LIBRARY 
 
 * 
 or THR. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Received 
 Accessions No. ^ ** ^ */*) Shell 
 
PLAYS AND POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE H. BOKER. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL.. I. 
 
 0? TH 
 
 UNIYBI 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 1883 
 
V. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 GEORGE II. BOKER, 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 Copyright, 188; ,, by GEORGE H. BOKER. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 or 
 
 PLAYS. 
 
 r e 
 CALAYNOS: A TRAGEDY, l 
 
 ANNE BOLEYN : A TRAGEDY, . 115 
 
 LEONOR DE GUZMAN : A TRAGEDY, 237 
 
 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI: A TRAGEDY, . 349 
 
C A L A Y . N S : 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 CALATNOS A wealthy nobleman. 
 
 DON Luis, His friend. 
 
 DON MIGUEL, ) 
 
 > Gentlemen of Seville 
 
 DON LOPEZ, ) 
 
 OLIVER, Calaynos secretary. 
 
 SOTO, Don Luis servant. 
 
 FRIAR GIL. 
 
 BALTASAR, ) 
 
 > Calaynos servants. 
 
 DONA ALDA, Wife to Calaynos. 
 
 MARTINA, Her maid. 
 
 Four Usurers, a Forester, Servants, $c. 
 SCENE, Calaynos Castle, Seville, and the neighborhood. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 LOOK not, grave critic, for perfection here ; 
 
 No gods and goddesses shall move your ear ; 
 
 My little stage mere men and women fill, 
 
 All have some good to love, to hate some ill ; 
 
 A hundred springs of action move each mind, 
 
 And in their mean the character you 11 find. 
 
 Interests and feelings, base and good, have they ; 
 
 Some draw towards heaven, and some the other way 
 
 Arcadian virtue and Arcadian crime, 
 
 In abstract form, may crowd the Epic clime ; 
 
 But tis the Drama s task the world to show, 
 
 Where bad and good alternate gloom or glow 
 
 Where in each mind are various passions fixed ; 
 
 Virtue with vice, and vice with virtue mixed. 
 
 Some lean to virtue, some to vice give way ; 
 
 But neither bent has undivided sway. 
 
 Our plot turns on the loathing which they feel, 
 
 Who draw their spotless race from proud Castile, 
 
 For those whose lineage bears the faintest stain 
 
VIII PROLOGUE. 
 
 Of the hot blood which fires the Moorish vein. 
 
 No time can reconcile, no deed abate, 
 
 For that one taint, the haughty Spaniard s hate : 
 
 As the sound man the loathsome leper shuns, 
 
 So pass Castilians by Granada s sons. 
 
 This is the key which gives our plot to view 
 
 Turn o er the leaf, the way is clear adieu I 
 
CALAYNOS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. TAg Grficrf JJaM in CALAYNOS <7asZe. .Enter PEDRO 
 awe? BALTASAR, carrying bundles. 
 
 Pedro. I LIKE not this journey to Seville. 
 
 Baltasar. 0, you like nothing that savors of gen 
 tility. 
 
 Ped. How can I like it ? I tell you this genteel 
 savor is deadly. I ; d as soon die by sprats as by 
 turbot. I ve a rhyme in my head. 
 
 Bait. And a rind over that : what is it ? 
 
 Ped. " When a Galaynos shall go to Seville, 
 
 Then sure that Galaynos shall go to ill" 
 
 My grandam taught me that. She could read, 
 and was a great diviner, with a beard that would 
 make two of yours. She told fortunes by the way 
 a cat jumped, or a sparrow flew ; and as often hit 
 the truth as the wisest of your scholars. If she hit 
 it not, then was not the thing fore-ordered ; and she 
 left that for the schoolmen to wrangle about. Why 
 (iocs my lord go, Baltasar ? 
 
 Bait. To do homage for his lands, as all vassals 
 must. The king granted his ancestors lands ; and 
 
 VOL. i. 1 
 
2 CALAYNOS. 
 
 iny lord must acknowledge the king s right and sov 
 ereignty, as he holds the land from his forefathers. 
 
 Fed. 1 know nothing of his aunt s sisters and his 
 four fathers. If he had them, then was not his mother 
 an honest woman. How many people go to the 
 making of your one great lord ! Now, I was turned 
 out indifferent well ; and, as I hope for grace, 1 had 
 but one father, Ilaroun the Falconer, and no lands. 
 Mayhap, some day, the king will take back his lands. 
 Then what use are my lord s four fathers, more than 
 my one ? 
 
 Ball. T would pose him to do that. 
 
 Peel. Here s another wise thing ! Is that a king s 
 bounty ? My lord says, " Sir king, I ll keep what s 
 my own most faithfully." Says the king, " You may 
 keep what s not mine." "Thank you most hum 
 bly, for nothing," says my lord ; and so they part. 
 That s worth a journey to hear ! Why, a fool can 
 see through it. 
 
 Bait. So I see. 
 
 Ped. If you see, you are a fool, and fell in a fool s 
 trap. 
 
 Bait. So I see again, I fell in a fool s trag. Take 
 up your traps, good fool, and be off; for here comes 
 my lord. [Exeunt with their bundles.] 
 
 ( Enter CALAYNOS and DONA ALDA.) 
 
 DonaAlda. Nay, dear Calaynos, go not hence to-day. 
 Since morn, the clouds have hugged the hidden tops 
 Of the rude peaks that gird our mountain home ; 
 Nor could the fiercest northern blasts shake off 
 Their close embrace. But now, in one huge mass, 
 The sluggish vapors down the mountains sides 
 
CALAYNOS. 3 
 
 Roll like an inundation. Well thou know st 
 That signs like these portend a coming storm : 
 Therefore, until the storm is past, delay ; 
 For nothing urges this immediate haste. 
 
 Calaynos. To please thee, Alda, I 11 remain to-day, 
 But, for a mountain maiden, thou hast grown 
 Strangely afraid of gentle summer showers ; 
 Perchance thy love exaggerates the fear. 
 Thou ; rt not thus chary to expose thyself 
 Even to the blasts which chilling winter blows. 
 
 Dona A. If not to-day, why go to-morrow morn ? 
 Or why next day ? Or why go st thou at all ? 
 If thou wilt go, then let me go with thee. 
 An hour, arid I 11 be ready : I shall need 
 But scanty preparation to set forth. 
 
 Gal. Thou hast forgotten. But a moment since, 
 Thy fear was brewing a fast-gathering storm ; 
 Which thou, in fancy, on the mountains saw st 
 Resting its threatening front. Alda, I see 
 That t is thy fond intent to win my mind 
 From what I must perform. Long since in death 
 My father closed his eyes ; yet ancient rites, 
 Which seigniors owe their liege, by me unmarked, 
 Their term of grace have passed. But now the king?, 
 By stiff set phrase of law, allegiance claims, 
 And homage due demands. 
 
 Dona A. Far be it from me 
 
 To counsel breach of law. Nay, go thou must ; 
 But why not I with thee ? Shall I thus pine, 
 Shut, like a cloistered nun, in these dark walls, 
 Whilst thou with retinue and pomp of power 
 Seville mak st wonder ? Beautiful Seville ! 
 Of which I ve dreamed, until I saw its towers 
 
4 CALAYNOS. 
 
 In every cloud that hid the setting sun ; 
 Saw its long trains of youths and maidens i air 
 Sweep, like a sunlit stream, along the streets ; 
 Saw its cathedrals vast, its palaces, 
 Its marts o erladen with the Indies spoils, 
 Its galleys rocking at the crowded quays ; 
 Heard its loud hum by day, its airs by night 
 Struck from guitars, that guide the busy feet 
 Of rosy youth across the springing ground. 
 Methinks the moon shines brighter on Seville, 
 And every star looks larger for mere joy ! 
 And then, Martina 
 
 Cal. Ah ! Martina ? so. 
 
 Dona A. But, dear Calaynos, thou It not blame the 
 
 girl: 
 
 She in Seville was born ; her youthful days, 
 \\ r hen the heart easiest takes impress of joy, 
 Were in Seville all past. Martina says 
 That mong the ladies there none could o ertop 
 In state or retinue, or worship paid 
 By all the glittering throng that girds the throne, 
 The bride of great Calaynos. 
 
 Cal. Alda, cease : 
 
 Thou rt pleading gainst thyself: nor dost thou 
 
 know 
 
 How frail the fabric of the dream- wove vision, 
 When cunning Fancy plies her golden hand. 
 
 Dona A. What meanest thou ? 
 
 Oal. Martina told but half: 
 
 Or did she tell how Sloth and Beggary, 
 Closely attended by their handmaid Vice, 
 Stare, with lack-lustre and ferocious eyes, 
 Into the porch of every palace-gate ? 
 
CALAYNOS. 5 
 
 How Want creeps forth at night with tottering pace, 
 And gainst the windows of the revellers 
 Flattens its pinched and wasted features out, 
 Cursing the feasts for which one half the world 
 Labors unpaid ? And, Alda, did she tell 
 Of marketable crime, of sin for sale ? 
 Of multitudes neck-deep in ignorance, 
 Toiling with murmurs neath a servile yoke, 
 Checked and o erawed by bayonet and axe ? 
 How they who bend to power, and lap its milk, 
 Are fickler and more dangerous far than they 
 Who honestly defy it ? How jealousy 
 Consumes their hearts who most caress and woo it ? 
 Know st thou the slippery falsehoods of the Court, 
 Where every step is on a quaking bog, 
 Where men spend lives on hopes and promises, 
 And pine on smiles, arid starve on smooth-told lies ? 
 Thou know st not this ; nor shall thy rustic mind, 
 Pure as tl^e Guadalquiver, ere it flows 
 Past the foul sluices that Seville outpours, 
 Know aught of it. 
 
 Dona A, If thou wilt have it so, 
 
 I needs must stay. But I shall count the hours, 
 And chide along the slow-paced summer days : 
 For thou art all with whom I dare to mate, 
 A lonely queen, without a court or friend. 
 And, losing thee, thou leav st me with these walls ; 
 Whose forms I 11 hate, because they rise between 
 Thee and myself. Ah ! it is very sad 
 To be shut up, for days and days together, 
 With these old portraits of thy ancestors 
 That look like Moors, though they be Christian 
 
G CALAYNOS. 
 
 All mailed and helmed, whose knit and warlike 
 
 brows 
 
 Beneath their casques send forth a settled scowl, 
 Darkening 1 the hull ; or see, like shadows, come 
 The old retainers, by my presence awed, 
 To beg some leave they need not have besought. 
 What gloomy state I Martina calls me Proserpine. 
 
 Cal. Again Martina ! Love, 1 fear thy maid 
 Has put these vagrant fancies in thy head. 
 I never liked her bold, pert, city modes : 
 With upturned nose she treads the castle floors, 
 As if she thought the very air might breed 
 Some loathsome plague. Then at our festivals 
 Time-worn, though quaint and homely they may be 
 A supercilious smile comes o er her face ; 
 As if she, fallen from paradise, perforce 
 Endured the antics of rude savages. 
 I like not that her busy tongue should stuff 
 Thy open ears, who rt ever ripe for change, 
 With all the worn-out tinsel of a town ; 
 And breed in thee a discontent for state 
 Which many a queen might pine with envy for. 
 
 Dona A. Calaynos, thou dost rate my girl too hard. 
 I wonder not that she, a city maid, 
 Should sometimes long for the more joyous scenes 
 With which her memory mocks our quiet life. 
 Cal. Well, let her go she is uo slave of mine. 
 Dona A. Her love for me has forged a stronger 
 
 chain 
 Cal. Her love for thee I Nay, Alda. there are 
 
 those 
 
 Who love to live where they may scold and frown, 
 And toss their heads at everything they see : 
 
CALAYNOS. 
 
 So, by affected knowledge, seem above 
 
 All the poor fools that round them wondering crowd. 
 
 Such is thy maid. 
 
 Dona A. Calaynos, truce to this. 
 
 Martina loves me ; shall I throw her off? 
 
 Gal. I do not urge it. But thou rt lately grown 
 Strangely ill-humored with thy dwelling-place, 
 And vexed and discontented with thyself. 
 Come to the casement ; look from these huge walls, 
 Whose massive strength has held a king at bay, 
 Down on the ripening fields of yellow grain ; 
 Let thy eyes roam o er swarming villages, 
 Busy with life and filled with happy hearts, 
 Far to the hills that, with their smoky heads, 
 Hem in the view and guard our favored vale. 
 Round this domain the proudest bird of air 
 Could scarcely circle with an untired wing ; 
 All this is thine. 0, what a field for good 
 Lies here outspread before thee ! Life employed 
 In ministration to this grateful land, 
 Would win for thee a place beside the saints. 
 
 Dona A. Have I not ever given, at morn and eve, 
 To all the ragged band that throngs our gate ? 
 
 Gal. This is but half the task of charity. 
 Seek out the needy, cheer the wretched mind, 
 Urge on the slothful, pour thy spirit s balm 
 On wounds which time has fretted to the quick ; 
 Counsel the weak, and make the strong more strong : 
 The soul has urgent need for faith and hope, 
 More pressing and immediate than the wants 
 The choking sailor feels upon the wreck. 
 
 Dona A. Why, now, my lord, thou dst make a 
 nun of me 
 
8 CALAYXOS. 
 
 One of those maids of black-robed charity, 
 Who sometimes hither come, with solemn step, 
 To ask my bounty. Convents are there not, 
 By thee endowed, to feed these starving souls ? 
 
 Cal. Yes ; but in works of good there cannot be 
 Too many hands ; the task is ne er o erdone. 
 Alda, my grave discourse fatigues thy ear. 
 Well, I must leave thee to prepare my train ; 
 My home-bred knaves are slack at setting forth, 
 And I must urge them. Farewell, love ! 
 
 Dona A. Farewell ! [Exit CALAYNOS.] 
 
 Tli us comes he ever with that thoughtful brow ; 
 Thus goes he ever with that calm, cold mien ; 
 Thus would he ever be, thus passionless, 
 If all the world were hissing in his face ! 
 More like a father than a husband he 
 ! how could love for me usurp abode 
 In such a heart ! Martina, are you there ? 
 
 (Enter MARTINA.) 
 
 Martina. My lady, did you call ? 
 
 Dona A. Come hither, girl. 
 
 0, what a sermon has been preached to mo 1 
 
 Mar. On what ? by whom ? 
 
 Dona A. By whom but by my lord ? 
 
 And what the subject, think you, of his speech ? 
 
 Mar. On the regeneration of the world ; 
 Taking his text from Plato : quoting large, 
 In Greek and Hebrew, to make clear the fact 
 That two and two make four. Good Lord ! they sa^ 
 He talks the Cura out of countenance ; 
 And so comes down upon the good man s head, 
 With hints of things above his scope of thought, 
 
CALAYNOS. 9 
 
 That he, both night and morning, prays kind Heaven 
 To keep your lord from utter heresy. 
 
 Dona A. You have shot wide the mark ; for charity 
 Was all he taught. 
 
 Mar. Ho ! ho I he d have you mount, 
 
 Like a mad nun, upon a sumpter mule, 
 And ride the country down, to vex the sick 
 With nauseous draughts ; or have you thrust your 
 
 face 
 
 In the aifairs of every poor, proud man ; 
 So would you gain wry mouths for recompense, 
 Or haughty curses. 
 
 Dona A. Peace, you rattlepate ! 
 
 My lord but thinks of benefits to man ; 
 His every wish and act inclines to good. 
 And sometimes, in the dead and hush of night, 
 When evil thoughts dare scarcely walk abroad 
 When loneliness and fear half play the part 
 Of humble holiness, and force the heart, 
 Despite its wicked bent, to virtuous plans 
 Some random word, which he, in passing, dropped 
 On the light fallow of my wavering mind, 
 Springs up and blossoms, with a promise fair; 
 But with the morning dew dries up the fruit, 
 And I laugh down, as weak and childish fright, 
 What, chance, an angel whispered in my ear. 
 
 Mar. Dear madam, you have grown as grave and 
 
 sad 
 
 As your sage lord, by pondering o er such things : 
 I prithee, drive them out with gayer thoughts ; 
 Or all within the castle may become 
 A band of nuns and sourest anchorites. 
 
1C CALAYNOS. 
 
 Dona A. Yet there is much of moment in these 
 
 things, 
 Could we, of fickle purpose, deem them so. 
 
 Mar. Lady, I heard an old physician say 
 That melancholy is the chiefest spring 
 Of raving madness. Dwell not on such thoughts. 
 
 Dona A. And would you rob me of my very thoughts, 
 The only things I have to wile the time ? 
 What can I do, but think, and think, and think, 
 [n this unvarying castle ? 
 
 Mar. There it is ! 
 
 Oould you but see Seville in all its pomp, 
 As I have seen it, when the Court is there ! 
 Could you but see our king ride through the gate, 
 Decked like the east when morn first opes her eye ; 
 Hear the loud flourishes of trump and drum, 
 The glad huzzas, the rattling musketry, 
 The pealing bells, the thundering cannon-shots ; 
 See the great ships, the ocean s swans, bedecked 
 With silken banners, of all shapes and dyes ; 
 The courtiers see, the proudest stars of Spain, 
 In one grand constellation sweep along ; 
 Then think that you, the brightest star of all, 
 Might blot them half with your superior light ! 
 Madam, my lord is wise to keep you here, 
 In total ignorance of your rank and power ; 
 Once knowing these, and gaining but your due, 
 T would stretch his arm to keep you from your rights. 
 
 Dona A. But he has no desire for this gay court. 
 
 Mar. He ! why, to him the gay are butterflies, 
 Flitting around a light of which they die. 
 lie looks on pleasure as a kind of sin ; 
 Calls pastime waste-time. Each to his trade, say I. 
 
CALAYNOS. 11 
 
 I heard a man, who spent a mortal life 
 
 In hoarding up all kinds of stones and ores, 
 
 Call one, who spitted flies upon a pin, 
 
 A fool, to pass his precious lifetime thus ! 
 
 What might delight you, lady, may not him ; 
 
 And yet your pleasures argue you no fool, 
 
 Nor his grave brows prove a philosopher. 
 
 Dona A. Stop, malpert girl ! you 7 re trenching on 
 
 my love ; 
 
 Your glibly-flowing tongue must not presume 
 Too far upon the license I allow. 
 Thus every day, of late, I ve caught you up, 
 About to strike a side-blow at my lord. 
 
 Mar. Pardon me, madam, if I went too far. 
 Of late my silly brain has been perplexed 
 With a great problem, which I cannot solve. 
 Thus runs the question : Who are wise, who fools ? 
 The man with heavy brows and solemn thoughts 
 Looks on the gay as blanks in fortune s wheel ; 
 But then the fool, laughs in his sapient face. 
 At this the sage flies in a windy rage, 
 And calls hard names, and works his angry liver 
 To bilious fits, which end the good man s days ; 
 When laughs the ribald jester more and .more. 
 Now, which is wiser ? He who frowns and scolds, 
 And views sweet nature in a sallow light ; 
 Or he who takes what pleasure comes to hand, 
 Gleaning some honey from the bitterest flowers, 
 And, when death scowls, smiles in his hideous face ? 
 Can you resolve ? 
 
 Dona A. Not I; philosopher. 
 
 Your gentle education has nigh spoiled 
 A most complete, well-mannered waiting-maid. 
 
12 
 
 CALAYNOS. 
 
 But there walks Oliver, in sober thought ; 
 Call him ; perchance he can resolve your doubts. 
 Mar. Yes, there he goes just see him, mistress 
 
 dear ! 
 
 Backward and forward, like a weaver s shuttle, 
 Spinning some web of wisdom most divine, 
 I warrant you. Observe his solemn brows, 
 His monk-like gait, his cap without a plume, 
 His stiff" and formal clothes, sans tag or braid. 
 There is a nursling of this house of learning ! 
 A man all head, without a heart or sense. 
 Once I made love to him, for lack of work, 
 And got a frown for all my tenderness ; 
 Therefore I hate him ! I can pardon one 
 Who felt affection, should he turn to hate ; 
 But never one who slips my favors by. 
 Shall I address him ? 
 
 Dona A. If it pleases you. 
 
 Mar. Ho, Oliver 1 ho, sage! a mortal calls 
 A mortal wandering in dark error s path 
 For light and succor ! 
 
 (Enter OLIVER.) 
 
 Oliver. Did you call me, lady ? 
 
 Dona A. Martina called you. 
 
 OH- Yes, I know her voice. 
 
 I thought she called for you ; her notes are pitched 
 Some octaves higher than your ladyship s, 
 And further heard. 
 
 Dona A . Nay, you two jar at once, 
 
 \Vhon brought in contact. Well, you must e en strike 
 Your angry blows without a witness near. [Exit.} 
 
CALAYNOS. 13 
 
 Mar. So, then, you think my voice is over shrill 
 For your soft ears, attuned to Plato s spheres ! 
 
 Oli. Why did you call so loud, I walking near ? 
 
 Mar. You near ! I thought you half way up to 
 
 heaven : 
 
 How can a man be where his mind is not ? 
 Wherein consists this thing which you call I 
 In your gross flesh, or in your heaven-born spirit ? 
 
 Oli. Strive not to vex me with such mockery. 
 All your pert smartness, and your sallies shrewd, 
 Are spent with loss on ears as dull as mine. 
 
 Mar. Ugh ! man, but I do hate you ! 
 
 Oli. Hate me, then. 
 
 Mar. Our clay, the preachers say, was warmed to 
 
 life; 
 
 But yours, your dull, cold mud, was frozen to being. 
 I would not be the oyster that you are, 
 For all the pearls of wisdom in your shell ! 
 
 Oli. A truce to this ! I haul my colors down ; 
 I have no means to fight your light-armed tongue. 
 But I must warn you for I late o erheard 
 The words which you with Lady Alda held 
 That if you urge your sensual doctrines more, 
 To the pollution of my lady s thoughts, 
 My lord shall know it. 
 
 Mar. Pshaw ! I meant no harm. 
 
 Oli. I know not what you mean, but harm you do 
 
 Mar. Why talk you thus, you demi-atheist ? 
 I ve heard you hold a creed against the church, 
 Which, spread abroad, might overturn the world, 
 And send us all unbaptized to the pit. 
 They say you have no faith in good men s prayers ; 
 
11 CALAYNOS. 
 
 And talk not of salvation, but progression. 
 Are these things so ? 
 
 Oli. Are you Inquisitor ? 
 
 Mar. Did you say aught against the Holy Office ? 
 
 Oli. No word, to you, 0, pious Catholic ! 
 
 Mar. Ambassador from cloud-land, take your leave 
 I do not wish to vex an oracle ; 
 And we have bandied words enough to-day. 
 
 Oli. I go ; but keep my warning in your mind. 
 
 Mar. That man of learning has a lynx s eye 
 I 11 be more circumspect : it will riot do 
 To have the great Calaynos at my ears ; 
 To leave behind a home as warm as this, 
 Where 1 m half mistress of whatever it holds, 
 Again to struggle with the ruthless world : 
 Yet to Seville 1 11 go for wantonness. 
 Well, we shall see what woman s craft can do 
 Against the brains of two philosophers. [Exit.} 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The Study of CALAYNOS. Enter OLIVER. 
 
 Oliver. I do not like this journey of my lord s 
 And yet I know not why ; the path is safe, 
 And we are guarded by a retinue. 
 T is many a year since last I saw Seville ; 
 T is natural, therefore, I should wish to go : 
 Yet do I not. What can this feeling mean ? 
 Is it that influence, overmastering will, 
 Presentiment, which pulls me from the wish, 
 
CALAYNOS. 15 
 
 And presses on my heart its leaden weight ? 
 I ve heard that soundest sleepers will awake 
 When danger steals upon them. It may be 
 The first low knocking of death s pallid hand, 
 Ere he flings wide the gate which shelters life, 
 That so appalls my mind and shakes my purpose. 
 Pshaw ! this is idle. I must e en end thus, 
 As I began, I do not wish to go. 
 
 (Enter CALAYNOS.) 
 
 Calaynos. Are all things ready for our setting 
 forth ? 
 
 Oil. They are, my lord. 
 
 Gal. Then, at the break of day, 
 
 Mount all the train. 
 
 Oli. You have delayed till then ? 
 
 Cal. Yes ; twas my lady s wish, riot my intent. 
 But on the morrow we must sure begone ; 
 We do but give our parting lengthened pangs 
 By keeping doubt alive. 
 
 (Enter a Servant.) 
 
 Servant. My lord, old Friar Gil is in the hall, 
 And craves admittance. 
 
 Cal. Friar Gil ! how s this ? 
 
 ; T was but a week ago we met, and then 
 lie tottered so beneath his weight of years, 
 He scarce could ope the door that guards his cell. 
 
 Ser. He seems to walk with pain, and well-nigh 
 
 dropped 
 Ere we could bring him to the neighboring hall. 
 
16 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Gal, Admit him, then. [Exit Servant.} T is near a 
 
 miracle ; 
 So feeble 
 
 (Enter FRIAR GIL.) 
 
 Friar Gil. Son, my blessing ! 
 
 Oal. Welcome, Father ! 
 
 Thou art fatigued and weakened by thy walk. 
 What cause has drawn thee from thy cell so far ? 
 Such lengthened walks, to one of thy great age, 
 Are full of peril. Why not send for me ? 
 Bring a chair, Oliver. [OLIVER places a chair.] 
 
 So, sit thee down. 
 
 Friar G. I feared to miss thee ; as I lately heard 
 That thou design st a journey to Seville : 
 1 came to warn thee from that dangerous step. 
 
 Cat. Dangerous ! What danger do you know or 
 fear ? 
 
 Friar G. None that is certain, every one I fear. 
 
 Oli. Ha ! here s another seer. [Aside. } 
 
 Cal. Father, thy path through life was long and 
 
 hard, 
 
 And thou hast gathered wisdom by the way ; 
 But this idea is baseless fantasy. 
 
 Friar G. Hear me, Calaynos ! As I lay last night 
 Sleepless, but why I know not, on my bed, 
 Telling my beads and thinking o er my sins, 
 Thy grandsire, as I saw him ere he left 
 This castle for Seville, before me stood, 
 Pointing his hand, through which the moonbeams 
 
 shone, . 
 
 To a great gash beneath his lifted arm ; 
 Then, solemnly and slow, he waved his hand, 
 
CALAYNOS. 17 
 
 As if in warning-, towards the castle-gate. 
 
 1 strove to speak ; but, ere my tongue was loosed, 
 
 The melancholy shadow passed away. 
 
 So, with the dawn, I rose to seek thee here : 
 
 Once turned me back, to scape thy lordship s laugh ; 
 
 But, ere three steps were taken, I prostrate fell, 
 
 Though the path rieath me was without a stone. 
 
 It seemed the will of heaven that urged me on, 
 
 And gave my feeble frame unwonted strength : 
 
 So have I sought thee, though but half in hope, 
 
 To overrule thee in this enterprise. 
 
 Gal. For thy kind zeal I thank thee. ; T was a 
 
 dream, 
 
 Bred on a superstition of our house, 
 That to my race Seville brings fated death. 
 
 Friar G. Has it not been ? Did not the one I saw 
 Fall at Seville, struck by a coward s steel 
 Over the wine-cup ? So thy father thought ; 
 And he did homage by a deputy, 
 As oft I ve heard him say. Go further back ; 
 All of thy race shunried, as a plague, Seville. 
 And thou, the last of all the mighty line, 
 The wisest, greatest, without heir or kin, 
 Wouldst tempt thy fate, though nothing urges thee ! 
 
 Gal. This is a thing at which my reason laughs, 
 And naught but actual trial can resolve. 
 
 Friar G. Go, go, thou headstrong man ! Nay, I 11 
 
 not chide ; 
 May God go with thee ! I have done my part. 
 
 [Going.] 
 
 Gal. Farewell ! We 11 meet again. 
 
 Friar G. Perhaps farewell! [Exit.] 
 
 OH. I hope, my lord, you 11 take the Friar s advice. 
 
 VOL. i 2 
 
18 CAKAYXOS. 
 
 Gal. Take what? Take hellebore, good Oliver I 
 For you with Friar (Jil have lost your wits. 
 
 Oli. I am not superstitious, as you know ; 
 But when 1 think what greatness hangs on you, 
 And with your fall how much would be o erthrown, 
 I nigh believe that watchful heaven might send 
 This anxious phantom to avert your ill. 
 
 Cat. 1 do not go through stiff-necked stubbornness ; 
 I view these rights of homage to the crown 
 As a stale pageant better unperformed, 
 At least by me, who can depute the act. 
 But in Seville I have a most dear friend, 
 From whom, till late, I had not heard for years ; 
 And now he writes me in the closest straits, 
 Saying his lands are forfeit for some debts, 
 By knavish means imposed upon his hands : 
 Should the law take its course, his wealth is gone, 
 And he turned forth in utter beggary. 
 Some days ago, I sent him present aid ; 
 With promise to redeem his lands from pawn, 
 When at Seville I shall the court attend. 
 
 Oli. Let me not balk you in this noble act, 
 Though instant peril stare us in the face. 
 
 Cat. He loves not good who turns from it through 
 
 fear. 
 
 0, what a joy is it to have the power 
 That lifts from want the worthy sufferer ! 
 What double rapture when he calls us friend, 
 And with that name wipes obligation off! 
 Out, out! my heart s afire, till this be done ! 
 Urge on the loiterers, see them all prepared 
 To start at dawn, our speed shall clip the way! 
 
CALAYNOS. 19 
 
 SCENE I. A Street in Seville. Enter DON Luis and SOTO. 
 
 Don Luis. STAND here, good Soto ; should a dun 
 
 come by, 
 
 Stop the base fellow, ere he gain my door, 
 With some excuse you are so apt at framing ; 
 But. by no means admit him to the house. 
 
 Soto. My lord, I 11 try, if trying can avail. 
 Of late my stock of lies has run full low, 
 And all my wares are out of date and stale. 
 The creditors have got the wind of me, 
 And strive with tricks to meet my subtlest shifts. 
 For if I say you re ill, and in your bed, 
 The fellow vows he is a learned leech, 
 For whom your lordship sent. If, to the next, 
 I say you ve gone from town to stay a month, 
 The rogue but asks admittance for a while, 
 To write a line for you, on your return. 
 Another comes hot haste, as if a friend, 
 Pregnant with news which argues you much good ; 
 Another bears a letter from the Court ; 
 Another has a package, stuffed with rags, 
 As a rare present from a nobleman. 
 I hear they watch all night the city gates, 
 For fear you might escape. 
 
 Don L. Then say that I 
 
20 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Am harbored with a rich, usurious Jew, 
 \Yho lends me money on my country-house, 
 With which I will discharge their claims ere long. 
 Solo. That will scarce do ; they have more knowl 
 
 edge got 
 
 Of your affairs, of what you hold, what owe, 
 Of what encumbrances are on the lands, 
 Than I conceive your lordship can possess. 
 
 Don L. Well, well ; but put them off, and I in 
 
 content. 
 
 I must be gone ; the town begins to wake. [Exit.} 
 Soto. Here s a fine prospect for an airy breakfast! 
 He thinks I live on moisture from the earth ; 
 So stands me here to take my fill of it. 
 Were I an ostrich, there J s a tender stone, 
 Soft as my master s heart, on which I d feed ; 
 But as a Christian man nay, 1 7 m a saint- 
 I keep more fasts than all the Calendar : 
 A little out of time but what of that ? 
 I 11 plead, the Pope has changed the almanac. 
 Last Friday I ate meat well, what of that? 
 Sunday and Monday, not a bone saw I. 
 To fast s the thing the deed, and not the day 
 To mortify the flesh, and starve out sin. 
 Some mortified their flesh on Friday last ; 
 But I chose Sunday who is better now ? 
 I mortified my flesh as much as they, 
 Only I took a better day to do it. 
 Lord ! who comes here, tricked off in grandad a 
 
 clothes ? 
 
 So out of fashion, and so rustical ! 
 But yet the bumpkin has a noble air, 
 As born for acts above his quality. 
 
CALAYNOS. 21 
 
 (Enter OLIVEB.) 
 
 Ho, there ! why stare you thus at every house, 
 As if you thought the stones could speak to you? 
 You are a stranger, if I judge aright ; 
 Can I assist you in your present search ? 
 
 Oliver. Thanks for your courteous speech and kind 
 
 intent. 
 
 In truth, I m puzzled, in this thick-built town, 
 To find the single house for which I look. 
 
 Soto. Whose is the house ? 
 
 Oli. Don Luis is his name ; 
 
 On whom my lord intends to call ere long. 
 
 Soto. Here J a a new trick of these cursed creditors ! 
 What will they next ? [Aside ] What station hold 
 
 you, friend, 
 In your lord s pay ? 
 
 OH. His secretary I. 
 
 Soto. Tis a good place. I once that office held 
 By dint of an inked nail, to recommend 
 Under a lord who flits about the Court, 
 For a good twelve-month. But, alas, one day 
 He fell in love, and called on rne to write, 
 Then kicked me out of doors. 
 
 Oli. Why, how was that ? 
 
 Soto. Simple enough, I could not write a line. 
 
 Oli. Your impudence but bore its natural fruit. 
 
 Soto. I thought a courtier s scribe a thing for 
 
 show 
 
 Part of his state, and not designed for use : 
 So 7 t-would have been, had he not fallen in love. 
 
 Oli. What station fill you now ? 
 
 Soto. Of every use. 
 
 When my lord cannot play at dice or cards, 
 
22 CALAYXOS. 
 
 lie kicks me round his room, to pass the time ; 
 
 Or sets me at some villany, whereby 
 
 He may be able to resume his play ; 
 
 But the chief thing for which I am employed 
 
 Is an experiment on human stomachs, 
 
 To see how little man can eat, and live. 
 
 Are you well fed ? 
 
 Oli. More than a week s supply 
 
 Is set before me daily. If I wished, 
 I might bolt down an ox at every meal ; 
 My lord would but admire my appetite. 
 ; T is a strange knave I 11 lead him further on. 
 
 Solo. A. whole ox ! 
 
 Oli. Nothing less. 
 
 Soto. Most wonderful ! 
 
 Yours is the place for me, could I but write. 
 But certain services I Ve done my lord 
 Unfit me for the change so people think. 
 Is your lord rich ? 
 
 Oli. The richest man in Spain. 
 
 Soto. What wages have you ? 
 
 Oli. All he has is mine, 
 
 Were I disposed to use it. 
 
 Soto. lie s generous ! 
 
 Oli. Free as the air, which all alike may breathe. 
 
 Soto. His name ? 
 
 Oli. Calaynos. 
 
 Soto. Fiends and furies seize me 
 
 Why did I talk this way about Don Luis ? 
 All the town knows it he must hear it soon : 
 But yet he may not, if we manage right. 
 
CALAYNOS. 23 
 
 What man of lordly gait now hither comes ? 
 By his brave port, a more than common man. 
 
 Oil. That is my lord Galaynos. Can you tell 
 Where this Don Luis dwells, for whom we search ? 
 
 Sofa. Down yonder street I must be off 
 
 apace, 
 
 To give Don Luis timely note of this. 
 0, what a fool, to slander thus my master ! [Aside.] 
 
 [ Ex it running. ] 
 
 Oli. Ho, fellow, stop I 
 
 (Enter CALAYNOS.) 
 
 Calaynos. Why do you call so loud ? 
 
 Oli. I held discourse with one of those poor 
 
 knaves, 
 
 Whom the world forms to play at foot-ball with ; 
 A rascal by compulsion, not by nature, 
 With something good beneath his villany, 
 Turned all awry by outward circumstance. 
 The knave had much intelligence and wit, 
 Appeared acquainted with this mazy town, 
 And seemed to know where good Don Luis dwells ; 
 But ere I pressed him past an empty hint, 
 The fellow fled as if a fiend pursued. 
 
 Gal. So, then, you have not found Don Luis 7 house. 
 What hint gave your companion of my friend ? 
 
 Oli. He pointed widely down yon narrow street, 
 But to no single house. I must inquire. 
 
 Cal. Come, I will aid you ; thus may we save time ; 
 For I am sick of everything I see. 
 In this huge city virtue is close housed, 
 And dares not show her face for very shame ; 
 While vice and folly, like two brazen drunkards, 
 
24 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Reel up and down the streets from morn till eve, 
 Bullying the peaceful passers with their threats. 
 Pah ! what a purge of country air t will need 
 To drive this festering sickness from my brain ! 
 We must shut eyes and ears, good Oliver, 
 Or we 11 go home two railing misanthropes. 
 Come, let us on ; and when we find my friend, 
 We will hav^e plucked at least one precious pearl 
 From out this sea of misery and vice ! [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Room in DON Luis house. DON Luis alone. 
 
 Don Luis. All the supply of gold Calaynos sent 
 At length has dwindled to a single coin 
 Curse on my luck ! the cards will never change. 
 By heaven ! I swear, if ever I grow rich 
 By some unthought of chance, unborn as yet 
 I 11 shun all gambling from that very hour. 
 But, being ruined, I must needs play on 
 For what wise gamester ever stopped in loss ? 
 Hoping, by lucky change, to win all back 
 Witli double interest fortune s usury. 
 Tis villanous ! for me, a gentleman, 
 To be thus kenneled like a dangerous cur ; 
 Shut up by day, to prowl abroad at night. 
 And forage scantly on my neighbor s fold 
 
 [Knocking.] 
 Who s there ? 
 
 Sofo. (Without.) Unbar the door. Tis 1, my lord. 
 
CALAYNOS. 25 
 
 (DON Luis opens the door. Enter SOTO.) 
 
 Don. L. You, Soto ? Pray, what brings you back 
 so soon ? 
 
 Soto. Good news, my lord ; up to your highest 
 
 wish ! 
 
 The wealthy friend, of whom you lately spoke, 
 Is in Seville, and seeking for your house. 
 
 Don L. Why not conduct him hither, dull-brained 
 dog ? 
 
 Solo. And mar your plot ! No ; I rn too old for 
 
 that. 
 
 I threw him off the scent, and ran with speed 
 To warn you, senor, how to fake the man. 
 You have not met your golden friend for years : 
 Mark my advantage, I just quit his presence. 
 Lord ! sefior, here ; s a man to talk about 
 Before one s breakfast ! That s my time of day : 
 Like a stopped clock, I point the self-same hour 
 Just before breakfast ! See my shivering hand 
 Upon this sinking button mark the dial-plate ! 
 Is there a clock in Spain that plainer says, 
 Just before breakfast ? Ah ! you flirt away : 
 I see my stomach does not gnaw your ribs. 
 Have you a bone hid ? 
 
 Don L. Pish ! what of Calaynos ? 
 
 Soto. wonders ! miracles ! He s not content 
 To feed his servants as your common lords : 
 No, no not he ! His secretary says, 
 If the}^ complain of hunger note his way 
 He simply drives a live ox down their throats, 
 Horns, tail, and all ! There s rural luxury ! 
 There s doing dinner on a royal scale ! 
 That I call living ! 
 
26 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Don L. Sirrah, shall I give 
 
 Your hungry ribs an outside dressing ? 
 
 Suto. Nay ; 
 
 Your pounded meat is my aversion, seiior. 
 But, 0, this anaconda way of life 
 This swallowing oxen with my appetite 
 This blissful dream of always being full, 
 Squeezed out all baser matter from my brain. 
 
 Don L. I 11 beat your prating skull till you talk 
 sense. [Seizes SOTO.] 
 
 Soto. What, break the vessel of your own salva 
 tion ! 
 Sink ship, chart, compass 
 
 Don L. Soto, now by heaven ! - 
 
 [Strikes him.] 
 
 Soto. I m down, I yield ; you have persuaded me. 
 Calaynos comes to aid our suffering virtue : 
 For, by some words his secretary dropped, 
 And by the outward bearing of the man, 
 I deem him one for noble actions fit 
 A generous mind, above suspicion quite ; 
 Yet with an eye that looks through outward things 
 Into the soul, if once aroused to doubt : 
 Therefore be wary. 
 
 Don L. Fear me not, good Soto. 
 
 You ve shown a shrewdness that I dreamed not of. 
 
 Soto. But above all, beware the man of ink 
 A kind of humble friend to great Calaynos ; 
 More of a worldly turn than is his master : 
 He might walk safely o er the roughest path, 
 While his lord tripped by gazing at the stars. 
 You may betray the lord before his eyes, 
 But not the secretary, on my life. [Knocking \ 
 
CALAYNOS. 27 
 
 Don L. Heard you a knocking ? To the window, 
 quick ! 
 
 Sofa. (Looking out.} They Ve come, the two, his lord 
 ship and the scribe ; 
 
 Looking like hares before a tempting trap. 
 Shall I go clown and let the conies in ? 
 
 Don L. Ay, quickly ; shut your mouth, you grin 
 ning knave ! [Exit SOTO.] 
 Now for another step in villany 
 Pshaw, pshaw, no scruples ! I have left the path 
 Which leads to good, so far from where I stand, 
 That all return is worse than hopeless now. 
 What if I should confess ? Would he forgive ? 
 No, he would shun me as a spotted lazar ! 
 What tells me to confess ? - Some mocking fiend, 
 That fain would snatch the prize within my grasp. 
 It cannot be ; I was not formed for good ; 
 To what fate orders I must needs submit ; 
 The sin not mine, but His who framed me thus 
 Not in my will, but in my nature lodged. 
 Formed as I am, I have no choice of fate ; 
 But must achieve the purpose of my being. 
 Therefore away, ye cheating fantasies ! 
 That would decoy me from the thing I d clutch, 
 Then leave me poor, and wickeder than ever. 
 He is a fool who acts not for himself ; 
 A worse than fool, who chases airy virtue, 
 And gains but knocks and hatred for reward. 
 Yes, I will grasp the stable goods of life, 
 Nor care how foul the hand that does the deed. 
 Hark ! they are coming. Actor, to thy part ! 
 
28 CALAYX03. 
 
 Enter CALAYNOS, OLIVER, and SOTO. DON Luis and CALAYNOS 
 embrace apart. OLIVER and SOTO advance.) 
 
 Oliver. You here ! and pray, my friend, how came 
 
 you hither ? 
 Solo. This is our house ; and there my master 
 
 stands, 
 
 Doing his duty to your lord Calaynos. 
 The house is small, and scant of furniture ; 
 But you 11 find rich apartments in our hearts, 
 Where you may lodge until the walls decay. 
 
 Oli. What, he your lord ! You re surely jesting 
 
 me : 
 
 You made me think, but half an hour ago, 
 Your lord the chiefest villain in Seville ; 
 Called him a common gamester ; said he lived 
 By chcatory of all kinds and qualities ! 
 But sure Don Luis is a worthy man, 
 You, a deceiving trickster ! 
 
 Soto. So I said : 
 
 But I m the greatest liar in Seville ; 
 A bastard born, and therefore false by nature. 
 My family, sir, before me, all were liars ; 
 T is an infection that invades our blood ; 
 For which I m bound no more than is a king 
 For the bright crown that tops his stately brows 
 Coming by course of nature, not desert ! 
 I love to lie ; t is naught but romance-making, 
 Spoken, not writ for I m too poor to print. 
 I could tell tales would make Quevedo stare 
 But not malicious ones ; and if believed, 
 How proud am I, as proving truth to nature ! 
 I was but practising my art on you. 
 See how you stare, what admiration show ! 
 
CALAYNOS. 29 
 
 Here J s glory for an author, quits my pains. 
 Yet have I done my lord no grain of harm, 
 Now all the lie is out. Poor, honest man ! 
 Why, sir, his honesty brought on these straits. 
 
 Oli. Cease, you mad dog I perchance you re lying 
 now. 
 
 Soto. Not I ; you here may trust me without fear ; 
 Beneath this roof I do not dare to lie. 
 My standing here is most undoubted, senor ; 
 So is my calling 
 
 Don L. Soto ! 
 
 Soto. As you must perceive. 
 
 [Retire*.] 
 
 Oli. I half suspect this fellow told the truth 
 When first we met. I do not like the looks 
 Of him he calls his master, yon Don Luis. 
 Then the unnatural boast about his lying. 
 It may be so ; for I have known some men 
 Who boast of crime, as if they spoke of virtue ; 
 And hang their sins out as for ornament, 
 Merely to make the wondering audience stare. 
 The morbid wish to be observed of men 
 Makes heroes of our dying criminals, 
 And adds a goad to crime. But yet I 11 watch ; 
 This limping story does not satisfy. [Retires.] 
 
 (CALAYNOS and DON Luis advance.) 
 
 Calaynos. So, poor companion, thou art hunted 
 
 down 
 
 By these base creditors ; thy house besieged, 
 Thy actions spied, sweet liberty infringed ; 
 God s very air thy troubled bosom breathes, 
 Shut up in this close mansion. Why not write, 
 
30 OALAYNOS. 
 
 Ere hardship fell upon thee ? Why not fly, 
 And seek me out among my native hills, 
 Where I with open arms had welcomed thee ? 
 
 Don L. It was with fear that I disclosed my state, 
 Half doubting this return from even thee : 
 For we were sundered in the May of youth, 
 Nor since have held communion. Ah, I thought 
 Thou, like my other friends, hadst callous grown. 
 
 Gal. How thou didst wrong me ! 
 
 Don L. Wronged thee, noble man ! 
 
 Yes, I can ne er forgive the thoughts I bore 
 Gainst thee, and gainst the race of man entire. 
 For I have stood at bay before the world, 
 Facing the wolves that well-nigh pulled me down ; 
 Until I deemed mankind a. hungry pack, 
 Eager to suck their wounded brother s blood. 
 But thou hast come to purge me of my gall, 
 To heal my wounded heart, to dry my tears, 
 And plant within my soul a love for man, 
 Which, by Heaven s grace, wrong never shall uproot. 
 
 Gal. Dost thou remember, Luis, when we sat 
 Remote from men, yet planned to mankind good ? 
 What dreams we dreamed, what projects grave we 
 
 formed, 
 
 To guide our lives when we to manhood came ? 
 And thou wert ever first in these designs ; 
 Formed broader projects, gave a greater scope 
 To thy sweet fancy, than thy backward friend : 
 And wast thou first to plan these goodly deeds, 
 Yet last to bear them out ? Ah me ! I fear 
 The sprouts of fancy most luxuriant shoot 
 In shallowest soils ; and, when most forward seeming, 
 Oft-times but weak of root ! 
 
CALAYNOS. V ^ 31 
 
 v?> 
 
 Don L. It so has seemed. - 
 
 Calaynos, hadst thou borne what I have borne, 
 Thou wouldst not be so gracious to mankind. 
 Thou hast been nursed in wealth and luxury, 
 Thy every wish been father to the deed : 
 Thou, from o erflowing means, hast freely given 
 That which it cost thee nothing to impart : 
 But I, through bad men s acts, have fallen from 
 
 wealth, 
 
 Nor know one day if I may feed the next ; 
 So that the coin which I a beggar give 
 A moment wavers twixt his need arid mine. 
 
 Gal. Luis, you know not of the years 1 7 ve spent, 
 In patient study and unwearying search, 
 To learn the wants of man. I have digged down 
 Into the very roots and springs of things : 
 All moral systems, all philosophies, 
 All that the poet or historian wrote, 
 All hints from lighter books, all common sayings, 
 The current coin of wisdom rnong mankind, 
 Time-hallowed truths, and lies which seem like truths, 
 I have turned o er, before my mental eye, 
 Seeking a guide to lead me on to good ; 
 And find, the chiefest springs of happiness 
 Are faith in Heaven, and love to all mankind. 
 
 Don L. This is a noble creed, above my reach 
 A creed for one in ease and affluence ; 
 Better in speculation than in deed. 
 
 Gal. Not so ; and thou shalt go, poor brain-sick 
 
 man, 
 
 Far from these scenes, to heal thy wounded rnind. 
 Beneath my roof thou shalt forget thy cares ; 
 And time s soft plumes will brush thy tears away ; 
 
OZ CALAYNOS. 
 
 While I within thee may implant a faith, 
 
 To bear thee safely through this faithless world. 
 
 Don L. Thou art too good to one not worth thy 
 love. 
 
 Gal. Leave that to me. But of the creditors ; 
 I long to stuff their hungry maws with gold. 
 Send for them quickly. 
 
 Don L. Nay, 1 11 go myself. 
 
 A walk to me is a rare luxury. 
 
 Gal Well, then, we 11 seek them. 
 
 Don L. Nay, I 11 bring them here. 
 
 Repose a while ; I will return with speed. 
 
 [Exit hastily.] 
 
 Oli. (Advancing.) How fell Don Luis to such pov 
 erty ? 
 
 Gal. By the connivance of some common knaves, 
 Who gained his name to certain bonds and deeds 
 Of a vile tool of theirs, that played his friend. 
 
 boto. Two scurvy knaves, two knaves of clubs and 
 
 spades, 
 Took the last real he could call his own. [Aside.} 
 
 Oli. (Drawing GALA YNOS away from SOTO.) 1/iisshowsa 
 lack of wisdom on his part. 
 
 Gal. Nay, Oliver, it shows a trusting mind, 
 Pure from suspicion, a most guileless mind, 
 lie is a man whose loving heart was bruised 
 By acts of one whom most of all he loved. 
 For this, I quite forgive his bitterness. 
 
 Oli. A man like him, reared in a crafty town, 
 With his acuteness, was too easily caught 
 By a most shallow and most bare-faced trick. 
 
 Gal. Suspect you aught ? What, sir, you do sus 
 pect ? 
 
CALAYNOS. 
 
 33 
 
 Oil. And I have grounds. 
 
 Gal. Rash boy, restrain your tongue ! 
 
 Or that might follow which you may repent. 
 I tell you he is pure as yon bright sun. 
 Knaves flourish and grow rich : look round you here ; 
 Does this poor house show aught of prosperous 
 
 crime ? 
 
 If he were wealthy, or o erblown with pride, 
 I M listen to the silly words you speak. 
 I knew him from a child ; you catch a glance ; 
 And yet you tell me, as a trader would, 
 This gold is counterfeit ! These words of yours 
 Savor of cunning low, and not of wisdom. 
 Yet never seek to sprinkle in my ear 
 Your worldly gall ! What I will do, I will ! 
 Nor you, and all the world 
 
 Oli. My lord, my lord I 
 
 Gal. Pardon me, Oliver ; thy wish was good, 
 And towards my interest aimed, though shot awry. 
 Think not of what I said. Let us go in : 
 There is a couch ; I would repose a while. 
 
 [Exeunt CALAYNOS and OLIVER.] 
 
 Soto. Lord ! What an actor has my master grown ! 
 It takes a gentleman to lie complete. 
 I in but a blunderer to this mighty man, 
 Who lies by rule, is armed at every point, 
 Ready for each conjecture. Tis a system 
 To which an humble man can ne er attain. 
 I do not like that secretary s air : 
 He is too shrewd ; and has a busy brain, 
 That ever seeks for plots and deep deceits 
 In a 1 ! he looks at. For a rustic born, 
 
 VOL. i. 3 
 
.34 UALAYNOS. 
 
 The fellow s wise enough : but what a fool, 
 What a poor, generous, trusting dolt his lord ! 
 Here s a fine subject for the Don to fleece ! 
 Why, we 11 grow rich on him, regain our state, 
 And flourish bravely, as we did of old. 
 But I must warn Don Luis, once again, 
 To keep an eye upon the cunning scribe. [ 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Jl Street in front of the Exchange. Enter four USURERS, meeting 
 
 First Usurer. What is the news on Change ? 
 
 Second Usurer. Of great import 
 
 T is said the Court to-morrow leaves Seville ; 
 When all the chiefest gentlemen of Spain, 
 Nobles and commons, follow it of course. 
 
 Third Usurer. Half of our business gone ! That s 
 
 news enough 
 
 To break one s heart. How slow are fortunes made ! 
 Here I ve been laboring for a score of years, 
 With scarce a pittance for my daily toil. 
 
 Second U. 0, that comes well from you, who could 
 
 nigh buy 
 A noble dukedom with one half your means ! 
 
 Fourth Usurer. They say the plague is coming 
 
 here again 
 
 That the French king is to a war inclined 
 I heard Don Luis sawed his head half off, 
 With a dull knife, to cheat us creditors. 
 
 First U. That s sure a lie ; for here Don Luia 
 comes. 
 
CALAYNOS. 35 
 
 Third U. Nor tries to shun us ! What does this 
 portend ? 
 
 (Enter DON Luis.) 
 
 Don L. Good-day, my friends ! 
 
 Usurers. Good-day, good seiior ! 
 
 Don.L. My friends, I do not wish you should bear 
 
 loss, 
 
 By the large loans which you have each advanced ; 
 So, by your leave, to-day I 11 pay the debts, 
 On slight conditions which you 11 not deny. 
 I have a friend in town, of ample wealth, 
 Who 11 settle all, without a real s loss, 
 If you keep silent ; nor, by word or deed, 
 Say aught of me, or why I raised the loans, 
 Or how I brought myself to poverty. 
 And should he ask for what I owe these sums, 
 You 11 say that for a friend a bond I signed, 
 Whose treacherous flight makes me responsible. 
 Are you agreed ? Say yes or no : if no, 
 Your only chance for pay is lost. 
 
 First U. My lord, 
 
 You are too sudden ; give us time for thought. 
 
 Don L. (Apart to SECOND USURER.) Come hither, sir. 
 
 You are of gentle blood, 
 
 And, therefore, know what feelings cling to rank ; 
 Nor would you shame, by an incautious word, 
 A gentleman who loves you for your birth. 
 I trust your honor ; knowing that I lean 
 On that which might uphold a monarch s throne. 
 You 11 not betray the secret which I leave, 
 With purest faith, intrusted to your hands. 
 A breath of yours might mar my state for aye, 
 
36 CALAYNOS. 
 
 And blot a noble family from the land, 
 
 To which you are of kin though distantly. 
 
 Second U. Racks shall not wring it from me ! 
 
 Don L. I m content. 
 
 The pompous fool ! his race cleaned boots for ages 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Second U. (Aside.) There s birth and breeding ; 
 
 there s a gentleman ! 
 Called me his cousin ! lie may trust till doom ! 
 
 [Retire*.] 
 
 Don L. (To FIRST USURER.) I d speak a word apart 
 with you, my friend. 
 
 First U. What would your lordship ? 
 
 Don L. You re a prudent man ; 
 
 And would not lose your loan by empty words 
 Words which may do me harm, but you no good : 
 Therefore, if you desire to use the gold, 
 I charge you give no hint of my affairs 
 To him who pays the debt. Men call you wise, 
 And say you gained your wealth by strictest silence. 
 
 First U. Trust me, my lord ; t is not my wont to 
 
 prate 
 When any moneyed business is concerned. [Retires.] 
 
 Don. L. (To THIRD USURER.) Hither, you jackal 
 
 List to what I say ! 
 If you reveal why I m in debt to you, 
 Or say a word of interest or its rate, 
 Or how I raised the loan, I 11 blow a storm 
 Shall drive you naked from Seville to-night ! 
 There s a young nobleman, a gay Don Juan, 
 With whom in trade you were concerned of late 
 Look to it if you dare to blab a word, 
 
CALAYNOS. 37 
 
 His father, old Alfonso, shall know more, 
 Before to-night, than what he dreamed this morn ! 
 Third U. Good heavens I you know 
 
 Don L. Naught that I wish to tell. 
 
 I have the whip-hand of you by the gods, 
 I 11 make you smoke if you prove restive now ! 
 Third U. Fear not, my lord. 
 
 Don L. Nay, nay ; fear me, you leech ! 
 
 Third U. (Aside.) How knows he this ? [Retires.] 
 
 Don L. (To FOURTH USURER.) Come here, you trem 
 bling slave ! 
 
 If you by word, or look, or act, or sign, 
 Or hesitating speech, or stammering tongue, 
 Wise looks, or shrugs, which seem to hide a thought, 
 Give any token that you know me else 
 Than as a poor but worthy gentleman, 
 
 Who suffers through misfortune, not through fault 
 
 If you act thus, by yon bright heaven, I swear 
 I 11 drive my dagger half-way down your throat ! 
 
 Fourth U. Good lord, you would not kill me ! 
 
 Don L. Kill you, rogue ! 
 
 Ay, and throw out your carcass to the dogs ; 
 Thinking I d done the brutes small charity ! 
 
 Fourth U. Dear senor, I 11 be quiet as a mouse. 
 
 Don L. Look to yourself; my eye will be on you. 
 
 (Turns to all the USURERS.) 
 Follow me, masters ; if you have resolved 
 To act as I proposed. 
 
 Usurers. We have, my lord. [Exeunt.] 
 
38 CALAYXOS. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 A Room in DON Luis house. CALAYNOS and OLIVER. 
 
 Calayno*. What, not yet rid of your suspicious 
 
 thoughts ? 
 
 Pray cast them off, as unbecoming things, 
 Unworthy to consume the idle time 
 Which you will waste in entertaining them. 
 Suspicious men are like those slinking curs 
 That whine and fly, if we but show the lash, 
 And suffer torture ere they feel a blow. 
 If you will nourish them, I promise you 
 Enough of food to rear your nurslings on ; 
 For you will strain and twist his every act 
 To confirmation of your worst suspicions. 
 A falling straw shall make you swear him false, 
 An idle word shall damn him past reclaim ; 
 Though he, poor man, be innocent of crime, 
 And all the guilt be harbored in your breast. 
 I d as soon be a conscience-hunted felon, 
 As one pursued by packs of fantasies ! 
 
 Oliver. My lord, for you, I 11 try to love your 
 
 friend ; 
 
 But you will pardon, if with poor success. 
 When first I saw him, a cold shudder ran 
 From head to foot ; the while my faint heart thumped, 
 Like a great weight, against its prison-house ; 
 And when he strained you in his close embrace. 
 I d rather have seen a tiger mount your breast. 
 You half believe in these antipathies, 
 That tell, like instinct, of some coming ill ; 
 For you are firm of faith in sympathies, 
 Which prove, if they exist, their opposites. 
 
CALAYNOS. 39 
 
 Gal. Cease, Oliver ; we cannot harmonize, 
 I will not doubt him till 1 find him false. 
 
 Oli. Pray give me leave to ask the creditors, 
 Unknown to him, how in their debt he grew ? 
 
 Gal. Yes, for your own repose ;. I d have you 
 
 friends ; 
 
 If that will satisfy, you have my leave. 
 Now to your writings ; here Don Luis comes. 
 (Enter DON Luis and the USURERS.) 
 
 Don Luis. (Apart to CALAYNOS.) Here are the cred 
 itors ; pray treat them fair : 
 
 T will but make foes to chide them for their wrongs ; 
 And, as thou kriow st, I Ve enemies enough. 
 
 Gal. As you think fit. Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And give your papers to my secretary ; 
 He will write orders for their settlement. 
 
 [To the USURERS.] 
 
 (CALAYNOS and DON Luis talk apart. OLIVER seats himself at a 
 table.) 
 
 Oli. This is a large amount for one man s bond. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 What usury did good Don Luis pay ? 
 
 [To the USURERS.] 
 First Usurer. 7 T was not by usury he came in 
 
 debt ; 
 
 T was by a bond, which he endorsed for one 
 Who raised the gold, and then proved false to him. 
 Oli. But where s the bond ? When paid, t must 
 
 be erased. 
 First U. (Apart to the others.) The devil ! here s a 
 
 strait ! What shall we say ? 
 
 Don L. (Advancing.} What is the matter with you, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
40 CALAVN08. 
 
 Firtsl U. Sefior, the secretary wants your bond, 
 Which we forgot to bring. 
 
 Don L. Nay, nay, not so ; 
 
 T was put into my hands as we came here. 
 You gave it, did you not ? [To FOURTH USURER.] 
 
 Fourth Usurer. I did, my lord. 
 
 [Box Luis retires. ] 
 
 Oli. Baffled ! and yet t is strange ! These cred 
 itors 
 
 Take up their pay, as if they felt no shame ; 
 Which, were the action guilty, they should show. 
 
 [.Aside.] 
 
 (Turns to the FOURTH USURER.) 
 
 Why, sirrah, what a cursed knave are you, 
 To grasp your cheat-ings with so meek a face ! 
 You ve done a deed might bring you to the oar. 
 You, and your fellows, should march two by two, 
 With iron chains around your villain necks, 
 To seek the hulks, by dint of conscience driven. 
 You slimy swindler, you vile cozener ! 
 Fourth U. Why is it wrong to lend 
 
 (Dox Luis enhances, playing with his dagger-hilt.) 
 
 to lend to lend 
 Oli. To lend what, rascal ? 
 Don L. Lend my house your room. 
 
 [To FOURTH USURER.] 
 Have you not paid these men, my gentle friend ? 
 
 [To OLIVER.] 
 Oli. I have, sir. 
 
 Don L. (To USURERS.) Gentlemen, you may depart. 
 
 [Exeunt USURERS.] 
 
 Oli. (Aside.) Here was a struggle ; but he bore 
 it off; 
 
CALAYNOS. 41 
 
 A moment more, and he d have been betrayed. 
 Yon man is guilty, though I have no proof. 
 I 11 seem his friend, but watch him as a foe : 
 Heaven grant, thereby, I keep my lord from harm ! 
 
 [Retires.] 
 (CALAYNOS and DON Luis advance.) 
 
 Don L. My noble friend, what service hast thou 
 
 done 
 
 To one unworthy of thy least regard ! 
 How like a dew thy gentle acts have fallen 
 On that dry waste, my scarred and thirsting heart ! 
 0, may the blessings of a grateful mind 
 Rise up in prayers to Heaven, like evening mists, 
 To fall on thee in balmy freshening showers, 
 Dropped from His hand who smiles on kindly deeds ! 
 I 11 love my former sufferings from this hour ; 
 Since, through my pain, thou hast such rapture 
 
 wrought. 
 Col. Cease, cease ! Thy words have overpaid the 
 
 act; 
 
 If thou proceed st, thou plungest me in debt ; 
 Such gratitude doth shame my blushing gold. 
 But, Luis, to this corner of thy heart, 
 Warmed with the heat of friendship s holy flame, 
 Take not thy friend, unless thou It take mankind ; 
 And, for the love of one, love all his race : 
 Many are worthier of regard than I. 
 
