A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Two/Ethwald - Part Second Act 4
ACT IV.
An apartment in the royal castle or chief residence of Ethwald. Dwina and several of the Ladies serving the Queen are discovered at work; some spinning, some winding coloured yarns for the loom, and some embroidering after a rude fashion.
Dwi. (looking over the First Lady's work.)
How speeds thy work? The queen is now impatient;
Thou must be diligent.
First Lad. Nine weary months have I, thou knowest well,
O'er this spread garment bent, and yet, thou seest,
The half is scarcely done. I lack assistance.
Dwi. And so thou dost, but yet in the wide realm
None can be found but such as lack the skill
For such assistance. All those mingled colours,
And mazy circles, and strange carved spots,
Look, in good sooth, as tho' the stuff were strew'd
With rich and curious things: tho' much I fear,
To tell you what, no easy task would prove.
Sec. Lad. There lives a dame in Kent, I have been told
Come from some foreign land, if that indeed
She be no devil dress'd in woman's garb,
Who, with her needle, can most cunningly
The true and perfect semblance of real flowers,
With stalk and leaves, as fairly fashion out
As if upon a summer bank they grew.
First Lad. Ay, ay! no doubt! thou hear'st strange tales, I ween.
Didst thou not tell us how, in foreign lands
Full far from this, the nice and lazy dames
Do set foul worms to spin their silken yarn?
Ha, ha!(they all laugh.)
Sec. Lad. (angrily.) I did not say so.
First Lad. Nay, nay, but thou didst! (laughing.)
Sec. Lad. Thou didst mistake me wilfully, in spite,
Malicious as thou art!
Dwi. I pray you wrangle not! when ladies work
They should tell pleasant tales or sweetly sing,
Not quarrel rudely, thus, like villain's wives.
Sing me, I pray you, the sweet song I love.
You know it well: let all all your voices join.
Omnes. We will, good Dwina.
SONG.
Wake a while and pleasant be,
Gentle voice of melody.
Say, sweet carol, who are they
Who cheerly greet the rising day?
Little birds in leafy bower;
Swallows twitt'ring on the tower;
Larks upon the light air born;
Hunters rous'd with shrilly horn;
The woodman whistling on his way;
The new-wak'd child at early play,
Who barefoot prints the dewy green,
Winking to the sunny sheen;
And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair,
And blythly doth her daily task prepare.
Say, sweet carol, who are they
Who welcome in the ev'ning grey?
The housewife trim and merry lout,
Who sit the blazing fire about;
The sage a conning o'er his book;
The tired wight, in rushy nook,
Who half asleep, but faintly hears
The gossip's tale hum in his ears;
The loosen'd steed in grassy stall;
The Thanies feasting in the hall;
But most of all the maid of cheerful soul,
Who fills her peaceful warriour's flowing bowl.
Well hast thou said! and thanks to thee.
Voice of gentle melody!
Dwi. (to Third Lady, who sits sad and pensive.)
What is the matter, Ella? Thy sweet voice
Was wont to join the song.
Ella. Ah, woe is me! within these castle walls;
Under this very tower in which we are,
There be those, Dwina, who no sounds do hear
But the chill winds that o'er their dungeons howl;
Or the still tinkling of the water-drops
Falling from their dank roofs, in dull succession,
Like the death watch at sick men's beds. Alas!
Whilst you sing cheerly thus, I think of them.
Dwi. Ay, many a diff'rent lot of joy and grief;
Within a little compass may be found.
Under one roof the woeful and the gay
Do oft abide; on the same pillow rest.
And yet, if I may rightly judge, the king
Has but small joy above his wretched thralls.
Last night I listen'd to his restless steps,
As oft he paced his chamber to and fro,
Right o'er my head! and I did hear him utter
Such heavy groans!
I've heard it whisper'd, at the dead of night
He sees strange things.
All. (speaking together.) O tell us, Dwina! tell us!
Dwi. Out on you all! you hear such foolish tales!
He is himself the ghost that walks the night,
And cannot rest.
Ella. Belike he is devising in his mind
How he shall punish those poor prisoners,
Who were in Hereulf's towered halls so lately
Surpriz'd, and in these hollow vaults confined.
