# A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Two/Ethwald - Part Second Act 5

ACT V.
SCENE I. An open space on the walls of the castle. Enter Alwy and Hexulf talking as they enter with violent gesture.
Hex. (with angry vehemence.)
Escap'd say'st thou, with all the rebel chiefs?
Hereulf escap'd? th' arch fiend himself hath done it,
If what thou say'st be true.—It is impossible
Say'st thou they are escap'd?
Alwy. In very truth they are.
Hex. Then damned treachery has aided them!
Alwy. Nay rather say, thy artful cruelty
Arm'd them with that which to the weakly frame
Lends a nerv'd giant's strength; despair. From out
The thick and massy wall, now somewhat loose
And jagged grown with time, cemented heaps,
Which scarce two teams of oxen could have mov’d,
They've torn, and found a passage to the moat.
What did it signify in what dire form
Death frown'd upon them, so as they had died?
Hex. Who can foresee events? As well as thou
I would that one swift stroke had slain them all
Rather than this had been. But Ethelbert
And Selred are secur'd. Was it not Selred
Who on the second night our victim fell?
Alwy. It was, but better had it been for us
Had they been left alive: had they been still
In their own castles unmolested left.
For like a wounded serpent, who, aloft,
The surgy volumes of his mangled length
In agony the more terrific rears
Against his enemy, this maimed compact
Will from thy stroke but the more fiercely rise,
Now fiery Hereulf is their daring leader.
And what have we to look for?
Hex. Dire bloody vengeance.—O some damned traitor
Hath done this work! it could not else have been!
Alwy. Well, do thou find him out then, if thou canst,
And let thy vengeance fall where lies the sin.
Hex. Doth the king know of this?
Alwy. He doth not yet.
Hex. Then must he be inform'd without delay.
Alwy. As quickly as you please, if that you please
To take that office on yourself, good father;
But as for me, I must right plainly say
I will not venture it; no faith! of late
The frame and temper of king Ethwald's mind
Is chang'd. He ever was in former times
Cheerful, collected, sanguine, for all turns
Of fate prepar'd, like a fair ample lake,
Whose breast receives the azure hue of heaven,
And sparkles gaily in the breezy noon;
But now, like a swoln flood whose course has been
O'er dark opposing rocks and rugged shelves; Whose turbid waters wear the sullen shade
Of dark o'erhanging banks, and all enchaf'd
Round ev'ry little pebble fiercely roars, Boiling in foamy circles, his chaf'd spirit
Can bear th' encounter of no adverse thing
To his stern will oppos'd. I may not tell him.
Hex. Be not so fearful! art thou not a man
Us'd to the sudden turns of great men's humours? Thou best can do it, Alwy.(soothingly.)
Alwy. Nay, father, better will it suit your age And rev'rend state. And he has need, I ween,
Of ghostly counsel too: night after night
He rises from his tossing sleepless couch,
Oft wildly staring round the vacant chamber,
As if his fancy peopled the dark void
With horrid shapes. The queen hath told me this.
Come, look to it, for something must be done.
Hex. I will accompany your homeward steps,
Whilst we consider of it.(Exeunt.
SCENE II. A royal apartment, and a Servant discovered busily employed in lighting it up. Enter to him another Servant.
Sec. Serv. Wilt thou ne'er finish lighting these grim walls?
Will not those lamps suffice?
First Serv. No, by my faith, we want as many more;
For still, thou see'st, that pillar'd corner's dark,
(pointing to a gloomy recess on the other side of the stage.)
Might fearful things espy. I am commanded
To lighten each apartment of this tower
To noon-day pitch.
Sec. Serv. Ay, Uthbert, these are fearful bloody times!
Ethwald, God knows, has on his conscience laid
A weight of cruel deeds: the executioner
Works for him now in the grim holds of death, Instead of armed warriours in the field;
And now men steal abroad in twilight's gloom,
To talk of fearful things, not by the blaze
Of cheerful fires, in peaceful cottage, heap'd
With sparkling faggots from the winter store.