 Don L. I think not so ; but thou shalt use my hc;irt 
 As a poor mansion, over which thou rulest : 
 if so thou will st, call in thy dearest friends ; 
 They shall be welcome, though they re all mankind. 
 Gal. And now make ready to depart with me. 
 
42 CALAYNOS. 
 
 I long to have thee breathe my native air, 
 And share such pleasures as my home affords. 
 
 Don L. An hour, and 1 11 be with you. [Exit.\ 
 
 Gal. Oliver. 
 
 OIL My lord. 
 
 Cat Collect the train ; we must be gone. 
 
 OIL How soon ? To-day ? 
 
 Cal. Within an hour, at most. 
 
 Oli. It can be done. 
 
 Cal. Then haste ; your time is brief. [Exit.] 
 
 Oli. Confusion ! lie departs with such hot speed, 
 I 11 not have time to see the creditors. 
 I purposed to untwist this tangled skein 
 To free the Don, or to confirm his guilt : 
 But this unthought of haste o erturns my scheme, 
 And leaves me wandering mid my doubts and fears. 
 
CALAYNOS. 43 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. A Room in CALAYNOS Castle. DONA ALDA. 
 
 Dona Alda. 0, WEARY, weary days, how slow ye 
 
 pass ! 
 
 Flow on, flow on, and bring Calaynos home ! 
 Yet why should I desire my lord s return? 
 His presence makes small difference to me : 
 Shut up in his dim study, pondering o er 
 The yellow leaves of the most learned dead, 
 Short time he gives to me ; and when he comes, 
 With stately step, and quiet, solemn eyes, 
 He chills the joy that from my heart would burst, 
 With a most dreary smile, or smiling sigh. 
 Yet I do love him, or I think I do. 
 Pale, melancholy man, thy godlike mind 
 Was rather formed for multitudes to praise, 
 Than for a woman s individual love 
 To spend its wayward feelings on, unawed. 
 No change, no change ! Can I be happy here 
 I, running o er with the hot blood of youth, 
 Eager for action, sick of dull repose, 
 That rusts my spirit with unburnished rest ? 
 I happy ! plodding an unvarying round 
 Of sullen days, that slowly crawl to years ? 
 My life is like a dammed and sluggish pool, 
 Topped with a scum of foul, green discontent, 
 
4 1 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Which loads my breast, and keeps the sunlight off. 
 (A horn sounds. Enter MARTINA.) 
 
 What means that sound ? 
 
 Martina. The warder blew the blast ; 
 
 Your lord and train approach the castle gate. 
 What quick return from dear Seville he makes ! 
 Had I been he, I d staid from home a year. 
 
 Dona A. T is a strange taste, his love for these 
 
 old walls : 
 
 He oft has said, he passes not an hour, 
 Which he calls happy, when away from them. 
 
 Mar. Lord ! lady, what a speech ! Were he well 
 
 bred, 
 
 He d say from you no happy hour was passed. 
 You were included in the walls, I deem, 
 With sundry other scraps of furniture. 
 I hate a man who rolls in self-content, 
 And needs no one to help his happiness ! 
 
 Dona A. You hate my lord ? 
 
 Mar. 0, no ! my lady dear ; 
 
 I spoke, as we unthinking women do, 
 In o crstrained phrase, that means not what it says. 
 
 Dona A. In the brief letter I last night received, 
 lie writes, a much-loved friend returns with him, 
 T} share what sports our castle can afford. 
 
 Mar. What sports ! what sports ! To see the 
 
 half-bred Moors 
 
 Dance to their pagan drums, on Baptist s day ; 
 And howl and rave, as if the maw of hell 
 Had cast its devils up to mar our earth ! 
 These are the only sports. The holidays, 
 Except Saint John s, go off with moody shows, 
 
CALAYNOS. 45 
 
 Which well-nigh make a Christian woman weep. 
 Who is the friend ? 
 
 Dona A. I know not : a young man ; 
 
 But yet not named. How old do you suppose him ? 
 
 Mar. Thirty in years, and yet a century old ! 
 A heart dried up, like one of Egypt s mummies, 
 All balmed and spiced in rare philosophy ; 
 A spindle-shanked, lean-visaged, red-eyed youth, 
 With a most rickety and crooked back, 
 That got its set o er Plato ; one who fears 
 To look a pretty woman in the face, 
 Who would begin his prayers if one came near ; 
 Who with his senses has not lived a day, 
 Yet ages with his brains. 
 
 Dona A. And I suppose, 
 
 A man much like my lord, of earnest mien, 
 Of grave and reverend looks incarnate wisdom 
 Made manifest and pure in earthly form 
 A man without a sin, or fault, or stain : 
 Such must he be whom lord Calaynos loves. 
 
 Mar. Would he had brought a gallant gentleman, 
 Such as adorns the splendid court of Spain ! 
 A man all smiles and service to us women ; 
 Faultless in dress, with a light, dashing air, 
 That wins his way to every lady s heart ; 
 A man of wit, in conversation apt, 
 Ready in trifles, with a thorough knowledge 
 Of all the little things which women love ; 
 One who can talk of China, or of cats 
 Of furs, or frills of lace, or Cashmere shawls 
 And be as learned and absolute in these 
 As is your lord in metaphysics lore : 
 That were a proper man a man of fashion 
 
4G CALAVXUS. 
 
 A man of feeling, delicate, refined ; 
 Not a great clumsy, learned elephant ! 
 
 Dona A. Hark! they are coining. Get you in, 
 
 Martina. 
 
 Mar. I 11 pass this way ; for 1 must see the guest. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Calaynos. ( Without.) Is Dona Alda here ? 
 
 Mar. (Without.) She is, my lord I 
 
 (Enter CALAYNOS, DON Luis, OLIVER, and SOTO.) 
 
 Dona A. (Embracing CJLMSOS.) Welcome, my lord. 
 
 CaL Dear Alda, in thy joy, 
 
 Thou dost forget the guest I bring to thec ; 
 A guest, and therefore to be welcomed first 
 A friend, and therefore to be welcomed warmly. 
 
 Dona A. (To DON Luis.) Pardon me, sefior, if I once 
 
 offend 
 
 The courtesy a lady owes her guest. 
 ; T is the first parting we have e er endured ; 
 Therefore our meeting is a strange delight, 
 New and most grateful. -You are welcome, seilor, 
 Both as a guest, and as my husband s friend. 
 
 Don Luis. Ask me no pardon, where is no of 
 fence. 
 
 Your double welcome I accept at heart, 
 And pray t may have a long continuance. 
 How beautiful she is ! Heavens, what a gem 
 This barbarous castle has shut up in it ! [Aside.] 
 
 Why came you not, fair lady, to Seville ? 
 The court was there, and all was gayety, 
 Which lacked but you to make the joy complete. 
 
 Dona A. The very man whom last Martina drew. 
 
 T was not his will. [Pointing to CALAYNOS.] 
 
CALAYNOS. 47 
 
 Don L. Ah, then you wished to come ? 
 
 Dona A. My lord s will is my wish. 
 
 Don L. Most dutiful ! 
 
 Would that all ladies could be taught by you 
 ; T would save us aches ! 
 
 Dona A. (To CALAYNOS.) My lord, we ll share thy 
 thoughts. 
 
 Gal. Nay, heed me not. I must retire a while. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Dona A. Perhaps t would please you, sir, to view 
 
 the castle ? 
 
 No customary qualities it lacks, 
 Which dignify all huge and antique piles. 
 On every oaken door and painted window 
 There rests a legend, magnified by time ; 
 Each tower is tenanted, at evil hours, 
 By other forms than walk its floors by day ; 
 No stone but has its story. Some are gay, 
 Some grotesque ; some are sad, some horrible. 
 I 11 tell you but the cheerful shall we walk ? 
 
 Don L. Ay, like the Sultan of the Eastern tale, 
 I 11 list a thousand nights with eager ears. [Exeunt.] 
 
 (OLIVER and SOTO advance.) 
 
 Soto. This is a fine old castle somewhat musty. 
 
 Oliver. Ay, tis the mustiest mansion in al) 
 
 Spain. 
 
 This castle my lord s race inhabited 
 Beyond all date. 
 
 Soto. How did they in the flood ? 
 
 Oli. 0, they were fishes then, and swam unchoked 
 They were advancing from their primal slime 
 Hatched by the sun on some wide river s bank 
 
48 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Through worms, fish, frogs, and beasts, upward to 
 
 men. 
 
 They lived here monkeys, till their tails wore off, 
 Then became Moors, and last you find them thus. 
 
 Soto. Why, here s a pedigree for potentates ! 
 That s why they quarter beasts upon their shields ; 
 Relations they to all these rampant brutes. 
 Friend, I shall dread to kill the next mad dog, 
 For fear I spill some near relation s blood. 
 
 Oli. Fear you to kill a fox ! You were a fox 
 A cunning, sly, most guilty-minded fox ; 
 Your master was^ a wolf, a dangerous wolf, 
 And you, sly fox, were his first counsellor. 
 Fear to slay foxes, Soto ! 
 
 Solo. What mean you, sir ? 
 
 Oli. Merely that men were one time animals. 
 My master was a lion, king of beasts ; 
 And you two, fox and wolf, once stole his crown, 
 And thought to wear it. 
 
 Soto. Friend, you speak in riddles. 
 
 Oli. no, in fables I. 
 
 Soto. Speak plainer, ^Esop ! 
 
 Oli. I was a dog, a faithful, patient cur, 
 And watched my master while his eyes were 
 
 closed ; 
 
 For you had given the king a sleeping draught, 
 Made of a flower called Friendship falsely called ! 
 I slew the fox and wolf, regained the crown, 
 And placed the golden circle on his brow : 
 Now, in the fable, see what beast was I ! [Exit.} 
 
 Soto. This fellow looks through botli of us like 
 
 glass : 
 lie s keener than my lord, and wiser far. 
 
CALAYNOS. 49 
 
 Some sunny day, we 11 both pitch o er these walls, 
 Arid he will be the man that breaks our necks. 
 Ah ! tis a sad thing, Soto, very sad, 
 To be knave s knave, e en though he be a Don ! 
 To take the peril, and do all the work, 
 Then, at the last, come in for all the kicks. 
 My lord must know the fable which I heard 
 He ll sleep the lighter for it, on my life ! [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Another Room in the Castle. Enter DONA ALDA and DON Luis. 
 
 Don Luis. Pray, noble lady, how do you kill time ? 
 The constant sameness of a country life 
 Must sometimes bear with weight on your high 
 spirit. 
 
 Dona Alda. Kill time, kill time ! Ne er breathe 
 
 those words again 
 
 At least, not where my lord Calaynos hears 
 If on his good opinion you set store. 
 He uses time as usurers do their gold, 
 Making each moment pay him double interest ; 
 He sighs o er what in slumber is consumed ; 
 Robs the lead-lidded god of many an hour, 
 To swell his heaping stores of curious learning. 
 
 Don L. I hope rny words no treason to your ears ; 
 I thought not, gentle lady, to offend. 
 But I have lived in cities, from my birth, 
 Where all was noise, and life, and varying scene 
 Recurrent news which set all men agape 
 New faces, and new friends, and shows, and revels, 
 
 VOL. i. 4 
 
50 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Mingled in constant action and quick change 
 Which things drive on the wheels of time apace ; 
 Nor, but for scanty periods, have I known 
 The changeless round of a calm country life. 
 I have not weighed my minutes in fine scales, 
 As lapidaries do the diamond s dust ; 
 Content am I to wear life s blazing gem, 
 Nor care what fragments fall in polishing. 
 
 Dona A. I have not passed my life in gayeties ; 
 Duties, not pleasures, have filled up my days. 
 My lord s domain is large, and peopled thick ; 
 Though most are prosperous, some are old, some 
 
 poor. 
 
 Those that can hither come, I here relieve ; 
 But the more feeble I ride forth to seek, 
 Freighted with goods which ease their present wants. 
 Sometimes, I read old books of chivalry, 
 And fill my wandering brain with idle fears 
 Of dwarfs, enchanters, giants, eldridge knights, 
 That throng the crowded world of old romance. 
 Sometimes, I prattle with my town-bred maid, 
 A girl of wit, who longs to see Seville, 
 And has so filled my ears with her desire, 
 That I d fain go, if but to still her tongue. 
 Then there are household duties infinite, 
 Known but to women, which I must discharge. 
 
 Don L. So, then, at times you are an almoner, 
 At times a romance-reader, next a housewife. 
 These are grave things to spend a life upon ! 
 But where s Calaynos in this catalogue ? 
 Does he not cheer you, in your mournful tasks ? 
 
 Dona A. Are you his friend, and ask me this of 
 him ? 
 
CALAYNOS. fil 
 
 He is a scholar of the strictest caste ; 
 
 And from the portal of yon study dim 
 
 Seldom comes forth into my little world. 
 
 He is a man of grave and earnest mind, 
 
 Wrapped up in things beyond my range of thought ; 
 
 Of a warm heart, yet with a sense of duty 
 
 As how he must employ his powerful mind 
 
 That drives all empty trifles from his brain, 
 
 And bends him sternly o er his solemn tasks. 
 
 Things nigh impossible are plain to him : 
 
 His trenchant will, like a fine-tempered blade, 
 
 With unturned edge cleaves through the baser iron. 
 
 Such is my lord, a man above mankind. 
 
 Don L. And can you feel companionship with him, 
 An intellectual demigod, removed 
 From all the sympathies that mark our race ? 
 Can your warm woman s heart outpour its griefs, 
 Or share its gladness, with a soul like his ? 
 Can you unbidden leap upon his breast, 
 And laugh or weep, as suits your forward mood ? 
 He must despise all smiles, and mock all tears : 
 Serene, and cold, and calm an ice-crowned peak, 
 Towering supreme amid thought s frozen clouds, 
 Above the thaws that flood our vales of life. 
 
 Dona A. You re talking of rny husband I 
 
 Don L. Of my friend. 
 
 Let me be your friend, lady, I beseech. 
 I fain would see you live in happiness ; 
 And his strange coldness cannot bring you peace. 
 
 Dona A. Husband and wife need not a go-between. 
 I did not say I lived unhappily ; 
 Nor that Calaynos wanted in his love. 
 Senor, you take wild license with my speech, 
 
52 CALAYNOS. 
 
 To twist its meaning to so base an end. 
 I love him, he loves me. 
 
 Don L. Your pardon, madam : 
 
 T was but the share I take in all affairs, 
 Wherein my friends are mixed. I meant not ill ; 
 Nor, willingly, your harmless words would wrest 
 To any sinister or false intent. 
 ; T was a mistake ; but such a one might hap 
 In the warm heart of any loving friend. 
 
 Dona A. Well-meaning ill the generous must for 
 give. 
 
 When next we meet, beware how you uprake 
 The slumbering ashes in the fane of love, 
 Lest you come off with withered hands ! farewell. 
 
 [Exit.-} 
 Don L. Farewell, thou type of beauty, whom I 11 
 
 win 
 
 Farewell, thou guileless seat of embryo love 
 Farewell, thou temple of my burning heart 
 Thou thief of honor thou enchantress fair, 
 Who hast upset my nature by thy art, 
 And killed the latest seeds of good in me ! 
 Farewell, all gratitude, and friendship s trust ! 
 Come, smiling sin, and pour thy honeyed words 
 
 On tongue and lips, but in my heart pour gall ! 
 
 Come, thin-robed sin, that show st thy loveliness, 
 But hid st thy wickedness and keen remorse ! 
 That I may win my love, and hate her lord 
 0, when had love a conscience or a fear I [Exit.} 
 
CALAYNOS. 53 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Study of CALAYNOS. CALAYNOS reading, OLIVER transcrib 
 ing a manuscript. 
 
 Oliver. (Rising.) My lord, this learned manuscript 
 
 has raised 
 
 A crowd of strange conjectures in my mind, 
 That rush and jostle through my wildered brain, 
 In wild confusion, without settled purpose. 
 
 Calaynos. (Rising.) What part stirred up this riot 
 in your head ? 
 
 Oli. That part in which it hints at God s design 
 In the creation of the earth and man. 
 I oft have wondered how omniscient God 
 Could take delight in forming things like men : 
 So fall of meanness, yet so full of pride 
 So strong in thought, and yet so weak in act 
 So foul in nature, so o ergrown with sin, 
 Yet destined for a sphere neath Him alone. 
 What pleasure finds He in our paltry deeds, 
 Begot of selfishness and headstrong will ? 
 What feeling moves Him when the p uny thing 
 Lifts up his voice, and boldly rails at Him ? 
 How deems He, when He sees the myriad souls 
 That speed to death their destiny forgot, 
 The purpose of their being unachieved 
 Seeking, unawed, a hell of their own choosing ? 
 Why did He form so fair a stagffc as this, 
 To dance His trifling puppet, man, upon ? 
 And, last, does not this whole creation seem 
 Neath His contempt, so far above it He ? 
 
54 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Gal. Stop, Oliver ; you tread on dangerous ground, 
 A mental bog, that quakes beneath your feet. 
 These words would seem to come from humbleness, 
 And low opinion of yourself and man ; 
 Yet are engendered by the rankest pride, 
 Arrayed in robes of meek humility 
 Stop ! the next step is infidelity. 
 Contempt for man begets contempt for God : 
 He who hates man must scorn the Source of man, 
 And challenge, as unwise, his awful Maker. 
 The next step doubt ; and then comes unbelief. 
 Last, you raise man above all else besides, 
 And make him chiefest in the universe. 
 So, from a self-contempt, grows impious pride, 
 That swells your first-thought pigmy to a giant, 
 And gives the puffed-up atom fancied sway. 
 God is ! Philosophy here ends her flight ; 
 This is the height and term of human reason : 
 A fact that, like the whirling Norway pool, 
 Draws to its centre all things, swallows all. 
 How can you know God s nature to Himself? 
 How learn His purpose in creating man ? 
 What s ultimate to man, remains concealed : 
 Enough for you, to know that here you are 
 A thought of God, made manifest on earth. 
 Ah, yet His voice is heard within the heart ; 
 Faint, but oracular, it whispers there : 
 Follow that voice, love all, and trust to Him. 
 0, learn, dear Olivetti pity one, 
 Who wanders in this world without a faith 
 In something greater than his feeble self! 
 
 Oli. Yet thoughts, like these, will rise in spite of 
 me. 
 
CALAYNOS. 55 
 
 Gal. I know it ; His the taint of primal sin, 
 That mingles with each thought, mars every act, 
 That stains our very good with something ill ; 
 And, like the poison which abounds in plants, 
 Mingles its portion with our healthiest food. 
 
 Oli. Does not this knowledge of man s sinfulness 
 Awake a doubt of individuals, 
 And make you cautious, when you deal with men ? 
 
 Gal. No ; I have predetermined trust in man, 
 That never alters, till I find him false. 
 I am above the common herd in power ; 
 No rogue can wrong, but in my ample purse ; 
 Which I scarce feel, which, had he asked, I d given. 
 
 Oli. 7 T is all in vain ! I cannot raise a doubt 
 In his ingenuous nature. There s no hope. 
 I have but slender grounds to doubt Don Luis ; 
 And my own doubts, perchance, may work me ill 
 Yet will I go to death, if he s not false ! 
 I, from Seville, will gain the facts I want ; 
 Meantime (Aside.) My lord, much of your friend 
 
 you 11 see ; 
 
 For you must hunt, and feast, to pass his time, 
 And show all courtesies that may befit. 
 
 Gal. Nay ; he s too dear a friend to make a stran 
 ger. 
 
 I will divide my castle and my wealth ; 
 Let him use each, as suits his present mood. 
 We will not clash in interests : he may hunt, 
 I study ; thus, each may enjoy his bent. 
 Then Dona Alda will be much with him. 
 
 Oli. Hum, hum ! I like not that, I like not that. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Cla. She is so full of life, so fond of change ; 
 
56 
 
 CALAYXOS. 
 
 They two can put their restless heads together, 
 Unhood their thoughts at every whim that flies, 
 And chase the quarry till they bring it down-. 
 
 Oli. Heaven grant, these coupled falcons prove 
 not haggards ! [-frfc.] 
 
 (CALAYNOS reads, OLIVER writes. Scene closes.) 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 A Room in the Castle. Enter MARTINA. 
 
 Martina. I wonder where the strangers can have 
 
 gone ! 
 
 I ve searched the castle o er, to find them out ; 
 Yet, save the glimpse I caught as they came in, 
 Have tried, in vain, to get a peep at them. 
 The master has a gay and courtly air, 
 Which proves him of high birth, and liberal training. 
 The man, too, bears himself in proper trim, 
 And shines, although reflected is his light. 
 T is nigh as well to serve a gentleman 
 As to be gentle born ; to catch his wa} r s, 
 Follow his manners, and imbibe his tastes ; 
 Learn what is graceful, what to be eschewed ; 
 Garner the grain, and fling aside the chafi": 
 Till, in the end, the copy may become 
 A finer work than the original. 
 I Ve half a mind to fall headlong in love ; 
 Certes I will, if he show sign of fire. 
 
 (Enter SOTO.) 
 
 Soto. Good-day, fair maid ! We have not met 
 before. 
 
CALAYNOS. 57 
 
 Mar. Good-day, fair sir ! the better since we 
 
 meet. 
 I 11 show him I can speak as fair as he. [jlsifc. } 
 
 Soto. Are you a dweller neath this roof above, 
 Or but a passing angel here alit ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, and a treader of this floor beneath ! 
 Throw off" your lofty style. I m not a fool, 
 Nor a plain country maiden, as you think. 
 
 Soto. Plain you are not ; that can I truly say 
 I hope a maiden. 
 
 Mar. As you are a knave ! 
 
 What if I m not a maid ? What if a wife ? 
 1 m still my lady s maid, say what you will. 
 What if a widow ? Would you like me less ? 
 
 Soto. Shall I speak plainly ? 
 
 Mar. Plainly as you think. 
 
 Soto. Then, if a maid, I hold you bove all price. 
 If you re a wife, keep your dear husband hence ; 
 I d spit the villain, as I would a toad ! 
 If you re a widow, then I think of you 
 As of a nut, when all the kernel 7 s gone 
 As of a fruit, when all the juice is dried 
 As of a feast, when all the meats are eat 
 As fair outside, but rifled all within ! 
 An unclaimed hawk may come to know the lure, 
 And we may teach the haggard as we list ; 
 But when once broken, by an unskilled hand, 
 She gains such tricks as training cannot mend. 
 
 Mar. Why, the dog s mad in love ! (jiside.) I am 
 a maid. 
 
 Soto. Let me catch breath, and thank you for those 
 words ! 
 
58 CALAYNOS. 
 
 My blood runs free, that nigh became a mass, 
 Congealed and stagnant, with my freezing doubts ! 
 
 Mar. Come from your stilts. I fain would like 
 
 you, sir; 
 
 But you must be familiar, not too lofty. 
 You fly your words above my simple ken. 
 If you 11 make love, why, make it like a man, 
 Not like a demigod. We have enough 
 Of word-inflated mortals in our house. 
 How do you like this place ? 
 
 Soto. 0, past all bounds 
 
 That is for you ; for one thing else I hate it. 
 
 Mar. What thing is that ? 
 
 Soto. Be secret Oliver. 
 
 Mar. You hate him ? I do too, most bitterly. 
 The scurvy fool, who fain would be a sage ! 
 
 Solo. The prying knave, who has discovered more 
 Than his dull lord, with all his learning, could ! 
 Things are at pretty pass, when servants grow 
 Above their masters saving you and me. 
 
 Mar. Pray tell me all. 
 
 Soto. Well, let us walk apart : 
 
 Some ear, less honest, our discourse might catch. 
 I 11 tell you all, for we both pull one way. [Exeunt.} 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The Park before the Castle. Enter DON Luis. 
 
 Don Luis. The means, the means ! My love is 
 
 cold as snow ; 
 
 I dare not tell her what I burst to say. 
 But she may change ; as Hecla sends forth fire 
 
CALAYNOS. 59 
 
 From out the ice, which hides its burning heart. 
 
 But how ? Alas, she knows not of my love ; 
 
 Can take no interest in me, uninformed. 
 
 Did she but know, that might arouse her heart ; 
 
 For half the love of earth from this source springs : 
 
 First woman s flattered at the heat she wakes, 
 
 Then falls in love, to rid herself of debt. 
 
 I dare not tell her ; that might blast the whole, 
 
 And drive me from her presence unrepaid. 
 
 Yet she must know ; but by some other means 
 
 Not know, but doubt it. Let that thought once in,* 
 
 No band of angels e er can drive it but, 
 
 No force usurp its sway. I m well convinced 
 
 She bears no love for her great booby lord : 
 
 If she be secret, he can ne er suspect 
 
 Too busy up in heaven to think of earth. 
 
 There s Oliver ; I 11 give him food for doubts, 
 
 Which, if he breathe, I, through the influence 
 
 Wielded by me above his heaven-rapt lord, 
 
 Will drive the beggar forth. 0, friendship dear, 
 
 Through thee I 11 work, and gain my end at last. 
 
 (Enter SOTO.) 
 
 Soto. I have been looking for you far and near. 
 I ve all the castle s secrets on my thumb. 
 
 Don L. What know you, Soto ? 
 
 Soto. Nay, what know I not ? 
 
 I know, my lord, all that one girl could say 
 In scarce an hour ; but what would pose ten men, 
 And they fast talkers, in a day to tell. 
 
 Don L. Who gossiped thus ? 
 
 Soto. Martina. 
 
 Don L. Who is she ? 
 
00 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Soto. The confidential maiden of my lady ; 
 A girl of wit, and most complete in form, 
 With thoughts and aims above the place she holds. 
 She, too, abhors the crafty secretary ; 
 And when I told her how I scorned the wretch, 
 She loosed her eager tongue, told everything 
 Which she had gathered since she first came here. 
 At last we fell in love, and there we rest. 
 
 Don L. Go on, good Soto, cram her to the brim, 
 Love her as you have never loved before ; 
 Or rather make her love you, that were best. 
 
 1 too have fallen in love. 
 
 Soto. With whom, my lord ? 
 
 Don L. With Dona Alda. 
 
 Soto. Are you much in love ? 
 
 Don L. In love to death ! 
 
 Soto. 0, that is nothing strange. 
 
 You ve sickened for a score, died for a score ; 
 Till the next passion brought you health and life. 
 There was Con stanza, Clara, Viola, 
 Maria, Isabella, Phillipa 
 
 Don L. Peace ! you are crying this she-merchan 
 dise 
 
 As tradesmen do their wares. I tell you, knave, 
 The love which now I feel gnaws me like hunger ! 
 
 Soto. They feed too well to give that figure force 
 In this fat castle. But a week ago, 
 When I was thin and famished in Seville, 
 Such words had drawn forth tears of sympathy. 
 But there s the husband loves you bove all heights. 
 
 Don L. And here am I, that hate him neath all 
 depths. 
 
 Soto. Natural enough : you boar it in your blood. 
 
CALAYNOS. 6.1 
 
 I lately heard a ballad, ages old 
 A -scurvy ballad a foul, lying ballad 
 Which told how some great ancestor of his 
 Drove round Granada s laughter-shaken walls 
 Kinsman of yours. Not with a manly sword 
 No, that were fair with a base scourge he did it. 
 
 Don L. What mean you ? 
 
 Soto. He s of Moorish blood. 
 
 Don L. You fool ! 
 
 Solo. Witness his Moorish name, Calaynos. 
 
 Don L. True. 
 
 Who told you this ? 
 
 Soto. Martina told me, senor. 
 
 T is a mere taint he bears paternally : 
 Though very slight, yet, in the pious eyes 
 Of the hidalgos of Castilian breed, 
 Worse than all crimes the devil ever did. 
 T is a grave secret, not to be divulged. 
 
 Don L. Ah, now I think, I heard it when a boy. 
 What of his lady is she Moorish too ? 
 
 Soto. No, of the purest blood. 
 
 Don L. Why, this is strange ! 
 
 Soto. Her sire was proud, but sunk in poverty ; 
 The lord was rich, but of the unclean blood ; 
 And so they compromised, and struck a trade. 
 
 Don L. Then the Moor bought her ? 
 
 Soto. So Martina says. 
 
 That s why he would not take her to Seville, 
 For fear she d learn what half of Spain well knows. 
 
 Don L. You re sure she knows it not ? 
 
 Soto. Who d dare to tell ? 
 
 He d pitch the bold informer in the moat, 
 To drink his health : he s more than sovereign here. 
 
62 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Don L. Now, lovely Akla, I have hold on thee, 
 Shall draw thee to me, should all else fall short. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Go, Soto, tell this new-made love of yours 
 That I m neck-deep in love for her fair lady. 
 You need not tell her to be secret. Go ! 
 
 Solo. Here s mischief brewing, (jlside.) I obey 
 
 you, senor. [Exit.] 
 
 Don L. Thanks, love ! This news outgoes my 
 
 wildest hope. 
 
 I doubt no more, the thing* is certainty ; 
 The chase is simple, and the conquest sure. 
 Sure tis a virtuous deed to set her right ; 
 To show this cozening Moor in all his guilt, 
 In all the blackness of his foul deceit, 
 To her dear eyes. Good Lord ! a boy might tri 
 umph ! 
 
 Woe, woe, Calaynos ! this sole crime of thine 
 Shall draw upon thy head a double grief! [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 A Room in the Castle. Enter MARTINA and SOTO. 
 
 Soto. There bloom twin rose-buds twixt your nose 
 
 and chin, 
 That I d fain taste. 
 
 Martina. Kind sir, beware the thorns ! 
 
 [Showing her nails.] 
 
 Soto. 1 Ve felt the thorns, thoy rankle in my heart ; 
 Naught but thy lips can draw their venom out. 
 
CALAYNOS. f3 
 
 Mar. Your act has bruised the heel of your desire, 
 So close it treads behind. Dost love me, sir ? 
 
 Soto. Love thee ! I love thee past the flight of 
 
 thought. 
 
 Words cannot tell thee nay, I cannot think, 
 I cannot truly to myself conceive 
 Cannot set bounds to, cannot understand 
 The one idea which o er me reigns supreme, 
 And bows me at thy feet (Kneels.) I can but feel 
 The might of that strong spirit. Useless words ! 
 
 [Rises.] 
 
 I see them hat st me, see thou think st me mad 
 Know thou wilt scorn me send me from thee far, 
 To spend my days in mortified despair. 
 
 0, what a dolt was I, to tell thee this ! 
 But my full heart drove on my silly tongue. 
 Farewell, forever ! 
 
 Mar. Stay ; I hate thee not. 
 
 Soto. But dost thou love me ? Say that word, 
 
 orl- 
 
 Mar. I love thee. 
 
 Solo. Wilt thou ever love me thus ? 
 
 Mar. Till soul and body fall apart, I will. 
 Soto. joy, love ! Success beyond my hopes ! 
 
 1, like a reckless gamester, staked my all 
 
 On this last throw, and, see, the game is won ! 
 Mar. Play not again ; or you may lose your 
 
 winnings. 
 Soto. Fear not, dear maid ; I m rich in what I ve 
 
 won. 
 
 But dost thou know, Martina, that we two 
 Are not the only lovers here ? 
 
 Mar. How so ? 
 
(Jl CALAYNOS. 
 
 Solo. My lord thy lady loves, as I love thee, 
 And she must love my master, as thou lov st ; 
 Or we this dismal house can never fly ; 
 Here he 11 abide till doomsday. Dost thou see ? 
 We must contrive to win her to his love ? 
 For, if she fly, then in her train fly we. 
 
 Mar. She loves him not ; yet may be brought to 
 
 it.- 
 I 11 do my utmost ; for thy sake, not his. 
 
 Soto. Where dost thou lodge ? 
 
 Mar. Just next my lady s room, 
 
 And Hymen keeps the key. Fair sir, good-night ! 
 
 [Exit.} 
 
 Soto. She s a brave wench ; but somewhat over- 
 prudent. 
 
 Well, if I wed her, I 11 not mate a fool. 
 Now to Don Luis ; let him watch his game, 
 If he will play at hazard with the Moor : 
 There 11 be swords drawn before this cast is o er. 
 
 [Jbtf.] 
 
CALAYNOS. 65 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Great Hall in the Castle. Enter DON Luis and 
 
 SOTO. 
 
 Don Luis. YET I much doubt the power Martina 
 
 holds. 
 
 In small affairs her influence may be great ; 
 But in a matter like the one now toward, 
 I fear she must come off with sorry grace. 
 I value virtue, though I have it not, 
 And know its power to set all wiles at naught ; 
 Heart-rooted good may pass through fire unscathed, 
 And chastity can keep a fiend at bay, 
 With its pure, sinless front. 
 
 Solo. Bravo, my lord ! 
 
 Here s a fine speech, to come from one like you ! 
 
 Don L. Soto, I Ve trod all paths of sin and guilt, 
 And know the wickedness and crimes of men ; 
 Yet would have been a fool, had I not seen 
 That virtue may exist, though rare indeed. 
 I tell you, I have met it everywhere, 
 In halls and hovels ; and have oft retired, 
 Abashed and conquered, from its injured look. 
 
 Soto. My lord, if thus you reason gainst yourself, 
 As if persuading from your first design, 
 Give up the chase : I 11 never counsel guilt. 
 
 Don L. No, by the gods ! you misconceive my 
 aim. 
 
 VOL. i. 5 
 
C6 CAI.AYNOS. 
 
 Fools come to naught, who follow cheating hope ; 
 I ever look at the dark side of things, 
 And weigh the chances gainst my own success : 
 So bring to enterprise a wary eye, 
 Prepared for every stop that balks my way. 
 Naught but long-suffering good, that triumphs most 
 AVhen most oppressed by adverse circumstance, 
 Can scape the snares that threaten Alda s feet. 
 
 Soto. Martina calls her weak, of fickle mind, 
 Curious for change, and discontented here ; 
 Unstable in design, thence easily led. 
 
 Don L. She may be thus, and yet be pure as 
 heaven. 
 
 Solo. Monstrous, my lord ! Do you not blush with 
 
 shame, 
 
 To look on virtue, and dissect it thus ? 
 If I e er thought of good I d turn a monk. 
 
 Don L. You say Martina knows no ill of her, 
 No sin, the slightest not a hook or loop, 
 Whereby to lead her on ? Mayhap her lord 
 Has told his Moorish birth, in some soft mood, 
 Has reconciled the stain, and won regard. 
 
 Soto. Martina gives but one reply to that ; 
 She says her lady never had a hint 
 Of how Calaynos wronged her ; rest on this. 
 
 Don L. Tis well, tis well ; the sharper then the 
 
 stroke, 
 
 The keener then the pang, the more she loves. 
 Nay, nay, she loves him not to that I ll swear; 
 But this will tear respect and awe away. 
 Martina must contrive we meet to-night ; 
 And you stand ready at the horses heads. 
 If you would take your baggage, have her prompt, 
 
CALAYNOS. 67 
 
 And pack her safe upon another horse ; 
 While you ride guard, to hinder all pursuit : 
 My steed bears double. See, the lady comes. 
 
 (Enter DONA ALDA and MARTINA. SOTO and MARTINA talk 
 apart.) 
 
 Lady, I waited to address you here. 
 I on the morrow for Seville depart. 
 
 Dona Alda. So soon ! Calaynos knows not your 
 intent ? 
 
 Don L. Not yet. An urgent matter calls me off. 
 But ere I go if, lady, you ll permit 
 Some words, deep freighted with your happiness, 
 Must claim a notice. 
 
 Dona A. Speak, sir I attend. 
 
 Don L. Not now ; to-night, if you will meet me 
 here. 
 
 Dona A. Speak now : why wait till night ? 
 
 Don L. Nay, bring your maid ; 
 
 Let her remain in ear-shot, should you call. 
 I mean no wrong ; I fain would do you right. 
 
 Dona A. Sir, on such terms, I grant what you 
 request. 
 
 Don L. Adieu, till then poor lady ! 
 
 [Exeunt DON Luis and SOTO.] 
 
 Dona A. What means he ? 
 
 " Poor lady ! " -This is strange beyond a dream. 
 Why does he pity me why look so sad, 
 With so much pain and trouble on his brow ; 
 As if he bore a load of secret woe, 
 That must have birth with many a fearful pang ? 
 I 11 seek Calaynos, and entreat advice 
 No, no, twill vex him. Sure he means no wrong 
 For full-eyed pity never troops with guilt. 
 
68 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Martina, did you mark Don Luis plight ? 
 How quick he left, as if to save me pain ? 
 
 Martina. He seemed dejected, and o ercome with 
 grief. 
 
 Dona A. Can you conjecture aught ? 
 
 Mar. Not much, nor clearly. 
 
 Dona A. What do you think ? 
 
 Mar. I think he is in love. 
 
 Dona A. Pshaw ! that s the offspring of two silly 
 
 heads 
 
 Soto and you are ridden to death with fancies 
 He is too wise to love without a hope. 
 Men who have known the world as long as he, 
 But fall in love with great estates or gold 
 Taking the cncumbrant maiden as an ill ; 
 And not with peril, such as he must brook 
 Who dares to love the wife of great Calaynos. 
 
 Mar. Yet such things have been. 
 
 Dona A. 0, yes ; sung in ballads. 
 
 Mar. Ay, and in real life, lady : Queens of Spain 
 Have had their paramours. 
 
 Dona A. So might it be, 
 
 Yet never hap to bride of a Calaynos. 
 No, no ; some solemn mystery bore him down, 
 Which he must tell, though he d fain shun the act. 
 
 Mar. What mystery deeper than an untold 
 
 love ? 
 
 What keener pang than telling in despair? 
 Find me a grief, to rend a loving heart, 
 More cruel than separation without hope ! 
 Believe me, lady, this is root of all. 
 
 Dona A. Ha ! think you so ? Why, then, I meet 
 him not. 
 
CALAYNOS. 69 
 
 I 11 not put torture to his torigueless love ; 
 I will not tempt him to dare certain death, 
 For the poor consolation words afford. 
 
 Mar. I may be wrong- perchance I may be 
 
 wrong 
 
 Nay, now I think, I cannot but be wrong. 
 He would conceal his love from outward show 
 Till the last moment I am sure I m wrong : 
 Yet am I sure he loves you, though he go 
 Without a sign to show the love he feels. 
 
 Dona A. I will not hate him for the love he bears ; 
 Nor will I fan my secret vanity 
 With his despairing sighs, as women do : 
 No man can say whom he will love, whom hate 
 The act o erleaps his will ; and a pure heart, 
 That burns to ashes, yet conceals its pain, 
 For fear it mar its hopeless source of love, 
 Is not to be despised, nor lightly held. 
 
 Mar. You are too cruel, to gain and not return. 
 
 Dona A. I am too just to soil Calaynos honor. 
 
 Mar. I never thought of him. 
 
 Dona A. Ne er thought of him ! 
 
 My chiefest spring and stimulant of good, 
 Before whose face crime takes an humble guise, 
 And blushes at its meanness never thought ! 
 
 Mar. My love for you admits no rival cares. 
 
 Dona A. And can you separate my lord from 
 
 me ? 
 
 What bears on him, has double weight for me. 
 Did I not think this coming interview, 
 Through me, held things of moment to my lord, 
 I ne er had granted it; for he shall hear, 
 }Sre I have time for thought, the substance of it. 
 
70 CALAYXOS. 
 
 Mar. T is but time lost : I will not urge her 
 
 more, 
 
 Lest I disgust her with my Soto s lord. 
 She ever flies from Luis to Calaynos ; 
 And when 1 name the Don, she bends her thoughts 
 Full on her lord, and speaks of him alone. 
 Her admiration has nigh grown to love. 
 Luis must plead to-night pray heaven he win ! 
 
 [Aside.} 
 
 Dona A. What are you muttering, girl ? 
 
 Mar. I hummed a tune, 
 
 Of a poor squire who loved a noble lady. 
 
 Dona A. Heaven grant the lady was a maid, not 
 wife ! 
 
 Mar. I cannot tell. When comes this interview ? 
 
 Dona A. What hour? 0, I forgot. He named 
 no hour. 
 
 Mar. Well, say at two. 
 
 Dona A. But that is very late. 
 
 Mar. The better ; for no listeners will be near. 
 That base-born cur, that prying Oliver, 
 Roams o er the house, like a flushed hound on 
 
 scent. 
 
 I wonder what the villain would nose out ? 
 He counts us all, but his dear lord, as game. 
 I vow, I have no peace : at every door, 
 Through every glass, I see his ugly face. 
 
 Dona A. He is, you know, Calaynos Mercury ; 
 Who, through him, watches that his guest is served. 
 
 Mar. Well, then, I 11 say at two. [Exit hastily. ] 
 
 Dona A. Stay, stay, Martina ! 
 
 She hears me not. One hour is as another ; 
 7 T will be no darker whon two strikes than nine. 
 
CALAYNOS. 71 
 
 I would not trust this man at such a time, 
 
 Having suspicion that he bears me love, 
 
 Did I not hear his virtues told to me, 
 
 From morn till eve, by my most thoughtful lord. 
 
 If I should ask Calayrios, he ; d say Go ; 
 
 There is no fear where good Don Luis comes. 
 
 Trust him, my child ; for he is honor s soul ! 
 
 Well, well, I 11 go I marvel what it bodes ! [Exit.} 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The Study of CALAYNOS. CALAYNOS and OLIVER. 
 
 Oliver. When does Don Luis leave ? 
 
 Calaynos. Not soon, I hope. 
 
 His visit here has brought the color back 
 To his wan cheek, and lent a healthy cast 
 To thoughts that sickened o er his former woes. 
 We surely may predict much good of him, 
 When he returns to mingle with mankind : 
 He will not rust in ease ; he 11 speak and act, 
 And do the utmost God has given him power. 
 Ah, he who rests in sloth bears half the guilt 
 Of him who goes about to compass ill ; 
 For heaven has lent him strength to conquer sin, 
 Which, through disuse, lets evil run unchecked. 
 He who has power to plant one seed of truth, 
 And does it not, is nigh as bad as he 
 Who, with broad hand, sows falsehood through the 
 land. 
 
 Oli. I hope with you ; and yet I fear, rny lord. 
 
 Gal. . Fear what ? Speak out. Again at your 
 suspicions ! 
 
72 CALAYNO&. 
 
 OH. I have received some letters from Seville, 
 Which place your guest in no too virtuous light 
 They say 
 
 Gal Before you speak, pray answer me. 
 From whom this news, and how was it obtained ? 
 I said you d surfeit doubt, if food you sought ; 
 And here is proof. Go on ; whence carne this news ? 
 
 Oli. From a fast friend, who loves you as my 
 
 master : 
 
 A man whom anxious guilt would ne er suspect 
 Of saying aught beyond the pale of truth. 
 He gained intelligence from public rumor 
 Why, it is broad and common as the sun ; 
 But chiefly from those very creditors 
 Who got your gold, and then enjoyed the trick. 
 
 Cal. And shall I doubt my friend for knaves so 
 
 base, 
 
 Who thus avow they practised villany ? 
 Did he not tell me of the cunning traps 
 In which they snared him, in which now you fall ? 
 If they re so lost to shame, as to confess 
 That through a trick they wronged my confidence, 
 How shall I now believe, though seeming true, 
 The tangled tale they blush not to unfold ? 
 
 Oli. Nay, sir, if you fling logic in my teeth, 
 And reason facts to falsehoods, I have done. 
 
 Cal. Can you not mask your thoughts, if they 
 offend ? 
 
 Oli. Next God comes truth, and in that rank I 
 love it ! 
 
 Cal. Sir, I have borne unmurmuring, day by day, 
 Your wily hints, though wounded to the quick. 
 I have been vexed .by your sly, boyish tricks, 
 
CALAYNOS. 73 
 
 That sought to lead a man of twice your years : 
 I told you once before, I tell you now, 
 That guilty cunning which preys on itself, 
 Content with proof would make a sophist stare, 
 You have mistaken for wisdom. Leave rne, sir 
 To-morrow I shall want a secretary. 
 
 Oil. Good heaven ! my lord, you would not cast 
 
 rne off? 
 You would not thrust me on this evil world ? 
 
 Gal. You will see all the traps, shun all the snares, 
 And prosper bravely, as the wily do. 
 Nay, now I think, I have .another house 
 Beyond the mountains, out of sight and hearing : 
 Go there and dwell the pension is the same. 
 
 Oli. Spare me, my lord ! Be just, if you are cruel ; 
 Nor taunt me with the pay I never sought. 
 Have I loved gold, or have I hoarded it ? 
 Where is the wealth you gave in my command ? 
 If I must go, I go without a coin, 
 Whose yellow look might curse me with its shame ! 
 
 Cal. I never knew in you a sordid wish. 
 
 Oli. 0, no ! 0, no ! you knew me from a child ; 
 I sat upon your knee, and called you father ; 
 Played with your tasselled sword ah, then you 
 
 smiled, 
 
 And kissed my forehead, for that tender name. 
 Our cheeks were touching, when you taught me 
 
 . letters ; 
 
 0, you were patient then, nor roughly chid 
 Your stammering scholar if he spelled awry. 
 You did not taunt me with a love of gold ; 
 You did not stand upon your awful power, 
 And tell your nursling to go forth and die ! 
 
74 CALAYXOS. 
 
 Ah, no ; you told me e er to love you thus ; 
 And for that lesson I am wrecked at last 1 
 
 Gal. Poor boy ! poor boy ! Nay, then remain 
 
 OIL Not I ! 
 
 I d rather starve than eat unwelcome bread. 
 That, too, you taught me, and I thank you, sir. 
 I value freedom o er all else besides ; 
 Nor would I be dependent for a throne. 
 To-morrow you 11 be happy I 11 be free. 
 
 Cal. No, no ; it shall not be. Come here, my 
 
 son 
 
 Come close to me I am again your father ; 
 Nor shall e en friendship sunder time-knit love. 
 
 Oli. Your blessing, sir , t will lighten many a 
 toil. 
 
 Cal. Are you resolved ? 
 
 Oli. Ay, though my heart-strings snap ! 
 
 Cal. God bless you, son ! 
 
 Oli. God keep you from the snares ! 
 
 Cal. Away, away ! lest you revoke my blessing. 
 
 [Exit OLIVER.! 
 
 He does as I would do. 0, stiff-necked pride ! 
 That chokes each avenue to humble love 
 That walls the glowing heart with stubborn ice, 
 And leaves the beds of feeling cold and dry ! 
 Farewell ! The first bright link is torn away ; 
 Thus time will rend the reliques one by one. [Exit."* 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The G -tat Hall in the Castle. Enter DONA ALDA and MARTINA 
 
 Dona Alda. Has it struck two ? 
 
 Martina. T is near that hour, my lady 
 
CALAYNOS. 75 
 
 Dona A. Before or after ? 
 
 Mar. Just before, my lady. 
 
 Dona A. We are too soon. The clock is surely 
 wrong". 
 
 Mar. T is natural haste. He knows a woman well. 
 
 Dona A. Yes, yes ; a woman never waits for ill ; 
 We always meet it. Did you hear a step ? 
 
 Mar. Not I. Did you ? 
 
 Dona A. Perhaps it was my heart. 
 
 That beats so painfully against my side. 
 Would it were over! (Clock strikes.) Hark! there 
 
 strikes the clock ; 
 
 It sounds as if twould wake the castle up. 
 Did you e er note before how loud it strikes ? 
 This is not right I feel it is not right. 
 I 11 leave the hall. See, how those portraits frown ! 
 As if I d done some crime, or were about it. 
 
 Mar. You are too late look, where Don Luis 
 
 comes ! 
 He means no wrong. Nay, lady, I 11 be near. 
 
 Dona A. Sure never evil wore so smooth a face. 
 
 (Enter DON Luis. MARTINA retires within.) 
 
 Don Luis. Your prompt attention chides my 
 
 lingering steps. 
 Dona A. Speak quickly, sir : I have short time to 
 
 hear. 
 
 Don L. What, without more delay ? 
 Dona A. Right to the purpose. 
 
 Don L. 0, then prepare your ears to hear a tale 
 Shall shake your soul, and task your tottering mind 
 To bear its feeble body firmly up. 
 
76 CALAYXOS. 
 
 Dona A. With such dread prelude, what must 1 
 expect ? 
 
 Don L. First, lest it seem gainst nature, or to 
 
 prove 
 
 That 1 am quite devoid of gratitude 
 Towards him whose kindness I have felt, and feel, 
 Know the full cause which prompts me to the deed. 
 Know tis to see you righted, who are wronged 
 Wronged in a way that most concerns your honor 
 Wronged by a wretch in whom you have most trust ; 
 But to be righted by a man who loves. 
 Yes, yes, I love you love you with a heart 
 That ne er before knew love for womankind. 
 But yet I love you purely as a saint : 
 I dare but worship, hope not to approach ; 
 I have not thought to win a smile or sign : 
 I bow in homage ; sacrifice a heart, 
 Though torn and bleeding, spotless as your own. 
 Nay, more, I pray to have rny love forgiven, 
 Whose adoration may offend your eyes ; 
 For oft devout arid reverend worship seems, 
 In others sight, no purer than foul sin. 
 Yet must I tell my love ; my dammed up heart 
 At length has swept each choking fear away, 
 And caused a flood in which, perchance, I 11 drown. 
 0, spare me, lady ! say you can forgive ! 
 
 Dona A. Audacious man, dare you overleap the 
 
 brink, 
 
 Nor know the fearful depth that yawns below ? 
 Have you e er looked from yonder window s edge, 
 Down on the grisly rocks that jut beneath, 
 Ragged and cruel as the chafed boar s fell tusks ? 
 Have you e er turned your dizzy eyes aloft, 
 
CALAYNOS. 77 
 
 To view the tower which hangs above those crags ? 
 On that same tower, years since, a malpert page 
 Sighed forth his love to our great-grandsire s 
 
 daughter ; 
 
 Next day they found him on the rocks below, 
 Mangled and dead. Some said he slipped and fell ; 
 But none knew how, or why. Beware, fair sir, 
 If not sure-footed, how you walk that tower ! 
 
 Don L. Alas, alas ! this is a woful tale, 
 That one should fall for love ! You pity him ? 
 
 Dona A. Not for his love he fell, but telling it : 
 There was the crime that caused his grievous slip. 
 Better his fire of love had burned to dust, 
 Than roused up sleeping justice with its blaze. 
 
 Don L. Have you no feeling for a burning heart, 
 That cannot quench its fire, except in death ? 
 
 Dona A. " Suffer in silence " is the legend graven 
 Beneath the shield that crowns our castle gate : 
 When you came here you passed beneath that shield, 
 Yet have not read the wisdom it contains. 
 .. Don L. Sweet lady, hear me. 
 
 Dona A. Nay, no more of love. 
 
 Another word, I 11 call Calaynos forth. 
 Martina, are you there ? 
 
 Martina. (Reenteriny.) I am, my lady. 
 
 Don L. Fool ! get you gone. [Exit MARTINA.] 
 
 Dona A. Ha ! dare you go ? Come back ! 
 Good-night, good-night; I have o erstaid my time. 
 Sir, thank your gentle bearing for your safety. \_Going. ] 
 
 Don L. Lady, return ; you have not heard me out : 
 This is but prologue to the tragedy ; 
 Now comes the guilty tale of which I spoke 
 
78 CALAYXOS. 
 
 Dona A. Nay, there was guilt enough in what 
 
 you said : 
 
 Tax not my ears to bear a weightier load. 
 Farewell. [Goiny.] 
 
 Don L. And you are lost forever lost ! 
 0, I beseech you listen, on your life ! 
 
 Dona A. Proceed I ll hear; but not a word of 
 love. 
 
 Don L. No, t is of hate, of most malicious hate 
 Hate self-engendered, without cause or motive 
 Against you borne by one you dearly trust ; 
 Shown in the heavy wrong neath which you live, 
 Though all unweeting that such crime exists. 
 
 Dona A. Who does rne wrong? One whom I 
 
 love and trust ? 
 Martina ? 
 
 Don L. No ; strike nearer to yourself. 
 
 Dona A. Then Oliver : for he is next my lord. 
 
 Don L. Your lord himself. 
 
 Dona A. T is false ! tis false as sin ! 
 
 I will not waste a moment on a lie. 
 Get hence, you scurvy thing, base hypocrite, 
 That thus would stab your benefactor s back ! 
 You dare not face him, coward, and say this, 
 Lest he should whip you with his undrawn sword ! 
 Get hence ! twas fit you should crawl forth at night, 
 If you must spit your pent-up venom forth ; 
 But keep your slimy poison from my ear, 
 Or I may crush you, toad ! 
 
 Don L. Be cairn, and hear. 
 
 Dona A. Be mad, arid rave ! I might forgive you 
 then. 
 
CALAYNOS. 79 
 
 Don L. I tell you, mortal ne er such wrong 
 endured 
 
 Dona A. As you dare fling upon me. 
 
 Don L. Hear rne out. 
 
 Who do you think your lord, Calaynos, is ? 
 
 Dona A. The noblest, greatest, wisest man in 
 Spain ! 
 
 Don L. I tell you, lady, he is one half Moor ; 
 His other half holds every baseness in it, 
 That spots the nature of the lowest white. 
 
 Dona A. A Moor, a Moor a lie ! 
 
 Don L. His name, his name ! 
 
 Is it not Moorish, from the first to last ? 
 ; T is sung of in our ballads. 
 
 Dona A. Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 I never thought of that I never thought 
 
 Don L. Look at these portraits, dark by blood, 
 
 not age, 
 
 Clad in the Moorish steel from crest to heel. 
 Thus scowled they on the ranks of Ferdinand, 
 When they mowed down the brightest flowers of 
 
 Spain ; 
 
 Thus proudly looked they, thus they him defied, 
 When round these walls his leaguering armies lay ; 
 Thus grimly smiled they, when the baffled king 
 Was forced to grant them lands he could not hold. 
 Why, are you purblind, that you see them not, 
 These dusky founders of his powerful house ? 
 
 Dona A. It cannot be ; my father then had 
 known 
 
 Don L. Yes, he was poor, and sold you like a 
 
 slave 
 A precious, fair-skinned slave, to sate a Moor ! 
 
80 CALAYXOS. 
 
 You, you, the brightest jewel in all Spain, 
 Became a tiling to fill a miser s chests : 
 Why, he d have bartered with the devil for you ! 
 Would you have proof? I 11 bring a crowd of it. 
 This why Culaynos kept you from Seville 
 This cause of the secluded life you lead ; 
 Forbid to mingle in the joys of life, 
 To wrap his damned, black mystery closer up ! 
 
 Dona A. 0, misery, despair ! Where shall I turn ? 
 
 Don L. Turn to me, dearest, I will succor you. 
 
 Dona A. Avaunt ! you child of hell, you torturer ! 
 Foul, tempting fiend, through you I thus have fallen. 
 Why came you here, to mar my paradise 
 With knowledge proffered by the hand of crime ? 
 
 Don L. 0, then return ; go to your darling s bed ; 
 Crawl to his side, arid kiss his thick-lipped mouth ; 
 Play with his curly pate, and call him fair ; 
 Pray heaven to bless you with a hybrid race ! 
 0, hug him close, close as fools clasp a sin, 
 And dream you re happy ; that were wise and kind. 
 If you have woman s spirit, bear it not ! 
 
 Dona A. 0, foul 0, foul! and they to do this 
 
 thing 
 Father and husband ! 0, my heart will burst ! 
 
 Don L. I tell you, you were cheated by this Moor, 
 Lied to and cozened, made a merchandise, 
 Sold to the highest bidder he bid high. 
 Now he might sell you to some other hand, 
 If he could get a profit on his ware. 
 What worse than this ? What worse can come than 
 
 this ? 
 
 Ah, you have breathed deceit, and fed on guilt ; 
 Thought him a saint, who was at heart a fiend. 
 
CALAYNOS. 81 
 
 Poor child, poor child ! now could I weep for you ; 
 
 But anger chokes the kindlier channels up, 
 
 With thinking on this base, heart-cheating Moor. 
 Dona A. Spare me ! Oalaynos [She faints.] 
 Don L. But one way remains. 
 
 Now nerve me, love, to bear my precious freight. 
 
 [He carries her off.] 
 
 (After a pause, enter CALAYNOS.) 
 
 Calaynos. Methought I heard a voice repeat my 
 
 name ; 
 
 And then a hurried rush of trampling feet. 
 No, twas a fancy ; all is still. These lights 
 Why burn they here, at this unwonted hour, 
 Watching, like grief, the dull, cold midnight through ? 
 This is a strange neglect, unknown before, 
 And dangerous. I must draw a tighter rein. 
 These knavish servants Ha ! I heard a noise, 
 
 [Opens the caserne it."] 
 
 Like the dull sound a flying courser makes, 
 When urged to speed along the yielding sod. 
 Some of the deer have broken through the pale, 
 And gambol nimbly neath the winking stars. 
 Bright nightly watchers, tell your secrets now ; 
 Unfold to me the mystery of your being ; 
 Say why ye came, how long ye thus have kept 
 Your faithful vigils o er this atom, earth ! 
 Were you but formed for man to gaze upon, 
 To flatter him, and puff his spirit up ; 
 Or in creation s scale do ye hold place 
 Of more import than sages ever dreamed ? 
 Ye misty pleiads, where has gone the star 
 That, ages since, among ye disappeared ? 
 
 VOL. i. 6 
 
82 
 
 CAI.AYNOS. 
 
 How men with wild conjectures vex their minds, 
 
 To find what cause could blot that fiery orb ! 
 
 Yet if a brother mortal leave his sphere, 
 
 From this vast human firmament struck out, 
 
 They pass the lifeless clay without a thought 
 
 Of why he left, or where his elements. 
 
 Pale, dusty path, that, in the depths of space, 
 
 Hangs like a smoky track behind the wheel 
 
 Of some vast burning orb ; but, to the sage, 
 
 Resolves to starry pebbles paving heaven 
 
 Nay, to great suns, to satellites, to systems, 
 
 In myriad numbers whirling on through space 
 
 0, what is far beyond you ? Can ye see 
 
 The limit that hems in the universe ? 
 
 0, what remains hid from the prying glass, 
 
 Whose added strength looks still on other worlds ? 
 
 Yet with this awful knowledge, impious man 
 
 Ah, yes, the meanest of the clay-born herd 
 
 Will strut and vapor, as if he alone 
 
 Filled the whole universe, and gave it laws. 
 
 Lo 1 meek-eyed morn, like a pale beggar, knocks 
 
 With trembling fingers at night s eastern gate. 
 
 Poor Oliver, this m .rn is black to thee ! 
 
 I must retire. (Knocking.) What can that knocking 
 
 mean ? 
 Where are the sluggish knaves that tend the gate ? 
 
 [Bell rings.] 
 
 Ho, Oliver, come forth ! (Enter a Servant.) Quick, ope 
 
 the gate I [ Exit Servant.] 
 
 This early summons bodes some weighty matter. 
 
 (Enter OLIVER.) 
 Oliver. My lord, you called ? 
 
CALAYNOS. 83 
 
 Gal. Nay, get to sleep again. 
 
 I know not why I called t was habit go. 
 
 Oli. You know full well I did not sleep last 
 
 night. 
 T is useless to attempt it. 
 
 (Enter a Forester wounded.) 
 
 Cal. Who are you, 
 
 That startle morning ere the cock has crowed ? 
 Wounded and bleeding ! If I see aright, 
 You wear the livery of my foresters. 
 
 Forester. My wound is nothing ; but the way it 
 
 came 
 May much concern your lordship, if you 11 hear. 
 
 Cal. Say on. 
 
 For. Well, senor, as I went my rounds, 
 
 Just ere the break of day, to watch the herd, 
 I saw two horsemen spurring to the blood 
 Across the park, as if to gain the hills. 
 The foremost bore a lady in his arms, 
 Who seemed nigh dead with fear, or dead outright : 
 Well, this one passed ere I could cross his way. 
 Beside the second rode a girl I d seen 
 My lady s maid, I think her name ? s Martina ; 
 But who the man was I can scarcely tell. 
 Well, sir, I threw my staff across his path, 
 And bade him stand : out came his heavy sword ; 
 With a side blow he struck me down to earth, 
 And split my skull with this unmanly wound. 
 The coward ! If I d had a sword, my lord, 
 I warrant you I d make the fellow leap. 
 But then you see I was unarmed, my lord, 
 
84 CALAYNOS. 
 
 And it was nearly dark. I stood just so, 
 With my stall raised 
 
 Gal. I thank you for your pains. 
 
 Here s gold, to heal your wound. [Offers money.] 
 
 F.r. I d rather not : 
 
 The chance to serve you has been pay enough. 
 
 Gal There goes a man, a man without a price, 
 Who takes no fee for virtue ! Oliver. 
 
 Oli. My lord. 
 
 Gal. What think you of this fellow s tale ? 
 
 Soto has done us service, were it not 
 That her elopement will sore vex my lady. 
 
 Oli. But who the foremost horseman ? whom 
 bore he ? 
 
 Gal. That s strange indeed. Go call Don Luis up. 
 
 [Exit OLIVER, hastily.] 
 
 Here is brisk gossip for a week or two : 
 There 11 be no grumblers here till this is o er. 
 I, too, am rid of one whose wanton breath 
 Forced into birth my lady s discontent, 
 To choke her peace with its unhealthy sprouts. 
 
 (Rcenter OLIVER.) 
 
 OK. Don Luis, sir, ne er saw his couch last night ; 
 And all his lighter luggage is removed. 
 
 Gal. Call Dona Alda. 
 
 OK. Sir, I passed her room ; 
 
 The door was open, not a soul within. 
 
 Gal. What can this mean? Why bite your 
 
 trembling lip, 
 And bend your eyes so sharply on my face ? 
 
 OK. Ah, what sad prophets may our fears become ! 
 
CALAYNOS. 85 
 
 Cal. What do you mean ? 
 
 Oli. My lord, I dare not say. 
 
 Cal. T will not offend speak out. 
 
 Oli. You promise me ? 
 
 Cal. I vow, I will not say or do you ill. 
 
 Oli. The foremost horseman who was he ? 
 
 Cal. Go on. 
 
 Oli. Don Luis. 
 
 Cal. Ha ! the lady whom he bore 
 
 Was 
 
 Oli. Pardon me, for she was Dona Alda. 
 
 Cal. Monstrous ! And wags the tongue that dare 
 say this ? 
 
 Oli. T is true, my lord, or rend me limb from 
 limb. 
 