First Lad. No marvel that it should disturb him much,
When his own brother is amongst the guilty.
There will be bloody doings soon, I trow!
Dwi. Into the hands of good and pious Hexulf
The rebels will be put, so to be punish'd
As he in holy zeal shall see it meet.
Ella. Then they will dearly suffer!
Dwi. That holy man no tortures will devise.
Ella. Yes, so perchance, no tortures of the flesh;
But there be those that do upon the soul
The rack and pincer's work.
Is he not grandson to that vengeful chief,
Who, with the death-axe lifted o'er his head,
Kept his imprison'd foe a live-long night,
Nor, till the second cock had crow'd the morn,
Dealt him the clemency of death? Full well
He is his child I know!
Dwi. What aileth thee? art thou bewitched also?
Lamentest thou that cursed heretics
Are put in good men's power? The sharpest punishment
O'er-reaches not their crime.
Ella. O Dwina, Dwina! thou hast watch'd by me
When on a sick-bed laid, and held my head,
And kindly wept to see my wasted cheek,
And lov'st thou cruelty? It cannot be!
Dwi. No, foolish maiden! mercy to such fiends
Were cruelty.
Ella. Such fiends! Alas! do not they look like men?
Do they not to their needful brethren do
The kindly deeds of men? Ethelbert did
Within his halls a houseless Thane maintain,
Whose substance had been spent in base attempts
To work his ruin.
Dwi. The blackest devils of all most saintly forms
Oft wear. Go, go! thou strangely art deluded.
I tremble for thee! get thee hence and pray,
If that the wicked pity of thy heart
May be forgiven thee.
Enter a Lady eagerly.
In slow procession holy Hexulf walks,
With saintly Woggarwolfe, once a fierce chief,
But now a cowled priest of marv'llous grace.
They bear some holy relics to the queen,
Which, near the royal couch with blessings laid,
Will to the king his wonted rest restore.
Come, meet them on their way and get a blessing.
Dwi. We will all gladly go.(Exeunt.
SCENE II. A royal apartment, lighted only by the moon thro' the high arched windows. Enter Ethwald as if just risen from bed, loose and disordered, but bearing a drawn sword in his hand.
Ethw. Still must this heavy closeness thus oppress me?
Will no fresh stream of air breathe on my brow,
And ruffle for a while this stilly gloom?
O night, when good men rest, and infants sleep!
Thou art to me no season of repose,
But a fear'd time of waking more intense,
Of life more keen, of misery more palpable.
My rest must be when the broad sun doth glare;
When armour rings and men walk to and fro;
Like a tir'd hound stretch'd in the busy hall,
I needs must lie; night will not cradle me.
(looking up anxiously to the windows.)
What, looks the moon still thro' that lofty arch?
Will't ne'er be morn?
If that again in strength
I led mine army on the bold career
So surely shapen in my fancy's eye,
I might again have joy; but in these towers,
Around, beneath me, hateful dungeons yawn,
In everyone of which some being lives
To curse me. Yea, Selred and Ethelbert,
My father's son and my youth's oracle,
Ye too are found with those, who raise to heaven
The prisoner's prayer against my hated head.
I am a lofty tree of growth too great
For its thin soil, from whose wide rooted fangs
The very rocks and earth that foster'd it
Do rend and fall away.—I stand alone!
I stand alone! I thought, alas! to spread
My wide protecting boughs o'er my youth's friends;
But they, like pois'nous brushwood at my root,
Have chok'd my stately growth e'en more than all.
(musing for some time gloomily.)
How marr'd and stinted hath my greatness been!
What am I now of that which long ere now
I hop'd to be? O! it doth make me mad
To think of this! By hell it shall not be!
I would cut off this arm and cast it from me
For vultures meat, if it did let or hinder
Its nobler fellow.
Yes, they shall die! I to my fortunes height
Will rear my lofty head, and stand alone,
Fearless of storm or tempest.
(turns round his head upon hearing a noise, and seeing Elburga enter at the bottom of the stage with a lamp in her hand, like one risen from bed, he starts back and gazes wildly upon her.)
