LORD RUSSEL.
[]ACT I.
SCENE I.
Bedford and Lady Margaret Ruſſel,
LADY MARGARET.
REST here, my gentle Father! nor again
Expoſe your wearied age and waſted ſpirits
To ſcenes of ſuch dread influence to ſhake
Each fibre of a heart that feels like yours!—
I pray you reſt with me!
BEDFORD.
My tender child!
Thanks to thy filial aid! my ſtrength returns,
And my reviving ſoul has gather'd force
To bear the killing ſight.—'Tis true, when firſt
I ſaw my mild and unoffending ſon,
[168] Pride of my age! and England's dear reſource
In theſe diſaſtrous days! when I beheld
My blameleſs Ruſſel at that bar arraign'd,
Where only guilt and infamy ſhould ſtand;
When I beheld each ſervile judge ſupport
A lawleſs jury baſely fram'd againſt him,
Indignant anguiſh robb'd my wounded heart
Of vital energy: quick from the court
My haſty friends hurried my ſenſeleſs frame,
To this our quiet home: but ſince, my daughter,
Thy kind endearing cares have now reſtor'd me,
I will reſume my ſtation by thy brother,
In theſe diſtreſsful moments:—to his ſide
Affection calls me, and paternal duty.
LADY MARGARET.
Forgive me, that I dare to thwart your wiſh,
But from my generous brother I've receiv'd
A kind injunction to detain your age
From that afflicting ſcene. He has engag'd
To tell us, by repeated meſſengers,
Each petty circumſtance that paſſes there.
Already from the number of his friends
He has ſelected one to bring us tidings:
His faithful Spencer comes.
[169] Enter Spencer.
BEDFORD.
What from my Son?—
The ſentence is not paſs'd!
SPENCER.
No, my dear lord.
England is yet unſullied with the ſtain
That muſt diſgrace her, if the ſword of Juſtice
Turns to the murderous dagger of Revenge,
To ſtab your virtuous ſon.—By his requeſt
I come to ſoothe your anxious ſufferings,
And to relate the proceſs of a ſcene,
Where he conjures you to appear no more.
BEDFORD.
What perjur'd ſlaves have they ſuborn'd againſt him?
How far has truth been wrong'd, and law been tortur'd,
To frame thoſe ſnares of legal death, in which
They labor to involve incautious virtue?
Have they not dealt moſt hardly with my ſon?
SPENCER.
He has experienc'd ſubtle cruelty
From venal ruffians in the robes of juſtice;
But the baſe wrong his patient worth endures,
Is the dark foil which gives the diamond luſtre.
[170] When he requeſted aid for his defence,
His keen inſidious foes, who ſtrongly fear'd
Some upright advocate might ſave their victim,
Enjoin'd him to employ a ſervant's hand.
There roſe indeed a ſervant at his ſide,
Moſt eager for the taſk; but O! what words
Can ſpeak the fond ſurprize, and thrilling anguiſh,
Which ſhook the boſom of each ſad ſpectator,
Who in that ſervant ſaw his lovely wife?
The crowd, with eyes bedimm'd by ſtarting tears
Of tendereſt admiration, gaz'd upon her,
And murmur'd kindeſt prayers, as they beheld
Connubial love, in that angelic form,
Thus firmly yielding unexpected ſuccour
To virtue ſtruggling in oppreſſion's toils.
BEDFORD.
Moſt excellent of women! worthy offspring
Of my departed friend, the good Southampton!
If Tyranny prevails againſt thy huſband,
How ſhall the wretched Bedford's feeble age
Support thy widow'd heart? I can no more
Than in ſtrict fellowſhip of bittereſt ſorrow
Echo thy groans, and mourn our mutual loſs.
LADY MARGARET.
[171]Do not, dear father, do not yield ſo ſoon
To comfortleſs deſpair!—we yet may hope
The radiant probity of Ruſſel's life
Will diſſipate each dark and dangerous cloud
That perjur'd Calumny can raiſe around him.
Remember all the candor of his mind!
Think how his temperate virtues have been prais'd
By Envy's ſelf! how to the gaze of youth
His conduct has been held up as a book,
In which all Engliſh eyes may read their duty,
And learn the faireſt path to ſpotleſs honour.
SPENCER.
If abject lawyers, and a venal jury,
Should violate the ſanctity of juſtice
By Ruſſel's condemnation, ſtill his merits
Are grav'd ſo deeply on the Nation's breaſt,
He ſtands ſo firm the idol of her love,
Oppreſſion's ſelf will fear to execute
The ſentence of the proſtituted law
Againſt a life ſo priz'd.
BEDFORD.
Alas! my friend,
When did a tyrant, like vindictive York,
[172] (For 'tis the Duke who thirſts for Ruſſel's blood)
When did a ſpirit of that ſullen temper,
Impell'd by rancorous hate, by bigot rage,
And abject terror, when did ſuch a ſpirit
Reſpect the virtue, Nature made its foe,
And treacherous Fortune gave it power to cruſh?
But tell me of the ſcene from whence you come!
Say! what has been alledg'd againſt my ſon?
I have been told the fierce and ſubtle Jefferies,
The Duke's baſe agent in this bloody buſineſs,
Relies upon the evidence of Howard,
As the ſure inſtrument of Ruſſel's death:
Unprincipled he is, and prone to utter
What intereſt and fear may bid him ſwear.
What has he ſaid? or is he yet unſummon'd?
SPENCER.
Before I left your ſon, the faithleſs Howard
Began his artful tale; but ſoon he falter'd,
With feign'd affliction of a dread event,
Which ſuddenly was rumour'd through the court,
And ſtruck the throng'd aſſembly with ſuch wonder,
Malice ſtood mute, and Perſecution paus'd.
Freſh from the Tower the tidings came, that Eſſex,
From terrors of that bar, where Ruſſel ſtood,
[173] Had with raſh violence ruſh'd out of life,
And ſtain'd his deſperate hands in his own blood.
BEDFORD.
It cannot be! the firm, the gallant Eſſex
Could never end his being ſo ignobly;
And in the moment, when his generous ſoul
Felt only for his friend; his Ruſſel's life
Yet wavering in the balance.
SPENCER.
Such, my lord,
Such is the comment of all honeſt hearts
On this dark ſtory.—Heaven reveal the murder,
And puniſh it, though in th' aſſaſſin's veins
The tainted ſtream of royal blood may flow!—
Soon as the rumour reach'd your ſon, he bade me
Attempt to penetrate this dark tranſaction,
And bring you the reſult of all I heard;
Adding, that in the inſtant of his doom,
He would diſpatch to you the noble Cavendiſh
With tidings of his ſentence.
BEDFORD.
Ah! my friend,
The fatal word, that ends his bleſſed life,
Has rung already in my tortur'd ear;
[174] For I have ſeen the venal band ſuborn'd
To purchaſe, by the ſacrifice of truth,
The blood of her mild champion. There's his guilt,
'Tis that his pure and patriotic zeal,
Guiding the voice of an enlighten'd ſenate,
Has labor'd to preſerve the throne of England
From that blood-thirſty bigot, at whoſe feet
Her laws now lie, in haſty proſtitution,
Slaves to a tyrant yet uncrown'd; converted
From ſacred guards of ſlander'd innocence,
Into baſe engines of vindictive murder.
LADY MARGARET.
Alas! my father, thou haſt judg'd too well:
Thy dreadful preſage is too ſoon confirm'd:
Behold the zealous Cavendiſh! he comes
With no quick ſtep of joyous exultation;
But in his agitated geſture ſhews
A ſettled ſorrow, and a fierce deſpair.
Enter Cavendiſh.
CAVENDISH.
I come, my lord, the wretched meſſenger
Of that accurſt event, which my weak judgment,
Not reaching the extent of human baſeneſs,
Had haſtily pronounc'd beyond the line
[175] Of poſſible injuſtice. All the crimes,
That coward Tyranny can wiſh committed,
Shall now have credit.—Ruſſel is condemn'd!
LADY MARGARET.
O mockery of juſtice!—Righteous Heaven!
Yet interpoſe to ſave him!
BEDFORD.
My kind friend,
Thou but relateſt what a father's eye
Foreſaw too clearly, when I view'd the jury,
So juſtly challeng'd by my innocent ſon,
Marſhall'd without the warrantry of law
To enſnare his life.
CAVENDISH.
Eternal infamy
Fall on the baſe aſſaſſins! chiefly fall
On thoſe ſuperior miniſters of evil,
The treacherous guardians of our trampled laws,
Who in the robes of Heaven's high delegates
Perform the work of hell! from proſtrate Juſtice
Wreſt her pure ſword, to ſtain it with the blood
Of her moſt faithful votary!
LADY MARGARET.
Yet try,
[176] Try, my dear father, ere it prove too late,
By urgent interceſſions to preſerve him!
