thou, imperious boy, reſtrain thy boaſting.
Thou haſt ſav'd my honour, not remov'd my hate,
For my ſoul loaths thee for the obligation.
Give him his ſword.
PERCY.
Now thou'rt a noble foe,
And in the field of honour I will meet thee,
As knight encountring knight.
ELWINA.
Stay, Percy, ſtay,
Strike at the wretched cauſe of all, ſtrike here,
Here ſheathe thy thirſty ſword, but ſpare my huſband.
DOUGLAS.
Turn, Madam, and addreſs thoſe vows to me,
To ſpare the precious life of him you love.
Ev'n now you triumph in the death of Douglas,
Now your looſe fancy kindles at the thought,
And wildly rioting in lawleſs hope,
Indulges the adultery of the mind.
But I'll defeat that wiſh.—Guards bear her in.
Nay, do not ſtruggle.
She is borne in.
PERCY.
[69]Let our death's ſuffice,
And rev'rence virtue in that form inſhrin'd,
DOUGLAS.
Provoke my rage no farther.—I have kindled
The burning torch of never-dying vengeance
At Love's expiring lamp.—But mark me, friends,
If Percy's happier genius ſhou'd prevail,
And I ſhou'd fall, give him ſafe conduct hence,
Be all obſervance paid him.—Go—I follow thee.
Aſide to Edric.
Within I've ſomething for thy private ear.
PERCY.
Now ſhall this mutual fury be appeas'd!
Theſe eager hands ſhall ſoon be drench'd in ſlaughter!
Yes—like two famiſh'd vultures ſnuffing blood,
And panting to deſtroy, we'll ruſh to combat;
Yet I've the deepeſt, deadlieſt cauſe of hate,
I'm but Percy, thou'rt—Elwina's huſband.
End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V.
[70]SCENE, Elwina's Apartment.
ELWINA.
THOU who in judgment ſtill remember'ſt mercy,
Look, down upon my woes, preſerve. my huſband,
Preſerve my huſband! Ah, I dare not aſk it;
If Douglas ſhou'd ſurvive, what then becomes
Of—him—I dare not name? And if he conquers
I have no huſband. Agonizing ſtate!
When I can neither hope, nor think, nor pray,
But guilt involves me. Sure to know the worſt,
Cannot exceed the torture of ſuſpenſe,
When each event is big with equal horror.
Looks out.
What no one yet? This ſolitude is dreadful!
My horrors multiply!
Enter Birtha.
Thou meſſenger of woe!
BIRTHA.
Of woe indeed!
ELWINA.
[71]How, is my huſband dead?
Oh ſpeak.
BIRTHA.
Your huſband lives.
ELWINA.
Then farewel Percy!
He was the tenderes;t, trueſt!—Bleſs him heav'n,
With crowns of glory, and immortal joys!
BIRTHA.
Still are you wrong; the combat is not over.
Stay flowing tears, and give me leave to ſpeak.
ELWINA.
Thou ſay'ſt that Percy and my huſband live;
Then why this ſorrow?
BIRTHA.
What a talk is mine?
ELWINA.
Thou talk'ſt as if I were a child in grief,
And ſcarce acquainted with calamity.
Speak out, unfold thy tale whate'er it be,
For I am ſo familiar with affliction,
It cannot come in any ſhape will ſhock me.
BIRTHA.
How ſhall I ſpeak? Thy huſband—
ELWINA.
What of Douglas?
BIRTHA.
[72]When all was ready for the fatal combat,
He call'd his choſen knights, then drew his ſword,
And on it made them ſwear a ſolemn oath,
Confirm'd by ev'ry rite religion bids,
That they wou'd ſee perform'd his laſt requeſt,
Be it whate'er it wou'd. Alas! they ſwore.
ELWINA.
What did the dreadful preparation mean?
BIRTHA.
Then to their hands he gave a poiſon'd cup,
Compounded of the deadlieſt herbs, and drugs;
Take this, ſaid he, it is a huſband's legacy;
Percy may conquer—and—I have a wife!
If Douglas falls, Elwina muſt not live.
ELWINA.
Spirit of Herod! Why 'twas greatly thought!
'Twas worthy of the boſom which conceiv'd it!
Yet 'twas too merciful to be his own.