If thou indeed art aught of living kind.
Elb. Why didst thou start? Dost thou not know me?
Ethw. No;
Thy shadow seem'd to me a crested youth.
Elb. And with that trusty weapon in thy grasp.
Which thou, of late, e'en on thy nightly couch
Hast sheathless kept, fearest thou living man?
Ethw. It was not living man I fear'd.
Elb. What then?
Last night when open burst your chamber door
With the rude blast, which it is wont to do,
You gaz'd upon it with such fearful looks
Of fix'd expectancy, as one, in truth,
Looks for the ent'ring of some dreadful thing.
Have you seen aught?
Ethw. Get to thy couch. Thinkst thou I will be question'd?
Elb. (putting her hand upon his shoulder soothingly.)
Nay, be not thus uncourtly! thou shalt tell me.
Ethw. (shaking her off impatiently.)
Be not a fool! get thee to sleep, I say!
What dost thou here?
Elb. That which, in truth, degrades my royal birth,
And therefore should be chid; servilely soothing
The fretful moods of one, who new to greatness,
Feels its unweildy robe sit on his shoulders
Constrain'd and gallingly.
Which with its other baubles I have snatch'd,
Dar'st thou to front me thus? Thy foolish pride,
Like the mock loftiness of mimick greatness,
Makes us contemned in the public eye,
And my tight rule more hateful. Get thee hence;
And be with hooded nuns a gorgeous saint,
For know, thou lackest meekness for a queen.
(Elb. seems much alarmed, but at the same time walks from him with great assumed haughtiness, and exit.)
Ethw. (alone.) This woman racks me to the very pitch!
Where I should look for gentle tenderness,
There find I heartless pride. Ah! there was one
Who would have sooth'd my troubles! there was one
Who would have cheer'dBut wherefore think I now?
(pausing thoughtfully.)
Elburga has of late been to my will
More pliant, oft assuming gentle looks:
What may this mean? under this alter'd guise
What treach'ry lurks?(pausing again for some time.)
And yet it should not be:
Her greatness must upon my fortune hang,
And this she knows full well. I've been rough with her.
Some have, from habit and united interest,
Amidst the wreck of other human ties,
The stedfast duty of a wife retain'd,
E'en where no early love or soft endearments
The bands have knit. Yes; I have been too rough.
(calling to her off the stage.)
Elburga! dost thou hear me, gentle wife?
And thou com'st at my bidding: this is kindly.
Enter Elburga humbled.
Elb. You have been stern, my Lord, You think belike
That I have urged you in my zeal too far
To give those rebel chieftains up to Hexulf,
As best agreeing with the former ties
That bound you to those base ungrateful men,
And with the nature of their chiefest crime,
Foul heresy; but, if in this I err,
Zeal for your safety urged me to offend.
Ethw. I've been too stern with thee, but heed it not.
And in that matter thou hast urged so strongly,
But that I much mistrust his cruelty,
I would resign those miserable men
To Hexulf's vengeful arm; for much he does
Public opinion guide, and e'en to us,
If now provok'd, might prove a dang'rous foe.
Elb. Mistrust him not; he will by oath engage
To use no torture.
Ethw. And yet, methinks, Selred might still be saved.
A holy man might well devise the means
To save a brother.
Elb. He will think of it.
Much do the soldiers the bold courage prize,
And simple plainness of his honest mind;
To slay him might be dangerous.
Ethw. Ha! is it so? They've prais'd him much of late?
Elb. Yes, he has grown into their favour greatly.
Ethw. The changeful fools! I do remember well
They shouted loudly o'er his paltry gift,
Because so simply giv'n, when my rich spoils
Seem'd little priz'd. I like not this. 'Twere well
He were remov'd. We will consider this.
Elb. Come to your chamber then.
Ethw. No, no! into that dark oppressive den
Of horrid thoughts I'll not return,
Elb. Not so!
I've trimm'd the smold'ring fire, and by your couch
The holy things are laid: return and fear not.
Ethw. I thank thy kindness; I, indeed, have need
Of holy things, if that a stained soul
May kindred hold with such.(Exeunt.