Your friends are many, and, howe'er inflam'd
By the vile arts of ſanguinary York,
The king has ſtill a tenderneſs of heart,
That may incline to ſpare my gentle brother.
BEDFORD.
Alas! my daughter, cheriſh not too much
A hope, whoſe cruel failure will impart
New poignancy to thy too keen affliction!
All the mild virtues, which to thy pure ſenſe
Plead for thy brother's ſafety, in the ear
Of envious Hate and terrified Oppreſſion
Cry loudly for his death.
CAVENDISH.
He ſhall not die.
What! though the blood-hound Jefferies has faſten'd
His fangs upon him! though the barbarous judges
Would make the temple of inſulted Law
The ſlaughter-houſe of Tyranny!—there yet
Are means to turn the ſharpen'd axe aſide,
And ſhield the life of their devoted victim.
BEDFORD.
What would thy dauntleſs zeal?
CAVENDISH.
[177]Your gentle ſon
Has ſuch juſt credit with this injur'd nation,
For public virtue, and deſigns exempt
From every ſelfiſh bias of the ſoul,
Thouſands would throw into extremeſt hazard
Their fortunes, and their being, to preſerve
The dying martyr of defenceleſs freedom.
I hold it eaſy, in the very hour
Oppreſſion means to triumph in his blood,
With ſome ſelected horſemen to o'erpower
The ſlaves who guard him, ere they reach the ſcaffold,
And bear him ſwiftly to a ſafe retreat.
Applauding millions will aſſiſt his reſcue,
And bleſs the efforts of his brave deliverers!
BEDFORD.
No! Cavendiſh! by friendſhip's holy ties,
That prompt thy generous purpoſe, I conjure thee
To think of it no farther.
CAVENDISH.
What! my Lord,
Shall we look tamely on, and by connivance
Be made a party in this legal murder?
BEDFORD.
[178]Dear ardent friend! there are diſaſtrous times,
And this is one of them, when all the functions
True courage is allow'd to exerciſe,
Are reſignation and a brave endurance.
My word is given to thy kind thoughtful friend,
To check all deſperate ſallies of affliction,
All, that the fond intemperance of love
Could hazard for his ſafety.
CAVENDISH.
Generous Ruſſel!
By Heaven 'tis happier far to ſhare thy death,
Than live, to ſee our wretched country robb'd
Of all her hopes in thy unequall'd virtue.
BEDFORD.
To me much happier!—to a father's heart
It would be conſolation and delight
To periſh with his child; but there are duties
More painful to ſuſtain than the ſhort ſtruggle
That ends our mortal being:—and to us
Theſe duties now belong—let us remember
The truſt that he bequeaths!—his wife! his children!
'Tis ours to live for them. Remember too
His noble anſwer to the princely Monmouth,
[179] Offering to ſhare his priſon and his fate!
Did he not ſay, it would embitter death
To have his friends die with him?
CAVENDISH.
O my Lord!
Your ſorrow is of pure and heavenly temper;
Mine the fierce anguiſh of indignant frenzy:
Pray pardon it!
BEDFORD.
Pardon thee! gallant ſpirit!
Thou bright example of exalted friendſhip!
Thou haſt my love, my fondeſt admiration;
In my juſt heart thou rankeſt with my children,
And art the pillar, now my Ruſſel falls,
That my weak age muſt cling to for ſupport.
CAVENDISH.
In duty, my dear Lord, though not in merit,
You may account me your's: and pitying Heaven
May yet, in mercy to a nation's prayers,
Spare to your virtuous age your worthier ſon:
I cannot bend my ſpirit to admit
His fate inevitable: gracious Powers!
Who watch o'er ſuffering virtue, who inſpire
The proſperous deeds of chance-defying friendſhip,
[180] Aſſiſt my lab'ring and diſtracted brain,
Whoſe faculties are on the rack to find
Expedients to preſerve our country's pride,
The friend and champion of her faith and freedom,
From the baſe ſtroke of tyrannous revenge!
BEDFORD.
Vain are thoſe anxious thoughts: the vigilant eye
Of keen Oppreſſion will ſecure her victim.
The nerveleſs arm of childhood could as ſoon
Wreſt from the tiger's gripe his bleeding prey,
As we by violence deliver Ruſſel
From the vindictive York.
CAVENDISH (after a pauſe.)
I thank thee, Heaven!
The bright idea is, I feel, from thee:
And it has chas'd the darkneſs of deſpair
From my o'erclouded mind.
BEDFORD.
What means thy ardour?
CAVENDISH.
Good angels have ſuggeſted to my ſoul
A project yet to ſave him.
BEDFORD.
Name it! name it!
CAVENDISH.
[181]Your pardon, my dear lord!—accept alone
This firm aſſurance, that my new deſign
Has nought of raſh exertion to involve
A ſingle life in danger! or if one,
It muſt be mine alone; and in this criſis,
How gladly ſhall I yield my life for his,
And die triumphant in the bleſt exchange!
[Exit.
LADY MARGARET.
Brave Cavendiſh!—He's gone—Ye ſaints of heaven;
If friendſhip, like your own, deſerves your care,
Go ever with him, and from all the perils,
That wait the noble ſelf-neglecting ſpirit,
Protect him! and aſſiſt his godlike aim!
Preſerve this matchleſs pair of gallant friends,
And let them ſhine the ornament of earth!
BEDFORD.
Thou pray'ſt in vain, dear child!—this dauntleſs friend,
Tranſcendent as he is in truth and honor,
Can nought avail us: he muſt prove the dupe
Of ardent paſſions and of ſanguine virtue.
If there's a ray of glimmering hope, that yet
May faintly lead us through this night of horror,
[182] It cannot riſe from any bright endowments
In thoſe we love, but rather from the vice,
The abject vice, that glares in our oppreſſors.
Our tyrants are neceſſitous, and thirſt
For gold, as keenly as for innocent blood.
Kind fortune, haply for this great emergence,
Has made me maſter of no common wealth;
And this, with lucky art diſtributed
Among the needy minions of the king,
May purchaſe ſtill our Ruſſel's forfeit life.—
Come! my dear child, retire we to conſult
On this our ſole reſource! Thou wilt not ſcruple
To meet, and to embrace a noble poverty,
If thy loſt portion can redeem thy brother!
LADY MARGARET.
Bleſt be thy happieſt thought, my tender father!
All wealth, all good is center'd in his ſafety;
And, witneſs Heaven! my heart would freely bear
All the loath'd hardſhips of the houſeleſs vagrant,
And think them bleſſings, if they aught conduc'd
To reſcue Ruſſel from a traitor's death.
End of ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
[183]Lord and Lady Ruſſel in Priſon.
A Table with Papers, Pen, and Ink.
LADY RUSSEL.
MUST I intreat in vain?—Alas! my Ruſſel,
Where is thy ſweet compliancy of ſoul,
That made, till now, thy Rachel's voice a ſtranger
To rude and irkſome importunity?
Has life ſo little to engage thy wiſhes
Thou wilt not aſk to live?
RUSSEL.
Canſt thou, my love,
By ſo unkind a queſtion canſt thou give
Such hard conſtruction to thy Ruſſel's thoughts?
Where is there one inhabitant of earth,
If not thy huſband, who has every cauſe
To cheriſh his exiſtence?—Gracious Power!
Whoſe wiſdom regulates the lot of mortals,
I feel, and with devouteſt gratitude
[184] Bleſs thee for ſignal bounties to thy ſervant,
But moſt for this, thy beſt and deareſt gift,
This lovely virtuous woman; whom to part with
Is now my hardeſt trial: but from thee,
Dread Arbiter of every human ſcene!
(However ſtrange to man's contracted ſenſe)
This trial comes; O ſtrengthen us to bear it
With tender fortitude and meek obedience!
LADY RUSSEL.
It is our duty ſtill, and Heaven enjoins it,
To make all blameleſs efforts to preſerve
A life ſo precious: if thy rigid honor,
In pity both to me and to thy children,
Will ſtoop to write one line of ſupplication
To the all-powerful York, he will obtain
Thy inſtant pardon from the pliant king.
RUSSEL.
Thou knoweſt not th' inexorable hate
Of that blood-thirſty ſpirit.—It has pleas'd
The author of my life to let the rage
Of ruthleſs bigotry prevail againſt it:
A band of venal or miſguided men
Have doom'd me to the ſcaffold, on the plea
[185] That I have plotted to deſtroy my ſovereign,
Though Heaven and thou, who knoweſt all my ſoul,
See the baſe falſhood of the bloody charge:
But to the voice of Law, however tortur'd,
I owe a prompt obedience; nought remains
But that I meet the ſtroke of ſtern Oppreſſion
As ſuits the votary of Public Virtue.
