Matilda: a tragedy. As it is performed at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By the author of The Earl of Warwick.

ACT I.

SCENE, MATILDA'S Tent, with a view of the diſtant country.

MATILDA, BERTHA.

MATILDA.

I Thank thee, gentle Bertha, for thy goodneſs;

If aught cou'd ſooth the anguiſh of my ſoul,

Or raiſe it from the horrors of deſpair

To hope and joy, 'twou'd be thy gen'rous friendſhip:

But I am ſunk ſo deep in miſery,

That comfort cannot reach me.

BERTHA.

Talk not thus,

My ſweet Matilda; innocence, like thine,

Muſt be the care of all-directing heav'n.

Already hath the interpoſing hand

Of providence redeem'd thee from the rage

Of ſavage war, and ſhelter'd thee within

This calm aſylum. Mercia's potent Earl,

The noble Morcar, will protect thy virtues;

[2] And, if I err not, wiſhes but to ſhare

His conqueſts with thee.

MATILDA.

O my friend, oft times

The flow'ry path that tempts our wand'ring ſteps

But leads to mis'ry; what thou fondly deem'ſt

My ſoul's beſt comfort, is its bitt'reſt woe.

Earl Morcar loves me. To the gen'rous mind

The heavieſt debt is that of gratitude,

When 'tis not in our power to repay it.

BERTHA.

Oft' have I heard thee ſay, to him thou ow'ſt

Thy honour and thy life.

MATILDA.

I told thee truth.

Beneath my father's hoſpitable roof,

I ſpent my earlier happier days in peace

And ſafety: When the Norman conqu'ror came,

Diſcord, thou know'ſt, ſoon lit her fatal torch,

And ſpread deſtruction o'er this wretched land.

The loyal Ranulph flew to William's aid,

And left me to a faithful peaſant's care,

Who liv'd, ſequeſter'd, in the fertile plains

Of rich Northumbria: There awhile I dwelt

In ſweet retirement, when the ſavage Malcolm

Ruſh'd on our borders.

BERTHA.

I remember well

The melancholy hour. Confuſion rag'd

On ev'ry ſide, and deſolation ſpread

Its terrors round us. How did'ſt thou eſcape?

MATILDA.

A crew of deſp'rate ruffians ſeiz'd upon me,

A helpleſs prey: For, O! he was not there,

Who beſt cou'd have defended his Matilda.

[3] Then had I fall'n a wretched ſacrifice

To rbutal rage, and lawleſs violence,

Had not the gen'rous Morcar interpos'd

To ſave me: Tho' he join'd the guilty cauſe

Of foul rebellion, yet his ſoul abhor'd

Such violation. At his awful voice

The ſurly ruffians left me, and retir'd.

He bore me, half expiring in his arms,

Back to his tent; with ev'ry kind attention

There ſtrove to ſooth my griefs, and promis'd, ſoon

As fit occaſion offer'd, to reſtore me

To my afflicted father.

BERTHA.

Something ſure

Was due to gen'rous Morcar for his aid,

So timely given.

MATILDA.

No doubt: But mark what follow'd.

In my deliverer too ſoon I found

An ardent lover, ſighing at my feet.

BERTHA.

And what is there the proudeſt of our ſex

Cou'd wiſh for more? To be the envy'd bride

Of noble Morcar, firſt of England's peers,

In fame and fortune.

MATILDA.

Never truſt, my Bertha,

To outward ſhew. 'Tis not the ſmiles of fortune,

The pomp of wealth, or ſplendor of a court,

Can make us happy. In the mind alone,

Reſts ſolid joy, and true felicity,

Which I can never taſte: For, O, my friend!

A ſecret ſorrow weighs upon my heart.

BERTHA.

[4]

Then pour it in the boſom of thy friend;

Let me partake it with thee.

MATILDA.

Gen'rous maid!

Know then, for nought will I conceal from thee,

I honour Mercia's Earl, revere his virtues,

And wiſh I cou'd repay him with myſelf;

But, bluſhing, I acknowledge it, the heart

His vows ſolicit, is not mine to give.

BERTHA.

Has then Tome happier youth—

MATILDA.

Another time

I'll tell thee all the ſtory of our loves.

But, O, my Bertha! did'ſt thou know to whom

My virgin faith is plighted, thou wou'd'ſt ſay

I am indeed unhappy.

BERTHA.

Cou'd Matilda

Beſtow the treaſure of her heart on one

Unworthy of her choice?

MATILDA.

Unworthy! No.

I glory in my paſſion for the beſt,

The lovelieſt of his ſex. O! he was all

That bounteous nature, prodigal of charms,

Did on her choiceſt fav'rite e'er beſtow.

His graceful form and ſweet deportment ſpoke

The fairer beauties of his kindred ſoul,

Where e'vry grace and ev'ry virtue ſhone.

But thou wilt tremble, Bertha, when I tell thee,

He is Earl Morcar's—brother.

BERTHA.

[5]

Ha! his brother!

The noble Edwin! Often have I heard

My father—

MATILDA.

Did Lord Edrick know him then?

BERTHA.

He knew his virtues, and his fame in arms,

And often wou'd lament the dire effects

Of civil diſcord, that cou'd thus diſſolve

The ties of nature, and of brethren make

The bitt'reſt foes. If right I learn, Lord Edwin

Is William's firmeſt friend, and ſtill ſupports

His royal maſter.

MATILDA.

Yes, my Bertha, there

I ſtill find comfort: Edwin ne'er was ſtain'd

As Morcar is, with foul diſloyalty,

But ſtands betwixt his ſov'reign and the rage

Of rebel multitudes, to guard his throne.

If nobly fighting in his country's cauſe,

My hero falls, I ſhall not weep alone;

The king he lov'd and honour'd, will lament him,

And grateful England mix her tears with mine.

BERTHA.

And doth Earl Morcar know of Edwin's love?

MATILDA.

O, no! I wou'd not for a thouſand worlds

He ſhou'd ſuſpect it, leſt his fiery ſoul

Shou'd catch th' alarm, and kindle to a flame

That might deſtroy us all.

BERTHA.

I know his warmth

And vehemence of temper, unreſtrain'd

[6] By laws, and ſpurning at the royal pow'r

Which he contemns, he rules deſpotic here.

MATILDA.

Alas! how man from man, and brother oft

From brother differs! Edwin's tender paſſion

Is ſoft and gentle as the balmy breath

Of vernal zephyrs; whilſt the ſavage north,

That curls the angry ocean into ſtorms,

Is a faint image of Earl Morcar's love:

'Tis rage, 'tis fury all. When laſt we met

He knit his angry brow, and frown'd ſevere

Upon me; then, with wild diſtracted look,

Bade me beware of trifling with his paſſion,

He wou'd not brook it—trembling I retir'd,

And bath'd my couch in tears.

BERTHA.

Unhappy maid!

But time, that ſoftens ev'ry human woe,

Will bring ſome bleſt event, and lighten thine.

MATILDA.

Alas! thou know'ſt not what it is to love.

Haply thy tender heart hath never felt

The tortures of that ſoul-bewitching paſſion.

Its joys are ſweet and poignant, but its pangs

Are exquiſite, as I have known too well:

For, O! my Bertha, ſince the fatal hour

When Edwin left me, never hath ſweet peace,

That us'd to dwell with all its comforts here,

'E'er deign'd to viſit this afflicted breaſt.

BERTHA.

Too plain, alas! I read thy ſorrows; grief

Sits in ſad triumph on thy faded cheek,

And half obſcures the luſtre of thy beauties.

MATILDA.

[7]

Talk not of beauty, 'tis our ſex's bane,

And leads but to deſtruction. I abhor

The fatal gift. O! would it had pleas'd heav'n

To brand my homely features with the mark

Of foul deformity, or let me paſs

Unknown, and undiſtinguiſh'd from the herd

Of vulgar forms, ſave by the partial eye

Of my lov'd Edwin; then had I been bleſt

With charms unenvy'd, and a guiltleſs love.

BERTHA.

Where is thy Edwin now?

MATILDA.

Alas! I know not.

'Tis now three years ſince laſt theſe eyes beheld

Their deareſt object. In that humble vale,

Whence, as I told thee, Malcolm's fury drove me,

There firſt we met. O! how I cheriſh ſtill

The fond remembrance! There we firſt exchang'd

Our mutual vows, the day of happineſs

Was fixt; it came, and in a few ſhort hours

He had been made indiſſolubly mine,

When fortune, envious of our happineſs,

And William's danger, call'd him to the field.

BERTHA.

And ſince that parting have ye never met?

MATILDA.

O never, Bertha, never but in thought.

Imagination, kind anticipator

Of love's pleaſures, brings us oft' together.

Oft' as I ſit within my lonely tent,

And caſt my wiſhful eyes o'er yonder plain,

In ev'ry paſſing traveller I ſtrive

[8] To trace his image, hear his lovely voice

In ev'ry ſound, and fain wou'd flatter me

Edwin ſtill lives, ſtill loves his loſt Matilda.

BERTHA.

Who knows but fate, propitious to thy love,

May guide him hither.

MATILDA.

Gracious heav'n forbid!

Conſider, Bertha, if the chance of war

Shou'd this way lead him, he muſt come in arms

Againſt his brother: Oh! 'tis horrible

To think on. Shou'd they meet, and Edwin fall,

What ſhall ſupport me? And if vict'ry ſmiles

Upon my love, how dear will be the purchaſe

By Morcar's blood! Then muſt I loſe my friend,

My guardian, my protector—ev'ry way

Matilda muſt be wretched.

BERTHA.

Is there ought

In Bertha's pow'r?

MATILDA.

Wilt thou diſpatch, my friend,

Some truſty meſſenger with theſe?—Away.

(gives her letters.

I'll meet thee in my tent—farewel.

[Exit Bertha.

MATILDA.

(alone.)

Mean time

One hope remains, the gen'rous Siward—he

Might ſave me ſtill. His ſympathetic heart

Can feel for the afflicted.—I have heard,

(Such is the magic pow'r of ſacred friendſhip)

When the impetuous Morcar ſcatters fear

And terror round him, he, and he alone

[9] Can ſtem the rapid torrent of his paſſion,

And bend him, tho' reluctant, to his will;

And ſee, in happy hour, he comes this way.

Now fortune, be propitious! if there be,

As I have heard, an eloquence in grief,

And thoſe can moſt perſuade, who are moſt wretched,

I ſhall not paſs unpitied.

Enter SIWARD.

SIWARD.

Ha! in tears,

Matilda! What new grief, what cruel foe

To innocence and beauty, thus cou'd vex

Thy gentle ſpirit?

MATILDA.

Canſt thou aſk the cauſe,

When thou behold'ſt me ſtill in ſhameful bonds,

A wretched captive, friendleſs and forlorn,

Without one ray of hope to ſooth my ſorrows.

SIWARD.

Can ſhe, whoſe beauteous form, and fair demeanor,

Charm ev'ry eye, and conquer ev'ry heart,

Can ſhe be wretched? can ſhe want a friend,

Whom Siward honours, and whom Morcar loves?

O! if thou knew'ſt with what unceaſing ardor,

What unexampled tenderneſs and truth,

He doats upon thee, ſure thou might'ſt be wrought

At leaſt to pity.

MATILDA.

Urge no more, my Lord,

Th' ungrateful ſubject; but too well I know

How much thy friend deſerves, how much, alas,

I owe him!—If it be Earl Morcar's wiſh

[10] To make me happy, why am I detain'd

A pris'ner here: Spight of his ſolemn promiſe

He would reſtore me to my royal maſter,

Or ſend me back to the deſiring arms

Of the afflicted Ranulph, who in tears

Of bitt'reſt anguiſh, mourns his long-loſt daughter?

Surely, my Lord, it ill becomes a ſoldier

To forfeit thus his honor and his word.

SIWARD.

I own it; yet the cauſe pleads ſtrongly for him.

If by thy own too pow'rful charms miſled,

He deviates from the paths of rigid honour,

Matilda might forgive. Thou know'ſt he lives

But in thy ſmiles; his love-enchanted ſoul

Hangs on thoſe beauties he wou'd wiſh to keep

For ever in his ſight.