 Cal. Rash boy, I will be calm calm as the storm, 
 Ere on your head its gathering terrors burst ! 
 
 (Enter a SERVANT.) 
 
 Servant. My lord, some laboring men beset the 
 
 gate, 
 
 Who beg to see you ; for they boldly say 
 That, as they went to work, they saw a man, 
 Mounted and armed like a stout cavalier, 
 Flying with Lady Alda in his arms. 
 On foot they could not reach him 
 
 Cal. Out ! begone ! [Exit SERVANT, j 
 
 These torturing fiends are leagued to drive me mad ! 
 
 Oli. My lord, my lord ! 
 
 Cal. Why stand you there, dull sloth, 
 
 And stare upon me with your vacant eyes ? 
 
86 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Slay wench and paramour. Mount, mount, and 
 follow ! 
 
 (OLIVER snatches a sword from the wall.) 
 
 Ha ! the hot blood of all the Moors is up, 
 
 And must have blood to lay it. Mount, I say ! - 
 
 You 11 not desert me now ? 
 
 Oli. Not while my soul 
 
 Clings to its wretched clay. Shall I slay both ? 
 
 Gal. Slay both ; without a thought of mercy slay ! 
 The shallow fools have fallen in love with death. 
 
 Oli. Murder will blot my soul when I return. 
 
 Gal. The murder of two wolves that tore your 
 lord! 
 
 Oli. Mine to obey ; I question not your man 
 dates. 
 
 Gal. Stay, Oliver ; their blood must be on me. 
 
 Oli. No, no ; I d rather do it. 
 
 Gal. God, forgive 
 
 Forgive my impious rage ! Withhold thy frown, 
 Till I have sifted, to the very dust, 
 This hideous matter ! Follow, but slay not. 
 Disguise your form, and seem not what you are 
 The more like them who hid their acts as thieves. 
 Learn all you can, and then return to me : 
 Slow justice is more certain of its end. 
 If she repent, and you are moved to pity, 
 And dare to bring her where I catch a glimpse 
 Of her repentant features, by the gods, 
 I 11 hurl you from the walls ! Be still, my heart ! 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Oli. I will obey in all. 
 
 Gal. Away, away! [Exit OLIVER.] 
 
CALAYNOS. 87 
 
 Where shall I turn ? 0, what thing shall I do ? 
 
 How have I scorned the men of ancient Rome, 
 
 Who left their fortunes to a flying bird ! 
 
 But, now, I d hang my doubts upon a die, 
 
 Or whirling coin, and follow it like fate. 
 
 0, vain philosophy ! is this thy aid ? 
 
 When troubles darken, and the passions rage, 
 
 Must the philosopher become a man 
 
 A feeble man, a very fool of impulse ? 
 
 7 T is all in vain, I cannot drive my thoughts 
 
 Into their wonted channels ; cannot weigh, 
 
 Nor calmly speculate upon my grief. 
 
 0, Alda, Alda, thoughts of thee come back, 
 
 And drive all speculation from my brain ! 
 
 Why here am I, who thought to will to do, 
 
 Who thought I d schooled my passion as a child, 
 
 Raving at heaven o er one of life s poor wrongs ! 
 
 How brave, how brave in me to teach long suffering, 
 
 And, when I suffer, shrink without a tug I 
 
 0, Alda, Alda, never love thee more, 
 
 Never behold thee, never call thee mine ! 
 
 I have a heart that mocks philosophy ; 
 
 Burst forth, my heart I m but a man at last ! 
 
 [Weeps.] 
 
38 OALAYNOS. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Great Hall in CALAYNOS Castle. Enter 
 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Calaynos. THE strife is vain ; I cannot think nor 
 
 read ; 
 
 My mind will wander, and my eyes grow dim : 
 She clings to me like sin ! I catch myself, 
 Involuntary, dreaming o er the page, 
 And all my dream of her. Day follows day, 
 Yet deeper sinks the barb. Each hour my heart, 
 Like a calmed vessel next a hideous rock, 
 Heaves near this one idea. I hear her name 
 Breathed by the air, in every gale that blows ; 
 I feel her hand upon my shoulder laid, 
 And sigh that sense can cheat. shame, shame, 
 
 shame ! 
 
 Thy slime clings round me, and doth drag me down. 
 pride, o erblown pride, on which I swam 
 In life s calm seas, and gayly smiled at fate ; 
 Thou, in the tempest s hour, dost toss me up, 
 On the dread top of every howling wave, 
 To send me thundering in its black abyss ! 
 Better beneath the choking brine to sink, 
 And die untortured. Why did she deceive ? 
 Why do this damning act? If thunder roar, 
 Men look above their heads, to find a cloud ; 
 
CALAYXOS. 89 
 
 But I am withered by a scathing shock, 
 
 And yet the cause know riot. What, Alda false ? 
 
 I 11 not believe it I am not awake ; 
 
 I 11 wake, ere long, and find her by my side ; 
 
 Or she 11 return, and tell it all to me. 
 
 It is a trick to try me. She is hid, 
 
 In some odd nook, to watch her jealous lord ; 
 
 Next thing she 11 sally out, and mock my grief. 
 
 She false ! I ; d staked my soul upon her truth. 
 
 Ah, tis a trick, a trick a trick to damn ! 
 
 What shall I do ? Who shall direct me now ? 
 
 (Turns to the portraits.) 
 
 1 dare not question you, ye men of blood ; 
 
 I know your answer draw the sword and kill ! 
 
 Fling out our banner, fire the culverins, 
 
 Call in the war-bred from their ancient hills, 
 
 And let the trembling valleys hear, aghast, 
 
 Calaynos wars with man ! 0, empty threat ! 
 
 Blood cannot heal the scars which seam my heart. 
 
 (Opens the casement.) 
 
 The very sky is red, is red as blood ! 
 
 Down, tempting devil, down ! I will not murder : 
 
 Tis the last print of evening s fiery foot 
 
 That burns in yonder clouds. Ere long, the night 
 
 Shall fall as black as memory on my soul 
 
 heaven ! without a hope to light my path, 
 
 One starry hope, to lend its guiding beam. 
 
 Stumbling, and lost in darkness, on I grope 
 
 To death yes, to death to peace and rest. 
 
 What dusky clouds o erclimb yon eastern peaks ? 
 
 A storm ? Come on, I like thy looks, my mate ! 
 
1)0 
 
 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Shake thy red lightnings o er this wicked world 
 Strike all the guilty with thy burning hand 
 Pour thy cruel hail upon their naked heads 
 O erturn their habitations, root them out 
 Drive them, like sheep, before thy angry face ! 
 Nay, let them go : slay all the innocent - 
 Slay all the sufferers, all that ache neath wrongs ; 
 For guilt can live in peace, and smile at them ! 
 
 (Thunder.) 
 
 AMa, awake ! the God of heaven is out, 
 The God of justice 1 No, the storm will pass ; 
 Or if it strike, perchance twill kill a child. 
 0, what a weary life is mine strike me, 
 In mercy strike 1 
 
 (Enter OLIVER.) 
 
 Ha ! thou st returned, my son ? 
 
 [Embraces him.] 
 Didst thou see Speak, I cannot question thee. 
 
 Oliver. Yes, yes, I saw too much. Alas ! my 
 
 lord, 
 
 What dreadful thing has brought this change about? 
 A month ago I left thee in thy prime, 
 And, now, thou rt old and wrinkled. 
 
 t> a l- Yes, my son, 
 
 My heart is old and wrinkled as my brow. 
 I have not long to live ; I feel it here. 
 Yet, ere I go, I fain would tidings gain 
 Of Dona A Ida. Is she happy now ? 
 
 Oli. An hour ago, I passed a wretched town ; 
 But, ere I left, a squalid thing of rags 
 Went by me, yet begged not ; though I was clad, 
 
CALAYNOS. 91 
 
 Painted, and bearded like a cavalier. 
 
 I gave it, all unasked, it looked so sad 
 
 That thing was Lady Alda. 
 
 Cal. Base-born dog ! 
 
 And did you dare to give her charity ? 
 
 Oli. T was of your g*old I g"ave. 
 
 Cal. 0, pardon me : 
 
 The devil in my blood will not be laid. 
 And did she take it with a courtly grace, 
 Learned at Seville from her bewitching Don ; 
 Or did she clutch it like a common drab ? 
 Say on ; I m sorrow-proof. 
 
 Oli. Ah, no, my lord ; 
 
 She hardly felt the gold touch her thin palm ; 
 And then she smiled, so sorrowful, so sweet, 
 As one unused to kindness. 
 
 Gal. Know st thou more ? 
 
 1 7 d steeled my heart to hear the blackest tale, 
 But this doth blacken fancy. 
 
 Oli. Few my words ! 
 
 Of her dark story much I could not gather ; 
 And what I gained I came at by report. 
 She fled with thy false friend too well thou know st ; 
 But why, is known to him and her alone. 
 From some vague hints, I think the guilt not hers ; 
 But that Don Luis used the foulest means, 
 And so achieved his wish most treacherously. 
 T is said, and I believe it. 
 
 Cal. Bless thee, Heaven I 
 
 Oli. She lived with him a while, but then she fled ; 
 This, too, a mystery ; though I heard his knave, 
 His vile familiar, Soto, said in scorn 
 " She was too grand a lady for a mistress ! " 
 
02 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Since then, she wanders on from town to town, 
 With death s fell signet stamped upon her brow, 
 Looking like grief in animated stone. 
 
 Cal Yet the sun shines, and yet this villain lives ! 
 0, slow, slow justice, must I be thy tool ? 
 (Storm increases.) 
 
 Oli. Mercy, how t rains ! 
 
 Gal. Ay, ay, alike on all. 
 
 Dost think poor Alda feels this bitter storm, 
 Homeless and friendless, without cloak or food ? 
 
 Oli. Perchance (Jl groan without.) Hark, hark ! 
 
 Cal. Methought I heard a sound, 
 
 Like the weak moan of a sick, restless child. 
 
 [Another yroan.~\ 
 
 Oli. And there again ! It comes from neath yon 
 window. 
 
 Gal. Look out and see. 
 
 Oli. (Looking out.) I saw, by the last flash, 
 A huddled form that cowered against the wall. 
 Perchance some helpless child has lost its way, 
 And cannot find the gate. 
 
 Gal. Go bring it in : 
 
 No beast should suffer on a night like this. 
 
 [Exit OLIVER.] 
 (Goes to the casement.) 
 
 Ay, shake your fiery tresses, dusky clouds ; 
 I have resolved ye cannot move my mind ! 
 Ye 11 spare me for this act ye love a crime ; 
 Or long ago ye d scathed that viper s skin. 
 Three days from this he dies, and by my hand. 
 
 (Thunder.) 
 Roar on, roar on ! I 11 plunge my arm in blood 
 
CALAYNOS. 93 
 
 Up to the elbow he shall bellow too ! 
 Poor Alda, whither roamest thou, sad wretch, 
 Without a home or comfort ! Spare her, Heaven ! 
 For thou canst soften tempests to a breath, 
 To succor the shorn lamb 0, she is shorn ! 
 
 (Reenter OLIVER, with servants bearing DONA ALDA on a couch.} 
 
 Oli. She has not long to live : I brought her here. 
 
 Gal. Brought whom ? 
 
 Oli. The lady Alda. 
 
 Gal. Gracious heaven I 
 
 Why, I am passion s plaything. Shall I rave ? 
 Shall I grow drunk on grief, and fire the house ? 
 Or what most desperate and headlong act 
 Hast Thou reserved for me ? I m ready speak ! 
 Say anj T thing ; but let me do, not think ; 
 For I with thought grow mad ! 
 
 Oli. Look on her, sir. 
 
 Gal. I cannot. 
 
 Oli. Look ; more harmless thing ne er lived. 
 Ah, she is very still, and cold, and pale ; 
 Scarce a pulse nutters ; she is nigh run down ; 
 The balance of her body hardly beats : 
 Another move, then follows endless rest. 
 
 Gal. Endless ! Stand here ; I 11 look at her once 
 more. 
 
 (Approaches the couch.} 
 
 Poor wretch, poor wretch ! why, grief hath rubbed 
 
 thee sore ! 
 
 I see its marks upon thy once smooth brow ; 
 And it has crept among thy tangled hair, 
 To nestle in its silk. Sad mark of woe, 
 I 11 not believe thy guilt ; t was not thy fault ; 
 
94 CALAYXOfl. 
 
 That vjllain Luis, by some hell-hatched lie, 
 
 Drove thee past reason. Thou hast a talc, shut up 
 
 Within the hollow chamber of thy breast, 
 
 To make avenging- falchions bristle earth ; 
 
 Thou couldst urge stony death to mend his pace, 
 
 And strike the monster ere his day. She moves. 
 
 Go to her, Oliver ; I cannot stay. 
 
 Perchance, she d speak, yet has short time for words. 
 
 Dona Alda. Calaynos. 
 
 OU. Hark ! she calls thee, sir. 
 
 Gal. Go, go ! 
 
 OU. Lady, I m here. 
 
 Dona A. Nay, nay, deceive me not. 
 
 I saw a pitying face bent over me, 
 And it was his. Thou rt Oliver. 0, sir, 
 If thou hast trace of feeling in thy nature, 
 Pray, bring him here. I m weak, and ill, and fallen : 
 He would not come for me ; for he is proud, 
 And I have wronged him to the depths of wrong 
 Not all myself; but yet he thinks t was I. 
 Go, ere I die, in mercy go, kind sir. 
 
 Gal. (Rushing to her.) Alda! 
 
 Dona A. Break, heart ! I am content to die. 
 
 Gal. live ! live ! I will forgive thee all. - 
 [ will heap kindness on thee, till its top 
 Shall knock at heaven. We will be friends, true 
 
 friends ; 
 
 If not ray wife, thou shalt be dearer far. 
 If any here shall dare to mock at thee, 
 I 11 hang them from the walls to scare the wind. 
 I 11 guard thee like a tiger ! If the world 
 Should choose to sneer, why, love, we 11 laugh at it ; 
 Or, if thou lik st, I 11 ravage half of Spain. 
 
CALAYNOS. 95 
 
 Yes, I 11 do anything ; but live, live ! 
 Far I can swear thou ; rt guiltless. Tell me all. 
 Dona A. god-like man ! thy speech surpasses 
 
 hope ; 
 
 I did not look for this from even thee ; 
 I only wished to crawl to thee and die : 
 For I have shamed thee in the face of man. 
 I ve made thy name a sneer and mockery ; 
 And fools may spit their slander on thy fame, 
 To gall thy pride, and shake thy glorious mind. 
 
 fie, fie ! that I should do this act 
 This act beneath pollution ! Why not curse ? 
 Why not call vengeance on my head like rain ? 
 Why dost not spurn me ? Why not cast me forth, 
 To rot with kindred filth, in some foul place, 
 Where my rank guilt may not offend thy sense ? 
 
 Gal Alda! 
 
 Dona A. It would be just. And I supposed, 
 When I set forth to view thy face once more, 
 That grooms would drive me from thy gates with 
 
 whips ; 
 For well I knew my guilt deserved no less : 
 
 1 sat in judgment on it, all alone, 
 
 And that the fiat which my conscience gave. 
 
 Gal. Speak not of this ; thou dost o erstrain thy 
 
 guilt ; 
 
 Let me not doubt thee, in this solemn hour. 
 Tell me thy story ; for I think thee wronged. 
 
 Dona A. Yes, foully wronged ; but half the fault 
 
 my own. 
 
 There is a packet hidden in my breast, 
 Which holds the truthful story of my crime ; 
 For thee t was writ, ere I resolved to come. 
 
9o CALAYNOS. 
 
 Thou It spare the shame of telling thee this thing ; 
 T would bring a flush upon the face of death, 
 And drive thee from thy firmness. When I m dead, 
 Tear forth the dreadful secret. 0, my lord ! 
 
 Gal. What wouldst thou, Alda ? Cheer thee, 
 love ! bear up ! 
 
 Dona A. Thy face is dim ; I cannot see thy eyes : 
 Nay, hide them not ; they are my guiding stars. 
 Have sorrow s drops thus blotted out their light ? 
 Thou dost forgive me, love ? thou It think of me ? 
 Thou It not speak harshly, when I m neath the 
 
 earth ? 
 Thou It love my memory, for what once I was ? 
 
 Gal. Yes, though I live till doom. 
 
 Dona A. 0, happiness ! 
 
 Come closer this thy hand ? Have mercy, Heaven ! 
 Yes, press me closer close I do not feel. 
 
 Gal. 0, God of mercy, spare ! 
 
 Dona A. A sunny day 
 
 ! (She faints.) 
 
 Gal. Bear her in I am as calm as ice. 
 Come when she wakes : I cannot see her thus. 
 
 [Exeunt OLIVER and servants, bearing DONA ALDA.] 
 T is better so ; but then the thoughts come back 
 Of the young bride I welcomed at the gate. 
 
 1 kissed her, yes, I kissed her was it there ? 
 Yes, yes, I kissed her there, and in the chapel 
 The dimly-lighted chapel. I see it all ! 
 
 Here was old Hubert, there stood Oliver 
 
 The priest, the bridesmaids, groomsmen every 
 
 face ; 
 
 All the retainers that around us thronged, 
 Smiling for joy, with ribands in their caps. 
 
CALAYNOS. 97 
 
 % 
 
 And shall they all, all follow her black pall, 
 With weeping eyes, and doleful, sullen weeds ? 
 For th jy all love her : 0, she was so kind, 
 So kini and gentle, when they stood in need; 
 And never checked them if they murmured at her, 
 But found excuses for their discontent. 
 They 11 miss her, for her path was like an angel s, 
 And every place seemed holier where she came. 
 Ah me ! ah me ! I would this life were past ! 
 Stay, love, watch o er me ; I will join thee soon. 
 
 (A cry within.) 
 So quickly gone ! and ere I said farewell ! 
 
 (Rushes to the door.) 
 
 (Reenter OLIVER.) 
 Oli. My lord - 
 
 Gal. Yes, yes, she s dead I will go in. [Exit.] 
 Oli. 0, dreadful ending to a fearful night ! 
 This shock has shattered to the very root 
 The strength of his great spirit. Mournful night ! 
 And what will day bring forth ? but woe on woe. 
 Ah, death may rest a while, and hold his hand, 
 Having destroyed this wondrous paragon, 
 And sapped a mind whose lightest thought was 
 
 worth 
 
 The concentrated being of a herd. 
 Yet shall the villain live who wrought this woe ? 
 By heaven I swear, if my lord kill him not, 
 I, though a scholar and unused to arms, 
 Will hunt him down ay, should he course the 
 
 earth 
 
 And slay him like a felon ! 
 If this be sin, let fiends snap at my soul, 
 But I will do it ! Lo, where conies my lord, 
 
 VOL. I. t 
 
93 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Bent down and withered, like a broken tree, 
 Prostrate with too much bearing. 
 
 (Reenter CALAYNOS.) 
 
 Gal Oliver, 
 
 I stole to see her ; not a soul was there, 
 Save an old crone that hummed a doleful tune. 
 And winked her purblind eyes, overrun with tears. 
 0, boy, I never knew I loved her so ! 
 I held my breath, and gazed into her face 
 Ah, she was wondrous fair. She seemed to me, 
 Just as I ve often seen her, fast asleep, 
 When from my studies cautiously I ve stolen, 
 And bent above her, and drunk up her breath, 
 Sweet as a sleeping- infant s. Then perchance, 
 Yet in her sleep, her starry eyes would ope, 
 To close again behind their fringy clouds, 
 Ere I caught half their glory. There s no breath 
 
 now, 
 
 There s not a perfume on her withered lips, 
 Her eyes ope not, nor ever will again. 
 But tell me how she died. She suffered not ? 
 
 OIL She scarcely woke from her first fainting here ; 
 Or if she did, she gave no sign nor word. 
 A while she muttered, as if lost in prayer ; 
 Some who stood close thought once they caught thy 
 
 name ; 
 
 But grief had dulled my sense, I could not hear. 
 Then she slid gently to a lethargy ; 
 And so she died we knew not when she went. 
 
 Gal Here is the paper which contains her story : 
 I fain would clear her name, fain think her wronged. 
 
 [Reads.} 
 
CALAYNOS. 99 
 
 0, double-dealing villain ! Moor bought her ! 
 Impious monster false beyond belief! 
 But she is guiltless hear st thou, Oliver ? 
 Nay, read ; I cannot move thee as she can. 
 
 [OLIVER reads."] 
 
 He called me Moor. True, true, I did her wrong : 
 The sin is mine ; I should have told her that. 
 I only kept it back to save her pain ; 
 I feared to lose respect by telling her. 
 I see how he could heighten that grave wrong, 
 And spur her nigh to madness with his taunts. 
 She fell, was senseless, without life or reason 
 Why, tigers spare inanimated forms 
 So bore her off . Then lie on lie base ! 
 The guilt all mine. Why did I hide my birth ? 
 Ah, who can tell how soon one seed of sin, 
 Which we short-sighted mortals think destroyed, 
 May sprout and bear, and shake its noxious fruit 
 Upon our heads, when we ne er dream of ill ; 
 For naught that is can ever pass away 1 
 
 Oli. And shall this villain live ? 
 
 Gal. No, no, by Heaven ! 
 
 Those fellows on the wall would haunt me then. 
 I hear your voices, men of crime and blood, 
 Ring in my ears, and I obey the call. 
 
 [Snatches a sword from the wall.} 
 
 How precious is the blade which justice wields, 
 To chasten wrong, or set a wrong to right ! 
 
 [Z) raws.] 
 
 Come forth, thou minister of bloody deeds, 
 That blazed a comet in the van of war, 
 Presaging death to man, and tears to earth ! 
 Pale, gleaming tempter, when I clutch thee thus, 
 
100 CALAYN03. 
 
 Thou, of thyself, dost plead that murder s right, 
 
 And rnak st me half believe it luxury ! 
 
 Thy horrid edge is thirsting for man s gore, 
 
 And them shalt drink it from the point to hilt ! 
 
 To horse ! to horse ! the warrior blood is up ; 
 
 The tiger spirit of my warlike race 
 
 Burns in my heart, and floods my kindling veins. 
 
 Mount, Oliver, ere pity s hand can hide 
 
 The bloody mist that floats before my eyes 
 
 To horse ! to horse ! the Moor rides forth to slay I 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Street in Seville. Enter DON MIGUEL and DON LOPEZ, meeting. 
 
 Don Lopez. Whither so fast, Miguel ? 
 
 Don Miguel. To join Don Luis 
 
 And all his roaring fellows at a feast. 
 Are you not going ? For a modern feast, 
 The thing will be as well as they know how. 
 Would the old times might come to us again, 
 When men drank sherry from a two-quart cup ! 
 Pshaw ! if I had my way, I d turn time back. 
 Now, if I drank at this same scurvy feast, 
 As we of old could drink without a thought, 
 The weak-brained boys would point their silly thumbs 
 And ask their host if there the devil dined ? 
 Plague on these times ! Give me the jolly days 
 When men held mighty flagons in one hand, 
 And with the other grasped their mightier swords 
 
CALAYNOS. 101 
 
 None of your toasting-forks ; a true Toledo, 
 Edged at each side, and pointed like a spear : 
 Why, bah ! these boys could scarcely lift such blades. 
 Those were the glorious days of wine and war ! 
 
 Don Lop. May all you giants live to drink a tun ; 
 But pardon me about the rapier, sir. 
 
 Don M. yes, you ll talk of skill, and all that 
 
 thing ; 
 
 But t was more skill to scape a swashing blow, 
 Than all your thrusts, and tierces, and such trash. 
 
 Don Lop. What a cursed shame, to mince a man 
 
 to death 
 
 To chop him into slices, break his bones, 
 When a most gentle and well-mannered thrust 
 Would do as well 
 
 Don M. To skewer him, like a fowl, 
 
 To puncture him, to make him die of pin-stabs : 
 Tis like the death that poor Duns Scotus died, 
 Slaughtered with pen-knives. 
 
 Don Lop. Did you hear the news ? 
 
 Don M. Whatever s new is worse than last. What 
 is it? 
 
 Don Lop. The great Calaynos is again in town. 
 He came with such a pomp of retinue, 
 With such barbaric wealth, such trains of men 
 All clothed like Paynirns of the ancient day - 
 That wide-mouthed burghers thought Granada s peers 
 Had scaled their graves, to fight for Spain once more. 
 
 Don H. Ay, ay ; what would your modern heroes 
 
 do, 
 
 If this were true, and all the Moors had risen ; 
 Headed by that Calaynos, who one day 
 Rode post to France, to crop the Paladins, 
 
102 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Just for more love ? They d drive you in the sea 
 Sblood ! but they d make you caper ! 
 
 Don Lop. This one, sir, 
 
 Is greater far than he of ballad note : 
 A braver man ne er buckled on a blade ; 
 And then so generous and polite withal. 
 
 Don M. You should have known his grandsire, as 
 
 I did. 
 
 His was a blade would tire your hip to bear, 
 E en in its baldric : and he swung it so ! 
 Just as a child would waft about a feather. 
 Here was a drinker for you. By the gods I 
 A man like him can never come again ; 
 Earth is too base for such. Ah, he was slain, 
 Stabbed by an upstart coward, o er his wine. 
 
 Don Lop. Methinks his drinking came to sorry 
 ends. 
 
 Don M. T was not his drink ; t was a cursed 
 
 rapier, sir, 
 
 Pinned him across the table. Sblood, my life ! 
 A manly blade had blushed at such an act. 
 Adieu, sir ; I must leave you. Pshaw ! what times ! 
 
 Don Lop. Adieu, you drunken dotard ! Who 
 comes here ? 
 
 (Enter CALATNOS.) 
 
 My lord Calaynos, if I know your face ? 
 Calaynos. Don Lopez am I ri^-lit ? 
 Don Lop. Your servant, sir. 
 
 Cal. Are you sincere ? 
 
 Don Lop. My heart cries shame on words. 
 
 Gal. Then you can do me service bove all thanks. 
 
CALAYNOS. 103 
 
 There is a man who wronged me in Seville, 
 Arid I would kill him. Do you understand ? 
 
 Don Lop. Write out the cartel ; t is a pleasure, 
 sir. 
 
 Gal. That have I done long since ; an hour ago 
 [ sent it by my secretary. 
 
 Don Lop. Heavens ! 
 
 My lord, that act is out of every form : 
 I wash my hands of this ; t is next to murder. 
 
 Gal. Friend, fear not that ; you can escape the law. 
 Last night I made my will, and there I left, 
 To whom might be my second, gold enough 
 To build yon palace. ; T is but just I shield 
 Him whom my deeds involve. What say you, sir ? 
 
 Don Lop. Nay, for the love I bear you, I will 
 
 do it. 
 How ran the challenge ? 
 
 Gal. What can that import ? 
 
 Defiance to the death ran through each word. 
 
 Don Lop. Such savage terms are out of date and 
 
 harsh. 
 
 Now, I d have written a most gentle billet 
 As Senor So-and-so requests the length 
 Of my lord So-and-so s best tempered blade ; 
 Or any hint, polite and delicate, 
 Like that. Believe me, sir, a gentleman 
 May show much blood in wording of a challenge. 
 
 Gal. So I must bow my opposite to death, 
 Must kill by line and plummet, to scape blame. 
 Sir, I m above polite hypocrisy. 
 
 Don Lop. Well, as you please. What is youi 
 rapier s length ? 
 
 Gal. Here is my sword. [Gives his sword.] 
 
104 
 
 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Don Lop. T is a most worthy blade ; 
 
 But near an inch too short : and next the hilt 
 Just here, my lord an eighth or so too broad, 
 And nigh a pound too heavy. Yet, for all, 
 A worthy blade, though somewhat out of fashion. 
 A true Toledo, if I in not mistaken ? 
 
 Cal. Not so : no man can tell its origin ; 
 But divers quaint and wondrous legends hang 
 Their superstitions on this mystic steel. 
 Some say that mid the globe s eternal fires, 
 The laboring gnomes, with many an impious spell, 
 That made earth shake and stagger from her orbit, 
 Tempered and forged the metal of this blade. 
 
 Don Lop. A wondrous tale, more wonderful if 
 true. 
 
 Cal. I cannot vouch it. 
 
 Don Lop. Ah, I nigh forgot 
 
 Whom do we fight ? 
 
 Cal. Don Luis, sir. 
 
 Don Lop. Don Death ! 
 
 My lord, the man s a practised duellist ; 
 Has killed more scores than I have met in fight. 
 He 11 name his thrusts, before he strikes a blow, 
 And put them home, despite your wariest skill. 
 Then there s his trick, a sleight he caught in France 
 Thus, thus (Passes.) the shrewdest thrust beneath 
 
 the guard ; 
 T is fatal as the plague. 
 
 Cal. Enough of this. 
 
 We fight within an hour you 11 find me here. 
 
 Don Lop. Your servant, sir. Adieu! [Exit. 1 ] 
 
 Cal. They re all the same. 
 
 These grinning courtiers, all smiles and bows, 
 
CALAYNOS. 105 
 
 All rules and etiquette. Such are the men 
 
 Who have our monarch s ear, and guide his councils. 
 
 (Enter OLIVER.) 
 
 How sad you look ! Did you not find Don Luis ? 
 
 Oliver. Ah, yes, my lord, I found him at a feast, 
 Drinking and roaring, mid the wealth you gave. 
 He spied ine out, and in politest terms 
 Inquired your lordship s health. Then turned again, 
 And of my lady asked with blandest voice : 
 No feature moved when I proclaimed her dead. 
 With that he rose, and, smiling towards his friends, 
 Proposed your lordship s health. T was not in fear, 
 But at the act I shook, and my chilled blood 
 Crawled coldly backward on its quivering source, 
 To see such baseness lodged in human form. 
 I flung your challenge in the monster s face, 
 And came to seek you here. 
 
 Gal. The mocking villain ! Well, well, let that 
 
 go. 
 I m nigh to death, or I should hate mankind. 
 
 Oli. say not so ; there may be days of peace 
 
 Gal. His sword will not rob life of many hours. 
 When I left home I felt I d ne er return ; 
 All things appeared so mournful to my view. 
 The old trees shook their dark green heads above, 
 And waved their branches as if taking leave ; 
 The grass was bending with the morning dew, 
 Arid dropped its woful tribute as I passed ; 
 Ay, and the very flowers, the little flowers, 
 Turned on me their soft eyes o errun with tears. 
 When we had gained the pass between the hills, 
 Whose windings shut my castle from the sight, 
 
JOG CALAYNOS. 
 
 I paused to take one last, long look at home. 
 
 Alas ! the very castle seemed to move, 
 
 And beckon sadly in the flickering air ; 
 
 The old gray turrets wavered to and fro, 
 
 Nodding their hoary heads as if in grief. 
 
 I could not choose but weep ; the man broke down, 
 
 And my heart fluttered like a timid girl s. 
 
 Ah ! since her death, a cloud has crossed the earth, 
 
 And everywhere 1 see it. But thou It return : 
 
 Now swear to me, if thou dost love me yet, 
 
 To do what I command 
 
 Oli. I swear, my lord. 
 
 Gal, Thou know st my latter days have chiefly past 
 In patient labors of philosophy ; 
 And from my toil a studious book was born, 
 Whose gathered wisdom was designed for man 
 Swear to destroy it ! 
 
 Oli. Pray forgive me this ; 
 
 I cannot, dare not. What, that mighty book 
 O er which I ve bent until the stars grew dim, 
 Arid morning caught me o er the magic page ; 
 Forgetful of my task, my pen all dry, 
 Enrapt in reading what I should have copied ? 
 0, pardon me, my lord ; t would be a crime 
 Worse than oath-breaking, worse than blasphemy ! 
 
 Gal. Didst thou love Dona Alda, Oliver ? 
 
 Oli. Past love, my lord ; but now I love her more. 
 
 Gal. A"nd wouldst thou see some scribbler drag 
 
 her name, 
 
 Coupled to infamy and red-cheeked shame, 
 Or slirned with pity of a vulgar mind, 
 Into the preface of a book you love ? 
 Wouldst see her live in misery immortal, 
 
CALAYNOS. 101 
 
 Preserved for time coldly to comment on ? 
 
 Wouldst have her memory, which you hold so dear, 
 
 Bandied about, the scoff and jest of fools ? 
 
 No, no ; before this bitter thing shall be, 
 
 Let rny name perish from the thoughts of men. 
 
 Oli. And wouldst thou die in very name, my lord ? 
 Gal. Only in name, no further can I die. 
 Oli. We know not that. 
 Gal. Know not ! then vain is knowledge. 
 All nature cries Whatever is, must be ! 
 Earth s forms may change, but time can ne er destroy 
 The smallest atom in the universe ; 
 Much less this life of intellect, the soul, 
 Whose very form is changeless. Death is not ! 
 Serene, and calm, and indestructible, 
 Above the touch of chance, or sin, or time, 
 On these heaven-scaling attributes shall soar, 
 In infinite progression towards their source : 
 In death is knowledge ! 
 
 Oli. I will do it, sir. 
 
 Gal. Enough, I shall die happy. Get thee hence, 
 And have my servants near the meeting place, 
 To bear me from the field. But, on their lives, 
 Let them not interfere till all is o er ; 
 And should Don Luis kill me, let him pass. 
 
 Oli. They may, but I will not. (Aside.) I 11 see 
 tis done. [Exit] 
 
 (Enter DON LOPEZ.) 
 
 Don Lopez. The terms are all agreed ; though, I 
 
 declare, 
 
 I had some trouble with that old Miguel 
 He is Don Luis second. By this light ! 
 
108 CALAYNOS. 
 
 He M mounted you, with lances in your hands, 
 To run a tilt like Quixotes. Tell me, sir, 
 Does the first blood decide the combat o er. 
 
 Calaynos. The first death, sir, decides this combat 
 
 o er. 
 Don Lop. Of course, of course ; but death is our 
 
 of date : 
 
 T is not the way we fight in these fair days : 
 Now gentlemen may fight without a scratch. 
 I do assure you, sir, that in a duel 
 Life is as safe as if you sat in church ; 
 You have the honor without fear of harm. 
 Will not the first blood do ? 
 
 Gal. I m of a race 
 
 Who seldom drew a sword except to kill ; 
 They never bled, like leeches, nor will I : 
 Death, and not honor, is the thing I wish. 
 This duel, friend, did not originate 
 From treading on a toe without excuse. 
 
 Don Lop. T is out of date ; but as you pleane, 
 
 my lord. 
 Have you e er fought before ? 
 
 Gal No, not of late : 
 
 But, in my youth, through Salamanca s school 
 I fought my way, and lost no credit there. 
 
 Don Lop. Ah, yes ; I Ve heard, they ever held 
 
 your blade 
 
 The foremost steel in Salamanca s walls : 
 ; T is a good school. But watch his French device 
 The thrust beneath the guard. ; T is nigh the time. 
 Gal. Then, sir, lead on. T is ne er too soon for 
 me. [Exeunt.] 
 
CALAYNOS. 109 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Fields near Seville. Enter DON Luis and DON MIGUEL, 
 meeting CALAYNOS, DON LOPEZ, and OLIVER. 
 
 Don Lopez. Stand here, my lord. 
 Galaynos. Let there be no delay. 
 
 Don Miguel. (To DON Luis.) Stand here, my boy. 
 Don Luis. (Aside.) He s ill ; I 11 kill him easily. 
 
 (DON LOPEZ and DON MIGUEL advance.) 
 
 Don Lop. T is a fine day, and this a glorious 
 
 ground. 
 Don M. Yes, for a fight with good old-fashioned 
 
 blades. 
 
 Don Lop. Excuse me, sir, but we must follow cus 
 tom. 
 
 Don M. Yes, afar off. Here is Don Luis skewer. 
 
 [Gives the sword."] 
 Don Lop. (Measuring.) T is full an inch too long. 
 
 I sent the measure 
 There s no excuse they cannot fight to-day. 
 
 Don M. What cares a man against an inch or two ? 
 Bah ! on your forms ! His grandsire, in his day, 
 Would draw his dagger gainst an ashen spear. 
 
 Don Lop. I have a name, sir, among gentlemen, 
 Which I 11 not hazard on so grave a thing. 
 
 Oliver. (Advancing.) Why pause you, gentlemen ? 
 
 My lord is ill, 
 And loses strength by standing such a time. 
 
 Don Lop. Don Luis blade is full an inch too long. 
 Oli. The murderous coward ! [Aside.} 
 
 I Goes to CALAYNOS and returns.} 
 
110 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Go on, gentlemen ; 
 If t is a foot too long, my lord cares not. 
 
 Don M. Said like his grandsire : there the old 
 
 blood spoke ! 
 
 Don Lop. Well, as he wills ; but I again protest 
 You 11 bear me witness, sir, before the world ? 
 Don M. Yes, yes. Stand here, my friend. 
 
 [To DON Luis.] 
 
 Don Lop. Stand here, my lord. [To CALAYNOS.] 
 
 Draw, sirs advance guard 
 
 Don M. God defend the right ! 
 
 Don Lop. Heavens ! what queer phrases has this 
 antique man ! [Aside.] 
 
 (CALAYNOS and DON Lvisfiyht.) 
 
 My man fights well. 
 
 Don M. He fights too much for blood : 
 
 He Ml catch a wound. 
 
 Don Lop. There s his French trick I knew it ! 
 
 (CALAYNOS is wounded.) 
 
 . Lopez and Miguel. Hold, gentlemen ! 
 Cal. Stand back beware Calaynos ! 
 
 Don M. Thus spoke his grandsire when his blood 
 
 was up. 
 Don Lop. Again ! 
 
 (CALAYNOS is icounded.) 
 
 Lopez and Miguel Hold, gentlemen forbear, 
 forbear ! 
 
 (They rush between.) 
 
 Don Lop. Are you not satisfied ? 
 
 Don Luis. I am, for one. 
 
 Cal. I came to die, or be that villain s death !- 
 
CALAYXOS. Ill 
 
 Stand from between us ; or, by heaven s great king, 
 I 11 make a path across your carcasses ! 
 
 Don Lop. Well, well, go on but this is bloody 
 work I 
 
 (Tkeyfiyht : CALAYNOS disarms DON Luis.) 
 
 Cal. Turn dog, and fly ! 
 
 Don Luis. Not while I ve legs to stand. 
 
 Gal. Down, down and beg ! 
 
 Don Luis. No, never to a Moor 1 
 
 Cal. Ha, wretch ! [Kills DON Luis.] 
 
 (CALAYNOS staggers and falls.) 
 
 Oli. My lord, you re wounded. 
 
 Cal. Yes, to death. 
 
 Come nearer, son I have short time to live. 
 Why dost thou weep ? 
 
 Oli. 0, why do I not die ? 
 
 Cal. Nay, live, dear Oliver, to think of us 
 Of poor, poor Alda, and her buried lord : 
 Thou It come at sun-down o er the dewy grass, 
 And kneel beside us, and thou It pray for her. 
 Was she not wronged? but pure, but pure as 
 heaven 1 
 
 Oli. Most pure, my lord. 
 
 Cal. bless thee, for those words ! 
 
 Come close, my son : thou wert my only friend, 
 And next to Alda in my heart thou stoodst. 
 Wilt thou forgive me the harsh words I said, 
 For that false man by Heaven s arm smote, not 
 mine ? 
 
 Oli. woe ! woe ! Nay, nay, t was all my 
 fault. 
 
112 CALAYNOS. 
 
 Cat. Not so come nearer. Thou wilt bury me 
 Next to dear Alda. Now sweet death draws on : 
 I feel his icy breath upon my cheek 
 The gates of knowledge lift to let me in 
 Already, half the mystery of life 
 Rolls from my soul, like a divided veil ! 
 The secrets of the universe unclose, 
 And I am filled with light ! 
 
 Oli. 0, mighty soul ! 
 
 Gal. Stand from before me give me air I choke. 
 Next Alda next my wife wife ! [Dies.] 
 
 Oli. The stony world may smile at broken hearts ; 
 But there lies one cracked to the very core. 
 (Enter Servants, and group round the body.) 
 Tread softly here is death ! 
 
ANNE BOLE IN 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 VOL I. 8 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 HENRY VIII., King of England. 
 
 DUKE OF NORFOLK, Uncle to the Queen. 
 
 DUKE OF SUFFOLK. 
 
 DUKE OF RICHMOND, Natural son of the King. 
 
 MARQUIS OF EXETER. 
 EARL OF ARUNDEL. 
 
 VISCOUNT ROCHFORD, Brother to the Queen. 
 
 THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 SIR HENRY NORRIS, Groom of the Chamber. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM KINGSTON, Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 MARK SMEATON, Groom of the Chamber. 
 
 RALPH LONEY, A creature of Suffolk s. 
 
 QUEEN ANNE, Formerly Anne Boleyn. 
 
 JANE SEYMOUR, A Maid of Honor. 
 
 MARY WYATT, A Maid of Honor, sister to 
 
 Thomas Wyatt. 
 
 VISCOUNTESS ROCIII niti>, Sister-in-law to the Queen. 
 
 LADY BOLEYN, Aunt to the Queen. 
 
 MRS. COSYNS. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Knights, Ushers, three Informers, Officers, Her- 
 aids, Guards, Citizens, Attendants, fyc. 
 
 SCENE, London and Greenwich. 
 TIME, A. D. 1536. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in Whitehall Palace. Enter, as from the 
 Council, Duke of NORFOLK, Duke of SUFFOLK, Duke of RICH 
 MOND, Marquis of EXETER, and Earl of ARUNDEL. 
 
 Norfolk. NAY, nay, my lords, affairs must not 
 
 stand thus. 
 
 She is my kinswoman, and I confess, 
 If but on my estate her influence bore, 
 I ; d pass it by unchecked. No private griefs 
 Should wring a word from me, nor tutor me 
 To raise the hand that snaps a natural tie. 
 But see, my lords 
 
 Suffolk. 7 0ds blood ! we have seen enough : 
 
 We have been open-eyed, your grace of Norfolk. 
 I trust we hold one mind ? 
 
 All. We do, we do. 
 
 Suf. Why, then, your grace, we have stared our 
 selves stone blind, 
 
 Stared all our man to palsied impotence, 
 At this she-basilisk. Some years ago, 
 From the mere dregs and offscourings of your house, 
 
116 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 We saw this girl emerge, and step by step 
 Crawl slowly upward to the top of power 
 Why, she was queen before her crown was on ! 
 Till, now, she threatens us from such a throne 
 Of downright rule as queen ne er held before. 
 Nay, pucker riot your brows, good Duke of Richmond 
 While conscience echoes what 1 bluntly speak : 
 Your royal father, more than any here, 
 Has felt her deadly witchcraft. 
 
 Richmond. Fie, for shame ! 
 
 I thought this meeting one of policy : 
 It never crossed me that five stalwart men 
 Had leagued their brains to gabble scandal thus 
 Of a poor queen, whose sole discovered crime 
 Heaven send a rain of such bewildering sin ! 
 Is too much beauty. 
 
 Nor. Therein lies her power. 
 
 Rich. Then we depute you, as her nearest kin, 
 To play Saint Dunstan to this fair Elgiva ; 
 To raze her eyes out, sear her blushing skin, 
 Twist off her nose, and slit her pretty mouth ; 
 But 0, fore heaven ! lay not your manhoods off, 
 And stand here railing like a pack of drabs ! 
 
 Arundel. Patience, your grace ; let Suffolk have 
 
 his say ; 
 This was but prelude to the main affair. 
 
 Rich. Nay, if his song cannot out-go that pitch, 
 Henceforth I 11 herd with women. Know, my lords, 
 To ease you of her beauty s deadly grief, 
 Her so-called strongest hold, my father s love, 
 Is well-nigh yielded to a nimble wight, 
 No higher than your arm, your grace of Suffolk, - 
 Through herald words, and showers of gentle looks. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 117 
 
 Therefore, I counsel we withdraw our powers 
 Of bearded men, nor strive to win by storrn 
 That woman s citadel, our sovereign s heart. 
 
 Suf. Your grace may flout arid game at Holy 
 
 Writ, 
 
 Or any solemn truth ; nor stands a fact 
 Less in repute, because an empty jest 
 Has cracked thereon, and shown its hollowness. 
 
 Rich. I cry you mercy, lord of gravity ! 
 Now wherefore meet we ? Exeter, speak out. 
 You have not strayed away in idle words ; 
 From which I argue you have kept to heart 
 This grave affair. 
 
 Exeter. Thus is it, then, my lords : 
 
 We all have sorrowing seen the growing power 
 Of her we call the queen we call, I say ; 
 For, in my humble judgment, Katharine, 
 Our sometime mistress 
 
 Rich. Heaven defend us all ! 
 
 He 11 talk till cock-crow on that threadbare theme. 
 Will no one help us ? Is there no one here 
 Who knows exactly why five fools have met ? 
 
 Nor. Thus, then, your grace. We peers have nigh 
 
 become 
 A mere incumbrance in the council-seats. 
 
 Rich. Why, here is a man who has his wits alive ! 
 
 Nor. Spare me, your grace ; too heavy this for 
 sport. 
 
 Rich. Well, I 11 be silent till the end. Go on. 
 
 Nor. This spawn of ours, whom I must blush to 
 own 
 
 Rich. Ha ! more abuse ! 
 
 Nor. Usurps the state entire ; 
 
118 AXXE BOLEYX. 
 
 Makes and breaks treaties ; changes faiths and 
 
 priests ; 
 
 Empties the treasury, and fills it up, 
 By loans and taxes, such as she may will ; 
 Sends one abroad, and calls another home ; 
 Orders a marquis here, and there a duke. 
 All this she does, and more than I can name, 
 With but such counsel as her wits may lend, 
 Counting us peers as toys. 
 
 Rich. Ah, now indeed 
 
 We reach the body of things politic. 
 If t is a fight of wits, I am with you, sirs ; 
 Though, I misgive, we shall be shrewdly cuffed. 
 
 Suf. All this your grace of Richmond, mark we 
 
 well 
 
 All this unqueenly power she strictly holds 
 By the fond tenure of our sovereign s love. 
 Let but the light, which now he suns her in, 
 Vanish in frowns, and this same haughty moon, 
 That floods our prospect with her filched beams, 
 Sinks to her native blackness. 
 
 Rich. So, stop there I 
 
 My lords, I 11 join you in your enterprise 
 Against the sweet usurpings of our queen, 
 Perchance, when I behold you four tall men 
 Ranked on Tower Hill, the headsman standing by ; 
 When meek-faced Suffolk is about to say, 
 "Good people, I confess I suffer justly." 
 
 Arun. Exeter, I have caught cold by standing 
 
 here ; 
 
 I feel the shrewdest of rheumatic pains 
 Twitching my spine above the shoulder-blades. 
 I must withdraw. [Apart to Exeter."} 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 119 
 
 Ex. Nay, nay, stand fast ; he jests. 
 
 JRich. When noble Norfolk s humbly-worded letter, 
 " Touching his close connection with the queen," 
 Meets in reply her gracious writ of death ; 
 When scurvy poets sing in bastard rhymes, 
 " The doleful ballad of lord Arundel ; " 
 When slip-shod wenches, with out-popping eyes, 
 And all unbreathed, pant out to passers by, 
 "Pray, tell me, sirs, where dies false Exeter ? " 
 Then will I aid you, then I 11 run amain, 
 Grovel and crawl, and kiss the royal shoe, 
 And howl for pardon which she will not grant. 
 Till then, adieu ! 
 
 Nor. Your grace will keep our counsel ? 
 
 Rich. Zounds I I am a gentleman ; and prove it, 
 
 sir, 
 
 By having better business to my hands 
 Than the undoing of my female kin. [Exit.] 
 
 Ex. He s a hot heart ; but such are mostly true. 
 
 Suf. What was the hint yon brain-struck bastard 
 
 dropped 
 About the king s love suffering change to Anne ? 
 
 Arun. Nay, I know not ; he dealt so much in 
 
 tropes : 
 
 His grace of Norfolk is a poet s father, 
 He may resolve us. 
 
 Nor. I have thought of that. 
 
 T was a bare hint, but worth our scrutiny. 
 
 Ex. Ay, ay, indeed. 
 
 Suf. I half believe it meant : 
 
 When Richmond bays, there is store of game afoot ; 
 We have found it so. 
 
120 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Nor. I 11 to his majesty. 
 
 If this prove true, our cause is well-nigh won. 
 
 Suf. Your grace will summon us to hear the news ? 
 
 Nor. Trust me ; if true, I 11 be too full to hold. 
 
 Arun. Methinks the country air would ease these 
 
 aches 
 
 About my neck ; another talk like this 
 Nigh wrench my head off. [Aside.] 
 
 Nor. Till we meet, farewell ! 
 
 Be secret, but be watchful. 
 
 Exe. Time is fate. 
 
 Suf. We have not pulled the crafty Wolsey down, 
 To whimper tamely at a woman s heels ! [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE H. 
 
 Another Room in the Palace. Enter JANE SEYMOUR, pursued by 
 KING HENRY. 
 
 King Henry. 0, prithee, tarry ! I am out of wind 
 I 11 not have breath to tell you how I love. 
 Stand, I adjure you, on your loyalty I 
 
 Jane Seymour. Now am I safe ; I owe you loyalty, 
 And you owe me protection. [Kneels.] 
 
 King H. Nonsense, child ! [Raises her.] 
 
 You are far safer with plain Harry Tudor, 
 Than if the monarchs of all Christendom 
 Circled you round. For what are angry swords 
 To the raised finger of the baby Love ? 
 I say, I love you ; that implies respect. 
 
 Jane S. Respect should teach you not to urge your 
 love. 
 
ANNE BOLEYJf. 121 
 
 King H. Sweetheart, pray hear me. I am all 
 
 unused 
 
 To lover s logic, to the mincing* phrase 
 That snares a heart in nets of sophistry ; 
 I 11 not attack your passion through your brain ; 
 But at your love s unconquered citadel 
 I 11 sit rne down, with rough, unmannered haste, 
 And bid you open in your sovereign s name. 
 Jane, do you love me ? 
 
 Jane S. With all duty, sir. 
 
 King H. Tut, tut I no duty. Would you be my 
 queen ? 
 
 Jane S. Your wife, my liege ; the tempting name 
 
 of queen 
 
 Makes no addition to a loving mind. 
 Love asks but love. 
 
 King H. So, well said, mistress mine ! 
 
 I never thought to win your dainty heart 
 By bartering for it an unfeeling crown. 
 Love comes unsought, nor heeds the voice of power : 
 The very gem which, from his purple throne, 
 A fuming king may gaze and thunder for, 
 Beneath the willows of some muddy brook 
 A listless rustic may disclose and wear. 
 Then, as mere Hal, the shepherd, if you list 
 Barring all sovereignty with equal terms 
 Say, do you love me ? [Kneels. } 
 
 Jane S. Maiden shame, my liege 
 
 King H. Liege me no more Hal Harry what 
 you will. 
 
 Jane S. My maiden heart should send its blushing 
 
 force 
 Of startled blood to whelm my guilty face, 
 
122 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 While I stand parleying with her dearest foe ; 
 Yet am I pale ah ! pale with fear to think 
 What woful fate may be reserved for me, 
 If onr right noble queen 
 
 King H. Hell blast the queen ! [Starts up.] 
 
 Jane S. Ha ! did I gall you so? (Aside.) par 
 don me ! 
 
 King H. Girl, I am well-nigh maddened by the 
 
 queen. 
 
 A pack of yelling fancies bait my soul, 
 And each tongue seems to cheer the horrid rout, 
 When my fierce conscience cries The queen, the 
 queen ! 
 
 Jane S. 0, had I suffered her extremest rage, 
 Ere I thus angered you ! 
 
 King H. Nay, I 11 not scold. 
 
 Forgive me, sweetheart, my unmannered spleen. 
 My soul is much perplexed and tempest-tossed 
 About my marriage with this cunning queen : 
 I fear me, Lucifer made her a bait 
 To trap my soul. 
 
 Jane S. 0, you arch hypocrite ! [Aside.] 
 
 King H. Methinks the Pope was right ay, must 
 
 be right ; 
 Since by the creed he is infallible. 
 
 Jane S. Not by the new one. 
 
 King H. There the sorrow lies : 
 
 I have main doubts of our new-gendered creed. 
 If he be right, then is our union void ; 
 For, by his voice, poor Katharine was my wife. 
 I will consult my lords on this grave point. 
 
 Jane S. Your nobles wear your eyes ; but, then, 
 the people 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 123 
 
 King H. I 11 make half England see without their 
 
 heads, 
 
 But I will wed you ! Sweetheart, promise me, 
 If I can offer an unmortgaged hand, 
 That you will take it. 
 
 Jane S. Thus I promise you. [Gives her hand.] 
 
 King H. When next we meet, I 11 show you many 
 
 a way, 
 
 To lead us from this labyrinth of doubt, 
 As soft and thornless to your pretty feet 
 As the rich velvet whereon you shall tread 
 To mount the dais of our English throne. 
 Till then, adieu ! 
 
 (They separate she rushes back.) 
 
 Jane S. Sweet Harry, be not rash I 
 
 King H. 0,1 would fawn, and play the stricken cur 
 To any groom, whose love-illumined wit 
 Could steal from time the weary chain of days 
 That links our purpose to its hopeful end. 
 
 [Exeunt severally.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Jin Ante-room in the Palace. Enter the Duke of NORFOLK, meet 
 ing an USHER. 
 
 Norfolk. Has the king risen ? 
 
 Usher. Anon he will come forth. 
 
 Nor. I will await him. 
 
 Ush. That is spared your grace. 
 
124 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 {Enter KINO HENRY.) 
 
 King Henry. Ha! Norfolk, Norfolk, you have 
 
 come in time ; 
 
 There is no face more welcome than your own. 
 I d rather see you, in this private way, 
 Than in your dignity of counsellor. 
 
 Nor. Your majesty overrates my little worth. 
 
 King H. Not a whit, man. Sir Usher, keep the 
 
 door ; 
 Let no one enter till his grace withdraws. [Exit USUKR.] 
 
 Nor. I came on business of her majesty 
 
 King H. Ods blood! the queen again! Enough, 
 
 good Norfolk. 
 
 I have met no man since I arose to-day, 
 Who came not whimpering of her majesty. 
 Pray change your style ; the fashion had grown stale 
 Ere you were up. 
 
 Nor. ho ! and how is this ? [Aside.] 
 
 King H. Norfolk, t is pitiful I No hour last night, 
 But my sharp senses, tuned to painful pitch, 
 Started, like guilt, upon the faintest sound ; 
 The very mice stalked by like sentinels 
 Ringing in proof; the clock beside my bed 
 Hammered the hours like a gross forging smith ; 
 The gentlest gust of air howled like the damned ; 
 And when a noise, which in the joyous day 
 Would scarce make damsels wink, fell on my ear, 
 Up from my restless bed, like one possessed, 
 I bounded, with wide-stretched and glaring eyes, 
 And half cried Treason ! 
 
 Nor. Sir, I am amazed. 
 
 Shall I go seek your majesty s physicians ? 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 125 
 
 King H- Ah ! t is a grief their physic cannot 
 
 touch. 
 My conscience, Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. Hum ! join this to that, 
 
 And I might get some credit as a prophet. [Aside.] 
 
 King H. My conscience ! 
 
 Nor. And twas his " conscience, ! " 
 
 Made such a pother ere Queen Katharine fell. 
 
 King H. Nay ; do you hear me ? t was my con 
 
 science, sir. 
 Nor. Certes, within a month, another queen. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Grief has bereft me of the power of speech. 
 Might Cranmer help you ? 
 
 King H. No ; you are the man. 
 
 Nor. Deign to unfold your majesty s distress ; 
 And what so weak a man as Norfolk can, 
 He 11 gladly undertake. 
 
 King H. Hear, then, the cause. 
 
 You know our present queen [Listens.] 
 Nor. And hear her, too. 
 
 Queen Anne. ( Without.} What, sir, deny me to his 
 
 majesty ? 
 Usher. (Without.) But tis his majesty s direct 
 
 command. 
 
 Queen A. (Without.) Stand from before me ; I will 
 answer it. 
 
 (Enter QUEEN ANNE, followed by the USHER.) 
 
 Queen A. Your highness 
 
 King H. Fellow with an usher s wand, 
 
 Hand me your cane. Begone, your place is wanted ! 
 
12G ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Ush. Your highness, twas the queen 
 
 King H. Knave, bite your tongue, 
 
 Or you may talk your head off ! Fly, I say 1 
 And if within the precincts of our court 
 Your traitor face be seen two hours from now, 
 I 11 break your body in as many pieces 
 As this frail stick ! [Breaks up the wand.] 
 
 [ Ex it USHER.] 
 
 Queen A. Nay, royal sir, I pray 
 
 Some show of mercy to yon guiltless man. 
 If there was fault, believe it mine alone : 
 He dared not stop my entrance. 
 
 King H. Say you so ? 
 
 Well, madam, I believe it yours alone : 
 And much it vexes us that you, our queen, 
 Whose acts should but reflect our royal will, 
 Show, thus, a glass whence every traitor s eye 
 May take the foul impression of himself. 
 
 Queen A. My liege, forgive my over-zealous haste ; 
 The cause that brought me is no common one. 
 Our faithful Protestants in Germany 
 Are sorely pressed 
 
 King H. If they be pressed to death, 
 
 I care not. There are those within my realm, 
 Gross, headstrong Protestants, puffed up with pride, 
 Who should be sent abroad to get a squeeze. 
 
 Nor. Ha ! ha ! your majesty. [Laughing.] 
 
 Queen A. What owl is that 
 
 Crying so merrily as shadows thicken ? 
 0, I beseech your majesty, sustain 
 The noble cause so happily begun ! 
 You are the instrument, by Heaven picked out 
 From all the famous potentates of earth, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 12t 
 
 To work its high behest. Yea, after times 
 
 Shall lay your memory as a sacred thing 
 
 Upon their altars, radiant with such beams, 
 
 Shot clear from heaven, that slander s eagle eye, 
 
 Dazzled with light, can challenge no defect 
 
 Most blessed of men ! when the great trump of doom 
 
 Shall to its centre crack the startled world, 
 
 And cheek by cheek the king and slave awake, 
 
 Think what a band of heaven-persuading saints 
 
 Shall circle God, and raise their tongues for you ! 
 
 King H. Why here s Erasmus in a farthingale ! 
 What say you, Norfolk ? 
 
 Nor. Nothing now, my liege : 
 
 My brain is clearer in the council-room. 
 I pray her majesty, the queen, may cease 
 To load her spirits with our state affairs : 
 The rugged shoulders of tried counsellors 
 Can scarce endure the burden of these times ; 
 And much I fear 
 
 Queen A. I see through what you mean, 
 
 Good uncle Norfolk. You are one of those 
 Big bloated toads that cumber up sweet earth, 
 A mere deformity in common sight ; 
 Yet, neath the royal sun, you swell and swell, 
 Blinking your dull but self-sufficient eyes 
 Around the narrow bound your view may grasp, 
 And then shake heaven with angel merriment, 
 To hear you splutter " Lord, all this is ours ! " 
 
 King H. Ods wounds ! forbear I 
 
 Nor. I 11 give receipt for this. [Aside.] 
 
 King H. Why rate you thus our friend and coun 
 sellor ? 
 
128 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Your uncle Norfolk, whose unfaltering zeal 
 Has seemed to be the shadow of our will ! - 
 Queen A. But seen in sunshine. 
 King H. If t would please your highness 
 
 To blow these noxious vapors from your mind, 
 Have pity on us, nor infect our ears. 
 
 Queen A. Your pardon, sir, if my unbroken tongue 
 For once ran riot with my better sense. 
 King H. Ay, tis a wilful jade. 
 Queen A. But hear me out. 
 
 King H. We 11 make no purchase from the samples 
 
 given 
 
 Preaching and railing. T is but courtesy, 
 If you require this room, that we withdraw. 
 Come, Norfolk, come. What said his holiness ? 
 
 [Exit, leaning on NORFOLK.] 
 Queen A. What means this heavy feeling at my 
 
 heart ? 
 
 What means the king by this unwonted coldness ? 
 What means my uncle by his insolence ? 
 Why stood the king with an approving smile, 
 And heard my most unnatural enemy 
 Offer reproof in semblance of advice ? 
 I have seen the time ay, not a month ago 
 When, in the fury of his lion mood, 
 He d brained the scoffer with his royal hand. 
 But times have changed ah! have they changed 
 
 indeed ? 
 
 Has my life passed the zenith of its glory ? 
 Must I make ready for the gathering clouds 
 That dog the pathway of a setting sun ? 
 Well, let them come ! The blaze of my decline 
 Shall turn to gold the dull enshrouding mists, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 129 
 
 And show the world a spectacle more grand 
 
 Than the young splendor in which first I rose. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! par Dieu ! now this is marvellous ! 
 
 A queen whose crown has scarcely ta en the shape 
 
 Of her young brow, the anointing oil scarce dried, 
 
 The shouts still buzzing in my deafened ears, 
 
 With which the people hailed rne on the throne ; 
 
 Not two years queen, and moralizing thus, 
 
 Like fourscore crawling to its certain grave ! 
 
 This is sheer weakness, the dull malady 
 
 Of little minds that chafe at little ills. 
 
 Great souls are cheerful with their inborn power, 
 
 Feeling themselves the rulers of events, 
 
 The sinewy smoothers of the roughest times, 
 
 And not the slaves of outward influence. 
 
 Despair is a fellow with a moody brow, 
 
 Who shuts a dungeon door upon himself, 
 
 And then groans at his bondage. Fear, avaunt ! 
 
 Thy shades but trespass on my noon of power. 
 
 (Several Courtiers cross the stage, bowing. Enter THOMAS 
 WYATT.) 
 
 Ho ! Wyatt, hither. 
 
 Wyatt. Did your highness call ? 
 
 Queen A. Where go you, sir ? 
 
 Wyatt. I and these gentlemen, 
 
 Inflamed with holy zeal of selfishness, 
 Make to the Mecca of our hopes, the king, 
 A solemn pilgrimage. 
 
 Queen A. What news abroad ? 
 
 Wyatt. Not a breath stirring. 
 
 Queen A. Say they aught of me ? 
 