I muſt not ſully, by a baſe ſubmiſſion,
A name yet ſpotleſs, the ſole legacy
It is allow'd me to bequeath my children.
LADY RUSSEL.
Dear as I hold thy life, which is in truth
My only anchor in this ſea of troubles,
Believe me, Ruſſel, I would rather yield,
Without a ſtruggle yield that precious life
To Perſecution's ſtroke, rather than lead,
If aught could lead, thy clear and reſolute virtue
To one baſe act of weakneſs and diſhonor.
RUSSEL.
Alas! my love, the cloud of thy affliction
Has dimm'd thy quick diſcernment; but the paper,
Which thy fond care now urges me to write,
Would darken all the ſtory of my life:
[186] I muſt not, in that ſtory's cloſing leaf,
Where Fortitude ſhould fix the ſeal of Honor,
Mar the fair record with a fearſul blot.
LADY RUSSEL.
Dear Ruſſel! exerciſe thy purer judgment;
Theſe are not ſcruples of thy manly reaſon,
But niceties of proud fantaſtic honor,
Of honor jealous to a vain exceſs.
How can the meaſure, that my love ſolicits,
Involve thee in diſgrace? Without abaſement,
Can injur'd Innocence not ſay to Power,
Give me the life, of which Iniquity
Has made thy voice the arbiter?
RUSSEL.
Thou knoweſt,
Dear inmate of my ſecret ſoul! kind prompter
Of my beſt thoughts! it has been long the aim
Of my paſt life to win my country's love;
Not by the popular arts of vain ambition,
(Which Nature never form'd me to poſſeſs)
But by inceſſant vigilance to ſhield
Our faith and freedom, by an ardent wiſh
To prove that patriot virtue, (the ſtale jeſt
[187] Of ſervile ſpirits, as an empty name)
Is an exiſting vigorous principle
In minds of Engliſh temper. I have fail'd
In the prime object that my ſoul purſued,
To ſave our pure religion and our laws
From Bigotry's encroachment; and I loſe
My life, endanger'd by that noble conflict:
But I have gain'd, and let me ſtill preſerve it!
The kind eſteem of this enlighten'd nation:
This I muſt forfeit, forfeit all the praiſe
And influence of no inglorious life,
If I become an abject ſuppliant
To that fierce zealot, from whoſe iron rod
I ſtrove to ſhelter this devoted land.
LADY RUSSEL.
No, Ruſſel; the corrupted lips of Faction
Are prone to evil: but the voice of ages,
The ſentence of the world, is firmly juſt;
And by that ſentence thou art ſure to ſtand
High on the liſt of thoſe bright characters
Immortaliz'd with pure idolatry
By Truth and Freedom; men whoſe very name
Is ſweeteſt muſic to the ear of Nature.
[188] If in a future age, when we are duſt,
Thy virtues can be queſtion'd, it muſt be
By ſycophants, who, flattering royalty,
With ſlanderous ſurmiſes would degrade
Each juſt antagoniſt of lawleſs power;
Or by thoſe yet more abject enemies,
Thoſe ſceptics of a cold ſarcaſtic ſpirit,
Who, judging from their own contracted hearts,
Poſſeſs no confidence in human virtue.
RUSSEL.
Affection over-rates thy Ruſſel's merit:
But let this fond opinion of his fame
Preclude thy vain requeſt, which, being granted,
Would but afflict thy love. Conſider well
How it would wound thy generous pride to hear
Thy lord had ſtain'd the life thou deem'ſt ſo glorious
By an ignoble eagerneſs to live.
LADY RUSSEL.
Believe me, Ruſſel, it would wound me more
To think that, deaf to all my juſt entreaties,
My huſband, careleſs of his orphan children,
With ſullen dignity threw life away,
Rather than ſtoop to ſue for the remiſſion
Of his unrighteous doom.
RUSSEL.
[189]Alas! my love,
Should I implicitly purſue the dictates
Of all thy fond ſolicitude, ſuch conduct
Would but provoke the inſult of our foes,
And could avail thee nothing.
LADY RUSSEL.
Yes, my Ruſſel,
Should the relentleſs York reject thy prayer,
In thoſe ſad years of bitterneſs and anguiſh,
When, if the will of Heaven is fix'd to part us,
My widow'd ſoul, with unabating ſorrow,
Muſt dwell upon thy image, and for ever
Repaſs in thought theſe agonizing ſcenes,
It will afford me then a faint relief,
To think my active love, in this diſtreſs,
Omitted nothing, that had duty's ſanction,
To ſnatch thee from the ſcaffold.
RUSSEL.
Lovely ſuppliant!
Thy virtuous tenderneſs has melted me;
And, though I could not purchaſe it by guilt,
Thy peace is dearer to my heart than glory.
[190] Thou ſhalt not ſay thy Ruſſel e'er refus'd
One prayer of thine:—give me again the pen
My weak diſdain rejected.
[Ruſſel writes.
LADY RUSSEL.
Bleſs thy kindneſs!
Bleſs thy prevailing love! for I perceive
How hardly it has ſtruggled, to obtain
This triumph over brave indignant pride,
Abhorring e'en the ſhadow of diſgrace.—
O thou all-powerful Spirit! who canſt make
The meaneſt implements of mortal uſe
Thy miniſters of ſafety or deſtruction;
Grant that this love-directed pen may prove
An inſtrument of gracious preſervation!
Guide thou my Ruſſel's hand!—into this paper
Pour words of heavenly potency to change
The bloody wiſh of blinded Superſtition,
And melt vindictive Rancour into mercy!
Enter Spencer.
LADY RUSSEL.
Kind Spencer! opportunely art thou come
To chear my Ruſſel's ſolitary hour,
While my keen hopes to win by ſupplication,
[191] From potent York, the pardon of my Lord,
Force me to leave him.
SPENCER.
Ill befall the heart
That melts not at the voice of ſuch a ſuppliant!
RUSSEL.
Good Spencer! thanks to that unwearied zeal
Which makes thee frequent in thy welcome viſits
To a poor captive.—There, my anxious Love!
Take what thy truth and tenderneſs have forc'd
From Ruſſel's frail and yielding reſolution:
His pliancy, I know, will meet with blame;
But thoſe who have a heart to feel thy merits,
Will bluſh at their quick cenſure, and recall it.
LADY RUSSEL.
Now let me, Ruſſel! from thy priſon fly,
Like the exploring dove, whoſe eager wing
Flew from the ark, to viſit it again
With bleſt aſſurance of ſubſiding ſtorms.
[Exit.
RUSSEL.
My worthy kinſman, when my voice is ſilenc'd,
As ſoon it will be, witneſs to the world
The tender virtues and connubial love
[192] Of that angelic woman!—And, I pray,
As gentleneſs and honor have endear'd thee
To all our houſe, do thou, my faithful Spencer,
Attend, with pitying care, my wife and father
On the dread day that ends our mortal union;
Watch them with all the vigilance of friendſhip,
And ſoothe the recent anguiſh of their grief.
SPENCER.
Heaven yet, my Lord, may ſave us from that ſcene
Of private woe and national diſtreſs.
RUSSEL.
Believe me, though I ſtoop to aſk for life,
I aſk not, thinking to obtain my ſuit;
But from the tender wiſh to mitigate
The future ſufferings of a faithful mourner,
By this compliance with her fondeſt prayer.
SPENCER.
The touching eloquence of her affliction,
Join'd to the memory of her father's merit,
That honor'd ſervant of the Crown, Southampton,
May wreſt your pardon from the ſavage heart
Of ſullen York.
RUSSEL.
Impoſſible, my friend!
[193] My life's the prey that his infatiate rage
Has keenly chas'd—he holds it in his toils,
And every proſpect of eſcape is clos'd.
SPENCER.
Yet think, my Lord, that other means of ſafety—
RUSSEL.
No, Spencer: I have thought, I truſt not vainly,
Of the chief object that my mind muſt dwell on,
How to ſuſtain the trying part to which
The will of Heaven appoints me; how to meet
The ſudden ſtroke of ignominious death,
As may become the man whoſe life has won
From this brave land obſervance and regard.—
O Spencer! when the wearied eye ſurveys
The gloomy face of Earth, the Law's abuſe,
And Freedom ſinking under ſavage Power,
The wreck of Public Virtue, the baſe arts
And treachery of her apoſtate ſons,
With all the countleſs ills that in her train
A blind and barbarous Superſtition brings;
When theſe are preſent to the guiltleſs mind,
It ſeems a fair and bleſſed fate to fly
From this dark den of miſery and vice,
To the bright preſence of divine Perfection!
SPENCER.
[194]Yet of how pure a nature are thoſe bleſſings
This earth would furniſh to your reſcued virtue!
RUSSEL.
O gentle kinſman! in my ſofter hours
My heart ſtill clings to thoſe attractive objects
Of tendereſt attachment; for this heart
Was fram'd by nature for the ſweet enjoyment
Of ſocial duties and domeſtic bliſs.