First Serv. Ay, thou say'st well; it is a fearful time;
No marvel Ethwald should not love the dark, In which his fancy shapes out fearful things.
Sec. Serv. What, dost thou think it is his fancy's shapes
He looks upon? No, no: trust me, good friend, Night and the darkness are inhabited
By those who move near neighbours to the living;
Close by their very sides, yet unperceiv'd
By all, but those whose eyes unveiled are
By heavenly power, in mercy or in wrath:
Such proofs of this I've heard.—Last night thou know'st
The king's grooms, sleeping near him as they're wont
In the adjoining chamber, were much scar'd
With fearful sounds.
First Serv. I know it not—Who was it told it thee?
At midnight was it? (eagerly.)
Sec. Serv. Yes, come with me to Baldwick, he will tell thee;
He heard it all: thou wilt return in time
To finish, here, thy task. We'll have a horn
Of foaming ale, and thou shalt hear it all.
Good foaming ale: mercy upon us all!
We live in fearful times! (listening.)
First Serv. (listening also.) What shall I do?
I hear the king's voice, speaking angrily, And coming hitherward. What shall I do?
Shall I remain and face him? nay good faith!
I'll shun the storm: he is engag'd, perchance, Too much to notice my unfinish'd task.
(Exeunt hastily.
Enter Ethwald talking angrily to a noble Thane.
Ethw. Nay, nay, these are excuses, noble Edmar,
Not reasons; all our northern troops ere now
Might have been ready for the field. 'Tis plain Such backwardness from disaffection springs.
Look to it well:—if with this waining moon, He and his followers have not join'd our standard,
I'll hold him as a traitor.
Thane. My royal Lord, be not so wroth with him,
Nor let your noble mind to dark suspicion
So quickly yield. This is the season still,
When unbraced warriours on the rushy floor
Stretch them in pleasing sloth; list'ning to tales
Of ancient crones, or merry harpers lays, And batt'ning on the housewifes' gusty cheer:
Spring has not yet so temper'd the chill sky
That men will change their warm and shelt'ring roofs
For its cold canopy.
Ethw. O foul befal their gluttony and sloth!
Fie on't! there is no season to the brave
For war unfit. With this moon's waining light,
I will, with those who dare their king to follow,
My northern march begin.
Thane. Then faith, my Lord,
I much suspect your army will be small.
And what advantage may you well expect
From all this haste? E'en three weeks later, still
You will surprise the foe but ill prepar'd
To oppose invasion. Do then, gracious king,
Listen to friendly counsel, and the while,
Within these walls where ev'ry pleasure courts you,
Like a magnificent and royal king,
Your princely home enjoy.
Ethw. Out on it man, thou know'st not what thou say'st!
Home hath he none who once becomes a king! Behind the pillar'd masses of his halls
The dagger'd traitor lurks; his vaulted roofs
Do nightly echo to the whisper'd vows
Of those who curse him; at his costly board
With grinning smile the damned pois'ner sits;
Yea, e'en the void recesses of his chamber, Void tho' they be unto all eyes but his,
Are peopled———(stopping short.)
Thane. (eagerly.) Good, my Lord! what do you mean?
Ethw. In the confusion of tumultuous war,
'Midst the terrific shouts of closing foes, And trampling steeds, and din of bick'ring arms;
Where dying warriours groan unheard, and things
Horrid to nature are as tho' they were not,
Unwail'd, unheeded:
Where the rough chance of each contentious day
Blots out all irksome mem'ry of the past, All fear of that to follow: where like herds
Of savage beasts, on the bleak mountain's side,
Drench'd with the rain, the weary warriours lie,
Whilst nightly tempests howling o'er their heads
Lull them to rest; there is my home, good Thane.
Thane. No marvel then, my Lord, if to the field
You turn your eager thoughts! I only fear
Your royal arms will in Northumberland
Find no contention worthy of their force;
For rumour says, the northern prince is gone
With his best troops against the Scottish king.
Ethw. If this be true, it is unto my fortune
Most fair occasion; master of the north
I soon shall be, and on the west again
Pour like a torrent, big with gather'd strength.