SCENE III. A vaulted prison. Hereulf, Selred, and Three Thanes of their party, are discovered walking gloomily and silently up and down.
First Thane. (to the Second, who groans heavily.)
Ah! wherefore, noble partner, art thou thus?
We are all brothers, equal in misfortune;
Let us endure it nobly!
Sec. Th. Ay, so I would, but it o'ercometh me.
E'en this same night, in my far distant home
Fires shall blaze on my towers, to guide my steps
Thro' woody dells which I shall pass no more.
E'en on this night I promis'd to return.
First Th. Yet bear it up, and do not dash us thus;
We have all pleasant homes as well as thou,
To which I fear we shall no more return.
Third Th. Within yon deep recess, upon his knees;
Just now I saw him, and I turn'd aside,
Knowing the modest nature of his worship.
(Enter Ethelbert from the recess, slowly advancing from the bottom of the stage.)
A smiling calmness rests, like one whose mind
Hath high communion held with blessed souls.
Her. (to Eth.) Where hast thou been, brave Ethelbert? Ah! now
Full well I see! thy countenance declares.
Didst thou remember us? A good man's prayers
Will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height,
And bring a blessing down.
Eth. Ye are all men, who with undaunted hearts.
Most nobly have contended for the right;
Your recompence is sure; ye shall be bless'd.
Sec. Th. How bless'd? With what assurance of the mind
Hast thou pray'd for us? Tell us truly, Ethelbert;
As those about to die, or those who yet
Shall for a term this earthly state retain?
Such strong impress'd ideas oft foreshew
Th' event to follow.
Eth. Man, ever eager to foresee his doom,
With such conceits his fancy fondly flatters,
And I too much have given my mind to this;
But let us now, like soldiers on the watch,
Put our soul's armour on, alike prepared
For all a soldier's warfare brings. In heav'n
He sits, who on the inward war of souls
Looks down, as one beholds a well-fought field,
And nobly will reward the brave man's struggle.
(raising his clasped hands fervently.)
O let him now behold what his weak creatures,
With many cares and fears of nature weak,
Firmly relying on his righteous rule,
Will suffer cheerfully! Be ye prepared!
Her. We are prepared: what say ye, noble colleagues?
First Th. If that I here a bloody death must meet,
And in some nook unbless'd, far from the tombs
Of all mine honour'd race, these bones be laid,
I do submit me to the will of heaven.
Third Th. E'en so do I in deep submission bow.
Sec. Th. If that no more within my op'ning gates
My children and my wife shall e'er again
Greet my return, or this chill'd frame again
E'er feel the kindly warmth of home, so be it!
His blessed will be done who ruleth all!
Her. If these nerv'd arms, full in the strength of youth,
Must rot i' the earth, and all my glorious hopes
To free this land, with which high beat this heart,
Must be cut off i' th' midst, I bow my spirit
To its Almighty Lord; I murmur not.
Yet, O that it had been permitted me
To have contended in that noble cause!
Low must I sleep in an unnoted grave,
Whilst the oppressor of my native country
Riots in brave men's blood!
Eth. Peace, noble boy! he will not riot long.
They shall arise, who for that noble cause,
With better fortune, not with firmer hearts
Than we to th' work have yoked, will bravely strive.
To future heroes shall our names be known;
And in our graves of turf we shall be bless'd.
Her. Well then, I'm satisfied: I'll smile in death;
Yea, proudly will I smile! it wounds me not.
Eth. How, Selred? thou alone art silent here:
To heaven's high wall what off'ring makest thou?
Sel. Nothing, good Ethelbert. What can a man,
Little enriched with the mind's rare treasure,
And of th' unrighteous turmoil of this world
Right weary grown, to his great Maker offer?
Yet I can die as meekly as ye will,
Albeit of his regard it is unworthy.
Eth. Give me thy hand, brave man! Well hast thou said!
In truth thy off'ring far outprizes all;
Rich in humility. Come, valiant friends;
It makes my breast beat high to see you thus,
For fortunes' worst prepar'd with quiet minds.
I'll sit me down awhile; come gather round me,
And, for a little space, the time beguile
With the free use and interchange of thought:
Of that which no stern tyrant can controul.