I will avow to thee, (for thy mild ſpirit
Can ſympathize in every true diſtreſs)
That when I think to what exceſs of anguiſh
I leave the worthieſt and moſt tender wife,
That with endearing innocence and love
E'er bleſt a huſband, the forbidden tear
Starts from my heart perforce, my frame is chill'd,
And ſhudders at the ſharp divorce of ſteel,
So ſoon to fall upon our chaſte affection.
SPENCER.
Yet may ye live a bleſſing to each other;
And give a bright example to mankind,
That happineſs abides with virtuous love!—
Life ſtands within your choice:—the King, who knows
[195] With what a fond reſpect and confidence
The generous people lean to the opinion
Of men ſo rooted in their hearts as you are,
Courts your acceptance of immediate pardon;
If you will but acknowledge, in his preſence,
That you believe no ſubject has a right,
However tempted, to reſiſt the Throne.
RUSSEL.
Have any of my friends ſuppos'd, that Ruſſel
Could buy exiſtence at a price like this?
SPENCER.
The worthy churchmen, who in this vile priſon
Have been your kind aſſiduous attendants,
Build on this ground ſtrong hopes;—they have ob⯑tain'd
The ſanction of your venerable father
To argue with you this important queſtion;
Believing they may lead your candid mind
To terms, which, in their cool conſiderate judgment,
Have the clear warrantry of truth and reaſon.
RUSSEL.
Good men! they are an honor to the church
For ſignal harmony of faith and practice;
[196] But haply, cramp'd by piety's nice ſcruples,
Their minds have not expanded to embrace
The mighty cauſe of Freedom.—O my friend!
I want the ſpirit-ſtirring faculty
Of eloquence, to range in bright array
The potent claims of Nature, and enliſt
In her pure ſervice all the noble paſſions
That give diſtinction to the life of man:
But gracious Heaven endow'd me with a heart
To act the upright virtuous citizen;
And meet the axe, much rather than betray
The charter'd rights of this my native land.
SPENCER.
Are you, my Lord, ſo ſettled in your thoughts
On this nice queſtion, that no arguments
May ſhake the airy fabric of opinion?
RUSSEL.
Good Spencer, thou haſt known me many years,
And for a man of plain and ſimple reaſon;
Which clearly tells me that the King's poſition,
Once granted, ſinks the free-born ſons of England
To the tame vaſſals of a Turkiſh deſpot.
My mind can frame no image of a ſtate
[197] That laws have limited, without a right
To guard thoſe limitations; and my conſcience,
That higher ſovereign, who challenges
My firſt obedience in all points of moment,
Will not permit me, by a different language,
To purchaſe life from the deluded King.
SPENCER.
With painful admiration I have heard
The ſteady dictates of your patriot virtue,
That will, with mingled agony and joy,
Confirm the preſage of your noble father.
Howe'er he liſtens, with attentive fondneſs,
To all that friendly zeal ſuggeſts to ſave you,
He knows, and glories in your firm adherence
To the dear rights of England; nor can wiſh,
Though with the ſanction of ſuch friends, to ſee you
Exchange it for the lure of forfeit life.
RUSSEL.
Although I truſt he fully knows that mind,
Which his fond cares have ſtrengthen'd and enrich'd
With its beſt powers of manly reſolution;
Yet, as ill-grounded and diſtreſſing doubts
Are natural infirmities of age,
[198] At times, perchance, my venerable father
May fear leſt the approach of violent death
Should with diſgraceful pliancy infect
The ſpirit of his ſon—I therefore pray thee
Return; aſſure him, that our pious friends
Muſt loſe their well-meant labor in debate:
My mind's unchangeable; and gracious Heaven,
As my dark fate draws nearer, gives my ſoul
New ſtrength to triumph o'er its ſhadowy terrors!
Aſſure the tender Bedford, I ſhall meet
The hour of execution as his love
Muſt wiſh, with that ſedate and chearful brow
Which ſuits the guiltleſs ſon of ſuch a father.
SPENCER.
My Lord, I will religiouſly obey you,
And on the inſtant; as I now perceive
Your chief heart-choſen friend is come to ſhare
The private converſe of your precious hours.
[Exit.
Enter CAVENDISH.
RUSSEL.
Welcome, dear Cavendiſh! my eager heart
Has panted for thy preſence, keenly wiſhing
To reſt the burthen of its cares on thee.
[199] Yet, ere I ceaſe to live, O let me take
One long farewell of him, whoſe friendſhip gave
Luſtre and value to that life which fate
Severely calls me to reſign!
CAVENDISH.
Which Love
And Friendſhip's voice command thee to preſerve.—
I come to ſave thee, Ruſſel! nor muſt loſe
One moment in the heaven-ſuggeſted plan.
RUSSEL.
Dear ſanguine friend, the fond illuſive warmth
Of thy kind heart inveſts thy eager fancy
With viſionary power.
CAVENDISH.
The fiends of hell
Shall not defeat the project my good angel
Inſpires for thy protection!—Swear thou, firſt,
By our inviolate friendſhip, and by ties
Yet ſtronger on thy heart, thy wife and children,
Swear thou wilt grant me one requeſt.
RUSSEL.
Dear Cavendiſh,
Thou wouldſt engage me in ſome haſty buſineſs,
[200] Pregnant with danger to thy generous ſelf;
Elſe had thy frank affection ne'er devis'd
A bond ſo needleſs, to the mind which holds
Requeſts from thee as ſacred as the laws
Of faith and honor:—but explain thy purpoſe.
CAVENDISH.
Here, in this happy hour of privacy,
Let us exchange our habits; ſo may'ſt thou,
Muffling thy face as in the veil of ſorrow,
Paſs unſuſpected, and elude the guard.
Two of our truſty friends are plac'd to meet thee,
And all the means of thy eſcape concerted.
Haſte, I conjure thee! while I here remain
Wrapt in thy mourning garb; but with a ſpirit
Ready to burſt into triumphant joy,
And mock the baffled malice of thy foes.
RUSSEL.
Brave Cavendiſh! 'tis hard to quit a world
That furniſhes ſuch friends; yet eaſier this,
Than by a haſty flight from death to hazard
A life I hold ſtill dearer than my own.
No, I can ne'er expoſe thy generous virtue
To that baſe fate thou urgeſt me to ſhun.
CAVENDISH.
[201]They dare not ſtrike at me; their venal juries
Have paſt no treacherous verdict on my head.
RUSSEL.
The eminence of thy exalted virtue
Would make thee their ſure victim; and perchance
The latent ruffians (ſuch I think there are)
Who robb'd the injur'd world of gallant Eſſex,
Would double, in the mind of their baſe maſter,
Their murd'rous merits by diſpatching thee.
CAVENDISH.
There is no peril; but admit the worſt,
I want not ſtrength to grapple with ſuch villains,
And wear a dagger here to puniſh them.
RUSSEL.
Friend of my inmoſt ſoul! thy generous offer
Yet cloſer draws thoſe honorable bands
That in our mortal pilgrimage have bound us
Firm to each other, and, defying death,
Will prove to us, I truſt, in brighter ſcenes,
A laſting unextinguiſhable ſource
Of pure ambition and angelic joy.
But the kind purpoſe of thy noble zeal
Thy Ruſſel muſt reject. Granting thy plan
[202] Free from all perils to thy precious life,
(And it abounds with many moſt alarming);
Flight, howſoe'er effected, would produce
Diſhonor to thy friend, as wanting truſt
In ſpotleſs innocence or manly courage.
CAVENDISH.
The tongue of Slander dares not to impeach
Thy fortitude!
RUSSEL.
Yet more: for I will lay
My ſecret ſoul before thee.—Thou haſt ſeen
How far thy friendſhip and my Rachel's love
Have power to make life lovely in my ſight;
And my kind father, whoſe declining age—
But I muſt pauſe, and check this natural burſt
Of tender gratitude.—Thou fully knoweſt
All the ſtrong ties that chain my heart to earth;
Yet I perceive theſe adamantine links,
Touch'd, without doubt, by heavenly influence,
Seem to give way; and my aſpiring ſoul
Begins to covet that ignoble fate,
Which ſhews ſo horrible in vulgar eyes!
CAVENDISH.
And canſt thou wiſh to leave us?
RUSSEL.
[203]O my friend!
Among the ſtrongeſt paſſions of my heart,
Perhaps more forcible than love and friendſhip,
From childhood I have cheriſh'd an attachment
To my brave country:—though a tranſient cloud
Now hovers o'er her, my prophetic eyes
Perceive that ſhe is deſtin'd to emerge
To happineſs and glory. Thou ſhalt live,
Dear noble friend! to view, and to aſſiſt
This bleſt event.—The death I am to ſuffer
Will more contribute, than my life could do,
To England's welfare:—in the future fabric,
Deſtin'd to ſave and to perpetuate
The ſapp'd foundations of her faith and freedom,
My blood may prove a cement; this idea
Suſtains, inſpirits, and delights my ſoul.
