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ATHELWOLD: A TRAGEDY. As it is acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE, BY HIS MAJESTY's Servants.LONDON: Printed for L. GILLIVER, at Homer's-Head, over-against St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet-Street. M.DCC.XXXI.Persons represented.MEN.Edgar, King of England,by Mr. Mills.Athelwold, Earl of Lancaster,by Mr. Bridgwater.Leolyn, Prince of North Wales,by Mr. A. Hallam.Oswald, Minister of State,by Mr. Theo. Cibber.Edwyn, a Gentleman, Attendant on Athelwold.by Mr. Fielding.WOMEN.Elfrid, Daughter to the Duke of Cornwall,by Mrs. Booth.Ethelinda, Neice to Oswald,by Mrs. Cibber.Lady, Attendant on Elfrid,by Mrs. Grace.Officers, Guards,Men and Women Attendants.The SCENE, Chester.PREFACE to the Reader.IF there is any Thing, in my Writings, that deserves to be remember'd, They will live, without Patronage: If They ought to be forgotten, They wou'd die, in spite of Protection. So I commit them to the World, unsustain'd by Dedication.—No Patron's Authority can protect a bad Work.—And a good one can want no Protection.I am afraid, we need look no farther, than the Dedications of our Poetick Writings, for the Source of that Neglect, which the Art, Itself, complains of.—While Poetry preserv'd its Honesty, it was consider'd with Distinction; But, when it degenerated into a Traffick, between Praise and Reward, it became despis'd, like the Gold of Utopia, not by Ignorance of its Value, but through scorn of the Use, It was put to.Before I speak of the following Tragedy, I am oblig'd to take Notice of another, the first Dramatic Sally of my Youth: And which, I shou'd be asham'd to confess, I had the Folly to begin and finish in a Week, but that I have Occasion, from that Confession, to hope Pardon of its Faults; and admire the English Good-nature, which receiv'd it, with undeserv'd Indulgence.—It was written on the same Subject with This, (upon Mr. Booth's recommending it to my Choice.) It was, also, acted at the same Theatre; and is, still, a Living Evidence, against me, under the Name of Elfrid; or, the Fair Inconstant.As I knew nothing of the Rules of Writing, the Play was, consequently, an unprun'd Wilderness of Fancy, with here and there, a Flower, among the Leaves; but without any Fruit, of Judgment.—I know not how it came to pass, that Athelwold,
even in That Piece, deserv'd some little Pity: But, I am afraid, I was too Dull a Painter, to hit a Likeness for the Ladies.—Elfrid suffer'd more, by my ill Conduct, than Her own; and was a lighter Inconstant, than the Histories of those Times have shown her: And, as for Edgar, The Monarch came out of my Hands, as one of his Successors, out of the Arch-Duke of Austria's; stript of Every Thing that became his Condition, and only a King in his Title.I therefore consider'd myself as not deserving Pardon, from the Publick, till I had purchas'd it, with something, Better, on the same Subject.—This was the Original of Athelwold.The New Play has neither Thought, Design, nor Expression, in the least, resembling the Old one; And my only Reason, for troubling the Reader with this little Story, is, because, shou'd there be any Thing in the second Attempt, greatly Preferable to the First, it will be a Proof, that Fancy (for, to say Genius, wou'd be making bold, with what is none of my own,) wants the Aid of the Judgment; and shou'd have Regard to the Rules, of an Art, which, like Religion, had an Orthodox Establishment; but (like that too) has been warp'd, and weaken'd, by mysterious Dullness, and the dry Pride of Commentators.I am unable to execute any Thing in Poetry, if I have wasted the Care, I bestow'd on this Tragedy:—Nor can I have so unjust an Opinion of the Publick Taste, (tho I think Nobody will celebrate it, for Poetry,) as not to know, that shou'd there be Merit in Athelwold, there are Spirits, in the Nation, who have Influence, and Generosity, to awaken others, into their Sentiments.—I say this, for the sake of the Stage; for, as to myself, the Distinction of Deserving to be Read, is all the Advantage I propose from my Writings.A. HILL.PROLOGUE.Spoken by Mr. WILKS.OUR Author's Wishes, partial to the Stage,Not for himself, your Favour wou'd engage:Not his own Cause, but ours, he wou'd defend,Nor fears an Enemy,—nor tasks a Friend:But, frankly, bids me own, that from his Plays,He means no Profit, and deserves no Praise.Yet, has he one fond Passion to impart;One favourite Weakness, that has warm'd his Heart!Constant, he doats on a declining Fair;Yet, recommends his Mistress to your Care;Tho' past her Bloom, still tempting she appears,A mid-ag'd Matron,—of three thousand Years!Slight not Dame Tragedy,—nor fancy, Sirs,That Pain, and Spleen, and Age, alone, are hers:Old, as you think her, still, she moves, and warms,Smiles thro' the Soul, and swells the Heart with Charms.But the vain Prude, too coy, to yield, at Pleasure,Vows, she'll be wedded,—or withhold her Treasure.Take her, to Wife;—the Match cou'd ne'er be wrong,But, for one Quality—she'll live too long.Cou'd ye, for once, forgive the serious Strain,And bear a useful Truth, undress'd, and plain?—Fain wou'd the Muse remind you, that the StageReceiv'd most Honour, from the wisest Age.Athens shone brightest, when the crowded SceneFir'd her bold Sons,—to dare,—to act,—to mean!Greatly, to copy the departed Great,And be the Chiefs, they learnt to emulate.
Warm'd, by this Heat, which to their Plays they ow'd,The guided Passions of a People glow'd:High beat their cherish'd Hearts, in Glory's Cause;Firm stood their Freedom, and long liv'd their Laws:Charm'd into Virtue, and by Pleasure taught,The raptur'd Youth, the meant Impression caught,Grew up to Greatness, Liberty, and Arts,And snatch'd the Heroe's, from the Player's Parts.Oh! cou'd we live, to hail the future Day,When sparkling Folly shall give Genius way;When low, light, Scenes shall tempt the Eye, in vain;And Passion's Power impress the Heart, again;Then shall the Muses, like their Monarch, smile,And all Heaven's Blessings crown his happy Isle!EPILOGUE.Spoken by Mrs. BOOTH.THIS whining Tragedy has made me hoarse,Yet, as an Epilogue's a Thing of course,I can't help telling ye, before we part,I'm glad my Husband's dead, with all my Heart:That's one Confession,—and one more shall be,I wish the Author were as dead as he:His murdering Muse, in downright Love of teizing,Kills one, for being pleas'd, and one, for pleasing:Stabs Ethy—'cause her Love was an untrue one,Drowns my good Man, because he lik'd a new one:Lud! Lud!—what Work 'twou'd make among the Fair;Shou'd every Belle be drown'd, that loves a Pair:And, as for Beaux,—who make no Bones of erring,They'd fill the Seas, all round, like Shoals of Herring!A fine Example, truly! don't it move ye?Were it well follow'd—how 'twou'd soon improve ye!Send ye, in Pairs, to Heav'n, where good Folks Trust is,Martyrs, Lord help ye! of Poetic Justice!I, for my Part, had a sweet Race to run,I,—not to be a Queen;—must be a—Nun!No, Ladies, have a care os that:—The PoetBelies the Story,—and, thank Heaven! I know it:—Elfrid was wiser, and the King was kinder;Even, in the Convent, he knew how to find her:He, pious Prince! lov'd Penitence so well,That, oft, he trac'd it to the loneliest Cell;Confess'd the Saints Himself—bless'd Occupation!Freely bestow'd his Princely Consolation;And eas'd the Father Girards of the Nation.Nay, tis no laughing Matter—I am serious,I meant no Mischief, I:—no Hint mysterious!Ask Hollinshead;—He'll tell ye, if tis new t'ye,That Edgar was a Lyon—at Church Duty.One of His Virtues needs must Envy raise,He was the veriest Patriot, of His Days!He, not to Maids, alone, thought Pity due,His will, unwearied, work'd for Husbands, too.Dependent Princes sent their Wives, by th' Dozen,To tax This Bounty of their Royal Cozen!And Eight dubb'd Monarchs, of his own Creation,Row'd him, in grateful Triumph, round the Nation.This being so—what does our Author Merit,Who wrongs a Prince—of such a Publick Spirit!Hang him, dull Poet!—I'll say nothing for him,In good King Edgar's Quarrel, I abhor him:—Take him among ye,—and, if e're you'd mend him,To some kind Jesuit, for new Notions, send him.ATHELWOLD: A TRAGEDY.ACT 1. SCENE 1.A Rocky Coast, without the City of Chester.Athelwold, Elsrid, Edwyn, Men and Women Attendants.Athelwold, to an Attendant.BACK to the Boat; caution the Mariners,When ask'd, what Lady shar'd our illtim'd Wreck,To answer, at their Peril, as I taught 'em.Edwyn.— [Exit Attendant.Edwyn.My Lord?Athelwold.Haste, watchful and unmark'd,Climb that high Path, and, ent'ring my Apartment,Thro' the close Grove that bounds the Palace Garden,Warn Egbert to receive us: So shall we shunThe City's busy Eye.—Elsrid, my Wife! [Exit Edwyn.My Hope! my Fear! my Pride! my Soul's soft Joy!Was ever fatal Shipwreek tim'd like ours?Elsrid.Why kept we not the Sea? Those unseen ShoalsHad then been left, far distant.Athelwold.Shame on this PrideThat swells the Hearts of Kings!—But that I shunn'dHis wide-stretch'd Navy, whose expanded WingsInclos'd you empty Triumph, we had, in Safety,Held on our Course for Lancaster,—and Edgar,And Chester's dreaded Walls, been pass'd, unseen.Elsrid.Why shunn'd you Edgar? You had struck no Shoal,Had Jealousy not wreck'd you. Where was the Danger,Had we, amid the shouting Swarms, approach'dHis glitt'ring Barge? that, proud of eight Kings Rowing,Methought, mov'd, conscious of her glorious Freight,And felt her Sovereign's Triumph!Athelwold.Edgar is young,Am'rous, impatient, hot as the Summer Sun;But as the Shadow changing.—Emma, the SisterOf Leolyn, my Friend, must be his Queen.That Day once past, that Day, now near, my Elsrid,Trembling no longer, for my Soul's best Treasure,I shall unveil thee to the Eye of Edgar:Then, in full Lustre, break upon the Court,Charm the glad World, and swell the Voice of Wonder.Till then—Elsrid.Till then, you think, a Woman's HonourIs safest when not trusted?—Come, be wise;Laugh at your Sex's Notions, and see Truth,Unprejudic'd by Maxim. You have been taughtThat a Man's Caution guards a Woman's Vertue:Believe me, 'tis an Error.—Wrong'd by the Doubt,We make that Doubt our Licence, and grow light,To justify Suspicion.Athelwold.Of thee not jealous:I fear the Heart of Edgar: There is a Secret
Which, yet, thou must not know!—For all the GloryFortune could heap upon a happy Wisher,I would not he had seen thee.Elsrid.Why chuse you thenTo lodge me in the Gardens of his Palace?Athelwold.Safely conceal'd, in my Apartment, there,While Triumph busies the tumultuous Court,Fair as thou art, thou may'st remain unknown,Till soon we re-imbark for Lancaster:But Fate has driven me under Edgar's Eye,Nor can I shun his Presence.— [A Shout at distance.The Barge, triumphant,'Twixt the two sounding Banks, floats proudly in;See! the broad Sprinklings from the golden Oars,Dash'd, in gay Mists, against the glitt'ring Sun,Scatter a liquid Lightning!—E're the King lands,Retire, my Soul's soft Charmer. From this Boat,That foremost strikes the Shore, descends a Lord,Wily, suspicious, flatt'ring, base, and busy:Malice and Fear divide his motley Soul:Soft'ning Submission dwells on his cool Tongue;But his Heart burns with Envy.—See! he lands;Oswald, the State's Prime Minister.—Retire;He must not see thee.—Look!—Edwyn attends thy Coming. [Exit, leading Elfrid.Enter Oswald, attended.Oswald.Away,—away!—Here! Eldred!—Hubert!—Arnold!Creep you this reptile Pace, when a King's HonourHangs on your drowsy Motion!—You to the Hall,See the Port-Reeve prepar'd to line the Streets,With his furr'd Gowns and Scarlet.—You to the Castle: [Exit first Messenger.Say to the Governor, the King lands short,
And means to pass the Bridge.—Haste you too, fly; [Exit second Messenger.Bid holy Dunstan, and his white-rob'd Train,Throw wide the brazen Gates of the Cathedral.— [Exit third Messenger.All this was well provided for, before;But 'tis no Fault, to seem too diligent,Where Bustling goes for Loyalty.—Earl Athelwold!Re-enter Athelwold.Fortune befriend your Hopes, my noble Lord,As she does ours: Who, on a Day like this,When Sovereign Edgar triumphs like a God!Brings back his Godlike Fav'rite, to partakeA Splendor, thought imperfect, wanting you.Athelwold.Oh! 'tis too kind, my Lord, amidst your Cares,To waste this fine Court Rhet'rick, on a PlainnessSo unadorn'd as mine!—In War's big Pomp,The King, sometimes, in the broad Battle's Front,Finds Athelwold, most near him: But, for a DaySo safely plum'd as this, a thousand Feathers,Loftier and far more gay than mine had been,Were proud, no doubt, to wave in State about him.Oswald.Nay, my good Lord! your Enemies must ownYour Valour's ablest Rival is your Reason.Athelwold.Why will you angle, with too short a Line,In Depths of cautious Honesty?—I know you.—Why will you still, you and your envious Faction,Bow, to the happy Favourite you hate,And smile your Curses on me?—Shame on your Meanness!If I deserve Esteem, give it, sincere:If not, disdain to court the Man you fear,And, with brave Truth, renounce me.Oswald.Why, thus 'tis, ever!Distrustful Men but nourish new Suspicions
From the best Means we use, to quench the old.Still I am misconceiv'd.—My Lord! My Lord!Ill Agents have been busy.—And here comes one,Re-enter Edwyn.Whom Oswald should avoid.—I'll charm the KingWith News of your Return. [Exit Oswald.Edwyn.A new-born LoveIs full of soft Impatience!—Soon as arriv'd,I was commanded to return, and press youTo shorten your meant Absence.Athelwold.Is she safe?Edwyn.Egbert is warn'd, shou'd the King quit the Crowd,And but approach the Garden, to conceal her.Athelwold.Then I will fearNo longer, but expect the King; and meet himWith a mask'd Smile of Innocence.—O Edwyn!Should Ethelinda know I have married Elfrid,How wretched would it make her!—Oswald hates thee:As if he read our Secret, through thy Heart;Saw there thy gen'rous Silence, which concealsMy dearstol'n Night of Joy with that soft Charmer.Who that saw both, could think her Neice to Oswald?Edwyn.So, my good Lord, would her false Servant say;That doubly faithless Fair-one, who betray'dTo me her Lady's Honour, yet forsook me!Athelwold.She wrong'd her Mistress; but she lov'd thee surely!Who, in that Secret, gave up both our Honours,To thy safe Keeping.—But, since all was told thee,'Twere now a fruitless Point of proud Reserve,With thee, to keep that Silence, which the Favour'dShou'd hold, in rev'rence of a Lady's Honour,As sacred as his Glory.—Oh! suppose not,
Because she bless'd my Wishes, that EthelindaYielded like common Beauties.Edwyn.'Twas plain, You lov'd her;For, when her Horse was drown'd, in Severn's Ford,You, from your own, leapt, rash: Thro' the swol'n stream,Plung'd on, and snatch'd her, sinking.Athelwold.True, I lov'd her,But lov'd her with Desire: while, in Her Breast,Love, which, at first, was gen'rous Gratitude,Drew all its Warmth from Pity.—Never, never,Shall I forget, how blissfully I won her!'Twas the dear Night, before this fatal Journey;I found her, Edwyn, sunk on her Couch, alone,Weeping, with am'rous Grief, for coming Absence:Loose and enchanting-negligent her Dress;Faint was her Air; and a kind nameless LanguorSigh'd, in short Heavings, from her soften'd Heart;And every Breath was Tenderness and Love!There, while transported, on my trembling Knee,Bending, I gaz'd, and hung devoutly o'er her,Raptur'd, and charm'd, I plung'd amidst Attraction;Sigh'd on her Eyes; breath'd o'er her panting Bosom,And snatch'd her Soul, unguarded:—Millions of Vows,Fierce, burning, Vows! of Everlasting Love,Transport, and Marriage, and Eternal Truth,Thaw'd her reluctant Vertue to Belief:Then—in the soft Desire's new Warmth, I press'd her,Till, in the beating Tumult of her Heart,She gave—she knew not what—nor meant Compliance!Fortune renounce me, Edwyn, but my ReasonPrefers her, even to Elfrid:—My Passion did not.The Love she felt for me, I feel for Elfrid;And am unwillingly undone—like Her.A warlike Symplony.