Yes, Douglas, yes, my huſband, I'll obey thee,
And bleſs thy genius which has found the means
To reconcile thy vengeance with my peace,
The deadly means to make obedience pleaſant.
BIRTHA.
O ſpare, for pity ſpare my bleeding heart:
Inhuman to the laſt. Unnatural! poiſon!
ELWINA.
My gentle friend, what is there in a name?
The means are little where the end is kind.
If it diſturb thee do not call it poiſon;
Call it the ſweet oblivion of my cares,
My balm of woe, my cordial of affliction,
[73]The drop of mercy to my fainting ſoul,
My kind diſmiſſion from a world of ſorrow,
My cup of bliſs, my paſsport to the ſkies,
BIRTHA.
Hark! what alarm is that?
ELWINA.
The combat's over!
Birtha goes out.
(Elwina ſtands in a fix'd attituide, her hands claſp'd.)
Now gracious heav'n ſuſtain me in the trial,
And bow my ſpirit to thy great decrees!
Re-enter BIRTHA.
(Elwina looks ſtedfaſtly at her without ſpeaking.)
BIRTHA.
Douglas is fall'n.
ELWINA.
Bring me the poiſon.
BIRTHA.
Never.
ELWINA.
Where are the knights? I ſummon you—ap⯑proach!
Draw near ye awful miniſters of fate,
Dire inſtruments of poſthumous revenge!
Come—I am ready; but your tardy juſtice
Defrauds the injur'd dead.—Go, haſte, my friend,
Sec that the caſtle be ſecurely guarded,
Let ev'ry gate be barr'd—prevent his entrance.
BIRTHA.
[74]Whoſe entrance?
ELWINA.
His—the murderer of my huſband.
BIRTHA.
He's ſingle, we have hoſts of friends.
ELWINA.
No matter;
Who knows what love and madneſs may attempt?
But here I ſwear by all that binds the good,
Never to ſee him more.—Unhappy Douglas!
O if thy troubled ſpirit ſtill is conſcious
Of our paſt woes, look down and hear me ſwear,
That when the legacy thy rage bequeathed me,
Works at my heart, and conquers ſtruggling nature,
Ev'n in that agony I'll ſtill be faithful.
She who cou'd never love, ſhall yet obey thee,
Weep thy hard fate, and die to prove her truth.
BIRTHA.
O unexampled virtue!
a noiſe without.
ELWINA.
Heard you nothing?
By all my fears th' inſulting conqueror comes.
O ſave me, ſhield me!
Enter DOUGLAS.
Heav'n and earth, my huſband!
DOUGLAS.
Yes—
To blaſt thee with the ſight of him thou hat'ſt,
[75]Of him thou haſt wrong'd, Adultereſs, 'tis thy huſband.
ELWINA.
(kneels.)
Bleſt be the fountain of eternal mercy,
This load of guilt is ſpar'd me! Douglas lives!
Perhaps both live! (to Birtha) Cou'd I be ſure of that,
The poiſon were ſuperfluous, joy wou'd kill me.
DOUGLAS.
Be honeſt now; for once, and curſe thy ſtars;
Curſe thy deteſted fate which brings thee back
A hated huſband, when thy guilty ſoul
Revell'd in fond, imaginary joys
With my too happy rival; when thou ſlew'ſt,
To gratify, impatient, boundleſs paſſion,
And join adulterous luſt to bloody murder;
Then to reverſe the ſcene! polluted woman!
Mine is the tranſport now, and thine the pang.
ELWINA.
Whence ſprung the falſe report that thou had'ſt fall'n?
DOUGLAS.
To give thy guilty breaſt a deeper wound,
To add a deadlier ſting to diſappointment,
I rais'd it—I contriv'd—I ſent it thee.
ELWINA.
Thou ſeeſt me bold but bold in conſcious virtue.
—That my ſad ſoul may not be ſtain'd with blood,
That I may ſpend my few ſhort hours in peace,
And die in holy hope of heav'n's forgiveneſs,
Relieve the terrors of my lab'ring breaſt,
Say I am clear of murder—ſay he lives.
Say but that little word that Percy lives,
[76]And Alps, and Oceans ſhall divide us ever,
As far as univerſal ſpace can part us.
DOUGLAS.
Canſt thou renounce him?
ELWINA.