CAVENDISH.
Heroic Ruſſel! bright and genuine martyr
Of Liberty and Truth! if thou muſt periſh,
I yet ſhall wear, engraven on my heart,
The radiant image of thy ſignal virtues,
As a pure charm, of potency to guard
[204] The lowlieſt mind from every ſervile thought.—
Hark! ſure I heard the hated voice of York!
Dares he inſult impriſon'd innocence,
By venturing to approach it? May we not
Move farther off from that deteſted ſound?
It ſhakes my tortur'd brain, and almoſt tempts me
To ruſh at once, and from the coward breaſt
Of that apoſtate tear th' envenom'd heart
That guides the murd'rous axe againſt my Ruſſel.
RUSSEL.
Patience, dear ardent ſpirit!—Come this way;
The adjoining chamber is allotted me
For privacy and prayer. Come, to receive
The benediction of thy dying friend.
[Exeunt.
Enter York, with the Lieutenant of the Tower.
YORK.
I know ſome proud abettors of his guilt
Are plotting his eſcape; but mark, Lieutenant,
If the convicted traitor in your charge
Appear not on his ſummons to the ſcaffold,
Your life ſhall anſwer it.
LIEUTENANT.
I truſt your Highneſs
[205] Will never ſee occaſion to condemn me
For any breach or negligence of duty.
Enter Lady Ruſſel.
LADY RUSSEL.
May an unhappy mourner dare to hope
That gracious mercy guides the princely York
To Ruſſel's priſon? At your feet I fall
In my dear Lord's behalf, who in this paper
Implores your interceſſion with the King
To ſave an innocent and injur'd ſubject.
YORK.
Riſe, Madam!—Tell your Lord, that I forgive him
His bold ſeditious practices to bar
My juſt ſucceſſion to the Engliſh throne;
But my allegiance and fraternal duty
Forbid me to appear the advocate
Of one whoſe life is forfeit to the law
For plotting to deſtroy my royal brother.—
In pity to your ſufferings, I adviſe you
To waſte no fruitleſs labor in oppoſing
That ſtroke of juſtice which we all lament,
But which the ſafety of the realm requires.
[Exit.
LADY RUSSEL.
Thou ruthleſs hypocrite! thy ſullen cruelty
[206] Converts the ſwelling tear of ſupplication
To fiery ſcorn; and my prophetic ſpirit
Foreſees an hour in which thy abject ſoul,
With more than womaniſh terror, ſhall implore
That ſuccour thy hard heart denies to me.
LIEUTENANT.
O Lady! thy unmerited afflictions
Have ſeiz'd a ſtranger's boſom, and impel me
To make ſome effort to aſſiſt thy prayers.
The Duke is mercileſs, and thirſts for blood;
But pity harbours in our Sovereign's heart:
I know this very morning he has utter'd
Words of kind import to your injur'd Lord:
If, in ſome happy minute, you could throw
Your ſorrows at his feet, they muſt prevail.
He ſtill is in the precincts of the Tower;
Wait here ſome moments, and kind Heaven may teach me
To draw him this way yet, ere he rejoins
His peſtilent counſellor, the cruel Duke.
[Exit.
LADY RUSSEL.
The bleſſings of my grateful heart go with thee!
Good angels ſecond the unlook'd-for pity
Of this brave ſoldier! Grant me power to ſpeak
[207] My Ruſſel's wrongs to the miſguided King!
And thou, bleſt ſpirit of my virtuous father,
Whoſe matchleſs ſervices ſo well deſerve
The kind remembrance of a royal maſter,
Inſpire thy ſuppliant child with words to melt
The harden'd heart of Grandeur!—He approaches!—
O cruel fate! at ſight of my diſtreſs
He turns, as eager to avoid a wretch
He dares not ſuccour!—Stay, my gentle Sovereign;
Yet ſtay, yet hear the miſerable mourner
Who claims thy mercy.—Heaven! he hears my prayer;
He ſtops—he doubts—and his reverted eye
Looks kindly back. Behold, my gracious Liege!
Behold the daughter of thy lov'd Southampton
Proſtrate before thee, and yet wanting voice
To utter all the juſt and ardent prayer
Her heart addreſſes to thy clemency!
Enter the King.
KING.
Riſe, lovely mourner!—be aſſur'd I pity
Your virtuous ſufferings; and ſincerely mourn
Thoſe hard neceſſities of ſtate, whoſe force
O'er-rules the milder wiſhes of my mind
To ſpare the precious life for which you kneel.
LADY RUSSEL.
[208]If the bright cherub Mercy has inſpir'd
Your royal boſom with a wiſh to ſave him,
O let no ſubtle fiend, with baſe ſuggeſtion,
Subdue that heavenly impulſe!—ne'er was monarch
More loudly call'd, by Equity and Truth,
To the exertion of his nobleſt power,
The privilege to ſpare.—So may my ſoul
Find grace before the judgment-ſeat of Heaven,
As it is ſure my Ruſſel never harbour'd
A ſingle thought of blood, or aught of evil,
Againſt the life and welfare of his King:
Nay more, my Liege; I know his gentle virtue
Has often join'd in painful fellowſhip
With bold bad men, whom his pure heart abhorr'd,
To lead your child, the young and princely Monmouth,
From the dark paths of their pernicious counſel.
KING.
Your Lord is happy in an advocate
Of moſt perſuaſive powers: I wiſh, but dare not,
To ſtop the courſe of the offended law
Againſt the man for whom your tender virtues
Plead with ſuch fervency:—my kingdom's peace
Demands the dread completion of his ſentence;
[209] His reſcu'd life would lead triumphant Faction
To practices more daring, and diſtract
The agitated realm with civil broils.
LADY RUSSEL.
Alas! you little know the gentle ſpirit
Of my wrong'd Lord. But if his life is held
So hazardous to England's peace, my Liege,
O let him paſs the remnant of his days
Far from this troubled iſle:—his wife and children
Will guide th' obedient exile where you order;
And, if a deſert yields him life and ſafety,
Think paradiſe is there!
KING.
You touch my ſoul,
Fair ſuppliant!—Let them blame my pliant weakneſs;
I am not marble, and muſt ſhew you mercy.—
Where is my Lord of Bedford—with his ſon?
LADY RUSSEL.
No, my kind Sovereign;—ſhall I fly to ſeek him?
KING.
Bid him, with inſtant ſpeed, prepare a veſſel,
That may convey Lord Ruſſel to the coaſt
Of France or Holland, as our will directs.—
Lady, you little know what cruel bars
[210] Obſtruct the willing ſtep of royal mercy:
Kings are forc'd often to do good by ſtealth,
And ſuch is now my curſe.—But let your father
Make preparations for a ſecret flight,
And wait our pleaſure with the priſoner here.
Ere night he ſhall receive our terms of pardon,
And with them an expreſs, though private order
For the enlargement of your captive Lord.
LADY RUSSEL.
May the great Fountain of beneficence,
The King of kings, reward my gracious maſter
For this kind promiſe to his grateful ſervant!—
O my good Liege! let but your own mild ſpirit
Be your prime counſellor, to ſhut your ear
Againſt the ſubtleties of cruel zealots;
Tranquillity ſhall bleſs your ſafe dominion,
And loyalty and love ſupport your throne.—
But let me fly to my deliver'd Ruſſel
With theſe moſt happy tidings of your bounty;
And in reiterated prayers to Heaven,
For every good on my indulgent Sovereign,
Pour forth the fullneſs of my ſwelling heart!
[Exit.
KING.
How touching is her love! I envy Ruſſel
[211] Th' angelic tenderneſs of that chaſte woman.
Enter York.
YORK.
What! has the whining wife of guilty Ruſſel
Peſter'd your ear, my brother, with vain tales,
To vouch the truth of that convicted traitor?
Whoſe death muſt now be ſpeedy, to ſecure
Your kingdom's quiet, and your perſon's ſafety.
KING.
Brother, your Romiſh friends incline too much
To ſanguinary counſels—I abhor them!
What, if in pity to a virtuous woman,
In kind remembrance of her father's merits,
Friend of our exil'd youth, and beſt ſupport
Of our recover'd throne; what if I grant
Some little mercy to her urgent prayer,
And change her huſband's death to baniſhment?
YORK.
By Heaven it muſt not be!—what! when the Law,
That faithful guardian of your ſacred life,
Has paſt its ſentence on your proſtrate foe,
For baſe conſpiracy and bloody treaſon,
Falſe to yourſelf, ſhall you, in weak compaſſion
To an inſinuating woman's tears,
[212] Thus reſcue and empower Rebellion's idol
To form a ſecond more ſucceſsful plot?