Hark!—the King lands. Th'avenging Hand of HeavenPoints out my Baseness.—How shall my guilty EyeMeet the wrong'd Goodness of the Royal Edgar!How shall I skreen the Charms of injur'd ElfridFrom the King's sight!—What shall my bleeding HeartSay, to lost Ethelinda?—Yet, Edwyn, find her:Tell her I come, while every busy EyeHangs on the Pomp, to sigh my Soul out to her.Say in the Inmost Garden—The Close Walk,That points upon the Grotto.Edwyn.Fatal Wreck!Heaven, that commission'd it, avert my Fears. [Exit Edwyn.Athelwold, alone.He comes—I'll walk a Turn behind these Rocks;And gather Firmness, to sustain his Eye,Whom, most of Men I love; yet, most have wrong'd. [Exit.SCENE. II.Enter Edgar, from the Triumph, atttended by Leolyn, Oswald, &c.Edgar.Chester, This Act, to Time's last Hour, renownsThy Name, with Edgar's. Far, as the bounded WorldGives Space for Fame to breathe in, shall be spreadThe Boast of this Day's Triumph.—Yet, Thou say'st,Nations, whose Names lie deep, in unborn Time,Will rise, and censure, and mistake our Purpose.Leolyn.Many will judge amiss, and call it Insult.Edgar.I know it, and despise it. My freed SoulThen, stript of her Encumb'rance, mounting strong,
Shall rise, above Ambition; nor hold FameBy the faint Tenure of weak mortal Praise:But from the Partners of her bright Enlargement!Spirits! that judge unprejudic'd, and moveUnbounded, and, in Millions, fill those Voids,Which Thought ev'n akes, to guess at!Leolyn.The Forms of HomageDiffer, with Sovereign's Wills: yet are but Forms.Kings suffer not by Seemings; if they did,The Shame, that follows Insult, wou'd cut double,And wound the Wounder deepest.Edgar.Nobly spoke!Spoke like the Friend of Edgar, and of Athelwold!Oswald.Malignant Envy will not dare misjudgeThe Virtues of our Monarch. Rais'd to this Height,Our Wishes are outstript; and all our TaskIs, to receive, and wonder at, our Blessings!Edgar.No Flattery, Oswald.—Tis my noblest PrideTo have deserv'd Applause: To listen to itSullies the conscious Glory.—Athelwold!—Re-enter Athelwold.Friend, of my Soul! my Life's best self! my, Light!My every Wish at once, and every Blessing! Athelwold, kneeling.My Gracious, partial, Sovereign!Edgar.Rise—nor distress me,With this vain Ceremony. Bow, but to Heaven,That made thee not a King, to make thee more;And stampt thy Soul divinely!—Cornwall's Daughter,I find, deserv'd not, I so long shou'd lose thee.All thy long Letters, welcome, as they were,Brought me no Hope from Elsrid: Fame, it seems,Deceiv'd us, and had flatter'd her.Athelwold.She's Fair:But never cou'd have been that striking Charmer,So found and lost at once. She flames not outWith That strong Blaze of Charms; that living Fire!That burns, unquench'd, upon your Royal Memory.Edgar.No, Athelwold;—I see, I hear, she cannot.Else, had thy Eyes catch'd Fire, and stream'd it on me.Else, had thy labouring Heart, oppress'd with Meaning,Shook, like an Earthquake, in Discharge of Passion.—Thou art a cold Describer!—Oh!—the Day!The dear, remember'd Day! when, at the Altar,Where, in Thanksgiving, I had bow'd to Heav'n,Heav'n seem'd descending on me!—My rais'd EyeMet her flash'd Charms, amidst a gazing Crowd,Who, from the Scaffolded Cathedral's Sides,Pour'd their bold Looks upon me: Greatness, and Languor,Flow'd, in a soften'd Radiance, from her Mien,And kindled every Shrine, with new Divinity!Sweetness sat smiling, on her humid Eye-balls:And light-wing'd Fancy danc'd and flam'd about her!Scarce were the solemn Duties of the PlaceRemember'd, while I saw her!—At last—with Pain,—Slow—dragging my reluctant Eyes away.I lost her;—e're Religion licens'd LoveTo steal a second Wonder.Oswald.Strange! that since then,Inquiry shou'd have toil'd in vain to find her!Edgar.One wou'd have thought, the Light that paints the World,Might have been lost, as possibly as hers!But, since all Search is vain, and far-fam'd Elsrid
Fails my last Hope, I will redeem my Heart,And quench the blazing Image.—Danger, and Arms,Shall fright the trembling Softness from my Soul.I will resume War's Thunder.—Athelwold!—Leolyn!—Help me to conquer: Wake me again to Glory:Tear me from Love,—and guide me to Renown. [Trumpets without.Hark!—They move on.—Stay;—Friends have much to speak of.Anon, we meet again.— [Exit Edgar, follow'd by Oswald, &c.Athelwold.Prince Leolyn,You had a warlike, tho' unhappy, Father.Yon rugged Hills have eccho'd with his Glory.But, that his last too fatal Rashness forfeitedHalf Wales, your Patrimony, Edgar blushing,Must have remember'd, when He spoke of Love,You have a Sister's claim.Leolyn.Emma, my Lord,Was then a Sovereign's Daughter: now, she is sunk,To Sister of a Subject. Time was, when Edgar,Short of his present Fortune, weigh'd my Daring;And vow'd, my Sister shou'd partake his Throne:He sees me, now, grown tame: an humble suff'rer!And, while he holds my Lands, neglects my Blood;And boasts another Love, to shame my Patience.Athelwold.Hope better from him. The King's Heart is Noble:And his past Promise sacred. Passion's TideBears him a-slant, and must, a while, have Way.Unite your means with mine: my Fate requiresYour Sister shou'd be Queen. Urge Rights of Faith,And leave th'Event to me.Leolyn.I can urge nothing.Let me consess, that Love, the smiling Ruin,
Love! has unman'd me, till my soften'd HeartWants ev'n the Will to murmur.—Ethelinda,The gentle Ethelinda! fills my Soul.Why start you at her Name? why have you shunn'dTo urge her Pity, in your Friend's Behalf?You sav'd her Life, and must have Int'rest in Her,To aid a Lover's Wishes.Athelwold.Oh! Friendship! Friendship!To what wilt thou reduce me!Leolyn.I doubt not Friendship.I speak of Love—my Love to Ethelinda.Athelwold.Be wise, and think no more of Ethelinda.Leolyn.Bid me not live, and I'll obey you gladly.But, when you bid me cease to think of Her,You bid me live to Sense of all Death's Pains,And die to all Life's Comforts.Athelwold.How deaf is Passion!You must not think of Ethelinda.Leolyn.I must not?Athelwold.Unless you cease to pres my Aid, you must not.Leolyn.Great is your Power, 'tis true, and no where GreaterThan in the Breast of Leolyn.—Yet, sure!A Prohibition, of such fatal Weight,Owes your Friend's Ear some Reason?Athelwold.I have no Reason.Ruin and Fate break in upon my Schemes,And plunge me in Confusion.Leolyn.Ruin and Fate!Schemes and Confusion!—This Disorder proves,
What I've long fear'd, that where I hop'd a Friend,I fir'd a Rival's Jealousy.Athelwold.You wrong me, Prince:Widely, you wrong me!Leolyn.Oh!—Grant, Heaven, I may!—Ease my Impatience, quickly then, and say,Whence that Confusion rose?Athelwold.From you; from you:From Ethelinda, Friendship, Honour, Pity:Spare me the Torment of a plainer Reason,And, trust my Faith, there is one.Leolyn.Is one?—Ha!What plainer Reason?—Perish all my HopesUnpitied,—Let my hated Name be blottedFrom every List of Honesty and Fame,If I renounce not Athelwold's false Friendship,And, from this Moment, hold him for my Foe,Till he discloses this pretended Secret,That my Heart springs to snatch at.Athelwold.Hot Leolyn!Rash, headstrong Man!—Now, by th'eternal Power!By Heaven's all-dreaded Throne! thou shalt not.—Leolyn.Shall not! What!Not marry Ethelinda?Athelwold.Impatient Leolyn!Why dost thou interrupt me?—Leolyn.Impatient, said'st thou?I am Frost, Rock, Ice, Adamant!—Perdition!Impatient? I am an Anvil.—Shall not marry her?Athelwold.I see you mov'd,—and bleed with Pity for you.You said I was your Rival: Hear me, rash Man!