MATILDA.

Indulgent heav'n

Keep me for ever from it! O, my Lord!

If e'er thy heart with gen'rous pity glow'd

For the diſtreſs'd; if e'er thy honeſt zeal

Cou'd boaſt an influence o'er the man you love;

O! now exert thy pow'r, aſſiſt, direct,

And ſave thy friend from ruin and Matilda.

There are, my Lord, who moſt offend, where moſt

They wiſh to pleaſe. Such often is the fate

Of thy unhappy friend, when he pours forth

His ardent ſoul in vows of tend'reſt paſſion;

'Tis with ſuch rude and boiſt'rous violence

As ſuits but ill the hero or the lover.

SIWARD.

I know his weakneſs, know his follies all,

And feel 'em but too well: He loves with tranſport,

[11] And hates with fury. Warm'd with fierce deſire,

Or ſtrong reſentment, his impetuous ſoul

Is hurried on, 'till reaſon quits her ſeat,

And paſſion takes the looſely-flowing rein;

Then all is rage, confuſion, and deſpair.

And yet, [...] remov'd

The veil of error, he will weep his faults

With ſuch a ſweet contrition, as wou'd melt

The hardeſt heart to pity and forgiveneſs.

O! he has virtues that may well attone

For all his venial raſhneſs, that deſerve

A ſov'reign's love, and claim a nation's praiſe;

Virtues that merit happineſs and thee.

Why wilt thou thus deſpiſe my noble friend?

His birth and fortune, with the rank he bears

Amongſt the firſt of England's peers, will raiſe thee

As far above thy ſex, in wealth and pow'r,

As now thou art in beauty.

MATILDA.

O, my Lord!

'Tis not the pride, the luxury of life,

The ſplendid robe and glitt'ring gem, that knits

The laſting bonds of mutual happineſs:

Where manners differ, where affections jarr,

And will not kindly mix together, where

The ſweet harmonious concord of the mind

Is wanting, all is miſery and woe.

SIWARD.

By heav'n, thou plead'ſt thy own and virtue's cauſe,

With ſuch bewitching eloquence, the more

Thy heart, alarm'd by diffidence, ſtill urges

Againſt this union with my friend, the more

I wiſh to ſee him bleſt with worth like thine.

MATILDA.

[12]

My Lord, it muſt not be; for grant him all

The fair perfections you already ſee,

And I cou'd wiſh to find, there is a bar

That muſt for ever diſ-unite us—Born

Of Norman race, and from my earlieſt years

Attach'd to William's cauſe; I love my king

And wiſh my country's peace: That king, my Lord,

Whom Morcar wiſhes to dethrone; that peace

Which he deſtroys: Had he an angel's form,

With all the virtues that adorn his ſex,

With all the riches fortune can beſtow,

I wou'd not wed a traitor.

SIWARD.

Call not his errors by ſo harſh a name;

He has been deeply wrong'd, and ſouls like his,

Muſt feel the wounds of honour, and reſent them,

Alas! with thee I weep my country's fate,

Nay wiſh, perhaps, as well to William's cauſe,

And England's peace, as can the loyal daughter

Of gallant Ranulph, and wou'd, therefore, joy

To ſee Matilda lend a gracious ear

To Morcar's ſuit. Thy reconciling charms

Might ſooth his troubled ſoul, might heal the wounds

Of bleeding England, and unite us all

In one bright chain of harmony and love,

The gallant Edwin too.

MATILDA.

Ha! what of him?

Know'ſt thou that noble youth?

SIWARD.

So many years

Have paſt ſince laſt we met, by diff'rent views,

And our unhappy feuds, ſo long divided,

[13] I ſhou'd not recollect him; but report

Speaks loudly of his virtues. He, no doubt,

If yet he lives—

MATILDA.

Yet lives!—Why, what, my Lord?

SIWARD.

You ſeem much mov'd.

MATILDA.

Forgive me, but whene'er

This ſad idea riſes to my mind,

Of brother againſt brother arm'd, my ſoul

Recoils with horror.

SIWARD.

'Tis a dreadful thought:

Wou'd I cou'd heal that cruel breach! but then

Thou might'ſt do much, the taſk is left for thee.

MATILDA.

For me? Alas! it is not in my pow'r.

SIWARD.

In thine, and thine alone. O think, Matilda!

How great thy glory, and how great thy praiſe,

To be the bleſſed inſtrument of peace;

The band of union 'twixt contending brothers.

Thou ſee'ſt them now like two deſcending floods,

Whoſe rapid torrents meeting, half o'erwhelm

The neighb'ring plains: Thy gentle voice might ſtill

The angry waves, and bid their waters flow

In one united ſtream, to bleſs the land.

MATILDA.

That flatt'ring thought beams comfort on my ſoul,

Amidſt my ſorrows; bear me witneſs, heav'n!

Cou'd poor Matilda be the happy means

Of reconcilement: Cou'd theſe eyes behold

[14] The noble youths embracing, and embrac'd

In the firm cords of amity and love.

O! it wou'd make me ample recompence

For all my griefs, nor wou'd I more complain,

But reſt me in the ſilent grave, well pleas'd

To think, at laſt, I had not liv'd in vain.

SIWARD.

Cheriſh that virtuous thought, illuſtrious maid,

And let me hope my friend may ſtill be happy.

MATILDA.

I wiſh it from my ſoul: But ſee, my Lord,

Earl Morcar comes this way, with haſty ſteps,

Acroſs the lawn. I muſt retire: Farewel!

You'll not forget my humble ſuit.

SIWARD.

O! no,

I will do all that lovelieſt innocence

And worth, like thine, deſerve. Farewel: Mean time

Remember, Siward's ev'ry wiſh, the bliſs

Of Morcar, Edwin's life, the public peace,

And England's welfare, all depend—on thee.

[Exit Matilda.

SIWARD.

(alone.)

There's no alternative but this; my friend

Muſt quit Matilda, or deſert the cauſe

We've raſhly promis'd to ſupport—Perhaps

The laſt were beſt—both ſhall be try'd—he comes.

Enter MORCAR.

MORCAR.

O, Siward! was not that

The fair Matilda, whom you parted from?

SIWARD.

[15]

It was.

MORCAR.

What ſays ſhe? the dear, cruel maid!

Is ſhe ſtill deaf? inexorable ſtill?

SIWARD.

You muſt not think of her.

MORCAR.

What ſay'ſt thou, Siward?

Not think of her!

SIWARD.

No. Root her from thy heart,

And gaze no more. I bluſh to ſee my friend

So loſt to honour: Is it for a man,

On whom the fate of England may depend,

To quit the dang'rous poſt, where duty calls,

And all the bus'neſs of the war, to ſigh

And whine in corners for a captive woman?

Reſume the hero, Morcar, and ſubdue

This idle paſſion.

MORCAR.

Talk not thus of love,

The great refiner of the human heart,

The ſource of all that's great, of all that's good;

Of joy, of pleaſure—If it be a weakneſs,

It is a weakneſs which the beſt have felt:

I wou'd not wiſh to be a ſtranger to it.

SIWARD.

Let me entreat thee, if thou valueſt life,

Or fame, or honour, quit Matilda.

MORCAR.

Yes:

I thank you for your council. 'Tis th'advice

[16] Of cold unfeeling wiſdom, kindly meant

To make me prudent, and to leave me wretched:

But thus it is, that proud exulting health

Is ever ready to preſcribe a cure

For pain and ſickneſs which it never knew.

SIWARD.

There too thou err'ſt; for I have known its joys

And ſorrows too. In early life I loſt

The partner of my ſoul. E'er ſince that hour

I bade adieu to love, and taught my ſoul

To offer her devotions at the ſhrine

Of ſacred friendſhip; there my vows are paid:

Morcar beſt knows the idol of my worſhip.

MORCAR.

I know and love thee for it: But O! my friend,

I cannot force this tyrant from my breaſt;

E'en now I feel her here, ſhe ſits enthron'd

Within the foldings of my heart, and he

Who tears her thence muſt draw the life-blood from me.

My morning ſlumbers, and my midnight dreams,

Are haunted by Matilda.

SIWARD.

To be thus

The ſlave of one that ſcorns thee, O! 'tis baſe,

Mean, and unworthy of thee.

MORCAR.

I will bear

That ſcorn no longer: Thou haſt rous'd me, Siward;

I will enjoy the glorious prize; ſhe's mine,

By right of conqueſt mine. I will aſſert

A victor's claim, and force her to be happy.

SIWARD.

That muſt not be. It ill becomes the man

Who takes up arms againſt a tyrant's pow'r,

[17] T'adopt a tyrant's maxims; force and love

Are terms that never can be reconcil'd.

You will not, muſt not do it.

MORCAR.

Muſt not! who

Shall dare oppoſe me?

SIWARD.

Honour, conſcience, love,

The ſenſe of ſhame, your virtue, and your friend.

Whilſt I have life, or pow'r, I will not ſee

Matilda wrong'd.

MORCAR.

You are her champion then

It ſeems, her favour'd, happy friend, perhaps

Her fond admirer too. I'll-fated Morcar!

I ſee it but too well. I'm loſt, abandon'd;

Alike betray'd by friendſhip and by love.

I thank you, Sir, you have perform'd your office,

And merit your reward.

SIWARD.

Unkind reproach!

Did I for this deſert my Sov'reign's cauſe,

My peaceful home, and all its joys, to ſerve

Ungrateful Morcar? Why did I rebel?

The haughty William never injur'd me.

For thee alone I fought, for thee I conquer'd;

And, but for thee, long ſince I had employ'd

My gallant ſoldiers to a nobler purpoſe,

Than loit'ring thus in idle camp to hear

A love-ſick tale, and ſooth a mad man's phrenzy,

MORCAR.

You could? Away, and leave me then: With-draw

Your boaſted aid, and bid Northumbria's ſons

[18] Bend to the tyrant's yoke, whilſt I alone

Defend the cauſe of freedom, and my country.

Here let us part. Remove your loiterers,

And join th'uſurper.

SIWARD.

Mark the diff'rence now

Betwixt blind paſſion and undaunted friendſhip:

You are impatient of the keen reproof,

Becauſe you merit: I can bear it all,

Becauſe I've not deſerv'd it.

Enter an OFFICER.

OFFICER.

Good my Lords

Forgive this rough intruſion, but the danger

I truſt, will plead my pardon. As I watch'd

From yonder tow'r, a duſky cloud appear'd,

As if from diſtant troops advancing, ſoon

I ſaw their armour glitter in the ſun;

With rapid motion they approach'd; each moment

We muſt expect them here.

SIWARD.

Why, let 'em come,

Already I have order'd fit diſpoſal

Of all our little force. Away, good Oſmond,

Be ſilent and be ready.

(Exit Officer.

Now, my friend,

Thou art as welcome to thy Siward's breaſt,

As dear as ever.—When the man I love,

Walks in the paths of error, I reprove him

With honeſt freedom; but when danger comes

Upon him, I forget his faults, and flee

With all a lover's ardour to his reſcue;

His ſorrows and his wants alone remember'd,

And all his follies buried in oblivion.

MORCAR.

[19]

Thou haſt diſarm'd me now. This pierces more

Than all the bitter poiſon of reproach,

Which thou haſt pour'd upon me. O! 'twas treaſon

Againſt the ſacred majeſty of friendſhip,

To doubt thy honour, or ſuſpect thy virtue.

Thou wilt forgive: But when the wounded mind

Is torn with paſſion, ev'ry touch is pain;

You ſhould not probe ſo deeply.

SIWARD.

'Twas my duty.

But come, no more of that. The foe advances.

If we ſucceed, as my prophetic ſoul

Foretells we ſhall—I have ſome comfort for you—

If not, we'll borrow courage from deſpair,

And die like men. Thou ſtand'ſt upon the rock.

Of danger, and the yawning precipice

Opens before us; I will ſnatch thee from it,

Or leap the gulph, and periſh with my friend.

The End of the Firſt Act.

ACT II.

[20]

SCENE, a Fortreſs belonging to MORCAR.

EDWIN alone (in chains.)

EDWIN.