KING.
Your haſty fear outruns true policy;
And this exceſs of rigor, which your prieſts
Have taught you, bodes, I think, but little good
Both to your power and mine.—You, when you chuſe,
May viſit Rome; I, brother, am too old
To enter once again on foreign travels.
YORK.
Nor may we ſuffer you to fall at home,
Through careleſs indolence, by Treaſon's dagger.
Think not I ſpeak from ancient enmity
To this inſidious Ruſſel: for myſelf,
He has my pardon for his crimes to me;
But the regard I owe your hallow'd perſon,
Leads me to preſs for his immediate death:
Before the houſe that bears his father's name,
The houſe that hid his bloody machinations,
I wiſh to ſee the murd'rous rebel die.—
But let us haſte from hence. I will aſſemble
The members of your council moſt inſtructed
In this baſe treaſon—they will clearly prove
You have but this alternative to chuſe,
[213] To execute or periſh—One muſt fall,
The traiterous convict, or the injur'd King.
End of ACT II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Lord Ruſſel writing, and attended by Spencer.
SPENCER.
QUIT, my dear Lord, your mournful preparation
For that unworthy fate, which your bleſt conſort,
Here fully prov'd our good and guardian angel,
Has happily averted.
RUSSEL.
When a life
Hangs, my good Spencer, on a prince's word,
Whoſe reſolution is the plaint ſlave
Of artifice and importunity,
Reaſon diſdains to take into account
[214] A poor poſſeſſion held on ſuch a tenure.
I can believe the King inclines to ſave me;
But know how ſoon his unreſiſting ſpirit
Yields to the voice of that vindictive zeal,
Which with inceſſant and increaſing fury
Now clamours for my blood:—I therefore hold it
The part of prudence to leave nought undone,
Which, on a ſudden ſummons to the block,
I yet might wiſh, but want the time to do.
SPENCER.
Uſeleſs (though noble) may this caution prove!
RUSSEL.
Be that as Heaven thinks beſt.—Since buſy Rumour,
In his blind haſte to catch a fleeting image,
Is apt to form a faithleſs portraiture
Of public characters, I here, my friend,
Have, as a legacy, bequeath'd the world
A true though ſimple picture of myſelf.
When I am gone, my honeſt countrymen,
Reading this paper, may with confidence
Say, Such was Ruſſel—this account of him
Being as clear from falſhood and diſguiſe
As that which, in his hour of heavenly audit,
[215] Muſt prove the ground of his eternal doom.
Here is my lateſt taſk: peruſe this letter,
Which on my death the King is to receive!
SPENCER.
It breathes that gentle magnanimity
For which your life is noted.
RUSSEL.
At the time,
The ſolemn time, when the calm ſoul prepares
For quick departure to that world of peace,
Where enmity and anger cannot dwell,
'Tis ſurely right to cloſe our earthly feuds,
And part from all men in pure charity.
Though I have never ſinn'd againſt my ſovereign,
By any deed or thought that meant him ill,
In many vain and inconſiderate hours
I yet have ſported with his name and frailties
So idly, that I hold it decent now
To crave his pardon for ſuch levities;
And, in the gentleſt language I can uſe,
To intimate, that, dying thus unjuſtly,
I pardon all promoters of my death,
The higheſt as the loweſt.
SPENCER.
[216]Ceaſe, my Lord
To dwell on dying thoughts. With eyes that ſpeak
Of life and comfort, your deliverer
Comes, to reſtore you to domeſtic bliſs.
Enter Lady Ruſſel.
LADY RUSSEL.
All, my dear reſcued Love! all is prepar'd
To aid your bleſt removal from this land
Of danger and diſſention.—To your ſight
Exile ſhall ſeem a kind familiar friend,
Conducting you to ſafety and delight;
You ſhall not feel you have a foreign home,
For all your houſe, who live but in your preſence,
Are fix'd to travel with us:—the kind Bedford
Will to the rough ſea truſt his feeble age
For your ſociety. O had you ſeen
How our dear little ones receiv'd the tidings
Of this heart-healing voyage! how they pant
To throw their eager fondling arms around you,
And welcome you again to life and joy!
Enter Bedford.
BEDFORD.
Pride of my ſoul! my dear, recover'd ſon!
[217] Again I view thee, with parental tranſport,
Snatch'd from the broken ſnares of ſhameful death
By this bleſt hand!—In vain thy ſuppliant father
Had offer'd to exchange his envied treaſures
For that ſuperior wealth, which in his heart
Outweighs all opulence:—ſullen Revenge,
Subduing Avarice, with ſcorn rejected
Thy proffer'd ranſom. Blank deſpair had ſeiz'd me;
But in the hour when human efforts fail'd,
This pitying ſeraph, in a woman's form,
Brings heavenly aid, and turns a tyrant's heart
To bleſs the trembling world with Ruſſel's life!
RUSSEL.
Dear objects of my love! I pray you check
This eagerneſs of joy; for O I feel
That it muſt prove to you the treacherous herald
Of heavier grief!—your kind exulting hope
Is a brief day of ſummer out of ſeaſon,
That, promiſing to end ſtern winter's tyranny,
Does but ſupply to his ſuſpended breath
The power to pierce more deeply:—pray be caution'd,
And with juſt foreſight arm yourſelves againſt
The certain rigor of th' inclement time.
BEDFORD.
[218]Has not the King relented, and engag'd
His royal word to ſave and ſet thee free?
RUSSEL.
Alas, my father! had his word poſſeſs'd
That ſtedfaſt ſanctity which ſhould belong
To the pure breath of princes, this fair iſle,
Who truſted in his faith, had never known
Her preſent depth of national diſgrace:
Have we not ſeen our ſovereign's promiſes
Proverbially invalid?—Here comes one
Whoſe meſſage will, I doubt not, end the queſtion.
Enter an Officer, who beckons Ruſſel, and ſpeaks to him aſide.
BEDFORD.
O my dear daughter! the high flood of hope
Sinks in my heart, and leaves a hideous void.
LADY RUSSEL.
Speak, ſpeak, my Ruſſel! is it life or death?
RUSSEL.
Patience, ſweet ſufferer!—Pray inform the ſheriff,
Although this ſhort and peremptory ſummons
Savours of cruel haſte, he ſhall not wait.
[Exit Officer.
RUSSEL.
[219]Ye, whoſe keen ſorrow has more power to ſhake
The heart of Ruſſel than th' impending axe,
By our pure love let me conjure ye now
To reconcile your grief-diſtemper'd thoughts
To Heaven's dread pleaſure; who, for ſome high purpoſe,
Permits the oppreſſive doom of innocence!—
The King has ſignified he cannot ſave me,
And I muſt die to-day.
LADY RUSSEL.
Perfidious cruelty!—
But I will fly, and by my loud complaint,
Waking dead Honor in his wither'd mind,
Force from the treacherous King his promis'd mercy.
[Exit.
BEDFORD.
I yet will make one hopeleſs effort more
To ſtop the vengeance of inſatiate York.
[Exit.
RUSSEL.
Go, ye kind beings! for the buſy love
That finds employment, though in fruitleſs labor,
Lightens the preſſure of the grief it bears.—
Thou ſeeſt, good Spencer, that my tender wife
[220] Is now ſupported by her zeal to ſave me;
But on my death, the quickneſs of her ſpirit
Will work like latent fire within her heart,
A ſlow conſumer of her waſting frame.
It is her fate that wounds me—for my own
Is but the ſhorteſt and moſt eaſy paſſage
From earthly trouble to celeſtial joy.
It is the fancy of the vulgar mind
That fooliſhly arrays the dreaded form
Of ſudden death in viſionary horrors:
Believe me, Spencer, in the month juſt paſt,
The tranſient ſickneſs of my lovely boy
Preſs'd harder on my heart, and more diſturb'd
The native calmneſs of my even ſpirit,
Than my near proſpect of the ready ſcaffold.
SPENCER.
Yet, my dear Lord, I view with awful wonder
The firm ſerenity of ſoul you ſhew
On this hard teſt of human fortitude!
RUSSEL.
Reflect, my friend, that my impriſonment
Has made the fearful image of my fate
Familiar to my thought. It is ſurprize
[221] That gives to Death his moſt appalling power;
To the clear eye of guiltleſs Contemplation
That gloomy ſpectre grows a gorgeous herald,
Whoſe trumpet ſounds the triumph of the ſoul,
And ſpeaks its entrance on the ſtage of glory.