For I will shame Suspicion, by a TrustYour Levity deserves not.—Am I thy Rival?—Take then this Secret from me: Yes, Leolyn,Woman and Love have made a Traitor of me.I have, indeed, been false; but not to thee:I have deceiv'd the King,—have married Elsrid;And found her Beauty more than Fame had spoke her.This known, destroys me: Yet ev'n this I tell,To ease the throbbing Doubt of thy fond Heart.Leolyn.Ease! what! whom!—said'st thou not that EthelindaMust not be mine? that Ethelmda shall not?And, while Life trembles at it, thou wouldst sooth meWith a slight Tale of Elsrid!—Why dost thou trifle with me?Or dost thou know, for, by my Heart's lost Hope,Thou seem'st to mean it,—some black secret StoryThat her fair Fame is touch'd by?—Ha!—by that HeavenThat doom'd me, from my Birth, to Wrongs and Shame!Thou hast thyself betray'd my Ethelinda!My tortur'd Mem'ry recollects your Looks,Her Bluthes, your Confusion, when by chanceMy Entrance has disturb'd your Privacies,With an unwish'd Intrusion.—Oh! 'tis plain,Thou hast destroy'd my Peace: Thou hast possess'd her.Thou!—Thou!—thy guilty Silence owns it; proves it.Was it not so?—Say; answer me;—speak; tell me?Athelwold.Mad, as the Winds in Tempest!—till thou cool'stI will not answer thee. Leolyn, drawing his Sword.Curse on my Life's best Wishes,If I not force the Secret from thy Heart,Or drown it in thy Blood.Athelwold.Away, light Threat'ner!—'Twas Friendship's undeserv'd and gen'rous Delicacy,
That, in a tender and unguarded Moment,Has wak'd a Jealousy, that will distract thee.—Honour, forgive me, if, too nicely urg'd,I seem to wrong thy Laws!—and tell this Madman,I have myself a Claim to Ethelinda,That blots out his, for ever.Leolyn.Married to Elfrid!And yet a Claim to Ethelinda too,That blots out mine!—Die, and be dumb for ever,Thou lying, babling Traitor.Athelwold.Nay, then,Defend thyself, rash Boaster.They fight, Leolyn is disarm'd.Enter Oswald, with a Guard.Oswald.Shame, my good Lords!Shame on this sudden Boldness of Dispute,So near the Royal Presence!—At the Hill's FootYour Warmth alarm'd the King, and he requiresYour Presence, Prince.Leolyn.Oh! that the King's CommandWere kind enough but to indulge the DeathProud Athelwold despis'd the Power of giving me! Exit, with Oswald and Guards.Athelwold alone.Why hop'd I Peace, who had declin'd from Virtue!The Innocent alone act steadily;The Guilty can but mean it.—O Ethelinda!—In the dark Race of Vice, when once begun,We start on Mischiefs we most wish to shun:Push'd by the Fate of Guilt, and thence accurs'd,New Crimes grow needful, to support the first;Till, from Dishonour, we to Ruin fall,And one disjointed Virtue loosens all. Exit.The End of the First ACT.ACT II. SCENE I.A Grove, in the Palace Garden.Athelwold, Ethelinda.Ethelinda.ALL this is false in Reason; but your Eloquence,Proud of its Power, provokes you to offend,That you may force Forgiveness.—Was it not cold,Too cold for Love, in all this cruel LengthOf chearless Absence, when your dang'rous Charge too,Was but to gaze on Beauty, never to write?Never to bid me hope, the much-fear'd ElfridHad left your Heart still partial to my Fondness?A Fondness that destroy'd me! Turn your Eyes from me;—They look as they'd reproach me: Do not see me,But tell me why you made such speed to leave me?Had you but staid, to add one Hour of PeaceTo those of guilty Softness; Had I been yours;Your Wife, that fatal Morning, you do not knowWhat Tears it wou'd have sav'd me.Athelwold.Oh! speak no more;Your Words are wing'd with Fire; they pierce my Soul:They enter, and burn in me!—Ost have I trembled,As I do now, when Rev'rence and Desire,Shot from those Angel Eyes, have warr'd within me:Yet never was I thus distress'd, before!Ethelinda.That you are gen'rous, my fond Heart confesses;Else, how destroy'd a Wretch were Ethelinda!If, like the Base among your Sex, you shunn'd me,Nor pitied the kind Weakness that betray'd me,But added Shame to Guilt, and grew inconstant,And left me, for another; Save me, ye Saints!To what a dreadful Depth of startling MiseryHad my lost Honour plung'd me!Athelwold.Grac'd, as you are,With artless Vertue, and unconscious Beauty,Strengthen'd with Wisdom, sanctified by Truth,And sainted o'er with Sweetness!—Tho' your VoiceIs tun'd to Transport, and each melting AccentShakes to my Soul, and swells Despair, to Musick;Yet is there something so disorder'd, here,That I ev'n wish thee silent!—Thy soft Words,Moving, and warm, and gentle as thy Bosom,Strike me, like Death, when his eternal FrostCreeps, in cold Anguish, o'er us!Ethelinda.Oh! my kind Lord!To feel this wondrous Extasy, for me!This noblest, tend'rest, Mark of mournful Passion!Is such a sweet Atonement sor my Tears,That I could weep for ever.—Be it my Glory,My Duty's Pride, and my full Heart's chief Joy,To give unbounded Love, in soft Exchange,For your indulg'd Endcarment.—Let me not live,If I prefer not that dear Name, your Wife,To all those empty Sounds, those titled Nothings,Which Edgar treasures for his unknown Queen!—My Lord!—you start;—and tremble, and look pale!Come;—this quick Sense of Gratitude and LoveWorks too intense, and I must chide you for it.Athelwold.It is too much:—And Honour and HumanityDisclaim the brutal Heart that cou'd bear this,And be less mov'd than I am.—Curse on the wild,The boundless Luxury of wanton Love!What have I lost! What am I doom'd to suffer!Who cou'd heap Suff'rings here!Ethelinda.Suff'rings, my Lord!And wanton Love?—What Love?—Whose Sufferings?Athelwold.Mine, mine, thou injur'd Truth!—who cou'd name wanton,And mix a Thought of thee?Ethelinda.But you nam'd Suff'rings!Athelwold.What Lover lives without 'em?Ethelinda.A Lover's SufferingsOnce past, give present Joys a livelier Relish:The sacred Tie that firms a Wife's fost Claim,Will free pain'd Mem'ry from the Blush of Weakness.Athelwold aside.How mean is Guilt, that it must bow the HeartTo Falshood and Disguise!—New in Dissembling,I shall betray my Grief, and shame my Art.——The Suff'ring that I meant, my Ethelinda,Was, that an ill-tim'd Chance, a while, with-holdsOur Hands: But what are nuptial Forms, to Love!Prince Leolyn, my Friend,—alas! he loves you;Loves you, my Soul's sweet Pain, to such Excess,That his Life hangs but on his Hope of you!Jealous, he dies with Fear, that I am nowHis Rival in your Love:—what will he feelWhen I am own'd your Choice!—May not your Pity
Indulge Appearance, for my Friend's wish'd Ease,Till Time, or Accident, gives means to save him?Mean while.—Ethelinda.What wou'd you do, mean while, my Lord?You wou'd not sure! that I receive him? hear him?Athelwold.That were too much. It might, perhaps, suffice,Shou'd I, more rarely, and with Caution, seekThe Blessing of your Presence.Ethelinda.My Lord! my Lord!You are detected.—My taught Heart, at length,Blind as Love made it, sees your Baseness through;And burns with Shame; and bursts with Indignation.This poor Deceit was form'd, but to evadeMy due Repair of Honour. 'Twas the word Wife,That made this sudden Politician of you!—Athelwold.Soften those angry Eyes, which sparkle on me.Ethelinda.—Away,—nor bring Contagion to my Soul.—Oh! what a dreadful Change in my poor HeartHas one weak Moment made!—scorn'd, like the Vile,Dishonour'd, infamous, despis'd, for ever,I must become a Wanderer round the World;Meet Cold—and Hunger,—Poverty and Shame;Anguish and Insult.—Better, all, than Man!The faithless Murd'rer, Man!—What am I doom'd to?Whom have I trusted! Oh! revenging Heav'n!See my Distress, and punish me with more;I cannot be too wretched.—Begone, Deceiver.I wou'd not curse thee.—I will not wish thee Pain:But, never, never, let me see thee more.Athelwold.Be not transported thus.—Ethelinda.Insolent Coldness!But I deserve it all.—My Fairy DreamMust last no longer, and I wake, to Woe.The pleasing Folly sinks; and, in its Room,Rise Penitence, and Scorn, and lasting Pain.Now, now, the shifting Scene makes haste to change!Now, now, comes on the Race of Shame, and Grief,Which every Woman is condemn'd to run,Who trusts her Honour to betraying Man!—Yet, every Woman, where she loves, believes;Tho', not to doubt, is thus to be undone!Oh! what a Diff'rence, 'twixt the Calms of Vertue,And these heart-rending Pangs of Guilt, and Shame!Far has your fatal Journey out-gone allThat my slow Fears forboded!—These are the Joys,The Sweets, the Transports, the Eternal RoundsOf Love, and Tenderness, and Gratitude,Which were to charm away my sense of Ruin!—O Woman! Woman!—What is Vanity!What is Belief, that, tho' a Thousand fall,We shall Conquer, and still hold our Conquests!Athelwold.By the sweet Mem'ry of that dearest Night!Ethelinda.Curse on th' ill-chosen Oath!—All, you can swearBy That, will be as false and base as you are.Loosen your hated Hold:—I will not hear you.Athelwold.Cou'd you say hated?Ethelinda.Off—By the Eye of Heaven,That saw my Faith betray'd, not all thy ArtsShall sooth me to forgive thee.—Away.—Be gone.Athelwold.Look yonder!—By all my Hopes of Peace, your Uncle Oswald,
And Leolyn, in Conf'rence!—Oh! think.—RecoverYour scatter'd Spirits; and, round the neighb'ring Grot,Let us take diff'rent Walks, and shun their Eye.Ethelinda.When next I see thee, may my Woes!Athelwold.Oh! hold.—That Oath wou'd kill me.—Why do you tremble thus?Shall we not meet again?Ethelinda.Once—and no more,Till in Eternity.Athelwold.An Hour hence, here. [Exeunt severally.SCENE II.Enter Oswald, and Leolyn.Oswald.What! and was this your doughty Cause of Quarrel,Because he boasts to have won from Ethelinda,That Woman's Toy you sigh for?Leolyn.I wish, indeed:But cannot wish dishonourably.Oswald.That is,You wou'd not tell, as he does:—why that's generous!Honour, in Love, is silence.—But two such FriendsAs you and Athelwold, cannot, methinks,Have fought an am'rous Quarrel.—Your Rival's ThoughtsAre fill'd with high State Projects? something like Jealousy
Of Trust suppos'd betray'd?—some Plot? some Schemings?Some Aim your Caution started at? or whichYour Oath to Edgar check'd your wish'd Assent to?Something like this, no doubt, provok'd proudAthelwold.No matter.—Fear him not. Oswald has Power:And can procure you the King's Thanks, perhaps,Ev'n against favour'd Athelwold.—As for his TaleOf Ethelinda; Women are passive Agents;And, when Love prompts them, can out-suffer Martyrs.I wou'd not swear he wrongs her: yet I think so.Believe him not, till I have sounded her.Half Wales, with Leolyn, a Prince restor'd,Shou'd please a Woman, better than Earl Athelwold,A Traitor, fall'n from Power.—Was it not thus?Speak frankly to your Mistress's Disposer,And let Her thank your Loyalty.Leolyn.Lord Oswald,I am unpractis'd in the Arts of Court;And my free Thoughts range open as my Eye-balls.Wrong'd as I am by Athelwold, my HeartDisdains to hide his Virtues.—He may have wishes:He may deceive, in Love, but not in Loyalty.A brave Man cannot serve a Prince, and wrong him.Oswald.Nobly remark'd.—In Faith your Honour charms me!We live in dang'rous Times, and Men must learnTo try the Bosoms they wou'd trust their Peace in:What sudden Ruin might not careless InnocenceDraw on a great Man's Fortune?—Had I unwarilyEspous'd your Int'rest, e're my Art had pois'dYour hop'd Fidelity, I had not known you!Now, all that Ethelinda holds is yoursBut what's already Athelwold's.Leolyn.By Heav'n!I cannot bear th' insinuated Guilt.