Who told thee this? it breaks upon me, friend,
Like brightening sunbeams thwart a lowring sky.
Thane. A northern villain brought to me the tale, And told with circumstances of good credit.
Ethw. Run thou and find him out; I'll wait thee here;
I must have more assurance of this matter.
Quickly my worthy Edmar!(Exit Thane.
(alone.) If that this rumour bears a true report,
Th' opposing rocks on which my rising tide
So long has beat, before me now give way,
And thro' the breach my onward waves shall roll
To the wide limits of their destin'd reach.
Full day, altho' tempestuous it may prove, Now breaks on me! now come the glorious height, And the proud front, and the full grasp of power!
Fly gloomy thoughts, and hideous fantasies,
Back to the sprites that sent you! England's king
Behind him casts the fears of Mercia's lord.
The north subdued, then stretching to the west
In fearful shade (turning his eyes away hastily from it.)
No; I saw nothing: shall I thus be moved
Mark'd with its grisly wounds, e'en as before.
Ho; who waits there? Hugon I say, ho Hugon!
Gome to me! quickly come!
Enter a Groom of his chamber.
Groom. Save you, my royal Lord! What is your pleasure?
Are you in pain? Your voice did sound, methought
With strange unnat'ral strength.
Eth. Bring me lights here.
Groom, A hundred lamps would scarce suffice, I ween,
To light this spacious chamber.
Ethw. Then let a thousand do it; must I still
In ev'ry shady corner of my house
See hideous——quickly go and do my bidding.
Why star'st thou round thee thus? dost thou see aught?
Groom. No, nothing. (looking round fearfully.)
Ethw. Thou need'st not look; 'tis nothing; fancy oft
Deceives the eye with strange and flitting things.
Regard it not but, quickly bring more lamps.
Groom. Nay, good my Lord, shall I remain with you,
And call my fellow?
Ethw. (angrily.) Do as thou art commanded.
(Exit Groom. This man perceives the weakness of my mind.
Am I, indeed, the warlike king of Mercia?
(Re-enter two Grooms with lamps which they place in the recess. Ethwald, not venturing to look on it again till the lights are placed, now turns round to it, and seems relieved.)
Begone. (Exeunt Grooms But that I would not to those fools
Betray the shameful secret of my mind,
I fain would call them back.
What are these horrours?
A fearful visitation of a time, That will o'erpass? O might I so believe it!
Edmar, methinks, ere this might be return'd: I'll wait for him no more: I'll go myself
Ha! they are there again!
E'en in the very door-way do they front me! Still foremost Ethelbert and Selred tower
With their new sever'd necks, and fix on me
Their death-strain'd eye-balls: and behind them frowns
The murder'd youth, and Oswal's scepter'd ghost:
Whilst seen, as if half fading into air,
The pale distracted maid shews her faint form.
Thrice in this very form and order seen
They have before me stood. What may it mean?
I've heard that shapes like these will to the utterance
Of human voice give back articulate sound, And, having so adjured been, depart.
(stretching out both his hands, and clenching them resolutely.)
But empty semblance of the form ye wear; If aught ye be that can to human voice
Real audience give, and a real sense receive
Of that on which your fix'd and hollow eyes
So stern and fix'dly glare; I do conjure you
Depart from me, and come again no more!
From me depart! Full well those ghastly wounds
Have been return'd into this tortur'd breast:
O drive me not unto the horrid brink
Of dire distraction!
Speak Ethelbert! O speak, if voice thou hast! Tell me what sacrifice can soothe your spirits;
Can still the unquiet sleepers of the grave:
For this most horrid visitation is
Beyond endurance of the boldest mind,
In flesh and blood enrob'd.— It takes no heed, But fix'dly glares upon me as before. I speak to empty air: it can be nothing.
Is it not some delusion of the eyes?
(rubbing his eyes very hard, and rousing himself.)
Plain as at first. I cannot suffer this!
(runs to the lamps, and, taking one in each hand, rushes forward in despair to the doorway.)
Resolv'd to nothing!