 VOL. i. 1) 
 
130 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Wijatt. If praise might tire the courtiers flowing 
 
 tongues, 
 
 Ere this they had been mute : to-day, as ever, 
 The sweets of Hybla drop from every mouth. 
 As I came here, a crowd of Protestants, 
 All fire-burned artisans and men of pith, 
 Their new-made zeal sitting like riot on thorn, 
 Brandished the fragments of some papal crosiers, 
 And cried " Long live Saint Anne ! " 
 
 Queen A. Mockery ! 
 
 If history should hand my name to time, 
 God grant its fame may rest on firmer base 
 Than the disjointed sainthood of a mob ! 
 I keep you waiting. Fortune speed your suit. 
 
 [Exit WYATT.] 
 
 (Another throng of Courtiers cross the stage, bowing profoun //(/.) 
 
 These straws of courtiers watch the royal wind, 
 
 And first predict the coming hurricane ; 
 
 Certes, as yet I see no adverse signs. 
 
 Some state affairs have galled the fretful edge 
 
 Of hasty Harry s rash but loving heart : 
 
 Anon he will return, and, cap in hand, 
 
 Cry, " Pardon, Anne ! " But I 11 pout and swell, 
 
 Tossing my head, and tapping thus my foot ; 
 
 Then all my pride, at one great, eager gasp, 
 
 I 11 seem to swallow, as I bound to him ; 
 
 And then I 11 pat his cheeks, and call him " Bear," 
 
 And chide him gently for his angry mood. 
 
 But when his eyes blush at their starting tears, 
 
 I 11 laugh aloud, and puzzle all his wits. 
 
 So from this egg, of seeming noxious wrath, 
 
 Shall spring a new-born love of double power. 
 
ANNE BOLKYN. 131 
 
 To-morrow sees a messenger despatched 
 To threaten Germany with fiery war, 
 If wrong befall our faithful Lutherans : 
 Whereat our uncle, the good Duke of Norfolk, 
 Shall gnaw his nether lip off with chagrin. 
 Ho ! cheer thee, Anne ! darksome passages 
 Oft mount to prospects, but for them unknown. 
 
132 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. J* Room in Whitehall Palace. Enter JANE SEY- 
 
 Jane Seymour. A QUEEN, a queen ! a real anointed 
 
 queen, 
 
 With trains of maids and smiling courtiers, 
 Diamonds like stones, and softest velvet pall 
 To grace the shoulders of my majesty ! 
 All eyes on me, my beauties sung in verse ; 
 Each feature ay, the tithe of any one 
 More than enough to swell a rondeau up ! 
 My wishes fairies, flying at a sign 
 To bring the substance of my latest thought 1 
 My kin ennobled to the last degree ; 
 My son a king, my daughters wed to kings ; 
 My name the pith of gravest history ! 
 This is too much ! I cannot, if I would, 
 Put by the crown which fortune offers me. 
 But, then, the queen? The queen o erruns with 
 
 pride ; 
 
 Last Tuesday week she cruelly rated me. 
 What mercy showed she to poor Katharine ? 
 I am but the instrument of justest Heaven 
 To make requital for her own misdeeds. 
 The king abhors her, and inclines to me 
 Lo ! nature points the path which I should take. 
 Just as I mount, so must the queen descend ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 133 
 
 We hang 1 in adverse scales. Now tis too late ; 
 My faith is plighted to the king, and I 
 Will dare the issue for the glittering prize ! 
 
 (Enter KING HENRY.) 
 
 King Henry. All joy befall you, darling I 
 
 [Embraces her."] 
 
 Jane S. Welcome, sir ! 
 
 King H. Are you still constant ? 
 
 Jane 8. Can you ask me that ? 
 
 You have descended from your royal state, 
 And deigned to honor one so low as I ; 
 Chosen me, unworthy, from the common throng, 
 Nor cast your eyes upon the maiden hands 
 Of princesses that wait outstretched for you : 
 As well might the dull earth reject the sun, 
 That changes its grimed face to virgin gold, 
 As I refuse the glory of your love. 
 Henceforth my person is a sacred thing, 
 A common vessel turned to holy use ; 
 And should you now disdain my little worth, 
 All your great kingdom holds no mate for me. 
 
 King H. Tut ! mistress, with your gloomy fan 
 tasies ; 
 
 And be not jealous of my love so soon. 
 Oiirs is a mere exchange of heart for heart ; 
 Crowns and such baubles enter not our trade. 
 That which I have, the sceptre of a king, 
 Possession makes nigh worthless in my eyes ; 
 That which I have not, your own beauteous self, 
 O er all stale toys of royalty I prize. 
 
 Jane S. Then be content ; my heart is yours alone, 
 As virgin as the breast wherein it beats. 
 
134 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 It rests with you to lift my fortunes up 
 On level with your own. 
 
 King H. By Heaven, I will ! - 
 
 But how, but how ? Let us to counsel, love. 
 
 [Scats himself t with JANE SEYMOUR on his knee ] 
 There s Norfolk, eager at our first design ; 
 But he is a Papist ; to restore the Pope 
 Part of his creed ; a doubtful counsellor. 
 If 1 retrieve the Pope s authority, 
 Upon the act my marriage is annulled, 
 And I am free. True, true ; but pause we here : 
 How shall we satisfy the plundered monks 
 Whom we have ousted from their fat domains ? 
 How our good nobles who possess them now ? 
 
 Jane S. And how the people ? 
 
 King H. Let them fight it out. 
 
 They are half and half, Papists and Protestants, 
 And so divided, easily subdued. 
 I mainly fear to reinstate the Pope ; 
 His holy finger is in every dish ; 
 I must be king within my own domain ; 
 Yet if the thing must be Ods wounds ! my love, 
 This matrimonial knot was hard to tie ; 
 But twas mere pastime to undoing it. 
 Would that the Grecian s sword might cut it Ha ! 
 
 Jane S. What mean you, sir ? Why do you glare 
 
 around ? 
 And pale as death ! 
 
 King H. As death ! 
 
 Jane S. Ay, and as fearful. 
 
 Rouse, rouse, sir! You are ill I 11 call relief. 
 
 King H. Nay, sit you down again. 
 
 Jane S. But are you well ? 
 
ANNE BO*,EYN. 135 
 
 King H. T was but a passing thought that tor 
 tured me, 
 
 As one may feel who murders. Clasp me tight ; 
 Pain would be comfort to such awful visions. 
 
 (Enter QUEEN ANNE, behind.) 
 
 Queen Anne. Ha ! 
 
 Jane S. 0, good heavens ! the queen ! 
 
 Queen A. In luckless time 
 
 For you, base minion, treble traitoress, 
 False to yourself, false to your state and me ! 
 The foulest sin that woman may commit 
 Made doubly hideous by the circumstance ! 
 What ! in the palace that contains your queen, 
 The very seat of England s dignity, 
 Whence virtue, as the simple commons deem, 
 Springs to illumine this majestic realm I 
 Have you no shame ? Wear you that brazen front 
 When I hold up a mirror to your crime ? 
 Is not your Gorgon nature turned to stone, 
 At the bare glimpse of your own ugliness ? 
 
 King H. Peace, sweetheart, peace I all shall be 
 
 well for you ; 
 Your maid is guiltless. 
 
 Queen A. Have you found a tongue ? 
 
 What sorcery bestowed this power of speech ? 
 Or has poor shame, bedazzled at her glory, 
 Shrunk from the world ? 
 
 King H. This foully-slandered maid 
 
 Is half distraught at your mad violence. 
 
 Queen A. And dare you, sir, before your injured 
 queen 
 
136 ANNE -BOLEYN. 
 
 You, the copartner of her guilt and shame, 
 Protect yon wanton*? 
 
 King H. Dare I, dare I, madam ! 
 
 Ods wounds ! who s king in England ? Hold your 
 
 tongue, 
 
 You rank defier of your sovereign s power! 
 Have you not learned whose presence you are in ? 
 Or must I teach you by some sterner means ? 
 
 Queen A. ! shameless husband ! 
 
 King H. She is pure, I say : 
 
 And, by high Heaven, as pure shall you remain 
 From touch of mine, till malice gnaw you up ! 
 This is forever. Come, sweet mistress Jane. 
 
 [Exit, leading off JANE SEYMOUR.] 
 
 Queen A. 0, God! 0, God! The king Nay, 
 
 Harry, Harry, 
 
 Come back ; I will ! killing agony ! 
 Is there no pity in the heart of man ? 
 Plead for me, girl he loves you plead for me ! 
 I am his wife, your queen, your loving mistress. 
 I will forgive you, I will cherish you, 
 I 11 love you dearer than my dearest friend. 
 Gone, gone forever ! Said he not, forever ? 
 Kind Heaven, have mercy on my feebleness ! 
 If this be trial of my strength, I yield ; 
 I do confess my utter helplessness ; 
 I bow me prostrate, a poor nerveless woman 
 A queen no more. I 11 trample on my pride, 
 And follow meekly where thy finger points. 
 By Heaven, not so ! This is a grievous wrong, 
 By man inflicted. Devils ordered this, 
 And they shall pay it ! Hear me, writhing souls, 
 That minister around sin s ebon throne! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 131 
 
 If to these murderers of my heart s dear peace 
 
 A child be born, may she, in that sweet time 
 
 When infant babble opes all heaven to her, 
 
 Feel the cold hand of death draw, day by day, 
 
 The clinging spirit from her ! May her child 
 
 Live in the vexings of a troubled time, 
 
 And, issueless, die young ! May he God, 
 
 I cannot bid a curse light on the head 
 
 Of him my child calls father ! Bless him, Heaven ! 
 
 Give him the peace which he has stolen from me ! 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Street in London. Enter MARK SMEATON and RALPH LONEY, 
 meeting. 
 
 Loney. Mark Smeaton, if I breathe ! 
 
 Smeaton. Who are you, fellow, 
 
 That thus accost her majesty s chief groom ? 
 
 Lon. So soon forgotten ! Know you not Ralph 
 
 Loney, 
 
 Whilom your school-mate ? Shame upon you, Mark ! 
 Had I turned Peter, and denied you thus, 
 When the big smith made at you with his hammer, 
 You would riot bear your silken coat to-day. 
 
 Smea. Ralph Coney Coney? 
 
 Lon. Loney, Master Mark. 
 
 How should I call your name, not knowing you ? 
 
 Smea. Think you, this is the first, or hundredth 
 
 time, 
 That knaves have claimed acquaintance with my 
 
 name 
 
 We of the court are known to every one ; 
 
138 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 And I in chief, as the queen s favored groom 
 Nay, I may say, her most familiar groom, 
 Ranked more as friend than courtly servitor 
 Am most conspicuous to the vulgar gaze. 
 It would but prove a new-come clown in town, 
 Had you not known me. 
 
 Lon. Here are tidings gained 
 
 To please his grace of Suffolk. [Aside.] 
 
 Bless me, sir ! 
 
 I pray forgive my vulgar forwardness ; 
 Indeed I knew not of your dignity. 
 Your worship would not harm a thoughtless man. 
 Nay, frown not, good Sir Mark. Do I misjudge, 
 In calling you Sir Mark ? 
 
 Smea. On the way thither ; 
 
 To-morrow, or next day, that style may suit ; 
 Perchance, a higher one. Resume your beaver. 
 Let me see Loney Ralph ? Upon my life, 
 When I reflect, I have a faint idea 
 That once I knew you. 
 
 Lon. I will freshen you. 
 
 Do you remember, on an Easter day, 
 How the fierce urchins, half insane for meat, 
 And rancorous with the bile of fishy Lent, 
 Into a green and filthy pool bobbed you, 
 Merely because they could ? How I alone, 
 In pity of your plight your slimy plight - 
 Your most nose-wrenching plight 
 
 Smea. Good Loney, cease ! 
 
 The zenith-topping sun forgets the clouds 
 Which, in the dirty dawn, he struggled through ! 
 
 Lon. Now, what bystander that had seen you rise 
 From that green pond, fresh with your miry coat, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 139 
 
 Had ever prophesied these gilded clothes ? 
 And who that saw me, with my broken staff, 
 Thrash to their doors your routed enemies, 
 Could have foretold my present mean estate ? 
 I should be captain of a great armada ; 
 You should be dragging horse-ponds. 
 
 Smea. Prithee, cease ! 
 
 These boyish pranks disgust my nicer sense. 
 
 Lon. I would not vex you ; but it comforts me, 
 And reconciles me to my lot on earth, 
 To summon back my childhood. As I then 
 Had my full hours of triumph and renown, 
 So have you now ; thus fate is justified. 
 
 Smea. You seem to be an honest fellow, Ralph ; 
 Nor care I if from my abounding stose, 
 Ever replenished by my gracious mistress, 
 I give a parcel. [Gives a purse.] 
 
 Lon. Luck be with you, sir ! 
 
 Smea. When that is emptied, I 11 replenish it, 
 If you will drink my royal lady s health. 
 
 Lon. You stand high in her favor. 
 
 Smea. Did you know 
 
 The height I stand, it would amaze your ears. 
 Adieu ! we 11 meet again. [Exit.] 
 
 Lon. Farewell, poor fool ! 
 
 We 11 meet too soon for you. Hell snatch the purse ! 
 
 [Throws it from him.] 
 
 It burns like heated brass. Now to the duke. 
 Mark Smeaton s vanity, a seeming trifle, 
 May in his grace s hands work great results ; 
 Ay, even the unqueening of a queen. 
 Alas ! alas ! poor Mark, that thy fine feathers 
 Should draw the fowler s closely-prying eye ! 
 
140 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 So must it be ; why should I hesitate ? 
 
 Curse on his bounty I While we are beasts of prey, 
 
 The little game must ever feed the great. [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Room in the Palace of the Duke of SUFFOLK. Enter Duke of 
 NORFOLK, Duke of SUFFOLK, and Marquis of EXETER. 
 
 Suffolk. Where & Aruridel, Lord Exeter ? 
 
 Exeter. Poor man ! 
 
 His over boldness in once joining us 
 Has scared him from a second wish of it : 
 One valiant thought has terrified the rest. 
 He bade me mention that some strict affairs 
 Drew him away. When we have won the game, 
 1 pledge my faith, we 11 have him bickering hot, 
 And bold as Mars to share the dangerous spoils. 
 
 Norfolk. We can _well spare him. Since his 
 
 majesty 
 
 Has shown such favor to our enterprise, 
 They who at first turned from us, virtue-sick, 
 Deem it a blessed thing to be enrolled. 
 
 (Enter Earl O/ARUXDEL.) 
 
 Welcome, my lord ! 
 
 Arundel A dear salute to me. 
 
 I rode four horses dead, to keep my faith, 
 And only reached you as the fifth fell lame. 
 Good Lord ! good Lord ! they say his majesty 
 I had this from a sure but private source 
 Has gained intelligence of our design, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 141 
 
 And smiles at it. Ugh ! sirs, I m out of breath : 
 When I have blown a while, I 11 tell you more. 
 
 Suf. Nay, spare your wind. 
 
 Nor. Poh ! poh ! don t anger him. 
 
 Impart to SUFFOLK. ] 
 
 Arun. Ha ! you know all ? 
 
 Nor. Yes, every tittle of it. 
 
 Arun. Then, sirs, to counsel. 
 
 Ex. Now he is head assassin, [Aside.] 
 
 Nor. His majesty is much perplexed with doubts ; 
 Nor knows he, better than ourselves, a plan 
 To rid the state of his ambitious queen. 
 She has committed no so gross excess 
 As may subject her to the common law : 
 A faithful wife, untainted in her fame 
 
 Ex. And so was Katharine. 
 
 Suf. Come, come, be blunt : 
 
 We must destroy her, by fair means or foul. 
 
 (Enter a SERVANT.) 
 
 Servant. Your grace s servant, Master Loney, 
 waits. 
 
 Suf. Let him wait, fellow I am much engaged. 
 
 Ser. I told him so. He said his business was 
 About the matter you have now in hand. 
 
 Suf. Ha ! said he so ? Admit him then. (Exit SERVANT.) 
 
 My lords, 
 
 Be not provoked by his familiar bearing. 
 He is my jackal, a moat useful one, 
 But one who hates his trade. 
 
 (Enter RALPH LONEY.) 
 
 Loney. My speech is short. 
 
 I met a youthful schoolfellow of mine, 
 
142 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 A rare musician, now her highness groom : 
 
 The man s a fool, and boasted of the love 
 
 His mistress bore him. He would go still furtner. 
 
 To gratify his itching vanity, 
 
 And criminate the queen. 
 
 Suf. Go make him drunk ; 
 
 Take witnesses, fit men, and pump him dry. 
 
 Lon. I will obey, sir. T is but one man more. 
 
 [Exit.} 
 
 Suf. You 11 scarce believe, at times that fellow 
 
 laughs ; 
 
 But never when about my secret work ; 
 Then he is ever sullen. 
 
 Ai^un. A strange knave. 
 
 Suf. But faithful. 
 
 Ex. Something grave may come of this. 
 
 Suf. Ay, something which, by us interpreted, 
 May compromise the virtue of the queen. 
 
 Nor. Perhaps. find me but some little charge, 
 Less weighty than the air-drawn gossamer 
 Some dim tradition, gathered in a dream 
 Seen by the blearing vision of a drunkard 
 Some hearsay mumbled by a maniac s lips, 
 With fever scorched upon his dying bed 
 Some words the roaring tongues of angry blasts, 
 Or zephyrs, lisping through the sluggish trees, 
 Hummed in the ears of musing fantasy 
 Find one of these, to frame a charge upon, 
 And I will warrant trial expedite, 
 And sure conviction, though an angel plead. 
 
 Suf. I 11 answer, Loney s craft unearths a charge 
 As horrible as death. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 143 
 
 Ex. What mean you, sirs, 
 
 To bring a deadly fault against the guiltless ? 
 
 Arun. Ay, prove it too. 
 
 Ex. This is flat villany ! 
 
 ; T is now too late to shape my course anew ; 
 And England s weal outweighs a woman s life. 
 
 [Aside. } 
 
 Nor. Should this affair fulfil its promises, 
 We 11 meet anon. 
 
 Arun. If t would assist you, sirs, 
 
 Pray use my house. 
 
 Ex. Yon fellow glows with zeal ; 
 
 He d stab she-Caesar in the capitol. [Aside. ] 
 
 [Exeunt severally.] 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A By-street in London. Knots of vagabonds occasionally cross 
 the scene. Enter Viscount ROCHFORD and THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 liochford. Here is, indeed, a walk to take a friend, 
 Good master Poet ! Pray what place is this ? 
 Are we in London or in Tartarus ? 
 For, by my life, the visions we have passed 
 Seemed fit induction to the place of shades. 
 
 Wyatt. No, Heaven be praised, we are in " Safety." 
 
 sir ; 
 
 So call the thieves this well of girding walls. 
 Here is a place as innocent of rule 
 As the dun sands of savage Araby. 
 Here pilferers divide their filched rags, 
 Ani bolder robbers share their golden spoils ; 
 Here crime is native, natural, unabashed, 
 
144 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Walking abroad in easy confidence ; 
 
 Here treason stalks, the dreaded ghost of courts, 
 
 Whetting his knife, and mixing deadly bowls. 
 
 From yonder porch, I heard a hoarse-voiced Jew 
 
 Harangue a crowd of frowning murderers, 
 
 Cursing the king, the state, the holy church, 
 
 Until he choked with mere malignity. 
 
 On yonder steps, I saw a quiet wretch 
 
 Coolly thrust in an ell or so of steel 
 
 Between his brother s ribs. There they both walk, 
 
 The Jew and murderer. No law is here, 
 
 Save what the dwellers make, and that is shifting. 
 
 I oft have thought the watchful eye of God 
 
 Upon this place ne er rested ; or that hell 
 
 Had raised so black a smoke of densest sin, 
 
 That the All-Beautiful, appalled, shrank back 
 
 From its fierce ugliness. I tell you, friend, 
 
 When the great treason, which shall surely come 
 
 To burst in shards law-bound society, 
 
 Gives the first shudder, ere it grinds to dust 
 
 Thrones, ranks, and fortunes, and most- cunning 
 
 laws 
 
 When the great temple of our social state 
 Staggers, and throbs, and totters back to chaos 
 Let men look here, here in this fiery mass 
 Of aged crime and primal ignorance, 
 For the hot heart of all the mystery ! 
 Here, on this howling sea, let fall the scourge, 
 Or pour the oil of mercy I 
 
 JRoch. Pour the oil, 
 
 In God s name, pour the blessed oil ! The scourge, 
 Bloody and fierce, has fallen for ages past 
 Upon the fore ward crests within its reach ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 145 
 
 Yet made no more impression on the mass 
 Than Persia s whips upon the Hellespont. 
 
 Wyatt. 7 T was not to harrow up your heart with 
 
 crime 
 
 Though, haply, such amazement is not lost 
 I brought you hither. T was to stand beyond 
 The utmost pale and influence of the Court, 
 Where men interpret a malignant mind 
 From every look the changing features wear ; 
 Find danger in the meeting of two friends ; 
 Rank treason in devices of our arms ; 
 Open rebellion to their gracious king, 
 Should we but furbish our time-rusted blades. 
 Now, Rochford, listen. 
 
 Eoch. Heavens ! you frighten me. 
 
 Wyatt. No, I but caution you. My tale, though 
 
 sad, 
 May rest on fears as thin as summer clouds. 
 
 Eoch. Why, that is cheering. 
 
 Wyatt. 7 T is not for yourself, 
 
 But for her sacred majesty, the queen, 
 I have these vague misgivings. 
 
 Roch. What, the queen ! 
 
 Pshaw ! Wyatt, was there ever woman blessed 
 As she is ? Courted and bepraised by all, 
 Sharing no empty title in the crown, 
 No mere producer of a royal brood ; 
 But by the force of her own intellect, 
 To all effects, an equal with the king. 
 Why, man, just now she stands at zenith height, 
 Flooding our land with peerless majesty, 
 The gaze and wonder of all Christendom. 
 The great reformer, Anne, preordained 
 
 VOL. i. 10 
 
146 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 By Heaven to work its solemn purposes ! 
 
 Poh ! this is idle ; we are wasting time ; 
 
 Your fears, indeed, were thin as summer clouds. 
 
 Wyatt. Ah ! know you not, when the rejoicing 
 
 sun 
 
 Has reached its mid-day station in the sky, 
 At that same time its mournful fall begins ? 
 
 lloch. Sir Poet, I confess me figure-beaten : 
 Now croak away. 
 
 Wyatt. What I shall tell, 
 
 My sister Mary told to me alone. 
 She says, of late her majesty rema ins, 
 Hour after hour, with dull and vacant eyes, 
 Picking the fringe around her garment s hem. 
 Anon, big tears, like slow-paced mourners, come 
 Forth from the darkened mansion of her grief, 
 As if they followed at hope s funeral. 
 If they arouse her from this lethargy, 
 She looks bewildered, asks the time of day, 
 Appears surprised at lateness of the hour, 
 Gives more commands than she has several hairs ; 
 Talking, meanwhile, at such a rattling pace, 
 In bitter sneers and heartless gayety, 
 That not an ear can gather her discourse ; 
 And then again, all suddenly, she falls 
 Into her former state of revery. 
 
 Roch. Good sir, you startle me. You re sure ot 
 
 this ? 
 
 For t is the dreamy torpor of the brain 
 That oft foreshadows madness. 
 
 Wyatt. Very sure : 
 
 But tis not madness. Listen, till the end. 
 One day my sister entered suddenly, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 147 
 
 But unperceived, the chamber of her highness. 
 Scarce had she crossed the threshold ere she saw, 
 Kolled in a heap and crammed into a corner, 
 The person of the queen. She stood amazed, 
 Not daring to approach ; and saw such grief, 
 So absolute, so past all earthly bounds, 
 So fiercely raging to pain s topmost pitch, 
 That she shrank quivering to the ante-room. 
 But there her ears made pictures to her eyes : 
 Anon, she heard her clawing at the floor, 
 Sobbing and wailing like a soul possessed : 
 Then into one long, piercing, hellish scream 
 Of hideous laughter broke her aching soul. 
 At that my sister fled, with echoing laugh, 
 And knew no more till from a lengthened swoon 
 Her maids awoke her. 
 
 Roch. This is past belief. 
 
 Without a doubt, the queen or she is mad. 
 
 Wyatt. My sister says, the king and queen ne er 
 
 meet ; 
 
 That notes unnumbered of her majesty s 
 He has returned unopened. More, tis noised, 
 The king and Seymour s daughter oft of late 
 Have been observed together ; that the foes, 
 Once secret, but now open, of the queen, 
 Stand in high favor with his majesty, 
 And share his private counsels. 
 
 Roch. Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 If this be certain, there is more in it 
 Than I dare utter. Have I been bewitched, 
 That I remained o er-confident so long ? 
 Now you have mentioned it, a thousand things 
 Which I have seen, but shuffled by unweighed, 
 
148 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Rise to confirm the gloomiest belief. 
 My cold receptions, Suffolk s insolence, 
 Arundel s vaporings, Norfolk s tart replies, 
 My sudden dearth of courtly sycophants, 
 And Wyatt s warming friendship. Noble man, 
 Through all my life I never aided you 
 
 Wyatt. Because I never asked it. Pshaw ! George 
 
 Boleyn, 
 
 Were we not playfellows neath Blickling s oaks, 
 Where first my muse essayed her feeble lisp ? 
 Did you not praise and wonder at my rhymes, 
 And cheer my heart with kindred sympathy ? 
 Have we not written sonnets and rondeaux, 
 In kindly rivalry, to Anne s eyes ? 
 Did you not always swear my songs the best, 
 Ere half were read, and force fair Anne s hand 
 To place the laurel on my victor brow ? 
 Can I forget you ? Can I cease to see, 
 In England s queen, our little playfellow ? 
 Forgive me, Rochford ; this is not a time 
 To babble of our childhood. You are hemmed 
 With scores of bold and ruthless enemies ; 
 And, God forgive him ! the worst foe of all 
 Is the first man in England s wide domain ! 
 
 Roch. What shall be done ? 
 
 Wyatt. Fly to her majesty ; 
 
 Drain to the dregs her secret cause of grief; 
 Learn all her fears, the blackest of her fears, 
 Nor care to know her dimmest gleam of hope. 
 Armed for the worst, we gain a double strength 
 The power to conquer at the last extreme, 
 And chance that such extreme may ne er arrive. 
 I will not slumber. What the brain of man 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 149 
 
 Can summon from its viewless armory, 
 Shall be arrayed to battle for her right. 
 1 7 11 see you safe beyond this wretched place, 
 And then we part, but not without a hope. 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
150 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Tavern. MARK SMEATON, drunk, with RALPH 
 LONEY and three INFORMERS seated at a table spread with 
 wine, etc. 
 
 Smeaton. Now, that s a song, and that s what I 
 
 call singing. 
 
 Roar it again, brave master bull-throat, roar ! 
 First Informer. [Sings.] 
 
 Old sack, old sack, 
 
 Thou hast a happy knack, 
 
 When fortune deals a sorry thwack, 
 
 When friends may flout and credit crack, 
 
 Old sack, old sack. 
 
 Old sack, old sack, 
 We 11 bide the world s attack, 
 Though rosy Cupid turn his back, 
 We ask but this, that thou It not lack, 
 
 Old sack, old sack. 
 
 Smea. Is that the end of your rare melody ? 
 
 Loney, my boy Loney, you are dull as mud 
 Were you not ravished by yon fellow s song ? 
 That is the neat s-tongue of true poesy : 
 Nature applauds it in the thirst it brings. 
 The song is a miracle ; that one being full 
 Yet asks for more upon it. Wine, there, wine ! 
 
 [They drink.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 151 
 
 What are such poets as my lord of Surrey, 
 Or whining Wyatt ? Some one curse Tom Wyatt ! 
 You singer with the stormy lungs, pray curse 
 This Thomas Wyatt ! Have I ne er a friend 
 Whose oaths are potent ? Curse him black and blue, 
 My rival Wyatt ! 
 
 Lon. Rival, boy ! and how ? 
 
 Smea. Who is my love ? Answer me, leather- 
 lungs. 
 
 First I. Nay, sir, I know not. 
 
 Smea. Then you are an ass, 
 
 Not knowing, and a wizard, knowing her. 
 
 Lon. We cannot miss by drinking her a round. 
 Give us the toast. 
 
 Smea. Here s to our noble queen ! [Drink*.] 
 
 Lon.- That s good and loyal, and we 11 quaff it off; 
 But not what we intended. We would drink 
 To your sweet darling, to your pretty May, 
 Your wanton plaything. Come, boy, never halt ! 
 
 Smea. Loney, observe me every piece of me 
 Edgewise, before, behind. Now tell me, sir, 
 What woman in this realm is worthy of me ? 
 
 Lon. Some great one, without doubt. 
 
 Smea. I say, the queen. 
 
 Lon. Now mark him, sirs. [Apart to the INFORMERS.] 
 
 Informers. Ho ! ho ! the man is drunk ! 
 
 Smea. What do you take me for, you foul-mouthed 
 
 knaves, 
 
 A man of worship, or a common liar ? 
 Where have you lived, you scum of filthy earth, 
 Not to know me ? 
 
 Lon. Pardon the simple men ; 
 
 Indeed they knew not of your dignity. 
 
152 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 This is her majesty s chief groom of state 
 The very front door to her royal ear ; 
 You must needs pass him ere you reach the queen 
 Pray you, respect him. 
 
 First I. 0, that alters it ; 
 
 A royal servant. 
 
 Smea. Are the villains blind ? 
 
 Well, well, I have comfort. 
 
 Lon. What may comfort you ? 
 
 Smea. That some fair day a goodly son of mine 
 May mount the throne, and chop oft all their heads. 
 
 Lon. Mark that again. [Apart to the INFORMERS.] 
 
 Second Informer. There is not a word escapes : 
 I have engrossed it in my table-book. 
 
 Smea. Come, Loney, come ; we 11 leave these 
 stupid knaves. 
 
 Second I. Whither away, sir ? 
 
 Smea. To the queen, good dolt! [Going.] 
 
 Lon. Forget not, masters, "To the queen," he 
 
 said ; 
 And at this hour. So, boy, away, away ! 
 
 [Exit with SMEATON.] 
 
 Second I. There is hanging in this. 
 
 Third Informer. Curse him ! what care I ? 
 
 I nigh had struck the braggart down myself, 
 For slandering thus her gracious majesty. 
 The base, ungrateful cur ! 1 11 see him hang. 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 153 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Queen s Apartments in Whitehall Palace. Enter QUEEN 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 Queen Anne. So this is day, a broad, sun-staring 
 
 day 
 
 And what had it been night ? the same, the same. 
 All time to me is one confused mass, 
 Drowned in a flood of bitter misery. 
 There is no time to one without a hope : 
 Hopes are the figures on life s changing dial, 
 That first betray to us the passing hours, 
 Ere the great bell may summon us away. 
 All blank and meaningless is life to me : 
 I have no future. One eternal present, 
 Rayless as Lapland winter, wraps my soul ; 
 One ceaseless wrong, affording but one sense 
 Of crudest agony, makes up my life, 
 Stretching from day to day its sole event. 
 What if the sun arise ? what if the lark 
 Put on the glory of his morning song ? 
 What if the flowers perk up their loaded heads, 
 And swing their incense down the thirsting gale ? 
 What if .the frame of the whole universe 
 Warm in the glow, and join the matin hymn ? 
 While I remain in this dull lethargy, 
 There is no morn to me. Eternal One, 
 Who sent st that joyous thing, the rising sun, 
 As if in mockery of my sullen woe, 
 To show how cheerless is my nighted soul 
 0, end this mere existence ! Rouse to life 
 The fire of my consuming energies ! 
 
154 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 0, give me scope, and fate-subduing power 
 Ay, though a pang be coupled with each act 
 Lest, in this trance, the erring scythe of death 
 Pass o er my frame, as o er the trampled grain, 
 And nature be defeated ! Gracious God, 
 Are we mere puppets of a rigid fate ? 
 Is all this labyrinth of cunning thought 
 Bestowed to snare us ? Must our exit be 
 Through that one door which destiny holds wide ? 
 To me alone, of all the human race, 
 Has the dread secret clearly been revealed ? 
 It seems so ; for where er I bend my eyes 
 Some ugly phantom bars the hopeless way, 
 And bids me wait the will of circumstance. 
 This shall not be ! Arise, my drowsing soul ! 
 Gird on thy blazing arms of intellect ! 
 One struggle more to master coming time ; 
 And if thy earthly walls then fall consumed, 
 We ll scale those heights where conquering time 
 is not ! 
 
 (E liter MARY WYATT.) 
 
 Mary Wyatt. A fair good-morning to your majesty ! 
 
 Queen A. Welcome, sweet mistress Mary ! 
 
 Mary W. Joyful sight ! 
 
 There is a flush of triumph on your brow, 
 Such as it wore on Coronation-Day, 
 Or when the spleenful butcher met his fall. 
 
 Queen A. Speak not of Wolsey. 
 
 Mary W. Have I ruffled you ? 
 
 Queen A. no, no ! to-day my heart is light. 
 I feel as if another goodly crown 
 Hung o er my head. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 155 
 
 Mary W. Your brother, Rochford, waits. 
 
 Since break of day he has been biding here. 
 
 Queen A, Ha ! what has happened ? 
 
 Mary W. Nothing that I know. 
 
 Queen A. Well, well, admit him. (Exit MARY WYATT.) 
 
 Rochford, at this hour ! 
 A man of ease ; and waited here since dawn ! 
 My heart is failing. Nonsense ! what can come, 
 Worse than the vision of that weak-brained girl 
 Locked in the circle of my husband s arms ? 
 
 (Enter Viscount ROCHFORD.) 
 
 Good-morrow, Rochford ! You are stirring soon. 
 
 Rochford. One stirs betimes who keeps a sleepless 
 night. 
 
 Queen A. Have you been ill ? 
 
 Roch. Indeed I cannot tell. 
 
 Perchance a fever brought my waking dreams. 
 
 Queen A. What dreams ? 
 
 Roch. I lay half slumbering, half awake, 
 
 And ever, as my senses leaned to sleep, 
 The same wild vision roused me from my rest. 
 
 Queen A. So you came here, before the break of 
 
 day, 
 
 To tell your dreams ? I am no soothsayer. 
 Pshaw ! Rochford, this is trifling. You have griefs 
 Big, weighty griefs ; I see them on your brow. 
 
 Rocli. First hear my dream : I swear, no common 
 
 one, 
 For you were mingled in it. 
 
 Queen A. Well, say on. 
 
 Roch. I thought that you and I, for years and 
 
 years, 
 Had climbed the rundles of a slippery ladder. 
 
156 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 I knew not why we clambered ; though above 
 
 A blazing halo, like a sunset sky, 
 
 Shone glorious, and towards it we bent our steps, 
 
 Urged by resistless impulse. You were first ; 
 
 And when I halted, by the labor tired, 
 
 Or dizzy at the awful depth beneath, 
 
 You cheered me on, and with your nimble feet 
 
 Spurned the frail rounds, till sundered neath your 
 
 tread 
 
 They fell around me. Woful, woful sight ! 
 Each stick in falling to a ghastly head 
 Was metamorphosed. Here, Queen Katharine s fell ; 
 There Wolsey s, More s, and Fisher s, spouting 
 
 blood ; 
 
 And many a one whose face I could not catch. 
 These, as they passed me, whispered in my ears 
 A horrid curse, and grinned, and winked their 
 
 eyes. 
 Queen A. Good heaven, how awful ! Was there 
 
 more of this ? 
 
 Roch. Ay, far more dreadful fancies. 
 Queen A. Could there be ? 
 
 Roch. Already through the radiant clouds above 
 Your form was piercing, when our frail support 
 Shook till I sickened ; and aloft I saw 
 A dreadful shape, in features like the king, 
 Tugging and straining with his threatening hand 
 To hurl our ladder to the depths below. 
 I saw you clutching at the dazzling clouds, 
 That, unsubstantial, melted in your grasp ; 
 I heard you cry to the unpitying fiend 
 Who held our lives in his relentless hands ; 
 I saw you turn on me one fearful look, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 157 
 
 In whose dread meaning 1 desolate despair 
 Had crowded all pale shapes of agony, 
 Ere, with spasmodic catching at my breath, 
 I shot down headlong. With the fall, I woke. 
 
 Queen A. A fearful dream. 
 
 Boch. A most connected one. 
 
 The thing seems now an uttered prophecy, 
 Whose power shall bend the neck of stubborn time 
 To do its bidding. 
 
 Queen A. Cheer up, Rochford, cheer ! 
 
 Some one has told you that his majesty 
 Looks coldly on me. So has he before, 
 When I have crossed him in his fiery moods. 
 To-day, I mean to win him back again. 
 I must confess I have been negligent, 
 Not to have closed our matrimonial flaw. 
 
 Boch. Sister, this levity is forced. I know 
 That your proud soul has suffered keen chagrin ; 
 Nor in hope s sunshine stand you more than I. 
 Jane Seymour 
 
 Queen A. Nonsense, man, to place my worth 
 Against the nothing of so weak a girl I 
 The king s time lags ; his ever-roving eye, 
 Perchance his appetite, was caught by her : 
 The eye soon tires, the heart is never full ; 
 The first is hers, the nobler prize is mine. 
 Hope for the best. If I return to-day 
 A conquered soldier, from this war of hearts, 
 I 11 give you leave to ease your sorry eyes 
 O er my afflictions. 
 
 Boch. Joy be with you, sister I 
 
 Your merry mood has stolen my fear away. [Going.] 
 Yet what I have heard 
 
158 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. Nay, what anon you 11 hear ! 
 
 [Exit KOCUVORD.] 
 
 0, misery ! to play this queenly part 
 Even to my brother ! To be so supreme 
 That the sweet flood of human sympathy, 
 In which the beggar s ragged form may lave, 
 Can never touch me ! This is royalty, 
 To feel for all that have no sense for me : 
 To have no kindred, no companionship 
 The lonely phoenix on her spicy fire. 
 Alone, alone ! Kind heaven, the king remains 
 My rightful mate, sole partner of my lot - 
 And I will win him, though conspiring earth 
 Turn all its dust to Seymours, and the laud 
 Sprout with such weedy beauties asthis girl ! [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Another Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY and the Duke 
 of NORFOLK. 
 
 Norfolk. Admit the boastings of this silly knave 
 Are merely grounded on his vanity : 
 Yet these same boasts, converted to a charge, 
 Would wear another aspect. 
 
 King Henry. Very true ; 
 
 But t is too horrible. Disclose a charge 
 Less dyed in blackness, bearing yet a color 
 Sufficient for divorce, but not for death. 
 I do believe her a most faithful wife, 
 Loving and true ; though now her tenderness, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 159 
 
 Like healthy food to a distempered mouth, 
 Disgusts the thing t would nourish. 
 
 Nor. I am dumb. 
 
 I know no charge but what involves a crime 
 As great as treason. For the lighter fault, 
 Of secret correspondence with King Francis, 
 We have no witness, and but scanty grounds 
 To base our own suspicions on. 
 
 King H. ? 0ds wounds ! 
 
 Would I could rack the French ambassador ! 
 Is there no other way ? 
 
 Nor. None, that I know. 
 
 King H. Then, in the name of all the lying fiends, 
 Clear out this woman by what means you can ! 
 But mind you, sir, let there be proof enough 
 To force conviction to the very core 
 Of my own conscience. 
 
 Nor. Ah ! that tender conscience ! [Aside.] 
 
 Doubt not, my liege ; the proof shall be direct. 
 Suffolk has sent a follower of his, 
 With three grave witnesses, most truthful men, 
 To bring Mark Smeaton to that mellow state 
 In which the tongue o erleaps the sober will, 
 And blusters out its secrets. Truth s a fool, 
 And drunkenness an artificial folly. 
 
 King H. Now, by my soul, perchance the charge 
 is true ! 
 
 Nor. Doubtless, my liege. Nor is the groom 
 
 alone 
 
 The only evidence may be produced. 
 I have brought one, a deeply-injured wife, 
 The good Viscountess Rochford ; she awaits 
 Your royal pleasure in the ante-room. 
 
160 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 King H. " The good Viscountess Rochford ! " 
 Nor. She can tell 
 
 Some wondrous matters to your majesty. 
 
 King H. Go bring her up. (Exit NORFOLK.) " The 
 
 good Viscountess Rochford ! " 
 If Hell were swept, to find its vilest soul, 
 That soul would blush at sight of this good lady. 
 
 (Re" nter NORFOLK with Viscountess ROCHFOBD.) 
 
 Nor. I pray your majesty, be gentle with her. 
 
 [jipart to KING HENRf .] 
 
 King H. Welcome, my lady ! 
 
 Lady Rochford. Heaven protect your highness ! 
 
 King H. His grace of Norfolk says your ladyship 
 Can tell some wondrous matters of the queen. 
 
 Lady R. Not I, my liege. 
 
 King H. Fore heaven ! what brought you, then ? 
 
 Nor. Nay, draw her gently on. She must be led, 
 my liege. [Apart to KING HENRY.] 
 
 King H. Who are familiar with her majesty ? 
 
 Lady R. Why, Mary Wyatt, and sweet mistress 
 Seymour 
 
 King H. Zounds, woman ! and what men ? 
 
 Lady R. I know not all. 
 
 Besides the Council, and the Churchmen 
 
 King H. Sblood ! 
 
 And all my army, and my navy, too ! 
 Madam, you trifle with us ; pray speak out : 
 I swear no harm shall come, whatever you say. 
 What paramours has she ? Nay, I command ; 
 Speak, if you love my honor. 
 
 Lady R Doleful hour, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 161 
 
 That I was forced to see her wickedness ; 
 More doleful far, to tell it ! Pray, my liege 
 
 King H. I 11 have no faltering. Speak ! or by 
 
 high heaven, 
 Look to yourself ! , 
 
 Lady E. I am but a timid woman ; 
 
 You are my king, and may compel my tongue : 
 But did not duty pardon wnat I say 
 
 King H. Enough, enough ! 
 
 Lady E. These are her paramours 
 
 Not fancied, but with certainty of proof 
 Sir Henry Norris, William Brereton, 
 Sir Francis Weston, master Thomas Wyatt 
 All proper men, all men of gallant parts 
 
 King H. We 11 spare your comments on the lady s 
 taste. 
 
 Lady E. But there s Mark Smeaton, a low com 
 mon knave, 
 
 By virtue of her favor made a groom ; 
 And last of all, my husband, Viscount Rochford. 
 
 King H. But he s her brother. 
 
 Lady E. All the worse, my liege. 
 
 King H. Monstrous ! The name that you reserved 
 
 to crown 
 
 The utter horror of this long-drawn list 
 Throws a discredit on the whole device. 
 Have you no enemy to name for him ? 
 Have you denounced them all ? 
 
 Lady E. 1 11 prove his guilt 
 
 More clearly than the crime of any other. 
 ; T was but this morn 
 
 King H. For God s sake, take her hence ! 
 
 [ Walks apart.} 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Nor. The king- is satisfied. You may withdraw. 
 You have pleased him, lady, more than he dare show. 
 
 [Exit Viscoujitess ROCHFORIX] 
 
 King H. Must all these die ? 
 
 Nor. They all are mortal, sir ; 
 
 And our fair witness must have that agreed, 
 Ere she impugn them. 
 
 King H. Ay, her serpent mouth 
 
 Would sooner spit its rancorous member forth 
 Than bate one jot of its malicious spleen : 
 But Wyatt shall not, Wyatt shall not die. 
 We have had enough of executing scholars. 
 Who ever heard such hubbub through the world 
 As when Sir Thomas More was put to death ? 
 Herod and Pilate were crowned saints to me ! 
 Why, men that looked like moles, old dustj things, 
 Came from their folios, leaving fear behind, 
 And to my teeth talked of the infamy 
 To which they d damn me. Wyatt shall not die. 
 In my wide realm are herds of courtiers, 
 Knights and viscounts, and gallant gentlemen ; 
 There s but one Wyatt. Wyatt shall not die I 
 
 {Exeunt.} 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A Room in the Duke of SCTFOLK S Palace. Enter Duke of SUF 
 FOLK, Duke of NORFOLK, Marquis of EXETER, and Earl ef 
 ARUNDEL, followed by MARK SMEATON and RAJLPH Loxrr. 
 
 Norfolk. I tell you, fellow, you have not a hope, 
 Save by agreeing to forswear the queen. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 163 
 
 Your guilty boastings, urged against yourself, 
 Will bring you to the gallows 
 
 Arundel Ay, arid shall. 
 
 Nor. Unless before the Council you appear, 
 And there denounce your royal paramour. 
 
 Smeaton. But will that save me ? 
 
 Nor. ; T is your only hope. 
 
 Smea. But t is a lie a gross, atrocious lie 
 And I am a villain if I uttered it. 
 Curse on the wine ! It was the babbling wine, 
 And not my tongue, that forged the calumny. 
 
 Suffolk. The boast you made was heard by wit 
 nesses, 
 Who say you were but warmed, not drunk with wine. 
 
 Smea. 7 T is false, ? t is false ! Have mercy on me 
 
 sirs ! 
 
 I am but an humble man, of no account ; 
 My death at this time, or a century hence, 
 Could make no difference to such mighty lords. 
 If noble mercy stoops not to the low, 
 At least be just to me. 
 
 Arun. Cease, whining cur ! 
 
 The game we are playing is to check the queen ; 
 What care we for a pawn ? 
 
 Smea. She is innocent. 
 
 The words I dropped were from a foolish whim, 
 To see myself admired by simple men : 
 I never thought to injure her, nor hear 
 My harmless folly rigidly explained 
 By noblemen. Ah ! Loney, you did this ; 
 And tis the foulest act you ever did, 
 Though you have committed murder. 
 
 Loney. Help yourself. 
 
164 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Be not a double fool, first to get trapped, 
 Then lack the art to burrow out of harm. 
 Forget my deeds ; they are my own concern ; 
 Nor stand there moralizing on the past. 
 Seize on to-day perchance tis golden, man. 
 
 Smca. " Perchance, perchance ! " but not one 
 
 promise given, 
 I^ven by you. 
 
 Lon. The course they offer you 
 
 Is bright with hope ; despair and frightful death, 
 By wrenching tortures and heart-shrivelling fires, 
 Threaten you darkly from all other ways. 
 I know your courage. When you have been racked 
 For one short fortnight, or a month at most, 
 You 11 yield perforce. Why not confess at once, 
 And gain the hope of pardon and reward ? 
 Pray did you ever see a felon racked, 
 Even for an hour ? 
 
 Arun. Come, fellow, will you speak ? 
 
 Or shall I sound your carcass with my sword, 
 To find your tongue ? 
 
 Exeter. The valiant gentleman ! [Aside.] 
 
 Smea. 0, horror, horror ! Have compassion, sirs I 
 my poor mistress ! Is there not a hand 
 Now, while I shut my eyes so merciful 
 As to despatch me, and deliver her ? 
 She is my maker, she created me, 
 From my vile dust, to be whate er I am ; 
 As well might I blaspheme as stain her honor ! 
 Good sirs, have pity ! 
 
 Suf. Cease your agonies, 
 
 You foul-mouthed slanderer of Heaven s majesty ! 
 Speak to the point will you comply or not? 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 160 
 
 Smea. But will that save me ? 
 
 Suf. Are we prophets, fool ? 
 
 What else can save you ? 
 
 Smea. But her majesty 
 
 What will befall her ? 
 
 Nor. What is that to you ? 
 
 Have you the power to influence her fate ? 
 
 Arun. Are we the answers in your catechism, 
 That you so glibly question ? 
 
 Smea. I will not ! 
 
 Suf. Loney, prepare the rack. [Exit LONEY.] 
 
 Smea. Forgive me, Heaven ! 
 
 I will do anything : but spare my life ! 
 (), this is awful ! I, that never dared 
 To touch her robe, or raise my fearful eyes 
 To the full glory of her angel face 
 When her twin orbs of conquering majesty 
 I felt upon me now, with stubborn front, 
 To stand before the gaze of frowning Heaven, 
 And call its host to register a lie, 
 A black, soul-killing lie ! 0, urge it not I 
 There s not an honest man, in England s realm, 
 Who will not sicken at my perfidy, 
 Or cram the falsehood down my caitiff throat 
 Ere I half utter it ! This is too foul, 
 And useless for the end to which you urge it. 
 
 Suf. Loney, the rack. 
 
 (Ji curtain is drawn, and the rack disclosed, with Attendants 
 standing near it.) 
 
 Arun. Look there, Sir Constancy ! 
 
 There s what shall move you, every joint and limb 
 
106 ANXE BOLEYN. 
 
 There s what shall stretch you more than you 11 
 
 stretch truth. 
 You 11 strain a point for this hey ! hey ! my boy ? 
 
 Smea. 0, nerve me, Heaven ! uplift my faltering 
 
 heart ! 
 
 Give me the strength to foil these sinful men, 
 And here assert thy might ! 
 
 Arun. Away with him ! 
 
 [Attendants seize SMEATON.] 
 
 Smea. I yield, I yield ! 
 
 Suf. Then sign this paper, Mark, 
 
 And wait the issue. [SMEATON siyns.] 
 
 Ex. There an angel fell ! 
 
 Here is a wretch who damns his endless soul 
 To save his mortal body. I had hoped, 
 For the poor cause of frail humanity, 
 To see yon fellow win a martyr s crown, 
 And give the Calendar of our new creed 
 Its first accomplished sainthood. [Aside.] 
 
 Suf. It is done. 
 
 Nor. In the king s name, Mark Smeaton I arrest 
 For treason manifest. [Attendants seize SMEATON.] 
 
 Smea. Is this your mercy ? 
 
 Suf. Traitor, no words ! Away with him, away ! 
 
 [Exeunt.} 
 
 SCENE V. 
 An Apartment in Whitehall Palace. Enter KINO HENRY. 
 
 King Henry. How easy tis to run an evil course ! 
 How many stubborn checks a virtuous meets I 
 Sure all the fiends have turned them engineers, 
 And smoothed the thousand pathways to their gulf, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 167 
 
 So quickly trod by man. There s not a let, 
 
 As far as reason s straining eye can pierce, 
 
 To the career which sin points out for me. 
 
 Jane daily warms ; the queen grows proud and cold, 
 
 Nor now besieges me with tender notes ; 
 
 My nobles leave her, all afire for me ; 
 
 And the most powerful ay, her very kin 
 
 Hatch plots to work her sudden overthrow. 
 
 My love goes smoothly. Hum ! and yet H is 
 
 strange, 
 
 When not within the circle of my eyes 
 That drink her beauties like the thirsting sands, 
 And bear the hot thrill of her loveliness 
 Into my very soul how this same fever, 
 That fiercely glowed erewhile, calms and is cooled ; 
 How, in the place of sudden pangs and starts, 
 And all unrest, a holy peace succeeds ; 
 When comes the shape of my much-wronged queen, 
 Crossing my mind in quiet majesty, 
 And trampling on the dust of noxious fancies, 
 That throng the long, long avenues of thought, 
 As if of right she crushed my base desires ! 
 (Enter QUEEN ANNE, behind.) 
 
 Queen Anne. Henry. 
 
 King H. Was that a spirit ? 
 
 Queen A. Husband, king. 
 
 King H. How came you here ? I left direct com 
 mand 
 
 That no one should disturb my privacy. 
 Have you again been tampering with my knaves ? 
 
 Queen A. I came by a small passage if for 
 gotten 
 By you, my liege, still to my memory dear 
 
108 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Made by yourself, in that once happy time, 
 When, unobserved, you came to woo "the Boleyn." 
 Is there no secret passage, you can name, 
 Through which so poor a one as I may creep 
 Back to your heart, and see again the face 
 Of hidden love ? 0, sir, it must be rough, 
 And small, and frightful to a valiant gaze, 
 But I will tempt it. 
 
 King H. There is none for you. 
 
 Your pride and haughtiness and stubborn will 
 Are all too big for love s slight passages. 
 Now, by my faith, I am indeed amazed, 
 To hear you pleading in this gentle tone. 
 Have you forgot your character ? Begin ! 
 Rail, like the thunders, at our guilty world ! 
 So ho ! brave censor of morality, 
 Embodied purity, untouched by earth ! 
 What, are you pitiful ? or have you sinned, 
 And therefore feel compassion ? 
 
 Queen A. I have sinned, 
 
 And tried the mercy of indulgent Heaven 
 Beyond all bounds that human reason knows. 
 I have been arrogant, to judge my kind 
 By God s own law, not seeing in myself 
 A guilty judge condemning the less vile. 
 I have forgotten that the hand of death 
 Would snatch the royal circle from my brow, 
 And set me, but encumbered by my guilt, 
 Equal with all, before the judgment-seat. 
 I have forgotten mercy : so might God 
 Forget His mercy in my utmost need. 
 I have 
 
 King H. Root! madam; pray restrain yourself ! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 169 
 
 1 have no office to receive confessions. 
 
 Yet since you force me to play ghostly father 
 
 Is there no other sin, of grosser cast, 
 
 By you committed, not towards Heaven alone, 
 
 But to my honor ? 
 
 Queen A. T is a hideous lie ! 
 
 Who has abused your majesty s belief 
 With such unworthy tattle ? Did you stand 
 And tarnely hear your honor thus belied ? 
 I knew that I had enemies enough, 
 Unscrupulous and cruel ; but never deemed 
 Such base, malicious, and unfounded charge 
 Could move a human lip, or find an ear 
 So used to gorging sickly mental stuff 
 As to receive it. Try me, try me, sir. 
 Wring every fibre of my woman s frame 
 With piercing tortures hold my modesty, 
 In truth s keen sunlight, to the vulgar gaze 
 Confront me crownless with my slanderers : 
 If at the last my trial prove me clear, 
 And reiinite our long-dissevered hearts, 
 I 11 hold the pain but lightly. 
 
 King H. Pshaw ! my child, 
 
 You waste your energy. This base report 
 Is the light mintage of some idle tongue, 
 In want of truer metal. 
 
 Queen A. Ah ! my liege, 
 
 I hold this shallow falsehood at its worth ; 
 But it afflicts me sadly, to behold 
 Your easy method of avoiding it, 
 Without a thought of punishing the wrong. 
 How have I changed ? 0, Henry, you have changed 
 From that true Henry whp, in bygone days, 
 
170 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Rode, with the hurry of a northern gale, 
 
 Towards Hever s heights, and ere the park was 
 
 gained, 
 
 Made the glad air a messenger of love, 
 By many a blast upon your hunting-horn. 
 Have you forgotten that old oaken room, 
 Fearful with portraits of my buried race, 
 Where I received you panting from your horse ; 
 As breathless, from my dumb excess of joy, 
 As you with hasty travel ? Do you think 
 Of our sweet meetings neath the gloomy yews 
 Of Sopewell Nunnery, when the happy day 
 That made me yours seemed lingering as it came, 
 More slowly moving as it nearer drew ? 
 How you chid time, and vowed the hoary knave 
 Might mark each second of his horologe 
 With dying groans, from those you cherished most, 
 So he would hasten 
 
 King H. Anne, that was you. 
 
 Have you forgotten, too, my merriment 
 At your quaint figure of time s human clock, 
 Whose every beat a soul s flight registered ? 
 
 Queen A. God bless you, Henry ! [Embraces him.} 
 
 King H. Pshaw ! why touch so deep ? 
 
 These softening memories of our early love 
 Come o er me like my childhood. 
 
 Queen A. Love be praised, 
 
 That with such pure reflections couples me ! 
 Be steadfast, Henry. 
 
 King H. Fear not : love is poor 
 
 That seals not compacts with the stamp of faith. 
 
 Queen A. My stay is trespass. We shall meet anon. 
 Love needs no counsel in hjs little realm. 
 
 [Embraces him, and exit.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 171 
 
 King H. I hang twixt heaven and hell. Anne, 
 
 return ; 
 
 For, by my soul, one half my virtuous strength 
 Has gone with you ! 0, I would rather be 
 The snarling cynic in his squalid tub, 
 And master of myself, than England s king, 
 Reared to indulgence qf each flimsy whim 
 That passion hints at. 7 T is the curse of kings, 
 This slaving to our pampered appetites ; 
 Which thwarted men nursed in vicissitude, 
 And by compulsion taught to check desire, 
 Gain strength to vanquish. 
 
 (Enter JANE SEYMOUB.) 
 
 Jane Seymour. Harry, royal Harry ! 
 
 King H. Good-morrow, mistress Seymour. 
 Jane S. Ha ! so cold 
 
 The queen just gone ! I 11 match you, whirligig. 
 
 I crave your pardon, that with rude alarm 
 I thus disturbed your gracious majesty, 
 Seeking for one I nicknamed royal Harry 
 Not meaning disrespect to you, rny liege, 
 But from a wanton fancy. Had I thought 
 Your majesty here present, I d have held 
 A stricter rein upon my noisy tongue. 
 
 King H. Ah ! she is beautiful. This little mood, 
 Of mingled coquetry and tearful spite, 
 Sits like the angry rain-drops on a rose, 
 Giving fresh lustre to its crimson cheeks. [Aside.] 
 You have my pardon. 
 
 Jane S. Nay, I wish it not. 
 
 Pray cast your pardon on a graver slip : 
 Forgive the maiden greenness of a heart 
 
172 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 That prattled to itself a silly tale 
 
 Of love, and hope, and thoughtless confidence, 
 
 Even in your very presence. 
 
 King H. Jane, what mean you ? 
 
 Jane S. But what my words imply. 
 
 King H. And are you angry ? 
 
 Jane S. No, I am deceived. 
 
 King H. Truce, truce, fair mistress ! 
 
 Jane S. Nay, peace is not my purpose. 
 
 King H. Prithee stop ! 
 
 Jane S. You may be king of half the un^rse, 
 For aught I care ; you are not king of hearts : 
 My heart shall speak, though every word cry 
 treason ! 
 
 King H. Forgive my coldness. 
 
 Jane S. Ah ! I never deemed 
 
 A truer spirit lived than yours, my liege : 
 Else why did you, from your exalted height, 
 Descend with fluttering promises of love ? 
 Only to make me wretched ! 0, t is base ! 
 A brutal hind might show more constancy 
 Than this anointed king. [ Weeps.] 
 
 King H. Nay, weep not, Jane. [Kneels.] 
 
 See me thus lowly in my penitence. 
 I swear I meant no insult to you, darling ; 
 And here, upon my knees, I once again 
 Put on the easy fetters of my heart. 
 
 Jane S. Swear fealty to love ! Your fickleness 
 Reproaches more your manly character, 
 Than the poor wrong to me 
 
 King H. I swear, by Heaven, 
 
 Henceforth to love you with all constancy, 
 By night, by day, in sunshine and in storm ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 173 
 
 Nor will I alter in my steadfast aim 
 
 To crown you queen, though every mortal sin, 
 
 That fiends can reckon in their calendar, 
 
 Lie between me and my unfaltering wish ! [Rises.] 
 
 Jane 3. This oath is fearful. 
 
 King H. But irrevocable. 
 
 What ask you more ? 
 
 Jane S. 0, sir, I asked not that : 
 
 I but demand of you a bare return 
 For the great venture of my woman s heart, 
 Unhappily launched upon a sea of love, 
 With you for careless pilot. T is my all ; 
 Though you esteem the charge of little worth. 
 
 King H. Tut, tut, my darling ! if our hearts re 
 spond, 
 
 Our windy tongues are poor ambassadors 
 To bear their gentle greetings. Love is dumb, 
 A potent spirit, felt, but never heard, 
 Save when he murmurs inarticulate 
 Tween meeting lips, or buzzes wild conceits, 
 That rnock the language of our grosser sense, 
 In lover s brains. Words are love s counterfeits : 
 When stumbling fools would ape a shallow passion, 
 Lies slide full glibly, and false rhetoric, 
 Lashed to a foam, roars opposition down, 
 And for effect kills feeling. Rail no more ; 
 Or I shall doubt that sweet sincerity 
 On which I live. 
 
 Jane S. 0, never doubt my faith. 
 
 King H. Nor will I. (Embraces her.) I will bal 
 my pliant ears 
 
 Against the witchery of sly Anne s tongue : 
 Her airy magic cheats my spell-bound heart, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 And for a moment shows a fancied spot, 
 Bright with the May-day flowers of early love, 
 Amid December s snow. And now for Norfolk. 
 
 Jane S. Nothing in haste, my liege. 
 
 Kin 9 S. No ; all in love. [Exeunt.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 175 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Lists at Greenwich, prepared for a Tournament. 
 Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN ANNE, Lords, Ladies, 
 Attendants, Men-at-arms, etc. The King and Queen seat 
 themselves under the cloth of state. Then enter the lists Vis 
 count ROCHFORD and other Knights, as Challengers, with Her 
 alds, Squires, Pages, etc. Trumpets sound a challenge. To 
 them enter Sir HENRY NORRIS and other knights, as Defenders, 
 with Attendants, etc. Flourish. ROCHFORD, NORRIS, and their 
 respective Knights, engage. NORRIS and his party are driven 
 back. 
 
 Queen Anne. I PRAY your highness, let them 
 
 breathe a while ; 
 
 Their sport grows earnest. Ill may come of this : 
 Rochford is dangerous when his blood is up. 
 
 Xing Henry. Poh ! poh ! mere bruises. Would 
 
 you rather see 
 Rochford or Norris wounded ? 
 
 Queen A. Neither, neither ! 
 
 Good sir, tis frightful. 
 
 King H. .Ha ! so kind to both ? 
 
 Then love admits not of relationship. 
 
 Queen A. Sound, herald, sound I 
 
 (Trumpets sound a retreat, and the combat ceases.) 
 
 Xing H. Now, by the holy rood ! [Starts up.] 
 
 If we were speechless, Heaven had been most kind 
 In sending one to exercise our function. 
 
lib ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. I feared, my liege 
 King H. 0, this is nothing new : 
 
 You have governed England, me amongst the rest, 
 Since God knows when ! You thing of painted 
 
 cloth, 
 
 When next you blow without your king s command, 
 Look to your tabard. Is our queen our tongue ? 
 