How grand! how pregnant with delight and wonder,
Muſt be the change of ſcene from earth to heaven!—
What if a mortal, who had paſs'd his days
In the dim cavern of a noxious mine,
Worn with hard toil, where health-annoying vapours
Vext and confounded his imperfect ſenſe;
If ſuch a mortal ſuddenly were laid
On the bright ſummit of a lofty hill,
To taſte the balmy ſweetneſs of the morn,
And for the firſt time, ſee the riſing ſun
Array this fair and ſmiling earth in all
The radiant lovelineſs of form and colour!—
O Spencer! if I felt for ſelf alone,
This period, deem'd the ſaddeſt of my life,
Could only fill my mind with heavenly joy;
But for my mourning friends, and moſt for her
Whoſe faithful love has many years to weep,
My falt'ring heart—now give it ſtrength, good Heaven!
[222] For even now its hardeſt trial comes—
My Rachel, in the anguiſh of deſpair,
Returns to take a long and laſt farewell.
Enter Lady Ruſſel.
LADY RUSSEL.
Dear Ruſſel, I renounce illuſive hope!
And now muſt teach my weakneſs to ſuſtain
The heavieſt load of miſery that ever
Fell on the bleeding heart of helpleſs woman!—
The King denies thee, what the baſeſt felon
Aſks not in vain, the reſpite of a day.
Could'ſt thou believe it? he and ſavage York
Are now, like blood-hounds, come to hunt thee hence,
And drive thee to thy death! they but allow me
A few ſhort minutes, in a laſt embrace
To claſp, to bleſs, and part with thee for ever!
RUSSEL.
Then may we part as we have liv'd, my Rachel,
In the pure dignity of perfect love,
Unſtain'd by weakneſs!
LADY RUSSEL.
Do not dread my tears;
They cannot fall to melt thy manly firmneſs,
For Heaven has ſteel'd me for this awful hour.
RUSSEL.
[223]Thou dear angelic ſpirit! 'tis from thee
That I have learnt the trueſt fortitude;
A courage built upon a heavenly baſis.—
O gracious Being! who has guided us
Through fourteen years of pure domeſtic bliſs,
The beſt and rareſt of thy gifts to man,
Accept, as tribute for thy bleſſings paſt,
Our meek ſubmiſſion in this trying hour
Of thy more dreadful pleaſure!—at thy call
I yield my guiltleſs life, nor would decline
To die for having ſtruggled to preſerve
Thy pureſt worſhip in my native land.
O that my blood might quench that fatal torch
Of barbarous Superſtition, which begins
To ſhed once more its ſanguinary glare
Over this frighted iſle! Might Ruſſel prove
The laſt to periſh by oppreſſive power,
And the baſe ſentence of perverted law!—
Fall not my blood on the miſguided men
Whoſe fury ſheds it!—As I truly pardon
My ruthleſs enemies, ſo, Heaven! may'ſt thou
Take to the charge of thy heart-healing mercy
[224] This my chief care, this deareſt, laſt concern
Of my departing ſoul, this ſpotleſs woman!
LADY RUSSEL.
Let not thy fears for me, my generous Ruſſel!
Too fondly agitate thy feeling mind;
The gracious Power who bleſt us in each other,
Will not, I know, abandon utterly
An unoffending, weak, afflicted woman,
Dear to ſo pure a ſpirit, ſanctified
By the kind prayers of an expiring martyr!
RUSSEL.
My Love! I will not to thy care commend
Thy little orphans; for an angel's ſight
Cannot in tender vigilance ſurpaſs
The anxious mother, who ſurvives to ſhield
The infant pledges of our chaſte affection!
No, let me preſs a charge upon thy memory,
Where I moſt fear thy failure, thy dear ſelf;
Regard thy precious health, as the poſſeſſion
That I enjoin thee to preſerve and cheriſh.
LADY RUSSEL.
Thou guide and guardian of thy Rachel's life!
Though the dark grave muſt hide thee from my eyes,
[225] Thy gentleneſs, thy love, thy truth, thy virtues,
Will ſtill, like faithful and protecting ſpirits,
Be ever preſent to my thought, and give
My grief-dejected mind new power to rear
The little idols of my widow'd heart.
RUSSEL.
They will have all, that youth requires, in thee;
The gentle friend, the fond, yet firm director,
Whoſe ſteady kindneſs, and rever'd perfection,
Makes diſcipline delight: their minds from thine
May copy all the virtues; chiefly two,
Of prime diſtinction, Truth and Fortitude,
The pillars of all human excellence!—
I bleſs thee now for many years of fondneſs;
But moſt for that ſublimity of love,
Which has diſdain'd to make my fate more bitter
By abject vain complaints and weak'ning tears.
LADY RUSSEL.
Refrain, I pray you, from this tender praiſe;
It will o'erthrow the firmneſs you commend,
And 'waken all the woman in my boſom.
RUSSEL.
Dear Rachel! as my boy approaches manhood,
[226] Teach him to look upon his father's death
Rather as noble than unfortunate!
Tell him, that, dying by no juſt decree,
I deem'd it ſtill a happineſs that Heaven
Made me a native of this generous iſle,
Which, though now darken'd by a tranſient cloud,
Is doom'd, I truſt, to be the radiant throne
Of ſettled Liberty and ſtedfaſt Faith;
Early infuſe into his youthful ſpirit,
As the ſure ground-work of all manly virtue,
A ſenſe of civil and religious freedom;
Give to his pliant mind true Engliſh temper,
Teach him to fear no Being but his God,
And to love nothing earthly more than England.
Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
My Lord, the officers!
RUSSEL.
They ſhall not wait.
LADY RUSSEL.
Inhuman haſte!—Do thou, great God! proportion
The patience of thy ſervants in diſtreſs
To the infernal malice of their foes!
Since thy unqueſtionable will permits
[227] Such innocence to periſh on the ſcaffold,
Send the moſt ſoothing of thy heavenly ſpirits
To wait unſeen upon the dying martyr!
Take from this hideous form of Violent Death
His horrible attendants, Pain and Anguiſh!
RUSSEL.
O my kind Love! that quick undreaded ſtroke,
So ſoon to ſever this frail mortal frame,
Is but a feather's printleſs touch, compar'd
To this my deepeſt wound, which now I feel
In tearing thus my faithful heart from thine!
Each moment that we linger but increaſes
Our mutual pangs; then take in this embrace
My lateſt benediction!
LADY RUSSEL.
O, farewell!
RUSSEL.
Yet a laſt kiſs!—and for our little ones,
Bear thou to each this legacy of love!—
Now we muſt part!—Farewell!
LADY RUSSEL.
Farewell for ever!
[Exit Lady Ruſſel.
RUSSEL.
[228]Spencer! the bitterneſs of death is paſt,
And thou haſt nothing more to fear for Ruſſel!
Then quit him, thou kind friend, and be thy care
Devoted to the precious charge he leaves:
I pray attend that dear unhappy mourner;
Place her within my gentle ſiſter's arms,
And ſoothe their mutual ſorrow!—Tell my father,
I ſhould have wiſh'd to claſp his hand once more,
But that I fear'd to ſhock his feeble age.
SPENCER.
Grief, my dear Lord, denies me utterance
Of all that I would ſay!—Farewell! my tears
And prompt obedience will, I truſt, to you,
Though mute interpreters, explain my heart.
RUSSEL.
Yet ſtop!—Thy Ruſſel has now done with time,
That heavy load to fooliſh Indolence,
But active Probity's prolific treaſure!
Take then this ſmall memorial of eſteem,
This little index of the paſſing hours;
For thou haſt wiſdom to improve their value,
And I am entering on eternity.
[Giving his watch to Spencer.
[229] Stay not for thanks! follow thy weeping charge;
Haſten to her ſupport; and Heaven reward thee!
[Exit Spencer.
RUSSEL (kneeling.)
Thou only perfect and unfailing Source
Of all ſerenity, all ſtrength, all power,
In thy frail ſuppliant man! thou gracious God!
I bleſs thy mercy, which in bittereſt anguiſh
Has fortified my ſoul, and now diſpels
All fearful hurry from my even thoughts!
O comfort thou thoſe kind and tender beings,
To whom my death muſt prove a laſting wound!
Grant me to paſs my little reſidue
Of cloſing life with chearful conſtancy,
And take my willing ſpirit to thy boſom!
Enter Cavendiſh.
CAVENDISH.
Allow me, thou bleſt martyr! once again
To preſs thy hand, to bathe it with my tears,
And, in this agony of greedy ſorrow,
Catch from thy lips the laſt command of friendſhip!
RUSSEL.
My faithful Cavendiſh! I have but one,
One wiſh to utter that relates to earth;
[230] And to thy truth I truſt for its completion:
Dying, I charge thee, by the love thou beareſt
To Ruſſel's honor and our country's welfare,
Quell, in the hearts of all who may lament me,
The frantic paſſion to revenge my death!
Wilt thou be mindful of this laſt injunction?
CAVENDISH.
If I neglect one dictate of thy virtue,
May Heaven, to puniſh me, take from my ſoul
The dear remembrance of our amity!