IT is the will of heav'n, and muſt be done.

The hard-fought field is loſt, and here I am

A pris'ner in my brother's camp: alas!

That fortune thus ſhou'd guide me to a foe

Whom moſt I wiſh'd to ſhun! We little thought

The troops by Morcar led, had this way bent

Their ill-directed courſe: but providence

Hath ſo ordain'd, perhaps, to heal the wounds

Of civil diſcord. O! unhappy Edwin,

For what art thou reſerv'd? No matter what.

Since fate depriv'd me of my dear Matilda,

Whom I for three long years have ſought in vain;

Life hath been irkſome to me: this, perchance,

May end it—For, who knows if nature yet

May live within the conqu'ror's breaſt, to plead

A brother's pardon [...] Yet he knows me not,

But ſoon he muſt—Ha! who comes here? Earl Siward!—

The ſecond in command, to whom, o'erpower'd

By circling foes, and fainting with my wounds,

I yielded up my ſword. If fame ſay true,

He bears a mind too great to look with ſcorn

On the oppreſs'd, or triumph o'er misfortune.

[21] Enter SIWARD.

SIWARD.

Stranger, whoe'er thou art, be comforted;

Thy fate hath thrown thee into noble hands,

Who know thy merit. May I aſk thy name?

EDWIN.

I am a poor abandon'd wretch, the ſport

Of fortune; one whoſe leaſt affliction is

To be a captive, and from ev'ry eye

Wou'd wiſh to hide the ſtory of my fate:

Too ſoon my name and ſorrows will be known.

SIWARD.

Reſpect is ever due to miſery:

I will not urge thee further; all I hope,

That gen'rous pity could afford to ſooth

Calamity like thine, by my command,

Hath been extended to thee. Here awhile

You muſt remain a pris'ner, but e'er long

I hope to greet thee by a fairer name,

And rank thee as our friend.

EDWIN.

Your genr'ous orders

Have been obey'd, and I acknowledge it

With grateful heart. May I not aſk the fate

Of him who fought ſo nobly by my ſide,

That brave old man.

SIWARD.

The gallant Ranulph—

EDWIN.

Yes;

My fellow captive.

SIWARD.

He is ſafe and free.

EDWIN.

[22]

Ha! free! Thank heav'n!

SIWARD.

The gen'rous Morcar, urg'd

By my entreaties, pardon'd and releas'd him,

Tho' much our ſoldiers murmur'd, and demanded

His life and your's; a ſacrifice, they ſaid,

Due to the manes of their ſlaughter'd friends;

But mercy has prevail'd.

EDWIN.

What e'er becomes

Of an unhappy wanderer, like me,

For your kind treatment of the aged Ranulph,

Accept my thanks; it was a precious boon;

Morcar may find me not unworthy of it.

To day I am his captive, but to-morrow

May ſee me his deliverer: for know

My royal maſter, the victorious William,

With eagle ſwiftneſs, ſoon will follow me

With twenty times your force. As this ſhall prove

Or true, or falſe, ſo deal with me; remember

I warn'd you of it.

SIWARD.

And remember thou

That I with joy receive the welcome news:

Welcome to me, for I am William's friend.

EDWIN.

Thou can'ſt not then be mine, or England's foe:

With ſuch a heart as thine, ſo nobly form'd

To feel for the afflicted, ſatisfy'd,

For thou ſeem'ſt, of William's royal right,

What cou'd engage thee in this foul revolt,

This baſe rebellion?

SIWARD.

[23]

What but the great bond

Of kindred ſouls, inviolable friendſhip!

The only ſolid bliſs on this ſide heav'n,

That doubles all the joys of human life,

And, by dividing, leſſens ev'ry woe.

EDWIN.

Who knows but this day's ſad event may prove

The happy means to heal a nation's wounds,

And ſooth our jarring factions into peace?

SIWARD.

Had Morcar thought with me, lond ſince that end

Had been obtain'd; but Morcar is—

EDWIN.

Inexorable.

So I have heard, and therefore little hope

To change his nature. O! cou'd he be wrought

To ſweet oblivion of his wrongs; to bury

His deep reſentment: Mine ſhou'd be the taſk,

A taſk, heav'n knows, I wou'd with joy perform,

To reconcile offended majeſty:

To ſoften all his errors, plead his pardon,

And give my ſov'reign one brave ſoldier more.

SIWARD.

When next we meet I truſt it ſhall be ſo:

Mean time, let me prepare him for the change;

Retire a while—e'er long we'll ſend for thee,

For ev'ry moment I expect him here:

Thy freedom and thy happineſs ſhall be

My firſt concern, for thou haſt well deſerv'd it.

EDWIN.

Farewel. Be quick in your reſolves; the time

[24] Requires it; and be wiſe e'er 'tis too late.

[Exit Edwin.

SIWARD.

(alone)

I hope we ſhall. This well-tim'd victory,

If rightly us'd, may ſmooth our way to peace.

Now, Morcar, all thy happineſs depends

Upon thyſelf alone. Now, friendſhip, raiſe

Thy pow'rful voice, and force him to be happy.

He will, he muſt—he comes—

Enter MORCAR.

SIWARD.

My conqu'ror, welcome!

MORCAR.

Thrice welcome to my arms, my noble Siward;

At length we meet in joy, the day is ours;

Thanks to thy friendly aid.

SIWARD.

We muſt not boaſt;

'Twas hardly purchas'd, and has coſt us dear:

You follow'd 'em too cloſe.

MORCAR.

I own 'twas raſh;

My youthful ardor urg'd the keen puſuit

Too far; and but for thee I had been loſt.

In war, thy arm protects me, and in peace,

Thy councils guide. O! how ſhall I return

Thy goodneſs? Thou wer't born to ſave thy friend.

SIWARD.

Away. I'll not be thank'd. I've done my duty,

And if thou think'ſt thyſelf indebted for it,

Repay me not with flatt'ry, but with love.

E'er ſince my ſoul with thine, congonial met

[25] In ſocial bands, and mark'd thee for her own,

Thy int'reſt and thy happineſs have been

My firſt ambition; and when thou art bleſt

With all thy ſoul can wiſh for, Siward then,

And then alone, will have his full reward.

MORCAR.

O, unexampled faithfulneſs and truth!

But ſay, my Siward, is our loſs ſo great?

SIWARD.

The flow'r of half our troops. But 'tis not now

A time to weep, for I have glorious tidings,

That much import thy happineſs.

MORCAR.

Ha! what?

SIWARD.

Know that amongſt our captives I have ta'en

A noble prize, will make us full amends

For ev'ry loſs—the gallant Ranulph.

MORCAR.

Ha!

Matilda's father! then I'm ſatisfy'd.

The wily chief! by heav'n he ſhall repay me

For her unkindneſs: Give him to my rage,

To my reſentment, to my injur'd love.

Where is he, Siward?

SIWARD.

I have ſet him free,

MORCAR.

Ha! free! Thy ill-tim'd metey hath betray'd

Our cauſe. The tyrant wou'd have ranſom'd him

With half his kingdom.

SIWARD.

Still thy rapid paſſions

O'erpow'r thy reaſon. What if it ſhou'd ſerve

[26] A better purpoſe; ſmooth thy paths to bliſs,

And gain Matilda for thee!

MORCAR.

O, my friend!

My Siward, do not flatter me: By heav'n,

Her kind conſent wou'd give my raviſh'd ſoul

More true and heart-felt happineſs than cou'd

A thouſand vict'ries o'er the proud uſurper.

SIWARD.

Know then, I gave him liberty and life

On theſe conditions—That he ſhou'd with-draw

His pow'rs from William's aid, and never more

Aſſiſt his cauſe; the time wou'd come, I told him,

That he ſhou'd know to whom he ow'd the boon,

And how he might repay it.

MORCAR.

That was kind,

Indeed, my Siward, that was like a friend.

O! thou reviv'ſt my drooping heart; but tell me

Did my Matilda, let me call her mine,

Did ſhe acknowledge, did ſhe thank thee for it?

SIWARD.

O! I aſſum'd no merit; but to thee,

And to thy gen'rous, unexampled love

Did I attribute all. She ſigh'd, and wept,

Pour'd forth a thouſand bleſſings on thy head—

MORCAR.

And do'ſt thou think, my Siward, that one ray

Of hope remains?

SIWARD.

The clouds already vaniſh,

The proſpect brightens round thee; haſte and ſeize

The lucky moment. When the gen'rous mind

Is ſooth'd by obligation, ſoon it opens

[27] To the mild dictates of humanity,

And ſoftens into ſympathy and love.

MORCAR.

O, Siward! cou'd'ſt thou teach me but to win

That lovely maid—

SIWARD.

The taſk is half perform'd

Already, and my friend ſhall ſoon be bleſs'd.

One thing, and one alone, remains to fix

Her doubtful heart, if yet a doubt remains.

MORCAR.

O! name it, Siward; if 'tis in the pow'r

Of wealth to purchaſe, or of victory

In the fair field of glory to acquire,

It ſhall not long be wanting.

SIWARD.

It requires

No price, but ſuch as Morcar well can pay;

No vict'ry, but the vict'ry o'er thyſelf,

And thy own paſſions—Give up thy reſentment,

Make peace with William, and Matilda's thine.

MORCAR.

Matilda mine! and muſt I purchaſe her

At the dear price of honour? with the loſs

Of all my ſoul holds dear, my country's welfare?

My word—

SIWARD.

Away! whilſt prudence warranted

Our honeſt zeal, I was the firſt to aid

Thy juſt revenge; but valour ill-advis'd,

And ill-exerted in a hopeleſs cauſe,

Degen'rate into raſhneſs. You miſtake

The pride of honour, for the pride of virtue.

MORCAR.

[28]

And wou'd'ſt thou have me bend beneath the yoke

Of ignominious ſlav'ry, quit the cauſe

Of heav'n-born freedom, and betray my friends?

SIWARD.

I'd have thee juſt and happy—We have been

Succeſsful, let us now be generous,

Whilſt we have ſomething to beſtow; nor wait

'Till fickle fortune from our brows ſhall tear

The blaſted wreath, and leave us nought to give.

Too long already have we ſacrific'd

At proud ambition's altar, to revenge;

Now let us offer at the ſhrine of peace,

And ſacrifice—

MORCAR.

To love, and to Matilda;

It ſhall be ſo—the ſtruggle's paſt—away,

My Siward, haſte, and tell her, I obey;

Her laws, her king, her maſter ſhall be mine;

I have no will but her's, and in her eyes

Will read my duty—Yet a moment ſtay,

What will my brave companions of the war,

My fellow ſoldiers ſay? Will they approve

This unexpected change?

SIWARD.

I know them firm

In their obedience, and reſolv'd to act

As you command—But I will ſee 'em ſtrait,

And urge ſuch pow'rful reaſons as may beſt

Secure them to our purpoſe. Fare thee well.

MORCAR.

Siward, thy kind anticipating care

Prevents my ev'ry wiſh—But ſay, my friend,

[29] Where is the gallant chief whom we ſubdu'd,

Who fought ſo hardly, and ſo nobly fell?

SIWARD.

In yonder tent, a wretched pris'ner ſtill,

He counts the tedious hours; a heavy gloom

Sits on his brow, as if ſome deep-felt ſorrow

Oppreſs'd his noble mind—We muſt releaſe him.

MORCAR.

Thou know'ſt, my Siward, thrice we had o'erpow'r'd

His troops, and thrice his ſingle valour turn'd

The fortune of the day: Since firſt I trod

The paths of glory, ne'er did I behold

Such deeds of valour wrought by mortal hand;

I almoſt envy'd, tho' I conquer'd him.

He wore his beaver up, nor cou'd I trace

His features, but he bears a noble form:

Know'ſt thou his quality or name?

SIWARD.

Not yet;

He ſeems induſtrious to conceal them both

From ev'ry eye.

MORCAR.

Some deity protects him,

As its peculiar care, for as I rais'd

My ſword againſt him, whether the ſoft paſſion

That triumphs o'er me, had unmann'd my ſoul,

I know not; but, bereft of all its pow'r,

My nerveleſs arm dropp'd ineffectual down,

And let him 'ſcape me.