Enter Hexulf and Alwy.
Welcome you are, most welcome!
Alwy. Thanks to you, good my Lord! but on my life
This holy bishop and myself are come
Unwillingly, with most untoward tidings.
Ethw. Well, use not many words; what now befals?
Hex. The rebel Hereulf and his thralled mates
Have, with more strength than human hands may own,
For that the holy church——
Ethw. Well, well, what meanest thou?
And what should follow this?
Alwy. They've broke their prison walls and are escap'd.
Ethw. I am glad on't! be it so! In faith I'm glad!
We have shed blood enough.
Alwy. Nay, but my Lord, unto their towers of strength
They will return; where bruiting abroad
Their piteous tale, as 'nighted travellers
To the false plainings of some water fiend, All men will turn to them; nor can your troops In safety now begin their northern march
With such fell foes behind them.
Ethw. (roused.) Ay, thou say'st true; it is a damned let!
Here falls another rock to bar my way.
But I will on! Come let us instantly
Set out, and foil them ere they gather strength.
Alwy. This would be well, but that within these walls
Some of their faithful friends are still confin'd, Who in your absence might disturbance breed, As but a feeble guard can now be spar'd
To hold the castle. How shall this be settled?
Shall we confine them in the stronger vaults?
Ethw. (fiercely.) No, no! I'll have no more imprisonments!
Let them be slain; yea all; even to a man!
This is no time for weak uncertain deeds, Saw you not Edmar as you hither came?
Alwy. We saw him with a stranger much engaged,
By a faint lamp, near to the eastern tower.
Ethw. Then follow me, and let us find him out.
Hex. We follow you, my Lord.
My house is like a faintly mooned cave, And hateful shadows cross each murky aisle.
(Exeunt, Alwy bearing a light.
SCENE III. The evening: a wood with a view of Ethwald's castle seen thro' the trees. Enter Hereulf, disguised like a country hind: enter to him, by another path, a Thane, disguised also.
Her. Welcome, my friend! art thou the first to join me?
This as I guess should be th' appointed time:
For o'er our heads have pass'd on homeward wing
Dark flights of rooks and daws and flocking birds, Wheeling aloft with wild dissonant screams;
Whilst from each hollow glen and river's bed
Rose the white curling mist, and softly stole
Up the dark wooded banks. And yet, methinks,
The deeper shades of ev'ning come not after,
As they are wont, but day is lengthen'd out
Most strangely.
Thane. See'st thou those paly streams of shiv'ring light
So widely spread along the northern sky? They to the twilight grey that brightness lend
At which thou wonderest. Look up, I pray thee!
Her. (turning and looking up.)
What may it mean? it is a beauteous light.
Thane. In truth I know not. Many a time have I
On hill and heath beheld the changeful face
Of awful night; I've seen the moving stars
Shoot rapidly athwart the sombre sky, Red fiery meteors in the welkin blaze, And sheeted lightnings gleam, but ne'er before
Saw I a sight like this. It is belike
Some sign portentous of our coming fate:
Had we not better pause and con a while
This daring scene, ere yet it be too late?
Her. No, by this brave man's sword! not for an hour
Will I the glorious vengeful deed delay,
Tho' heaven's high dome were flaming o'er my head
And earth beneath me shook. If it be aught
Portentous, it must come from higher powers; For demons ride but on the lower clouds,
Or raise their whirlwinds in the nether air.
Every good spirit still must favour those
Who war on virtue's side: therefore, I say,
Let us march boldly to the glorious work:
It is a sign foretelling Ethwald's fall.
Now for our valiant friends, they must be near.
Ho! holla, ho!
(Enter by different paths in the wood, the other Chiefs, disguised, and gather round Hereulf, he receiving them joyfully.)
And ev'ry valiant soul, together leagued
In this bold enterprise. Well are we met.
So far we prosper; and my glowing heart
Tells me our daring shall be nobly crown'd.
Now move we cheerly on our way: behold
Those frowning towers, where, ere the morning watch,
That shall be done, for which, e'en in our graves, Full many a gen'rous Mercian, yet unborn, Shall bless our honour'd names.