Tell me that he lives,
And thou ſhalt be the ruler of my fate,
For ever hide me in a convent's gloom,
From cheerful day-light, and the haunts of men;
Where ſad auſterity, and ceaſeleſs pray'r,
Shall ſhare my uncomplaining day between them.
DOUGLAS.
O hypocrite! now vengeance to thy office.
I had forgot—Percy commends him to thee,
And by my hand—
ELWINA.
How—by thy hand?
DOUGLAS.
Has ſent thee,
This precious pledge of love.
(He gives her Percy's Scarf.)
ELWINA.
Then Percy's dead!
DOUGLAS.
He is.—O great revenge, thou now art mine!
See how convulſive ſorrow rends her frame!
This, this is tranſport!—injur'd honour, now,
Receives its vaſt, its ample retribution.
She ſheds no tears, her grief's too highly wrought;
[77]'Tis ſpeechleſs agony.—She muſt not faint—
She ſhall not 'ſcape her portion of the pain.
No! ſhe, ſhall feel the fulneſs of diſtreſs,
And wake to keen perception of her loſs.
BIRTHA.
Monſter! Barbarian! leave her to her ſorrows.
ELWINA.
(In a low broken voice.)
Douglas—think not I faint, becauſe thou ſee'ſt
The pale, and bloodleſs cheek of wan deſpair.
Fail me not yet, my ſpirits; thou cold heart,
Cheriſh thy freezing current one ſhort moment,
And bear thy mighty load a little longer.
DOUGLAS.
Percy, I muſt avow it, bravely ſought;—
Died as a hero ſhou'd;—but, as he fell,
Hear it, fond wanton, call'd upon thy name,
And his laſtly guilty breath. ſigh'd out—Elwina!
Come—give a looſe to rage, and feed my ſoul
With wild complaints, and womaniſh upbraidings.
ELWINA.
(In a low ſolemn voice.)
No:
The ſorrow's weak that waſtes itſelf in words.
Mine is ſubſtantial anguiſh—deep, not loud;
I do not rave.—Reſentment's the return
Of common ſouls for common injuries.
Light grief is proud of ſtate, and courts compaſſion;
But there's a dignity in cureleſs ſorrow,
A ſullen grandeur which diſdains complaint.
Rage is for little wrongs—Deſpair is dumb.
Exeunt Elwina and Birtha.
DOUGLAS.
[78]Why this is well!—her ſenſe of woe is ſtrong!
The ſharp, keen tooth of gnawing Grief devours her,—
Feeds on her heart, and pays me back my pangs.
Since I muſt periſh, 'twill be glorious ruin:
I fall not ſingly; but, like ſome proud tower,
I'll cruſh ſurrounding objects in the wreck,
And make the devaſtation wide and dreadful.
Enter RABY.
RABY.
O whither ſhall a wretched father turn?
Where fly for comfort? Douglas, art thou here?
I do not aſk for comfort at thy hands.
I'd but one little caſket where I lodg'd
My precious hoard of wealth, and, like an ideot,
I gave my treaſure to another's keeping,
Who threw away the gem, nor knew its value,
But left the plunder'd owner quite a beggar.
DOUGLAS.
What! art thou come to ſee thy race diſhonour'd,
And thy bright ſun of glory ſet in blood?
I wou'd have ſpar'd thy virtues, and thy age,
The knowledge of her infamy.
RABY.
Tis falſe.
Had ſhe been baſe, this ſword had drank her blood.
DOUGLAS.
Ha! doſt thou vindicate the wanton?
RABY.
[79]Wanton?
Thou haſt defam'd a noble lady's honour—
My ſpotleſs child—in me behold her champion:
The ſtrength of Hercules will nerve this arm,
When lifted in defence of innocence.
The daughter's virtue for the father's ſhield,
Will make old Raby ſtill invincible.
Offers to draw.
DOUGLAS.
Forbear.
RABY.
Thou doſt diſdain my feeble arm,
And ſcorn my age.
DOUGLAS.
There will be blood enough;
Nor need thy wither'd veins, old lord, be drain'd,
To ſwell the copious ſtream.
RABY.
Thou wilt not kill her?
DOUGLAS.
Oh, 'tis a day of horror!
Enter EDRIC and BIRTHA.
EDRIC.
Where is Douglas?