 [QUEEN ANNE, in her terror, drops her handkerchief. 
 NORRIS picks it up, kisses, and returns it.} 
 
 Monstrous, by Jove ! What, in our very presence 1 - 
 Shameless adulteress ! Let the tilt be stopped ! 
 We are as patient as most ill-used men, 
 But this we cannot bear. Set on, before ! 
 Was ever king thus openly defied ? 
 
 [Exit with Courtiers] 
 Queen A. ! horror, horror ! 
 
 [She faints, and is borne off.l_ 
 
 Eochford. Norris, did I hear ? 
 
 Or am I singled from among you all, 
 To bear the terrors of this fantasy ? 
 
 Norris. Alas ! your senses serve too faithfully : 
 Would I could doubt you sane ! 
 
 (Enter THOMAS WYATT, hastily.) 
 
 Wijatt. Fly, Rochford, fly ! 
 
 And you, Sir Henry Norris, if you d live. 
 
 Nor. I fly ! and wherefore ? 
 
 Wijatt. Ask not, but away 
 
 Away to Scotland ; nor till every inch 
 Of English ground has vanished from your sight, 
 Draw rein or spare the spur ! 
 
 Roch. ! I am stunned 
 
 With mere intensity of present grief ; 
 No after blow, that cuts my torpid soul 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 177 
 
 Loose from its clay, can bear a pang for me ! 
 I will not fly to live. I have beheld 
 A sight to force me into league with death 
 The most unkingly, meanest, foulest deed 
 That brother s eyes e er saw. 
 
 Wyatt. Now tis too late. 
 
 (Enter an>. OFFICER and GUARD.) 
 
 Officer. Lord Eochford and Sir Henry Norris, 
 
 yield ; 
 
 I do arrest you for high treason, sirs. 
 Give up your arms, and follow to the Tower. 
 
 Eoch. Yes, yes. Come, Norris ; for I make no 
 
 doubt 
 
 What was our virtue has become our guilt : 
 Love to the queen is treason to the king. 
 When the great fall the little must be crushed. 
 
 Nor. Wyatt, what means this ? I accused of 
 treason ! 
 
 Wyatt. Ay, t is a royal charge ! 
 
 Nor. Ha ! say you so ? 
 
 Had you this order from his majesty, 
 Or from the Council ? [To the OFFICER.] 
 
 Offi. From the king direct. 
 
 Corne, gentlemen ; my office stands in peril 
 By my indulgence to you. 
 
 Eoch. Farewell, Wyatt ! 
 
 Nor. My lord, be not down-hearted. This affair 
 Will soon blow over. 
 
 jRoch. Yes, to other men ; 
 
 But I much fear that on my latest day 
 It will have reached its climax. 
 
 Offi. Come, sirs, come ! 
 
 VOL. i. 12 
 
178 ANNE BOLKYN. 
 
 Wyatt. Iloaven send your innocence a quick re 
 lease ! 
 
 Roch. With death to bear the warrant. 
 
 [Exeunt ROCHFORD, NORRIS, OFFICER, and GUARD.] 
 
 Wyatt. So 1 fear, 
 
 Doomed victims of a ruthless tyranny. 
 0, coming shape of English liberty, 
 Have my desires played wanton to mine ears ; 
 Or do I hear the faint prophetic sound 
 Of thy approaching footsteps echoing through 
 The mists of coming time ? Ye noble souls, 
 Grim heroes of the field of Runnymede, 
 Showing more glorious in your iron arms, 
 On peaceful deeds, than in successful wars 
 Inspire the souls of your too slothful race ! 
 Must all the liberty your courage won 
 Slip from the hands to which you rendered it ; 
 Till the supineness of our base neglect 
 Sink us to slaves ? Is there no man alive 
 No heaven-marked hero, from the people sprung 
 To lead the roaring multitudes of earth 
 Along the fated pathway they must tread, 
 Ay, though they cross the throne, and trample out 
 The sacred name and dignity of king ? 
 Has man no rights but what a tyrant doles ? 
 No fate above his will ? no claim on justice ? 
 Then doth God wrong His own dread sovereignty, 
 And free us from allegiance. And she has fallen, 
 Sole star amid this night of tyranny I 
 How low I know not ; but what eye e er saw 
 The falling star remount and shine again ? 
 I feel my weakness to support her cause, 
 Against this pampered monster of a king 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 179 
 
 This frightful idol of the people s will, 
 
 Throned on the superstitious reverence 
 
 Of the poor fools that glut his savage maw. 
 
 0, what a curse to have an honest heart, 
 
 Hemmed in and cramped by the fixed frame of 
 
 things, 
 
 That, were it free, might move the stubborn world, 
 And hang its glories on the brow of time I [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Roo7n in the Palace of Whitehall. Enter KING HENRY. 
 
 King Henry. Too late, too late I I charged her 
 
 openly ; 
 
 The issue now lies between her and me, 
 And not between her innocence and guilt. 
 I am a villain, or the queen is false, 
 Since I became accuser of her truth : 
 If she escape conviction, on the crown 
 Descends the infamy of calumny, 
 And through our person England will be shamed 
 Before the jealous powers of Christendom. 
 So, so 1 we owe it to our people, then, 
 To prove our charge, or by conviction sure 
 Seem to attest it. This is plain enough. 
 Besides, in what regard stands common life 
 Before our kingly honor? Julius said 
 That Caesar s wife must be without a taint ; 
 And, but suspecting, put Pompeia by. 
 Wise Caesar! twas a solemn precedent 
 That kings should follow. Wherefore halt I now ? 
 
ISO ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 A limping purpose never reached its mark, 
 Though justice pointed. Should her guilt be 
 
 proved ? 
 
 Should an impartial court of noble peers 
 Condemn her too ? 0, woful, woful thought ! 
 How shall I pardon her gross treachery ? 
 Their candid verdict will stop pity s ears, 
 And force conviction to my doubting mind. 
 She shall have trial, fair and open trial 
 No honest men would wrong the innocent ; 
 And if they do ? her blood but swells their crimes ; 
 I escape stainless. 
 (Enter Sir HENRY NORRIS in custody of OFFICER and GUARD.) 
 
 Officer, withdraw ; 
 But stand in hail. (Exeunt OFFICER and GUARD.) Ah I 
 
 Norris, Henry Norris, 
 You have abused that open confidence 
 In which we held you. 
 
 Norris. I ! and how, my liege ? 
 
 King H. Nay, strive not, sir, to hide your secret 
 
 guilt 
 
 With artful candor and affected starts. 
 Sin can put on the guise of innocence ; 
 Nor ever cheats us with its ugliness, 
 But with its seeming beauty. 
 
 Nor. On my life, 
 
 I know not to what sin your tongue directs. 
 King H. Have you not wronged me ? 
 Nor. Wronged your majesty ! 
 
 King H. Yes ; have you not, to swell your amor 
 ous triumphs, 
 
 And make yourself an envied libertine, 
 Seduced the virtue of our fickle queen ? 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 181 
 
 Nor. Your grace is merry. [Laughing. } 
 
 King H. Merry ! are you mad ? 
 
 I say it can be proved. 
 
 Nor. Proved ! Set the hound 
 
 That howled this lying folly in your ears 
 Within the reach of my chastising sword, 
 And if I send him not to fiery hell, 
 With his foul tattle warm upon his lips, 
 Rack me to powder ! 
 
 King H. Acted to the life ! 
 
 Nor. 0, no, my liege ; tis but the natural heat 
 That would boil over every English lip, 
 To hear their queen traduced. 
 
 King H. Be calm, Sir Harry. 
 
 So much we hold the honor of our realm 
 Before the vengeance due to private wrongs, 
 That we have vowed to bury our own grief, 
 And grant free pardon to whatever man 
 Even though he were her fondest paramour 
 Will fix the crime upon her guilty head. 
 
 Nor. I am not he. I thought, until this hour, 
 Ay, and still think, and will, despite report, 
 Our queen as loyal to your majesty 
 As the chaste moon is to her regal sun, 
 Drinking no other beams. What though she shine 
 Upon the darkness of our grateful earth, 
 To cheer the spirits of night-foundered men ? 
 That which she gives, she borrows from yourself; 
 Fruitful to her, but, when it falls on us, 
 The calm, cold splendor of reflected light. 
 
 King H. Norris, beware ! you carry this too far : 
 If you confess not, instant, shameful death 
 Awaits your stubborn spirit. 
 
182 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Nor. Be it so : 
 
 I ll rather add a thousand stings to death, 
 Than give one pang to suffering innocence. 
 
 King H. Then be it so, you contumacious boy ! 
 Have I embraced you in my trusting heart, 
 To be denied when I demand return ? 
 
 Nor. Ha ! do I hear ? What saw your majesty, 
 Even in so poor a man as Henry Norris, 
 To make you hold me for a supple tool 
 To work your bloody purpose ? You must go 
 A step below a knight arid gentleman, 
 To find a villain fitted to your wish. 
 
 King H. Poh ! poh ! coy virtue, is it villanous 
 To show obedience when your king commands ? 
 
 Nor. Is there no power in every honest breast, 
 Above the terrors of your threatening will, 
 Neath whose fixed look my guilty memory 
 Shall cower in horror ? 
 
 King H. You must do this deed. 
 
 Nay, I adjure you. 
 
 Nor. 0, my gracious liege 
 
 King H. No words, no words ! 
 
 Nor. A vaunt, damned hypocrite ! 
 
 I here defy your utmost reach of wrath : 
 The cruelest death, your wickedness can shape, 
 Would be a joy to what you offer me. 
 Stretch your base tortures through all coming timo, 
 And in the end they can but kill my clay ; 
 But you would turn my hand to impious use, 
 And make me, like a frantic suicide, 
 Stab at the life of my eternal soul 
 That, by God s blessing, shall outlast youl .iate, 
 And reign triumphant when your crown is dross! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 183 
 
 King H. Hold, villain, hold ! or I will let the 
 
 breath 
 Out of your treacherous body ! [Draws.] 
 
 Nor. Do, my liege, 
 
 And join assassination to the crimes 
 That blot your monstrous heart. I will not hold : 
 I see you are bent upon destroying me, 
 And, as a reckless man, 1 7 11 know your worst. 
 0, woe to England, when this sinful king, 
 Grown hard in crime, shall reach the fearful height 
 That evil points him ! Then shall 
 
 King H. Brazen traitor ! 
 
 Dare you invoke our vengeance on your head? 
 Without, there ! (Reenter OFFICER and GUARD.) See 
 
 your prisoner to the Tower. 
 If he escape, you d better hang yourselves 
 Than live to tell it. Out, malignant traitor I 
 
 [Exit Sir HENRY NORRIS, in custody of the GUARD.] 
 0, the ingratitude of fickle man ! 
 The shifting sand that tumbles in the tide, 
 Taking new form from every wanton surge, 
 Is not more changeful than his rootless heart. 
 He is a bark upon an angry sea, 
 Unballasted, yet ever crowding sail ; 
 Careening now to passion s fiery gust, 
 Now to the other side prostrated flat 
 By self-styled reason s icy hurricane ; 
 Yet never sailing on an even keel 
 Ever extreme, and no extreme the best. 
 Who that had seen the favors I have showered, 
 As thick and prodigal as Spring s warm sun, 
 Upon the head of that remorseless wretch, 
 Could have foreknown the desert barrenness 
 
184 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Of his rude heart ! Pah ! I am sick of it. 
 0, the ingratitude of wicked man ! 
 
 SCENE IH. 
 
 The Queen s Apartments in the Palace. QUEEN ANNE and MARY 
 WYATT. 
 
 Queen Anne. No audience, said you ? 
 
 Mary Wyatt. None, your highness, none. 
 
 Queen A. But are you sure his majesty refused 
 To read my letter ? 
 
 Mary W. Very sure ; or whence 
 
 The new-sprung insolence of every groom ? 
 They passed me by, for nigh a weary hour, 
 Without observance. When at length I spoke, 
 Demanding audience in your highness name, 
 They almost thrust me from the ante-room, 
 With taunts and sneers. One knave, a malpert page, 
 By you presented to his majesty, 
 Said, with his arms akimbo, in a style 
 That mimicked the king s bearing, " Mistress Mary, 
 When we desire to know of blubbering spells, 
 At your sad corner of our merry holise, 
 We 11 come to seek them : till that time, adieu I " 
 At this his fellows grinned, like tickled apes, 
 And winked, and leered at me ; till I, abashed 
 More that such things were human, than for fear 
 Of any shame their insults might provoke 
 Came sadly here, my mission unachieved. 
 
 Queen A. I blame you not : I trusted in your zeal, 
 Knowing its failure set all hope aside 
 
ANNE BOLKYN. 185 
 
 Save that which harbors in myself. Must 1 
 
 Again go begging for his chary love, 
 
 After the public shame he put me to ? 
 
 Must I go whimpering like a stricken cur 
 
 I who am wronged, and should demand redress 
 
 And pray, in mercy to my feebleness, 
 
 This blow may be the last ? Degrading thought ! 
 
 Were I the housewife of his lowest clown, 
 
 Caned to obedience by a drunkard s hand, 
 
 My woman s heart has in it pride enough 
 
 To burst ere bear this last humility. 
 
 Mary W. If pity move him 
 
 Queen A. Pity ! there s a shame, 
 
 More fearful in its furious rebuke, 
 That follows threatening on the heels of wrong 
 An earthly hell in which the conscience writhes, 
 And lashes round its fiery barrier, 
 Till suffering purify the tortured soul ; 
 This he must feel, ere meek-eyed Pity s hand 
 Will ope the silver gates of penitence, 
 And through forgiveness show the way to peace. 
 
 Mary W. 0, may he feel it ! 
 
 Queen A. Feel it ! he is human. 
 
 Mary W. Yes ; but before some heavier injury 
 Make pity useless. 
 
 Queen A. Pray, speak plainly, girl ! 
 
 I see your heart is full with mystery. 
 What new misfortune is about to fall ? 
 
 Mary W. None, as I hope. 
 
 Queen A. Nay, this is churlishness : 
 
 You have some secret that may profit me. 
 If I am ignorant of coming ills, 
 How shall I guard me with expedients 
 
180 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Against tlieir wrath ? The man by death assailed 
 
 Is last to know the danger he is in. 
 
 I make no doubt, but half the palace lackeys 
 
 Have drawn a surer presage of my fate, 
 
 From buzzing rumor, could more truly tell 
 
 What will befall me for a year to come, 
 
 Than I, with my own lot to outward seeming 
 
 Within my grasp, could compass by design. 
 
 So hangs our fate upon the breath of all, 
 
 That oft a rumor shapes the destiny 
 
 Of feeble wills. 
 
 Mary W. T would but fatigue your ears, 
 
 Not profit you, to hear the thousand woes 
 That fools predict upon your majesty : 
 But there s much comfort in the croak of folly. 
 
 Queen A. 0, merely thus ? naught in particular? 
 Well, let them rail ; the gale is adverse now, 
 I must expect this dash of saucy spray 
 Full in my face : anon the wind will change ; 
 Then they 11 come tripping to my very heels, 
 Sparkling with joy, and glad to decorate 
 My rearward path. 
 
 Man/ W. Heaven guard your cheerful mind ! 
 
 Queen A. Actions begun in cheerfulness display 
 The merry herald that foreruns success. 
 The smile that lights an earnest countenance 
 Seems as a gleam from some vast mental fire 
 That burns within, and ever flashes out, 
 Like tropic lightning on a summer night ; 
 Harmless, indeed, yet hinting of a power 
 That, moved to wrath, might shake the seated eartl 
 To sulk at sorrow dulls the edge of will, 
 And half unfits us for prosperity ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 187 
 
 Much more for danger, where each faculty 
 That gives us sway is needed at its full. 
 
 Mary W. When took your highness to philosophy ? 
 
 Queen A. Ha! you malicious elf! When heavy 
 
 griefs 
 
 First leaguered my poor heart, through it I found 
 A path to wander from perplexing fears 
 That lost in speculation dismal self. 
 Sorrow makes many a deep philosopher. 
 
 Mary W. Great minds may carry a great load 
 
 unbowed. 
 
 Ah, me ! it brings me to my woman s part, 
 To hear these strains of sweet philosophy 
 Kise from her injured spirit. (Aside, weeping.) Sure 
 
 the God 
 
 Who suffers mischief to afflict you thus, 
 Gives you the strength to bear it. 
 
 Queen A. Doubtless, doubtless. 
 
 (Enter THOMAS WYATT.) 
 
 Mary W. My brother, please you. [Retires.] 
 
 Queen A. Ah ! good master Wyatt, 
 
 What news abroad ? Why do you shake your head ? 
 Why wear that funeral face ? It seems to me 
 That all my friends would plunder me of grief. 
 Came you alone ? Where are my other friends ? 
 
 Wyatt. Gone with the summer flies. The day is 
 
 dark ; 
 
 And they that erewhile revelled in your light, 
 Now sluggish hide in close obscurity, 
 And prophesy of falling weather soon. 
 
 Queen A. But Rochford ? he is true in sun or shade. 
 
 Wyatt. Ay, by my soul ! And know you not ? 
 
188 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. Not I. 
 
 Wyatt. Indeed ? That I should bear the intelli 
 gence ! 
 
 Queen A. These dread inductions to ill-omened 
 
 news, 
 
 Pitch swift imagination far below 
 The heaviest fact. Out with it, tender sir ! 
 What ever saw you like a fear in me ? 
 
 Wyatt. Lodged in the Tower. 
 
 Queen A. A prisoner 1 on what charge ? 
 
 . Wyatt. A charge as common now as larceny, 
 High treason. 
 
 Queen A. Treason ! who is loyal, then ? 
 
 ! what a shallow matter for arrest ! 
 Poor Rochford i This is strange. How bears 
 he it ? 
 
 Wyatt. As innocence e er bears calamity, 
 Suffering in body, but content at heart. 
 
 Queen A. I 11 to the king. Are not my wrongs 
 
 enough, 
 
 But that my foes must vex my kindred too ? 
 For Rochford s sake, I 11 quell my stubborn pride, 
 And ask the justice I deny myself. 
 
 Wyatt. Ah ! would you might ! See you yon sentinel 
 Who counts his steps along the corridor ? 
 That knave has orders from his majesty, 
 On no account to let your highness pass. 
 
 Queen A. Good sir, what augurs this ? 1 feel it 
 
 here 
 
 Here at my heart a quaking like the step 
 Of some advancing doom. T is terrible, 
 To be environed by an enemy 
 Whose very aims are hidden. Give me light ! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 189 
 
 0, Wyatt, show me but my coward foes, 
 
 Though they are numberless as Egypt s plagues 
 
 Let me but see the weapons in their hands, 
 
 Though they can daunt the angry Thunderer, 
 
 And I 11 confront them ! But to be assailed 
 
 By arrows that seem raining from the clouds 
 
 To see my tribe, like Niobe s, cut down, 
 
 Nor know what time my breast may be transfixed 
 
 To feel myself the cause of all this woe, 
 
 Without the chance of offering stroke for stroke, 
 
 Is next to madness ! 
 
 Wyatt. All I know is this, 
 
 Lord Rochford, Norris, Brereton, and Weston, 
 As the most noted followers of your highness, 
 Have been arrested, charged with secret treason. 
 In what particulars their guilt consists, 
 Even wakeful rumor has not been informed ; 
 Nor are the prisoners wiser than the world. 
 That popinjay, Mark Smeaton, too, has had 
 Some private hearings in the council-room, 
 After a tampering which he underwent 
 At Suffolk s house. 
 
 Queen A. No more of him ; he s harmless. 
 
 All these brave hearts to suffer for my sake ! 
 ! deadly cowards ! to remove these props, 
 Whose sturdy valor might have long upheld 
 Even the structure of a tottering cause ! 
 
 Wyatt. Whatever scheme your enemies have 
 
 formed, 
 
 Is now converted to a state affair : 
 Your highness therefore must expect a blow, 
 Not from lords Suffolk, Norfolk, and their friends, 
 But from the Council. 
 
190 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. Let them only come ! 
 
 My heart is aching to begin the fray : 
 I vow, the conquered shall not light again ! 
 What of the king ? 
 
 Wyatt. His majesty is silent, 
 
 Gloomy and sad, and given to muttering ; 
 Flying at pleasures with an eagerness 
 That crushes out the dainty soul of joy : 
 As one a cup of rich, untasted wine 
 Might crack with furious bacchanalian haste, 
 And spill its fruity treasures. 
 
 Queen A. So I thought : 
 
 His love is wrestling with an agony, 
 By fancied justice thrust upon his mind. 
 When through this fire of malice I have passed 
 Whose purifying ordeal he allows, 
 Only to prove the temper of my heart 
 Look, Wyatt, look to see my enemies, 
 Drossy with crime, hurled headlong in the flame, 
 To show the baseness of their earthy souls ! 
 Kings should be just. 
 
 Wyatt. Ay, should be just. 
 
 Queen A. How now ? 
 
 Would you arraign his royal qualities, 
 Because my foes have led his mind astray 
 With seeming justice ? Ah ! be careful, sir, 
 Not to malign him, in your zeal for me 1 
 
 Wyatt. She hugs her ruin. (Aside.) Mistress 
 Seymour says 
 
 Queen A. Out, wizard, out ! Dare you to 
 
 summon up 
 
 The horrid phantom that pursues my steps, 
 And ever shadowy flits before my eyes, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 191 
 
 Veiling the snn, and deepening deepest night ? 
 
 ! Wyatt, Wyatt, would you mock me too ? 
 
 ! would you rend the feeble barrier 
 
 That hides my anguish from the gaping world, 
 
 And show me in my naked wretchedness, 
 
 Without a rag of pride to cover me, 
 
 For prying fools to carp on ? Cruel leech, 
 
 To probe this wound, even though my tortured heart 
 
 Might work salvation out of agony I 
 
 Begone, begone ! 
 
 Wyatt. I meant not 
 
 Queen A. I forgive you. 
 
 Go, go, in mercy ! If you love my health, 
 Never again recall that fearful name ! [Exit WYATT.] 
 T is hard, tis hard ! but it must be endured. 
 ! vanished peace, that with my girlish hours 
 Shook hands and parted, as they proudly strode 
 Down the dark paths of untried womanhood 
 Return, return ! Ah ! couldst thou bring again 
 Those pleasant days, when at the source of life 
 My spirit sat, and heard, with nature s tones, 
 The blended music of a higher life 
 Mix and flow on in one grand harmony ; 
 When every sense, content with what it felt, 
 Longed not for action, never-ending action, 
 That once embraced makes us its slaves till death. 
 Death, death ! There is more sweetness in that name 
 Than I e er knew of. Does thy pallid hand 
 Unite the two extremes of human life, 
 Linking our earliest with our latest days, 
 In one unbroken circle ? Art thou she, 
 The meek-feced peace of childhood, changed in name, 
 But undistinguished in thy quality, 
 
192 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Come from afar to lead us back again 
 
 From where we started ? Ah ! I know not now, 
 
 Nor can I till I pass, beyond recall, 
 
 The narrow lintel of the voiceless grave. 
 
 God ! God ! I am weary of the day ! 
 
 [Scene closes.} 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Another Room in the Palace. Enter KING HENRY and JANB 
 SEYMOUR. 
 
 King Henry. Poh ! tis too late for pity. 
 
 Jane Seymour. Pity, sir ! 
 
 I feel no pity for her wantonness : 
 T is for yourself, so wickedly abused, 
 So unsuspecting till the common voice 
 Thrust its belief in your reluctant ears. 
 The hand of justice is in everything : 
 How strange it was our budding love put forth 
 Just as her impious crimes had reached their full ! 
 Showing how Heaven may visit secret guilt 
 In an avenging form of innocence, 
 That sadly marvels at its own result. 
 
 King H. Yes, very strange. 
 
 Jane S. What proof can be produced ? 
 
 A mind so subtle in committing sin, 
 Must be adept in masking stratagems. 
 
 King H. That s Norfolk s part. His grace hat-: 
 
 pledged himself 
 
 To bring more evidence before the court 
 UncircumHtantial, downright, stubborn proof 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 193 
 
 Than it will hear. And let him look to it : 
 For if his charge prove slander to our queen, 
 And she escape, untainted in her fame, 
 I 11 hang him like a thief by Heaven, I will ! 
 
 Jane S. Sweet hypocrite ! (Aside.) But if his 
 charge be proved ? 
 
 King H. Our realm has laws ; too much we honor 
 
 them, 
 
 To stand between the culprit and their doom. 
 Talk not of this. 
 
 Jane S. Here comes the noble duke, 
 
 Sending a smile before his onward path 
 To ask a welcome. 
 
 (Enter Duke of NORFOLK.) 
 
 Norfolk. All looks fair, my liege. 
 
 King H. Looks foul, I say ! Cannot I teach you, 
 
 sir, 
 
 That this discovered treachery of the queen 
 Irks me to credit ? Is it not enough 
 That the dear honor of my father s throne 
 Is sullied in the eyes of Christendom, 
 And I am made the laughing-stock of time, 
 Without this giggling at my sorry plight ? 
 
 Nor. A virtuous mood ! (Aside.) Pardon the 
 
 clownish haste 
 
 That has disturbed your majesty s deep grief. 
 You set me to pursue a wily chase ; 
 And if I feel the huntsman s eager flush 
 More from pursuit than wish to strike rny game 
 The heat of triumph should excuse my air. 
 
 King H. Well, well, what news ? 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 So ho ! king weathercock I 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 I fear t is too much for your majesty 
 To hear the worst confirmed. 
 
 King H. Ha ! say you so ? 
 
 For to drift on upon a level sea 
 Of settled woe, is better than to toss 
 Between the heights of my delusive hopes 
 And the deep gulfs of bottomless despair. 
 Rest, Norfolk, rest from my overwhelming thoughts, 
 Even in a port of quiet wretchedness, 
 Would be a pleasure to this storm-tossed soul. 
 
 Nor. 1 d give a barony for one free laugh. [Aside.] 
 There is not a circumstance nor shade of proof, 
 By law demanded to convict the queen, 
 But I can summon to outface her tongue. 
 This is blunt truth, ungarbled by a phrase 
 To smooth its meaning in a dainty ear ; 
 And though you shrink, your royal dignity 
 Calls out for vengeance on her traitorous head. 
 
 King H. Be well prepared : your life hangs by a 
 thread. 
 
 Nor. I see your snares, sceptred duplicity ; 
 I am fairly entered, far beyond retreat ; 
 I know the issue is her death or mine. 
 Thank Heaven, I do not need fear s ragged spur 
 To drive me onward in my willing course. [Aside.] 
 Trust to my zeal ; I hold my sovereign s honor 
 Above the selfish dread of common death. 
 
 King H. What of this spinnet-player ? 
 
 Nor. Ah ! the knave I 
 
 He wavered sadly since his first confession : 
 Now he d confirm the paper which he signed, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 195 
 
 And now he d suffer death ere swear to it. 
 When strict imprisonment had cowed his mind, 
 I by persuasion won him to my wish. 
 
 King H. By what persuasion ? Make no prom 
 ises ; 
 The wretch shall hang. 
 
 Nor. ! merely by the rack. 
 
 King H. Most delicate inducement ! 
 
 Nor. Yes, my liege, 
 
 It oft unclasps the rigid jaws of guilt. 
 The pangs of death have many a time disclosed 
 The murderer s secret ; and the rack can bring 
 A dying anguish, without fear of death. 
 T is a most potent questioner. 
 
 Jane S. My liege, 
 
 Pray come away ; for I am sick at heart, 
 Hearing details so awful. Please, your grace, 
 To keep such horrors for your private thoughts. 
 Come, Henry, come ! 
 
 King H. To please you, love. Adieu, 
 
 Good Norfolk ; slack not in your zealous care. 
 
 Nor. Heaven keep your majesties ! 
 
 Jane S. Pshaw ! trifler. 
 
 [Exeunt KING HENRY and JANE SEYMOUR.] 
 
 Nor. " Pshaw ! " 
 
 But did I tickle you, my demi-queen ? 
 So delicate, so royal in your tastes ! 
 Cannot endure the thoughts of brutal racks ; 
 And yet would kill a queen to wear her shoes ! 
 Sdeath ! when you are crowned, our manly swords 
 
 must rust, 
 
 Butchers lose traffic, and your tender court 
 Browse, like Assyria s king, on bloodless weeds ; 
 
196 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Ay, but our daggers shall be kept on edge, 
 
 To stab our kind ! Well, you are happily matched : 
 
 A squeamish king who circumvents two lives, 
 
 To urge his purpose to its bloody end, 
 
 Vowing that justice shall have one of them, 
 
 And a meek queen who shudders at the means, 
 
 Yet at the end grapples with furies claws. 
 
 You crocodiles can blubber o er your prey, 
 
 If a stray infant should fall overboard, 
 
 And cry that drowning is a sorry thing, 
 
 Ere you together gorge it ! What a life, 
 
 So comforting to conscience, you may lead 
 
 When Hymen yokes you ! Damn hypocrisy ! 
 
 (Enter THOMAS WYATT.) 
 
 Wyatt. So say I too, under your grace s oath. 
 
 Nor. Ha ! ha ! Sir Poet, t was a pious oath. 
 
 Wyatt. Of sure fulfilment. 
 
 Nor. Pray what brings you here ? 
 
 Wyatt. A moth to light, a poet to a prince ; 
 Thus is it ever. I would see the king. 
 
 Nor. He just retired. 
 
 Wyatt. T is but a small affair ; 
 
 I 11 come again. 
 
 Nor. Can I not aid you, sir ? 
 
 Wyatt. I merely wished to see a prisoned rogue 
 One fellow Smeaton, caged for stealing geese, 
 Or some such matter. Has your grace a pass ? 
 The careless knave had my last madrigal, 
 To set for music. T is my only copy ; 
 And if he is hanged, my immortality 
 Loses a hope. Now, Reynard, play the fool! 
 
 [*<*.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 19*7 
 
 Nor. So, ho ! my railer at hypocrisy, 
 How smooth we lie ! (Aside.) Confound this gosling 
 
 thief! 
 
 The king has ordered why, I cannot say 
 That none, except the Council, shall have leave 
 To see the fellow. 
 
 Wyatt. Well, there is little lost. 
 
 Nor. 0, much, much, much ! I honor poesy ; 
 And vow to succor your brave madrigal. 
 I 11 make especial business of this matter. 
 
 Wyatt. As deep as hell ! (Aside.) Nay, trouble 
 
 not yourself ; 
 
 Perchance the knave, among his prison griefs, 
 Has lost remembrance of my trifling song. 
 
 Nor. I will refresh him. ; T would amaze you, sir, 
 To know how much I reverence your art. 
 Each genuine poet, in each poem, forms 
 What neither he nor any other man, 
 Though he were equal in capacity, 
 Can shape again. The moods of poets minds 
 Are, like the colors of chameleons, 
 Seen in the same particulars but once. 
 That combination of your shifting thoughts, 
 Which you have pictured in a madrigal, 
 Should make its due impression on our time. 
 I would not see your chaplet lose a leaf : 
 Believe me, tis a duty. 
 
 Wyatt. Shrewd dissembler, 
 
 With what a relish he pursues intrigues ! {Aside,} 
 I thank your grace, in poesy s sweet name, 
 For this regard. Pray, can you tell me, sir, 
 Upon what charge my friend, Sir Henry Norris, 
 Will be arraigned ? 
 
198 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Nor. On many many, sir. 
 
 The gravest, I believe, is robbing goose-ponds : 
 He is involved with Smeaton. 
 
 Wyatt. Ah! indeed? 
 
 T is an odd charge ! But I observe of late 
 How our good king takes the most famous geese, 
 This realm produces, neath his royal wing. 
 Adieu ! your grace. [Going.} 
 
 Nor. Ho ! scion of the muse ! 
 
 I have a little scandal for your ear. 
 
 Wyatt. For mine, your grace ? [Returns.} 
 
 Nor. Yes ; t is a trifling thing, 
 
 No greater in my eyes than songs in yours. 
 They say you read too many madrigals 
 In the attentive hearing of the queen. 
 Look to it, sir : his majesty is loth 
 His royal consort should give up her time 
 To so much poetry. 
 
 Wyatt. The sneering wretch ! 
 
 I dare not brave him, for her highness sake. [Aside.} 
 An idle rurnor. 
 
 Nor. But it put your songs 
 
 In fearful jeopardy. The king nigh swore 
 To hang all future poems by the neck, 
 In your good person. He hates poesy. 
 The royal opposition on this point 
 Is stranger than the patronage of geese. 
 
 Wyatt. Sblood ! I must burst, if I remain to hear 
 This cynic s gibes. (Aside.) Farewell! once more. 
 
 Nor. Remember, 
 
 No private readings to her majesty 
 Of the lost madrigal, when I restore it. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 199 
 
 Wyatt. God shield the queen ! for human aid is 
 vain. [Aside.] [Exeunt severally.] 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The Queen s Apartments in the Palace. A table spr 
 
 ANNE, Maids, and Attendants, at the back of the scene. 
 
 Queen Anne. (Advancing.) Ah, me! what fearful 
 
 difference tis, to view 
 The self-same object unattained, and won ! 
 For memories are the shadows of our hopes, 
 That ever lengthen as our day declines, 
 Till death s oblivion wraps them both in night. 
 When, from the lowly vale of common life, 
 Ambition points us to the sunny tops 
 Of the great hills of power, whose even sides, 
 Ascending smoothly through the golden haze, 
 Appear like stepping-stones from earth to heaven 
 Ah ! who could tell the peril of the road 
 That must be braved to reach their eminence ? 
 What stony paths what thorny barriers 
 What humble crawling under threatening rocks 
 What dizzy ledges, wooing nerveless fear 
 To swift forgetfulness what hungry chasms, 
 That picture death within their roaring jaws, 
 And stagger reason on his solid throne 
 Must be o erpassed, ere on the toppling heights, 
 Amidst the region of perpetual storms, 
 We stand alone in chill supremacy ! 
 
 (Enter THOMAS WYATT.) 
 Quick, Wyatt, quick ! have my poor friends a hope ? 
 
200 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Wijatt. But in the mercy of your enemies, 
 Or the most tardy justice of the king. 
 
 Queen A. Is this your zeal ? 0, apathetic man ! 
 Can you see Rochford, noble, loyal Rochford 
 Your friend, your playmate one who ever bore 
 His gathering honors with such humbleness 
 That my hot pride has chid him can you see 
 George Boleyn pining in a dreary cell, 
 While May s warm sunshine fills the universe ? 
 Bethink you, Wyatt, of those faithful men, 
 Weston, and Brereton, and Hemy Norris, 
 Whose days, like fetters, gall their manly souls, 
 In the cramped limits of a prison-house, 
 While you are slack to free them ! 
 
 Wyatt. Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 Queen A. Deeds would be better, sir, than windy 
 
 oaths. 
 
 Lend me your manhood for a little day, 
 And, by my soul, I 11 breach their prison doors, 
 Or light a blaze in England that shall scare 
 These skulking enemies of theirs and mine 
 Into a frenzy ! Heaven can testify 
 How much it grieves me that their doleful fate 
 Seems woven with the tissue of my own ! 
 For, were it not, their wrongs would muster friends, 
 And Heaven would" launch an angry squadron down 
 To succor virtue such as they possess. 
 But I 0, God ! I stand here all alone, 
 Shunned by mankind, and tossed by careless chance 
 To glut the appetite of enmity 
 A helpless woman, full of wrongs and grief, 
 With nothing left me but the conscious power 
 By which the guiltless bear their martyrdom ! 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 201 
 
 Wyatt. 0, woful day ! 
 
 Queen A. Have you but vain regrets ? 
 
 Wyatt. Hear rne, your highness. 
 
 Queen A. Words, and nothing more ! 
 
 Has innocence no power? has justice fled 
 The side of right ? or is it mere romance, 
 To prate with poets of a heavenly might 
 That nerves the weakness of a righteous cause ? 
 Fie ! dreamer, fie ! 
 
 Wyatt. I ask you not to laud 
 
 My wakeful labor, day and night bestowed, 
 Without a thought of safety for myself, 
 Upon this hopeless matter ; all I ask 
 Is thankless justice for a pure intent. 
 I grant my efforts were of no avail 
 I grant some other and more skilful hand 
 Might have achieved a work beyond my power ; 
 But yet, believe, all intellectual strength, 
 All hidden cunning, and all bold resource, 
 That nature gave me, were employed in vain 
 Ere I despaired. 
 
 Queen A. What was this mighty work? 
 
 Had you the labor of a Hercules, 
 That you so groan ? Upon my life, I think 
 This wondrous malady will heal itself 
 Without your aid. Shake not your solemn head. 
 The king still loves me : I have faith in love. 
 
 Wyatt. Ila ! have you faith ? then see my very 
 
 heart. 
 
 My memory reaches not that early day 
 When I first loved you. Since remembrance threw 
 The bright reflections of my childish thoughts 
 Into the gloom of manhood s troubled hours, 
 
202 ANNE BOI.EYN. 
 
 There is not a gleam, however remote and dim. 
 But owes its splendor to my love for you ; 
 There is not a hope 
 
 Queen A. Hold, traitor, on your life ! 
 
 Are you conspiring with my subtle foes ? 
 My maids observe us. Would you ruin me ? 
 Is my last friend corrupted ? Dare you, sir, 
 Prattle this nonsense to your queen ? 0, base I 
 Thus to presume on my defencelessness ; 
 Implying frailty which, a week ago, 
 You had better died than barely hinted at ! 
 
 Wyatt. You thought me lukewarm. 
 
 Queen A. No ; I only meant 
 
 To whet the edge of blunted zeal. [ jVbie without ] 
 
 Wyatt. How now ? 
 
 Prophetic fear ! 
 
 (Enter Duke of NORFOLK, Duke of SUFFOLK, and other Lords of 
 the Council, with Sir WILLIAM KINGSTON and GUARD.) 
 
 Queen A. Good welcome, gentlemen ! 
 
 Bear you a message from his majesty ? 
 
 [A long pause. ] 
 What, not a word ? 
 
 Suffolk. We do. 
 
 Queen A. Do what, your grace ? 
 
 Suf. Bear you a message from the king. 
 
 Queen A. Ha! ha! [Laughing.] 
 
 Your answer lagged so far behind my query, 
 As quite to rupture sense. 
 
 Norfolk. Come, Suffolk, come ; 
 
 No faltering now ! [Apart to SUFFOLK.] 
 
 Suf. The king has ordered us 
 
 To see the person of her majesty 
 Placed in your hands, Sir William, until he 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 203 
 
 Makes such disposure of her as may suit 
 His further pleasure. 
 
 Queen A. Back, ye urgent tears ; 
 
 I 11 never pay your tribute to my foes ! [Aside.] 
 If tis the pleasure of his majesty 
 To change my present lodgings for the Tower, 
 Like a true subject, I obey. 
 
 Wyatt. Brave, brave ! 
 
 Nature created thee from royal clay ! [Aside. } 
 
 Kingston. I will await your highness preparation 
 
 Queen A. I need none, sir. 
 
 Nor. Away, away, Sir William ! 
 
 Queen A. Well said, good uncle. 
 
 [Exeunt all but WYATT.] 
 
 Wyatt. Now, were I a beast, 
 
 And Norfolk but another, I would tear 
 The bitter heart out of his spiteful breast ! 
 But as a man 0, as a gentleman, 
 A Christian gentleman I thank his grace 
 That he allows my littleness to crawl 
 Neath God s own light, and fret my weary soul 
 With gazing on his huge monstrosity ! 
 What next ? what next ? Divorce ! And then, 
 
 poor queen, 
 
 She 11 sit her down, like injured Katharine, 
 And feed her heart with sorrow, till the bane 
 Of cankering grief has poisoned every spring 
 That pulses life along her shattered frame ; 
 And then she 11 lapse, by scarce perceived degrees, 
 Into her grave ; and then why, then the world 
 Will roar and scramble o er her resting-place, 
 And play the same stale antics which she saw, 
 And dash its brimming tides of ruddy life 
 
204 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Across her tomb, without a care for her. 
 0, should we laugh or weep at human fate ? 
 There goes to shame the only mortal thing 
 I ever loved, with all a poet s love, 
 And I ask that, in mockery of myself! [Weeps.] 
 
 [Scene closes.] 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Before the Gate of the Tower. Enter QUEEN ANNE, in custody of 
 Sir WILLIAM KINGSTON and GUARD, Duke of NORFOLK, Duke 
 of SUFFOLK, and Lords of the Council. 
 
 Queen Anne. Pause here a moment. 
 
 Norfolk. Tut, tut ! move along ! 
 
 Queen A. Did you not, sir, insult your queen 
 
 enough, 
 
 Before the Council, with unmanly taunts 
 And slanders, rivalled in their gross excess 
 But by the words in which you uttered them, 
 Without disgracing thus your victory ? 
 
 Nor. It ill beseems my noted chastity 
 To hold discourse with ladies of your stamp 
 Stop, if you list ; I d rather grant your wish 
 Than parley with you. 
 
 Queen A. Aid me, gracious Lord, 
 
 To bear unmurmuring ! (Aside.) Listen, gentlemen. 
 T is the last time, perchance, that I may stand 
 Beneath the open blessings of the sky ; 
 And here, before the majesty of heaven, 
 Gazing unshaken in the face of God, 
 I solemnly avow these horrid crimes, 
 With which my enemies have vested me, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 205 
 
 To be most foul and baseless calumnies ; 
 Or God forsake me in my strictest need ! 
 
 Nor. What monstrous perjury ! I dare not hear 
 This woman s self-damnation. [Going.] 
 
 Suffolk. Come, my lords ; 
 
 Our part is done. [Exit with NORFOLK and the Lords. ] 
 
 Queen A. Their scorn foreshows my doom : 
 
 I am convicted ere the court be met. 
 Think you I shall have justice ? 
 
 Kingston. Without doubt : 
 
 The poorest subject of the king has that. 
 
 Queen A. Ha ! ha ! poor man ! (Laughing.) Loyal 
 
 credulity ! 
 
 0, yes, at last in heaven. Where go I, sir? 
 Into a dungeon ? 
 
 Kings. No, your majesty ; 
 
 You lie in the state chambers. 
 
 Queen A. In which rooms ? 
 
 Kings. Where you were lodged on Coronation- 
 Day. 
 
 Queen A. This is too cruel ! 
 
 Kings. Is splendor cruelty ? 
 
 Queen A. 0, you are gracious ! They are far too 
 
 good 
 
 For such a wretch so abject, so forlorn, 
 A prisoned felon ; were it not that they 
 Will taunt my memory with a pleasant dream, 
 That there once practised on my facile hopes, 
 While reason slept. Alas, alas, for me I 
 Time, like a mocking showman, turns the picture, 
 To teach on what coarse stuff my fancy wrought. 
 
 Kings. Time may relent, and make all well ere long. 
 Your slight constraint shall not seem bondage to you. 
 
206 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. It matters not, if we are prisoners, 
 Whether our walls be marked by feet or miles : 
 I may be cramped and tethered in my will, 
 While my clay roams the starry universe ; 
 What but free will is freedom ? 
 
 Kings. Shall we enter ? 
 
 Queen A. Your pardon, sir, if I have wearied you 
 With my complaints. But you have heard to-day 
 Tilings that might break a prouder heart than mine. 
 I do confess, my slanderers have wrought 
 More on my spirits than I once believed 
 Mere malice could. Was it not vile ? 
 
 Kings. Poor queen, poor queen ! (Aside.) I can 
 not judge, your highness. 
 
 Queen A. I should not ask you to o erstep discre 
 tion. 
 Where is the king ? 
 
 Kings. At Whitehall, I believe. 
 
 Queen A. Will you convey his majesty a note? 
 
 Kings. I cannot. 
 
 Queen A. Cannot! but a message, then? 
 
 Tell him - 
 
 Kings. Indeed, I dare not. 
 
 Queen A. Then, good sir, 
 
 Pray bear a letter to the Chancellor. 
 
 Kings. I am prohibited. 
 
 Queen A. Are you a tool ? 
 
 Kings. Ay, but a feeling one. 
 
 Queen A. Forgive me, pray I 
 
 Sir, you are kind, most kind ! My hasty spleen 
 Must be abated to my present state. 
 Come, let us in. I may be dull, perchance ; 
 But, as I live, I cannot realize 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 207 
 
 That he, the father of my little child, 
 
 Could so far banish all regard for me 
 
 As to afflict me with deliberate wrong. 
 
 No, no ; I have been schooled to fearful thoughts, 
 
 But this, this cannot enter Come, set on ! 
 
 r Exeunt into the Tower."] 
 
208 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in Whitehall Palace. K!IXG HENRY and 
 JANE SEYMOUR. 
 
 Jane Seymour. NAY, my sweet Henry, shrink not 
 
 for a thought. 
 
 Wisdom is Janus-faced, and boldly looks 
 Not only at dead acts of bygone times, 
 But, in the very front of coming years, 
 Stands forth, a prophet, to foretell events. 
 Why should we dream upon the harmless past, 
 If not to shape the future of our lives 
 By its dear-purchased knowledge ? 
 
 King Henry. True enough. 
 
 Jane S. See then what follows. Should Queen 
 
 Anne die, 
 
 And no male issue bless your majesty, 
 Elizabeth, your so-called daughter, reigns. 
 So-called, I say ; for where is your warranty 
 To deem her truer than her faithless dam ? 
 
 King H. Right, by my soul I I 11 disinherit her ; 
 My Parliament shall set her claim aside : 
 We 11 have no bastards on our English throne, 
 To mock our justice. 
 
 Jane S. , Ah ! the Parliament ! 
 
 But what it does, it can undo again. 
 
 King H. Ay, ay ; t were safer to divorce the 
 queen, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 209 
 
 And so, as in our daughter Mary s case, 
 Cut off Elizabeth. 
 
 Jane S. T will trouble you, 
 
 For many a weary day, if the bold queen 
 Should stand up stiffly for her royal rights, 
 Nor yield to you. 
 
 King H. Nor yield ? ods wounds ! she shall ! 
 I 11 have each tittle of my liberty, 
 Ere we break quits. Why, it were monstrous, base, 
 To offer our good subjects her vile sprout 
 By way of queen ! T was rumored, at her birth, 
 That Bess was not my own. 
 
 (Enter Duke of NORFOLK.) 
 
 In good time, Norfolk 
 How proceeds our cause ? 
 
 Norfolk. Slowly, my liege. 
 
 King H. Push on, push on ! 
 
 Nor. Ha, ha ! my royal hound, 
 
 Do you scent blood at last ? (Aside.) Mark Smeaton 
 
 now 
 
 Will swear to anything beneath the moon ; 
 But all the others are intractable. 
 When of their common guilt we question them, 
 Rochford but gives a melancholy smile ; 
 Weston stares at us with his great bright eyes, 
 As if he doubted of our sanity ; 
 Brereton, scowling, fumbles for his sword ; 
 And Henry Norris has gone virtue-mad : 
 He raves and swears about his innocence, 
 And vows he never will accuse the queen, 
 Whom in his conscience he believes most pure. 
 
 King H. Hang him up, hang him up, then ! 
 
 VOL. i. 14 
 
210 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Nor. Wonderful ! 
 
 lie grows blood-thirsty. T was but yesterday 
 He saved a fly from drowning-, and so talked, 
 And moralized so sweetly on this theme, 
 As nigh re-drowned the insect in his tears. [Aside.] 
 Yes ; but before he hangs, could we succeed 
 In throwing him, or one of gentle blood, 
 Into the balance gainst her majesty, 
 ; T would show her light as air. 
 
 Jane S. You doubt her guilt ? 
 
 -ZVbr. Not I, my lady ; but opinion weighs 
 No atom in the jealous scales of law. 
 
 King H. We 11 suit the triers to the evidence. 
 She is false, without debate ; then wherefore, sir, 
 Should we be nice about the means we use ? 
 A band of angels, sworn upon our side, 
 Could not increase her guilt. 
 
 Nor. Doubtless, my liege ; 
 
 But t would convict her to the common rnind : 
 For, as we stand, this base-born, wavering groom 
 Is our sole witness ; and we lose respect 
 By such a tottering basis to our cause. 
 The people 
 
 King H. Furies seize them, root and branch 
 Here comes that bugbear of a timid court, 
 That noisy nothing, to assail our ears ! 
 Sir, I more reverence a flock of geese 
 Being a Roman in that one idea 
 Than all the banded folly of the earth. 
 Is there more wisdom in a million fools 
 Than one alone ? Shall folly gain respect 
 By bare addition ? 
 
 Jane S. Please your majesty, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 211 
 
 His grace but cares for your committed honor 
 In this regard. 
 
 King H. I know his loyalty : 
 But shall a monarch answer to a mob 
 For private deeds ? Lord, save their silliness ! 
 T is scarce a twelvemonth since they howled at us, 
 " We 11 have no Nanny Boleyn for our queen ! " 
 And now they saint her ! Norfolk, look at them 
 As on a crowd of human weathercocks, 
 That ever point right in the teeth of power, 
 Howe er it veer. Join me anon, your grace ; 
 I fain would hit upon some speedy scheme 
 That may annul my marriage with the queen. 
 Sweetheart, come walk. 
 
 Nor. I will attend your highness. 
 
 [Exeunt KING HENRY and JANE SEYMOUR.] 
 So all this pother, all this hanging men, 
 Divorcing wives, and chopping off of heads, 
 Is for mere happiness an endless chase ! 
 As if a man, so stuffed with memories 
 Of the dark path that led him to his hopes, 
 Could taste enjoyment if he reached his wish ! 
 Good Lord, a king may be a royal fool ! 
 This outdoes alchemy. I d rather fight 
 Gainst nature for the boon of endless life, 
 And hope to turn God s purpose upside down 
 Chase the horizon till I found the spot 
 Where heaven meets earth, and, with that blissful 
 
 kiss, 
 
 Rains joy celestial on the duller land 
 Run down the rainbow to the golden spring 
 Of its bright arch believe a poet s dream 
 Do any shallow thing, but set sound wits 
 
212 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Upon a chase for phantom happiness. 
 Ha, ha ! king motley ! Give me power, power, 
 power ! [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The State Apartments in the Tower. QUEEN ANNE alone. 
 
 Queen Anne. Ye rugged walls, how often have ye 
 
 heard 
 
 The weary moans of prisoned innocence, 
 By bondage plundered of its cheerful spirit, 
 Broken in will, bankrupt in energy ; 
 And when at last thought has so preyed on thought 
 As to debase the judgment s faculty, 
 Robbed of that God-sustaining power of right 
 Which lifts the soul above calamity ! 
 
 woe ! woe ! shall I become at length 
 A mental wreck, a chaos of despair, 
 
 With scarcely strength in my enervate mind 
 
 To see the conscience-drawn dividing line 
 
 That marks the boundary between right and wrong ? 
 
 Alas ! I fear it ; for I cannot tell 
 
 What high prerogative, that once was mine, 
 
 1 would not barter for mere liberty. 
 
 (Enter, behind, LADY BOLEYN and MRS. COSYNS.) 
 
 Lady Boleyn. Still lost in thoughts. 
 
 Mrs. Cosyns. I 11 warrant them not good. 
 
 Lady B. Then stand aside. If she should utter 
 
 aught, 
 Above a whisper, we can catch its sense. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 213 
 
 Mrs. C. Then to his grace, and so unto the king. 
 Good luck ! my lady, it is merry, this, 
 To be familiar with their majesties 
 To be the very spirit of the words 
 That go between them. 
 
 Lady B. Hush ! the queen begins. 
 
 Queen A. This awful pause this quivering of the 
 
 beam 
 
 That balances my hesitating fate 
 This watchful agony of rigid sense, 
 Bending all faculties in one fixed stare, 
 That hangs upon the dial of events, 
 And counts the passing moments, without power 
 To urge or slacken their relentless course 
 Would make a faith in settled destiny 
 Far preferable to chance. Then stolid force 
 Might brazen out the frowns of hopeless fate, 
 And learn to suffer what it could not change. 
 But, 0, the thought that we, the rulers born 
 Of time and fortune and opposed events, 
 Can be so meshed in outward circumstance 
 As to lose influence o er our very lives, 
 Gives to adversity its bitterest pangs, 
 And takes from will its living soul of hope ! 
 
 Lady B. That s rare philosophy, I question not, 
 But it is bad religion. 
 
 Mrs. G. Terrible! 
 
 Queen A. Avenging Heaven, and I deserve it all ! 
 
 Lady B. That 7 s broad confession. 
 
 Mrs. G. Shameless ! How she dared 
 
 The wrath of Heaven, in her stout impudence ! 
 
 Queen A. Yes, I deserve it ; but tis double pain, 
 To feel the chastisements of angry Heaven 
 
214 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Meted to me in seeming punishment 
 For that whereof I am guiltless. 
 
 Lady B. Heard you that ? 
 
 Mrs. G. Nay, I in a little deaf. 
 Queen A. Wolsey, Wolsey 1 
 
 I, whose ambitious footstep thrust aside 
 Your tottering age I, who with crafty toil 
 Climbed to the seat of patient Katharine 
 Feel every pang with which I tortured you ! 
 My power is gone ; another cunning maid 
 Plays o er my part of heartless treachery. 
 More and Fisher blood, blood ! save my 
 
 wits ! 
 
 If fate like theirs should close my history, 
 To make Heaven s doom complete ! Why shrink at 
 
 that ? 
 
 For t is but one, among a thousand ways, 
 Of stepping from the world. And what were life, 
 Declining by degrees of misery 
 To chill oblivion ? Queen of yesterday 
 The rabble s pity an old doting crone, 
 That some fool s grandsire, " Marry, knew as 
 
 queen I " 
 
 Rattling her toothless jaws in silly prate 
 About herself " And how they crowned her once, 
 With a great crown all full of shining stones ; 
 And what brave velvet farthingales she wore ; 
 And how she reigned ; and, well-a-day, how fell ! " 
 Pah ! it sets death a-laughing. Gracious Heaven, 
 But grant my sinfulness one little prayer 
 T is all I ask drive on the lagging days, 
 Arid bring this matter to its fated end ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 215 
 
 For there are seeds of madness in my grief 
 That must o ertop my reason I 
 
 (LADY BOLEYN and MRS. COSYNS advance,) 
 
 Mrs. G. Please you, lady. 
 
 [To QUEEN ANNE.] 
 
 Lady B. Your majesty. 
 
 Mrs. G. She hears us not. 
 
 Queen A. Well, well ! 
 
 But Rochford, ay, and all my noble friends, 
 Crowded together in a general doom ; 
 As if my enemies had sworn to leave 
 No vestige of me. Bitter, bitter hate ! 
 My father next 
 
 Mrs. G. Yes, please you, he is well. 
 
 Queen A. Who spoke ? 
 
 Mrs. G. Your servant. 
 
 Queen A. Service without love. 
 
 Lady B. You wrong her much. 
 
 Queen A. You too, false kinswoman ? 
 
 Lady B. Marry, and if your highness had not 
 
 held 
 
 Such high opinion of familiar friends, 
 You d ne er been here. ? T is a good worldly rule, 
 As treachery harms more than enmity, 
 To tell no tales but what we tell our foes. 
 
 Queen A. Deep in the world, but shallow in the 
 
 heart. 
 What brings you here ? 
 
 Lady B. The welfare of yourself, 
 
 And the deliverance of your noble brother, 
 With all his prisoned friends. 
 
216 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. When owls can sing, 
 
 I 11 listen, cousin. 
 
 Lady B. Scold, but credit me. 
 
 Queen A. What is the price ? If it involve my 
 
 life, 
 
 I 11 coin my heart s blood, to the utmost drop, 
 But I will pay it. 
 
 Lady B. T is that you agree 
 
 To offer no obstruction to the king 
 In his proposed divorce. 
 
 Queen A. Dare you insult - 
 
 Nay, nay, forgive my haste. Is it the king 
 Who wills his daughter s shame ? who barters life 
 On terms that blacken mercy s reverend hand, 
 And sink her calling to mere brokery ? 
 Is this divorce his wish ? 
 
 Mrs. C. It is, your highness ; 
 
 I had it from his lips. 
 
 Lady B. T will but oppose, 
 
 And not defeat his plan, if you refuse. 
 Denial carries death to all ; when you, 
 By bare concession, gain a pregnant hope. 
 
 Queen A. Hope, hope for me ! God, what 
 
 mockery ! 
 
 I wish for nothing. Show me, beyond doubt, 
 That t is the king s command, and I will yield. 
 
 Mrs. G. A wise conclusion. 
 
 Queen A. Spare your comments, madam 
 
 My duty tutors better than your tongue. 
 The very vileness of this proffered trade 
 Gives it the lie. 0, tis far past belief, 
 To deem a father so unnatural : 
 Sure t is but trial of my patient love 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 217 
 
 The king intends. Why, glimmering hopes seem 
 
 born 
 
 From the sheer blackness of surrounding things, 
 Like little stars at midnight. [Aside.] 
 
 Mrs. G. Bless my soul, 
 
 Her highness smiles ! 
 
 Queen A. Why not ? 
 
 Lady B. Be still, you fool ! 
 
 Her subtle mind is twisting in a net 
 Of its own flimsy thoughts. [Apart to MRS. COSYNS.] 
 
 Mrs. G. I am not your wench ! 
 
 What the king orders me, I will perform, 
 Though all the Lady Boleyns in the land 
 Cry " Fool, and fool ! 7; [Apart to LADY BOLEYN.] 
 
 If it would please your highness, 
 Now, while this candid mood possesses you, 
 To make confession to us of the crimes 
 For which you suffer ; and so spare the king 
 
 Lady B. The loose-tongued idiot ! [Aside.] 
 
 Queen A. Out ! you heartless wretch ! 
 
 Are you a woman ? Have you borne a child ? 
 And would you snatch it from your wolfish breast, 
 To stamp the bastard on its baby brow ? 
 
 Mrs. G. I have no child. 
 
 Queen A. Heaven keep you barren, then, 
 
 You shameless slanderer of your mother s sex ! 
 JDare you to traffic for my chastity 
 The natural patent of all womanhood 
 That more becomes my naked innocence 
 Than the great ring of jewelled royalty ? 
 ! had I lost it, I would barter crown, 
 And queenly dignity yea, life itself 
 To wear it but one hour of agony, 
 
218 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Then hand it spotless to posterity. 
 
 Fie ! you are rank, if you have never felt 
 
 Your sex s instinct ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Lady, let us go : 
 
 Her majesty so storms 
 
 Lady B. Yes, slink away, 
 
 You wretched marplot ! [Apart to MRS. COSYNS.] 
 
 Queen A. Get to your prayers go ! 
 
 Send to your heart each drop of modest blood, 
 That ever mustered in your virgin cheeks, 
 At wanton thoughts, to wash away this shame ! 
 
 Mrs. G. Come, come ; she 11 rail again. 
 
 [Exit with LADY BOLEYN.] 
 
 Queen A. This killing doubt ! 
 
 What can it mean ? where am I ? is it real ? 
 For I have read how some have seemingly 
 Passed ages in a dream ; have died and risen ; 
 Have wandered on through shadows limitless, 
 And passed the radiant gates of Paradise, 
 To dwell for days unnumbered with the Saints ; 
 Have woke at last, and found the blazing sun, 
 That shaped the fancies of their lengthened vision, 
 Just peeping from the east. Is life a dream ? 
 Is time a mere illusion of the mind ? 
 And shall we waken from our restless sleep, 
 To see the glory-beaming face of God 
 Smile in our eyes a summons to that life 
 Where all is real ? What to my endless soul 
 Is this flat pageantry of days and years ? 
 Events, not hours, are measurers of our lives, 
 And I in deeds have far outlived my term ; 
 While sorrows, heavier than three-score and ten 
 May often totter under, bow my head, 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 219 
 
 That only needs the hoary badge of time 
 
 To make old age complete. Why should I stand 
 
 And dally thus with my kind landlord, Death, 
 
 Upon the threshold of his narrow house, 
 
 While all without is dark and shelterless, 
 
 And all so bright within ? Why fear to leave 
 
 The fickle favors that mankind bestow, 
 
 For the sure bounties of Omnipotence ? 
 
 God, I know not ! but my startled heart 
 
 Rises in loud rebellion at the hint 
 
 Of that chill power whose torpid tyranny 
 
 Shall still its play forever. Love, fame, power 
 
 Ay, all, all, everything, the uttermost ! 
 
 Have vanished in the shadow of my wrongs ; 
 
 And yet I gripe life s load of misery, 
 
 As if there were a hope beyond my loss ! [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Gate of the Tower, surrounded by a crowd of Citizens, 
 endeavoring to enter, who are kept bade by a guard of men-at- 
 arms. Enter, from the Tower, FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Citizens. What news, what news ? 
 
 First Citizen. What news can you expect ? 
 
 Second Citizen. The queen s deliverance. 
 
 First C. Nonsense ! where the king 
 
 Is chief accuser ? 
 
 Third Citizen. Ay ; but justice, sir. 
 
 First C. Speak riot so loud ; the lords might 
 
 overhear, 
 
 And lose their loyalty. 
 * Third C. What mean you, friend ? 
 
220 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 First C. Her highness is prejudged, and, save 
 
 in form, 
 Doomed ere her cause be heard. 
 
 Second C. Made she defence ? 
 
 First G. yes, most eloquent and strongly knit : 
 Beauty and truth came hand in hand together, 
 To breathe their essence in each modest word. 
 But what avails an angel s purity 
 Where devils judge ? T is a bare legal form, 
 This solemn meeting of her enemies, 
 Disguising hate in ermined justice gown. 
 
 Second C. This is blunt talk. 
 
 First G. But true. 
 
 Third G. But dangerous, 
 
 To speak and hear. 
 
 First C. What are state trials now, 
 
 More than the whetting of the headsman s axe ? 
 We English people have forgot the rights 
 Which God and nature give to every man : 
 Our common justice is a common drab 
 A pliant doxy, openly deboshed 
 Thjtt winks beneath her twisted blind at lords, 
 DofTs it for kings 
 
 Citizens. Forbear, forbear I 
 
 First C. Pshaw, sirs ! 
 
 I am a careless, melancholy man, 
 Who would not change a notion for my life. 
 I sought this trial of her majesty 
 To escape myself for a brief interval ; 
 But, as I live, it crowded in such thoughts 
 Upon my proper griefs, that I would rather 
 Be damned to wear the memory of a fiend, 
 Than witness such another. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 221 
 
 Third G. Friends, away ! 
 