(they all sit down on the ground.)
Her. (to Eth.) Nay, on my folded mantle do thou sit.
Eth. I thank thee, but I feel no cold. My children!
We do but want, methinks, a blazing fire,
To make us thus a friendly chosen circle
For converse met. Then we belike would talk
Of sprites, and magic power, and marv'llous things,
That shorten the long hours; now let us talk
Of things that do th' inquiring mind of man
With nobler wonder fill; that state unseen,
With all its varied mansions of delight,
To which the virtuous go, when like a dream
Smote by the beams of op'ning day, this life
With all its shadowy forms, fades into nothing.
First Th. Ay, Ethelbert, thou'rt full of sacred lore;
Talk thou of this and we will gladly hear thee.
How think'st thou we shall feel, when like a nestling,
Burst from its shell, we wake to this new day?
Eth. Why e'en, methinks, like to the very thing
To which, good Thane, thou hast compared us:
For here we are but nestlings, and I trow,
Pent up i'the dark we are. When that shall open
Which human eye hath ne'er beheld, nor mind
To human body link'd, hath e'er conceiv'd;
Grand, awful, lovely.—O what form of words
Will body out my thoughts!—I'll hold my peace.
(covers his head with his hand and is silent for a moment.)
Has mimick'd forth a sad and gloomy tale,
We shall these worthless weeds of flesh cast off,
And be the children of our father's house.
Her. (eagerly.) But what say'st thou of those who doff these weeds
To clothe themselves in flames and endless woe?
Eth. Peace to thee! what have we to do with this?
Let it be veil'd in night!
Her. Nay, nay, good Ethelbert!
I fain would know what foul oppression earns;
And please my fancy with the after doom
Of tyrants, such as him beneath whose fangs
Our wretched country bleeds. They shall be cursed:
O say how deeply!
Eth. Hereulf, the spirit of him thou call'st thy master,
Who died for guilty men, breathes not in thee.
Dost thou rejoice that aught of human kind
Shall be accursed?
Her. (starting up.) If not within the fiery gulph of woe
His doom be cast, there is no power above!
Eth. For shame, young man! this ill beseems thy state:
Sit down and I will tell thee of this Ethwald.
Sel. (rising up greatly agitated.)
O no! I pray thee do not talk of him!
The blood of Mollo has been Mercia's curse.
Eth. Sit down; I crave it of you both; sit down,
And wear within your breasts a manlier spirit.
(pointing to Her. to sit close by him.)
Nay here, my son, and let me take thy hand.
Thus by my side, in his fair op'ning youth,
Full oft has Ethwald sat and heard me talk,
With, as I well believe, a heart inclin'd,
Tho' somewhat dash'd with shades of darker hue,
To truth and kindly deeds.
But from this mixed seed of good and ill
One baleful plant in dark strength rais'd its head,
O'ertopping all the rest; which fav'ring circumstance
Did nourish to a growth so monstrous,
That underneath its wide and noxious shade
Died all the native plants of feebler stem.
O I have wept for him, as I have lain
On my still midnight couch! I try'd to save him,
But ev'ry means against its end recoil'd.
Good Selred, thou rememb'rest well that night
When to the Female Druid's awful cave
I led thy brother.
Sel. I remember well.
(all the Thanes speaking at once eagerly.)
Ay, what of that? We've heard strange tales of it?
Eth. At my request the Arch Sister there receiv'd him;
And tho' she promis'd me she would unfold
Such things as might a bold ambitious mind
Scare from its wishes, she, unweetingly,
Did but the more inflame them.
Her. Ha! what say'st thou?
Did she not shew the form of things to come
By fix'd decrees, unsubject to her will?
Eth. She shew'd him things, indeed, most wonderful;
Whether by human arts to us unknown,
Or magic, or the aid of powerful spirits
Call'd forth, I wot not. Hark! I hear a noise.
First Th. I hear without the tread of many feet.
They pull our dungeon's bars: ha, see who come!
Wear they not ruffian's brows?
Sec. Th. And follow'd still by more: a numerous crew.
What is their bus'ness here?
(Enter a band of armed men, accompanied by Two Priests, and carrying with them a block, an axe, and a large sheet or curtain, &c.)