SIWARD.

'Tis moſt true, I ſaw

And wonder'd at it. When you leſt the field,

With deſp'rate rage he ruſh'd intrepid on,

[30] And ſeem'd to court his fate, till circling foes

Compell'd him to reſign, and yield his ſword.

MORCAR.

Away. I burn with ardor to forgive,

To free, and to embrace him: fly, my Siward.

Let him approach, he cou'd not wiſh to meet

In happier hour, the maſter of his fate,

For now, methinks, I cou'd be reconcil'd

To ev'ry foe. Away, my Siward, haſte

And ſend him to me.

SIWARD.

Treat him like a friend,

He may be uſeful. Such diſtinguiſh'd merit

Muſt have its influence, he commands, no doubt,

The royal ear, and may procure ſuch terms

As William may with honour yield, and we

Without a bluſh accept.

[Exit Siward.

MORCAR.

(alone)

Farewel. And now

How ſtands the great account? Can I acquit

Myſelf, or ſhall I be condemn'd before

Thy great tribunal, all-repaying juſtice?

But fair Matilda wipes out ev'ry ſtain,

'Tis ſhe commands me to forgive, and ſhe

Muſt be obey'd; I'm not the firſt apoſtate

From honour's cauſe the tyrant love has made.

My friend too urg'd the change—

(Guards bring in Edwin chained.

He's here—Strike off

Thoſe ignominious chains—he has deſerv'd

A better fate.

(Guards unchain him.

Stranger, who e'er thou art,

(turning to Edwin.

Thy gallant bearing in th' unequal conflict,

For we had twice thy numbers, hath endear'd

A ſoldier to a ſoldier. Vulgar minds

[31] To their own party, and the narrow limits

Of partial friendſhip, meanly may confine

Their admiration; but the brave will ſee,

And ſeeing, praiſe the virtues of a foe.

EDWIN.

(aſide.)

O, pow'rful nature, how thou work'ſt within me!

MORCAR.

Still ſilent! ſtill conceal'd! perchance thou fear'ſt,

Knowing thy rank and name, I might recal

My promis'd pardon; but be confident,

For by that ſacred honour, which I hold

Dearer than life, I promiſe here to free,

And to protect thee; did'ſt thou hide from me

My deadlieſt foe: Shou'd William's ſelf appear

Before me, he who hath ſo deeply wrong'd me,

So long oppos'd: Nay, ſhou'd I hear the voice

Of that advent'rous, raſh, miſguided youth,

Whom yet I cannot hate—my cruel brother,

I cou'd forgive him.

EDWIN.

(diſcovering himſelf.)

Then—behold him here.

MORCAR.

Edwin! Amazement! By what wond'rous means,

Myſterious providence, do'ſt thou unfold

Thy ſecret purpoſes? I little thought

When laſt we met, what heav'n-protected victim

Eſcap'd my ſword.

EDWIN.

With horror I recal

The dreadful circumſtance. Throughout the battle

I knew, and carefully avoided thee.

MORCAR.

O, Edwin! how, on this propitious day,

Have vict'ry, fame and friendſhip, fortune, love

[32] And nature, all conſpir'd to make me bleſt!

We have been foes too long—Of that no more.

My Edwin, welcome! Once more to thy arms

Receive a brother.

EDWIN.

Yet a moment ſtay:

By nature touch'd the ſame accordant ſtring

That vibrates on thy heart now beats on mine;

But honour, and the duty which I owe

The beſt of kings, reſtrains the fond embrace

I wiſh to ſhare, and bids me aſk, if yet

In Morcar I behold my ſov'reign's foe.

If it be ſo, take back thy proffer'd freedom,

Take back my forfeit life: I wou'd not wiſh

To be indebted for it to—a traitor.

MORCAR.

Perhaps I may deſerve a better name;

Perhaps I may be chang'd.

EDWIN.

I hope thou art;

For this I came, for this I yielded to thee,

To tell thee William's ſtrength is ev'ry hour

Increaſing: if thou mean'ſt to make thy peace,

Now is the criſis—

MORCAR.

Edwin ſtop, nor urge

Such mean unworthy motives as alone

Cou'd thwart my purpoſe. Morcar cannot fear,

But Morcar can be gen'rous: for know,

Before I ſaw thee here I had reſolv'd

To ſheath my ſword and be the conqu'ror's friend;

For O! there is a cauſe—

EDWIN.

Whate'er the cauſe,

Th' effect is glorious. Now thou art again

[33] My brother. Here, let us once more unite

The long-diſſever'd cord.

(They embrace.

MORCAR.

And never more

May blind reſentment, faction, party, rage,

Envy, or jealous fear, diſſolve the tye!

And now, my Edwin, bluſhing, I confeſs,

Not to thy tender care for Morcar's ſafety,

To friendſhip's council, or to reaſon's voice,

Owe we this wiſh'd for change. A female hand

Directs and wills it.

EDWIN.

Ha! a woman!

MORCAR.

Yes,

If ſuch I ought to call that form divine,

Which triumphs here, who rules my ev'ry thought,

My ev'ry action guides. In yonder tent

A beauteous captive dwells, who hath enſlav'd

Her conqu'ror: She demands the ſacrifice;

She wou'd not give her hand to William's foe,

And therefore, only, Morcar is his friend.

EDWIN.

I cou'd have wiſh'd that this important change

Were to the hero, not the lover, due.

MORCAR.

I am above deceit, and own my weakneſs;

But thou ſhalt ſee her—Yes, my Edwin, thou

Shalt bear the welcome tidings to my love.

Thy preſence will bear witneſs to the change;

Thy freedom, and the joyful news thou bring'ſt

Of our bleſt union will confirm it to her.

Wilt thou, my Edwin—

EDWIN.

[34]

Do not aſk me what

I muſt refuſe. I wou'd do much to ſerve

A friend and brother; but a taſk of joy

Ill ſuits a ſoul oppreſs'd with griefs like mine.

O! I cou'd tell thee—but 'twou'd be unkind,

When thou art ent'ring on the paths of bliſs,

To ſtop thee with my melancholy tale.

MORCAR.

What e'er thy griefs, I pity, and hereafter

May find the means to leſſen, or remove them;

Mean time this tender office may divert

Thy ſorrows; nay, if thou deny'ſt me, Edwin,

I ſhall not think our union is ſincere.

EDWIN.

Then be it ſo.

MORCAR.

I'll ſend a truſty ſlave

That ſhall conduct thee to her. Soon I mean

To follow thee—away—begone and proſper.

But, O, my brother! if thou haſt a heart

That is not ſteel'd with ſtoic apathy

Againſt the magic of all-conqu'ring love,

Beware of beauty's pow'r; for ſhe has charms

Wou'd melt the frozen breaſt of hoary age,

Or draw the lonely hermit from his cell

To gaze upon her.

EDWIN.

Know, thy fears are vain;

For long, long ſince, by honor's ſacred tyes,

United to the lovlieſt of her ſex,

Edwin, like Morcar, is to one alone

Devoted, and my heart is fix'd as thine.

MORCAR.

[35]

Then I am bleſt. Thy ſympathetic ſoul,

With warmer feelings, ſhall expreſs my paſſion,

Wak'd by the fond remembrance of thy own.

Go then, thy kind returning friendſhip prove,
Go, plead with all the eloquence of love;
And as thou do'ſt thy brother's anguiſh tell,
Still on thy lips may ſoft perſuaſion dwell!
Urge my fond ſuit with energy divine,
Nor ceaſe till thou haſt made the lovely captive mine.

The End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

[36]

SCENE, MATILDA's Tent, with a diſtant view of the Camp.

MATILDA, BERTHA.

MATILDA.

O, Bertha! I have had ſuch frightful dreams,

They harrow'd up my ſoul.

BERTHA.

It is the work

Of buſy fancy in thy troubled mind;

Give it no heed.

MATILDA.

O! it was more, much more

Than fancy ever form'd; 'twas real all;

It haunts me ſtill, and ev'ry circumſtance

Is now before me; but I'll tell thee all.

Scarce had I clos'd my eyes, to ſeek that reſt

Which long had been a ſtranger, when methought

Alone I wander'd thro' a mazy wood,

Beſet with thorns and briars on ev'ry ſide;

The mournful image of my wretched ſtate:

When, from a winding walk, the beauteous form

Of my lov'd Edwin, ſeem'd to glide acroſs,

And ran with haſte to meet me: But, behold!

A tyger ruſh'd between, and ſeiz'd upon him:

I ſhriek'd aloud.

BERTHA.

'Twas terrible.

MATILDA.

[37]

But mark

What follow'd; for a gleam of light broke in,

And ſav'd me from deſpair: When 'croſs the glade

A gen'rous lyon, as with pity mov'd

At the unequal conflict, darted forth

And ſprung with vengeance on the ſpotted beaſt,

Who turn'd with fury on his nat'ral foe,

And loos'd my Edwin; he eſcap'd, and fled:

I wak'd in agonies.

BERTHA.

Be comforted;

The dream preſages good: Some gen'rous friend

Shall ſave him from the perils of the war,

And give him to thy longing arms again.

MATILDA.

O, never, never!

Enter an OFFICER.

OFFICER.

Noble lady, one

From William's camp, by Morcar's orders ſent,

Wou'd crave a minute's conference, and ſays

He bears ſome news that may be welcome.

MATILDA.

Ha!

From William's camp! O, flatt'ring hope! who knows

But he may bring ſome tidings of my love!

Tidings, perhaps, I may not wiſh to hear.

Perhaps he comes to ſpeak of Edwin's death;

Or Edwin's falſhood—Be it as it may,

I cannot be more wretched than I am.

Conduct him hither.

[Exit Officer.

O, my flutt'ring heart!

[38] Look yonder! how imagination forms

What moſt we wiſh for; ſee, he comes—It is,

It is my Edwin—Save me, Bertha! O!

(as he enters ſhe faints.

Enter EDWIN.

EDWIN.

What do I ſee? Matilda here! ſhe faints!

Am I deſerted then? abandon'd, loſt,

Betray'd by her I love? She breathes, ſhe lives!

But not for me—for Morcar; for my brother.

MATILDA,

(to Bertha.)

Where is he? O! it was deluſion all;

The form deceiv'd me. Had it been my love,

He wou'd have flown with rapture to me—See

He ſtands far off, and will not look upon me.

EDWIN.

I dare not.

MATILDA.

Is it thus we meet again?

Is this the kind, the tender, faithful Edwin?

EDWIN.

Art thou Matilda? Speak; for I am loſt

In wild aſtoniſhment. It cannot be.

In Morcar's camp! Is this the lovely captive

That I ſhou'd meet?

MATILDA.

All-ſeeing heav'n,

Bear witneſs for me: If, from that ſad hour

When laſt we parted, this devoted heart

Hath ever wander'd, ever caſt one thought,

Or form'd a wiſh for any bliſs but thee,

Deſpiſe me, Edwin; ſlight me, caſt me off

To infamy and ſhame.

EDWIN.

[39]

I muſt, I muſt

Believe thee; Yet, 'tis ſtrange—when thou ſhalt know

From whom I came, and what my errand here.

Thou wilt not call me cruel or unkind,

When I ſhall tell thee I am come to claim

Another's right, O! heav'n, another's right

To my Matilda; to requeſt thy hand

For Morcar.

MATILDA.

For thy brother!

EDWIN.

Yes, ev'n now

We parted.—Here he told me I ſhould meet

A beauteous captive; little did I think

It was Matilda, whom he long had woo'd;

Whoſe gen'rous heart, he hop'd, wou'd now accept

A convert made to loyalty by love;

She only waited for that bleſt event,

With mutual ardour to return his paſſion.

Can it be thus? Alas! thy preſence here

Confirms it but too well.

MATILDA.

Appearance oft,

By ſtrange events and cauſeleſs jealouſy,

Confounds the guilty with the innocent.

But ſure my Edwin's noble mind diſdains

To cheriſh low ſuſpicion; 'tis a vice

Abhorrent to thy nature, and Matilda

Will never practice it on thee. True love

Knows not diſtruſt, or diffidence, but reſts

On its own faith ſecure, and hopes to meet

The truth it merits.