I come to ſave him from the deadlieſt crime
Revenge did ever meditate.
DOUGLAS.
What mean'ſt thou?
EDRIC.
[80]This inſant fly, and ſave thy guiltleſs wife.
DOUGLAS.
Save that perſidious—?
EDRIC.
That much injur'd woman.
BIRTHA.
Unfortunate indeed, but O moſt innocent!
EDRIC.
In the laſt ſolemn article of death,
That truth-compelling ſtate, when ev'n bad 'men
Fear to ſpeak falſely, Percy clear'd her fame.
DOUGLAS.
I heard him.—'Twas the guilty fraud of love.
The ſcarf, the ſcarf! that proof of mutual paſſion,
Giv'n but this day, to ratify their crimes!
BIRTHA.
What means my lord? Alas! that fatal ſcarf,
Was giv'n long ſince, a toy of childiſh friendſhip;
Long e'er your marriage, e'er you knew Elwina.
RABY.
'Tis I am guilty.
DOUGLAS.
Ha!
RABY.
I,—I alone.
Confuſion, honour, pride, parental fondneſs
[81]Diſtract my ſoul.—Percy was not to blame,
He was—the deſtin'd huſband of Elwina!
He lov'd her—was belov'd,—and I approv'd.
The tale is long.—I chang'd my purpoſe ſince,
Forbad their marriage.
DOUGLAS.
And confirm'd my mis'ry!
Twice did they meet to-day—my wife and Percy.
RABY.
I know it.
DOUGLAS.
Ha! thou knew'ſt of my diſhonour?
Thou waſt a witneſs, an approving witneſs,
At leaſt a tame one!
RABY.
Percy came, 'tis true,
A conſtant, tender, but a guiltleſs lover.
DOUGLAS.
I ſhall grow mad indeed! a guiltleſs lover!
Percy, the guiltleſs lover of my wife!
RABY.
He knew, not ſhe was married.
DOUGLAS.
How? is't poſſible?
RABY.
Douglas, 'tis true; both, both were innocent:
He, of her marriage; ſhe, of his return.
BIRTHA.
But now, when we believ'd thee dead, ſhe vow'd
[82]Never to ſee thy rival. Inſtantly,
Not in a ſtart of momentary paſſion,
But with a martyr's dignity and calmneſs,
She bade me bring the poiſon.
DOUGLAS.
Had'ſt thou done it,
Deſpair had been my portion! Fly good Birtha,
Find out the ſuff'ring ſaint—deſcribe my penitence,
And paint my vaſt extravagance of fondneſs,
Tell her I love, as never mortal lov'd—
Tell her I know her virtues, and adore them—
Tell her I come, but dare not ſeek here preſence,
Till ſhe pronounce my pardon.
BIRTHA.
I obey.
Exit Birtha.
RABY.
My child is innocent! ye choirs of ſaints,
Catch the bleſt ſounds—my child is innocent!
DOUGLAS.
O I will kneel, and ſue for her forgiveneſs,
And thou ſhall help me plead the cauſe of love,
And thou ſhalt weep—ſhe cannot ſure refuſe,
A kneeling huſband, and a weeping father.
Thy venerable cheek is wet already.
RABY.
Douglas! it is the dew of grateful joy!
My child is innocent! I now wou'd die,
Leſt fortune ſhou'd grow weary of her kindneſs
And grudge me this ſhort tranſport.
DOUGLAS.
[83]Where, where is ſhe?
My fond impatience brooks not her delay;
Quick let me find her, huſh her troubled ſoul,
And ſooth her into peace!—She comes, ſhe comes,
To crown my pardon and reward my love!
Enter Birtha.
BIRTHA.
O horror; horror, horror!
DOUGLAS.
Ah what mean'ſt thou?
BIRTHA.
Elwina—Douglas ſpeak—
Her grief wrought up to frenzy,
She has, in her delirium ſwallow'd poiſon.
RABY.
Frenzy and poiſon!
DOUGLAS.
Both a huſband's gift;
But thus I do her juſtice.
As Douglas goes to ſtab himſelf enter Elwina diſ⯑tracted, her hair diſhevell'd, Percy's Scarf in her hand.
ELWINA.
(goes up to Douglas.)