Eth. Do not the axe and block born by those slaves
Tell thee their errand? But we'll face them bravely.
They do not come upon us unawares;
We are prepar'd.—Let us take hands, my friends!
Let us united stand, a worthy band
Of girded trav'llers, ready to depart
Unto a land unknown but yet undreaded.
(they all take hands, facing about, and waiting the approach of the men with a steady countenance.)
First Pr. Why look you on us thus with lowering brows?
Can linked hands the keen edg'd steel resist?
Her. No, Priest, but linked hearts can bid defiance
To the barb'd lightning, if so arm'd withal
Thou didst encounter us. Quick do thine office!
Here be six brave heads for thee, who ne'er yet
Have meanly bow'd themselves to living wight.
First Pr. You are too forward, youth: less will suffice:
One of those guilty heads beneath our axe
Must fall, the rest shall live. So wills our chief.
Lots shall decide our victim: in this urn
(with a malicious smile.)
Put forth your hands, brave chiefs; put forth your hands;
And he who draws the sable lot of death,
Full speedy be his doom!
(A long pause; the chiefs still look upon one another, none of them offering to step forward to the urn.)
Doth but one death contain and many lives,
And shrink ye from it, brave and valiant Thanes?
Then lots shall first be cast, who shall the first
Thrust in his hand into this pot of terrors.
Eth. (stepping forth.) No, thou rude servant of a gentle master,
Doing disgrace to thy much honour'd garb,
This shall not be: I am the eldest chief,
And I of right should stand the foremost here.
(putting his hand into the urn.)
What heaven appoints me welcome!
Sel. (putting in his hand.)
I am the next; heaven send me what it lists!
First Th. (putting in his hand.)
Here also let me take. If that the race
Of noble Cormac shall be sunk in night,
How small a thing determines!
Sec. Th. (putting in his hand.)
On which shall fix my grasp? (hesitating) or this? or this?
No cursed thing! whatever thou art I'll have thee.
First Pr. Direct thy hand more steadily, good Thane,
And fear not thou wilt miss it.(to Hereulf.)
Now, youthful chief, one lot remains for thee.
(Hereulf pauses for a moment, and his countenance betrays perturbation, when Ethelbert steps forth again.)
Eth. No, this young chieftain's lot belongs to me;
He shall not draw, (putting in his hand quickly and taking out the last lot.)
Now, Priest, the lots are finish'd.
First Pr. Well, open then your fates.
(they each open their lots, whilst Hereulf stands looking eagerly in their faces as they open them)
Sec. Th. (opening his and then holding up his hands in extacy.)
Wife, children, home! I am a living man!
First Th. (having opened his.)
I number still with those who breathe the air,
And look upon the light! blest heaven so wills it.
Third Th. (looking at his joyfully.)
Fate is with me! the race of Cormac lives!
Sel. No, Hereulf.
Her. Oh, Ethelbert! thou smil'st on me! alas!
It is a dismal smile! thou art the victim!
Thou shalt not die; the lot of right is mine.
A shade of human weakness cross'd my soul,
Such as before, not in the horrid fields
Of crimson slaughter did I ever feel;
But it is past; now I can bravely die,
And I will have my right.
Eth. (pushing him affectionately away.)
Away, my son! It is as it should be.
Her. O if thou wilt entreat me as a man,
Nor slur me with contempt! I do beseech thee
Upon my bended knee! (kneeling.) O if thou diest,
I of all living things most wretched am!
Eth. Be temperate, my son! thou art reserv'd
For that which the warm strength of active youth
Can best perform. O take him from me, friends!
(the Thanes take Hereulf forcibly from clinging round Ethelbert, and he then assuming a softened solemnity.)
A noble warfare; I am call'd away;
Let me in kind and true affection leave you.
Thanes. (speaking together.) Alas, thou art our father and our friend!
Alas, that thou should'st meet this dismal end!
Eth. Ay, true indeed, it is a dismal end
To mortal feeling; yet within my breast
Blest hope and love, and heaven-ward confidence,
With human frailty so combined are,
That I do feel a wild and trembling pleasure.