EDWIN.

[40]

Can this be the voice

Of falſhood?—Can thoſe lips?—

MATIDLA.

Miſtaken man!

Cou'dſt thou e'er credit the deluſive tale?

Cou'dſt thou believe I had ſo ſoon forgot

My plighted faith? But ſince I am ſuſpected,

Return, and bear this anſwer back to Morcar.

Firſt ſay, I thank him for the choice he made

Of thee to be the herald of his love:

For what is there Matilda can refuſe,

That Edwin could requeſt?

EDWIN.

O! that recalls

A thouſand tender thoughts—

MATILDA.

Go tell him too,

What e'er I raſhly promis'd but to gain

A few ſhort moments, to preſerve my king,

And ſave a father's life, I never meant

To feign a paſſion which I coud not feel;

For I was deſtin'd to another's arms;

To one, who now regardleſs of his vows

To poor Matilda, after three long years

Of cruel abſence from her, comes at laſt

To doubt her honor, and ſuſpect her love.

EDWIN.

O! never, never. Sooner will I doubt

The pow'rs of nature, and believe theſe eyes

Can miſinterpret ev'ry object here,

Than think thee falſe. O! take me to thy arms

And bury all my doubts.—Can'ſt thou forgive

The jealous warmth of agonizing paſſion?

MATILDA.

[41]

I can; I muſt. But ſay, to what bleſt chance

Am I indebted for this happy moment?

EDWIN.

The chance of war. I am a pris'ner here,

And but for thee—

MATILDA.

When I ſhall tell thee all

That I have ſuffer'd ſince we parted laſt

Thou wilt not blame, but pity poor Matilda.

Mean while be calm; it is not now a time

For idle doubts and viſionary fears

When real dangers threat. I ſee already,

By thy imperfect tale, what miſery

Muſt ſoon await us, when the fiery Earl

Shall know this ſtrange event.

EDWIN.

And wherefore know it?

Why not conceal our paſſion, till ſome means

Of freedom offer?

MATILDA.

I abhor the thought.

No, Edwin, no. The criſis of our fate

Approaches. Never let us ſtain our loves

With crooked fraud and baſe diſſimulation.

Hark! did'ſt thou hear a voice in yonder grove?

Siward in conf'rence with the haughty Earl;

Behold them—ſee—they part—and Morcar haſtes,

With quick impatient ſtep, to know his fate.

Now ſummon all thy pow'rs.

EDWIN.

I am prepar'd.

He comes: a few ſhort minutes will determine

[40] [...][41] [...]

[42] Whether Matilda plays the hypocrite,

Or is deſerving of her Edwin's love.

Enter MORCAR.

MORCAR.

At length I hope Matilda's ſatisfy'd.

Edwin has told thee what a ſacrifice

My heart hath made. Ambition, glory, pride,

And fierce reſentment bend beneath thy pow'r,

And yield the palm to all-ſubduing love.

Yes, thou haſt conquer'd. I am William's friend;

The ſtruggle's paſt. I have perform'd the taſk

Aſſign'd, and come to claim my juſt reward.

MATILDA.

By virtuous acts the ſelf-approving mind

Is amply paid, nor ſeeks a recompence

From ought beſide. You have redeem'd your honor,

Turn'd to the paths of duty, and diſcharg'd

The debt you owe your country, and your king:

England and William will be grateful for it.

What can you wiſh for more?

MORCAR.

There is a prize,

More welcome far, beyond what e'er a king

Or kingdom can beſtow—thy love—

MATILDA.

My lord!

MORCAR.

If to have ſav'd thee from the brutal rage

Of pitileſs ruffians; if to have renounc'd

A victor's claim, and be myſelf the ſlave

Of her I conquer'd; if to have releas'd

My bitt'reſt foe, becauſe ally'd to thee;

If, after all my cruel wrongs, t' accept

[43] The proud oppreſſor's hand, can merit ought

I am not quite unworthy of the boon.

MATILDA.

The good and juſt, my lord, demand our praiſe,

And gen'rous deeds will claim the tribute due,

The debt of humble gratitude; but love,

Love, that muſt mark the colour of our days

For good or ill, for happineſs or woe,

'Tis not the gift of fortune, or of fame,

Nor earn'd by merit, nor acquir'd by virtue.

All the rich treaſures, which, or wealth, or pow'r

Have to beſtow, can never purchaſe that

Which the free heart alone itſelf muſt give.

MORCAR.

Give it with freedom then to him who moſt

Hath ſtudy'd to deſerve—

MATILDA.

You talk, my Lord,

As if the right of conqueſt cou'd beſtow

A right more precious, and a dearer claim;

But know, for now 'tis time to throw aſide

The veil that long hath hid from Morcar's eyes

The ſecret of my ſoul; and ſay at laſt

I never can be thine.

MORCAR.

Ha! Never! O,

Recal that word!

MATILDA.

I muſt not: Edwin knows

There is a bar of adamant between,

That muſt for ever part us.

MORCAR.

Ha! for ever!

Diſtraction! can it be? Take heed, Matilda,

[44] I am not to be mock'd thus. O, my brother!

Did'ſt thou not hear her? But aſtoniſhment

Has clos'd thy lips in ſilence—Never mine!

And wherefore not be mine?

(turning to Matilda.

MATILDA.

Becauſe I am

Another's—Well I know our hapleſs ſex,

So cuſtom wills, and arbitrary man,

Is taught in fearful ſilence to conceal

The honeſt feelings of a tender heart:

Elſe, wherefore ſhou'd Matilda bluſh to own

A virtuous paſſion for the beſt of men?

MORCAR.

A virtuous paſſion! grant me patience, heav'n!

I am betray'd, abandon'd, loſt. Another's!

Some fawning ſlave, ſome Norman plunderer,

Rich with the raviſh'd ſpoils of Engliſh valour,

Hath ſnar'd her eaſy heart, and tortur'd mine.

But I will drag him from his dark abode;

Where e'er he lurks, he ſhall not 'ſcape my veng'ance.

Thou hear'ſt her, Edwin.

EDWIN.

Aye: Who wou'd not wiſh

To hear the voice of nature, and of love,

Thus nobly pleading by the lips of truth?

MORCAR.

Amazement! Thou art link'd with the vile ſlave

That hath unſurp'd my right. All, all conſpire

To make me wretched.

EDWIN.

Why ſhou'd Morcar think

That lovely maid wou'd act beneath herſelf,

And make ſo mean a choice? Now, on my ſoul,

I doubt not but the object of her love

[45] Hath earn'd the glorious prize, and will be found

Deſerving of it.

MORCAR.

Thou know'ſt him then?

EDWIN.

I do;

Know him as brave, as noble as thyſelf:

One who wou'd ſcorn, howe'er the outward act

Might ſeem unworthy of him, to do ought

That ſhou'd diſgrace his family and name.

A man he is of yet untainted honour,

Of birth and valour equal to thy own,

Though fortune frowns upon him.

MORCAR.

Now by heav'n,

But that I know thy eyes were never bleſt

With my Matilda's charms, I ſhou'd ſuſpect

Thou hadſt betray'd the ſacred truſt repos'd

In thy falſe heart, by unſuſpecting friendſhip,

And wer't thyſelf the traitor.

EDWIN.

Think ſo ſtill.

Let fancy, ever buſy to torment

The jealous mind, alarm thee with the thought

Of ſeeing him whom thou haſt thus revil'd;

Stand forth and dare the proof; ſuppoſe him here

Before thee, ready to aſſert his claim,

His prior right to all the joys that love

And fair Matilda can beſtow: Then look

On me, and know thy rival in—thy brother.

MORCAR.

Confuſion! horror! miſery! O, heav'n!

Can'ſt thou behold ſuch complicated guilt,

Such unexampled perfidy, and yet

[46] With hold thy vengeance? Let thy light'nings blaſt

The baſe betrayer! O, Matilda! falſe,

Deceitful, cruel woman!

MATILDA.

'Tis the lot

Of unprotected innocence to meet

The cruel cenſure, which to guilt alone

Is due. I've not deceiv'd, I've not betray'd thee;

And wou'd'ſt thou liſten to the artleſs tale

I cou'd unfold—

MORCAR.

Away! I will not hear,

Nor ſee, nor think of thee. Deceitful villain!

Was this thy kind concern for Morcar's ſafety?

Was it for this that ſubtle Edwin came

A willing captive? Boaſted William's ſtrength,

And lur'd me no a baſe, inglorious peace?

That, like a midnight ruffian, he might ſteal,

Unſeen and unſuſpected on my love,

And rob me of Matilda.

EDWIN.

I abhor

A thought ſo mean; the bare ſuſpicion ſtains,

With ſuch foul blot, my honour and my name,

I will not deign to anſwer thee, My birth

Alone might prove, to any ſenſe but thine,

That I diſdain it: 'Tis enough to ſay

I am Earl Morcar's brother.

MORCAR.

I diſclaim

All ties of nature, or of friendſhip with thee,

And henceforth hold thee as my deadlieſt foe:

As ſuch I will purſue thee, ſlave, for know

[47] Thou art my pris'ner ſtill—Who waits there? Seize

And guard this traitor—

(Guards enter and ſeize on Edwin.

MATILDA,

(kneeling to Morcar.)

O, my lord! if e'er

Soft pity touch'd thy breaſt, if e'er thy heart

Felt the warm glow of ſympathetic grief

For the unhappy, do not let the rage

Of thoughtleſs paſſion urge thee to a deed,

Of horror, which, too late, thou wilt repent.

O, ſpare a guiltleſs brother, ſpare thyſelf

The bitter pangs of ſad remorſe that ſoon

Shall harrow up thy ſoul, when radient truth

Shall flaſh conviction on thee. O! forgive

And pity—

EDWIN.

Riſe Matilda: 'Tis beneath

The dignity of innocence to kneel

Before proud guilt, and ſupplicate a tyrant.

MATILDA,

(riſing.)

I feel the juſt reproach—Forgive me, Edwin;

Henceforth I never will diſgrace thy love,

By mean ſubmiſſion. Morcar, if thou hop'ſt

For future peace, or pardon, ſet us free.

MORCAR.

I'll hear no more, convey her to her tent.

MATILDA.

Edwin, adieu! If honour, virtue, truth,

And mutual love, protect the innocent,

We yet ſhall meet in happineſs—farewel!

[Exit Matilda guarded.

MORCAR.

Let none have entrance there, but faithful Siward.

Wou'd he were here, that I might pour my ſorrows

[48] Into his friendly boſom! O, Siward!

Where art thou?—Ha, he comes!

Enter SIWARD.

SIWARD.

My Lord, the troops

Fluſh'd with their late ſucceſs, refuſe all terms

Of peace with William, and cry out for war

And vengeance—

MORCAR.

They ſhall have it. Now, by heav'n,

Thou bring'ſt me glorious tidings—well, what more?

SIWARD.

They have diſcover'd that the noble pris'ner,

Who had ſurrender'd, is thy brother Edwin;

This hath alarm'd them; they ſuſpect you both

Of vile colluſion, to betray their cauſe,

And yield them to the tyrant. If, they ſay,

You mean them fair, let Edwin be confin'd,

And anſwer for the treaſon, with his life.

MORCAR.

And ſo he ſhall: They cou'd not aſk a boon

Which Morcar wou'd more readily beſtow;

Already their requeſt is granted.—See

The traitor is ſecur'd. All-ſeeing heav'n!

Thou ſee'ſt how juſtice will o'ertake the wicked!

SIWARD.

What can this mean? Since laſt I ſaw my friend,

How the fair day that ſhone ſo bright upon us,

Is ſuddenly o'ercaſt.

MORCAR.

Alas, my Siward!

When thou ſhalt know—but 'tis enough to ſay

Matilda's falſe, and Edwin is—a villain.

SIWARD.

[49]

Amazement! can it be?

MORCAR.

It is too true;

And I am loſt for ever. O, Matilda!

Deceitful woman!

SIWARD.

'Tis not now a time

For idle plaints: Conſult your ſafety: Fly

This moment to the camp—your preſence there,

And that alone, may quell the riſing ſtorm:

Leave Edwin to my care.