RUSSEL.
'Tis well:—thy promiſe ends my only fear.
Farewell, my gallant, generous boſom-friend!
Farewell!—ſtill think me living in my children,
Still in their little frames embrace thy Ruſſel!
[Ruſſel departs, but after a ſhort pauſe returns.
RUSSEL.
One thing there is that yet I wiſh to ſay.
CAVENDISH.
O ſpeak! for every accent of thy voice
Pierces my breaſt, and all thy words ſhall live
Graven as laws on my retentive heart!
RUSSEL.
Friend of my youth, I have for many years
[231] Held a prime place within thy noble boſom,
And ſtudied all its rich and rare perfections,
The radiant virtues in fair order marſhall'd
Beneath the guidance of preſiding honor:
I've ſeen thee full of high and glorious thoughts
Towards this world; but pardon if I ſay,
That thy brave mind, to me, has ſeem'd to fail
In homage to the ſovereignty of Heaven.
CAVENDISH.
Thou godlike monitor! in ſuch a moment
To feel for my offences!
RUSSEL.
Do not wonder
At the calm temper of thy dying friend;
Uſe thy own ſpotleſs and exalted ſpirit
To commune more with Heaven, and thou wilt find
The bleſſed habit of conſidering
That we are acting in our Maker's eye,
Arms the unſhrinking ſoul for every ſcene.
Weigh well the powers of ſimple piety,
Make it the key-ſtone in thy arch of virtue,
And it will keep that graceful fabric firm,
Though all the ſtorms of fortune burſt upon it.
[232] Yet farther would I preſs this counſel to thee,
But time forbids me.—Once again, farewell!
Long be thy life, and crown'd with every bleſſing,
Till in its peaceful cloſe we meet in heaven!
[Exit.
CAVENDISH.
Smiling he's gone to triumph o'er Oppreſſion
By brave endurance! while my voice, ſuſpended
By anguiſh, love, and wonder, wanted power
To breathe one laſt adieu!—While yet he lives,
I cannot bear to be divided from him:
No, I will follow—I will fondly gaze
On the dear model of conſummate virtue
E'en to his lateſt moment; I will ſee
His heavenly patience meet the murd'rous axe;
I will behold his death, though in the ſight
My tortur'd eyeſtrings burſt with agony.
[Exit.
Enter York with an Officer.
YORK.
At length I have prevail'd!—the traitor dies,
Spite of the weakneſs in my wavering brother.
This is indeed an hour of exultation!
To all the friends of our true ancient faith
This public fall of her arch enemy
[233] Is a ſure omen that ſhe ſoon will riſe
In all her gorgeous pomp of elder time,
And from the turbulence of hereſy
Clear this recover'd iſle.
OFFICER.
Her faireſt hope
Lives in the ſpirit of your Highneſs' zeal.
YORK.
Yet this inſidious Ruſſel is ſo dear
To the deluded vulgar, I ſtill dread
A ſtruggle for his reſcue!—Say, my friend,
Haſt thou arrang'd our private partizans
At proper intervals to guard the ſcaffold,
And keep the gaping multitude in awe,
Thoſe ruſty knaves, who, in this factious land,
Are ever ready to engage in riot,
And hazard life for every bold impoſtor,
Or ſubtle demagogue who raves on freedom?
OFFICER.
Fear not, my Lord! the voice of loud Sedition
Will hardly dare to breathe a ſingle murmur
Upon her idol's fall.
YORK.
And haſt thou ſettled
[234] A clear ſucceſſion of immediate ſignals,
Which may, as Ruſſel drops, tranſport to me
A quick aſſurance that his head is off?
OFFICER.
Your Highneſs, in the minute of its fall,
Will be appriz'd 'tis fallen by the ſound
Of fifes now ſtation'd in this armoury.
YORK.
'Tis well; my truſty friend, I thank thy care:
I cannot reſt till I am ſatisfied
The heretic has loſt all power to hurt us.
BEDFORD (entering in extreme haſte.)
Yet pardon, yet preſerve him, princely York!
I know thy word is able to ſuſpend
The lifted axe.
YORK.
Away, thou weak old man!
BEDFORD.
Spurn not my prayer! its object is thy peace
Not leſs than mine:—by all thy trembling hopes
Of future greatneſs and ſecure dominion,
Haſte thou to ſnatch him from impending fate!
If, in theſe moments of extreme deſpair,
Thy pity ſaves my ſon, thou wilt appear
[235] As the bright delegate of heavenly mercy!
[The fifes ſound.
YORK.
Away! the ſound thou heareſt is a ſignal
That the juſt rigor of the law has fallen
Upon his finiſh'd life.
BEDFORD.
O my loſt child!—
But he is happy in the fellowſhip
Of ſaints, who to his higher purity
Pay bleſſed homage—his deliver'd ſpirit
Gives a new impulſe to my lifeleſs heart:
His ſufferings all are ended; but this hour,
Which ſees them cloſe, for thee, relentleſs York!
Beholds a train of dark calamities,
The ſpreading offspring of thy cruelty,
Riſe into being!
YORK.
Go, retire, old man,
And heal thy ſhatter'd mind: I have not leiſure
To hear the ravings of diſtracted age.
[Exit York, with the Officer.
BEDFORD.
'Tis not the frenzy of a weak old man
[236] That now proclaims thy fate, inhuman bigot,
Ruſhing through guiltleſs blood to thy deſtruction!
It is the ſpirit of my angel ſon!
He for a moment leaves the heavenly choir,
(Whoſe ready harps ſhall uſher him to glory)
To drown a father's anguiſh in this viſion
Of ſoul-poſſeſſing preſcience!—yes, 'tis he
Who now preſents to my aſtoniſh'd eye
Theſe crowding images!—I ſee thee now,
Inſatiate York! inveſted with that crown
For which thy barbarous ambition panted;
I ſee it fall from thy unkingly head,
Shaking with fear's vile palſy!—in thy terror
I ſee thee ſue, imperious, abject ſpirit!
To the inſulted Bedford, but in vain.
Thy power, that higheſt truſt of Heaven, abus'd,
Paſſes from thee! The cruel blood-ſtain'd tyrant
Wanders a wretched exile! This wrong'd iſland
Emerges from the darkneſs of Oppreſſion!—
Hail, ſcenes of triumph to all Engliſh hearts!
Hail, thou bright feſtival of ſettled Freedom!
I ſee and bleſs thy firm eſtabliſhment.
And hark! the juſtice of a patriot king,
[237] Uniting with a grateful nation's voice,
Turns the baſe ſentence of my murder'd Ruſſel
To a fair record of ſoul-ſoothing honor,
And hails me glorious in my matchleſs ſon!
Enter Cavendiſh.
CAVENDISH.
'Tis paſt, my Lord! I have beheld him ſeal
A life of virtue with a death of glory!
BEDFORD.
And thou canſt tell me, dying, he appear'd,
E'en as he liv'd, a model to mankind!
CAVENDISH.
Never did martyr with more lovely grace
Part from a world unworthy to poſſeſs him!
To the ſurrounding crowd he mildly ſpoke
A few ſhort words of pardon to his foes,
With fervent benediction to his country;
Commending to the hearts of all who heard him,
A love of peace and purified religion;
Then with a chearful readineſs invited
The ſtroke of death! I ſaw the unhappy man,
Who with a trembling arm lifted the axe
O'er his unſhaken victim, in his tremor
[238] Meaſuring the neck to ſtrike his even blow;
I ſaw him raze the ſkin! and in that moment
The cheek of Ruſſel held its native hue
Unblanc'd with fear!—it was a ſight to turn
The grief of friendſhip to idolatry!
And your paternal ſorrow into pride!
BEDFORD.
Dear Cavendiſh! I will not wound his ſpirit,
His gallant ſpirit, by unmanly mourning:
No, I have pride, ſuch pride as Heaven approves;
Nor would I now exchange my murder'd Ruſſel
For any living ſon in Chriſtendom!
CAVENDISH.
Bleſs this fond firmneſs of the Engliſh father!
It penetrates and chears my aching heart.—
Come, my dear Lord, let us retire from hence,
To ſoothe yet fonder ſorrow, weeping now
In ſcenes which he has hallow'd by his care,
In his paſt days of ſocial happineſs:
There let us ſit, and ſtill with ſad delight
Talk o'er his numerous virtues: they ſhall be
The theme of every tongue! and, ages hence,
Still fix the love of every Engliſh ſpirit!
[239] Then, if the voice of Learning would compare
What rich Antiquity and Modern Time
Have ſeen of public virtue, while the hand
Of Glory juſtly in her balance throws
The gather'd worthies of the Pagan world,
England ſhall boaſt her own ſuperior wealth,
And poiſe the rival ſcale with Ruſſel's name!