The shadowy doubt distracts my tingling Heart;And I cou'd kill thee, but for trifling on it.Oswald.Kind, temp'rate, Madman!—Take my Thanks, so dueTo your indulg'd Forbearance.—By good Saint Austin!These Lovers are the wildest of all Lunaticks;Their Ravings have no Intervals!—But see,Your smiling Stars have sent your Mistress hither;That Madness may be match'd, and sooth'd with Folly.Leolyn.Oh! my full Heart!—Tis she.—Oswald.Thou finish'd Lover!Come—Hear me charge her, for thee.—So, Ethelinda!Enter Ethelinda.Alone? and Cheeks thus rosy!—One wou'd have sworn,The Sun, as lively as He looks to day,Had wanted warmth, without a Lover's Aid,To light up that Carnation!Ethelinda.I meant, my Lord,To have left the Garden—But mistook the Walk,I know not how—I found the Inner DoorFast lock'd—So came about, this shadier Way.Oswald.You seem confus'd, methinks?Ethelinda.But warm, my Lord.Oswald.'Tis a good Omen to a Lover's Hopes,That you bring Warmth about you.—Prince LeolynHas sigh'd a thousand Raptures, in your Praise,And, that he loves you truly, take this Mark;Elsewhere he's Eloquent—Dumb in your Company:And never look'd so like the Thing he is not,As you now see him.Leolyn.Oh! judge not of my Pain,By this too light Description.—Did not soft TermblingsSeize on my Tongue, I cou'd have told my Passion,In words, that humbler Truths have taught to speak it.Ethelinda.'Tis yours, my Lord, by Priviledge of Blood,To treat me without Ceremony.—But—Sir!If you wou'd have me think, you really love,Swear but to grant the first Request I make,And I shall wish you happy.Leolyn.I swear, with Transport.Ethelinda.This moment leave me, then, nor ever more,Speak of your hopeless Passion. [Exit Leolyn, bowing.Oswald.I did not think that thou had'st half this Brav'ry;Nor knew thee for a Heroine!—why, what a Pity!This well-tim'd Fierceness, this high Flash of Spirit,Met not the same deserv'd success, as now,When try'd against Earl Athelwold!Ethelinda.Against Earl Athelwold?Oswald.Against him, for him, on him, or about him.I am not nice, in Women's Rhetorick:—If I must speak it plainer, it had been wellYou had defended your lost Honour, there,As, here, your peevish Pride.—Come, come,—I know you!These Secrets keep not long, in our Court Air:Already 'tis the Whisper of the Drawing-Room;And by To-morrow the King's Grooms will have it.Ethelinda.What have I liv'd to hear!—Is it, my Lord,A wonder that I tremble?—Who? what bold Villain,
Has gather'd Malice, from the Forge of Hell,To charge this Flashood on me?Oswald.Why, thou woud'st call him,No Doubt, Sweet Athelwold!—Ay, stare,—no matter.When next you meet, my Honour against yours,Great odds, as Things go now! He'll be forgiven.Ethelinda.Did Athelwold, the soft, the gen'rous Athelwold!Say This, of Ethelinda?Oswald.Say it?—He sings it;Boasts it, proclaims it.—Nay, within this Hour,Hung it on his Sword's Point, and held it out,To clear the love-dim'd Eyes of Leolyn.Ethelinda.Oh!—ill-known Athelwold!Where shall afflicted Ruin rest conceal'd.If in a Breast like thine it finds no shelter?Only forbear to curse me.—I do not kneelIn Hope of fruitless Pardon.—Infamy,And Scorn, and Want, and Shame, are light Revenge,To what I feel, within me!—Conscious Remorse,And Rage, at my own Weakness, plunge Despair,And Agony, and Madness, thro' my Breast;And I thou'd be a Slave, if I cou'd wishTo live, and let the Sun's broad Eye look on me.Oswald.Rise, Ethelinda,—and hide thee in thy Chamber:There, as thou can'st, be comforted.—AnonI will consider, with thee, what is dueTo Pity, what to Honour.—In yon cross WalkOf meeting Sycamores, or my Eyes cheat me,Or I diseem the King!—Tis he!—Begone. [Exit Ethelinda.What brings him hither, at a Time like this?His st more hasty too, and his rais'd LookMore ardent, and intent, than I have seen it!Enter Edgar.Edgar.Oswald!—where is she?—pass'd she not this Way?Oswald.Who? Gracious Sovereign!Edgar.She,—the only She:—Star of my Hope! The Phantom of Desire!The Power! that, thro' my Eyes, rush'd on my Soul,And reigns, unnam'd, within me!—Mounted, but now,I led the shouting Thousands slowly on:Rounding the Hill, beneath the terrass'd Garden,There, from above, her Angel Form look'd over,And beam'd Amazement on me.—As once, in Arms,Thou did'st behold me, like the Lightning's Flash,Shoot from my Saddle, to the Aid of Athelwold,Dismounted, and in Danger; such was the FireWith which I leapt, from my wide-starting Horse,That side-long fled my Shadow! Low on the Ground,I knelt, and gaz'd up at her!—The sudden StopSpread an Alarm thro'out; and the check'd TriumphHalted, in short Confusion.—This, when she saw,Surpriz'd, she darted inward from my Sight,And left Despair behind her!Oswald.Was it now,My Ever-gracious Lord?Edgar.This Instant; now.Blest by unusual Chance, a private KeyGave me swift Entrance, thro' the Postern Door,To seek her, in the Garden.—Am I awake!Enter Elfrid.Look! Oswald, look!—Again, the shining VisionBreaks on my glowing Eyes!—Thou Pride of Day-light!Thou fairest, loveliest, noblest Work of Nature!If thou art mortal, as my beating Heart,
And my fierce Wishes promise, how have I lost thee?Where is the Happy Corner of the World,That cou'd, thus long, conceal thee?Elfrid aside.Again, the King!—Such was the conqu'ring, the commanding Softness,With which he knelt, at the remember'd Altar,Whence my long Woes took Date!—Sir,—is it generous,With this light Freedom of licentious Raillery,To shock a Stranger's Modesty?Oswald.Madam—Edgar.Be dumb.— [Exit Oswald.Why have those piercing Eyes so ill distinguish'dThe Rev'rence of my Ardour?—Licence and FreedomWou'd, in your Presence, be dissolv'd to Awe,And flow in Sighs to soften you.—This Hand!Oh! give it me,—and I will swear upon it,That my charm'd Spirits never rose, till now,In such a Tide of Extacy!—That HeavenHas left your Sex in shade, to light up you,With every Grace that swells Desire in Mortals;Or gives your Guardian Angel Pride to view you!Elfrid.What am I doing? Whither am I drawn?Oh the too charming, the persuasive Speaker!I feel his powerful Voice, in every Vein,As if my Heart expected, and confess'd him.Sir!—if a Woman, flatter'd thus agreeably,Can judge unprejudic'd, you seem of Birth,Of Honour, and of high Accomplishment:I cannot therefore doubt, that when I tell youEarl Athelwold protects me, you will forbearTo press upon the Solitude I seek,And, for his sake, regard me.Edgar.If AthelwoldProtects you, I am Athelwold's Protector;And you are doubly safe.—Elfrid.Perhaps, my Sovereign!—Forgive an Ign'rance, that cou'd see and hear you,Yet waited, to be told, you were a King.Heaven has diffus'd around your speaking AirA Glow of Majesty, that marks you Royal.I shou'd have knelt, before, and paid this Duty,Undoubting that I ow'd it.Edgar.Rise—dear Divinity!And charm me with the sweet, the heav'nly, NameYou must be worshipp'd by?—You said that AthelwoldWas your Protector: Are you of his Blood?Nothing but that can make him dearer to me!Elfrid.Ask me not, what I must of Force conceal,And shou'd have more conceal'd, but my SurprizeDrew it unpurpos'd from me. There is a Reason,A pow'rful Reason! why I must insistYou suffer me to leave you: my Stay wou'd ruin me.If you have ever felt an am'rous Tenderness,And have not feign'd it now, you will not wishTo make a Woman wretched.—I dare no moreThan this—You cannot love, if you detain me.Edgar.Riddles and Torture!—my charm'd Soul is fill'dWith unspoke Meanings for an Age to come,And you are measuring Moments!Elfrid.Are you a King?Is it your Right to rule?—Command your Passion.—There is a Liberty, that dwells with Love,
Too brave for forc'd Submission.—Stir not to follow me:For, if you do, by all that's holy here,And dreadful in Eternity! I swear,I will be lost for ever. [Exit Elfrid.Edgar.The conscious Grandeur of her inborn PrideInflames her, for a Queen! Aw'd by her Frown,I stood, insensible, and unresolv'd,Nor knew that I obey'd her.—How blind is Love!Who wou'd have hop'd, this Soft'ner of my Soul,While Athelwold was wand'ring in her search,Was of the Blood, and in the House, of Athelwold.In vain proud Man, with busy Blindness, strives:And, thro' long Mazes, each dark Purpose drives.Lost, on the Depth of Heaven's unsounded Will,We still float doubtful, yet are active still:Unwearied with Mistakes, err on, content,And deviate into Blessings, never meant.End of the Second ACT.ACT III. SCENE continues.Oswald and Leolyn.Leolyn.PAtience!—Curse Patience: why dost thou talk of Patience,With the same Breath, the same cold, tasteless, CalmnessThat spoke Distraction to me? Hast thou not told meThat she confesses it? that this proud Beauty,This haughty, fierce, disdainful, marbly Vertue,That scorn'd my honest Passion; this austere Frowner!Has been—Perdition on the Name! 'Twou'd choak me.—Hast thou not fir'd me with the basest TruthThat ever stung the Heart of a Fool Lover!And dost thou talk of Patience?—Give it to Statesmen;I spurn the servile Lesson. Patience! said'st thou?Rage and Despair have broke upon my Soul,And wash'd away all Patience.Oswald.My Spirit,Thank Heaven! is none of these wild fiery Racers;That, like a Spark in Flax, if not strait smother'd,Burns up the Road it runs thro'; yet I feel Warmth,When chaf'd by Provocation: And let me tell you,There may be ways, and we may find 'em, Prince,To reach this proud Presumer.Leolyn.I must not aid thee:He was my Friend; and then, my Life was his,By Tie of Duty.—He was, since, my Enemy;And then, again, 'twas his, by Claim of Conquest.
I've lost Revenge, to Honour.—I have no RightTo lift my Arm against him: For, from a HandOblig'd as mine has been, Justice itselfWould redden into Murder.—But, were I Oswald,Wrong'd, as thou art, and free to weigh those Wrongs,Without this Counterpoise of Obligation,I would hunt Athelwold to the World's Verge;Nay, would leap after him, and snatch at Vengeance,Through the unfathom'd Depth of dark Eternity.Oswald.I too, perhaps,Who have as light a Spring as you, Prince Leolyn,Might try that dreadful Leap, could I be sureThat it was bounded, but by Depth and Darkness:But, shou'd there lie some Realm of Light beyond,I should look foolishly, when I fell through,To find my State grown worse than 'twas before,And no Road back again.—Methinks, 'tis strange,That you, hot Fighters, Friends of bare-fac'd Anger,Have never learnt our safer courtly ArtOf Vengeance without Danger!—You injure me,And I assault you openly:—Man against ManGives Chance an equal Cast: 'Tis you or me:Suppose, as first you wrong'd, you, now, shou'd kill me?Where's Vengeance then?—What Equity is here!No;—let me pay th' Affront, with a first Blow,Whereby I hazard nothing: That sets us equal;And, if I not strike home, he's, then, at libertyTo stand on even Terms, and try, once more.Leolyn.What dar'st thou do, for Ethelinda's Honour?Oswald.Force him—to please her on, and marry her.Leolyn.He cannot marry her.Oswald.Why truly, he who has, unmarried, wonWhat others marry for, will wed at leisure.Leolyn.Cannot,—I say.—Death! thou art such a Trifler!Oswald.If you had said he wou'd not marry her,Your Doubt had err'd, with Likelihood.—But that a ManHas taught a Maid what Wives alone should learn,And cannot therefore make that Maid his Wife,Is a new Point in Logick!—Troth, I have seenThe Court thick sown with these instructed Virgins,Who all grew up, to Husbands; and, sometimes,Have ev'n learnt on, for Life, from their first Teachers.Leolyn.Tire me no more, with this provoking Lightness,Upon a Theme that stings me.—I tell thee, he cannot;—Mark me,—he cannot marry Ethelinda;Because—he has already married Elfrid.—Oswald.Elfrid! what Elfrid?Leolyn.Why, that far-nois'd Elfrid;What is her Father's Name? The Western Duke?—Death!—I remember nothing:—Cornwall:—He:The Duke of Cornwall.—She! whose fancied CharmsThe King was wise enough to chuse this Athelwold,His Ear's Engrosser, and his Eye's Pourveyor,To go and look at for him.—A strange mad HumourWork'd in his Brain, that she might prove his Idol,His wild Church Shadow that you have heard him talk of:You know it as well as I.—What do you gaze at?You listen as if I prophesied!Oswald.'Tis Prophecy!And happily foretels the long-wish'd DownfalOf our State Column.—This Atlas Athelwold!