MORCAR.

I go, my Siward,

Safe in thy friendſhip; I entruſt to thee

My juſt revenge. Yon moſs-grown tow'r that hangs

O'er the deep flood—'tis under thy command—

Place double guard—he muſt not 'ſcape—his fate

Shall be determin'd ſoon. What e'er it prove,

It cannot be more wretched than my own.

[Exit Mor.

EDWIN, SIWARD.

EDWIN.

(pointing to the guards.)

Where is my dungeon? My conductors here

Wait but your orders; give 'em their commiſſion;

For you, it ſeems, Sir, are to execute

The friendly office: Do it, and be happy.

SIWARD.

Guards, ſet your pris'ner free—Thou little know'ſt

Of Siward's ſoul, to think it jo'ys in ought

That gives another pain. I've learnt too well,

In ſad affliction's hard, but wholeſome ſchool,

The leſſon of humanity.

EDWIN.

[50]

O gen'rous Siward, if thou haſt a heart

To feel for others mis'ries, pity mine,

And poor Matilda's: She has not deſerv'd

A fate like this.

SIWARD.

Alas! it rives my ſoul

To ſee the tender bonds of amity

Thus torn aſunder by the very means,

I fondly thought for ever wou'd unite them;

And the fair ſtructure, which my hopes had rais'd,

Of love and friendſhip, in a moment ſhrunk

From its weak baſe, and bury'd all in ruin.

If thou can'ſt prove thy innocence, as yet

I hope thou wilt, for in that noble mien

I read a conſcious pride, that wou'd not ſtoop

To ought that's baſe—Still may I hope to heal

Theſe bleeding wounds, and ſooth him to forgiveneſs.

Mean time be free. Give me thy ſacred word,

The ſoldier's oath, thou wilt be found when e'er

I call upon thee; and yon tent alone

Shall be thy priſon; free to range around,

Far as my guard extends.

EDWIN.

Accept my thanks,

The humble tribute of a grateful heart;

'Tis all I have to give. The time may come

When Edwin ſhall repay thee as he ought.

SIWARD.

Is there ought more, which honour, and the duty

I owe my friend permits me to beſtow,

That thou wou'd'ſt aſ [...]?

EDWIN.

[51]

O, grant me to behold

That injur'd maid, to take my laſt farewel;

Then act as fate and Morcar ſhall determine.

I give the pledge of ſafety thou requir'ſt,

And will be found—ſpeak, wilt thou liſten to me?

SIWARD.

Of that we'll talk hereafter—come—within

I'll hear thy ſtory—Thou but know'ſt me yet

As Morcar's friend; hereafter thou may'ſt find

I am ſtill more the friend—of truth and virtue.

The End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

[52]

[SCENE, An Apartment belonging to SIWARD, opening to a wood.

EDWIN, MATILDA.

EDWIN.

THANKS to the noble Siward's gen'rous pity

For the diſtreſs'd; once more we meet, Matilda,

But only meet, alas! to mourn our fate,

To feel each others woes, and to be wretched.

MATILDA.

Eternal bleſſings wait on him who thus

Cou'd ſweeten ſorrow's bitter draught, and make

Captivity a bleſſing! O, my Edwin!

A few ſhort moments ſpent with thoſe we love,

Is worth an age of common life.

EDWIN.

With thee

Indeed it is; but we are on the verge

Of a dark precipice, and ev'ry ſtep

Is dangerous. If Morcar ſhou'd return,

And find us here together, we are loſt

For ever; thou haſt ſeen, and ſeen with horror,

The deſp'rate rage of his tumultuous ſoul,

Let us avoid it, let us—

MATILDA.

What, my love?

Thou art my guide, protector, guardian, all

[53] I have to boaſt on earth. O! teach me where

To find ſome bleſt aſylum for my woes,

And guide my footſteps to the paths of peace.

EDWIN.

Let me entreat thee then—

MATILDA.

O, ſpeak! thou know'ſt

I have no will but thine.

EDWIN.

Then leave me, leave

This hated roof: I have a friend within,

Who ſhall conduct thee to the royal camp

In ſafety; bear this ſignet to the king,

He will protect thee, and what ever fate

Decrees for me, Matilda may be happy.

MATILDA.

O! never, never: Safety dwells with thee,

And thee alone. Without my faithful Edwin,

The peopled city, and the crouded court,

Wou'd be a deſart to me. No, my love,

We will not part: The ſame benignant pow'r

That led thee hither, that, beyond my hopes

Brought my loſt Edwin to theſe arms again,

Will ſtill protect that virtue which it loves.

EDWIN.

Did'ſt thou not tell me, that this very morn

Thou had'ſt determin'd, as the only means

To ſhun my brother's love, on ſudden flight?

MATILDA.

But then I ſhou'd have fled in ſearch of thee.

EDWIN.

Thou winning ſoftneſs! how ſhall I reward

Such unexampled tenderneſs and truth!

MATILDA.

[54]

By flying with me. Come, my love, lead on,

I'll follow thee to dangers and to death;

Nor perils ſhall affright, nor labours tire,

When thou art with me.

EDWIN.

No: It muſt not be.

MATILDA.

Why? What ſhou'd keep thee here?

EDWIN.

The ties of honour.

MATILDA.

And are they ſtronger than the bonds of love?

EDWIN.

To Siward's kind indulgence, well thou know'ſt,

I owe this little interval of peace,

This tranſient gleam of happineſs with thee;

And ſhou'd I break my ſacred word, his life

Might anſwer for it; wou'd'ſt thou have me thus

Repay his kindneſs? No, my love; I may

Be wretched, but I cannot be ungrateful.

MATILDA.

Muſt thou return then to that hateful priſon

When Morcar comes?

EDWIN.

I muſt. O! think when I

Am pent within a loathſome dungeon, who

Shall ſhelter then thy unprotected virtue?

No Edwin there to ſuccour thee: Who knows

What brutal luſt and pow'r may dare to act,

On a deſerted, beauteous, friendleſs woman?

Diſtracting thought! A monarch's vengeance then

Wou'd come too late; wou'd make me poor amends

For my Matilda's violated charms.

MATILDA.

[55]

He cannot be ſo mean, ſo baſe of ſoul,

Or if he ſhou'd, I have a dagger here

To ſave me from diſhonour.

EDWIN.

What! by death?

Dreadful alternative! O! hazard not

Thy precious life, but ſeize the lucky moment

Which fortune gives us, e'er it be too late.

MATILDA.

Urge me no more; already I have felt,

Too deeply felt, the pangs of abſence from thee;

Another ſeparation wou'd be worſe

Than death, and all its terrors. No, my love;

We are embark'd on a tumultuous ſea,

And muſt abide the fury of the ſtorm.

The waves of angry fortune may o'erwhelm

But ſhall not part us: We will ſtem the torrent,

Brave the proud ocean's rage, and gain the harbour

Of peace and happineſs—or ſink together.

EDWIN.

Thou haſt foretold the tempeſt, and behold

It ruſhes on us.

Enter MORCAR and HAROLD.

MATILDA.

Ha! Earl Morcar here!

MORCAR.

Harold, I thank thee; thy intelligence

Was but too true.

(turning to Edwin.

Traitor! who ſet thee free?

They wou'd have 'ſcap'd my vengeance—falſe Matilda!

'Tis thus I am rewarded for my love,

[56] My ill-tim'd mercy to a thankleſs brother.

Back to thy dungeon, ſlave. Guards, drag him hence,

To priſon, and to death.

(to the ſoldiers.

EDWIN.

Or death, or life,

Are equal to me, if I muſt be torn

From my Matilda. But, whate'er thy purpoſe,

Be ſpeedy in thy vengeance, nor delay

The cruel work; for know, thy maſter comes,

William approaches—to revenge my cauſe.

MORCAR.

But not to ſave thee.

EDWIN.

Then farewel, Matilda,

Perhaps for ever—If we meet no more

Thou wilt remember—But I will not doubt

Thy honour, or thy love. I know thy truth.

Know thou wilt act as beſt becomes thy fate,

Whate'er it be, and worthy of thyſelf.

MATILDA.

Of thee, my Edwin, rather ſay of thee.

Yes; I will copy well thy bright example;

I'll not diſgrace thy love with woman's weakneſs,

But part without a tear. I will but ſtay

To tell thy tyrant brother how I hate,

How I deſpiſe him, and then follow thee.

MORCAR.

I'll hear no more—begone!—away with him.

[Exeunt guards with Edwin.

For thee, Matilda—

MATILDA.

What for me remains

I know too well; thy odious love, reproach

Unmerited, and threats which I deſpiſe.

[57] Thou think'ſt I have deceiv'd thee—think ſo ſtill.

Enjoy thy error. Thou believ'ſt us guilty;

'Twill make thee happy now—Perchance to find

Us innocent, may be thy puniſhment hereafter.

MORCAR.

Aye, 'twas a proof of innocence to fly,

Thou and thy paramour together.

MATILDA.

No;

I ſcorn a thought ſo mean. Cou'd I have left

My Edwin, long e'er this I might have been

Beyond the reach of tyranny; beyond

Thy hated pow'r; and ſafe beneath the wing

Of ſacred majeſty, in William's care.

MORCAR.

In William's care!

MATILDA.

Thy conqueror's—for know

The hero comes—to ſcatter bleſſings round him,

To heal his country's wounds, chaſtiſe rebellion,

And puniſh falſe perfidious ſlaves like thee.

MORCAR.

By heav'ns! ſhe braves my wrath, inſults my weakneſs,

And triumphs o'er her ſlave.

MATILDA.

There was a time,

When with an eye of pity, I beheld

Thy hopeleſs love; when I conceal'd my paſſion

For the dear idol of my heart, becauſe

I fear'd 'twou'd make thee wretched; but thy rage,

Thy cruel treatment of a guiltleſs brother,

Has cancell'd all.

MORCAR.

[58]

Then, mark me: If thou hop'ſt

For Edwin's freedom, ſhake off this vile paſſion;

Yield thy proud heart to him who beſt deſerves it,

And meet me at the altar—Two hours hence

I ſhall expect thee there—Beyond that time

He may not live to thank thee for thy bounty.

MATILDA.

Then let him periſh—glut thy tyrant ſoul

With vengeance: bathe it in a brother's blood,

All ruffian, all barbarian, as thou art,

Thou can'ſt not murder his immortal fame:

Thou can'ſt not rob him of Matilda's love.

But know—when he, for whom alone this pulſe

Wou'd wiſh to beat, this lazy blood to flow

Within my veins, when he ſhall be no more;

Another life ſhall ſatiate thy revenge;

Another victim ſhall attend thy triumph.

MORCAR.

Thou talk'ſt it nobly—'tis the common trick,

The affectation of thy ſex to boaſt

A fancied firmneſs, which ye never knew;

But with affrighted nature thou wou'd'ſt ſhrink

When death approaches.

MATILDA.

Put me to the proof.

If thou wou'd'ſt puniſh Edwin, know he lives

Within this breaſt—ſtrike home, and pierce him there.

MORCAR.

Imperious woman! thou defy'ſt my pow'r,

And let it cruſh thee. If thy country bleeds

In ev'ry vein; if perjur'd Edwin falls,

As ſoon he ſhall, a victim to my rage;

[59] Thou art the murd'rer; thou the paricide:

I ſtand abſolv'd; the guilt is all thy own.

MATILDA.

If it be guilt to ſuffer keen reproach,

Pain, perſecution, terror, chains and death

For him I love, rather than ſtain my ſoul

With foul diſloyalty, I am indeed

The guiltieſt of my ſex, and well deſerve

The pangs I feel.

MORCAR.

Thou'ſt driv'n me to the pit

Of black deſpair, and I will drag thee down

To ſhare the dreadful ruin thou haſt made.

MATILDA.

I know thy ſavage purpoſe; but remember,

The hour approaches when thou ſhalt repent

This baſe, unmanly triumph. William comes:

Hear that and tremble, thou unnat'ral brother;

Nor rocks, nor caves ſhall hide thee from his vengeance;

Inglorious, and unpitied, ſhalt thou fall,

And after ages ſhall conſign thy name

To endleſs ſcorn, and infamy immortal.