What blood again? We cannot kill him twice
Soft, ſoft—no violence—he's dead already;—
I did it—Yes—I drown'd him with my tears;
But hide the cruel deed! I'll ſcratch him out
A ſhallow grave, and lay the green Sod on it;
Aye—and I'll bind the wild briar o'er the turf,
And plant a Willow there, a weeping Willow—
She ſits on the ground.
[84]But look you tell not Douglas, he'll diſturb him,
He'll pluck the willow up—and plant a thorn,
He will not let me ſit upon his grave,
And ſing all day, and weep, and pray all night.
RABY.
Doſt thou not know me?
ELWINA.
Yes—I do remember
You had a harmleſs lamb.
RABY.
I had indeed!
ELWINA.
From all the flock you choſe her out a Mate,
In ſooth a fair one, you bid her love it,
But while the Shepherd ſlept, the Wolf devour'd it.
RABY.
My heart will break. This is too much, too much.
ELWINA.
(ſmiling.)
O 'twas a cordial draught—I drank it all.
RABY.
What means my child?
DOUGLAS.
The poiſon—Oh the poiſon!
Thou dear wrong'd innocence—
ELWINA.
Off—murderer, off!
Do not defile me with thoſe crimſon hands.
[85] (Shews the Scarf.)
This is his winding Sheet—I'll wrap him in it—
I wrought for my love—there—now ſee I've dreſt him.
How brave he looks! my father will forgive him,
He dearly lov'd him once—but that is over.
See where he comes—beware my gallant Percy,
Ah! come not here, this is the cave of Death,
And there's the dark, dark Palace of Revenge!
See, the pale king ſits on his blood-ſtain'd throne!
He points to me—I come, I come, I come.
(She faints, they run to her, Douglas takes up his Sword, and ſtabs himſelf.
DOUGLAS.
Thus, thus I follow thee.
EDRIC.
Hold thy raſh hand.
DOUGLAS.
It is too late. No remedy but this,
Cou'd med'cine a diſeaſe ſo deſperate.
RABY.
Ah ſhe revives!
DOUGLAS.
(raiſing himſelf.)
She lives? bear, bear me to her!
We ſhall be happy yet.
He ſtruggles to get to her, but ſinks down.
It will not be—
O for a laſt embrace—Alas I faint—
She lives—Now death is terrible indeed—
Fair Spirit how I lov'd thee—O—Elwina!
Dies.
ELWINA.
[86]Where have I been? The damps of death are on me.
RABY.
Look up, my child; O do not leave me thus;
Pity the anguiſh of thy aged father.
Haſt thou forgot me?
ELWINA.
No—You are my father?
O you are kindly come to cloſe my eyes,
And take the kiſs of death from my cold lips.
RABY.
Do we meet thus?
ELWINA.
We ſoon ſhall meet in peace.
I've but a faint remembrance of the paſt—
But ſomething tells me—O thoſe painful ſtruggles!
Raiſe me a little—there—
She ſees the body of Douglas.
What ſight is that?
A ſword, and bloody? Ah! and Douglas murder'd?
EDRIC.
Convinc'd too late of your unequal'd virtues,
And wrung with deep compunction for your wrongs,
By his own hand the wretched Douglas fell.
ELWINA.
This adds another, ſharper pang to death.
[87]O thou Eternal! take him to thy mercy,
Nor let this ſin be on his head, or mine!
RABY.
I have undone you all—the crime is mine!
O thou poor injur'd ſaint, forgive thy father,
He kneels to his wrong'd child.
ELWINA.
Now you are cruel.
Come near, my father, nearer—I wou'd ſee you,
But miſts and darkneſs cloud my failing ſight.
O Death! ſuſpend thy rights for one ſhort moment,
'Till I have ta'en a father's laſt embrace—
A father's bleſſing.—Once—and now 'tis over.
Receive me to thy mercy—gracious heaven.
She dies.
RABY.
She's gone! for ever gone! Cold, dead and cold,
Am I a father? Fathers love their children—
I murder mine! With impious pride I ſnatch'd
The bolt of vengeance from the hand of heav'n.
My puniſhment is great—but Oh! 'tis juſt.
My ſoul ſubmiſſive bows. A righteous god
Has made my crime become my chaſtiſement!
End of the Fifth ACT.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3772 Percy a tragedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-60DB-1