Who bears the Heaven of Favour on his Shoulders,And shadows all beneath him.—But, are you sure?Leolyn.I told it, not to aid thy dark Designings,But to lament the ruin'd Ethelinda.What will Fate do with that unhappy Charmer?Honour forbids me, now, to wish her mine;And he who has undone her is another'sEnter Edgar hastily.Edgar.Who is another's?Oswald.The Prince, provok'd to Warmth,By News scarce credible, and lost in Wonder,We heard not, Royal Sir! your near Approach.Edgar.What News? What Wonder?—Warm?—The Prince was warm?Yes;—The hot British Blood, your Country's Proverb,The Lightning of your Tempers, flames, I find,To its full Violence.—What mad PresumptionLicens'd your Arroganee, so near my Presence,To quarrel with Earl Athelwold to Day,Whose Friendship is your Fortune?Leolyn.Sir,—a Prince,Tho' Fortune wrongs him, in Restraint of Power,Thinks, like a Prince, as when his Throne sustain'd him.Edgar.His Throne? Proud Leolyn!Thy Father was a Rebel.—Detected TreasonInverts the vanquish'd Traitor's Property,And he and his lost Blood are Forfeits, all.—I love the fearless Bravery of free Spirits;
But thy blind Fierceness shocks me.—Urge it no farther:A moving Pity pleads thy Cause within me;Nor wish I, thou shouldst blast it.Oswald.Gracious Sovereign!The Prince, unlike his Father, fought your Cause;And startles me with News, which (when I tell youIt joins the Names of Athelwold—and Traitor)Will justify the Wonder it has given me.Edgar.Traitor—and Athelwold? Profane Conjunction!As well might the two Poles be press'd, to join,And crush the unbelieving World, between them.—Take heed, rash Men! when ye dare touch the HonourOf envied Athelwold, that ye not failTo prove his Guilt, till, like a Sun-beam's Glare,It dazzles my Faith's Eye, and makes it weep;Or your vile Malice shall but fan the Fire,That kindles to consume ye?—What has he done?Leolyn?—Oswald?—Speak:—One of ye, speak?—Or must I wait, till you invent some Wile,To skreen your trembling Envy?—What wou'd ye sayOf Atheldwold?Oswald.Prince Leolyn asserts,That he has married the fam'd Western Beauty,And has describ'd her falsly.Edgar, after a Pause.Malicious Ignorance!Oh! that the Power that rules the Heart of ManWou'd, ever, thus, make Mischief impotent!—See now this Falshood! Learn to know this Traitor!This Athelwold! whom your inferior SoulsWant Sympathy to judge of?—His Heart's Refinement,
His Elegance of Will, adorning Duty,Has plotted, with a Subject's sweet Deceit,To cheat his King, to Extasy!—By HeavenI had not known, but for your bold mistaking,That he had form'd this dear Design against me.To Night he means, when Triumph's weary NoiseIs hush'd in Darkness, and my Mind, unbent,Has room for mighty Pleasure, to surprize me;To pour upon my unexpecting SoulA Tide of Gladness. He but held it back,To make its Flow more welcome.—But I have seen her;Thou, too, hast seen her, Oswald.—The big JoyBears down all Mem'ry, that you both presum'dTo wrong the Man I love; and I forgive it,That you may learn to worship Athelwold!Oswald.Nay, I have ever said, even to his Enemies,That he was form'd for Loyalty!Leolyn.This doubling Statesman's Baseness, and the JoyOf his imperious Master, have uprootedThe Prudence of my Patience:—I must speak,Tho' every Glance of his disdainful EyeShot a new Ruin at me.—Sir!—by this TransportOf a bless'd Lover, near his promis'd Joy,Judge of the Vastness of my Sister's Grief;Whom lone Despair, and Sense of hopeless Love,Abandon to Distraction.Edgar.Is it well doneTo chuse this Time, this Place, and this rash Manner,To goad a conscious Frailty?Leolyn.To-morrow, Sir,Had been too late: For, when your Heart is fill'dWith Elfrid, and with Rapture, how should I hope
There can be room, for Thoughts of a past Promise,Or absent Emma's Claim?Edgar.Now, by the Stings,Which thy abrupt, unartful InsolenceHas rouz'd, to fix their Points on my touch'd Heart,The Power of Millions, warring on my Realms,Shou'd never force me to thy Sister's Arms.Had she a Charm, for every Fault of thine,Nature has curs'd her with one single Stain,That blots out all her Vertues. The Part, she sharesOf thy rebellious Blood, is Bane to Love.—O Athelwold! how am I blest in thee!The Guilt of others, held against thy Worth,Reflects it stronger on me.—Well may TraitorsMalign thy Loyalty. AntipathiesHate, by the Law of Nature.—Take his Sword:Why have I Power, if not to curb Presumption,When it insults my Pity?—See him a Prisoner in the Castle-Tower?And, when I am no longer angry,—ask meWhat I resolve concerning him? [Exit Edgar.Leolyn.'Tis well:The World and I, grown weary of each other,Can separate, without Sorrow.Oswald.See, if good FortuneBrings not Earl Athelwold into the Garden!Dissemble your Concern; and I will move himTo stir in your Behalf, and reconcile youTo the King's Pardon.Leolyn.Shame on thy supple Soul!Thou art the moving Shadow, on the Dial:Point'st at each diff'rent Hour, with equal Ease;But, measuring all, art nothing.—Oswald.By good Saint Austin,An apt and keen Conceit!—The Castle-Tower,And Solitude, will ripen Meditation,Till your Wit quickens, and your Fire flames double.Enter Athelwold, starting at Sight of Leolyn.Athelwold.Prince Leolyn!—of all th'unwelcome World,The last I wou'd have met! [Retiring.Leolyn.Hold, Sir;—a Word.—Oswald.He has bcthought him of my good Advice,And takes the Hint, he scoff'd at.—Leolyn.When my Friend serves me, I forget him not.—Let me discharge a Debt my full Heart owes you;It may be long, e're we shall meet again;Therefore, before we part, I judge it needfulTo whisper in your Ear—that AthelwoldIs a detested Villain.—Athelwold, drawing.A Villain? Leolyn?— [After a Pause.Yet—keep thy Life.—Thou hast been injur'd by me.—The wrongs that I have done, forbid RevengeAgainst the Wrongs I suffer.[Puts up his Sword.Leolyn.Racks on thy Heart!Forbid Revenge? how dar'st thou name Revenge?Thou loose Betrayer! Thou Reproach of Greatness!Thou dignified Deceiver! Revenge!—Great Heaven!Let Ethelinda's ruin'd InnocenceRise-on thy trembling Soul,—'twill fright Revenge,And shake thee into Sense of silent Shame.Thou calm, cold, Ruiner!Athelwold.Nay, now, thou know'st, thou wrong'st me:I have been, too Resolv'd, and dar'd a Guilt,I will not dare to justify.—Farewel;When, in some cooler Moment, thou deserv'stTo hear my serious Thoughts, I may confessI have been faithless to thee.Leolyn.Stay—e're thou goest,Let my exulting Heart proclaim one Joy;Edgar, betray'd like me, has Power, and Will,To punish his Betrayer.—I have told it,Oswald already knows;—the King too knows it;And the whole World shall join; to curse thee for it,That thou hast married Elfrid.—That happy SecretWas all, that Fortune lest me, for my Vengeance,And I have given it to the Tongues of Millions.Athelwold.Thou hast not done that Outrage on thy Honour?Leolyn.Not done it?—By the Pangs which wrung my SoulFor Ethelinda's Ruin, but I have—Not done it?—'Twas the last, the liveliest Stroke,That I cou'd pierce thy Heart with.—Athelwold, drawing again.Then, thou shalt die.My Guilt, absolv'd, by baser of thy own,Disclaims Contrition,—re-assumes Revenge,And gives thee up, to my remorseless Anger.—Defend thy Life, more bravely than before,Or thy hot Blood shall blush upon my Point,To expiate thy Dishoncsty.—Leolyn.See, where my Sword,Lodg'd in a colder Hand, secures thy Bravings.Now boast the well-tim'd Triumphs of thy Tongue,That, safely, dares a Prisoner.Athelwold.Restore it, Oswald;How, or by whose Command, 'tis thine, no matter.—I have not Leisure now, to ask, or hear it:Give him his Sword, this Instant.—Oswald.My Lord, I hold it by the King's Command.Athelwold, forcing the Sword from Oswald.Talk not to me of Kings!—Less than a GodWou'd now want Power to keep it;—give me the Sword,On Pain of thy own Life, refuse it not.Away—nor interrupt us.Oswald.Alas! Alas!How fruitless is good Counsel! [Runs out hastily.Athelwold.Here, take thy Sword,And teach it, if it can, to guard thy Baseness.Leolyn.Oh! that my boiling Blood had no Restraint,But Fear of what thou threaten'st!—and that this MorningHad left Resentment free; nor curs'd my MemoryWith that loath'd Life, which, since 'twas spar'd by thee,Is mine no more, against thee.—Athelwold.Perish the poor PretenceThat covers thy Confusion!—If aught, I did,Had Merit to with-hold thy Arm, take Notice,That I renounce it.—I despise thy Gratitude,False, as thy Boastings.—If thou want'st yet more,To re-inspire thy Rage, and wake thy Honour,—I will invent Disgraces, to provoke thee!If, in Contempt of thy too weak Resistance,I spar'd thy Life,—Against my Mercy, weighMy Triumph, o'er her Innocence who charm'd thee;That makes the Balance even.—Oh! Thou hast rais'd me
To such a burning, such unmaster'd, Anger,That I grow base, as thou art,—and thy BloodWill stream in vain to quench it.Leolyn.Rail on.—I'll wait,'Spite of thy Arrogance, I'll wait,—nor kill thee:Till some new Injury sets free my Rage,And blots out Obligation.Athelwold.Tortures and Fire!Shalt thou inflame me thus,—Unseat my Soul;Tear out wrong'd Patience from my bleeding Heart,And work me into Tempest! Then grow cool,And, insolently mild, with Stoick Tameness,Hope,—thou coud'st stop me, in the steepest FallOf my whole hurried Vengeance.—No,—if thou wait'stNew Provocation, it attends thy Call;This will enrage thee, to renew thy Rashness; [Strikes him.And meet the Death I mean thee.Leolyn, drawing.Yes—That has done it:Now, thou hast freed me, from all fond Reluctance,And sanctified the Will, that sinn'd before. [They fight.Oswald, without.Haste—or we come too late.— [Enter Guards, and beat down their Swords.Athelwold.We are prevented.Leolyn.Then I must wait, and groan for Liberty,To thank thee, as I ought.Athelwold.For Liberty!Oh! doubt it not.—By Heaven it shall be thine:
I will, myself, find means to force thy Freedom,That I may claim thy Life, in just Exchange.Where shall we meet? [Softly.Leolyn.West, on yon terrass'd Cliff.Athelwold.Expect Deliverance, e're an Hour be past;Then haste,—and find me there.Enter Oswald.Oswald.Quick—seize Prince Leolyn.Leolyn.It shall not need; my Sword is yours, again,Conduct me, at your Pleasure.Oswald, to the Guards.Lead to the Tower.[Exeunt Leolyn, Oswald, and Guards.Athelwold.Be hush'd, my Heart;—forget this rash Man's Rage,And, till I meet him next, be weak as Woman;For Ethelinda comes, and brings Reproach,That bows me to the Dust, in conscious Shame.Enter Ethelinda, to Athelwold.Ethelinda.Cool'd, by a short Reflection, into Hope,That I mistook your Purpose, let me, yet, say,You are well-met, my Lord.Athelwold.Oh!—wou'd I were!The Time has been, when if we two were met,There was no World beyond us.—But, now, I wander, like some fabled Ghost,Trembling, and earnest to impart his Secret,Yet wanting Power to speak it.Ethelinda.Such Ghosts, they say,Wait, to be spoke to, first; then, they revealTheir dreadful Wills, and vanish.—'Twill be thusWith your proud Heart: Soon as I have accus'd you,Cover'd with Shame, your Answer will be short,Confus'd, and fatal; and you will vanish from me,Alas! I fear, for ever.—Look on me, Athelwold!Raise your fal'n Eyes:—They once cou'd gaze, delighted,And hung their Beams on mine, as both were form'd,Of one divided Flame, which parted, hard,And struggled for Re-union.—Teach 'em, once more,To fix an unmov'd, stedfast, Look upon me;Hold them, thus earnest, nor decline their Lids,Till you have answer'd me this one sad Question:What have I done, that could deserve, from Athelwold,That he should boast my ruin'd Peace, to Leolyn?Your conscious Eye sinks, guilty.—My Lord! my Lord!The Virtue that inspires this gen'rous Shame,Had shewn a nobler Influence, had it taught you,That Insult, always base, is doubly so,When he who caus'd the Crime, upbraids it too.Athelwold.Can you believe me so deprav'd a Wretch,So lost to Honour, Gratitude, and Shame,As to be conscious of a purpos'd Guilt,Thus infamously vile?Ethelinda.I do, by Heaven!Nay, know you guilty; for, since I saw you last,My Uncle cruelly reproach'd me with it,And told me, you proclaim'd it.Athelwold.Proclaim'd it! No:I am unhappy, but I am not base.It were too long, and too perplex'd a Tale,While Misery lies, unloaded, on my Heart,To undeceive thee, now.—If thou believ'stI am that low unmanly Wretch thou speak'st me,