[Exit Matilda.

MORCAR.

Inexorable judge! I ſtand condemn'd,

And ſhall await my doom; but not alone

Or unreveng'd ſhall Morcar fall—henceforth

I bid adieu to love, and all his train

Of fond deluſions—Vengeance! I am thine,

And thine alone: Thou daughter of deſpair!

Deſtructive goddeſs! come, poſſeſs my ſoul

With all thy terrors—Yes; it ſhall be ſo.

A few ſhort hours are all that niggard fate

Will deign to ſpare me; I'll employ 'em well,

For I will croud into the narrow circle

[60] A little age of miſery and horror.

Ha! Siward here! what brought thee hither?

Enter SIWARD.

SIWARD.

Pity

For the diſtreſs'd, I knew thou wert unhappy,

And came where duty call'd, to pour the balm

Of friendſhip in, and heal thy wounded heart.

MORCAR.

O, they have pierc'd too deep; ev'n thou, my friend,

Thou haſt betray'd me: was it not unkind

To ſet my pris'ner free; to let him meet

Matilda, and conſpire againſt my life?

SIWARD.

Impoſſible! by heav'n the artful ſtory

He told, ſo wrought upon my eaſy ſoul,

I thought him innocent.

MORCAR.

Haſt thou not heard—

SIWARD.

From Harold only an imperfect tale,

So ſtrange I cou'd not credit it.

MORCAR.

Alas!

'Tis all too true: I am the verieſt ſlave,

The meaneſt wretch that e'er was trampled on

By an imperious woman: O, my friend!

My Siward! I have nought on earth but thee:

Shou'd'ſt thou forſake me in this hour of terror!

But ſure thou wilt not.

SIWARD.

No: What e'er the will

Of wayward fortune may determine for us,

Behold me ready to partake thy fate.

If we muſt ſue for peace, let Siward bear

[61] The olive for thee: if once more we caſt

The deſp'rate dye of battle, let me periſh

By Morcar's ſide. Come, let us on together;

Shake off this load of unavailing ſorrow,

And ſeek the field; there, if we fall, we fall

With honor: if we riſe, we riſe to—glory.

MORCAR.

Talk not of glory to a wretch like me,

Bereft of ev'ry hope. There was a time

When that enliv'ning call wou'd have awak'd

My active ſpirit, and this drooping heart

Bounded with joy; but my Matilda's loſt:

Revenge alone—

(Enter a meſſenger to Siward with Letters.

SIWARD.

From Walſtcoff theſe;

'Tis well—retire.

[Exit meſſenger.

(Reads)

—How's this? then all is loſt.

He writes me here, that William's fame in arms,

Spite of his cruel and oppreſſive laws,

Hath rais'd him friends in ev'ry part: already

The northern rebels are diſpers'd, and thouſands

Flock to the royal ſtandard. To reſiſt

Were madneſs.

MORCAR.

And to yield were cowardice

More ſhameful—

SIWARD.

What muſt we reſolve on?

MORCAR.

Death:

The wretches only hope, the wiſh'd—for end

Of ev'ry care, but I wou'd meet him cloath'd

In all his terrors, with his reeking ſpear,

[62] Dipt in the blood of an ungrateful miſtreſs;

And a falſe happy rival: Then, my Siward,

Shalt thou behold me welcome the kind ſtroke,

And ſmile in agony.

SIWARD.

Unhappy youth!

The ſtorm beats hard upon thee; but our fate

Will ſoon be fixt, for William comes to-morrow.

MORCAR.

To-morrow! ha! then ſomething muſt be done,

And quickly too. If William comes, he comes

To triumph over us: then, my Siward, who

Shall puniſh Edwin? who—ſhall wed Matilda?

I cannot bear it—If thou lov'ſt me, Siward;

For now I mean to try thy virtue; ſwear

By all the pow'rs that wait on injur'd honor,

What e'er my anxious ſoul requeſts of thee,

Thou'lt not refuſe it.

SIWARD.

By the hallow'd flame

Of ſacred friendſhip, that within this breaſt,

Since the firſt hour I ſeal'd thee for my own,

With unremitted ardor ſtill hath glow'd,

I will not—Speak, my Morcar, here I ſwear

To aid thy purpoſe.

MORCAR.

'Tis enough; and now

Come near and mark me: Thou command'ſt the tow'r

Where Edwin is confin'd.

SIWARD.

I do.

MORCAR.

Methinks

It were an eaſy taſk—you underſtand me—

[63] Juſtice is flow, and—William comes to-morrow.

Thy friendly hand—

SIWARD.

My lord!—

MORCAR.

Thou trembl'ſt—Well another time, my Siward,

We'll talk on't—ſhall we not? Thou mean'ſt to do

As thou haſt promis'd?

SIWARD.

Certainly.

MORCAR.

Then ſpeak,

And do not trifle with me.

SIWARD.

Sure my lord,

You cannot mean to—

MORCAR.

Is he not a villain?

SIWARD.

I fear he may be ſo.

MORCAR.

A hypocrite.

SIWARD.

He hath, perhaps, deceiv'd you, and deſerves—

MORCAR.

To periſh.

SIWARD.

No; to ſuffer, not to die;

Or, if to periſh, not by Morcar's hand,

Or Siward's—O! 'tis horrible to ſhed

A brother's blood—

MORCAR.

A rival's.

SIWARD.

[64]

Nature—

MORCAR.

Love—

SIWARD.

Humanity—

MORCAR.

Matilda—

SIWARD.

(aſide.)

Gracious heav'n!

That paſſion thus ſhould root up ev'ry ſenſe

Of good and evil in the heart of man,

And change him to—a Monſter.

MORCAR.

Hence! away,

And leave me—From this moment I will herd

With the wild ſavage in yon leafleſs deſart,

Nor truſt to friendſhip—but another hand—

SIWARD.

(muſing.)

Ha! that alarms me—then it muſt be ſo;

And yet how far—

MORCAR.

You pauſe.

SIWARD.

I am reſolv'd.

MORCAR.

On what?

SIWARD.

To ſerve, to honour, to—obey you.

Edwin ſhall ne'er diſturb thy peace again.

MORCAR.

O glorious inſtance of exalted friendſhip!

[65] My other ſelf, my beſt, my dear-lov'd Siward—

Conſcience! thou buſy monitor, away

And leave me—Siward, when ſhall it be done?

To night, my Siward, ſhall it not?

SIWARD.

Or never.

MORCAR.

Let me but ſee the proud Matilda weep;

Let me but hear the muſic of her groans

And ſate my ſoul with vengeance—For the reſt

'Tis equal all. But tell me, Siward, ſay,

How ſhall I know the bloody moment? What,

Shall be the welcome ſignal?

SIWARD.

When thou hear'ſt

The ſolemn curfeu ſound, conclude

The buſineſs done—Farewell. When I return

With tears of joy thou ſhalt my zeal commend,

And own that Siward was indeed thy friend.

The End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

[66]

SCENE, A Gothic Hall.

MORCAR, HAROLD.

MORCAR.

TREASON and foul rebellion in my camp!

But I was born to be for ever wretched,

The ſport of fortune. Theſe baſe mutineers—

HAROLD.

Your preſence on the battlements, my lord,

Diſpers'd 'em ſoon; they hang their heads in ſilence,

And all is peace.

MORCAR,

(to himſelf.)

It is not ſo within.

Wou'd it were done or—

HAROLD.

What, my Lord?

MORCAR.

No matter.

What urg'd my ſoldiers to rebel?

HAROLD.

'Tis thought

The gallant captive did by ſecret means

Excite them to revolt.

MORCAR.

It muſt be ſo.

By heav'n thou mak'ſt me happy with the tidings:

His head ſhall pay the forfeit.

HAROLD.

Whilſt he lives

We are not ſafe.

MORCAR.

[67]

No more we are, good Harold;

'Tis fit he periſh, is it not? What ſay'ſt thou?

HAROLD.

Prudence demands his life to ſave your own.

MORCAR.

O! thou haſt given ſuch comfort to my ſoul—

HAROLD.

My Lord—

MORCAR.

Be watchful: Bring me early notice

Of ev'ry motion: Go.

[Exit Harold.

Or I muſt fall,

Or Edwin—Hence ye viſionary fears;

Ye vain chimeras hence—It is no matter:

Conſcience I heed thee not; 'tis ſelf-defence,

Nature's firſt law, and I muſt ſtand acquitted.

The prudent Siward ſeem'd to heſitate,

As if he wiſh'd, but knew not how to ſhun

The office. He who cou'd behold my tortures,

With all that cold tranquility, wou'd ne'er

Have ventur'd to remove them. But I've truſted

The ſword of vengeance to a ſafer hand.

What ho! Who waits?

Enter an OFFICER.

That ſoldier whom thou ſaw'ſt

In private conf'rence with me, is he gone

As I directed him?

OFFICER.

My Lord, even now

I ſaw him haſt'ning tow'rd the tow'r,

MORCAR.

'Tis well.

When he returns conduct him to me—Stay;

[68] If Siward comes this way, I'm not at leiſure:

I will not ſee him.

(ſtarts.)

Hark! did'ſt thou not hear

The ſolemn curfeu?

OFFICER.

No, my Lord.

MORCAR.

Not hear it!

It ſhocks my ſoul with horror—Hark! again!

Hollow and dreadful! Sure thy faculties

Are all benumb'd.

OFFICER.

Indeed, I heard it not.

MORCAR

Away, and leave me to myſelf.

[Exit Officer.

Methought

I heard a voice cry—ſtop—it is thy brother:

We lov'd each other well; our early years

Were ſpent in mutual happineſs together:

Matilda was not there—I do remember

One day, in ſportive mood, I raſhly plung'd

Into the rapid flood, which had well nigh

O'erwhelm'd me; when the brave, the gallant Edwin,

Ruſh'd in and ſav'd me—Shall I, in return,

Deſtroy my kind preſerver? Horrid thought!

Forbid it heav'n!

(pauſes.)

I am myſelf again.

All pow'rful nature! once more I am thine.

He ſhall not die—Who's there—

Enter an OFFICER.

My Oſwald! fly,

Fly to the tow'r this moment, haſte and ſave

My brother—Some baſe ruffian—

OFFICER.

If, my Lord,

You mean the noble pris'ner there, I fear

[69] It is too late: This moment as I paſs'd

The citadel, I ſaw a mangled corſe

Drawn forth by Siward's order—

MORCAR.

Slave, thou ly'ſt.

Away this moment, bring me better news

On peril of thy life.

[Exit Officer.

Who knows but heav'n,

In gracious pity, ſtill may interpoſe

And ſave me from the guilt? It is not done;

It ſhall not—muſt not be—All's quiet yet;

I have not heard the ſignal.

(The bell tolls.

Hark! he's dead:

My brother's dead—O! cover me ye ſhades

Of everlaſting night! Hide, if ye can,

A murth'rer from himſelf. Ha! ſee he comes:

His wounds are bleeding ſtill; his angry eyes

Glare full upon me. Speak—what wou'd'ſt thou have?

Matilda ſhall be thine: He ſmiles and leaves me—

(he pauſes and recovers himſelf.

'Twas but the error of my troubled ſoul.

O! guilt, guilt, guilt!

(throws himſelf down.

Here will I lay me down,

And end my days in bitterneſs and anguiſh.

Enter SIWARD.

Who's there? Ha! Siward here.

(riſes.)

Speak, murth'rer, ſpeak,

Where is my brother? Villain, thou haſt ſnar'd

My ſoul; my honour's ſtain'd, my fame deſtroy'd,

And my ſweet peace of mind is loſt for ever.

SIWARD.

Matilda will reſtore it.

MORCAR.

Never, never.

The price of blood! No: Cou'd Matilda bring

[70] The vanquiſh'd world, in dow'ry with her charms,

I wou'd not wed her. O! cou'd I recal

One haſty moment, one raſh, cruel act—

But 'twas thy ſavage hand that—

SIWARD.

I receiv'd

Your orders: 'Twas my duty to obey them.

MORCAR.