Chiefs. (speaking altogether.) We follow you, brave Hereulf.
First Chief. Ay, with true heart, or good or ill betide, We'll follow you.
Her. Come on, brave men! ere this our trusty friend,
With fifty chosen men, at the north gate
Attends our signal. Come ye gen'rous few;
Ye who have groan'd in the foul dungeon's gloom,
Whose generous bosoms have indignant heav'd
To see free men beneath th' oppressor's yoke
Like base-born villains press'd! Now comes the hour
Of virtuous vengeance: on our side in secret
Beats ev'ry Mercian heart: the tyrant now
Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber
The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend
He now dare trust, but shall not guard it long.
Follow my steps, and do the gen'rous deeds
Of valiant freemen: heaven is on our side.
(Exeunt.
SCENE IV. An open space within the walls of the castle, fronting one of the gates: the stage darkened, and the sky lighted up with the aurora borealis, very bright. Enter by opposite sides Two Officers of the castle.
First Off. Ha! is it thee, my friend?
Thou'st left thy post, I guess, as well as I,
To view this awful sky. Look over head, Where like a mighty dome, from whose bright centre
Shoot forth those quiv'ring rays of vivid light,
Moving with rapid change on every side,
Swifter than flitting thought, the heavens appear; Whilst o'er the west in paler brightness gleam
Full many a widely undulating tide
Of silver light; and the dark lowring east,
Like to a bloody mantle stretched out,
Seems to conceal behind its awful shade
Some dread commotion of the heavenly powers,
Soon to break forth—some grand and unknown thing.
Second Off. It is awful sight! what may it mean?
Doth it not woes and bloody strife foretel?
I've heard my father talk of things like this.—
When the king's passing sickness shall be gone,
Which has detain'd him from his purpos'd march
Against the rebel chiefs, doubt not, my friend,
We shall have bloody work.
First Off. Ay, but ere that, mayhap, the man of blood
May bleed; and Mercia from the tyrant's grasp—
Second Off. Hush, hush! thou art unwise? some list'ning ear——
First Off. And if there should, what danger? all men now
Harbour such secret thoughts; and those who once
His youthful valour lov'd and warlike feats, Now loath his cruelty. I'll tell thee something—
(drawing nearer him mysteriously.)
Second Off. (frightened.) Hush, hush! I will not hear thee! hold thy tongue!
What will't avail, when on the bloody stake
Thy head is fix'd, that all men think as thou dost,
And he who fix'd thy cruel doom to-day
Shall die to-morrow?
First Off. I'm mute, my friend: and now I see full plainly
How he may lord it o'er a prostrate land, Who trembles in his iron tower the while, With but a surly mastiff for his friend.
Second Off. Nay, do not speak so loud. What men are these
Who pass the gate just now? shall we not stop them?
(Enter some of the leagued Chiefs in disguise thro' the gate.)
First Off. No, do not trouble them. They are, I guess,
Some 'nighted rustics frighten'd with the sky, Who seek the shelter of man's habitation.
In such an awful hour men croud together, As gath'ring sea-fowl flock before a storm.
With such a welkin blazing o'er our heads,
Shall men each other vex? e'en let them pass.
(Enter a crowd of frightened Women and Children.)
Second Off. See what a crowd of women this way come,
With crying children clinging to their knees, And infants in their arms! How now, good matrons?
Where do you run?
First Wom. O do not stop us! to Saint Alban's shrine
We run: there will we kneel and lift our hands, For that his holy goodness may protect us
In this most awful hour.
Sec. Wom. On, sisters, on!
The fiery welkin rages o'er our heads, And we are sinful souls: O quickly move!
(Exeunt Women and Children.)
Sec. Offi. I also am, alack! a sinful soul:
I'll follow them and pray for mercy too.
First Offi. I'll to the northern wall, from whence the heavens
In full expanse are seen.(Exeunt severally.
SCENE V. Ethwald's apartment: he is discovered sitting by his couch, with his elbows resting upon his knees, and supporting his head hetween both his hands; the Queen standing by him.