Take this dishonour'd Sword, pierce my false Breast,Revenge thy Wrongs, and save my Tongue the ShameOf what it, soon, must tell thee.Ethelinda.What would'st thou tell me?Thou tremblest! and I read some dreadful Meaning,That struggles to break on me!—Why wilt thou kneel?There glows a gen'rous Tenderness about thee,Which half absolves thy Purpose, and bids me hear theeWith Firmness, and with Pity.Athelwold.Oh! Ethelinda!—Ethelinda.Out with it,—speak,—Wou'dst thou not say,—I hate thee?Athelwold.No, by my Soul, tho' Time has chang'd my Love,'Tis chang'd, but as the Diamond, that grows brighter,And lost but Dust, in polishing.—'Tis, now,No more a fierce wild Flame; but, in its Place,Truth, calmer, and more lasting. 'Tis soft Respect;'Tis tender Thought, kind Will, and grateful Mem'ry.'Tis Friendship.—'Tis such Love as Angels feel,Who mix their meeting Fires;—and flame together.Ethelinda.Such was the false, the artful Eloquence,That lur'd me to my Ruin. But my Heart,Instructed by Distress, can now read Meanings.Who, that is new in Passion, could believe,That this fair Picture, of thy faded Love,But proves, thou lov'st another?Athelwold.What wilt thou say,When thou shalt hear me own, That Fear is just?When I confess, abhorrent of Deceit,That Love, which seem'd to root my Soul in thee,Has new transplanted it, to Elfrid's Bosom?You start! as if my Guilt were yet a Secret,Tho' Leolyn, confesses he has told it:
For, in his ill-retaining Breast, I trustedThe fatal Secret, of my double Falshood,Both to my King, and thee. He should have added,How I was lost.—That Will, and Faith, and Reason,At once gave Way, beneath a Weight of Passion;And against Judgment, Honour, Love of thee,Fame, and Allegiance, I was born away,Till she, who should have been my Master's Queen,Deceiv'd, like thee, became,—oh!—turn asideThy Eyes—while I have Voice to say—my Wife.Ethelinda.Go on.—Athelwold.Thou art not mov'd.—Some Power divineSustains thy gentle Soul!Ethelinda.I pity thee So mean a Stratagem,Shamefully form'd, to force me upon Leolyn,And free thee from the Pain of long dissembling.Go on,—that I may teach my Heart to hate thee.This low Contrivance, this poor Trick of Art,Is baser than Inconstancy!Athelwold.Sorrow, like mine,Sinks the sad Heart too low, for Artifice,And my proud Soul out-swells, and floats above it.That I am lost, beyond Redemption lost,My Roof, that once grew proud, in Hopes of thee,Conceals too clear a Witness.—Yet may'st thou curse me,If I not rev'rence and esteem thee, still,With my Heart's inmost Softness. Thy Power improves,Ev'n by Defection. Lost, to my frailer Sense,My Soul adores thee, like some nameless Being,In which, the Woman mixes with the Angel,And makes a new Divinity.Ethelinda.Thy Words,Thy Looks, disorder'd, and thy trembling Frame,
Fill me with Fear and Wonder.—It cannot be,Thou should'st, thus mov'd, and movingly, dissemble:By Heav'n! I will be satisfy'd.—Thou say'st,This Rival, this imaginary Elfrid,Is now in thy Apartment: I will fly thither;And, when I have unravel'd all thy Guilt,Let loose Despair, at once, and die, distracted.Athelwold.Oh! stay:—For Pity's Sake! for your own Sake!For mine! For the King's Quiet!—Ethelinda.I'll not be held,Tho' Kings, and Flames, and War, and Devastation,And Death himself stood threatning. [Breaks away, and runs off.]Edgar. [without.]What! hoa!—Lord, Athelwold.Athelwold.'Tis the King's Voice!Edgar.What has, thus long, disjoin'd thee from my Joy?Hid from thy Sight, by the dark Grot between us,Thy Voice took Pity on my Heart's Impatience,And taught me how to trace thee. Pomp cou'd not please,While Friendship waited for me: Sudden, I leftTh' unfinish'd Triumph, fill'd with a nobler Joy,And wanting Soul to taste it, in thy Absence.—But thou art grown a Lover, Athelwold!An angry Lady left thee!—Is it possible,That the unjudging Sex have Wills, so blind,That Athelwold, in Love, can sigh in vain,Punish the peevish Beauty with Neglect,And fly to thy King's Heart, for Refuge from her.Athelwold.I blush,—and am confounded,—my gracious Lord!To be surpriz'd in my unguarded Weakness,By your too piercing Eye.—Yet Woman's Power—Edgar.Teach the tall Pine to bend, before the Wind.—What! has not Edgar felt the Power of Woman?They toy with Scepters,—and the Frowns of KingsServe them to smile at. When the wanton TyrantsPlay over their soft Triflings to the Heart,They set their Eyes on Fire, to light us up,Then, melt us into Warmth, that softens Wisdom,And we receive the Stamp their Folly gives us.But why hast thou deceiv'd thy Prince's Trust?Thou art for ever forming some kind Plot,To quicken Pleasure's Relish, by Surprize:But I have now detected thee,—and mean,For once, to spoil the Grace of thy Design,And break upon thy Purpose.Athelwold.Royal Sir!If some malicious Foe—Edgar.Yes, yes, they charge thee,And all thy Guilt lies open:—But thy PlottingsMake Loyalty look dull, and shame plain Duty.I have unveil'd the Secret. Lead—to thy Lodgings:When we are there, I will convict thee, Athelwold,Of such Designs against thy Sov'reign's Rest,As more than I shall thank thee for.Athelwold. [aside.]Whither will Fortune drag me?—I am discover'd,And he but puts on Joy, to shame my RuinWith the Contempt of Easiness.Edgar.Yes, Athelwold,Statesmen shall learn, from thy deserv'd Renown,From Honours thou shalt owe my strengthen'd Crown;That, where the Monarch is not blind of Heart,Affection is the Favourite's wisest Art:While, to Self-servers, due Contempt is shown,Let Friends, who seek our Int'rest, find their own.End of the Third Act.ACT IV.SCENE: Athelwold's Apartment.Elfrid, and a Lady.Elfrid.WHAT does her Coming mean?—He could not send her.Of what Distinction seems she?Lady.In her Deportment,Awfully sad, or proudly angry, Madam.Elfrid.I saw her from the Window. She seems much mov'd,And carries, in her Face, a kind of War,Of Sorrow, against Pride; that shades, yet softensThe Rigour of her Beauty; as I have seenA hovering Cloud obscure too fierce a Sun,And make his Influence sweeter.—Said she, my LordCommissioned her to see me.—Lady.Madam, she did;On sudden Business, of the utmost Consequence,To your own Peace, and his.Elfrid.Look!—what Impatience!She stays not your Return.—Wait, within Call. [Exit Lady.Enter Ethelinda.I thought myself so much a Stranger, here,That I receive you, Madam, in Surprize,
I may have Cause to blush at, when I've learntTo whom I owe this Favour.Ethelinda.You owe it, Madam,To the too liberal Will of one, whose FavoursMore of your Sex, than you, have been oblig'd to.So kind a Purposer, as Athelwold,Means much, he leaves imperfect.—You had ratherHe should have come, his own Ambassador,Than sent a Representer, such as I am;Unqualified to smooth your angry Brow,That frowns cold Welcome at me.Elfrid.I frown, indeed!To hear the Name of Athelwold pronounc'dWith this familiar Licence!—Sure! You know himWith more than common Intimacy, Madam,Who treat him with this Frankness?Ethelinda.If to have been his Intimate,May licence Frankness toward him, the Court has Claimers,Who can dispute their Title to your Lover,By Rights, of longer Date, and juster Tenure,Than those you hold him by.Elfrid.Your Pardon, Madam,I find, I was mistaken in your Purpose;But 'twas my Woman's Error. She inform'd me,You came from Athelwold. Had she said for him,I should have better known with what RespectTo entertain your Visit.—On my Word,He was unkind, to give a Lady Pain,Who lost him thus reluctantly.—You watchHis first Return to Court, with Eye, too keen,To be so coldly look'd at.Ethelinda.Though he told me,His Roof conceal'd a Witness of his Guilt,
I took you for a Shadow. But, I perceive,His Falshood may be trusted, when he speaksOf his own Baseness.—Think me not abrupt.—If Oaths had Power to bind, he should be mine.Triumphant in the prosperous Pride of Beauty,Your easy Scorn insults the Miserable,Unconscious of their Anguish.—Sense of lost Peace,Perhaps, transported an afflicted Heart,And I appear'd too warm.—I shall no more invade your wish'd Repose;All I would ask is—Pardon the dreadful Question,Are you the Wife of Athelwold?Elfrid.The Wife!What Right of Claim could he presume, to Me,But what that Title gave him?Ethelinda.Farewell—for ever.Kneel, and pray Heaven, to whose indulgent HandYou owe Attraction, to increase, and guard it;Else will your destin'd Ruin soon instruct you,That he, who, tempted by your Charms, betray'dHis Heart's vow'd Mistress, and deceiv'd his King,Will, for some new Temptation, give up you,And leave you subject to another's Pity,As I am, now, to yours.Elfrid.Stay, Madam, stay.You have alarm'd me, to my inmost Soul;And I adjure you, as you hope ReturnOf your departed Peace, not to go hence,Till you explain the fatal Mystery,Which your last Words were fill'd with.—Ethelinda.The Part I bearIn the black Meaning, my sad Soul determinesTo feel in Silence, till I shake it off,To Distance, whence it can return no more.
—For you, the King, who sent this trusted Favourite,To court you to the Bed of Royal Edgar,Not that of Athelwold,—The King, thus wrong'd,Will punish your false Lover, with Revenge,Which, amidst all my Agonies, I dread;And tremble for his Woes, who has destroyed me.Elfrid.O my foreboding Heart!—A thousand Wonders,A thousand Mysteries, at once reveal'd,Come rushing on my Memory!—Now, Athelwold,No longer is it doubtful to my Thought,Why the King's Eye was judg'd more dangerousThan Shoals, and Rocks, and Shipwrecks!—Now the MysteryOf Royal Edgar's Words, so lately heard,Opens, unveil'd, upon my frighted Soul;And Pain, and Terror, and Confusion, shake me.Oh! cruel Undeceiver! why have you wak'd me?Why have you torn me from my joyless Calm?Which, though it gave no Transport, lull'd me in Quiet,And kept these Storms of Life from breaking on me.Enter Lady.Lady.Madam!—The King!—Elfrid.What would'st thou say?Lady.The King is entring here!And my Lord with him.—Scarce had I Breath, to flyBefore,—and give you Notice.Elfrid.Save him, kind Heaven!—Teach me, some Angel, to avoid this King.Teach my distracted Heart to 'scape this Precipice.Which Way may we retire?—Yon inmost DoorOpens upon the Gallery.Lady.'Tis lock'd, and they are here!Ethelinda.Oh! the severe Resolve of righteous Heaven!They come!—I tremble, for this false Man's Fate;And my unwilling Feet are rooted here!Enter Edgar, followed by Athelwold.Edgar.Why dost thou linger, Athelwold?—Look here!The Secret thou would'st have withheld, yet longer,Shines out, like the Sun's Heat, to gladden Nature,And make Creation smile!—Elfrid!—my Queen!Soul of my Kingdom's Hopes! my Fame! my Glory!Thou art his Gift!—Oh! let thy Angel-TongueJoin, to confirm my Vow, to this lov'd Friend!This Friend, to whom I owe the sweet Surprize,That I thus gaze upon thee, thus approach thee!Lend me thy wish'd Consent, to firm this Oath,Which, by my Soul's eternal Hopes, I swear!That Day and Night shall cease, and Time be lost,And Nature's slack'ning Springs unwind the World,E're I forget his Interest in my Heart;Or hold my Athelwold less dear than now.Elfrid.Confirm his Oath, kind Heav'n!Edgar.Thou saint-like Goodness!How shall my swelling Heart contain this Joy!This over-pow'ring Gladness!—Bless'd, as I am,Center'd in Happiness, 'twixt Love and Friendship,I can look down on my neglected Throne;Can see the Pride of Power rise, far beneath me;And Heaven has scarce reserv'd one Bliss, to wish for.Ethelinda.Oh! blind, blind Man! [Exit disorder'd.Elfrid. [Aside.]Her ardent Sense of WrongsPoints at her Life, and Charity compels me,To save her, from herself. [Exit Elfrid.Edgar.What mean their Looks?Signals of Terror, and disorder'd Partings!Why are they vanish'd thus?—Ha! By my Soul!Thou, too, art touch'd with the contagious Madness!Now has some Devil, malignant to thy Truth,Wrought to perplex thee.—No Part of Earth I govern,Dares cherish Mischief that could wound my Friend,With this quick Sense of Anguish!Athelwold.Oh! that all LanguageCou'd be express'd by Looks! or that my King,Great Substitute of Heaven, could read my Heart;Like that first Power who made it!Edgar.What hast thou suffer'd?I think I should have said, what hast thou done?But that I speak to Athelwold.Athelwold.How base,How like a Coward, fighting blind, is he,Who dares commit the Crime he dares not own;And, bold enough to know himself a Villain,Fears, least Another knows it!Edgar.Stop.—Say no more.Art not thou Athelwold? Let me look on thee.—No:—By thy sacred Empire, in my Heart,It cannot be.—I am at Peace, again.Go on—thy Enemies, in vain, accus'd thee;But thy own Words alarm'd me.—Yet, my glad EyesHave trac'd thee over, and absolve that Form,