Where ſlept thy friendſhip then? Thou know'ſt deſpair

And madneſs urg'd me to it—but for thee—

Thy callous heart had never felt the pangs,

The agonies of diſappointed love;

Thou did'ſt not know Matilda—Curs'd obedience!

How often has thy inſolence oppos'd

Thy maſter and thy prince? how often dar'd

To thwart my will, and execute thy own:

But when I bade thee do a deed of horror,

And ſhed a brother's blood—thou cou'd'ſt obey me.

SIWARD.

Away! this is the trick of ſelf-deluſion,

The common cant of hypocrites, who rail

At others guilt, to mitigate their own?

I've been the mean, the ſervile inſtrument

Of thy baſe vengeance; but thou had'ſt prepar'd

Another, a low ruffian, to perform

The bloody office; I deteſt thee for it,

Deſpiſe, abhor thee.

MORCAR.

Thou wert once my friend.

SIWARD.

Henceforth I am thy foe—Thou haſt deſtroy'd

The beſt of brothers, and the beſt of men.

MORCAR.

Deſpis'd by Siward—then my cup of ſorrow

[71] Is full, indeed—But this ſhall—

(Attempts to kill himſelf, Siward wreſts the ſword from him.

Ha! diſarm'd!

But coward guilt is weak as infancy;

It was not ſo before I murder'd Edwin.

SIWARD.

The murd'rer's puniſhment ſhou'd be to live,

And ſhall be thine; thou know'ſt not half thy guilt,

Nor half thy ſorrows: I ſhall rend thy ſoul.

Prepare thee for another deeper wound;

And know that Edwin lov'd thee, in his hand,

Whilſt mine was lifted up for his deſtruction,

I found this paper, 'tis the counterpart

Of one he had diſpatch'd to William, read it

And tremble at thy complicated guilt.

MORCAR,

(taking the paper.)

What's here? He pleads my pardon with the king,

Aſcribes my frantic zeal, in Edgar's cauſe,

To ill-advis'd warmth, and recommends

His—murderer to mercy: Horrid thought!

I am the vileſt, moſt abandon'd ſlave

That e'er diſgrac'd humanity—O, Siward!

If thou haſt yet, among the dying embers

Of our long friendſhip, one remaining ſpark

Of kind compaſſion for the wretched Morcar,

Lend me thy aid to ſhake off the ſad load

Of hated life that preſſes ſore upon me.

SIWARD.

Tho' thou'rt no longer worthy of my friendſhip,

Deaf to the cries of nature, and the voice

Of holy truth, that wou'd have council'd thee

To better deeds, yet hath my fooliſh heart

Some pity for thee—After crimes, like theſe,

There is but one way left—Say, wilt thou patient wait

Till I return?

MORCAR.

[72]

I will.

SIWARD.

Remember, Morcar,

You promis'd me—I have a draught within,

Of wondrous pow'r, that in a moment lulls

The tortur'd ſoul to ſweet forgetfulneſs

Of all its woes: I'll haſte and bring it thee,

'Twill give thee reſt and peace.

[Exit Siward.

MORCAR.

I hope for ever.

But where's the loſt Matilda? who ſhall comfort

That dear unhappy maid, whom I have robb'd

Of ev'ry bliſs. O, ſave me from the ſight,

Ye pitying pow'rs!

Enter MATILDA.

She comes—diſtraction!

MATILDA.

My Lord, permit—

MORCAR.

Away—I know thee not.

MATILDA.

Not know me! 'tis the poor diſtreſs'd Matilda,

Who comes to aſk forgiveneſs for the rage

Of frantic love; the madneſs of deſpair,

That urg'd me to ſuch wrath and bitterneſs

Of keen reproach; but pardon—

(kneels)

Gen'rous Morcar,

A woman's weakneſs: Speak and make me bleſt.

Alas! he hears me not.

MORCAR.

Matilda, riſe;

I pray thee leave me—

(weeps)

MATILDA.

[73]

Gracious heav'n! he weeps;

Propitious omen! O, my Lord! thoſe tears

Are the ſoft marks of ſympathizing woe,

And ſeem to ſay, I ſhall not plead in vain.

MORCAR.

Aſk what thou wilt, for know, ſo dear I hold

Matilda's happineſs, that, here I ſwear

If all the kingdoms of the peopled earth

Were mine to give, I'd lay them at her feet:

But much I fear they wou'd not make her happy.

MATILDA.

Alas! my Lord Matilda's happineſs

Is center'd all in one dear precious jewel;

'Tis in thy keeping—Edwin—

MORCAR.

What of him?

MATILDA.

Is innocent.

MORCAR.

I know it.

MATILDA.

Juſt and good;

He never meant to injure thee, indeed

He did not.

MORCAR.

I believe it, for his nature

Was ever mild and gentle.

MATILDA.

Good, my Lord,

You mock me.

MORCAR.

No, Matilda; ſpeak, go on,

[74] And praiſe him: I cou'd talk to thee for ever

Of Edwin's virtues—

MATILDA.

Then thou wou'd'ſt not hurt

His precious life, thou wou'd'ſt not—

MORCAR.

I wou'd give

A thouſand worlds to ſave him.

MATILDA.

Wou'd'ſt thou? then

My pray'rs are heard, thou haſt forgiv'n all,

And I am happy. Speak, is Edwin free?

MORCAR.

From ev'ry care—wou'd I were half ſo bleſt!

MATILDA.

What mean you? Ha! thy eyes are fixt with horror,

Thy looks are wild. What haſt thou done? O! ſpeak.

MORCAR.

Matilda, if thou com'ſt for Edwin's life,

It is too late—for Edwin is no more.

MATILDA.

And is my Edwin ſlain?

MORCAR.

Aye: Baſely murder'd.

O! 'twas the vileſt, moſt unnat'ral deed

That ever—

MATILDA.

Blaſted be the cruel hand

That dealt the blow! O, may his guilty heart

Ne'er taſte of balmy peace, or ſweet repoſe!

MORCAR.

But ever, by the vulture conſcience, torn;

Bleed inward, ſtill unpity'd, till he ſeek

For refuge in the grave.

MATILDA.

[75]

Nor find it there.

MORCAR.

'Tis well: Thy curſes are accompliſh'd all;

I feel 'em here within—for know—'twas I.

I gave the fatal order, and my friend,

My Siward, has too faithfully perform'd it.

MATILDA.

Siward! impoſſible! There dwells not then

In human breaſt, or truth or virtue—O!

Unnat'ral brother!—but I will be calm.

MORCAR.

Alas! thy fate is happineſs to mine;

For thou art innocent.

MATILDA.

And ſoon, I hope

To be rewarded for it. O! my Edwin,

Matilda ſoon ſhall follow thee—thou think'ſt

I am unarm'd, deſerted; doom'd like thee

To hated life; but know, I have a friend,

A boſom-friend, and prompt, as thine, to enter

On any bloody ſervice I command.

(Draws a dagger.

MORCAR.

Command it then for juſtice, for revenge,

Behold! my boſom riſes to the blow;

Strike here, and end a wretched murd'rer—

MATILDA.

No;

That were a mercy thou haſt not deſerv'd;

I ſhall not ſeek revenge in Morcar's death,

In mine thou ſhalt be wretched—

(Attempts to ſtab herſelf; Morcar lays hold of the dagger.

MORCAR.

[76]

Stop, Matilda—

Stop thy raſh hand, the weight of Edwin's blood

Sits heavy on my heart. O! do not pierce it

With added guilt.

MATILDA.

No more, I muſt be gone

To meet my Edwin, who already chides

My ling'ring ſteps, and beckons me away

MORCAR.

Yet hear me! O! if penitence and pray'r,

If deep contrition, ſorrow and remorſe

Cou'd bring him back to thy deſiring eyes,

O! with what rapture wou'd I yield him now

To thee, Matilda—bear me witneſs—Ha!

(ſtarts)

'Tis he—Look up dear injur'd maid—he comes

To claim my promiſe.

MATILDA.

It is, it is my Edwin!

(Enter Siward and Edwin: Edwin runs and embraces Matilda.)

MORCAR.

O unexpected bliſs! what gracious hand—

SIWARD.

Behold the cordial draught I promis'd you!

I knew thy noble nature, when the ſtorm

Of paſſion had ſubſided, wou'd abhor

A deed ſo impious—'Tis the only time

That Siward ever did deceive his friend.

Can'ſt thou forgive?

MORCAR.

Forgive thee! O thou art

My guardian angel, ſent by gracious heav'n

To ſave me from perdition. O, my brother!

I bluſh to ſtand before thee—wilt thou take

From thſe polluted hands one precious gift?

[77] 'Twill make thee full amends for all thy wrongs.

Accept her, and be happy.

(he joins the hands of Edwin and Matilda, then turning to Siward)

That vile ſlave

Whom I employ'd—

SIWARD.

I gueſs'd his horrid purpoſe,

Watch'd ev'ry ſtep, and as the villain aim'd

His ponyard at the guiltleſs Edwin's breaſt,

Turn'd ſudden round, and plung'd it in his own.

The bloody corſe was dragg'd—

MORCAR.

I know the reſt.

O, Siward! from what weight of endleſs woe

Hath thy bleſt hand preſerv'd me!

EDWIN.

O, my Matilda! how ſhall we repay

Our noble benefactor? Much I owe

To gallant Siward, but to Morcar more:

Tou gav'ſt me life, but my kind, gen'rous brother

Enhanc'd the gift, and bleſs'd me with Matilda.

MATILDA,

(to Morcar.)

Words are too poor to thank thee as I ought;

Accept this tribute of a grateful heart,

Theſe tears of joy; and, O! may ev'ry curſe

My frantic grief for Edwin pour'd upon thee,

Be chang'd to deareſt bleſſings on thy head!

MORCAR.

Alas! thy bleſſings cannot reach me. Guilt

May plead for pardon, but can never boaſt

A claim to happineſs: I only aſk

[78] A late forgiveneſs. If a life of ſorrow,

And deep remorſe, can waſh my crimes away,

Let 'em be bury'd with me in oblivion,

And do not curſe the memory of—Morcar.

(turning to Edwin.

O, Edwin! ſay, can'ſt thou forgive the crime

Of frantic love, of madneſs and deſpair?

EDWIN.

As in my lateſt hour from heav'n I hope

Its kind indulgence for my errors paſt,

Ev'n ſo, my brother, from my ſoul I pardon

And pity thee.

MORCAR.

Then I ſhall die in peace.

EDWIN.

Talk not of death, my brother, thou muſt live

To ſee our happineſs complete, to hear

My ſweet Matilda pour forth all her heart

In rap'rous thanks to thee, and to thy friend;

And grateful Edwin bleſs thee for thy bounties.

MORCAR.

It muſt not be: I know too much already,

Of Morcar's weakneſs, and Matilda's pow'r

They are not to be truſted. No, my Edwin,

Morcar ſhall never interrupt thy joys.

Far from thy fight and from the haunts of men,

In ſome deep diſtant ſolitude retir'd,

To pious ſorrow will I dedicate

My ſhort remains of wretched life, and ſtrive

To make my peace with heav'n and wrong'd Matilda.

And if perchance in after-times ſome bard,

Struck with the native horrors of my tale,

Shou'd bid th' hiſtoric muſe record it—let him

[79] By my example teach a future age,

The dire effects of looſe, unbridled rage;

Teach thoughtleſs men their paſſions to controul,

And curb the ſallies of th'impetuous ſoul,

Leſt they experience worſe than Morcar's woe,

Nor find a Siward—to prevent the blow.

DEDICATION.
TO THE PUBLIC.

Dramatis Perſonae.

PROLOGUE.

EPILOGUE.

[] MATILDA: A TRAGEDY.^*

ACT I.

ACT II.

ACT III.

ACT IV.

ACT V.

Appendix A

DEDICATION.TO THE PUBLIC.

Dramatis Perſonae.

PROLOGUE.

EPILOGUE.

[] MATILDA: A TRAGEDY.*

ACT I.

ACT II.

ACT III.

ACT IV.

ACT V.

Appendix A

DEDICATION.
TO THE PUBLIC.

[] MATILDA: A TRAGEDY.^*