 This man is vile, upon his own confession. 
 Lord, sirs, what words were these ! 
 
 First G. Slink, cowards, slink ! 
 
 Get to your slavish homes ! Brush up your caps ! 
 Practise your loyal lungs ! Make ready all 
 To startle Heaven, when good Queen Anne dies, 
 With " God preserve Queen Jane ! " 
 
 Third C. This man is mad. 
 
 Second C. Nay, sirs, but simple. 
 
 First G. ! that all of you, 
 
 Two-legged crawlers to ignoble graves, 
 Were half so mad as I ! [Exit.] 
 
 Third G. Poor soul, poor soul ! 
 
 Where is his keeper ? He may come to harm. 
 
 Second G. Let us take the fool s advice, and hurry 
 
 home ; 
 For there s no chance of entrance to the Tower. 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The Great Hall of the Tower, arranged for the Queen s trial. 
 On one side are seated Dukes of NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, and RICH 
 MOND, Marquis of EXETER, Earl of ARUNDEL, and other Peers, 
 as Lords Triers, withOfficers, fyc. ; on the other, QUEEN ANNE, 
 in the custody of Sir WILLIAM KINGSTON, Ladies, Attendants, 
 Guards, fyc. 
 
 Norfolk. Are we agreed? [To the Lords.] 
 Suffolk. Here is our verdict, sir. 
 
 [Hands a paper."] 
 
 (RICHMOND and SUFFOLK talk apart. ) 
 
222 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Richmond. I hope, your grace, I have damned my 
 
 soul enough 
 To please the most fastidious father. 
 
 Suf. Stuff! 
 
 Rich. Yes, "stuff!" substantial, downright 
 
 villany, 
 
 That I shall bear upon my aching heart 
 Till death unload it. 
 
 Suf. Come, be cheerful, sir. 
 
 It ill becomes heroic minds to shrink 
 From the first blood of triumph. You are young 
 And dainty-minded ; time will strengthen you. 
 
 Rich. Courage but adds deformity to crime. 
 A wicked heart, though placid as a lake, 
 Girt and controlled by rigid barriers, 
 Can but reflect each blessing of sweet heaven, 
 And every bordering virtue of our earth, 
 All topsy-turvy. I am hardened, sir ; 
 If not by years, at least by sinfulness, 
 That wrinkled register of ill-spent days, 
 Who scars his moments on the erring heart, 
 While yet the brow is smooth ! 
 
 S u f The saints look down ! 
 
 This pretty sermon must have washed you clean. 
 Hist I hear the sentence. 
 
 Nor. Lady Anne Boleyn, 
 
 Marchioness of Pembroke, sometime England s 
 
 queen 
 
 Though most unworthily, as the strict course 
 Of equal justice has so clearly proved- 
 Arise. (The QUEEN rises.) Lay off your crown and 
 vestured marks 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 223 
 
 Of royal dignity, to hear from me 
 
 The solemn finding of this high tribunal. 
 
 ( QUEEN A.xxEputs off her crown and robe of state.) 
 
 Queen Anne. Your grace s first commands, though 
 
 harshly meant, 
 Are merciful indeed. 
 
 Nor. Be silent, madam 1 
 
 Upon each several charge, whereon you stand 
 Indicted by the law, we do pronounce 
 Your guilt most clear ; and therefore do condemn you, 
 At such time as his majesty may name, 
 To suffer death by burning at the stake, 
 Or by beheading, as may please the king. 
 God give you patience to endure your doom ! 
 
 Queen A. I doubt it not. Father, Creator, 
 Who art the way, the life, the truth, Thou know st 
 If I deserve this death ! 
 
 Rich. I base, base, base ! 
 
 This pardons Herod in the eye of Heaven. [Aside.] 
 
 Nor. Marchioness of Pembroke, have you aught 
 
 to say 
 Touching the judgment of this court ? 
 
 Queen A. My lords, 
 
 I will not say your sentence is unjust 
 Presuming that my reasons can prevail 
 Against your firm convictions ; I would rather 
 Believe that you have reasons for your acts, 
 Of ample power to vindicate your fames ; 
 But, then, they must be other than the court 
 Has heard produced : for by the evidence 
 I have been cleared, to all unbiassed minds, 
 Of each offence gainst which that proof was brought. 
 
224 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 I have been ever to his majesty 
 
 A faithful wife : ! could I say as truly 
 
 That I have shown him the humility 
 
 His goodness, and the honor he conferred, 
 
 Deserved from me ! I have, I do confess, 
 
 Had jealous fancies and suspicious thoughts 
 
 In which, perchance, I wronged him that had I 
 
 Been more discreet and anxious to conceal, 
 
 I had been more the queen, but less the wife. 
 
 God is my witness, that in no way else 
 
 Have I e er sinned against him. 
 
 Think not, my lords, I say this to prolong 
 
 My heavy life ; for God has fortified 
 
 My trust in Him, and taught me how to die. 
 
 Think me not so bewildered in my mind, 
 
 As not to lay my chastity to heart, 
 
 Now in my last extremity ; for I 
 
 Have held its honor far above my crown, 
 
 And have maintained no queenly dignity 
 
 More pure from vulgar stain. I know my words 
 
 Can naught avail me, save to justify 
 
 My chastity, so perilled by your doom. 
 
 As for my brother, and those constant friends 
 
 With me unjustly sentenced, I would die 
 
 A thousand deaths to save their guiltless lives : 
 
 But since it has so pleased his majesty, 
 
 I will accompany them, most willingly, 
 
 Through death to heaven, through pain to endless 
 
 peace. 
 I have said all. 
 
 Nor. Remove the prisoner. 
 
 (QUEEN ANNE bows to the Court, and is led off by Sir WILLIAM 
 KINGSTON. Then exeunt all but the Lords Triers.) 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 225 
 
 Rich. We are damned forever ! 
 
 Nor. Poh, poh ! saved, I think. 
 
 While she held power heads flew like tennis-balls. 
 
 Arundel. Why did she touch so lightly on the king? 
 
 Exeter. Twas for a cause no deeper than the 
 
 heart, 
 She loves him yet. 
 
 Am,n. The sentimental fool ! 
 
 Mich. Have you no grosser phrases? "Fool/ 
 
 forsooth ! 
 
 There 7 s the last blow to greatness ! Arundel 
 Claims her as kindred ! 
 
 Nor. Gentlemen, away I 
 
 Our sun of power is burning in mid air ; 
 We waste the daylight. Come, let us seek the king. 
 Hug every Seymour that you chance to meet ! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The State Apartments in the Tower. QUEEN ANNE alone. 
 
 Queen Anne There s not a pang remains ; there 7 s 
 
 not a wound, 
 
 That hate can give, at which my nerveless heart 
 Would shrink appalled The storm of life has blown, 
 And rent my prospect into countless shreds, 
 Chaotic, undistinguished, featureless 
 Without a point, before me or behind, 
 On which a once familiar eye may rest 
 And all is calm again. Calm, very calm, 
 An utter desolation fixed and grim, 
 And barren as the sand. No queen, no wife 
 
 VOL. i. 15 
 
4 2 2<) ANNE BOI.EYN. 
 
 Ebbed to the lowest. Elizabeth, 
 
 My helpless child, whose rights were all in me, 
 
 How could a mother blast her memory, 
 
 Even in thy eyes, by yielding to her foes 
 
 Thy royal heritage ? Thou It hate me, love ; 
 
 Thou It say thy mother wronged thee, eking out 
 
 Her worthless days with treasures stolen from thee ; 
 
 Unweeting how thy uncle arid my friends 
 
 Owed life to thee. Why must 1 wander down 
 
 All coming time to pick new sorrows out ? 
 
 (A bell tolls. QUEEN ANNE rushes to the door.) 
 
 Whose knell is that ? 
 
 Sentinel. (Without.) Lord Rochford s. 
 
 Queen A. Duped, duped, duped I 
 
 God ! my brother ! Is there such a one 
 As an avenging God to look on this, 
 And not launch fire like rain ? ! shameless men ! 
 Men with God s raiment on their placid limbs 
 Who almost swore his life should be preserved, 
 If I opposed not this divorce. nature ! 
 Thou who dost send the harmless race of flowers, 
 And dews, and sunshine, and all gracious things 
 What creatures hast thou sent to people earth, 
 And blot thy fair creation ? Cut them down ! 
 Or make this globe a dusty wilderness, 
 Fit for their habitation ! Man, man I 
 Thou art the only thing in nature s scheme 
 That seems disjointed from the harmony, 
 The latest thought and worst ! 
 
 (Enter MARY WYATT.) 
 Mary Wyatt Your majesty 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 227 
 
 Queen A. I prithee mock me not. I am no queen, 
 Nor wife, nor maid I know not what I am ! 
 
 Mary W. What has disturbed you ? 
 
 Queen A. Did you hear that bell ? 
 
 Mary W. Pray, pray forgive me ! [Kneels, weeping.} 
 
 Queen A. Nay, I ; 11 kneel to you, 
 
 If I have vexed you. [A distant shot is heard.} 
 
 Rochford ! [Another shot.] 
 
 Norris ! [Another shot.-] 
 
 Weston ! [Another shot.] 
 
 And Brereton ! Why stop your cannon ? Shoot ! 
 Shoot on, till half the world shall suffer death ; 
 For you have slain the noblest part ! No, no ; 
 The next shall be my own ! 
 
 Mary W. Alas ! alas ! [ Weeping.] 
 
 Queen A. Why weep you, girl ? My brother was 
 
 in heaven, 
 
 Ere you could hear the noisy cannon-shot 
 Tell his departure. 
 
 Mary W. Would your highness fly, 
 
 If I could ope these hideous prison-doors ? 
 . Queen A. Not for the world. 
 
 Mary W. My brother has a plan 
 
 To raise the common people in revolt 
 
 Queen A. Hold, if you d live ! I yet am so much 
 
 queen 
 
 As to protect my realm from traitor s arts. 
 How dare you plot these treasonable designs 
 Against the safety of his majesty? 
 Name it again, and, as I live, the king 
 Shall know your thoughts ! 
 
 Mary W. T was but our love for you 
 
228 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Queen A. How ! love for me, and plotting gainst 
 
 the king ! 
 Mary W. Strange, very strange I [Aside.] 
 
 (Enter Sir WILLIAM KINGSTON and Guard.) 
 
 Queen A. My time has come, Sir William ? 
 
 Kingston. It has, my lady. 
 
 Queen A. You delayed my death : 
 
 I should have died some hours ago. ; T is cruel 
 To dally with my life. 
 
 Kings. T was not my fault. 
 
 The Council feared a rising of the commons, 
 And therefore changed the hour. 
 
 Queen A. Ha ! ha ! how weak ! [Laughing.] 
 
 Who cares about my death ? Is Smeaton dead ? 
 
 Kings. He is. 
 
 Queen A. And made he no amends to me ? 
 
 Did he not own his monstrous perjuries ? 
 
 Kings. Not that I heard. 
 
 Queen A. The impious, heartless wretch ! 
 
 To dare o erleap the doubtful gulf of death, 
 With such a fearful load ! 
 
 Mary W. His death was just, 
 
 Even had he done no wrong, the inborn felon ! 
 
 Queen A. Nay, Mary, chide no more. Alas ! poor 
 
 Mark, 
 
 I fear thy soul is suffering for thy tongue. 
 Can I not see my daughter ? 
 
 Kings. T is forbidden. 
 
 Queen A. Well, I suppose the human frame can 
 
 bear 
 More than I suffer very little more ! 
 
 Kings. My lady. [Bell tolls.] 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 229 
 
 Queen A. That speaks plainer, sir. I am ready 
 I hope twill be but death, not butchery. 
 
 Kings. The pain is short. 
 
 Queen A. They call the headsman skilled ; 
 
 And I ha! ha! see, good Sir William, see 
 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 I have a little neck ! [Clasps her neck.] 
 
 Kings. Why, is she mad ? 
 
 I in my time I have seen full many die, 
 But ne er before saw one who laughed outright 
 At the mere thought of death. 
 
 (Bell tolls.) 
 
 Queen A. Come, Mary, come : 
 
 We keep death waiting. 
 
 Mary W. Heaven preserve her mind ! 
 
 Queen A. Set on, Sir .William ! You shall see, ere 
 
 long, 
 
 How, like a bride, I 11 meet this ugly death, 
 And make a triumph of my funeral ! 
 Pray tell his majesty, in my behalf, 
 How much I thank him for his many favors. 
 He from a lady made me marchioness ; 
 And from a marchioness he raised me up 
 To the full top of earthly power, a queen : 
 And last, his graces overrunning life, 
 He crowns my innocence with martyrdom. 
 My name is set above the reach of time, 
 A mark for men to carp and wonder at ; 
 And some hereafter will believe me false, 
 Some think me true ; bear witness, sir, 
 That with my latest breath I still declare 
 My perfect purity. (Bell tolls.) Set on, set on ] 
 
 [Exeunt."] 
 
230 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The Tower Green At the back of the stage is a scaffold, hung 
 with black t on which are the block, Headsman, Attendants, 
 Guard, etc. The citizens gradually assemble in front of the 
 scaffold. A bell tolls at long intervals. 
 
 First Citizen. I 11 watch all day, but what I 11 see 
 
 her die. 
 
 Let them change hours, I care not. Come along. 
 Second Citizen. Here s a good stand. 
 Ttiird Citizen. Yes ; if t is good to stand, 
 
 And see our poor queen mangled. 
 
 First C. "Poor queen," sooth ! 
 
 Second C. You are a scholar, neighbor Marma- 
 
 duke ; 
 
 I pray you, was there e er a queen before 
 Who graced a scafl old ? 
 
 Third C. Ne er before in England 
 
 Did monarch dare so try his people s patience. 
 First C. We are in luck. 
 
 Third C. Fie ! fie ! you bloody knave ! 
 
 - First C. Marry, arid if a king cannot behead 
 His own liege wife, whom can he ? 
 
 Third C. Monstrous dolt ! 
 
 First C. What were the good of treason, then, 
 
 if we 
 
 Could have no executions ? Mistress Maud, 
 Hey, hey ! you brought the children ? 
 
 [To a woman.] 
 
 Woman. Yes, indeed ; 
 
 They cannot see a queen die every day. 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 231 
 
 Third C. You tiger-hearted woman, do you 
 
 love 
 The sight of blood ? 
 
 Woman. Nay ; the example, sir. 
 
 Third G. Lord, Lord ! who ever caught a woman 
 
 yet 
 
 Without pretexts in thousands ! 
 
 First G. T is a shame 
 
 To keep us honest people waiting so. 
 
 Citizens. ( Without) The queen ! the queen ! 
 
 First G. Move nearer. 
 
 Citizens. Make way there ! 
 
 Solemn music. Enter Duke of NORFOLK, Duke of SUFFOLK, ana 
 other Noblemen; QUEEN ANNE in custody of Sir WILLIAM 
 KINGSTON ; MARY WYATT, and other Maids of Honor ; Guards, 
 Attendants, etc. They mount the scaffold. Then enter, below 
 THOMAS WYATT. 
 
 Wyatt. One look, no more. ! wondrous, won 
 
 drous fair ! 
 
 Death has made treaty with thy loveliness, 
 To hide the horrors that invest his state. 
 These spiteful clouds of earth-born misery 
 But add a glory to thy going down. 
 Slander, disgrace, fraud, legal infamy, 
 Imprisonment, this hideous form of death, 
 Each gains a splendor from its touch of thee 
 That robs regret of tears. How bright, how calm ! 
 There is a voiceless sermon in that face, 
 To cheer the lonely heart of martyrdom, 
 And make it court its fate. 0, Anne , Anne ! 
 The world may banish all regard for thee, 
 Mewing thy fame in frigid chronicles, 
 
232 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 But every memory that haunts my mind 
 
 Shall cluster round thee still. I 11 hide thy name 
 
 Under the coverture of even lines, 
 
 I 11 hint it darkly in familiar songs, 
 
 I 11 mix each melancholy thought of thee 
 
 Through all my numbers : so that heedless men 
 
 Shall hold my love for thee within their hearts, 
 
 Not knowing of the treasure. T would be sin 
 
 To keep so fair a flower from paradise, 
 
 That, in the very flush of earthly bloom, 
 
 Felt mildew blown on every ruffian wind, 
 
 And canker at the heart. Go, go, farewell ! 
 
 The sun that seems departing, to our eyes, 
 
 Is but arising on another land ; 
 
 Thy death to us is the short, painful birth 
 
 That ushers in thy taintless soul to heaven. 
 
 Go, go ! I would not raise a hand to keep thee here. 
 
 Third C. Be silent ! Hear her majesty. 
 
 Citizens. Hush, hush ! 
 
 Queen Anne. Good Christian people, I am come 
 
 to die, 
 
 According to the judgment of the law ; 
 And therefore it would ill become me now, 
 After my doom is past, to censure it. 
 I am come hither to accuse no man, 
 Nor to say aught upon the many things 
 Whereof I am accused : for well I know 
 That my defence doth not pertain to you, 
 Nor from your favor could I hope for grace. 
 I am come here- to die, to yield myself 
 To the king s will, with all humility. 
 I pray God save him, and extend his reign ; 
 
ANNE BOLEYN. 233 
 
 For he has been a gracious prince to you : 
 To me I doubt not but his goodness went 
 Beyond my slender merit. I but ask, 
 Should you hereafter judge my luckless cause, 
 The best of each man s judgment. Now, farewell, 
 To you and to the world ! Forget me not, 
 In the still places of your earnest prayers 
 Attend me, maidens. 
 
 Mary Wyatt. 0! not yet, not, yet ! [Weeping. } 
 Queen A. Well, I have played the waiting-maid 
 
 before, 
 
 In happier hours. Alas ! poor head, thou It roll 
 In a brief time amid this scaffold s dust ; 
 As thou in life didst not deserve a crown, 
 So by thy doom is justice satisfied, 
 And her great beam repoised. 
 
 [Removing her collar and coifs. ] 
 And ye, my damsels,, 
 
 Who whilst I lived did ever show yourselves 
 So diligent in service, and are now 
 To be here present in my latest hour 
 Of mortal agony, as in good times 
 Ye were most trustworthy, even so in this, 
 My miserable death, ye leave me not. 
 An a poor recompense for your rich love, 
 I pray you to take comfort for my loss 
 And yet forget me not. To the king s grace, 
 And to the happier one whom you may serve 
 In place of me, be faithful as to me. 
 Learn from this scene, the triumph of my fate, 
 To hold your honors far above your lives. 
 When you are praying to the martyred Christ, 
 Remember me, who, as my weakness could, 
 
234 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Faltered afar behind His shining steps, 
 And died for truth, forgiving all mankind. 
 The Lord have pity on my helpless soul ! 
 
 [ Kneels at the block.} 
 
 (Jls the curtain falls, a peal of ordnance announces the death of 
 QUEEN ANNE.) 
 
LEONOK DE GUZMAN: 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 DON PEDRO, King of Castile and Leon. 
 
 DON ENRIQUE:, CONDE DE TRASTAMARA, Eldest son to Dona Leonor. 
 
 DON FADRIQUE, MASTER OF SANTIAGO, Twin brother to Don En 
 rique. 
 
 DON TELLO, Another son to Dona Leonor. 
 
 DON JUAN ALONSO DE ALBURQUERQUE, Prime Minister to Don 
 
 Pedro. 
 
 DON JUAN NUNEZ DE LARA, . . . . Lord of Biscay : a presump 
 tive heir to the crown. 
 
 DON FERNANDO MANUEL DE VILLENA, His nephew, brother to Dona 
 
 Juana. 
 
 ALONSO CORONEL, Governor of Medina Sido- 
 
 nia. 
 
 CANEDO, His liegeman and friend. 
 
 PRIEST, Chaplain to Dona Leonor. 
 
 AMBASSADOR, From the rebel Don Juan 
 
 Manuel. 
 
 PAGE, Attending on Don Pedro. 
 
 DONA MARIA DE PORTUGAL, .... Mother to Don Pedro. 
 
 DONA LEONOR DE GUZMAN, Mistress to King Alfonso. 
 
 DONA JUANA MANUEL DE VILLENA, . Sister to Don Fernando. 
 
 Courtiers, Ladies, Knights, Soldiers, Citizens, Attendants, SfC. 
 
 SCENE, Several parts of Castile. 
 
 TIME, A. D. 1350 and 1351. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Medina Sidonia. Before the Gates of the Castle. 
 Sentinels on duty. The morning drum is heard, and the cere 
 mony of relieving guard passes ; then enter, from the Castle, 
 CORONEL and CANEDO. The Sentinels salute them. 
 
 Coronel. THE saints relieve me from my governor 
 
 ship ! 
 
 My honors hang about me like wide clothes 
 Upon a shrunken body ; I scarce move 
 Without some awkward stumble, plainly showing 
 My great unfitness for my great command. 
 I 11 never make a courtier. Look, Cafiedo, 
 How do these silken slops become a frame 
 Worn gaunt in armor ? Does this feathered cap 
 Droop o er the ugly line my helmet fretted 
 Round my bald forehead ? Can this chain and key 
 Cover my gashes ? Or this slender staff 
 Bear the huge weight of my uncourtly limp 
 Through bows and cringes ? Bah ! I spat at fortune 
 When I forsook the wars. 
 
 Canedo. Despite thy "bah," 
 
*238 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 One sees the wolf s teeth grinning plain enough 
 Through the sheep s fleece. 
 
 Cor. Ay, there s the curse of it ! 
 
 But yesterday I had a boon to ask, 
 I vow I asked it in my smoothest phrase, 
 When, to my horror, Dona Leonor 
 Laughed in my face, and said, in her mild way, 
 " Out with your dagger, Coronel I The act 
 Would fit the voice." 
 
 Can. And thou ? 
 
 Cor. And 1 1 I ran 
 
 Broke through her maidens, like a hurricane 
 Through the rose-gardens of Granada ran 
 To find a mandolin, and pitch my voice 
 Down to its finest note. Pray, hear me now, 
 In the sharp treble of my lady s page : 
 "Par Dieu," they say that s French, "I ve 
 
 found a band, 
 
 A pretty band of silk par Dieu! I have ; 
 And I have vowed to Mary and Saint James 
 To bind it on its ravishing abode, 
 Or die in treasuring it par Dieu! I have ! " 
 Which means, in simple speaking, I have found 
 A wench s garter, and would tie it on. 
 Fie ! fie ! it turns my stomach inside out, 
 To hear their lady-talk. 
 
 Can. Such blows on hand, 
 
 While we are rusting here without a rub ! 
 Moors flying pell-mell Don Alfonso s spears 
 Combing their horse-tails out upon the wind 
 Gibraltar s garrison with all its eyes 
 Fixed upon Africa, as on a goal 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 239 
 
 The plague afoot too Heaven at work with man 
 Why death must caper like a harlequin ! 
 
 Cor. Ay, how I long to have my iron out ! 
 Canedo, just hold still, and be my Moor, 
 Until I break this stick across thy sconce. 
 
 [Breaks his wand over CANEDO S head. ] 
 
 Can. Thou dost not strike with the old force. 
 
 Cor. I fear it. 
 
 Did I not hurt thee ? 
 
 Can. Not a whit. 
 
 Cor. That s sad I 
 
 Had I my great Toledo, thou shouldst dance. 
 
 Can. But had I mine ? - 
 
 Cor. What then ? 
 
 Can. I d dance thee to 
 
 Much the same music. 
 
 Cor. If thy sword agreed, 
 
 In length or temper, with that tongue of thine, 
 The Cid would shoulder over in his tomb, 
 To give thee room beside him. 
 
 Can. Hold thy prate, 
 
 Or I may choke thee with thy governor s chain ! 
 
 Cor. Not till I d thumped thy mazzard with its 
 key. 
 
 Can. Saint Jago ! but I 11 teach thee 
 
 Cor. All thou know st, 
 
 And after dub me fool. 
 
 Can. Here s sharper wit. [Drawing.] 
 
 Cor. It draws as sharp reply. [Drawing.] 
 
 Can. Now keep thy ward. 
 
 First Sentinel. Good gentlemen ! [Advancing.] 
 
 Second Sentinel. Keep back ! the blood they shed 
 I 11 catch in a tailor s thimble. 
 
240 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Can. Art thou ready ? 
 
 Cor. For what? 
 
 Can. To have thy throat cut. 
 
 Cor. As thou art. 
 
 First S. Are they not brave ? 
 Second S. Ay, as twin lions, boy : 
 
 They live to wrangle ; they 11 ne er die for it. 
 
 (CoRONEL and CANEDO fight.) 
 
 Cor. Canedo, hist ! look there. [Drops his sword.] 
 
 Can. Where ? 
 
 Cor. O er the hill. 
 
 Can. I am no hawk. What seest thou ? 
 
 Cor. An armed band 
 
 Topping the hill a mass of moving steel 
 The fore-guard of an army, if I know 
 A bodkin from a sword. Ho ! ho ! Canedo, 
 Throw up thy cap ! Gibraltar has been won, 
 And here comes King Alfonso with the spoils ! 
 Turn out the guard, and saddle my dun horse ; 
 I 11 meet our sovereign on the way. Ho, there I 
 Shake out the yellow silk of old Castile ! 
 Run to the outer wall, and make it blaze 
 With our bright hauberks and our lifted spears, 
 Until the very stones appear on fire, 
 While our bold trumpets ring in heaven s glad ear, 
 Its soldier has returned with victory ! 
 
 [Drums. Exit Guard.] 
 
 Can. Hast thou the plague ? 
 
 Cor. Ever, when thou art near. 
 
 Thou ugly budget of mortality, 
 Throw up thy cap ! or, by the saints, I 11 make 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 241 
 
 Thy cap and thee a fixture in the air, 
 By hanging thee for treason ! 
 
 Can. Well, hurra ! 
 
 [Throwing up his cap."] 
 
 Behold thy sign in heaven, an empty cap, 
 As thine is always. 
 
 Cor. Hum ! thy hair-patch fills it 
 
 With anything but wit. Go take the news 
 Of yonder march for I m in desperate haste 
 To Dona Leonor. 
 
 Can. I see thy drift : 
 
 Thou wouldst evade thy duties, governor. 
 0, fie ! do courtesy by deputy ? 
 
 Cor. Now, my dear friend 
 
 Can. I 11 face the devil first ! 
 
 I hate a woman. 
 
 Cor. They are quits with thee. 
 
 She may discover it as best she can. 
 I 11 not be jeered at. There shall be no more 
 " Out with your dagger, Coronel," to please 
 All the best dames of love within the land. 
 And yet I fear 
 
 Can. By Jupiter, thou rt right ! 
 
 A peasant s honest drudge takes rank with me 
 Before the wanton of an emperor. 
 
 Cor. Go in to thy command, and man the walls : 
 I 11 mount, and gallop forth to meet the king. 
 
 [Exeunt severally.] 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. The Great Hall of the Castle. LEONOR DE GUZMAN 
 discovered seated in state, surrounded by DON JUAN DE LARA, 
 DON FERNANDO DE VILLENA, DON TELLO, Courtiers, Knights, 
 Ladies, Men-at-Jlrms, fyc. DON JUAN DE LARA is in the act 
 of investing DON TELLO with a crimson Scarf, the order of 
 * La Banda." 
 
 Lara. Arise, Don Tello, of the crimson band, 
 A noble knight, and brother in our arms ! 
 I thus salute thee. [Embraces him.} 
 
 Leonor. And, I pledge my faith, 
 
 He shall prove worthy of the dignity. 
 I pray you, gentlemen, make way for me : 
 
 [ A dvanc ing.} 
 
 A mother s kiss should not be last to greet 
 The honors of a son. (Kisses DON TELLO.) Don Tello, 
 
 know 
 
 This order was bestowed to spur thee on 
 To actions that may make thy worth appear 
 Equal with our bestowing. This fair badge 
 Is not an ornament for festal days, 
 A ribbon to enrich thy vanity, 
 But the illustrious mark by which Castile 
 Knows her great children, and can turn to them 
 With confident assurance of such deeds 
 As raised her glory to its present height. 
 Thy breast is girt as with a ring of fire : 
 An evil act within its circle looks 
 Prodigious to beholders, and draws all 
 To fix their concentrated eyes upon 
 The splendid criminal. Small flames on heights 
 Show further than great fires in humbler spots ; 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 243 
 
 And they who see them from the vale below 
 Oft take a candle for a meteor. 
 Remember this ; and fear thy slightest fault 
 May spread corruption through an empery. 
 
 Lara. (Apart to VILLENA. ) Right royal that, and to 
 
 the purpose, too : 
 Some one has told her of Don Tello s slips. 
 
 Villena. (Apart to LARA.) Ay, if a lance-head ever 
 
 fray that band, 
 Charge me with scandal. 
 
 Lara. Hark ! there s more to come. 
 
 Leo. Don Tello, thy renown lies next my heart, 
 Close to thy father s. I have much to say ; 
 But no, not here. A mother s privilege 
 Borders too near the sanctity of prayer 
 For public ears. Call the ambassador. 
 
 [Resumes her state. ] 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Ambassador from the Rebel, DON JUAN 
 MANUEL, with Gentlemen, Soldiers, Attendants, SfC., bearing 
 sumptuous presents. 
 
 Ambassador. (Kissing DONA LEONOR S hand.) Lady, my 
 
 lord salutes you with these gifts, 
 Rather as evidence of his good will, 
 Than as fit offering to your deserts. 
 The gods, who scorned the shepherd s sacrifice 
 Of curds, and wine, and bleeding throats of lambs, 
 Looked not unkindly on the worshipper, 
 Despite the simple service of his hands. 
 
 Leo. Pray you, end there. To offer mortal ears 
 That which becomes divinity alone, 
 Insults its majesty and our plain sense. 
 The power I hold is delegated trust 
 
244 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 From the true centre of all power, the king. 
 
 If you have business that concerns the state, 
 
 I 11 hear with patience ; if you d deal with Heaven, 
 
 Carry your incense to the nearest church. 
 
 Lara. (Apart to VILLENA.) Mark the ambassador! 
 
 That lofty stride 
 Tripped up his earthly progress. 
 
 Vil. How he burns ! 
 
 His throat is full of thistles. 
 
 Leo. Is there aught, 
 
 Between Don Manuel and his majesty, 
 That our discourse may further ? 
 
 Am. Much, your grace, 
 
 But not intended for publicity. 
 
 Leo. Speak out. The government deserves dis 
 trust 
 That stops the people s ears while it debates. 
 
 Am. Your wishes are commands. Don Manuel, 
 Some time in arms against his sovereign, 
 Proffers his fealty to you, and swears 
 To be your liegeman on a single term. 
 
 Leo. Name it. The king would stretch his clem 
 ency, 
 To make a friend of his illustrious foe. 
 
 Am. T is a condition pleasant to the king 
 Or rumor lies for once in good report 
 And honorable to her for whom t is urged : 
 Simply, that Don Alfonso should divorce 
 That hag of Portugal - 
 
 Leo. Sir, let me say, 
 
 That is no title in Castilian ears 
 To know their queen by. How now, gentlemen, 
 Is there no gauntlet down upon the word ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 245 
 
 You downcast men, do you not blush to see 
 The spurs of chivalry upon your heels ? 
 
 (LARA, VILLENA, and other Knights, throw their gauntlets before 
 the Ambassador. ) 
 
 There, on my faith, you see t is raining steel ! 
 
 Thou backward, Tello ! [He throws down his gauntlet.] 
 
 And, to crown them all, 
 Behold a prince s glove upon the heap ! 
 Bear our defiance to Don Manuel ; 
 And say, a word of treason is a spell, 
 To conjure up such loyal storms as this, 
 In our Castilian air. Your pardon, sir : 
 We check your lord, not his ambassador. 
 What follows this ? 
 
 Am. Your coronation, lady. 
 
 After divorcement of the queen, my lord 
 Would see the imperfect throne made whole by you. 
 
 Leo. What say you, sirs ? My lord of Lara, 
 speak. 
 
 Lara. I only may repeat the general voice, 
 Strengthened by sanction from the king himself. 
 Accept the offer, not as his alone, 
 But as the constant wish of all Castile. 
 
 Leo. Speak, Don Fernando. 
 
 Vil. Lara s choice is mine. 
 
 Leo. My son, Don Tello ? 
 
 Tello. If they make me royal, 
 
 I 11 fill my office with what grace I can. 
 Certes, if one held out a crown to me, 
 I should not put my hands behindhmy back. 
 
 Leo. Thou art the frankest speaker of them all. 
 Ah, gentlemen, it is your private hopes 
 
246 LEQNOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Of what may follow to yourselves, through me, 
 That hurries this advancement. 
 
 Lara. You mistake, 
 
 At least in me, the object of our hopes. 
 Through you Castile would flourish 
 
 Leo. Has it not ? 
 
 If naught s accomplished, nothing can I do. 
 I found this land an arme"d wilderness, 
 A chain of citadels, and all between 
 Was desolation trampled into dust 
 By a fierce soldiery, who only brooked 
 The fiercer orders of their savage chiefs. 
 So, in the midst, I built a house of peace, 
 An unwalled palace, full of open doors ; 
 And round about I spread a garden-plot, 
 Hedged it with flowers, and from its sculptured urns 
 I sent the streams back to their native heaven, 
 Returned in music. No defence was mine, 
 Save the imploring weakness of the flowers, 
 The scented dews my fountains scattered out, 
 And the light blushes of my garrison. 
 Yet at my gate War laid aside his spear, 
 And vines ran round it, from the hand-worn grasp 
 Up to the steely point, whence blossoms hung 
 Trembling with horror. Ay, the rugged god 
 Doffed his grim casque, and sat beside my feet, 
 Until I schooled him with the mandolin ; 
 Or taught his awkward limbs to move apace 
 In other measures than the martial tread. 
 Are these things naught ? These are my conquests, 
 
 sirs ; 
 
 And she who steps beyond her threshold s dust, 
 To play Achilles in her woman s gear, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 247 
 
 Shall find the sword-hilt frets her dainty hand, 
 And the great helmet makes her forehead ache. 
 
 Lara. Yet there are other duties of a queen, 
 Calm government, the sway of useful days, 
 Bent on a nation s welfare. 
 
 Leo. Ah ! the hand 
 
 That takes a sceptre up, knows not how soon 
 The royal symbol must become a sword. 
 
 Am. But, lady 
 
 Leo. Ay, sir, so much for myself; 
 
 Now for the weightier matters of the realm. 
 What are your master s ends in this affair ? 
 
 Am. I am his spokesman, not his confidant. 
 
 Leo. Mark, how much nearer to his heart am I, 
 Don Manuel fears Castile s advancing power 
 May crush the Moor, and win a general peace : 
 In which conjuncture, rebels like himself 
 Could ill abide our undistracted arms. 
 His safety hangs upon our foreign wars. 
 Divorce the queen, and on our western skirts, 
 Instant, insulted Portugal uprears 
 His warlike standard, in the queen s behalf; 
 While, from the south, the hordes of Africa 
 Again win footing on our weakened lines. 
 Then our new liegeman puts his oath aside, 
 With the same readiness he put it on, 
 And rises in our midst a dangerous foe, 
 Made more audacious by his treachery. 
 Say to your master that my lord, the king, 
 Treats with his rebels at the lance s point, 
 Nor ever recognized, nor ever will, 
 Don Manuel s right to treat by embassy. 
 Take back the trinkets you designed for me 
 
248 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Don Manuel s needs will shortly ask for them ; 
 And tell him, Leonor de Guzman loves 
 No title in the spacious gift of man, 
 Above the welfare of her native land. 
 
 Am. Must this be final ? 
 
 Leo. Yes, sir ; t is the fruit 
 
 Of many a painful hour of solemn thought, 
 Of many a struggle with a treacherous heart, 
 Whose passions threatened to be paramount. 
 
 Am. Lady, with your reply my functions cease. 
 Now, as a gentleman of Spain, I say 
 That your refusal of this proffered crown 
 Rivals in splendor the ambitious gift, 
 And dims its jewels with your eloquent breath. 
 She who next wears the honors you put by 
 Must sit beneath you in real dignity. 
 Humbly I take my leave. 
 
 [ffisses her hand, and exit with his suite.] 
 
 (Solemn music, tolling of bells, and cries of grief, are heard.) 
 
 Leo. What sounds are these 
 
 That so appal me, like the uplifted voice 
 Of direful prophecy ? 
 
 (Enter DON ENRIQUE and DON FADRIQUE, followed by CORONEL 
 and CANEDO.) 
 
 Enrique. Mother ! 
 
 Leo. My son ! 
 
 And thou, twin brother to my eldest born ! 
 The hour that made your difference in birth, 
 Makes none within my heart. 
 
 En. Mother ! 
 
 Fadrique. Alas ! 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 249 
 
 En. God ! be doubly dear to us a while, 
 Or fate will crush us ! 
 
 Leo. Sons Enrique speak ! 
 
 What is this mystery ? 
 
 En. Mystery ! Would t were so, 
 
 And not so plain before my shrinking soul I 
 Tell her, good brother. 
 
 Fad. Didst thou speak to me ? 
 
 Leo. This cruelty is not usual with you, sons. 
 The king, the king I Where is your father ? 
 
 En. Look, 
 
 Through the wide casement, on yon mournful 
 
 host ! 
 
 The trailing pikes the furled emblazonry 
 Of our victorious standards the bowed heads 
 Of veterans who behold each other s scars 
 Channels for running tears, without surprise 
 The empty saddle 
 
 Leo. J T is thy father s steed, 
 
 Roderick, the last of the old Gothic strain ; 
 Oft have I held him by his golden bit, 
 Against Alfonso s spurring. 
 
 En. Mother, mother, 
 
 Thou dreamest, mother. Wake ! the king 
 
 Leo. The king ? 
 
 Well, well, the king is ill ? is wounded ? Ha ! 
 Where is the king ? 
 
 En. He s dead ! 
 
 Leo. No, no I [Faints. } 
 
 All. Dead! dead! 
 
 En. Fadrique, loose her collar. She revives. 
 0, bitter waking to a world of woe ! 
 
250 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Leo. Some one thou, thou, Enrique, was it 
 
 not ? - 
 Brought me a message from my lord the king. 
 
 En. Many. 
 
 Leo. Thou dar st not tell me he is dead ? 
 
 Thou wouldst behold a helpless woman quake ? 
 Such words are treason while the sovereign lives. 
 
 En. Alas! 
 
 Leo. And thou believ st it ? 
 
 En. From these arms 
 
 For there were few who dared confront the plague 
 That mighty champion of Christendom 
 Took flight for heaven. 
 
 Leo. Dear Lord ! and is it so ? 
 
 I feel somewhat bewildered in my mind, 
 And what I see is hardly in clear view, 
 Though I see much much much 
 
 f Walks about wildly.] 
 
 En. Awake, poor heart I 
 
 Nay, slumber on. Her smitten sense is numb, 
 And reason sits not upright on his throne. 
 But we, Fadrique, have beheld such things, 
 As might parch up the tearful eyes of grief 
 With flaming anger. 
 
 Fad. Yes ; and t is no time 
 
 To stand before our fate with idle hands. 
 Mother, the liberty and lives of all 
 Whom thou call st children are in jeopardy : 
 Inaction will undo us. 
 
 En. Speak to us I 
 
 Dear mother, thou hast sorrows that pass cure, 
 But there are other wounds that need thy aid. 
 
 Leo. What said your grace ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 251 
 
 Fad. The king is dead, good mother. 
 
 Leo. Ay, I know that. 
 
 En. And all the smothered hate 
 
 Of Alburquerque, and the wolfish queen, 
 Begins to darken in e ach face we see. 
 
 Leo. Where is the king ? 
 
 Fad. Dead. 
 
 Leo. Then what help have we ? 
 
 Or what worse fortune can befall ? Why, we 
 May sit and laugh, like beggars, in our rags, 
 At the rich trappings which men fear to lose. 
 
 En. Such desperation would disgrace a man, 
 Yet it shows sweetly in thee, mother. I, 
 Who hold the duties of an eldest son, 
 Must not so far forget the blood I bear, 
 As to sit sobbing o er my father s corpse, 
 While ruin seizes on his heritage. 
 Fly to thy order, brother. I believe 
 Santiago s banner can protect its master, 
 Until I rally our undoubted friends. 
 Tello, take horse I need not bid thee spur 
 And bear Fadrique company. Away ! 
 
 Fad. Thy blessing, mother. 
 
 Leo. God protect you both ! 
 
 [Exeunt FADRIQUE and TELLO.] 
 Enrique, thou misjudgest : I am patient 
 Quite patient ready to be ruled by thee ; 
 Only ask nothing may proceed from me ; 
 Do with me as thou wilt. 
 
 (Solemn music. Enter Soldiers with the bier of KING ALFONSO.) 
 
 heaven ! my sovereign I 
 Husband, I nearly said : but I m a widow, 
 
252 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Or was years since, before Alfonso s day, 
 
 And the old term comes easily to my lips. 
 
 Besides, Alfonso loved that name from me, 
 
 When we were jesting. Ay, that corpse could jest : 
 
 You would not think it, now, to look at him. 
 
 Forgive nie, friends, for slandering your king. 
 
 En. mother, mother, put these toys away, 
 And bless the swords that must be drawn for thee. 
 
 Leo. No swords for me. Yet, dear Enrique, do 
 That which seems best, without a thought of me. 
 My lord of Lara, you were guardian, 
 Under the gracious orders of the king, 
 Of my poor person ; what would you advise ? 
 
 Lara. Shut up the castle. You have power enough 
 To bide a two-years siege from half Castile. 
 
 En. I like the counsel. 
 
 Leo. Governor Coronel, 
 
 Shut up our castle. 
 
 Coronel. Not till I am forth. 
 
 I have some pressing business in Seville. 
 
 Canedo. The only sane reply thou ever madest ! 
 
 [Apart to CORONEL.] 
 
 En. Now, thou ungrateful traitor, were it not 
 "For the most sacred presence of the dead, 
 I d buffet thee ! 
 
 Cor. Peace, bastard ! you may have 
 
 Some fair occasion in an open field. 
 
 [Throws down his key of office, and exit, with CANEDO.] 
 
 Leo. Our friends fall off with little shaking, son. 
 My lord of Lara, as our deputy, [Offering the key.] 
 We here present our castle s key to you. 
 
 Lara. Forgive me, lady : a neglected order, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 253 
 
 Urging my instant presence at Seville, 
 
 Is two days old with me. [Exit with VILLENA.] 
 
 En. Kc turn, false Lara, 
 
 And, on my father s bier, I 11 offer up 
 Thy faithless body to his angry ghost I 
 
 ( The Courtiers, Knights $c., gradually drop out, talking eagerly, 
 and leave LEONOR, ENRIQUE, and the soldiers, with the body.) 
 
 You skulking villains, cannot you remain ? 
 
 First Courtier. 1 7 m most obnoxious to the plague, 
 
 my lord ; 
 
 My father died of it. [Exit.] 
 
 Second Courtier. And mine. [Exit. ] 
 
 Third Courtier. And mine. [Exit] 
 
 En. Yet left the plague-spot in your very souls, 
 You nest of sickly cowards ! Shame, sir knight ! 
 I saw you win those rowels, that so ring 
 Disgrace behind you, in a battle-field ! 
 
 Knight, But not to lose them in a broil. [Exit.] 
 Leo. (Approaching the bier.) Alack! 
 
 Blame not the leaves for falling with the trunk. 
 Here lies in death the noble tree from which 
 Castilian honor drew its only sap. 
 Alas ! thy branches sheltered noisome weeds, 
 That sucked their living from thy generous roots ; 
 And thou didst drop o er them thy healthful dews, 
 And smiled, as if thou Mat nurtured gentle flowers. 
 When such as he o erturn, the world around 
 Is strewn with ruin. Son, depart at once : 
 Gather thy friends ; or, shouldst thou fail, perchance, 
 Then, join rne in Seville. My mind is clear, 
 And wholesome blood runs through my veins again. 
 
254 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 En. Mother, I II keep with thee : there s time 
 enough. 
 
 Leo. Where goes the body, friend ? 
 
 Soldier. Towards Seville. 
 
 Leo. Thither go I. Alfonso, love like mine 
 Ne er takes a parting e er the shroud is on. 
 Faithful to thee, I followed thee through life 
 Faithful, I follow through the shades of death ! 
 
 (Solemn music. Exeunt Soldiers with the body, followed by 
 LEONOR and ENEIQUB.) 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 255 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street in Seville. Enter a knot of Citizens. 
 
 First Citizen. HER grand-aunt was a conjurer, and 
 made 
 
 Second Citizen. An ass of you. I see no witch 
 craft there. 
 
 First C. Why, you 
 
 Third Citizen. Be civil. Fair words are fair gifts. 
 
 First C. I say, her grand- aunt was a conjurer 
 
 Second C. So are not you. 
 
 Third C. Well, patience hears long tales : 
 
 But let us listen. 
 
 First C. And she made, they say, 
 
 A magic girdle 
 
 Second C. Girth for her said ass 
 
 Being a stumbling beast ; and to the girth 
 She fixed a bladder full of solid lies, 
 That rattle, like the coxcomb of a fool, 
 Whene er the said ass jogs. 
 
 Third C. ! neighbors, neighbors, 
 
 Wit is a sword, and wrangling feeds the leech. 
 
 First C. I heed him not. 
 
 Second C. Tis not for lack of ears. 
 
 You are a foul kind of chameleon, 
 Who live upon the floating breath of slander ; 
 You d go a journey to bring home a lie, 
 And be so fattened on it, e er you came, 
 
256 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Your wife would scarcely know you. You pass life 
 
 In raking up such shreds of calumny 
 
 As none will own, things men cast out of doors, 
 
 With stealthy blushes : yet you treasure them, 
 
 And hang your filthy garbage in our sight, 
 
 As if the saints had worn it. Give report 
 
 Stamp base enough, and t is your current coin ; 
 
 While honest gold you smell at, and return. 
 
 You d believe Judas when he spoke in jest, 
 
 Yet doubt the true Apostles on their oaths. 
 
 If you had any seeds of goodness in you, 
 
 I d rake you over, but I d make them sprout ! 
 
 First C. Pray, have you done, or are you out of 
 breath ? 
 
 Tliird G. Let Satan give instruction to his own. 
 An angry teacher trains a stupid school ; 
 And so, farewell ! Short partings give short pains. 
 
 [ Going.] 
 
 Second C. Well said, brown wisdom ! I will give 
 
 him o er, 
 
 If you 11 return. I 11 miss your sentences ; 
 They come like texts into a dull discourse, 
 Seasoning the matter with a taste of heaven. 
 
 Third C. Thank you s soon said. Our gossip s 
 
 patient, too, 
 And that moves mountains. 
 
 r 
 
 Fourth Citizen. Let us have the tale. 
 
 First C. Nay, if he snub me 
 
 Second G. I will not, in faith. 
 
 Lie on, I 11 listen, if I can t believe. 
 
 First C. Well, the grand aunt of Dona Leonor 
 Was an enchantress, and could make the stare 
 Go backward in their orbits. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 257 
 
 Second G. Did she ever ? 
 
 First G. 1 know not ; but she could. 
 
 Second G. I ? d have the proof. 
 
 Third G. Apt swearers are apt liars. 
 
 Second G. True, indeed ; 
 
 I break my promise. 
 
 First G. So, one night, she made 
 
 A wondrous girdle, from the inner skin 
 Of maiden s hearts that broken were of love. 
 
 Second G. A rare material ! 
 
 First G. Then she took the belt, 
 
 And held it o er the infernal fumes, until 
 
 Second G. She sneezed, and dropped it in ? 
 
 First G. No, no, indeed ; 
 
 Till it became invisible to all 
 
 Second G. That I believe. 
 
 First G. Save her who wears it. Arid this girdle 
 
 she, 
 
 In a dark hour, gave Dona Leonor ; 
 Saying, its magic had the power to hold 
 In abject love whatever man she willed. 
 She chose Alfonso. 
 
 Second C. She struck high at once. 
 
 But why not choose him, ere he choose the queen ? 
 
 First G. The belt was not then fashioned. 
 
 Second C. And they say 
 
 Let me take up your story that at times, 
 In the full moon, when fools are very rife, 
 This magic girdle presses her about, 
 And doth so burn her with infernal flames, 
 That she cries out, in direful agony 
 Curses her aunt, as if she were no kin, 
 And says [Pauses.] 
 
 VOL. i. 17 
 
258 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 All. 0, Lord ! what says she ? 
 
 Second G. Things like this 
 
 " I can tell asses, if I hear them bray ! " 
 Who shall want audience for a silly tale ? 
 The loveliest woman on Castilian earth, 
 The gentlest dame that ever drew our air 
 She, the epitome of excellence, 
 The flowering top and glory of her sex 
 She to be rated as a sorceress, 
 By filthy rascals whose best breath would be 
 An insult to her presence ! Get you home, 
 And grind your knee-balls to the very bones, 
 In thanks to her, and prayers for your base selves ! 
 Foh ! you are odious. [Exit.} 
 
 First G. There s a fellow for you ! 
 
 A very infidel, who scarce believes 
 In sorcery itself. The rude-tongued fool ! 
 Would I had throttled him ! This comes, I trow, 
 Of home-bred ignorance. I ve been to Rome 
 Ay, and to Paris where I ve seen more witches 
 Real sturdy witches, young and old, forsooth 
 Burnt at the stake, upon a holiday, 
 Than I have fingers to these fellow hands. 
 I tell you, one time 
 
 (Enter a Citizen hastily.) 
 
 Fourth G. What s the news, good friend ? 
 
 Fifth Citizen. Gibraltar is surrounded by the king, 
 And must surrender ere another week. 
 The plague has broken out 
 
 All. The plague I the plague I 
 
 Third G. Who told you so ? 
 
 Fifth G. One from Gibraltar. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 259 
 
 All. (Running from him.) Ha I 
 
 First G. Oi\t of our sight ! tliou villain, as thou art, 
 To speak with clean men ! Take thy plague away, 
 Or we 11 fall on thee ! 
 
 Fifth G. I am sound. 
 
 First G. Thou liest ! 
 
 Thou rt one great sore. 
 
 Fifth G. Indeed, I feel not well. 
 
 Third G. Caution s a famous doctor : I 11 be off. 
 Better go laughing, than remain to weep. [Exit.] 
 
 Fifth G. Pray, friends, assist me ! I ve a burning 
 
 pain 
 Across the temples, and 
 
 All. The plague ! the plague ! 
 
 First G. Thou desperate wretch, to issue from thy 
 
 house 
 
 In this condition ! Bear thy malady 
 Back to thy wife and children, like a Christian. 
 Nay, if thou It not be going, I 11 away. 
 
 [Exit with the others. ] 
 
 (Reenter Second Citizen.) 
 
 Fifth G. ! I shall perish ! [Lies down.] 
 
 Second Citizen. What s the matter here ? 
 
 Ill, and no creature nigh ! What is it, friend ? 
 
 Fifth G. I tell you frankly, sir, because you speak 
 From a kind heart, I have the plague. 
 
 Second G. Poh, poh I 
 
 You re clean as snow. I feel no fever here. 
 
 Fifth G. Sdeath ! do not touch me ! 
 
 Second G. What an eye you have ! 
 
 Clear as a sunbeam. Let me see your tongue. 
 Thou move compassion by thy false disease 
 
260 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Stir a man s heart to pity by thy groans ! 
 Thou arrant beggar, art thou not ashawed 
 To face detection ? 
 
 Fifth G. On my life, I feel 
 
 A deal improved by your encouragement. [Rises.] 
 The pain has left my head. 
 
 Second C. Not yet a while ; 
 
 Thou It feel it shortly. (Strikes him.) Has the fit 
 
 returned ? 
 Impostor counterfeit sham plague! [Beatiny him.] 
 
 Fifth C. 0101 
 
 Second G. I 11 teach thee to act Lazarus in the 
 
 streets, 
 
 For my annoyance ! Get thee to thy home, 
 And play thy pranks before thy intimates ; 
 Or I will cudgel all the flesh from thee, 
 And drive thee homeward in thy naked bones ! 
 Out, thou flea-bitten, verminating rogue ! 
 
 [Exit, beating him out.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. The Tlirone-Room in the Alcazar, meanly furnished. 
 Enter DON PEDRO and his PAGE, in poor attire. 
 
 Don Pedro. Offered thee alms ! 
 
 Page. Fair alms, a silver crown, 
 
 As I was standing at the palace-gate, 
 Sunning my rags. It would have moved your mirth, 
 To have seen the dews on Leonor s long lashes, 
 As she held out the coin, and murmured forth 
 "Poor boy! " 
 
 Don P. But when was this ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 261 
 
 Page. A month ago, 
 
 Ere she departed. 
 
 Don P. What was your reply ? 
 
 Page. A simple bow. For, seeing my best hose 
 Was somewhat airy, and my doublet s sleeve 
 Needed a patch, to keep my elbow in, 
 My cap a roof, to keep the weather out, 
 Seeing that crowns, with us, are not so rife 
 As figs in August, seeing no one saw, 
 I made my bow, and slipped the silver piece 
 Into my bottomless pocket ; whence it slid 
 Down my rent stocking, without accident, 
 And firmly settled in my tattered shoe, 
 From which I drew it. 
 
 Don P. By this merry light, 
 
 I m followed by a beggar ! 
 
 Page. Please your grace, 
 
 I am the only beggar fool enough 
 To do such following. 
 
 Don P. Marry, that is truth ! 
 
 No lighter, though, because it turns a jest. 
 
 Page. If nothing happen, master, we shall starve 
 Before we reach another crown. 
 
 Don P. In sooth, 
 
 I am sick of jesting. Let us fly my hawk. 
 
 Page. The ragged tercel that takes all our wealth 
 My rent-roll and your princely revenue 
 To keep in sparrows ? Master, we 11 retrench ; 
 Sell our gray hawk, and buy a hobby-horse. 
 I 11 dance the morrice, and you 11 ride the horse, 
 With an alms-pipkin at your saddle-bow. 
 Why, come, this looks like living ! 
 
262 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Don P. Leave thy jests, 
 
 Or I will fit thee with a cap and bells ! 
 
 Page. T would puzzle you. Besides, I like your 
 
 offer ; 
 
 The coxcomb covers many a better head ; 
 And tis my right. Am I not jester, cousin, 
 Page, Chamberlain, grand Usher of both wands, 
 Master of hawks, and Keeper of the robes, 
 Purveyor of the forests and the floods, 
 Lord Treasurer, chief Cup-bearer, the Guard 
 Captain and soldiers navy, and what not, 
 All crammed in one, and salaried at two pence, 
 In legal coinage of our father s realm ; 
 Both pennies payable when I can get them ? 
 Answer that question. 
 
 Don P. Thou rt a silly boy ; 
 
 And I scarce better, for indulging thee. 
 Here comes the queen, my mother. Look, your 
 
 tongue 
 Be on its guard, or you may lose its use. 
 
 Page. And Alburquerque, with his ugly head 
 Scheming and plotting for the sorry body 
 That cannot hold it upright. There s a man 
 Who 11 crawl in hell, if he may strut on earth ; 
 Who sees our nature through his darkened soul, 
 And charges mankind with more infamy 
 Than priests impose on Satan. Mark, your grace, 
 Here s Alburquerque to the life. (Mimics him.) Don 
 
 Pedro, 
 
 Go not abroad ; there s danger in the wind. 
 Lie not abed ; sleep leagues with murderers. 
 Eat not, nor drink ; for so is poison taken. 
 Smell not a rose ; I ve known them venomous. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 263 
 
 Stay here with me ; and let me tutor you 
 That all God s blessings really are but curses, 
 In pleasant masquerade ; and that 
 
 (Enter DONA MARIA and ALBURQUERQUE, behind.) 
 
 Alburquerque. Well, boy ! 
 
 Page. Well, man ! 
 
 Alb. Go to ! you re pert. 
 
 Page. Not I, my lord : 
 
 I only told my master what a world 
 You and the devil would have made of this, 
 Had you but shaped it, and not heavenly art. 
 
 Alb. Sirrah I- 
 
 Dona Maria. My lord, leave Pedro to his page : 
 My son has spoilt him. 
 
 Alb. I ; 11 remember though. 
 
 Conspiracy doth cackle in that egg ; 
 T will walk full-feathered shortly. 
 
 Dona M. If the king 
 
 Alb. Beseech you, madam, walk aside a step ; 
 The page may overhear us. 
 
 Dona M. No, my lord ! 
 
 About my wrongs I will be loud enough, 
 For heaven cries with me. Would that all Castile 
 Might turn its ear upon its queen s distress, 
 Till silence, horrified at what it hid, 
 Found tongues to echo me ! Look round you, here : 
 Know who I am, Queen of Castile and Leon 
 Wife to a king, and daughter to a king 
 Whose earliest hours knew naught but royal state, 
 Whose toys were crowns and sceptres, whose young 
 
 feet 
 Tottered along the carpet of a throne, 
 
2G4 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Or slept among its pillows ; who was taught 
 
 To hold myself a sacred thing, apart 
 
 From the pollution of humanity 
 
 A something, stationed between God and man, 
 
 Nearer divinity than dust ; then say, 
 
 This fiction of a crown, this dearth of power, 
 
 This squalid court, this cold neglect, this want 
 
 Of the surroundings that belong to me, 
 
 Fit the bare title which is mine by right 
 
 Of Heaven s bestowing, by my royal birth, 
 
 By marriage, and by general consent ! 
 
 Alb. Madam, I do not. 
 
 Dona M. No, nor this alone. 
 
 Forget my rank, and call me only wife 
 To a Castilian gentleman ; then judge 
 If there s a hind, within the scope of Spain, 
 Whose amours match the shameless insolence 
 Of Don Alfonso s ! Sins like his are done 
 Under the wicked covering of night, 
 Or hid in caves and dens from blushing day ; 
 But he he puts his crown upon his guilt, 
 And makes it pompous in his regal robes, 
 Sets up its statue in the market-place, 
 And calls the world to witness ! These things glare ; 
 They are not sobered with a mere regret. 
 He ranks his haughty bastards in my sight, 
 Beggars the state to give them revenues, 
 Commands and titles ; while the sole command 
 He lays on Pedro is to call them brothers 1 
 You, sir, are learned in vices ; tell me-, now, 
 Is there his mate in all your histories ? 
 
 Alb. Your grace, the actions of a sovereign 
 Look not to history for precedent, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 265 
 
 Nor recognize the rules of private men. 
 A king 
 
 Dona M. May turn mankind to hypocrites, 
 Throw down the barriers between right arid wrong, 
 And root heaven s kingdom from the earth ! 
 
 Alb. 0, no ! 
 
 The Church has virtues 
 
 Dona M. Which it keeps at home, 
 
 For fear their fashion has run out of date ! 
 When has the Church took cognizance of this, 
 Or crooked its finger at the king or her ? 
 That witch of Guzman pah ! it scalds my tongue 
 To spit her name out has kept open court, 
 More dazzling than the Persian s brightest dream, 
 Crowded with suitors, over-run with wealth : 
 A place where honor brought his golden spurs, 
 Naught valued till they glittered in her eyes, 
 Where poets sang, where orators discoursed, 
 Where learning trimmed and lit his patient lamp, 
 Where art drew inspiration from fair lips, 
 Where warriors showed their scars, where gentle 
 
 peace 
 
 Nestled in luxury, where Fame, herself, 
 Stood, as upon the summit of a hill, 
 And thence took flight towards heaven. Ah ! sir, 
 
 t was here 
 
 The Church so placidly laid by its cross, 
 Its austere brow, its awful book of laws, 
 And entered, gambolling like a reveller, 
 With looser jests than it could find within. 
 Thou hear st this, Pedro ? 
 
 Don P. Yes, with sorrow, mother, 
 
266 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Dona M. No, no ; with fury ! for thy mother s 
 
 blood 
 
 Burns hot in thee ; and all the memories 
 Of twenty years are smouldering in thy veins, 
 Against the day of reckoning. When thou rt king, 
 Dole out thy mercies like the summer s dew, 
 But pour thy vengeance like the winter s hail ; 
 And on these bastards, and their hated dam, 
 Fall in xjonsuming fire ! 
 
 Page. There s good advice ! 
 
 Quite motherly and queenly, and designed, 
 No doubt, for furtherance of the general good. 
 Would I were old ! The coming generation 
 Have more before them than they reckon on. [Aside.] 
 
 Dona M. Speak, Pedro, speak ! 
 
 Don P. I may do wrong, perhaps, 
 
 Out of the nature which belongs to me ; 
 But, on my soul, I will not meditate 
 My crimes beforehand. 
 
 Dona M. Art thou son of mine ? 
 
 Alb. Beware ! you tamper with a brand of fire ; 
 Look, at which end you grasp it. 
 
 [Apart to DONA MARIA.] 
 
 Doiia M. True, in faith ! 
 
 The fruit must ripen ere we press its juice. [Aside.] 
 My lord, you had some tidings of the king ; 
 Lay them before us. Lo ! I take my state, 
 Queen of Castile and Leon ! (Sits upon a low stool.) Is 
 
 it well, 
 
 Ha, Pedro ? Gentlemen, keep back the press I 
 Our loyal people crowd so thickly on us, 
 We have scant breathing-room ! Ha I ha I fore 
 Heaven, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 267 
 
 I can be merry with my misery 1 [Laughing. ] 
 Say on, Don Juan. 
 
 Alb. The old news renewed : 
 
 Battles and Moors, but always victory. 
 The infidel holds Spain by one bare rock, 
 And that seems shaking. Ere the week be out, 
 We may have tidings of Gibraltar s fall. 
 There s little fighting ; for the plague has raised 
 His spotted banner twixt the hostile camps, 
 And both stand still before him, all aghast, 
 Owning the coward. 
 
 Dona M. Should the plague Well, well, 
 
 I trust the king is well ? 
 
 Page. ; T was uttered ill. [Aside.} 
 
 Alb. Quite well, and confident of victory. 
 
 Don P. Would I were by his side ! 
 
 Dona M. Thou, thou, indeed, 
 
 A lawfully-begotten son of mine ! 
 Thy birth doth lack the charming quality 
 Of sinful love. Wert thou a bastard, now, 
 A brat of Guzman, thou shouldst bear a sword, 
 And buckle thee in steel, and back a steed ; 
 Haply, to knock thy legal brother s brains 
 Out of his crown, some day ! 
 