Even from the Power to harbour a mean Mind,Unsuited and deceitful.Athelwold.What can I say?Guilt, when it meets Suspicion, or Reproach,Sustains itself, within, and learns to balanceOffence, by Punishment. But where it findsCompassion, and has wrong'd a gen'rous Confidence,It ought to blush, in Blood; and has no WayTo Pardon, or to Peace, but this—through Death.Edgar. [Disarming him.]Hold thy rash Hand—And, like my Subject, learn,To die, when I command thee.—Can it be possible,One, brave, as Thou art, shou'd have Guilt, to justifyThis Fear of a Friend's Eye?—Is Elfrid mine?Or, trusted with the Wants that press'd my Soul,Hast thou, instead of giving, robb'd me of more,And left thy Prince a Bankrupt? Unbless'd by Love,And yet depriv'd of Friendship!Athelwold.What has not LoveMade Honour guilty of!—Turn, Royal Sir,Turn your Eyes inward, and, in Emma's Tears,Read the too fatal Power of Elfrid's Beauty.How cou'd weak Athelwold expect to conquer,Where god-like Edgar fell!Edgar.Heav'n! 'tis Thy Hand,When Subjects, thus, from Prince's Crimes, grow bold,To charge their Treasons on their King's Example,And shame us into Justice!—True, I have err'd;But mark, what Difference 'twixt my Guilt, and thatWhich thou nor dar'st to speak, nor I to hear.By Elfrid won, from Emma; Love, in me,Prov'd but too strong for Love. In thee, not Love,To Love was treacherous.—But Love, to Honour,To Friendship, Loyalty, to sworn Obedience;To all the violated Laws of Life!—What Subject, though unfavour'd, dares invade
His Sovereign's Claim?—But, when that Subject isA Servant too, bound by the double Tie,Of Duty and Allegiance; when, beyond all,His King, his Master, whom he wrongs, selected him;Treasur'd his Hopes and Wishes, in his Heart;Liv'd in his Breast; partial but in his Cause;And, against warring Worlds, wou'd have defended him!What can that faithless Traitor's Reason urge,To match his Guilt, with mine?Enter Elfrid hastily.Elfrid.Oh!—Athelwold!The injur'd Stranger, strong, by Despair's wild Rage,Breaks, like a Tempest, from your Servant's Care,And meditates Destruction. No Voice but yoursWill calm her into Patience.—In her Heart's Anguish,She calls on Athelwold, till Shrieks of WoeEccho, from Tower to Tower, your Fatal Name,And the wide Castle rings, with her Reproaches.Edgar.Go—and appease her Grief, thou Source of Sorrow!Free my dim'd Eyes from aching at thy Presence,And leave me to the Pain of sharp Reflection,What thou should'st suffer, from a Prince's Hand,Who is this Wretch, by thine! [Exit Athelwold.Too fatal Beauty!Why have I found thee, but to lose thee more,And change a painful Hope, for certain Misery!Elfrid.If, in your royal Heart, I hold such Influence,Abate your Wonder at my Power in Athelwold's.Why were you Friends, but that your Souls had Sympathy,And purpos'd, each like other?—'Tis scarce a Moment,
Since I first learn'd, that when he press'd his Passion,He wrong'd his Sov'reign's Meaning: Yet, already,I find the Fault most yours.—Love is a Leveller,And all Degrees are equall'd, where he reigns.Why was another sent, if Edgar lov'd me?Why was not Cornwall honour'd by your Presence,When your unnumber'd Navy swept her Coasts,In your last Guardian Circuit?—Had you then landed,Indulgent to my loyal Father's Prayer,From what a dreadful Length of destin'd Woe,Had my sad Heart been guarded!Edgar.I saw thee, first,Unknowing thou wer't Elfrid, at the dread Altar,Where, from our aweful Dunstan's holy Hands,The consecrated Oil confirm'd me King.—How wer't thou lost, so soon?Elfrid.Swear but to pardonThe gen'rous, tho' unfaithful, Athelwold,And I will shew you, we were doom'd unhappy,But by the Will of Heav'n.Edgar.Kings shou'd be just:And such compulsive Oaths, too lightly sworn,Make That Necessity, which might be Choice,And strip the Grace from Mercy.Elfrid.Then hear my Vow:Since you decline to bind your doubtful Will,Thus, on my Knees, all-powerful Heav'n! my SoulAppeals thy righteous Throne.—Hear,—and afflict meWith every woful Curse, thy Wrath has stor'dFor Perjury, if ever I consentTo quit the Breast, or Claim, of Athelwold.Or, should he fall, by your revenging Hand,
If I not shun, for ever, even to Death,The Sight, the Voice, the Name, of Royal Edgar.Edgar.Cruel, cold, proud, disdainful,—glorious Elfrid!What has thy Rashness sworn?—Yet, let me perish,If to have sworn it, has not made thy LovelinessAs awful as Divinity!—Was everDistress thus hopeless? Could your untouch'd HeartHave Sense of what mine suffers, you wou'd have fear'dTo wound me, with this Pain of fix'd Despair.Elfrid.Now, shielded by the Safeguard of my Oath,Virtue may speak, secure, and own its Weakness:There was a Time, e'er Athelwold was mine,When, to have been the Wife of uncrown'd Edgar,Wou'd have been more than Monarchy, to Elfrid.—Fatally curious, from the deep ImpressionOf an alarming Dream, I saw you crown'd,Hid, in a clam'rous Press, that shouted, round me,And shook the sacred Dome, with Peals of Joy.Edgar.Oh! tell it me again.—Was I so bless'd,That you then thought with Tenderness on Edgar?What was that Dream? Charm me, thou rising Wonder,With each soft Circumstance of pleasing Pain:For, while I die, with Terror of my Fate,'Tis Heav'n to hear it, from a Voice like thine.Elfrid.Oh! sooth not Misery.—Forbear to speakWith this untimely, this forbidden, Softness!Aw'd, by Rememb'rance of my dreadful Dream,I tremble, ign'rant of the Will of Heaven,Too dimly gleam'd upon my distant Soul.I dreamt I sat, and saw th' Imperial CrownPlac'd on your sacred Head: Your Form the same,As when I, after, view'd you at the Altar,And, fainting with Reflection, left the Throng!Soon as the Diadem adorn'd your Brow,
You turn'd, methought, with Brightness more than mortal,Held it, presented thus; and, high in Air,Stept to the Seat that bore me! When strait a cold,A shadowy Hand divided us: Loud ShrieksRung thro' the Temple: The gay Pomp was darken'd,And a broad Sea of Blood rose high, between us,And bore us from each other.Edgar.Thy ominous DreamCreeps, in cold Tides, and curdles all my Veins.Seek we, thou lost Inflamer of Desire,The false, the fated Athelwold.—My HeartHeaves, with unusual Bodings. Powerful PityStruggles with Justice; and 'tis more painful to me,To think, my Friend, should fall, to need Forgiveness,Than to forgive my Enemy.Elfrid.This is, indeed,To reign! So reigns the World's supreme Disposer.All Things, but one, are subject to his Power;But even his Pow'r, itself, obeys his Mercy.Proud of Dominion, yet enslav'd to Fear,Kings who love Blood, thro' one long Tempest steer,While the calm Monarch, who with Smiles controuls,Roots his safe Empire, and is King of Souls.Edgar.When Woman, form'd to soften Man to Peace,Fans his Disquiet, and gives Care Increase,Love is a Weakness, and to wish in vain,Were a forc'd Freedom, and Escape from Pain:But where our Hearts are charm'd, by Forms like thee,Where Passions sympathize, and Souls agree,There to love hopeless, is, in Life, to die,And, languid, in void Blanks of Being, lie.End of the Fourth Act.ACT V.SCENE: The Garden.ETHELINDA, alone.Ethelinda.OH! Shame! Why keep'st thou this alarming Distance?Cruelly kind, press inward, on my Heart;But fright not Reason, cling not to my Thought,Blot, blot Remembrance out, strike Home, at Life,Pour, all at once, Oblivion on my Soul,And quench me, into Quiet.Enter Athelwold.Athelwold.Madam,—Ethelinda.Murderer!—Athelwold.I come.—Ethelinda.How darest thou?Athelwold.I would find a VoiceTo tell thee, I cou'd die, to bring thee Comfort.Ethelinda.Comfort from thee!—False Man! till thou wer't baseI never wanted Comfort.—
Till my wrong'd Heart had Weakness, to believe,And share the Pains I gave, I knew no Grief:Honour, and Peace, and Innocence were mine:I never felt a Wish, that was my own,Or Woe, but for another.—Now, thou seest meShun'd, hopeless, blasted, infamous, and scorn'd;Cut off from every social Joy of Life;Pitied by others, hated by myself,Forsaken even by thee, for whose sole sake,All other Joys forsook me!—Yet thou dar'stInsult my murder'd Peace; and, proudly charitable,Feed famish'd Hope with the cold Alms of Pity!Athelwold.Be Witness for me, That all-dreaded Power,Who made my tortur'd Heart, and knows it best,Till Elfrid's fatal Beauty forc'd my Will,I never had a Wish, beyond thy Love.My Hopes dwelt on thee, and my doating SoulDrew Taste and Purpose from thee. At thy VoiceAwaken'd Life leapt, list'ning, to my Ear,And I became all Eye, whene'er I saw thee.Thou wer't Possession and Desire, combin'd,All that Ambition wish'd, or Fancy form'd:With thee there was no Grief, no Joy without thee.Ethelinda.Inhuman Flatt'ry all! and Smiling Murder!The barb'rous Elegance of Man's soft Art,To cheat believing Innocence!—E'er longThy Elfrid, the resistless Charmer!—She!Will hear thee poorly urge the same Excuse,When some third Fool believes thee.Athelwold.Wou'd kind FatePoint my lost Heart a Way to prove its Pain,What wou'd I not, with Transport, suffer for thee,To ease the Woes I gave?Ethelinda.One Way there is,And Love, and Honour point it. But have a Care;Refuse not to my kindled Hope its Claim;Lest in my half-hush'd Bosom, thou should'st rouseNew Swarms of torturing Mischiefs, whose dire StingsWill drive us both to Madness.Athelwold.Name it to me,And if I not obey the wish'd Command,Think me, indeed, the Wretch thy Anger paints me.Ethelinda.Redeem me from the Shame I suffer for thee:Forsake this Woman, who usurps my Right,And do a noble Justice, to my Love,And thy own injur'd Honour.Athelwold.She's my Wife.The Law's firm Knot has bound her mine, forever.Ethelinda.The Wife!—O patient Heaven! What less am I?Did not, I, first, receive the plighted Vow?Did not I fondly trust th' affianc'd FaithOf nuptial Contract?—If to join her Hand,In Breach of Oaths that bound thy Soul, to mine,Firms her thy Wife, and sets aside my Claim,So sacred, and so sworn!—Then, solid RightsAre Shadows; and the empty Forms of TimeTake Place of Truth, and Reason.Athelwold.'Twill not be.—My Soul is torn with a vain War of Passions:Honour, and Shame, and Grief, and gen'rous Pity,Desire perplex'd, and strong divided Will,To doat forever on the Guilt I hate,And shun the Worth that charms me!—Righteous Heaven!