Qu. Why sit you thus, my Lord? it is not well:
It wears your strength; will you not go to bed?
(a pause, and he makes no answer.)
These nightly watchings much retard your cure:
Be then advis'd!(a pause, and he still takes no notice.)
Why are you thus unwilling?
The tower is barr'd, and all things are secure.
Ethw. How goes the hour? is it the second watch?
Qu. No; near the window now, I heard the guard
Exchange the word; the first is but half spent.
Ethw. And does the fearful night still lie before me
In all its hideous length? (rising up with emotion.)
O ye successive terms of gloomy quiet!
Over my mind ye pass, like rolling waves
Of dense oppression; whilst deep underneath
Lye all its noble powers and faculties
O'erwhelm'd. If such dark shades must henceforth cross
My checker'd life with still returning horrours,
O let me rest in the foul reptile's hole, And take from me the being of a man!
Qu. Too much thou givest way to racking thought:
Take this; it is a draught by cunning skill
Compounded curiously, and by strong charms
With secret virtue fill'd; it soothes the mind, And gives the body rest. (offering him a cup.)
Ethw. Say'st thou? then in good sooth I've need of it,
I thank thee too; thou art a careful wife.
(takes the cup, and, as he is about to put it to his lips, stops short and looks suspiciously at her.)
Taste it thyself: dost thou not take my meaning?
Do thou first drink of it.
Qu. I am in health, my Lord, and need it not.
Ethw. By the dread powers of darkness thou shalt drink it!
Ay, to the very dregs!
Qu. What, would you cast on me such vile suspicions,
And treat a royal princess like your slave?
Ethw. And so thou art. Thou rear'st thy stately neck, And, whilst I list, thou flarest in men's eyes
A gorgeous queen; but unto me thou art——
I do command thee, drink it to the dregs.
Qu. (subdued, and lifting the cup to her lips.)
Then be convinced how wrongful are thy thoughts.
Ethw. (preventing her.) Forbear, I am too slightly mov'd to anger,
I should have known the support of thy state
Is all too closely with my fortune link'd.
Give me the cup. Thou say'st it soothes the mind?
If I, indeed, could rest—(tastes it.) It tastes not well;
It is a bitter drug.
Qu. Then give it me again: I'll hie to Dwina, And get from her that which shall make it sweet.
(she walks to the door of another apartment, but as she is about to go out, Ethwald hurries after her and catches her by the arm)
Ethw. Thou shalt not go and leave me thus alone.
Qu. I'll soon return again, and all around thee
Is light as noon-day.
Ethw. Nay, nay, good wife! it rises now before me
In the full blaze of light.
Qu. Ha! what mean'st thou?
Ethw. The faint and shadowy forms,
That in obscurity were wont to rise
In sad array, are with the darkness fled.
But what avails the light? for now, since sickness
Has press'd upon my soul, in my lone moments,
E'en in the full light of my torch-clad walls,
A horrid spectre rises to my sight, Close by my side, and plain and palpable,
In all good seeming and close circumstance, As man meets man.
Qu. Mercy upon us! What form does it wear?
Ethw. My murder'd brother's form.
He stands close by my side: his ghastly head
Shakes horridly upon its sever'd neck
As if new from the heads-man's stroke: it moves
Still as I move; and when I look upon it,
It looks—No, no! I can no utt'rance find
To tell thee how it looks on me again.
Qu. Yet, fear not now: I shall not long be absent;
And thou may'st hear my footsteps all the while,
It is so short a space.(Exit Queen.
Ethw. (returning to the middle of the stage.) I'll fix my stedfast eyes upon the ground,
And turn to other things my tutor'd thoughts
The horrid sense that preludes still its coming.
Enter Queen in haste.
Qu. Has it come again?
Ethw. No, but I felt upon my pausing soul
The sure and horrid sense of its approach.
Hadst thou not quickly come, it had ere now
Been frowning by my side. The cup, the cup.
(drinks eagerly.)
Qu. Heaven grant thee peace! Wilt thou not send unto the holy priest,
To give thee ghostly comfort?