 Don P. 0, mother, cease ! 
 
 This heartless jesting is beneath thy rank. 
 Come, comrade, let us to the fields again ; 
 The fields have better counsel than the court. 
 God s breath comes to us on the straying gales, 
 And whispers peaceful love to us, and all. 
 There 7 s something wrong, something at war with 
 Heaven, 
 
268 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 In man s society : I know not why, 
 "But still I feel it. 
 
 Page. I could weep a year. 
 
 My jests are over, for to-day at least. 
 
 (As they are about going, enter a Messenger, hastily. Don 
 PEDRO and the PAGE return.) 
 
 Alb. What news ? what news ? 
 Messenger. The king is dead. 
 
 Dona M. (Starts up.) Ha! ha I [Laughing.] 
 
 My hour has come, at last ! 
 
 Don P. 0, heavens I [ Weeps.] 
 
 Page. Kind saints I 
 
 Is that the way our wives receive our deaths ? 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Dona M. Ha ! ha ! [Laughing.] 
 
 Alb. Dear madam ! 
 
 Dona M. Shall I not laugh out ? 
 
 This is the hour I Ve waited on for years. 
 For this I bore his insults, and the mock 
 Of public pity. T was for this I bore 
 My lady Leonoras magnificence, 
 Her smiles, her nods, her very company 
 And did not send my dagger through her heart ! 
 I knew just Heaven would grant it in good time, 
 I prayed for it, and it has come at last ! 
 Shall I not laugh ? [Laughing.] 
 
 Page. Does not the devil too ? [Aside.] 
 
 Dona M. Pedro, my son, awake ! 
 
 Don P. I am an orphan ! 
 
 Dona M. So are the bastards ! let that comfort 
 
 thee. 
 There s not a cobweb twixt us and our foes. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 269 
 
 Now strike ! while they are stunned with feeble. 
 
 grief; 
 Arid let the blow that blinds them, clear thy sight. 
 
 Alb. Madam, I pray you, leave the king to me ; 
 I 11 bend, but you will break him. [Apart to her. ] 
 
 Dona M. Yes, the king 
 
 All hail, King Pedro ! Thank you for the word ! 
 I shall go crazy ! [ Walks about. } 
 
 Page. Here s a pretty school 
 
 To put a child to ! [Aside. ] 
 
 Alb. Please, your majesty 
 
 Don P. The king is dead ! [ Weeping. ] 
 
 Alb. The office never dies : 
 
 And it behooves your grace to look abroad, 
 And see what ground your kingdom stands upon. 
 I would not urge it, at a time like this, 
 Were not your kingdom s peace embraced in it. 
 The sons of Leonor have great estates, 
 Peopled with warlike vassals, and their mother 
 Is of a subtle wit, and used to rule. 
 They 11 not go down without a sturdy tug ; 
 And down they must go, or you cannot reign. 
 
 Dona M. Listen, my son. 
 
 Don P. I hear. Let me begin 
 
 My novel sway by striking close at hand. 
 Madam, I charge you, on your loyalty, 
 To hold my father s memory in respect. 
 
 Dona M. He never loved thee, Pedro. 
 
 Don P. The more cause 
 
 Have I to mourn his early taking off: 
 Time and good actions might have won his love. 
 Mother, be decent in thy widowhood, 
 Or I may grieve thee. 
 
270 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Dona H. Pedro, speak not thus, 
 
 With knitted brows and gloomy threats, to me. 
 Thou art the only thing I truly love. 
 Through all the sorrows I have passed, thy voice 
 Was solace to me, and thy growing form 
 Consoled the dwarfish aspect of my fate. 
 Thou canst not tell what I endured, to reach 
 The triumph of the hour that makes thee king 
 What anxious days, and what unslumbering nights I 
 But with my love for thee, another passion 
 Sustained by all I saw, or heard, or thought 
 Grew side by side ; a deadly, blasting hate 
 For Leonor de Guzman and her brood 
 Of upstart bastards ! Render them to me 
 T is the sole boon I 11 ever claim from thee ; 
 Make me their destiny, as they have made 
 Thy mother their chief victim. 
 
 Don P. Madam, no ! 
 
 Her children are my brothers, and her fate 
 Rests on the future actions of her life. 
 
 [ Walks up with ALBURQUERQUE.] 
 
 Dona M. Curse him, just Heaven, and make his 
 
 mercy turn 
 
 To ceaseless torment ! May his brothers be 
 Traitors to him, as he has been to me ! 
 Gall in his goblet, nightmares in his sleep, 
 Goads to his crimes, and clogs to his good deeds ; 
 Till restless anguish arm his desperate hand 
 With fratricidal fury ! Grant it, Heaven ! 
 Nay, gracious saints, undo my impious curse ! 
 My wrongs have maddened me. 0, Pedro, Pedro, 
 Fate chose my bitterest moment from this hour ! 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 271 
 
 Don P. (Advancing with ALBURQUERQUE.) If tis your 
 
 thought that Dona Leon or 
 May raise the horrors of a civil strife, 
 T were prudent you restrained her libern*j fy * 
 With due respect. 
 
 Alb. 0, yes, your majesty ,\ 
 
 With due respect. [Lcnyhs*<fade"] 
 
 Dona M. Will she to prison then ? 
 
 Alb. (Drawing DON PEDRO aside.) Besides, I could not 
 
 answer for her care, 
 
 Were she at large. The queen will now have friends, 
 And friends have daggers, and 
 
 Don P. No more of this. 
 
 Take you her guardianship. 
 
 Alb. As for her sons, 
 
 They may be trusted till they show their teeth. 
 I 11 have my spies about them. T were not well 
 To start with too much rigor, till we know 
 What power we wield. For harshness, please your 
 
 grace, 
 
 Might swell the faction gainst yourself, by those 
 Who now stand neutral, balanced either way, 
 And easily won by clemency. The mass, 
 In all great kingdoms, is composed of such ; 
 And parties feel it, when it wills to throw 
 Its mighty weight into the doubtful scale. 
 
 [DoN PEDRO yawns."} 
 
 I weary you? I see I do, your grace 
 Pray, do I not ? I tire you with these things ? 
 If I do not, I miss my own design. [Aside.] 
 
 Don P. T will be your interest to uphold the 
 
 throne 
 Through which you rule ; therefore, I trust to you. 
 
272 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Alb. (Bowing.) Sage boy ! [Aside.] 
 
 Don P. Retain the powers my father gave, 
 
 Yet breathe my childish mercy through your acts. 
 I seem to be the only mourner here ; 
 Let me go grieve. [ Walks apart.] 
 
 Dona M. She will to prison then ? 
 
 0, bless my fortune, that had this in store ! 
 
 Alb. Ay, and forever. See how policy 
 Wins, piece by piece, that which your heady force 
 Could never compass. Madam, you must be 
 More circumspect and gentle with your son. 
 I know his nature, and can mould its wax 
 To any shape you purpose. But take heed 
 Of sudden passions, and displays of wrath. 
 
 ( Enter CORONEL and CANEDO.) 
 
 Dona M. Whom have we here ? 
 
 Alb. Alonzo Coronel, 
 
 Welcome ! What brings you to Seville ? 
 
 Coronel. My lord, 
 
 I come to be enrolled among your friends. 
 
 Alb. The tide has turned. (Apart to MARIA.) Sir, 
 
 your alacrity 
 
 Is your best commendation. Were you not, 
 Some time, the Guzman s governor ? 
 
 Cor. I was, 
 
 Till duty taught me where allegiance lay. 
 
 Caiiedo. Poh ! how you talk ! T was simply thus, 
 
 my lord : 
 
 He flung his key at Dona Leonor, 
 Called Don Enrique bastard, and ran off. 
 There s a short story I 
 
 Alb. Its reward shall come. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 273 
 
 We here create you lord of Aguilar, 
 
 Giving the flag and cauldron of a Don, 
 
 With all the privileges of Rico Hombre. [To CORONEL.] 
 
 Cor. Canedo, this o ertops the Guzman s wall. 
 
 [ Apart to him. } 
 
 I brought my friend, too an unsightly thing ; 
 But, then, my lord, I brought him not for show 
 As my best offering. He can bite and hold, 
 A very wolf in battle. 
 
 Can. If that be 
 
 The character you give before my face, 
 Heaven save my back, Alonzo ! 
 
 Alb. I accept him, 
 
 At your good word, and will provide for him. 
 Who ? s governor now ? 
 
 Cor. Lara refused the charge. 
 
 Alb. Ha ! Lara ? This is golden news ! 
 
 Cor. And mark, 
 
 The lord of Lara following its report. 
 (Enter LARA and VILLENA.) 
 
 Alb. Welcome to both ! Good gentlemen, your 
 
 speed 
 Is cheerful notice of your fair intents. 
 
 (A number of Courtiers, Kniyhts, $c., assemble at the back of 
 the scene.) 
 
 Madam, the bees are swarming. (Apart to MARIA.) We 
 
 have need 
 
 Of faithful men to fill our offices. 
 We take it as an honor that such names 
 As Lara and Villena can be placed 
 Topmost upon the ranks of government. 
 VOL. i. 18 
 
274 LEON OR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Lara. Thanks, Alburquerque ! Though our mo 
 tives be, 
 
 As you may rate them, selfish at the base ; 
 Yet while your government has power to stand, 
 By our joint efforts, we shall not fall off. 
 
 Alb. Your candor pleases me. Madam, behold, 
 IIow one short hour has changed the face of things ! 
 These moths, that flutter round our brightening lamp, 
 Are, singly, little but mere silk-spinners ; 
 Yet, by a skilful knitting of their work, 
 I 11 form a cable that shall hold Castile 
 Fast at our anchor. Smile, for Heaven s sake, smile ! 
 Sunshine costs nothing, and its gift may bring 
 Abundant harvest. [Apart to MARIA.] 
 
 Dona M. Smile on these, too, sir ? 
 
 (Enter LEONOR DE GUZMAN and DON ENRIQUE.) 
 
 Would that my eyes had venom in their light, 
 
 And every glance had power to slay a host ! 
 
 You should not lesson me in smiling, then, 
 
 Even on these. How now, thou sorceress, 
 
 Has witchcraft failed thee ? Dar st thou set thy foot, 
 
 Insolent minion, in our very court ? 
 
 Enrique. Madam ! 
 
 Leonor. Enrique, give me leave to speak. 
 
 Dona M. What, thou wouldst whine of love to 
 
 King Alfonso, 
 
 Gloss o er thy sins with lying rhetoric, 
 Arid set heaven blushing at the gifts it gave ! 
 
 Leo. No, madam, no : though something might 
 
 be said, 
 
 Of how the holy law of mutual love 
 May wipe the slander from a life like mine. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. H75 
 
 Not for myself I come. The fatal day 
 That took Alfonso turned my eyes from life, 
 And the tame hum and bustle of the world. 
 The hours that lie between me and my grave 
 I count, as one who waits some great event 
 Beside a dial, and would urge the shade 
 That towards his hope creeps tardily along. 
 Dona Maria, it is not with you 
 I would discourse, but with his grace, the king. 
 
 Dona M. Doubtless, thou crafty trickster, not with 
 
 me, 
 
 Who traced thy winding courses, year by year, 
 Marking each footstep with some wrong of mine, 
 But with the king, whose unsuspicious inind 
 Needs my sad talisman against thy arts. 
 Thus, as his mother, I arise between 
 Thy guilty purpose and his gentle heart ! 
 
 Leo. I have no purpose but to intercede 
 For King Alfonso s children ; and the voice 
 Of nature, pleading louder than my own, 
 Shall win Don Pedro to his brothers. 
 
 Dona M. Shame ! 
 
 Hast thou the impudence to call thy crew 
 Of vipers brothers to my son ? 
 
 Leo. Ay, madam, 
 
 Haply, if you were honest with the king. 
 
 Dona M. Ha ! lady, art thou of so keen a wit ? 
 Arrest her ! 
 
 En. (Drawing.} He who touches but her garb, 
 I 11 hew to atoms ! 
 
 Alb. Folly has run mad. 
 
 Madam, your 
 
276 LKONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Dona M. Treason ! Cut the bastard down I 
 
 (ALBURQUERQUE rushesbackto DON PEDRO. The Courtiers draw 
 and advance on LEONOR and ENRIQUE.) 
 
 Don P. (Mounting the throne.) Forbear! I am the 
 
 sovereign in Castile ! 
 
 And till your treason root me from my seat, 
 You who thus jet shall flourish under me ! 
 
 (Courtiers uncover, and fall back.) 
 
 Alb. (To MARIA.) Here is a sermon on my text, 
 
 your grace. 
 
 This headlong course will run you out of breath: 
 Excessive anger is the blindest thing 
 That e er sought vengeance. Patience, patience, 
 
 madam ! 
 
 Wait till the reins are fairly in our hands, 
 And the state ambling gently under us ; 
 I 11 show you tricks, then, when the king s not by. 
 I 11 strip these Guzmans for you, root arid branch. 
 But you must smile a very heavenly smile 
 Or shed a tear or two, perhaps, while they 
 Lie at your feet, and wither in your hate. 
 Begin, begin ! 
 
 Dona M. Don Pedro, pardon me. 
 
 The open insult of my fellow-queen 
 She who was reigning while I staid at home, 
 To rock your cradle, and to suckle you 
 Moved me a little. And besides, my liege, 
 There are some years of suffering on my brow, 
 Pray, mark my lady s, it is very smooth, 
 And some harsh lines of silver in my hair, 
 While hers is glossy with untroubled ease. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 277 
 
 The rose has burned to ashes on my face ; 
 Yet lives again in her transparent cheek. 
 She can go through her fingers, and record 
 A loving child upon each dainty tip ; 
 I have but one, and he forgets to love ! 
 
 Don P. Mother, thou wrongest me. For the love 
 
 of -grace, 
 
 I prithee lay this bitterness aside, 
 Sweetening thy nature with more holy thoughts. 
 Enrique, brother, I will not suppose 
 You are unmindful of the love we shared 
 In great Alfonso s heart ; nor that one grief, 
 For his untimely loss, together binds us. 
 While you preserve allegiance to the king, 
 You shall not suffer for the brother s love. 
 
 Leo. I humbly thank your grace ; and to your 
 
 care 
 Commit your father s children. 
 
 Dona M. (Apart to ALBURQUERQUE. ) Shall she triumph ? 
 
 Alb. Can she stop time, or stretch this lucky hour 
 Out into doomsday ? [Apart to MARIA.] 
 
 Don P. My lord Chancellor, 
 
 To your safe-keeping we confide the person 
 Of Dona Leonor. And see no harm 
 Come to the lady, in whatever shape, 
 On pain of our displeasure ; nor such rights, 
 As by the law have been allowed to her, 
 Be now denied her. 
 
 En. How is this, my lord ? 
 
 Alb. Reasons of state forbid the liberty 
 At least, the perfect liberty, I own 
 
 Of Dona Leonor. His majesty 
 Fears somewhat for his mother s jealousy, 
 
278 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Sir, there are knives and poison in the land, 
 
 [ Whispers.} 
 And, therefore, gives her to my custody. 
 
 En. I can protect her, if tis that you fear. 
 I like it not. Don Pedro, you undo 
 Your royal mercy. 
 
 Alb. Conde, be content ; 
 
 You shall be free to come and go to her. 
 We do not mean this for imprisonment. 
 
 En. And so you gild the cage ! Ah ! sir 
 
 Leo. My son, 
 
 Bow with obedience to thy king s command. 
 It matters little where I dwell to me, 
 Still less to all the world. Thy liberty 
 Is warrant for my safety. 
 
 En. Let but a hair 
 
 Look, Alburquerque, what I say to you 
 Let but a hair be rent from that fair head, 
 And I will - 
 
 Leo. Thou art passionate. My lord, 
 I must intrust my person to your charge ; 
 For, to be frank, I see no fair escape. 
 Lord Alburquerque, we are not new friends, 
 We have met often ; and I understand 
 Your wily policy and cunning turns, 
 Almost as well as you who practise them. 
 
 Alb. Ward, this is somewhat bluff. 
 
 Leo. But true, my lord. 
 
 My children s welfare rests upon my hands, 
 And I must rise, with all my weight of grief, 
 ,To wait upon their fortunes. Be but true, 
 And I will meet your candor with like truth ; 
 But should you practise on me, art for art, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 279 
 
 And scheme for scheme, shall meet you everywhere. 
 I shall be jealous of your guardianship, 
 And give the king a fair account of it, 
 By ways you cannot see. 
 
 Alb. (Aside.) Ha! ha! my lady, 
 
 This looks like brisk employment ! Brain to brain 
 We 11 fight our battle : I 11 outwit you, though ; 
 Trust me for that. 
 
 Leo. Don Pedro, many thanks, 
 
 For the great kindness you have shown to me, 
 Now, in my ebb of fortune. Let me be 
 Among the first to hail you on the throne. 
 Long live Don Pedro, King of fair Castile ! 
 
 All. Long live the King of Leon and Castile ! 
 
 [Flourish.] 
 
280 I.EONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The Same. A State-Apartment in the same. Enter 
 DONA. MARIA and ALBURQUERQDE. 
 
 Dona Maria. SCHOOL me to patience ! Make me 
 
 one of those 
 
 Who pander to the Guzmans growing power ! 
 My lord, you promised me their overthrow ; 
 And while your promise kept its aspect fresh, 
 I waited none more patiently till time 
 Should fill the crescent which I kept in view. 
 What have you done ? Heaped wealth unlimited, 
 New offices, new honors, new commands, 
 Upon my foes ; until the blazonry 
 Of your additions has so charged their shields, 
 As almost to conceal the left-hand bar. 
 This is your work, and this is my revenge ! 
 
 Alburquerque. Tis the beginning. You have 
 
 seen a hawk 
 
 Mounting the heavens, to strike his rising prey ; 
 When does he wheel, and make the fatal stoop ? 
 Not while his quarry towers above his head, 
 But when his wing has won the upper place ; 
 And the tired heron, shuddering with affright, 
 Sees the sharp beak and talons of his foe 
 Poising between him and the blue of heaven. 
 The Guzmans rise, but we rise faster, madam, 
 To overtop them in their venturous flight. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN 281 
 
 Dona M. Words, words ! you give me naught but 
 
 pretty words, 
 And I ask deeds. 
 
 Alb. You 11 have them ere you think. 
 
 Look at the state in which I found Castile ! 
 A kingdom veined and arteried with plots, 
 Flowing and ebbing, crossing and recrossing, 
 Through every corner of her wide domain. 
 Here Lara, whispering of the royal blood 
 That came to him from the tenth king Alfonso ; 
 There Aragon, full of the sweeping claim 
 Of its Infante, nephew to the king, 
 Your former husband. Here was cause for strife ! 
 But add to this, a hundred haughty lords, 
 Shut up in towns and castles, with demands 
 Upon the crown that grew as days went by. 
 Not to forget the Moorish war, bequeathed 
 By your great husband to his only son. 
 Madam, this net-work cramped me, hand and foot, 
 Till I burst through it. And I tell you now 
 Even while I hold these elements in check 
 That if King Pedro die, or I but slack 
 My rigid grasp, Castile shall see a storm, 
 To which mere chaos would be harmony. 
 Why, let the boys of Dona Leonor 
 Strut, fume, and threaten, if they do no more. 
 I 11 be the first to find them gilded coats, 
 Until I choose to strip them to the bone ! 
 
 Dona M. There seems some reason in" your policy. 
 Arid yet my 
 
 Alb. Reason ! good lady, were that all ! 
 
 If plain, blunt sense could compass my designs, 
 I d go to bed at noonday. But the king, 
 
282 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 He must be pleased with hunting-shows and games, 
 
 Or vexed with tangled matters of the state, 
 
 Talked with and mystified ; until for love 
 
 Of present pleasure, or disgust with rule, 
 
 He flings his crown into my ready hands. 
 
 Then, Don Enrique must be found new toys, 
 
 Before the old ones weary. Even now 
 
 He scours the country, drumming up old friends, 
 
 And mustering new allies. And I poor I 
 
 Must rack my brain for some fresh dancing-jack, 
 
 To keep him quiet. 
 
 Dona M. And the mother, sir ? 
 
 Alb. Ay, ay ; I know not what her grace is at. 
 The marriage of her eldest son, I hear, 
 With Don Fernando s sister. 
 
 Dona M. So, indeed ? 
 
 Juana shares her prison, and Enrique 
 Visits it daily. 
 
 Alb. I must look to that. 
 
 The Guzman is Juana s guardian, 
 By King Alfonso s order, and Biscay 
 The ward s fair portion. Hum ! Biscay Biscay ! 
 A dangerous foe, and a fast friend. That land 
 Breeds natural warriors ; the children, there, 
 Teeth on a sword-hilt. I have only given 
 Titles and gewgaws, no effective power ; 
 But this Biscay is very solid stuff. 
 They shall not have it. Here is more to do : 
 Wheedle Fernando, threaten Leonor, 
 And gain possession of Juana. Gods ! 
 I am both minister and harlequin, 
 Head to the state, and jester to the court 1 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 283 
 
 Did not the king, Alfonso, pre-contract 
 Enrique with Juan a ? 
 
 Dona M. Surely, sir : 
 
 There was some stir when he betrothed the two. 
 
 Alb. I had forgotten. 
 
 Dona M. I have not. T is one 
 
 Of the grave matters in my long account 
 Against the Guzman. T was a holiday, 
 By the king s order, when the deed was sealed ; 
 T will be a fast-day ere t is ratified I 
 
 Alb. Right, right ! Here is Fernando Lara too. 
 
 (Enter LARA and VILLENA. MARIA retires.) 
 
 Well met, my lords ! Lara, a word with you. 
 
 [Takes him apart."} 
 
 There s a new faction making head, they say, 
 With claims no humbler than the crown itself 
 Your crown, perchance the crown which you may 
 
 wear, 
 
 If Pedro die without an heir. In sooth, 
 The king is sickly ; and Castile, I trow, 
 Would ne er accept a king from Aragon. 
 Look to it, Lara. 
 
 Lara. What new plot is this ? 
 
 Alb. The Guzmans . Trastamara and Fadrique 
 Are busy marshalling their chiefest friends, 
 And spreading rumors, that Alfonso willed 
 The crown to them, among the multitude. 
 
 Lara. Upstarts ! 
 
 Alb. Yet powerful. Would it not be well 
 
 To counterplot among their friends, and crush 
 The seeds of treason ere they take firm root ? 
 
284 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Lara. It would, indeed. I will about it straight. 
 
 [Going.] 
 
 Alb. I 11 tell you more, anon. 
 
 Lara. Thanks, thanks ! [Exit.] 
 
 Alb. That bee 
 
 Will buzz in Lara s brain for many a day. 
 lie and the Guzmans will have merry times, 
 Among themselves, while I look on and laugh. [Aside. } 
 Ah ! Don Fernando, tis a joy to me 
 To see your smiling features in the court. 
 Your sister favors you and, by the by, 
 AVhere is that lady ? [Taking him apart.] 
 
 Villena. With her guardian. 
 
 Alb. Her guardian ? who, sir ? 
 
 Vil. Doiia Leonor. 
 
 Her dismal prison, to my sister s eyes, 
 Is the bright spot of Spain. 
 
 Alb. It is a pity 
 
 A grievous pity ! For the king should see 
 Those charms, the churlish maiden hides from him. 
 He must be married. Well, well ! 
 
 Vil. Did you say 
 
 The king designs to marry ? 
 
 Alb. Not to-day. 
 
 Vil. My sister is betrothed to Don Enrique. 
 
 Alb. A very grievous pity ! 
 
 Vil. Why, my lord ? 
 
 Alb. His star seems waning. He will scarce out 
 live 
 
 The many schemes he is so apt at framing, 
 Rebellions, murders, and what not. 
 
 Vil. Good Heaven ! 
 
 Is he a traitor ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 285 
 
 Alb. Tis a pity, though ! 
 
 I chose your sister as a proper maid 
 To bring beneath the notice of Don Pedro. 
 In sooth, I might have pushed her excellence 
 Some steps before the others. Well, you say 
 She is betrothed ; of course, that ends it all. 
 
 Vil. My lord - 
 
 Alb. I 11 not detain you. 
 
 Vil. If you mean 
 
 Your choice fell on Juana, as our queen, 
 I see no obstacle 
 
 Alb. Nor I, forsooth : 
 
 Who could be worthier ? 
 
 Vil. She shall come to court. 
 
 Alb. That would require a deal of management : 
 For Dona Leonor can keep her ward, 
 By the Castilian laws, against us all. 
 Ask the king s warrant. 
 
 Vil. That I will ! 
 
 Alb. And, lo ! 
 
 Here comes his grace to grant it. 
 
 (Enter DON PEvnofrom hawking, with a bird upon his fist ; ac 
 companied by ENRIQUE, Courtiers, Falconers with hawk*, SfC.) 
 
 Don Pedro. Pray you, brother, 
 
 Give me your hawk. He is a gallant bird ; 
 How close his feathers lie ! and what a spread 
 Of wing he makes in his audacious flight ! 
 There is a head becomes its feathery crest 
 More than black Edward s ; and his sinewy neck, 
 Lithe as a serpent s, joins his arching chest 
 Without a break. Mark, how assured a grip 
 His talons take upon my glove ! Your hand, 
 
286 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Cased in a gauntlet, could not pinch me thus. 
 Give me the bird. 
 
 Enrique. It flatters me, to think 
 
 I can bestow a favor on your grace. 
 ; T is only quittance too. 
 
 Don P. ! marry, yes ; 
 
 He slew my falcon. Alburquerque, hark ! 
 
 Alb. Your grace ? 
 
 Don P. Your gift, the great Burgundian hawk, 
 Was but a haggard, after all your praise. 
 This is my brother s bird. I 11 tell you, now, 
 How your Burgundian suffered. For a wager, 
 As to which hawk could strike the quarry first 
 Mine or Enrique s we both cast them off. 
 But the shrewd heron slipped between the two, 
 Dropped like a stone, and left the rivals there, 
 Facing each other, in their topmost flight. 
 A while they paused, and then, gainst nature, 
 
 rushed 
 Grappling together. T would have moved your 
 
 blood, 
 
 Had you but seen the feathered warriors tilt ! 
 Beak threatening beak, and talon locked in talon, 
 Wheeling and darting, striking and retreating, 
 Like two brave jousters at a course of spears, 
 While through the air their riven armor fell 
 In feathery clouds. Now, your Burgundian hawk 
 Waged battle nobly ; then, anon, he turned, 
 Turned like a craven had he flown to me, 
 I would have wrung his head off turned and fled ! 
 But Don Enrique s falcon closed, and struck, 
 Straight through the coward s gorge, a deadly blow 1 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 281 
 
 "Foul!" cried I; "Fair!" Enrique cried; and 
 
 while 
 
 We stood there wrangling, down fell Burgundy, 
 Headlong, to earth ! [Laughs.] 
 
 Alb. A battle royal, sire ! 
 
 Worthy the great spectators. 
 
 Don P. Tell me, now 
 
 You store your beauty in your country house 
 Who was the fair one that reclined upon 
 Your window-ledge, as we rode forth to-day ? 
 Par Dieu I I heard strange music in the air, 
 And smelt new odors, as I gazed upon 
 That wonder, sitting in a haze of light, 
 Which seemed to eddy with my whirling brain, 
 And bring a most delicious sickness o er me. 
 
 Alb. Unless your grace may mean my grand 
 mother, 
 
 Who thinks her charms but ripen with her years, 
 I have no other female, save my ward, 
 Maria de Padilla, a fair girl, 
 As women go in this world. 
 
 Don P. Wondrous fair ! 
 
 Alb. (Aside.) Nibbling already ! When the time 
 
 is come 
 
 That I must look you up a lady-love, 
 To keep your grace from ogling my Castile, 
 Maria shall succeed the hawks and dogs : 
 But hawks and dogs must serve you yet a while. 
 
 Vil. Your grace, a boon ! I ask my sister 
 
 Alb. (Aside to him.) Hist! 
 
 Wait till Enrique goes. 
 
 Don P. Your sister, how ? 
 
288 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Vil. I must reply. (Aside to ALBURQUERQUE.) She is 
 
 the ward, your grace, 
 Of Dona Leoiior, a prisoner now, 
 And, therefore, not a guardian capable 
 To fill her duties. I demand Juana, 
 Both as her brother, and by right of law. 
 
 Don P. These are high words. 
 
 Alb. (Aside to VILLENA.) Shrink, shrink, or lose your 
 suit ! 
 
 Don P. Is not Juana de Villena free 
 To come and go, without restraint or dread ? 
 
 En. Brother 
 
 Vil. Your grace - 
 
 Alb. Your highness 
 
 Don P. Gentlemen, 
 
 This may be zeal, but tis not courtesy. 
 Enrique, speak. 
 
 En. He has a brother s eye 
 
 To some rich lordships in Biscay. 
 
 Vil. And thou - 
 
 Don P. Now, by the light of heaven, you quarrel 
 
 here, 
 
 Here, in our presence ! Don Fernando, think 
 Where you are standing ; and remember, too, 
 He whom you " thou," with impudent contempt, 
 Is brother to your king ! 
 
 Vil. I pray your grace 
 
 Don P. No more ! There s many a door to the 
 
 Alcazar, 
 
 And till your sister may see fit to walk 
 Through one of them, she s welcome to remain. 
 
 En. I thank you, brother. 
 
 Don P. Thank Castilian law, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 289 
 
 To which we bow, with the same reverence 
 As does the poorest subject in our realm. 
 
 Alb. Abandon all, and trust your cause to me. 
 
 [Jlpart to VILLENA.] 
 
 Vil Needs must, and so forth. Inside.} 
 
 j)on P. Ho ! break up the court ! 
 
 This scene distempers me. Your arm, Enrique. 
 I am not well. 
 
 Alb. Room, for the king room, room ! 
 
 [Exit DON PEDRO, supported by ENRIQUE, with all the others 
 
 except DONA MARIA and ALBURQUERQUE.] 
 
 Dona Maria. You 11 never govern him. My son 
 
 complained, 
 And I must follow. [Exit.] 
 
 Alb. A headstrong colt, I own 
 
 A very devil to resist the spur ; 
 And yet he may be managed by a hand 
 That feels the bit with caution, and applies 
 His rages to his rider s furtherance. 
 Yes, I can ride him ; for one simple reason, 
 He cannot find his way unless I guide. [Exit.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. Jl Prison-Room in the same. LEONOR DE GUZMAN 
 alone. 
 
 Leonor. A change from my gay court, a sorry 
 
 change ! 
 
 Yet what is life but changes ? And would not 
 Life s sweetness cloy, without its bitterness ? 
 The ebbs and flows of being keep its tides 
 
 VOL. i. 19 
 
290 I,EON T OR UE GUZMAN. 
 
 Fresh on the surface, while the central soul, 
 
 Take some volcano of the under sea, 
 
 Boils on forever on, though storm or calm 
 
 Rule o er the outer and apparent flood 
 
 Setting its streams of thought, now here, now there, 
 
 In purifying motion. I oft think 
 
 That they whose lives seem calmest to the view, 
 
 And most unmarked by fortune s varying stamp, 
 
 Have most turmoil within. For, were it not, 
 
 Mere want of action would unstring the mind, 
 
 And settle idleness in idiocy. 
 
 So let me think, though every thought of mine 
 
 Move with a shadow of remembered grief; 
 
 And in my prison, like the close-pent brain, 
 
 Be still the power that gives free sinews work. 
 
 I have an influence on the world beyond ; 
 
 And 1, who nothing hope from earth s desires 
 
 I, whose sole hope beacons across the grave 
 
 I, who stand calrnty, waiting for God s breath 
 
 To waft me towards him and his royal guest, 
 
 The great Alfonso I indeed should be 
 
 A mighty instrument for others good. 
 
 Therefore, while life is mine, my sons shall have 
 
 The best of me. 
 
 (Enter JUANA DE VILLEXA.) 
 
 Good-morrow, gentle daughter ! 
 May I address thce thus ? This pretty hand 
 Was pledged to my Enrique. 
 
 Juana. And there rests, 
 
 In maiden widowhood. 
 
 Leo. One faithful heart, 
 
 One miracle of nature, in our midst! 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 291 
 
 Jua. Madam, the heart is sorrowing that the hand 
 Cannot keep faith. 
 
 Leo. Thou rt melancholy then ? 
 
 Thou lov st the Conde ? thou would st marry him ? 
 
 Jua. I said so once, with all my strength of 
 
 soul, 
 I have not altered since. 
 
 Leo. Then get thee ready ; 
 
 Thou shalt be married ere the sun go down. 
 
 Jua. I doubt. How can I doubt ? Your uttered 
 
 word 
 Has ever carried the command of fate. 
 
 Leo. I am quite serious. See, Enrique comes ! 
 In faith, I feel a mother s jealousy ; 
 I never know to which of us he comes. 
 
 (Enter ENRIQUE.) 
 
 Enrique. Mother ! [Embraces her.] 
 
 Leo. Here s one who has a sweeter claim. 
 
 En. Forgive me, dear Juana ! I have^niuch 
 That will concern you both. Your brother vows 
 To tear you from us, dearest. 
 
 Leo. And the king ? 
 
 En. Will not consent. 
 
 Leo. Then she shall not go hence. 
 
 En. The king is ill. A sudden malady, 
 Of swift and dangerous seeming, struck him down 
 As he gave audience. All is in confusion, 
 And each man speculates upon his death. 
 The rival claimants for the doubtful crown 
 Parties of Lara and of Aragon 
 With factious haste, are almost up in arms. 
 Let them get up, and we 7 11 begin to stir. 
 
292 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Leo. Heaven spare Don Pedro ! 
 
 En. Frankly, so say I. 
 
 Just now, our friends are scantily prepared 
 To push our fortunes. Fight or fall we must, 
 Should Pedro leave us. 
 
 Leo. True. He stood our friend 
 
 Who had most cause to fear us with a strength 
 That made his boyish port heroical, 
 When the whole court was thirsting for our blood. 
 Heaven save Don Pedro, therefore I Now, my son, 
 Should the king die, before thy marriage-rites 
 With fair Juana have been solemnized, 
 Thou dst miss thy bride. 
 
 Jua. Let me retire. [Going.] 
 
 Leo. Come back, 
 
 Thou arrant runaway ! 
 
 Jua. Indeed indeed 
 
 Leo. Indeed, indeed, thou art a very woman ! 
 
 [Lavghinff.] 
 
 En. Gen tlc Juana, do I frighten thee ? 
 
 Jua. ! no, my Lord. 
 
 En. Why dost thou fly me, then ? 
 
 Jua. I do not know. 
 
 Leo. I do. Nay, tremble not ; 
 
 Our sex s secrets are quite safe with me. 
 But, to be plain, your nuptials are in peril, 
 And, with all secrecy, must be performed 
 Before the day be older. Fashion it 
 To suit yourselves. [Exit.} 
 
 J aa - Nay, now, do you come back. 
 
 En. She s gone, and left thee to thy direful fate, 
 Alone with one who loves thee ! Sweet Juana, 
 How docs my mother s purpose seem to thee ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 293 
 
 Jua. To me ? How seems it to your lordship ? 
 
 En. Nay, 
 
 How seems it to your ladyship ? A sigh ! 
 It seems to me the summit of my fate, 
 The spot from whence I look on happiness, 
 As on a pleasant land, from some great hill ; 
 Just when the Spring is freshest, ere a leaf 
 Curls with the yellowing Summer ; while the fruit 
 Is folded in the blossom, and a sun, 
 
 Rich with the humid promise of the year, 
 Looks through the hazy air, and wraps the whole 
 In dreamy quiet. Dearest, if our lives 
 Assume no brightness from this point of view, 
 Let us turn atheists ; for love was given 
 As a foretaste of what the saints enjoy. 
 
 Jua. More than my ear finds rapture in your 
 
 words. 
 
 Ah ! sir, this eloquence may tire some day, 
 Or the sweet lips that utter it for me 
 May keep it for another. 
 
 En. Dost thou croak ? 
 
 Has the mild dove changed voices with the raven ? 
 Here s that at which my lips will never tire. 
 
 [Kisses her.~\ 
 
 (Enter ALBURQUERQUE and VILLENA, with Attendants.) 
 
 Alhurquerque. Caught in the act ! 
 
 En. Ha ! sir, do even you 
 
 Break on my mother s privacy without 
 A customary warning ? 
 
 Alb. I m short-sighted, 
 
 But, pray, is that your mother? What a blush ! 
 
 \_Lauyhi ny.~\ 
 
294 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 En. Is it a privilege of prime ministers, 
 To offer insult wheresoe er they please ? 
 
 Alb. Forgive me, Conde, I am somewhat gay ; 
 T would be self-cruelty to stop my humor. 
 Dona Juana, you must come with us. 
 
 Jua. Why should I come ? 
 
 Alb. (Shaking a paper.) I ve warrant why you should. 
 
 En. Don Pedro s order ? 
 
 Alb. Ay, sir. 
 
 Villena. Sister, come : 
 
 You should not harbor with this base-born tribe. 
 
 Ea. You are her brother, and may wag your 
 
 tongue 
 Without my notice. 
 
 Jua. Dear Enrique, no ! 
 
 I will not leave for all the kings on earth. 
 As my betrothed, and a Castilian knight, 
 I charge you to protect me from these men ! 
 
 En. While I have life. Without there ! 
 
 [Draws.] 
 (Enter armed Attendants.) 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 The odds are not so great. 
 
 Alb. Arrest them both ! 
 
 In the king s name, I order it ! [" * party advance.} 
 
 En. Stand back ! 
 
 You that come on so lightly, beat retreat, 
 Or we will drive you ! 
 
 Alb. Forward, for the king ! [Draws.] 
 
 (As the two parties enyaye, enter between them LEOXOB DE 
 GUZMAN.) 
 
 Lenor. What means this clamor ? In my lodg 
 ings too I 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 295 
 
 Do you, sirs, claim to be half civilized, 
 
 Or are ye but a pack of wolves ? Put up ! 
 
 Think ye I ne er saw weapons bare before, 
 
 That you would daunt me ? What, Lord Chancellor, 
 
 Are you the foremost in your own disgrace ? 
 
 For honor s sake, explain ! 
 
 Alb. I have a warrant 
 
 Leo. First let me read it ; then I 11 understand 
 Your motive in this most disgraceful brawl. 
 
 Alb. I have a warrant from Don Pedro, madam, 
 To claim the person of your ward, Juana. 
 
 Leo. And I would read it. 
 
 Alb. An hidalgo s word 
 
 Is proof enough. 
 
 Leo. That very much depends 
 
 On the hidalgo. 
 
 Alb. (AsUe to VILLENA.) Damn her cunning! 
 
 Sdeath ! 
 
 We re trapped already. Understand, I said 
 I 11 have a warrant 
 
 Leo. Get your warrant first, 
 
 And take the lady after. Sir, I know 
 Each turning in that crooked brain of yours ; 
 There s not a labyrinth so full of guile, 
 In all your mind, but I have tracked it out, 
 From its least issue to its turbid source. 
 Give up your treachery, at least with me, 
 And take to downright violence at once. 
 Here I, a guardian by Castilian law, 
 Stand on my rights as a Castilian dame : 
 Now let the proudest lord within the land, 
 Unbacked by orders from the throne itself, 
 Abide the conflict ! On this outraged spot, 
 
296 LEONOR DE GUZMAN . 
 
 I 11 see my household butchered, one by one, 
 Ere I will yield a tittle of my rights ! 
 
 Alb, We are dismissed. T were best to go at 
 Once. [Aside to VILLKNA.] 
 
 [Goiny, he turns Ar/c/V.] 
 
 I 11 have the warrant, though, or lose my head, 
 Ay, and die talking ! 
 
 Leo. Of all things but heaven. 
 
 Ah ! you shrewd schemer of iniquity, 
 Look that the prodigal plots you send abroad 
 Do not return from feeding with the swine, 
 On husks and offal, to offend their father, 
 While he is sitting in prosperity 
 Among his kindred ! 
 
 Alb. Look you, I will have 
 
 The warrant ! 
 
 Leo. You shall have the lady, then. 
 
 Alb. Heaven speed you ! We are entered in a 
 
 race ; 
 One or the other shall trip up ere long. 
 
 [Exit, with VILLKXA an-l Attendant*.] 
 
 Leo. Now for your marriage ! There is not a 
 
 moment 
 
 So small, within our reckoning of time, 
 That is not crowded with a thousand checks 
 To us and our design. Some one of you, 
 Seek out my chaplain, with your greatest speed 
 
 [Exit an Alt .ndant.] 
 
 Enrique and Juana, deck yourselves 
 For the blessed rites. I will forgive the haste 
 Your toilets may betray. Speed, speed, my loves, 
 And not fine raiment, is our great need now ! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 297 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Seville. The Plaza Real. Parties of Soldiers and 
 armed Citizens cross the stage; some crying "Lara ! " some 
 "Fernando of Aragon ! " others " Trastainara ! " Enter 
 COKONEL and CANEDO. 
 
 Canedo. HEAVENS ! what a hubbub ! 
 
 Coronel. I have stood in breaches 
 
 When the air hissed with shafts and javelins, 
 And rang with voices of the engineers 
 Cheering their comrades at the thundering rams 
 When furious swords were hammering horrid din 
 On shield, and helm, and hauberk when great 
 
 walls 
 
 And lofty turrets, with incessant crash, 
 Strewed shuddering earth with ruin, far and near; 
 I ve heard the thunder-clouds, among the hills, 
 Roll as if some Titanic monster drove 
 His ponderous car across their rocky tops ; 
 I 7 ve heard the bellowing ocean send his tides, 
 Goaded to madness by the hurricane, 
 Full forty fathom up the groaning cliffs, 
 Until his spray salted the stooping clouds ; 
 I ve heard a woman scold heard thee blaspheme 
 Have dreamed of hell, and chaos, and such things ; 
 But never, since I pricked an ear at sound, 
 Heard I the clamor of this frantic town ! 
 
 [Shouts within.! 
 
298 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Can. I 11 be as crazy as the best of them. 
 Castile for Lara ! 
 
 Cor. Ho ! for Lara, ho ! 
 
 Yell, yell, Canedo yell him to the throne ! 
 
 Can. Now, for my part, I like a quiet fight ; 
 I d rather split a head than split my lungs. 
 
 [Shouts within. ] 
 
 Cor. ITear how they roar I (Enter a Soldier.) The 
 newest news, good friend ? 
 
 Soldier. The king is dead. [Exit, hastily.] 
 
 Cor. That all ? I thought the devil 
 
 Was dead and buried, and his fry broke loose. 
 
 Can. I 11 bet he lies. 
 
 Cor. Doubtless. The knave s too wise 
 
 To speak the truth without some provocation. 
 Yet, for all that, die young Don Pedro must, 
 If death s grave heralds, the Scvillian doctors, 
 Are to be trusted in their mystery. 
 
 Can. Our side is best. 
 
 Cor. For once thou rt in the right. 
 
 Lara is nearer to the crown than they 
 Who start their adverse claims. 
 
 Citizens and Soldiers. ( Within.) IIo ! Lara ! Lara ! 
 
 (Enter LARA and VILLES A., followed by a crowd of Citizens and 
 Soldiers.) 
 
 Lara. 0, curse his treachery ! That faithless 
 
 wretch, 
 
 Sly Alburquerque, has deserted me, 
 And sides with Aragon. 
 
 Villena. His reason s plain ; 
 
 You re in Seville, and Aragon at home. 
 T is time the traitor wants time, only time. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 299 
 
 Lara. Curse, curse his baseness ! 
 
 Can. Lara for Castile ! 
 
 Cor. Leave off thy yells, and take to curses, 
 
 friend ; 
 
 Thou seest } t is the new fashion. Curse Don Juan 
 Alonso de Alburquerque, by each name 
 He got at baptism ! 
 
 Can. Ay, ten million curses 
 
 Hunt him to death, and make him peaceable ! 
 I 11 swear his present life has little ease. 
 
 Cor. Is the king dead ? 
 
 Vil. Not dead, but dying fast. 
 
 Cor. Lara for king ! 
 
 Lara. You side with us, brave sir ? 
 
 What shall we do ? 
 
 Cor. Seize on the crown, of course ; 
 
 And. when you have it on, let Aragon 
 But reach to pull it off. 
 
 Vil. Sound counsel, uncle ; 
 
 For were the crown in hand, we d strain a while 
 Ere you should lose it. 
 
 Can. To the palace, then ! 
 
 Long live King Lara ! What s his Christian name ? 
 
 [TO CORONEL.] 
 
 Cor. Juan thou block I 
 
 Can. Long live King Juan ! Shout ! 
 
 All. Long live King Juan ! 
 
 (Enter a crowd crying, " Aragon ! ") 
 
 Can. Let s begin our work 
 
 By cutting these knaves throats. 
 
 Cor. Well thought of, faith I 
 
 Room for the king, or we will tread you down ! 
 ( The crowd shouts, " Castile for Aragon ! ") 
 
300 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Can. Ho ! forward, then ! [Draws.] 
 
 Cor. Long live King Juan ! On ! 
 
 [AH draw.] 
 
 (As the opposing parties are about to engage, enter DON PEDRO, 
 supported between ALBURQUERQUE and another J\"bblcman t fol 
 lowed by Knights, Attendants, Guards, $c.) 
 
 Alburquerque. Back ! you who hold allegiance to 
 the king! 
 
 All. (Uncovering.) The king! the king ! 
 
 [Tliey fall back.] 
 
 Don Pedro. What shouts were those we heard ? 
 Who cried, " King Juan," who cried, "Aragon," 
 While I, King Pedro, reign ? [Stagger*.} 
 
 Alb. (Supporting him.) It was not you, 
 
 My lord of Lara, certainly not you ? 
 You are too modest if I know your lordship 
 To bellow treason in your own behalf. 
 
 Lara. It was not I. 
 
 Alb. Nor Don Fernando, either ; 
 
 His head is too well set upon his neck, 
 To wish it off . Hey, Coronel ? 
 
 Cor. T was I. 
 
 Can. And I, so please you. 
 
 Cor. (Aside to him.) Hush thy stupid noise ! 
 
 Keep thy thick tongue away from my affairs ! 
 Hearing his grace was dead, and loving so 
 The kingly office, for his royal sake, 
 As widows who lament a husband s loss 
 By marrying another, we bethought us 
 That t was high time to have another king. 
 Finding the lord of Lara close at hand, 
 We, boiling over with our loyal mood, 
 Cried him for king, with the best lungs we have 
 Much in tho fishwives manner. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 301 
 
 Can. (Aside.} There s a lie 
 
 To whiten Judas ! 
 
 Alb. So you Ha ! ha ! ha ! [Laughing.] 
 
 You are the boldest beggar in Castile ! 
 Pardon these men, your grace, because, your grace, 
 We dare not slaughter them that s all. 
 
 [Aside to DON PEDRO.] 
 
 Don P. We do. 
 
 All. Long live King Pedro ! 
 
 Don P. (Aside to ALBURQUERQUE. ) I am very ill ; 
 Take me away, or I shall swoon. 
 
 Alb. Bear up ! 
 
 Swoon, and your crown falls off. 
 
 Lara. What ails the king ? 
 
 Alb. Naught, naught. Your treason has afflicted 
 
 him ; 
 
 He hides upon my neck his gracious tears. 
 Lean hard on me, your grace. [Aside to DON PEDRO.] 
 
 His grace s health 
 Is quite restored, thank Heaven ! though he stand 
 
 firm ! (Aside to PEDRO.) 
 
 Is somewhat weakly yet. Get to your homes, 
 I pray you, sirs. I 11 send the royal guard, 
 To scour the streets, and shut the rebels up. 
 My resolution cheers your faithful hearts ; 
 I see it in your faces. Go, sirs, go ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but the king s party."] 
 T is over, please your grace. 
 
 Nobleman. The king has swooned 
 
 Alb. Back, to the palace ! As you go along, 
 Spread out your mantles, to conceal his grace, 
 And bear him gently through the private door. 
 Should any question you, your best reply 
 
302 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Were to knock out the asker s brains. Away ! 
 Gently ; forget not, in your haste, you bear 
 All Alburquerque s treasure in your arms. 
 
 [Exeunt with DON PEDRO all but ALBURQUERQUE.] 
 What a brave tool is that young king of mine ! 
 How he rends treason, when my hand directs ! 
 There s Lara over, spite of all his noise ; 
 The other curs, that only barked at him, 
 Have slunk away before my bolder tread, 
 And peace is slumbering o er the quiet town, 
 Dreaming of bright to-morrow. Dreams and hopes, 
 That steal away the life of silly man 
 The sleeping and the waking vision which 
 Is idler, falser, and less oft fulfilled ? 
 Now brooding Night has turned the downy side 
 Of her dark wing upon this peaceful hour, 
 And all the world seems drowsy for repose. 
 Perhaps, to-night, even prime ministers 
 May sleep their time out. I will home, and try. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. A Room in the Alcazar. Enter DONA MARIA. 
 
 Dona Maria. Must the whole purpose of my life 
 
 be lost, 
 
 Because a wilful boy is obstinate ? 
 Must all the passions which my wrongs evoked, 
 To shape my destiny, subside again 
 Without their natural issue ? I am naught, 
 There is no leading motive to prolong 
 My aimless days, unless I find revenge. 
 No heart-struck wight so ached to bless his eyes 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 303 
 
 With the fair creature who bewildered him, 
 
 As I to see the justice which is mine 
 
 Rush to its consummation. I have gazed 
 
 Upon revenge, until it seems a thing 
 
 Holy as thoughts of heaven ; and sure it is 
 
 Justice, not vengeance, to the eyes above. 
 
 Suppose I kill her ? with my own true hand 
 
 Sweep her from earth ? What could Don Pedro do ? 
 
 Murder his mother ? Well, and what of that ? 
 
 He could not call the Guzman back to life ; 
 
 And I d die laughing. Ha ! t is a new thought, 
 
 Yet good and tempting. Could I reach her, now, 
 
 Find some occasion. The Alcazar s doors 
 
 Are shut against me. I must think of this. 
 
 Ila ! ha ! it would be rare I with my own hand I 
 
 \_Lauyhincj. ,] 
 (Enter ALBURQUERQUE. ) 
 
 Alburquerque. There, madam, that s the courtly 
 
 face I like ! 
 How well a smile becomes you ! 
 
 Dona M. But you, sir, 
 
 Are not the blest occasion of my smile, 
 Your heart must tell you. 
 
 Alb. At the Guzmans still ! 
 
 Dona M. No, no ; a happy train of gay ideas 
 Gathered in one, and burst into a srnile. 
 Had you your enemy beneath your foot, 
 Feeling with one hand where his heart beat most, 
 While in the other gleamed your naked brand, 
 Quivering with eagerness to end the deed, 
 Would you not smile ? 
 
 Alb. Most likely. 
 
30-4 LEOXOK PE GUZMAN. 
 
 Dona M. Ay, you d gria 
 
 With all the beauty of a tickled fiend. 
 
 Alb. My beauty thanks you. 
 
 Dona M. When will you bestow 
 
 The vengeance I demand, not as a grace, 
 But as a sacred right ? 
 
 Alb. Patience, a while. 
 
 Dona M. Patience forever ! thus you put me off. 
 
 Alb. These Guzmans by the by, well thought 1 
 I 11 get my warrant. Sickness has destroyed 
 Don Pedro s power to battle with my voice. 
 I talk him mad. He d give the whole broad earth 
 Throwing Castile in, as of no account 
 For one short hour of peace. I 11 get my warrant. 
 
 Dona M. What warrant ? 
 
 Alb. To remove the Guzman s ward 
 
 Here date the birth, too, of your own revenge. 
 Don Pedro mends. A month will see our power 
 Flooding Castile ; and as we rise in height, 
 We drain the Guzmans dry. Another month, 
 And I will force them to rebellious acts, 
 To open treason, and defiant arms. 
 Another still, shall see them at my feet, 
 Grovelling, and spurned ! I hate her with a hate 
 You cannot add to, nor abate, one jot. 
 Your hate is honest, therefore harmless, lady ; 
 But mine is deadly, and would crawl and crawl, 
 Through patient centuries, so that, at last, 
 It might bound up and sting ! There s my whole 
 
 heart ; 
 Make what you please of it. 
 
 Dona M. You d rival me 
 
 In my dear purpose ? She is mine, I say, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 305 
 
 And I will have her ! Sec you keep your hands 
 
 From scorching-, by this meddling- in my fires ! 
 
 Sir, you presume to take upon yourself 
 
 The part of principal, whom I designed 
 
 Only as instrument. Could I suppose 
 
 That there were one to share rny hate with me, 
 
 To take my vengeance from my rightful hands, 
 
 Feel all my triumph, by yon heavenly light, 
 
 I d turn to loving Leonor, and stand 
 
 A shield and falchion between her and harm ! 
 
 Alb. Are you quite sane ? 
 
 Dona M. I know not that I am ; 
 
 But this I know, I m jealous in revenge, 
 And I will overreach you. Look you, sir, 
 If she must die, to glut an enmity, 
 ; T is for my cause alone. 
 
 Alb. Forgive my zeal. 
 
 I thought my hatred to your life-long foe 
 Would please you well. 
 
 Dona M. It does not please. You raise 
 
 A puny cause, and equal it with mine. 
 
 Alb. 7 T is very strange ! 
 
 Dona M. Hate with a heart like mine, 
 
 And twill be strange no longer. 
 
 Alb. Hatred, then, 
 
 lias jealousies like love. 
 
 Dona M. Like everything 
 
 That takes a sole possession of the heart. 
 While you were working towards my private ends, 
 I trusted you nay, urged you to the task ; 
 But, now, you rise and call the thing your own : 
 Hence, I abjure you ! 
 
 Alb. T is a curious light, 
 
 VOL. i. 20 
 
300 LEONOIl DE GUZMAN*. 
 
 Thrown on the morbid passions of the mad : 
 
 For that the wearing process of her wrongs 
 
 Has driven her mad, I see no way to doubt. [Aside.] 
 
 Well, madam, take her I concede to you 
 
 All right and title in your Leonor 
 
 Take her, God bless you, and be happy ! 
 
 Dona M. Ha ! 
 
 You \1 cozen me ? I see it in your smirk. 
 You think me crazy ? I am sane, good sir, 
 Quite sane enough to counterplot your snares. 
 1 11 make 3 r ou own, Lord Chancellor, ere long, 
 That all the craft of statesmanship falls short, 
 When its divided interests must contend 
 With one lone passion of a woman s heart. 
 Farewell ! I ask no counsel, seek no aid : 
 One of us twain shall have a laugh at this ! [Exit.] 
 
 Alb. She s raving mad, I 11 swear it on the mass ! 
 Another wild enthusiast to watch 
 Another human thing to check and turn, 
 And hold and loosen, and so overthrow. 
 The Guzman s mine ! Why, I m as mad as she ! 
 There s something solid in her lunacy, 
 Something that finds an echo in my heart. 
 The Guzman s mine, for all. Well, well (Enter 
 COROXEL.) How now ? 
 
 Coronel. My lord 
 
 Alb. Why, so was Lara yesterday. 
 
 Cor. He s dead. 
 
 Alb. Thank God ! 
 
 Cor. Villena, too. 
 
 Alb. More thanks ! 
 
 You see how Heaven is fighting for Castile ! 
 
 Cor. Their deaths were sudden. 
 
L&ONOR DE GUZMAN 30 7 
 
 Alb. The less pain. 
 
 Cor. Some say- 
 
 Alb. I poisoned them ? 
 Cor. T is said. 
 
 -4Z6. They wrong my office ; 
 
 Now I am minister, I use the axe. 
 Your news is better than your scandal, sir : 
 For it 1 11 make you the king s Cup-bearer : 
 More such, and I 11 divide my place with you. 
 Cor. I m not ambitious for a crown of thorns. 
 Alb. (Starling.) Right ! you are strangely right ! 
 
 The crown is mine, 
 
 The glory mine, perhaps, the shameful death. 
 Right, Coronel ! You heard ? 
 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Alb. T were wiser you did not. Thank Heaven, 
 
 again, 
 For all its bounties to our fair Castile I 
 
 Cor. (Aside.) I mar these sweet devotions. ITa ! 
 ha ! ha ! [Laughing. ] 
 
 That holy thought keeps wretched company. 
 
 Alb. What said you, Coronel? a crown of 
 
 thorns ? 
 
 You are chief Cup-bearer remember that. 
 I must go watch the Guzmans. Farewell, sir. 
 
 [Exit CORONEL.] 
 A crown of thorns ! Right, very right, indeed I 
 
 [Exit slowly.] 
 
308 LEONOR DE GUZMAN*. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Same. Jl larye Hull in the Same. LEOXOR DE GUZMAN and 
 ENRIQUE discovered. Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Leonor. No tidings of my chaplain ? 
 
 Attendant. None, your grace. 
 
 Enrique. To catch priests, mother, thou must fish 
 
 with bait, 
 Fat livings, or fair maidens 
 
 Leo. Shame ! for shame ! 
 
 Thou takest old scandals for new truths, Enrique. 
 It is too much the fashion of our age : 
 But, son, remember, he who jests at things 
 Held sacred by the body of mankind, 
 Insults the dignity of man, and sets 
 His flashy jokes above our grandest thoughts. 
 
 En. I meant but little. 
 
 Leo. Doubtless : yet thou dst claim 
 
 A place in wisdom over all thy race, 
 Past, present, and to come. Go forth again, 
 And push your search with busy secrecy. 
 
 [Exit Attendant.] 
 
 Perhaps the chaplain keeps away through fear. 
 I Ve spent a goodly time in argument, 
 To overcome his scruples at the rites. 
 Naught but the contract, with the royal seal, 
 Will satisfy him : that I have mislaid. 
 
 En. T is the first mention thou hast made of it : 
 1 have it, mother. 
 
 Leo. Heaven be praised ! where, where ? 
 
 En. Close, at my lodgings. 
 
 Leo. Fly, and bring it here. 
 
 How blind was I, not to have questioned thee ! 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN". ,>09 
 
 Time has slipped by most precious, precious time 
 While I consulted with myself. 0, fly ! 
 
 [Exit ENRIQUE.] 
 
 And so Enrique had it all the while ! 
 This comes from self-dependence. Over-trust 
 In our own knowledge is an ignorance 
 More perilous than modest diffidence, 
 That doubts and asks, and from a child, perchance, 
 May hear replies that daunt philosophers. 
 I searched the world for that which lay at home, 
 Formed secret plans to ferret out this deed, 
 When a mere opening of my thought-pinched lips 
 Was all I needed. We consume in thoughts 
 That are the tattle of the market-place ; 
 And our best wisdom, after all our toil, 
 Is but the world s, in rounded sentences. 
 Who ; d thought Enrique Well, I in wiser now ; 
 An open heart is a sage counsellor. 
 Juana ! 
 
 (Enter JUANA DE VILENA. ) 
 
 Juana. Madam ! 
 
 Leo. It has come, at last, 
 
 The wedding-day, I promised long ago. 
 
 Jua. And every day since then. 
 
 Leo. Thou rt peevish. 
 
 Jua. No : 
 
 T is the first pledge you ever left unfilled. 
 Madam, I love you, and can pardon more 
 Than that which lies not in your power to give. 
 Yet if I doubt the baffled promise now, 
 I blame this prison more than you, dear lady. 
 
310 LEOXOR DE GUZMAX. 
 
 Leo. (Kissing her.) Thou rt a sweet maiden ! but 
 
 we 11 see, we 11 see. 
 
 This prison true, it has perplexed my will ; 
 Yet even those doors can never shut out hope. 
 I keep the freshness of my mind untouched, 
 Fill these close chambers with my smiles, and wako 
 A ready music in the vaulted roofs 
 With pardonable laughter. Dear Juana, 
 Had they not prisoned me, I should have sunk 
 Beneath Alfonso s death ; but sufferings, 
 That were disjointed from my deeper grief, 
 Roused all my strength to beat them back again. 
 I thank my enemies for this, at least. 
 
 (Ree nter ENRIQUE.) 
 
 Enrique. Here is the parchment. 
 
 Leo. (Reading.) All in proper form. 
 
 In to my heart, and nestle in its warmth ! 
 Once more, Juana, don thy wedding-clothes, 
 And wait my call within. Enrique, thou 
 Stand on a moment s warning to come forth. 
 
 En. We have observed this form for many a day ; 
 Yet, as it pleases, we will play it o er. 
 
 Leo. To-day my heart is whispering success. 
 
 (Enter Attendant.) 
 
 Attendant. Your chaplain, madam. [Ej-it.] 
 
 Leo. Ha! In, in, my loves ! 
 
 The sun is shining on your brightest day ! 
 
 (Exeunt ENRIQUE and JUANA. Enter the CHAPLAIN.) 
 
 Do not prepare thyself with shrugs, and frowns, 
 And signals of distress. Good father, look, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 311 
 
 Here is the deed ! ; T is signed by King Alfonso, 
 Witnessed by all the ministers, and sealed 
 With the armorial castles of the realm. 
 Thou doubt st ? Hast thou betrayed me ? 
 
 Chaplain. Daughter, no : 
 
 Yet there are fears, not only for the Church, 
 But thee, who 11 be the chiefest sufferer 
 By this concealed affair. 
 
 Leo. Think not of me. 
 
 If by this deed I made a sacrifice 
 Of the few days which Heaven designs for me, 
 Think st thou not, father, I would through with it, 
 Though every step were nearer to the grave ? 
 
 Chap. Indeed, I fear 
 
 Leo. Fears are no guests of mine. 
 
 Chap. Yet for thyself. 
 
 Leo. My children are myself: 
 
 I have no care beyond my family. 
 I know the weight and moment of this deed ; 
 It may exalt Enrique to a crown 
 Ay, even to a crown : and as for me, 
 Father, it can but kill ; and if I feel 
 No fear of death, his common sting is gone. 
 
 Chap. I will consent. 
 
 Leo. 0, bless thee ! Hark ! I hear 
 
 A cat-like foot-fall in the corridor. [Drops on her knees.] 
 Father, I do confess, I have much wronged, 
 
 (Enter ALBURQUERQUE.) 
 
 In spirit, that good man, Lord Alburquerque. 
 I do confess 
 
 Alburquerque. What farce is this ? 
 