Look down on Ethelinda! Revenge her Wrongs,Do her that Justice, which in vain I wish her;Curse this despairing Wretch, who cannot bless her,And dart thy blastful Light'nings, on a FlameNo earthly Fire can conquer.—I am a Traitor;A mean abandon'd Starter from my Faith;A false forsworn Deceiver!—Give me thy Pity;And, if thou can'st have Goodness so extreme,Refuse me not thy Pardon.—But for Love!—Alas! forget it.—Fly me,—hate me,—fear me,—Oh! share not in the Misery I am doom'd to;Join not thy Virtue to a Fate so curs'd,So fall'n, beyond the Reach of lost Relief,As the unhoping Athelwold's.Ethelinda.I thank thee:Thou hast awaken'd me, to feel Heaven's Justice;—But, now, so low, so poor, dost thou appearTo my returning Reason, that I hate notMy Guilt itself more bitterly than thee,Or than my own weak Heart, for having lov'd thee!What Woman e'er shall live, belov'd, and flatter'd;Yet, timely, wise enough to think it possible,That one, she sees, and hears, as thou hast been,She ever can behold, as thou art now!Inhuman Sex! who smile us into Ruin!And love us into Infamy!—Begone—Fear for thyself: Kneel, pray, solicit Heav'n,Think not of me, or my Afflictions, more:But, by Repentance, wash away the StainsFrom thy own perjur'd Soul, lest my shock'd Spirit,When it meets thine, in a less guilty World,Renews its Pangs, cv'n there, to see thee tortur'd,Beyond my Pow'r to bear, tho' doom'd, for me. [Exit in Disorder.]Athelwold alone.She's gone!—and I am left, to walk the World,Like a pale Shade, that shuns the Paths of Men.Light searches me too deep.—My conscious SoulStarts inward, and escapes the Eye of Day.Oh! Bosom Peace, now lost!—Were there, in Guilt,No Weight more painful, than this Low'r of Brow,This eye-dejecting Sense of infelt Shame!Yet shun it, all, you, who have Hearts like Men,That you may raise the Front, and look like Virtue.I hate myself, beyond the Taste of Hope.Why live I then? There is a Gloom, in Death,Will hide me from my Thoughts:—Yet, weigh that well;Shou'd I die now, 'twou'd seem Despair, not Justice:'Twou'd look like shrinking from a Sense of Pain;Like wanting Strength, myself, to cope with Scorn;Yet meanly leaving it to a wrong'd Woman.O Ethelinda!—What a Slave am I!Thus to have kill'd thee, with Disgrace and Ruin,Who never had'st a Stain on thy white Soul,But one, thy Pity for thy Murderer gave thee?For whom became I this black Wretch?—For Elfrid!—Her! who already scorns my Traitor Flame,And burns, to the King's Wishes!—Why staid she with him?What cou'd she hear? what say, in that nice Juncture?Hell to my Heart! Into what reptile PoornessDoes a Man creep, who dares not see his Shame?—Whose Crimes compel him to be dumb, when wrong'd,Because Complaint is only due to Innocence!, [Throws himself on the Earth.]Enter Edgar, and Elfrid.Edgar.Athelwold! I was once thy Friend, and thought theeThe Wealth of a King's Heart. I trusted thee,And was deceiv'd. Thou! in whose Breast I lodg'dMy Hopes of Peace, hast let in Misery on me!What shall I do, to save insulted MajestyFrom the Contempt of Weakness?—Yet convince thee,That I can bid my Pity be thy Punishment.Elfrid.Alas! my gracious Sovereign, wound him notWith too severe Reproach, whom your great SoulDetermines to receive to unhop'd Mercy.—The King, my Lord! too gen'rous to revengeThe Lover's Falshood, on the Subject's Faith,In kind Rememb'rance of your Virtue's Strength,Forgets your am'rous Weakness.—'Twere too muchFor gaining me, to lose a Monarch's Love.Athelwold!No—Madam!—I am fall'n, beneath your Favour.—KINGS,—born to think supremely, know 'tis GloryTo rise, above Revenge.—But you, who thusCan speak, and look, the Queen you are not, yet,Must find it difficult to pardon Guilt,That robs you of your Royalty.Elfrid.My Lord!That jealous Brow, and those reproachful Accents,Wrong the good Meaning of a Heart that loves you.Edgar.Shame on thy Blindness, arrogant Mistaker!So cold to Sense of thy own Guilt! so warmTo charge another's Innocence!—Her Prayer
First won me from my Anger.—For her Sake,I force my struggling Soul to mean thee Pardon.But take it, with Condition.—Take it, thus, [Gives him his Sword.And heedfully remark it. If, henceforth,Thou dar'st aspire to Elfrid, call her thine,Or talk, or think, or dream of thy bold Claim,Thou shalt not live an Hour.—Till then, breathe on.The Infamy of thy disloyal ActIs Vengeance, as severe as I can wish thee.Athelwold.Oh Sir! resume a Gift, I cannot stoopTo hold, on such Conditions. Death wou'd bless me.'Tis what I wish, and merit. I deserveAll Punishments, but Life, with Loss of Elfrid.Elfrid.Shock'd, and unworthy a Debate, like this,I shou'd be still less worthy, cou'd I hear it,Unconscious of the Wound it gives my Honour.—Oh! Thou, Eternal Ruler of the World!Here, by thy dreadful Name, I kneel and swear,I will be neither Athelwold's nor Edgar's.—Safe, at Thy Altar's consecrated Foot,In some still Convent's solitary Gloom,Aweful Religion shall benight my Eyes,And hide me from the World.—There will I weep,And wish myself forgotten.Edgar.Oh!—recall,Explain, or limit, the too-hasty Vow.Thou mean'st but to retire, till I am dead,Or till his Death who wrong'd thee.Elfrid.Shou'd he fallFor me, may Heav'n refuse my parting Soul,If I not keep my Vow, unbroke, for ever!Edgar.Hear this—and blush, at thy base Jealousy,Thou blind Profaner! [A Shriek without.Elfrid.That alarming ShriekRings to my trembling Heart, and wakes its FearFor One, more wretched yet,—more lost, than I.[Exit hastily, and Athelwold is following.Edgar.Athelwold!—Come back.Athelwold.A Curse on Guilt;It sinks the Brave, to Cowards!—It was, once,My Heart's proud Joy, to meet my Sovereign's Eye.'Tis, now, my Soul's worst Torment.—Hide me, Earth,From Edgar's angry Brow: From my own Shame,Not Death itself can hide me.Edgar.I have bethought me,That Love and Fate deny, we both should live;The Heart of Elfrid, when thou art no more,May teach her to forget thee.—I, or Thou,Must fall.—It was the King's Intent to pardonThe Subject's Treason. The King does forgive thee;But the Friend cannot pardon.—Let us, then,On equal Terms, dispute our doubtful Claim,To Death and Quiet, or to Life and Elfrid.Here I renounce Distinction, give AllegianceTo the wild Winds, as thou hast done, before,And seek an Equal's Vengeance for my Wrongs. [Draws.—I know that I descend, and that the ThroneDisdains a Subject Foe. But I disclaimThat cold Prerogative of a King's Safety;To teach thee, that I need no borrow'd Pow'r:
Myself the Guardian of my injur'd Honour,Myself my Strength, when my false Friend betrays me.Athelwold. [Kneeling.]O gen'rous Edgar! my Imperial Master,Whose Spirit reigns, distinguish'd among Souls,As among Kings, thy Person; think me not,How plung'd soever in the Guilt of Falshood,So lost to Sense of the unmeasur'd Distance,Between my Prince and me, to dare defendOne aching Atom of this hated Breast,Against a Wound he wishes me.—No; take [Lays his Sword at the King's Feet.My Sword.—It has been drawn, with some Success,In your lov'd Cause; direct it to the HeartOf this new Traitor. At your sacred Feet,The tainted Blood will flow, with willing Waste,And wash away the Mem'ry of his Crime,Who lives too long, when he not lives for you.Edgar.Rise, and provoke me, if thou would'st be kind,By some wish'd Mark of Arrogance.—Presume,Talk insolently of thy Worth; defy me;Smile at my Sword's rais'd Point; threaten,—accuse,—Deny,—Calumniate.—Any Thing, but this!Spare this soft Sorrow, hide this sweet Humility,And I shall keep my Purpose.—O Athelwold!Why hast thou pain'd my Soul, with this sharp Conflict?Why hast thou wrong'd me, into Will to hurt thee? [Throws down his Sword.Athelwold.How ill shou'd I deserve your unwish'd Mercy,Did not my Life become more odious to meThan was the Guilt I fall for!—From my Birth,With fix'd, unalterable, deadly Hate,
I punish'd faithless Rebels. Trust me, now,Against myself. My Sovereign shall not needRevenge his Wrongs, on Athelwold.—One Pray'rHas Boldness, yet, to urge your royal Ear;Then, I have done with Wishes, and the World.—Prince Leolyn, whom I have made unhappy,Now suffers, for my Guilt. So greatly wrong'd,I shall not rest, in Death, till your try'd GoodnessPermits his Freedom, and bestows on HimMy forfeit Honours, and the Lands I leave.Edgar.I charge thee, as thy Heart wou'd wish my Pardon,Attempt not on thy Life. Wait, and expectThy Doom, from the slow Workings of my Soul,That labours to resolve, but knows not how;For Leolyn, thy gen'rous Wish has mov'd me.Go—bring him to my Presence.—I will walk,And meditate, alone, till thy Return. [Exit Athelwold.Edgar. [Alone.]How shall I move, in this dark Maze of Passion!'Tis true, my Favourite has betray'd me, basely;But he was first, himself, betray'd by Love;That Tyrant of the Heart, more King than I,Ranks Monarchs with his Slaves.—Let me weighAthelwoldBy my own Wishes, and, then, punish him,When I can see, unmov'd, those Eyes which charm'd him.How shall I act? at once, to shield my Fame,And satisfy my Love.—Cou'd Reason's ForceTear the unlicens'd Image from my Heart,Or, patient, leave to Time, th'unhasten'd Means,To bless my fierce Desires; Who knows what Chance,Or Death, or Thought, or Woman's changeful Will,Or my own conquer'd Wishes, may produce.—Kings should, however injur'd, do no Wrong:
They cannot err alone, since what They act,They authorize in others.—Let me, then,Extinguish low Desires, lest, at my Flame,I light a Nation's Wishes.—I will striveTo check this rising Passion; and forgetThat she who charms me thus is in my Power,Till I can bend that Pow'r, to Reason's Rule.—They come!—I will avoid them,—and reflectWhat Measures to resolve on. [Exit EdgarRe-enter Athelwold, followed by Leolyn.Leolyn.Turn—whither would'st thou lead me?Athelwold.In this Place,But now, I left the King.—A little farther,And we shall find him, soon.Leolyn.Stay—for we find,In these provided Swords, what well reminds usOf our late Parting.—Thou hast perform'd thy Promise,With Bravery so noble, that, again,'Spite of my burning Wrongs, I almost love thee.—It cannot need, that I shou'd spur thy Will,To what remains unfinish'd. [Taking up a SwordAthelwold.I had forgot it.Guilt, and Repentance, and the Tears of Shame,Had wash'd the Indignation from my Heart.—Methinks we were not born for Enemies:Enough, already, have we wrong'd our Friendship.Let us be Foes no more.Leolyn.First, perish Leolyn.Didst thou not blast my Honour by a Blow?Fir'd with a Ruffian's Boldness, strike a Prince!And can he live to pardon?—Shame to thy Heart,Or give my Glory the Revenge it claims,Or I will brand thee with a Coward's Marks,And teach light Boys to scorn thee.Athelwold.If it must be,Spare me a Moment's Pause—'Twill soon be past,And Death will want to Time to sate his Purpose.—What shall I do?—To trust him with my Softness,To tell him what, at my Request, the KingWas won to grant him, were to seem afraid,And shrink from his Revenge.—O fatal ChainOf long depending Woes, that Guilt is bound to!Conflicting Passions blast the bad Man's Hopes,And all his Thoughts are Whirlwind!—Leolyn.Come on.—Thy Blow burns hot, and I will wait no longer.Athelwold.Hold—Leolyn! Be slow.—The Chance of ConquestIs various, and unknown—and, shou'd I fall,Thou wilt have Cause to grieve, thou didst not hear me.Leolyn.Never—till Vengeance has been paid its Full,Never will I grow tame, and hear thee more.Athelwold. [Taking up the other Sword.]Take thy own Way then.—Let Destruction fall,And find thee, without Shelter.—But see, the King,
His coming—(in this Place) prevents our Purpose,On, to th' appointed Terras.—Follow me. [Exeunt together.[Re-enter Edgar, with an Officer.Edgar.What Oswald told me, of a second Quarrel,Renews my Anger against Leolyn,And wakes me, into Fear of some new Consequence,From his Enlargement.—Take a Guard, and bring him,To answer this Presumption.— [Exit Officer.Enter Oswald.Oswald.Oh, Sir!—Unhappy Ethelinda rests;Her Sorrows are no more.Edgar.What has Fate done?Oswald.See, Sir! Yon Terras, which o'erhangs the Sea!Thence, falling steep at once, the frighted EyeAkes, down a Depth of Rocks, to reach the Surge,That breaks, unheard, below!—There walking swift.With frantick Action, in a long, loud, Speech,The poor distress'd Complainer talk'd, and weptTo the wild Oceani; told the Waves her Woes;And, list'ning, earnest, oft, in dumb Suspence,Paus'd, for an Answer:—'Till, at last, more shrill,She scream'd Resentment, to the distant Deep.—Thou art, she cry'd, as cold, and deaf, as Athelwold.Then, sudden, from her Breast, in rash Despair,Snatching a Dagger.—She, with all the Rage
Of a resolv'd Destruction, plung'd it, thrice,In her distracted Bosom.Edgar.Alas! for Athelwold!How will he meet this Sight?Re-enter Officer, and Guards, with Leolyn.Edgar.Answer me quickly,—where is Athelwold?Leolyn.Immortal,—and at Peace.Edgar.What!—Hast thou murder'd him?Ungrateful, and detested! Murder'd Him!Him, who alone obtain'd thy Freedom from me;And, in the gen'rous Anguish of his Guilt,Pray'd, that his Titles, and his forfeit Lands,Might all be Thine! whom, as he wrong'd in Life,He could not rest in Death, to leave unhappy.Leolyn.This had been Daggers to my guilty Soul,Could he have fall'n, by me:—But, like a God,Who smiles, and pardons, when provok'd by Mortals,He met my Rage, with a serene Contempt,Master'd, a second time, my failing Sword,And gave me Life, in Punishment.—Live, Leolyn!He cry'd, and spoke it with an Air unmov'd,Superior, not insulting.—Live—and know,That, had not conscious guilt a Point, more strongThan thine,—No Wound could reach the Breast of Athelwold.—Yet, tho' he will not be compell'd to die,He chuses not to live;—for he has wrong'd thee.Come, and see Justice done thee.—At that Instant,The Shock of Ethelinda's dreadful Fate,
Heard, as we pass'd, upon th' extended Terras,Alarm'd his Care, too late.—I saw him, Sir,—Edgar.Go on.—Leolyn.I saw him, Sir, as I drew near,Raise his fall'n Victim, from the bloody Ground,And, on his Cheek, support her bending Head;But her weak Joints soft sinking from their Trust,She hung sustain'd, and bled upon his Bosom.He groan'd,—look'd wild,—call'd loud upon her Name,And, for a Moment, stopt her flying Soul.Twice, at his Voice, she stretch'd her dying Eyes,And gasp'd,—and struggl'd,—and wou'd fain have spoke;But, failing—in a short, convulsive, Sigh,Breath'd out her Soul,—and sunk upon his Bosom.He!—standing near the downfal of the Cliff,Strain'd her, with Rapture, in his circling Arms,O Leolyn! he cry'd, forgive me, now:Tell the wrong'd King, I leave his Elfrid, free,And, thus, too late, do Right to Ethelinda.—Then, springing furious, o'er the dreadful Rock,Leap'd, with the Dead, to Death!—Together, bothFell, frightful, to the Deep; which, closing o'er them,Veils them, from Sense of Woe, in Rest, forever.Edgar.Great was his Guilt, and greatly 'tis aton'd!Nothing is safe, but Innocence!—Be it your CareTo send out Boats, that their recover'd BodiesMay rest, beneath one Marble; over whichI will erect a Cloister, and endow it,For hourly Prayers to Heaven, to rest their Souls.—Haste, all! and watch th' afflicted Elfrid, near,Assist her,—guard her,—wait, at her Apartment,And save her, from her Sorrow.—Oh! Leolyn, be obstinately just;Indulge no Passion, and deceive no Trust:Let never Man be bold enough, to say,Thus, and no farther, shall my Passion stray:The first Crime, past, compells us into more,And Guilt grows Fate, that was but Choice, before.FINIS.