Qu. Let not your noble spirit be thus shent!
Still bear good heart! these charmed drugs full soon
Will make you strong and vig'rous as before;
And in the rough sport of your northern war
You will forget these dreadful fantasies.
Could do the high deeds of a warlike king;
And what a glorious field now opens to me!
But oh this cursed bar! this ill-timed sickness!
It keeps me back ev'n like a bitted steed.
But it was ever thus! What have avail'd
My crimes, and cares, and blood, and iron toil?
Qu. What have avail'd! art thou not king of Mercia?
Ethw. Ay, ay, Elburga! 'tis enough for thee
To tower in senseless state and be a queen; But to th' expanded and aspiring soul, To be but still the thing it long has been
Is misery, e'en tho' enthron'd it were
Under the cope of high imperial state.
O cursed hindrance! blasting fiends breathe on me. Putt'st thou not something in thy damned drugs
That doth retard my cure? I might ere this
With cased limbs have strode the clanging field, And been myself again.—Hark! some one comes.
(listening with alarm.)
Qu. Be not disturb'd, it is your faithful groom
Who brings the watch-dog; all things are secure.
Ethw. Nay, but I heard the sound of other feet. (running to the door and pushing in a great bar.) Say, who art thou without?
Ethw. (to Queen.) Didst thou not hear the sound of other feet?
Qu. No, only his; your mind is too suspicious.
Ethw. I in his countenance have mark'd of late
That which I like not: were this dreary night
But once o'ermaster'd, he shall watch no more.
(opens the door suspiciously, and enters an armed man leading in a great watch-dog: the door is shut again hastily, and the bar replaced.)
Thou only dost remain on whom my mind
Can surely trust. I'll have more dogs so train'd.
(looking stedfastly at the Groom.)
Thy face is pale: thou hast a haggard look:
Where hast thou been? (seizing him by the neck.)
Answer me quickly! Say, where hast thou been?
Gr. Looking upon the broad and fearful sky.
Qu. What sayest thou?
Gr. The heavens are all a flaming o'er our heads,
And fiery spears are shiv'ring thro' the air.
Ethw. Hast thou seen this?
Gr. Ay, by our holy saint!
Qu. It is some prodigy, dark and portentous.
Gr. A red and bloody mantle seems outstretch'd
O'er the wide welkin, and——
Ethw. Peace, damned fool!
Tell me no more: be to thy post withdrawn.
(Exit Groom by a small side door, leading the dog with him.)
Ethw. (to himself, after musing for some time.)
Heaven warring o'er my head! there is in this
Some fearful thing betoken'd.
If that, in truth, the awful term is come;
The fearful bound'ry of my mortal reach; O'er which I must into those regions pass
Of horrour and despair, to take my place
With those, who do their blood earn'd crowns exchange
For ruddy circles of devouring fire; where hopeless woe,
And cursing rage, and gnashing agony,
Writhe in the dens of torment; where things be,
Yet never imaged in the thoughts of man,
Dark, horrible, unknown————
I'll mantle o'er my head and think no more.
(covers his head with his cloak, and sinks down upon the couch.)
Qu. Nay, rather stretch you on the fleecy bed.
Ethw. Rest if thou canst, I do not hinder thee.
Qu. Then truly I will try to sleep an hour;
I am o'erspent and weary. (leans on the couch.)
Ethw. (hastily uncovering his face.)
Thou must not sleep: watch with me and be silent:
Qu. I hear them too.
Ethw. Ha! dost thou also hear it?
Then it is real. (listening.) I hear the clash of arms.
Ho, guard! come forth.
Re-enter Groom.
Go rouse my faithful dog:
Dark treason is upon us.
Gr. (disappearing and then re-entering.)
He sleeps so sound, my Lord, I cannot rouse him.
Ethw. Then, villain, I'm betray’d! thou hast betray'd me!
But set thy brawny strength against that door,
And bar them out; if thou but seem'st to flinch, This sword is in thy heart.