Even on this awful verge, methinks I go,
Like a chid infant, from his passing term
Of short disgrace, back to his father's presence.
(holding up his hands with a dignified exultation.)
I feel an awful joy!—Farewel, my friends!
Selred, we've fought in many a field together,
And still as brothers been; take thou, I pray,
This token of my love. And thou, good Wolfere,
I've ever priz'd thy worth, wear thou this ring.
(to the other two chiefs, giving them also tokens)
And you, brave chiefs, I've ever loved you both,
And now, my noble Hereulf,
Of all the youth to whom my soul e'er knit,
As with a parent's love, in the good cause,
Thee have I found most fervent and most firm;
Be thine my sword, which in my native hall,
Hung o'er my noble father's arms thou'lt find,
And be it in thy hands what well thou know'st
It would have been in mine. Farewel, my friends!
God bless you all!
(They all crowd about him, some kissing his hands, some taking hold of his clothes, except Hereulf, who starting away from him, throws himself upon the ground in an agony of grief. Ethelbert lifts up his eyes and his hands as if he were muttering a silent blessing over them.)
First Pr. This may not be! down with those impious hands!
Dar'st thou, foul heretick, before the face
Of hallow'd men, thus mutter prayers accurst?
Eth. Doth this offend you?—O it makes me feel
A spirit for this awful hour unmeet,
When I do think on you, ye hypocrites!
First Pr. Come, come! we waste our time, the heads-man waits.
(to Eth.) Prepare thee for the block.
Eth. And will you in the sight of these my friends
Your bloody task perform? Let them retire.
First Pr. Nay, nay, that may not be: our pious Hexulf
Has given his orders.
Sec. Pr. O be not so cruel!
Tho' he has order'd so, yet, ne'ertheless,
We may suspend this veil, and from their eyes
The horrid sight conceal.
First Pr. Then be it so; I grant it.
(A large cloth or curtain is suspended upon the points of two spears, held up by spearmen, concealing the block and executioner, &c. from the Thanes.)
First Pr. (to the men behind the curtain, after a pause.)
Are ye ready?
(Voices behind.) Yes, we are ready now. (to Eth.)
And thou?
Eth. God be my strength! I'm ready also.
Now do'ff his garment and undo his vest,
Fie on it, there! assist the prisoner.
Sec. Voice. Let some one hold his hands.
Third Voice. Do ye that office. (a pause of some length.)
Voice again. Heads-man, let fall thy blow, he gives the sign.
(The axe is seen lifted up above the curtain, and the sound of the stroke is heard.)
Thanes. (shrinking involuntarily, and all speaking at once.)
The stroke of death is given!
(The Spearmen let fall the curtain, and the body of Ethelbert is discovered upon the ground, with a cloth over it, whilst his head is held up by the Executioner, but seen very indistinctly through the spears and pikes of the surrounding Soldiers. The Thanes start back and avert their faces.)
First Pr. (coming forward.)
Rebellious Thanes, ye see a deed of justice.
Here rest ye, and another day of life
Enjoy together: at this hour to-morrow
We'll visit you, and then, by lot determin'd.
Another head must fail. So wills the king.
First Th. What words are these?
Sec. Th. Do thine ears catch their sense?
Third Th. I cannot tell thee; mine confus'dly sound.
First Pr. (raising his voise louder.)
To-morrow at this hour we'll visit you,
And here again, selected by the lot,
Another head must fall. Till then, farewel!
Another day of life enjoy securely:
Much happiness be with you,
(An involuntary groan bursts from the Thanes, and Hereulf, starting furiously from the ground, clenches his hands in a menacing posture as the Priests and Spearmen, &c. retire. The scene closes.*[1])
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
- ↑ * Should this play ever have the honour of being represented upon any stage, a scene of this kind, in which so many inferior actors would be put into situations requiring the expression of strong passion, might be a disadvantage to it; I should, therefore, recommend having the front of the stage on which the Thanes are, during the last part of the scene, thrown into deep shade, and the light only to come across the back-ground at the bottom of the stage: this would give to the whole a greater solemnity; and by this means no expression of countenance, but only that of gesture, would be required of them.