(A noise of armed men is now heard at the door, endeavouring to break it open, whilst Ethwald and the Groom set their shoulders to it to prevent them. Enter Dwina hastily from an inner apartment, and with the Queen assists in putting their strength also to the door, as the force without increases. The door is at last broke open, and Hereulf, with the Rebel Chiefs, burst in sword in hand.
Her. (to Ethwald.)
Now, thou fell ruthless lion, that hast made
With bloody rage thy native forest waste!
The spearmen are upon thee! to the strife
Turn thy rough breast: thou canst no more escape.
Ethw. Quick to thy villain's work, thou wordy coward,
Who in the sick man's chamber seek'st the fame
Thou dar'st not in th' embattled field attain!
I am prepar'd to front thee and thy mates
Her. The sick man's chamber! darest thou, indeed.
Begrimed as thou art with blood and crimes,
'Gainst man committed, human rights assume?
Thou art a hideous and envenom'd snake, Whose wounded length, even in his noisome hole,
Men fiercely hunt, for love of human kind;
And, wert thou scotch'd to the last ring of life,
E'en that poor remnant of thy curs'd existence
Should be trode out i' th' dust.
Ethw. Come on, thou boasting fool! give thy sword work
And spare thy cursed tongue.
Her. Ay, surely will I!
It is the sword of noble Ethelbert,
Its master's blood weighs down its heavy strokes;
His unseen hand directs them.
(they fight; Ethwald defends himself furiously, but at last falls, and the conspirators raise a loud shout.)
First Ch. Bless heaven, the work is done!
Sec. Ch. Now Mercia is revenged, and free-born men
May rest their toil'd limbs in their quiet homes.
Third Ch. (going nearer the body.)
Ha! does he groan?
Sec. Ch. No, he dies sullenly, and to the wall
Turns his writh'd form and death-distorted visage.
(a solemn pause, whilst Ethwald, after some convulsive motions, expires.)
Her. Now hath his loaded soul gone to its place,
And ne'er a pitying voice from his kind
Cries, "God have mercy on him!"
Third Ch. I've vow'd to dip my weapon in his blood.
Young Man. My father in the British wars was seiz'd
A British prisoner, and with all he had,
Unto a Mercian chief by lot consign'd:
Mine aged grandsire, lowly at his feet,
Rent his grey hair: Ethwald, a youthful warriour,
Receiv'd the old man's pray'r and set him free;
Yea even to the last heifer of his herds
Restor'd his wealth.
For this good deed, do not insult the fallen!
He was not ruthless once.
(they all draw back and retire from the body. The Queen, who has, during the fight, &c. remained at a distance, agitated with terrour and suspence, now comes forward to Hereulf with the air of one who supplicates for mercy, and Dwina, following close behind her, falls upon her knees, as if to beseech him in favour of her mistress.)
Qu. If thou of good king Oswal, thine old master, Aught of rememb'rance hast,——
Her. I do remember;
And deeply grieve to think a child of his
Has so belied her mild and gentle stock.
Nothing hast thou to fear; in some safe place, In holy privacy, may'st thou repent
The evil thou hast done; for know, proud dame, Thou art beneath our vengeance,
But as for thine advisers, that dark villain,
The artful Alwy, and that impious man, Who does dishonour to his sacred garb, Their crimes have earn'd for them a bitter meed,
And they shall have it.
Sec. Ch. Shall we not now the slumb'ring Mercians rouse, And tell our countrymen that they are free
From the oppressor's yoke?
Her. Yes, thou say'st well: thro' all the vexed land
Let ev'ry heart bound at the joyful tidings!
Thus from his frowning height the tyrant falls,
Like a dark mountain, whose interior fires, Raging in ceaseless tumult, have devour'd
Its own foundations. Sunk in sudden ruin
To the tremendous gulph, in the vast void
No friendly rock rears its opposing head
To stay the dreadful crash.
The joyful hinds, with grave and chasten'd joy, Point to the traveller the hollow vale
Where once it stood, and the now sunned cots,
Where, near its base, they and their little ones
Dwelt trembling in its deep and fearful shade.
(Exeunt.