312 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Leo. My lord, 
 
 You see me at confession. Pardon me ; 
 My sins are heavy. 
 
 Alb. I can witness that. 
 
 Leo. Your evidence will never reach the court 
 I shall be tried by. In a moment, sir, 
 1 11 be at leisure. 
 
 Alb. Here s some villany ! 
 
 I 11 try her, though. 
 
 [Aside and exit, dropping his handkerchief.] 
 
 Chap. Daughter, arise ! he s gone. 
 
 Leo. A moment, father, bear with me a while. 
 I do confess, I Ve had suspicious thoughts 
 Of good Lord Alburquerque 
 
 (Reenter ALBURQUERQUE suddenly.) 
 
 Ah I I knew it! [Aside.] 
 
 Alb. I dropped my [Looks around.] 
 
 Leo. Wits, my lord ? 
 
 Alb. Hum ! Still on her knees : 
 
 A pious sight ! (Aside.) My precious handkerchief : 
 A love-gift, madam. 
 
 [Picks it up, and abstractedly begins tearing it.] 
 
 Leo. And you treat it thus I 
 
 Alb. Fore Heaven ! you d best not mock me ! 
 
 [Going.] 
 
 Leo. Mock you, sir ? 
 
 Do I offend ? Nay, stay, my lord. Have you, 
 Or any of the courtiers, seen my son ? 
 Pray send Enrique to me. 
 
 Alb. (Aaide.) So it seems 
 
 I have outran suspicion. Should I see 
 The Conde, madam, I will be your page. 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 313 
 
 Something is wrong here. Could I trust my nose, 
 I d say that I smelt treachery in the air. 
 I 11 not neglect you long, be sure of that. 
 
 \_Jlside and cxit.~\ 
 Leo. (Springing up.} Now, father, haste ! J uana 
 
 and Enrique, 
 Come forth I My promise is well-nigh fulfilled. 
 
 (Reenter JUANA and ENRIQUE.) 
 
 On, to the chapel ! 
 
 Chap. For thy sake alone, 
 
 I made my opposition. 
 
 Leo. Say no more, 
 
 But get about thy duties. I 11 stand guard. 
 Gather my household, as you go along, 
 And take them in as witnesses. No words ; 
 Words are the clogs of action. [Exeunt all but LEONOR.] 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! [Laughing.] 
 Good Alburquerque, if you knew of this ! 
 0, gracious Heaven, what if they murder me ! 
 "Why, let them strike ! I ve done a deed to-day, 
 With which Castile shall ring for years to come. 
 What is my life to my Enrique s love, 
 And blessed tears upon my memory ? 
 Already, in my fancy, I can see 
 A shadowy crown that binds his regal brows, 
 And deepens, slowly, till its form becomes 
 Substantial matter, blazing with great gems, 
 And all the royal symbols of Castile ! 
 
 (Reenter ALBURQUERQUE.) 
 
 Ha ! vulture ! 
 
 Alburquerque. Fresh from the confessional, 
 
314 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 You re-begin your naughtiness. Alas ! 
 Continued penitence must pre-suppose 
 Continued sin. I fear such penitence 
 Is Satan s stale temptation to new guilt. 
 Ward, I must keep your soul in stricter charge. 
 
 Leo. A man may enter the infernal gates 
 "With proverbs on his lips. You are a bee 
 That hives its honey for another s use. 
 My lord, is Don Enrique found ? 
 
 Alb. He s here. 
 
 Leo. Indeed ? I see him not. [Laughiny.] 
 
 Alb. 0, fie ! my lady, 
 
 Is childish trifling the best wit you bring, 
 To meet at our joined issue ? For my part, 
 Being no ready jester with my tongue, 
 I put my jokes in writing. Look you, now, 
 
 [Shows a paper.] 
 
 Here is the substance of my thoughts, the war 
 rant, 
 Signed by Don Pedro, which I promised you. 
 
 Leo. (Reading.) Did the king sign this ? 
 
 And must Juana be withdrawn from me ? 
 You use me harshly. Must she go to-day ? 
 
 Alb. Upon the instant. For Don Pedro thinks 
 Such wide possessions as Juana holds 
 Are dangerous wardships in a subject s hands. 
 A treacherous guardian might employ her wealth 
 For private objects, without fear of loss, 
 In treasons, plots. I see you understand. 
 
 Leo. The king thinks thus ? 
 
 Alb. And, therefore, has resolved. 
 
 Leo. A wise young king! both wise and reso 
 lute! 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 315 
 
 The} 7 " say his wisdom s at his elbow ever, 
 Not in his brain, where common wit abides. 
 
 Alb. Where is Juana ? 
 
 Leo. At her prayers, my lord. 
 
 Alb. This is a prayerful house. 
 
 Leo. I 11 summon her. 
 
 Alb. Yes, and at once. For since her brother s 
 death 
 
 Leo. Her brother s death ! Poor soul ! she knows 
 
 it not. 
 How fell it, sir ? 
 
 Alb. Through lack of life, they say. 
 
 Bring her, and you shall hear. 
 
 Leo. Miguel ! 
 
 (Enter an Attendant.) 
 
 Alb. I 11 go. [Going.] 
 
 Leo. (Preventing him.) Nay, nay, my lord, you 11 
 
 keep me company. 
 
 Miguel, you 11 find my ward, engaged in prayer, 
 Within the chapel. After she has done 
 You understand me ? after she has done, 
 His lordship fain would greet her. As you go, 
 Close all the doors, and make their fastenings tight. 
 
 [Aside to him.] 
 (Exit Attendant, closing the doors.) 
 
 So much I hold the church s offices 
 
 In my respect [Noise without.] 
 
 Alb. (Starting.) I heard a bolt shoot. 
 
 Leo. - That, 
 
 Taking the liberty 
 
 Alb. You talk for time : 
 
 Your face betrays you. Cope with me, forsooth ! 
 
310 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 There s some vile plot afoot within this house ! 
 The air is black with it ! Ho ! there, my guard ! 
 
 (Enter Soldiers.) 
 
 Search the Alcazar ! 
 
 Leo. (Aside.) Now, they re at the rites ! 
 
 Maritumjuxta ritum aanctce. Now, 
 Juana answers, Volo ! Now, the ring 
 Is blessed, is sliding on her finger 1 
 Was married once. Oremus, says the priest : 
 And now, the benediction ! Hold, my lord ! 
 
 [Aloud.] 
 
 Per Christum Dominum Amen ! I cry, 
 Ila ! ha ! my lord, you are an age too late ! 
 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 Alb. Are all the women in the kingdom mad ? 
 Ha ! madam, are your glances all that way? 
 In, to the chapel ! 
 
 Guard. (Trying the door.) It is barred, my lord. 
 
 Alb. I did not ask you if the door were barred, 
 I ordered you to pass it. Find a way, [Drawing.] 
 Or, by the saints, I 11 drive you through it ! On ! 
 [Soldiers attempt to force the door.] 
 
 Leo. Stand, thou firm oak ! 
 
 Alb. It yields ! Let me assist. 
 
 Leo. (Holding him.) My lord, you shall not ! nay, 
 
 beseech you, sir ! 
 There s naught within. 
 
 Alb. (Struggling with her.) Thou liest ! Unhand me, 
 
 fool! 
 I would not do thee violence. Off! off! 
 
 [Flings her off.] 
 (A burst of organ-music is heard.) 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 317 
 
 Leo. Tis done ! tis done ! Now tear the prison 
 
 down, 
 And make its ruins monuments for me ! 
 
 ( Organ-music. The door gives way. The CHAPLAIN, followed 
 by ENRIQUE, JUANA, and a bridal-train, are discovered within 
 the doorway, and slowly enter.) 
 
 Alb. What means this mummery ? 
 
 Leo. A marriage masque 
 
 No more, my lord a masque, a merry sham. 
 You re welcome to our bridal ! 
 
 Alb. Are they wed ? 
 
 Chaplain. They are, my lord. 
 
 Alb. Sir priest, your shaven crown 
 
 Shall ache for this ! 
 
 Chap. (Offering the parchment.) Here s my commis 
 sion : Read. 
 
 Alb. Curse thee and thy commission ! Some one 
 
 Guard, 
 
 Drag down that sorceress to a dungeon ! Wretch, 
 I 11 make you wish this wedding-day of yours 
 Were blotted from the calendar ! 
 
 Leo. And I 
 
 I kept my promise, Alburqucrque. Mark, 
 I have outdone you in your own bad trade ! 
 0, Heaven ! I cannot reach thee, dear Juana ; 
 
 [Stayyers towards her."] 
 
 But bless thee, daughter ! I am sick with joy. 
 My lord, pray kiss the bride for me ! ! 
 
 [Faints ] 
 
318 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street in Talavera. The houses hung with ban 
 ners, yarlands, etc. The street spanned by triumphal archet, 
 and strewn withflowers. Music, bells, shouts, etc., are heard. 
 Enter a crowd of Citizens. 
 
 First Citizen. HAS the procession passed ? 
 
 Second Citizen. Not yet. 
 
 Third Citizen. Keep back ! 
 
 Your bushy-head is stuck before my eyes : 
 1 would not see the progress in your hair. 
 
 Fourth Citizen. You re coarse. 
 
 Third C. But honest. 
 
 First C. Have you seen the king ? 
 
 Second C. Often. 
 
 First C. What looks he like ? 
 
 Second C. A well-grown boy : 
 
 lie favors your cub, Pablo. 
 
 First C. So, indeed ? 
 
 Second C. Ay, he s but human ; has your aches 
 
 and ails, 
 
 Sweats when he s hot, and shivers when he s cold, 
 Eats when he s hungry, drinks when he is dry, 
 Will die, sans question, if he catch the plague, 
 And go to dust the same as any here. 
 
 First C. That s odd ! He wears a crown ? 
 
 Second C. Not always, friend ; 
 
 ; T would make his own crown ache. 
 
 First C. You re passing dry. 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 319 
 
 Citizens. (Within.) Long live King Pedro ! 
 All. Ho ! long live the king ! 
 
 (Ladies throw garlands and flowers from the balconies and win 
 dows. Musi:, ringing of bells, etc. Enter, in triumphal 
 procession, Sfoblemen, Knights, Gentlemen, Priists, Pages, 
 Soldiers, etc., with banners, arms, crosses, etc. ; then, CORONEL, 
 bearing a great cup.) 
 
 First G. Who s that ? 
 
 Second C. Alonso Coronel, by trade 
 
 A traitor : he shifts his lieges with his coats. 
 
 First G. He s the king s poisoner ; for, see his 
 
 cup. 
 Second G. That is a private office. 
 
 (Shouts. As COBOJJEL and the rest pass off, enter the Grand 
 Standard-bearer, the Lieutenant-general of Castile, the Lord 
 High Chamberlain, the Captain of the Guard, and others of 
 the royal household, in their robes, and bearing the insignia 
 of their offices.) 
 
 First G. Look, look, sir ! 
 
 There goes the king, carrying his golden crown 
 Upon a cushion, for his better ease. 
 
 Second G. The saints forgive ! That is the Lord 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 First C. He must be honest, to be trusted thus. 
 Now, never tell me that s not the king s headsman ; 
 I see the sword. How grim the villain looks ! 
 
 Second G. Why, neighbor, he is the Lord Cham 
 berlain. 
 
 First G. Is that the king s sword ? 
 
 Second G. Ay. 
 
 First G. Were I the king, 
 
 I d keep my sword and jewels to myself ; 
 
320 LEUXOK DE GUZMAN*. 
 
 For fear they d knock my brains out with the one, 
 To steal the other. 
 
 (Enter DON PEDRO, ALBURQUERQUE, DONA MARIA, Ladies, Sft:.) 
 
 Who is he that smiles? 
 The ugly fellow with the seals and key ? 
 The king s clerk, ha ? 
 
 Second C. The greatest Don in Spain, 
 
 Lord Chancellor, and Treasurer of the realm, 
 Juan de Alburquerque. 
 
 First C. By the saints ! 
 
 I 11 keep my body from his clutches. Lord ! 
 Had ever man such wicked eyes as his ! 
 
 Third C. And brains to back them. 
 
 [ALBURQUERQUE smiles and bows to the people.] 
 
 AIL Ho ! King Pedro ! ho ! [DON PEDRO bows.} 
 
 First C. What little boy is that who bows his 
 head ? 
 
 Second C. That is the king. 
 
 First C. The Lord forgive me, friend ! 
 
 I took him for the seal-and-key man s knave, 
 Aping his master. 
 
 Third C. You might shoot more wide. 
 
 All. Hush! hush! 
 
 First C. The king would speak. 
 
 Third C. The king, indeed ! 
 
 Wait till the Chancellor has cleared his throat. 
 (Shouts. ALBURQUERQUE ascends a stand, smiliny and bowing.) 
 
 Albitrquerque. Loyal Castilians, in the king s be-i 
 
 half, 
 
 I thank your noble spirits for this cheer. 
 His grace has pleased to make me orator, 
 More from affection than my own deserts ; 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 321 
 
 And if my speech sound roughly in your ears, 
 Blame not the king, but say the instrument 
 Fits not his purpose. 
 
 First G. That is sweet enough. 
 
 Third C. Soft as the velvet on a tiger s paw. 
 
 Alb. I do not pause for want of matter, friends, 
 But from a flood of it. Twere tedious, 
 Even in your faithful hearing, to recount 
 The many glories of King Pedro s reign. 
 You who affect your country as I trust 
 All do, within the compass of my voice 
 Can call to mind the doleful days she passed 
 Ere the young king was firmly in his seat. 
 Which one of you could leave his cottage-door, 
 With full assurance of a safe return ? 
 Whose wife was sacred ? Whose fair daughter kept 
 Her chastity inviolate ? Or who 
 Had heart to lay up wealth, or gather flocks, 
 Or plant a vineyard, or plough up a field, 
 Or do the lightest labor, that reposed 
 Upon the, future for its just reward ? 
 And why ? Because the land was faction s prey. 
 Because the cottage looked askance, in dread, 
 Upon the neighboring castle. Because law 
 That equal arbiter twixt high and low 
 Was but a word. Because your pleasant fields 
 Were trodden by the bloody foot of war. 
 Because your wives were ravished neath your eyes, 
 By shameless ruffians, and your daughters led 
 Into a servitude more infamous 
 Than old Egyptian bondage. Ay, and you 
 Were scoffed, insulted, scourged, nay, slain out 
 right, 
 
 VOL. i. 21 
 
322 LKONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 If your poor tongues arose in mutiny 
 
 Against your savage masters. Scarce a year, 
 
 And all these horrors were familiar things. 
 
 0, what a change 0, what a blessed change 
 
 Has fallen upon Castile ! I ve tamed I mean, 
 
 The king has tamed his lords, destroyed their dens, 
 
 Scattered their servile troops, avenged your wrongs ; 
 
 And turned his nobles to a better use 
 
 Than plundering, torturing, and murdering. you. 
 
 Can you ask more, who have security 
 
 For house and household, faith in property, 
 
 Equal and proper justice unto all, 
 
 And the mild triumphs of a settled peace ? 
 
 All. Xo, no ! Long live King Pedro ! 
 
 Alb. It assures 
 
 His royal mind, to hear you answer thus, 
 And ratifies his future policy. 
 There may be some who murmur at the king, 
 Even while his gentle goodness shelters them : 
 To them I say, that perfect government 
 Is not the offspring of a single day ; 
 But, like the greater creatures of the earth, 
 Is rounded slowly in the womb of time, 
 And brought to light with more extended pains 
 Than the less bulky matters of the world. 
 Once more, I thank you for his majesty ; 
 Who, when he s hence, would ask your memories 
 To hold no thoughts of him that are not warmed 
 By the dear currents of your grateful hearts. 
 Therefore, his grace has ordered me to give 
 A royal largess to the suffering poor ; 
 Found a new chapel in Saint Pedro s name ; 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 323 
 
 Rebuild your bridges, open up your roads, 
 
 And make your fountains spout with wine to-day. 
 
 All. Long live King Pedro ! God protect the 
 
 king ! 
 
 [Exeunt DON PEDRO and ALBURQUERQUE, bowing, DONA MARIA, 
 and the others. ] 
 
 First C. "T was a grand speech ! 
 
 Third G. You understood it, then ? 
 
 First C. 0, yes ; about the womb of government 
 Producing monsters, and the like. But, then, 
 The largess was the thing ! 
 
 Third G. He but returns 
 
 A piece of what the taxes wrung from us : 
 He s liberal in our pockets. 
 
 First G. Friends, come on ! 
 
 There 11 be more speeches, and more largess, too. 
 What a sweet gentleman the Treasurer is ! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. A Dungeon in the Castle. The music of DON PEDRO S 
 progress, the shouts of the people, fyc., are occasionally heard 
 without. Enter LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Leonor. Shout on, good people ! ring, ye merry 
 
 bells ! - 
 
 Ye jocund instruments of harmony, 
 Breathe your glad music to the breathless heavens ! 
 That he who sitteth in eternal joy, 
 Amid angelic minstrelsy, may smile 
 To see his happy children mimic him ! 
 I am glad the world rejoices ; for poor I, 
 Who sit amid the embers of my life, 
 
321: LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Turning its dying fancies o er and o er, 
 Had almost lost my faith in happiness. 
 My sorrows cast a shadow either way, 
 Barkening the past, and glooming towards the 
 
 future. 
 
 This is not just. Misfortunes I have known, 
 Cares, troubles, dangers ; yet some touch of light 
 Has gilt the summits of my drearest fate, 
 Just as the hour seemed darkest. I have known 
 Long days of rapture, nights of sweet content, 
 Lit by prophetic dreams of coming cheer, 
 And memories of forgotten happiness. 
 1 have no right to murmur. Born to naught, 
 I lived a queen ; unwedded, I was loved ; 
 Loved, I brought forth a numerous progeny ; 
 And they, though base-born, only less than kings. 
 My deeds have given my country history ; 
 My virtues live in many a grateful heart 
 That knew their bounty ; and my fate shall draw 
 The drooping ej elid o er full many a tear 
 That falls upon the silence of the past: 
 I am immortal in man s memory. [Shouts, music, #c.] 
 Therefore, rejoice, good people of Castile, 
 And give dumb instruments a voice of joy ! 
 You share a cheerfulness which once was mine. 
 
 (Enter JUAXA and the CHAPLAIN.) 
 
 Jitana. Joy, mother, joy! Yet this is cruel in 
 
 me, 
 
 To bring my merriment to your abode. 
 Forgive my folly ! 
 
 Leo. Joy, Juana, joy ! 
 
 Shall I who love thee, to the point of pain, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 325 
 
 Not make my dwelling echo with thy joy ? 
 
 See, I can laugh, and sing, and play the fool, 
 
 As well as any in the sunny fields ! [Laughs and sings.] 
 
 False lover, if thou lt not love me, 
 
 Then, sure, I 11 be another s ; 
 For, ha ! ha ! ha ! the world is wide, 
 
 And man has many brothers. 
 
 For, ha ! ha ! ha ! the fields are green, 
 When love shines bright above me ; 
 
 But other fields may seem as green, 
 When other hearts may love me. 
 
 If thou wilt not divide thy joy with me, 
 Why, then, I 11 weep, indeed. 
 
 Jua. Enrique 0, 
 
 Mere rapture makes me stumble in my speech 
 Enrique has escaped, and sheltered him 
 In the Asturias. 
 
 Leo. Now, be praise to Heaven ! 
 
 A while ago, I almost did repine, 
 Because these walls were dark, and yon small grate 
 Was chary of the sunlight, and the drops 
 Of chilling water, from these sweating vaults, 
 Seemed to be falling on my lonely heart. 
 But, now, the walls are windows, arid the grate 
 Glows, as if burning in the central sun, 
 And every drop falls from the blue above, 
 Like rich celestial dew. (Shouts, $c., without.} Ay, 
 
 shout again, 
 
 Shout, ye blind multitudes ! for I desire 
 A nation s voice to tell my gratitude ! 
 I knew the springs of mercy were not dry, 
 
326 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 I knew God s hand sowed blessings through the 
 
 world, 
 
 I knew this dungeon hid me not from him, 
 And yet I dared repine ! 
 
 Chaplain. Daughter, thy words 
 
 Are fervent with the essence of true grace. 
 Hast thou repented of the sinful tie 
 That bound thee to Alfonso ? 
 
 Leo. Father, no ; 
 
 Frankly, I tell thee, it is there my heart 
 Fights with thy holy teachings. I repent 
 The wrong our union did the hapless queen, 
 The public scandal of a life like ours, 
 The charter which we gave to those who sought 
 Excuses in example ; but the tie 
 The pure connection of two faithful hearts, 
 Through the mysterious avenues of love 
 Seems something holier, something nearer heaven, 
 Than aught the Church has gathered from above. 
 There is no creed for this, no law, I own, 
 Save that which nature whispers in our ears ; 
 And, in her whisper, pardon if I thought 
 I heard the still small voice. 
 
 Chap. Ah ! daughter, daughter, 
 
 This mars thy faith, and makes it incomplete. 
 Thy stubborn clinging to one darling sin 
 Will lose thee heaven. 
 
 Leo. Heaven judge me ! I have judged 
 
 According to the light within my soul. 
 If there was better light, as thou dost urge, 
 It never shone for me. No more of this. 
 
 Chap. Thou st never felt the guilt of thy misdeed ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 321 
 
 Leo. Never, so help me Heaven ! Now, if thou 
 
 wilt, 
 
 ITcal o er the other wounds within my soul ; 
 But leave this bare to God s anointing eye. 
 My task on earth is finished. Father, come, 
 And get me ready for a higher life. [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Same. A State Apartment in the same. DON PEDRO, 
 DONA MARIA, and ALBURQUERQUE discovered. 
 
 Don Pedro. Now that our rule is settled in Castile, 
 And we the darlings of the people s hearts, 
 Were it not well, amid our happiness, 
 To cast an eye on mercy, and declare 
 A general amnesty ? 
 
 Alburquerque. Methinks, your grace 
 Has simply turned the matter upside down. 
 For, by your favor, as your arm is strong, 
 And able to bear out your royal will, 
 Now is the time most fit for punishment. 
 Now weed the kingdom of your enemies, 
 By their decay enriching your tried friends ; 
 And if the vassals murmur for their lords, 
 Give them grand bull-fights, at the dead lords cost. 
 Thus says my almanac. 
 
 Don P. My lord, you re wise ;. 
 
 And to your hands we trust our government, 
 With good assurance of prosperity. 
 Yet, surely, there are some, now prisoners 
 For I have heard our castles groan with them 
 Whose liberation would not harm the state. 
 
328 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 T was but to-day Fadrique pressed a suit 
 To free his mother, Dona Leonor. 
 And so far as my unripe wit may go, 
 I see no reason 
 
 Alb. But I see a thousand 
 
 Why you should chop her head off ! 
 
 Dona Maria. (Laughing.) Pardon me : 
 Was it because she over-reached your skill 
 In Don Enrique s marriage ? 
 
 Alb. That will do, - 
 
 Out of a thousand reasons, that s enough. 
 I freely own, she circumvented me. 
 
 Dona M. Which only proves [Pauses.] 
 
 Alb. Well, what ? 
 
 Dona M. That you were gulled 
 
 Less by her skill than by your want of it. 
 
 Alb. Show me so deep a woman. 
 
 Dona M. (Aside to him.) Here, sir. [Curtseys."] 
 
 Alb. Pish ! 
 
 Your highness should do one of these two things 
 Either put Dona Leonor to death, 
 Or make her your prime minister. 
 
 Don P. (Laughing.) You jest. 
 
 Alb. The saints forbid ! for, ere the year be up,. 
 Castile will be alone with one of us. 
 In soberness, I would advise your grace 
 To give me warrant for that woman s death. 
 I 11 execute it in a private way, 
 With little noise 
 
 Dona M. And little pain to her. 
 
 How feeling in your lordship ! what a care 
 To make death comfortable ! Please, your grace, 
 I, as a woman, cry against an act 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 329 
 
 That would disgrace the honor of your sex ; 
 One whose sole motive and excuse would be 
 Your victim s weakness. 
 
 Don P. You forget your wrongs. 
 
 Dona M. Ay, in the presence of so foul a wish, 
 I blush to know my thoughts were kindred once. 
 Time and her sufferings have so moved my heart, 
 That I would greet her with a sister s kiss, 
 Rather than render her to that bad man, 
 Who d stain your ermine for a private pique. 
 
 Dan P. Mother, this mercy shows 
 
 Alb. Ay, shows, your grace 
 
 Nothing but shows you hit the very word ! 
 Her mercy is not real, ; t is counterfeit, 
 It has to me a hollow-hearted sound : 
 And yet she d palm it 
 
 Don P. Recollect yourself ! 
 
 Your spleen breaks in upon your sovereign s speech, 
 To vilify his mother. Have a care, 
 Or even you may carry it too far. 
 Must I deny the virtue I behold, 
 To trust the secret guilt your words betray ? 
 You cover your revenge in robes of state, 
 And ask my voice to sanction the vile hag ; 
 While naked mercy must be shuffled by, 
 To give your harlot room. Beware, my lord, 
 Lest these instructions in cruel policy 
 Be not too well remembered, lest the spring 
 Of impious knowledge, opened in my mind, 
 Some day, o erwhelm the opener! 
 
 Alb. T was my haste : 
 
 Yet I can show the motives Sire, you frown 
 You frown upon your faithful counsellor ! 
 
330 LEOXOR I)E GUZMAX. 
 
 You frown upon the pilot whose true e3 r e 
 
 Guided your early voyage past many a rock, 
 
 Unknown to you, who laughed from the high deek ; 
 
 Through many a storm, whose raging waters strove 
 
 To tear his hand from the unsteady helm, 
 
 While you slept lightly in your dangerous berth ! 
 
 Ay, sire, through treacherous calms, and furious 
 
 storms, 
 
 Scorched by hot suns, or blind with hissing spray, 
 Weary with watching, sick with over-toil, 
 1 bore you safely. This is my reward ! 
 Ah ! }a>u do well, to push the knave aside 
 The rough, blunt fellow whom you loved at sea 
 Now you are riding, with your anchors down, 
 And all your streamers fanning the mild airs, 
 Safe in the harbor which he brought you to. 
 
 Do n P. My lord - 
 
 Alb. Still frowning ! Well, discharge me, then ; 
 You may find better statesmen in the streets ; 
 The earth must teern with them ; or you, my liego, 
 Would be more careful in preserving me. 
 T is not the minister whose heart is wrung, 
 By this decline from early confidence, 
 It is the inun ! [Jfffcts to wep.] 
 
 Donn J/". (Aside to him.) ! let me see that tear 
 That natural wonder ! beseech you, sir ! 
 
 Alb. Marplot, begone ! [Aside to her.] 
 Don P. Dear Alburquerque, nay 
 
 Alb. Here I lay down the seals and golden key, 
 That marked my office of abundant trust, 
 Here, at Don Pedro s feet ; and may the hand 
 That lifts them thence be worthier of their charge, 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAX. 331 
 
 By skill and grace, if not by honesty. 
 
 [Lays down the seals and key."] 
 Lie there until I pick ye up again. [Jlside and exit.] 
 
 Don P. My lord ! 
 
 Dona M. lie s gone. Alas ! dear gentleman, 
 He was sincere, no doubt, in his intent ; 
 But Leonor, poor creature, must not die : 
 She is the mother of thy father s sons. 
 Thou It free her soon ? 
 
 Don P. Not yet. 
 
 Dona M. Thou It give her hope ? 
 
 Don P. Yes, if the Chancellor consent. 
 
 Dona M. But, Pedro, 
 
 Thou art the king, and can do anything. 
 
 Don P. I m not so sure of that. Too well I know, 
 I cannot govern this Castile of mine, 
 Without Lord Alburquerque. Mother, send, 
 Send to his palace, bid him come to me ; 
 And say, his seals are lying at my feet, 
 Awaiting his return. 
 
 Dona M. I 11 go myself, 
 
 In secrecy and silence. T were not well 
 To have this business noised abroad. True, true, 
 We cannot do without the Chancellor. 
 Farewell ! Pray, trust thy signet-ring to me, 
 And let rne bear a little ray of hope 
 To Leonor. T is an odd fancy, ha? 
 Yet words of hope and comfort, from my mouth, 
 Would move her strangely. 
 
 [Drawing the ring from his finger.] 
 
 Don P. T is as well, perhaps, 
 
 To grant her wish ; for Leonor must die. 
 Thou must not leave ere you are reconciled. 
 
332 LEOXOR DE QUZMAN. 
 
 Forgive some rudeness from her natural pride, 
 And say I pity her. But, then, the state, 
 Or Alburquerque, or whatever it is, 
 Will murder her! (Aside.) Well, take my signet- 
 ring - 
 
 The Chancellor would rage to see it go [Aside.] 
 Would it were always used in such fair deeds ! 
 Juana keeps with her she owes me that ; 
 I gave Fadrique leave to see her, too ; 
 Another kindness which she 11 thank me for. 
 But, then, the state ! mother 
 
 [ Walks up the stage."} 
 Dona M. Farewell, son ! 
 
 (As she is going, re enter ALBURQUERQUE, with a bundle of papers. 
 He regards her fixedly she returns his look. ) 
 
 Alburquerque. Well, what now ? 
 
 Dona M. Nothing, my good lord. 
 
 Alb. Hum ! hum ! 
 
 Nothing, indeed ? You have a conquering look. 
 
 Dona M. I have been pleading with the king for 
 
 you. 
 
 For hark you, sir I have resolved to drop 
 My hate to Leonor within your hands. 
 I am but weak, and see I must abide 
 Your lordship s pleasure ; play a second part, 
 And leave the stage to you. But swear to me 
 Not to give up your purpose till the king 
 Sign her death-warrant. This, at least, I 11 have. 
 
 Alb. You shall. But I will have the Guzman, hey ? 
 That, too, I purposed. Ila ! ha ! ha ! she s mine ! 
 
 [La ugh iny.] 
 
 Dona M. You are not generous. 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 333 
 
 Alb. (Laughing.) Ha! ha! why, no : 
 
 I like a triumph. 
 
 Dona M. Pray, address the king : 
 
 He 7 s ripe to welcome you. 
 
 Alb. (Laughing.) Ila ! ha ! 7 t was rare ! 
 
 A woman rival me ! {Turns towards DON PEDRO.] 
 
 Dona M. (Aside.) And conquer you ! 
 Now for my swoop of vengeance ! 
 
 (As ALBURQUERQUE slowly approaches DON PEDRO, DONA MARIA 
 steals off.) 
 
 Don P. Welcome ! Nay, 
 
 Do not hold off, but take your seals again. 
 
 Alb. My liege, you misconceive me. I have 
 
 brought 
 
 The papers, of most pressing consequence, 
 Which lay beneath the judgment of my eye. 
 The man who holds my place as minister 
 Will get some headaches over these, I trow ! 
 They are of urgent moment though I have 
 A wain-load waiting at the palace-gate 
 And so I brought them first. .For, notice, sire, 
 
 [Going over the papers rapidly.] 
 This is a plan for rating the poll-tax. 
 This is a paper on the custom-dues 
 Established by Navarre. This, from Biscay, 
 Begging their English league may be confirmed. 
 Here s a petition from the clergymen 
 Long articles, in number twenty-one 
 A most involved and cunning" document. 
 Here s one on criminal procedure ; this 
 Needs instant reformation. Here, the salt-pits, 
 A question to be managed dexterously. 
 
$34 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 ! wool wine taxes taxes taxes.. 
 
 This 
 
 jfs the projected treaty with Navarre. 
 A.li ! here is business here is food for thought ! 
 ^or, sire, I hold that Aragon 
 
 Don P. Good heavens ! 
 
 I nothing know of this ! 
 
 Alb. Let me explain. 
 
 The Cortes that will meet 
 
 Don P. Forbear, forbear ! 
 
 On your allegiance, I command you, hold ! 
 You drive me frantic with the catalogue ; 
 Spare me the explanation. Take your seals, 
 And end these matters in your own good way. 
 Alb. Forgive me, sire. 
 Don P. You do not love me. 
 
 Alb. Yes, 
 
 Most dearly, sire ; but Leonor, my foe, 
 Has got between me and your confidence. 
 
 Don P. In Heaven s name, take her, and perform 
 
 your will ; 
 
 But, pray, take up your seals and treasury-key ! 
 AU). (Running over the papers.) Ay, here s the war 
 rant. Sign, your grace. 
 
 [Puts a pen in his hand.] 
 
 Don P. (Writing.) T is done. 
 
 Alb. And I resume my seals and key. (Picks them 
 
 up.) My liege, 
 
 Lend me your signet : t is a private warrant. 
 Don P. I have it not. 
 
 Alb. Indeed ? I cautioned you 
 
 Never to part with it, except to me. 
 Who has it, sire ? 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 335 
 
 Don P. My mother. 
 
 Alb. Horrible ! 
 
 The devil s rampant in Castile, I think ! 
 That ring bears absolute command with it. 
 ! sire, you sealed the fate of Dona Leonor 
 An hour before you thought. [Going.] 
 
 Don P. Stay, Chancellor ! 
 
 Where are you going ? 
 
 Alb. To the Guzman s cell. 
 
 Heaven grant I be in time ! 
 
 Don P. For what, my lord ? 
 
 Alb. To stay your mother s hand, before it reeks 
 With Leonor de Guzman s blood. 
 
 Don P. ! ! 
 
 ! terrible conjecture ! Dare not think 
 
 Alb. Abide the issue, and you 11 think with me. 
 The subtle monster ! how she smiled and bowed, 
 And begged revenge from me, and stole away, 
 With the damned purpose packing her hot heart 
 Until it almost burst ! ! women, women ! 
 Turn you to devils, and the ancient fiends 
 Shall stand aghast with horror ! Sdeath! I dream, 
 
 1 dream, while she s at work. (Aside.) Farewell, 
 
 your grace ! 
 The woman has cajoled me, as I live ! 
 
 [Aside and exit.] 
 
 Don P. I 11 not believe it, till the frightful deed 
 Make her as odious as the thought of it. 
 Never! tis monstrous! And the Chancellor 
 Outdoes suspicion in suspecting it. [Exit.] 
 
336 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The Same. Jl Dungeon in the Same. LEONOR DE GUZMAN dis 
 covered. 
 
 Leonor. I cannot master them : these gloomy 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Crowd and bewilder reason. If a voice 
 Had cried from heaven, Thy latest hour has come, 
 I could not more believe it. Can the soul 
 Warn its dear body of their sad divorce, 
 Ere death confront them ? Or am I the fool 
 Of dreadful fancies, nourished in the dark 
 Of this detested prison ? Bounteous Heaven, 
 If yonder sun, that, like a traveller, 
 Pauses upon the boundaries of his land, 
 To take a survey of the things he loves, 
 Shall ne er return to me, grant one last boon I 
 That I may calmly lapse into thy arms, 
 With time to think of thy beneficence ; 
 And not be hurried to the judgment-seat, 
 By thy grim officer, appalling Death, 
 Crying against the justice of my doom. 
 I fear thee not, Death ! The grave, the worm, 
 The noisome process of a slow decay, 
 Were naught to me, if being ended there, 
 And peace closed up the dying lids for aye. 
 But, ! the terrors that a sinful soul, 
 Bursting its slumber at the Archangel s trump, 
 Must feel when it remembers its last act, 
 Ere it lay down to sleep, was guilty fear, 
 That tugged and wrestled with its Maker s will ! 
 watchful Heaven, if my poor destiny 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 33T 
 
 Have o er engaged the service of thy thoughts, 
 Grant me my prayer ! And, as my latter days 
 Are full of frowns and dreadful threatenings, 
 Smile at the last, and round my closing hours 
 With all the bounties thou 7 st withheld so long ! 
 I do not murmur, Lord, I do not ask, 
 While all are taken, I alone should stay ; 
 I would but choose my way of going hence, 
 Not as a voyager, as a suppliant. 
 
 (Enter JUANA and FADRIQUE.) 
 
 Fadrique. Mother ! [Embraces her.] 
 
 Leo. My son ! Sure Heaven has re-begun 
 
 Its broken blessings. But how cam st thou here ? 
 Where is Enrique ? hast thou heard from him ? 
 They tell me he has fled to Portugal. 
 And Tello, too ? and all the little ones 
 Who call me mother ? Stay, Fadrique, stay ! 
 Answer no questions till I look at thee. 
 How thou hast grown ! Juana, has he not ? 
 An inch or more. Much like thy father, too : 
 His breadth of shoulder, and his girth of chet, 
 And the fixed eye that looked through coming years, 
 So like a prophet s. Now, the news, the news ! 
 Thou seest they keep me from it in this cell. 
 Here time is stagnant ; the vast tides of life 
 Flow by yon loop-hole, yet no ripple comes 
 To break the calm in which I idly sleep. 
 I am a foolish woman, for I think 
 That I am weeping. [Weeps."} 
 
 Fad. Mother, do not grieve I 
 
 Enrique, and my brothers, are quite safe ; 
 And, as for me, I blush to recollect, 
 oo 
 
338 LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 IIow kind thy enemies have been to me. 
 
 Be of good cheer : I saw the king- to-day, 
 
 And found his spirit was inclined to be 
 
 Most kindly towards thee. He. by special grace, 
 
 Sends me, as earnest for his good intents. 
 
 J nana. Your hard imprisonment is well-nigh o er. 
 
 Leo. I know it, dear Juana. Days ago 
 But more to-day than any former time 
 I had undoubted notice. 
 
 Jtia. That is strange ! 
 
 And yet you told me not. 
 
 Leo. I could not then. 
 
 The words seemed doubtful. They are plainer 
 
 now, 
 Plainer and plainer, as the moments fly. 
 
 Fad. What mean st thou, mother ? 
 
 Leo. This : if one should say 
 
 One of the playmates of my childhood Why, 
 Why do my thoughts run backward to their source, 
 Keeping my childhood ever in my sight ? 
 
 Fad. I really know not. Thou began st to say ? 
 
 Leo. 0, yes. If one should ask me, " Leonor, 
 Where wilt thou be to-morrow ? " I d reply, 
 In heaven, beloved ; and feel I spoke strict truth. 
 
 Fad. Confinement has unstrung thy mind. Alas ! 
 Who put these dreary notions in thy head ? 
 
 Leo. Why, so I ask ; and shake my heavy brain, 
 And look around for comfort. Naught replies ; 
 And once again my lonely spirit sinks 
 Beneath the pressure of a dismal doom. 
 
 Fad. T is the dark hour before the morning 
 breaks. 
 
 Leo. Ay, and the morning breaks in heaven. 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 339 
 
 (DONA MARIA appears at the door, looks in, and retires.) 
 
 My son, 
 
 Dost thou believe the spirit can detect 
 The presence of things hurtful ? For, just now, 
 I felt as if the shadow of death s wing 
 Passed over me, and chilled me to the soul. 
 
 [Shudder*.] 
 Fad. Dear mother, hear 
 
 (Enter an Attendant.) 
 
 Attendant. My lord, the king desires 
 
 Your instant presence. 
 
 Fad. But a moment more. 
 
 Alt. My orders bade you speed. 
 
 Leo. Kings never wait. 
 
 Go, my Fadrique ; it may mar you else. 
 
 Fad. Let it ; I care not. 
 
 Leo. But I do, my son. 
 
 I may behold thee, though thou seest not me, 
 Looking adown the sunny depth of heaven 
 Upon this troubled earth. A last farewell ! 
 And tell Enrique, when he s king 
 
 Fad. He s king ! 
 
 Leo. I had it in a vision, and t will be. 
 
 Fad. Thou art the plaything of thy fantasy. 
 Farewell ! Yet stay a moment. 
 
 Dona Maria. (Without.) Don Fadrique ! 
 
 Fad. J T is the king s voice. 
 
 Leo. Or one that mimics it : 
 
 Yet go. That voice was terrible to me. [Aside.] 
 
 Fad. Farewell ! until we meet. 
 
 Leo. In heaven. 
 
 [Embraces him.] 
 
340 LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 
 
 Fad. Farewell! [Exit.-] 
 
 Leo. I Ve looked my last upon him ! Gentle 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 Withhold the blow no longer ! Strike, at once, 
 Before my coward fancies make me rave ! 
 Jua. Dear mother, thou art ill. 
 
 (Enter DONA MARIA, masked and cloaked, with Attendants, also 
 disguised. ) 
 
 Leo. My prayer is answered. 
 
 Jua. Who are these masks ? 
 
 Dona Maria. Leonor de Guzman, hark I 
 
 Leo. Maria de Portugal, I listen. 
 
 Dona M. Ha ! 
 
 Thou know st me, then ? 
 
 Leo. I pray you, drop your mask ; 
 
 It frightens me, yet does not hide your face. 
 
 Dona M. Behold my face, and let it drive thee 
 
 mad! [Unmasking.] 
 
 Seest thou these furrows on my youthful brow, 
 This net-work web of scars and crooked lines ? 
 Seest thou these grizzled locks these withered 
 
 hands, 
 
 Pinched by the grip of misery this low stoop, 
 That bears the burden of a thousand cares 
 These tear-scorched eyes this breast, a home for 
 
 sighs 
 
 And quivering inspirations ? Dost thou know 
 The heart within, the lonely heart, that aches 
 At each pulsation ? This is all thy work, 
 And thou shouldst know it ! 
 
 Leo. ITad you loved the king 
 
LEOXOR DE GUZMAN. 341 
 
 Dona If. Iladst thou not lied, as thou art lying 
 
 now, 
 
 He might have loved me. Love him ! Did I not? 
 With passions to have burst thy puny heart, 
 Iladst thou but felt them. If they turned to gall, 
 And poisoned heart and brain, who was to blame 
 I, or thou, wanton ? Men have called thce fair, 
 Blaspheming sense, by saying thou wert born 
 To prove how plain the touch of heaven might show 
 In earthly clay ; and they have said thy form 
 Was a poor casket for thy richer mind : 
 Now, in thy wisdom, why have I come here ? 
 
 Leo. Perhaps, to slay me. 
 
 Dona M. Thou hast hit the mark 
 
 With thy first shaft. 
 
 Jaa. (Kneeling to DONA MARIA.) 0, madam please 
 your grace ! 
 
 Dona M. Back, bastard s drudge ! Prepare to die. 
 
 Leo. I have : 
 
 My life has been one act of preparation. 
 
 Dona M. Thou sweet-faced hypocrite thou who 
 
 hast been 
 
 The minion of man s passions thou prepare, 
 By such a life, to brazen heavenly wrath ! 
 What dost thou fancy heaven ? 
 
 Leo. A blessed place, 
 
 Where the sincerely penitent may dwell, 
 Quite purified through mercy. 
 
 Dona M. Purified ! 
 
 Hast thou repented ? 
 
 Leo. You have given me time, 
 
 Here, in my prison, through the long, long nights, 
 
312 LEOXOK DE GUZMAN. 
 
 To be alone with Heaven. I thank you, madam ; 
 For, through your darkest clouds, grace dawned on 
 me. 
 
 Dona H. Fool that I was ! Fecl st thou secure 
 of grace ? 
 
 Leo. As far as mortal may. 
 
 Dona M. Dost thou repent 
 
 Thy wrongs to me ? 
 
 Leo. I do, sincerely, madam, 
 
 With all the mischief my example did, 
 And pray your pardon heartily. [Kneels."} 
 
 Dona M. Thou dost ? 
 
 I d add new fuel to the flames of woe, 
 Ere I d do this for thee. Dost thou repent 
 Thy sorceries, the devilish arts employed 
 On me and Pedro, to overcome our lives, 
 While we lay, weakly, in one painful bed ? 
 
 Leo. I never practised them. 
 
 Dona 31. T is false ! 
 
 Leo. Indeed, 
 
 I ne er had cause to pray to Heaven for that. 
 
 Dona M. Dost thou repent the shameless life 
 
 thou st led 
 With King Alfonso, the bold, guilty love ? 
 
 Leo. The life, perhaps, I do regret ; the love 
 Never, never ! 
 
 Dona M. (Laughing.) Ha! there s still one spot 
 There s still one damned spot upon thy soul 
 Which the infernal flames shall kindle to ! [Seizes her.} 
 
 Jua. murder ! murder ! 
 
 Dona M. Stop that screech-owl s breath ! 
 
 [Attendants seize JUANA.] 
 
 Leo. Spare me be merciful let me go ! 
 
 with her.} 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 343 
 
 I am a woman not a heroine 
 
 One of thy sex ! I would not use thee thus ! 
 
 Jua. Help ! murder ! murder ! Hark ! 
 
 [Noise without.] 
 
 Leo. 0, pardon me ! 
 
 I loved Alfonso that is my excuse ! 
 
 Dona M. And that my retribution I [Stabs her.] 
 
 Leo. It is well ! 
 
 God s purpose, and I bow to it. [Falls.] 
 
 ( JUAN A rushes forward and raises her.) 
 
 Alburquerque. (Without.) Standby! 
 
 Sentinel. (Without.) The queen commanded 
 Alb. (Without.) Curse the queen s command ! 
 
 (Hurls the Sentinel through the door, and enters, followed bij 
 armed Attendants.) 
 
 Ho ! Leonor de Guzman ; wake, look up ! 
 I ve brought another surer than the first 
 Another warrant try to gull me now 
 Strangle that woman ! 
 
 [His Attendants advance towards LEONOR.] 
 
 Dona M. (Interposing.) Murderers, back ! or I 
 Will strike you with my poniard ! 
 
 Alb. Murderers, hey ? 
 
 By what new title have you dubbed yourself? 
 
 Dona M. Avenger, and riot murderer. No, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 You shall not harm a single hair of her. 
 She s all my own, by virtue of my wrongs. 
 
 Alb. And mine, by virtue of my rights. 
 
 Jua. Peace, peace I 
 
 A little quiet for a parting soul ! 
 
344 LEONOR DE GUZMAN . 
 
 Leo. Let the wolves rage, according to their kind. 
 I am content with Heaven s decree. If fate 
 Were in our hands, we d make but sorry work. 
 0, hapless queen ! the tears you 11 shed for this 
 Cannot be numbered by a count of years. 
 Forlorn, heart-broken, lonely, cast aside 
 By him, your son, the only soul you love, 
 You shall drag on a train of painful days, 
 Darker and longer than the arctic nights. 
 Despised by all, pitied by none, you 11 die 
 A death as sudden as my own ! 
 
 Alb. And I ? - 
 
 Now, while the gift of prophecy is strong, 
 A word for me ; for I deserve your care ; 
 My fate ? 
 
 Leo. Dead, in Enrique s cause ; and then 
 
 Alb. The sky will fall, and we ll catch larks! 
 Amen ! 
 
 Leo. Scoffer, your jeers fall blunted on my ear; 
 The shield of death is spread above my head, 
 And mocks are useless. 
 
 Alb. Prophetess, what then ? 
 
 We 11 pry fate s doors a little wider ; speak ! 
 
 Leo. Your carrion shall be borne before a host, 
 Till it offend the decency of sense. 
 Living, you made Castile your foul abode 
 Dying, you 11 make it loathsome ! Wretched man, 
 The hand you ve raised shall crush you to the 
 
 earth ; 
 
 The snares you lay shall tangle your own feet ; 
 The friends you ve made shall make themselves 
 
 your foes ; 
 The foes you ve made shall be your only friends ! 
 
LEONOR DE GUZMAN. 345 
 
 And, in the sight of triumph, murderous death 
 Shall snatch you suddenly ! 
 
 Alb. Hey! Coronel- 
 
 What was it, Coronel ? a crown of thorns ? 
 Right, strangely right ! a crown of thorns, indeed ! 
 Methinks, I feel them sting ! [Exit slowly. } 
 
 Leo. Juana, daughter, 
 
 7 T is sweet to die within thy loving arms ; 
 But take thy hand away ; thou hold st me back 
 Remove thy hand, and let the wound alone 
 Thou hold st me back from heaven. That s kindly 
 
 done I 
 
 See, how the little river steals away ! 
 On that I 11 float to heaven. Forgive the queen ; 
 And say good-night to all, for Leonor. 
 When thy Enrique 7 s king Pray, trim the lights 
 I faint with thirst some drink Alfonso ! 
 
 \_Dies.1 
 
 Dona M. I know not that I am avenged, at last. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 Francesca, i tuoi martiri 
 A lagriniar mi fanno tristo e pio. 
 
 DAXTB. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MALATESTA, Lord of Rimini. 
 
 GUIDO DA POLENTA, Lord of Ravenna. 
 
 LANCIOTTO, Malatcsta s son. 
 
 PAOLO, His brother. 
 
 PEP, Malatesta s jester 
 
 CARDINAL, > Friend to Guido. 
 
 RENE, A troubadour. 
 
 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI, Guido s daughter. 
 
 RITTA Her maid. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Knights, Priests, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, $c. 
 
 SCENE, Rimini, Ravenna, and the neighborhood. 
 
 TIME, about 1300 A. D. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Rimini. The Garden of the Palace. PAOLO and a 
 number of noblemen are discovered, seated under an arbor, sur 
 rounded by RENE, and other Troubadours, attendants, $c. 
 
 Paolo. I PRITHEE, Rene, charm our ears again 
 With the same song you sang me yesterday. 
 Here are fresh listeners. 
 
 Rene. Really, my good lord, 
 
 My voice is out of joint. A grievous cold [ COMMAS.] 
 
 Paolo. A very grievous, but convenient cold, 
 Which always racks you when you would not sing. 
 
 Rene. 0, no, my lord ! Besides, I hoped to hear 
 My ditty warbled into fairer cars, 
 By your own lips ; to better purpose, too. 
 
 [The Noblemen all laugh.] 
 First Nobleman. Rene has hit it. Music runs to 
 
 waste 
 In ears like ours. 
 
 Second Nobleman. Nay, nay ; chaunt on, sweet 
 
 Count. 
 
 Paolo. (Coughing.) .Alack! you hear, I ve caught 
 poor Rene s cough. 
 
350 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 First N. That would not be, if we wore petticoats. 
 
 [TVie others lauyh.] 
 Paolo. 0, fie ! 
 
 First N. So runs the scandal to our ears. 
 
 Second N. Confirmed by all our other senses, 
 
 Count. 
 First N. Witnessed by many a doleful sigh, poured 
 
 out 
 
 By many a breaking heart in Rimini. 
 Second N. Poor girls ! 
 First N. (Mimicking a lady. ) Sweet Count ! sweet 
 
 Count Paolo ! ! 
 Plant early violets upon my grave ! 
 Thus go a thousand voices to one tune. 
 
 [ The others laugh.] 
 
 Paolo. Ods mercy ! gentlemen, you do me wrong. 
 Firnt N. And by how many hundred, more or less ? 
 Paolo. Ah ! rogues, you d shift your sins upon my 
 
 shoulders. 
 
 Second N. You d bear them stoutly. 
 First N. It were vain to give 
 
 Drops to god Neptune. You re the sea of love 
 That swallows all things. 
 
 Second N. We the little fish 
 
 That meanly scull about within your depths. 
 
 Paolo. Go on, go on ! Talk yourselves fairly out. 
 
 [PEPE laughs without.] 
 
 But, hark ! here comes the fool. Fit company 
 For this most noble company of wits ! 
 
 (Enter PEPE, laughing violently.) 
 
 Why do you laugh ? 
 
 Pepe. I m laughing at the world. 
 
 It lias laughed long enough at me ; and BO 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 351 
 
 I 11 turn the tables. Ho ! ho ! ho ! I ve heard 
 
 A better joke of Uncle Malatesta s 
 
 Than any I e er uttered. [Laughing.] 
 
 All. Tell it, fool. 
 
 Pepe. Why, do you know upon my life, the 
 
 best 
 
 And most original idea on earth : 
 A joke to put in practice, too. By Jove ! 
 I 11 bet my wit gainst the stupidity 
 Of the best gentleman among you all, 
 You cannot guess it. 
 
 All. Tell us, tell us, fool. 
 
 Pepe. Guess it, guess it, fools. 
 
 Paolo. Come, disclose, disclose ! 
 
 Pepe. He has a match afoot. 
 
 All. A match ! 
 
 Pepe. A marriage. 
 
 AIL Who? who? 
 
 Pepe. A marriage in his family. 
 
 AIL But, who? 
 
 Pepe. Ah ! there 7 s the point. 
 
 All. Paolo? 
 
 Pepe. No. 
 
 First N. The others are well wived. Shall we 
 turn Turks ? 
 
 Pepe. Why, there 7 s the summit of his joke, good 
 
 sirs. 
 
 By all the sacred symbols of my art 
 By cap and bauble, by my tinkling bell 
 He means to marry Lanciotto ! [Laughs violently.} 
 
 All. (Laughing.) Ho I 
 
 Paolo. Peace ! peace ! What tongue dare echo 
 yon fool s laugh ? 
 
352 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Nay, never raise your hands in wonderment : 
 I 11 strike the dearest friend among ye all 
 Beneath my feet, as if he were a slave, 
 Who dares insult my brother with a laugh ! 
 
 Pepe. By Jove ! ye re sad enough. Here s 
 
 mirth s quick cure ! 
 Pretty Paolo has a heavy fist, 
 I warn you, sirs. Ho ! ho ! I trapped them all ; 
 
 [Langking.] 
 Now I 11 go mar old Malatesta s message. [Aside.] 
 
 [Exit.} 
 
 Paolo. Shame on ye, sirs ! I have mistaken you. 
 I thought I harbored better friends. Poor fops, 
 Who ve slept in down and satin all your years, 
 Within the circle Lanciotto charmed 
 Round Rimini with his most potent sword ! - 
 I-Y lluws whose brows would melt beneath a casque, 
 Whose hands would fray to grasp a brand s rough 
 
 hilt, 
 Who ne er launched more than braggart threats Jit 
 
 foes ! 
 
 Girlish companions of luxurious girls ! - 
 Danglers round troubadours and wine-cups ! - - Men 
 Whose best parts are their clothes ! bundles of silk, 
 Scented like summer ! rag-men, nothing more ! 
 Creatures as generous as monkeys brave 
 As hunted hares courteous as grinning apes 
 (intti-ful as serpents useful as lap-dogs 
 
 [During this, the Noblemen, <-c., steal off.] 
 
 Ha! 
 
 I am alone at last ! So let me be, 
 Till Lanciotto fill the vacant room 
 Of these mean knaves, whose friendship is but bivath 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 353 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Tie Same. A Hall in the Castle. Enter MALATESTA and LAN- 
 CIOTTO. 
 
 MalateMa. Guido, ay, Guido of Ravenna, son 
 Down on his knees, as full of abject prayers 
 For peace and mercy as a penitent. 
 
 Landotto. His old trick, father. While his wearied 
 
 Is raised in seeming prayer, it only rests. 
 Anon, lie 11 deal you such a staggering blow, 
 With its recovered strength, as shall convert 
 You, and not him, into a penitent. 
 
 Mai. No, no ; your last bout levelled him. lie 
 
 reeled 
 
 Into Ravenna, from the battle-field, 
 Like a stripped drunkard, and there headlong fell 
 A mass of squalid misery, a thing 
 To draw the jeering urchins. I have this 
 From faithful spies. There s not a hope remains 
 To break the shock of his great overthrow. 
 I pity Guido. 
 
 Lan. Sdeath ! go comfort him ! 
 
 I pity those who fought, and bled, and died, 
 Before the armies of this Ghibelin. 
 I pity those who halted home with wounds 
 Dealt by his hand. I pity widowed eyes 
 That he set running ; maiden hearts that turn, 
 Sick with despair, from ranks thinned down by him ; 
 Mothers that shriek, as the last stragglers fling 
 Their feverish bodies by the fountain-side, 
 Dumb witli mere thirst, and faintly point to him, 
 
 VOL. T. 2)] 
 
354 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Answering the dame s quick questions. I have seen 
 Unburied bones, and skulls that seemed to ask, 
 From their blank eye-holes, vengeance at my hand 
 Shine in the moonlight on old battle-fields ; 
 And even these the happy dead, my lord 
 I pity more than Guido of Ravenna ! 
 
 Mai. What would you have ? 
 
 Lan. 1 d see Ravenna burn, 
 
 Flame into heaven, and scorch the Hying clouds ; 
 I d choke her streets with ruined palaces ; . 
 I d hear her women scream with fear and grief, 
 As I have heard the maids of Rimini. 
 All this I d sprinkle with old Guido s blood, 
 And bless the baptism. 
 
 Mai. You are cruel. 
 
 Lan. Not I ; 
 
 But these things ache within rny fretting brain. 
 The sight 1 first beheld was from the arms 
 Of my wild nurse, her husband hacked to death 
 By the fierce edges of these Ghibelins. 
 One cut across the neck I see it now, 
 Ay, arid have mimicked it a thousand times, 
 Just as I saw it, on our enemies. 
 Why, that cut seemed as if it meant to bleed 
 On till the judgment. My distracted nurse 
 Stooped down, and paddled in the running gore 
 With her poor fingers ; then a prophetess, 
 Pale with the inspiration of the god, 
 She towered aloft, and with her dripping hand 
 Three times she signed me with the holy cross. 
 T is all as plain as noon-day. Thus she spake, 
 " May this spot stand till Guido s dearest blood 
 Be mingled with thy own ! " The soldiers say, 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 355 
 
 Tn the close battle, when my wrath is up, 
 
 The dead man s blood flames on my vengeful brow 
 
 Like a red planet ; and when war is o er, 
 
 It shrinks into my brain, defiling all 
 
 My better nature with its slaughterous lusts. 
 
 Howe er it be, it shaped my earliest thought, 
 
 And it will shape my last. 
 
 Mai. You moody churl ! 
 
 You dismal knot of superstitious dreams ! 
 Do you not blush to empty such a head 
 Before a sober man ? Why, son, the world 
 Has not given o er its laughing humor yet, 
 That you should try it with such vagaries. Poll ! 
 I 11 get a wife to teach you common sense. 
 
 Lan. A wife for me I [Laughing.] 
 
 Mai. Ay, sir, a wife for you. 
 
 You shall be married, to insure your wits. 
 
 Lan. T is not your wont to mock me. 
 
 Mai. How now, son ! 
 
 I am not given to jesting. I have chosen 
 The fairest wife in Italy for you. 
 You won hor bravely, as a soldier should : 
 And when you d woo her, stretch your gauntlet out, 
 And crush her fingers in its steel} 7 grip. 
 If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say 
 ^ T() > by your leave. Should she refuse, howe er, 
 With that same iron hand you shall go knock 
 Upon Ravenna s gates, till all the town 
 Ring with your courtship. I have made her hand 
 The price and pledge of Guide s future peace. 
 
 Lan. All this is done ! 
 
 Mai. Done, out of hand ; and now 
 
 I wait a formal answer, nothing more. 
 
356 FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 Guido dare not decline. No, by the saints, 
 He d send Ravenna s virgins here in droves, 
 To buy a ten days truce. 
 
 Lan. Sir, let me say, 
 
 You stretch paternal privilege too far, 
 To pledge my hand without my own consent. 
 Am I a portion of your household stuff, 
 That you should trade me off* to Guido thus ? 
 Who is the lady I am bartered for ? 
 
 Mai. Franceses, Guide s daughter. Never frown ; 
 It shall be so ! 
 
 Lan. By heaven, it shall not be ! 
 
 My blood shall never mingle with his race. 
 
 Mai. According to your nurse s prophecy, 
 Fate orders it. 
 
 Lan. Ha! 
 
 Mai. Now, then, I have struck 
 
 The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts. 
 Bali ! on your sibyl and her prophecy ! 
 Put Guido s blood aside, and yet, I say, 
 JSIarry you shall. 
 
 Lan. T is most distasteful, sir. 
 
 Mai. Laneiotto, look ye ! You brave gentlemen, 
 So fond of knocking out poor people s brains, 
 In time must come to have your own knocked out : 
 What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands, 
 To carry on your business, and our house 
 Die out for lack of princes ? 
 
 Lan. Wed my brothers : 
 
 They 11 rear you sons, I 11 slay you enemies. 
 Paolo and Francesca ! Note their names ; 
 They chime together like sweet marriage-bells. 
 A proper match. Tis said she s beautiful ; 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 357 
 
 And he is the delight of Rimini, 
 
 The pride and conscious centre of all eyes, 
 
 The theme of poets, the ideal of art, 
 
 The earthly treasury of Heaven s best gifts ! 
 
 I am a soldier ; from my very birth, 
 
 Heaven cut ine out for terror, not for love. 
 
 I had such fancies once, but now 
 
 V > ^v 
 Mai. Pshaw ! SOD, 
 
 My faith is bound to Guido ; and if you 
 Do not throw off your duty, and defy, 
 Through sickly scruples, my express commands, 
 You 11 yield at once. , No more : I 11 have it so ! 
 
 \_ExiL] 
 
 Lan. Curses upon my destiny ! What, I 
 Ho I I have found my use at last What, I, 
 I, the great twisted monster of the wars, 
 The brawny cripple, the herculean dwarf, 
 The spur of panic, and the butt of scorn 
 I be a bridegroom ! Heaven, was I not cursed 
 More than enough, when thou didst fashion me 
 To be a type of ugliness, a thing 
 By whose comparison all Rimini 
 Holds itself beautiful ? Lo ! here I stand, 
 A gnarled, blighted trunk ! There s not a knave 
 So spindle-shanked, so wry-faced, so infirm, 
 Who looks at me, and smiles not on himself. 
 And I have friends to pity me great Heaven ! 
 One has a favorite leg that he bewails, 
 Another sees my hip with doleful plaints, 
 A third is sorry o er my huge swart arms, 
 A. fourth aspires to mount my very hump, 
 And thence harangue his weeping brotherhood ! 
 
358 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Pah ! it is nauseous ! Must I further bear 
 The sidelong shuddering glances of a wife ? 
 The degradation of a showy love, 
 That over-acts, and proves the mummer s craft 
 Untouched by nature ? And a fair wife, too ! 
 Franceses, whom the minstrels sing about ! 
 Though, by my side, what woman were not fair ? 
 Circe looked well among her swine, no doubt; 
 Next me, she d pass for Venus. Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
 
 [Laughing. 
 
 Would there were something merry in my laugh ! 
 Now, in the battle, if a Ghibelin 
 Cry, " Wry-hip ! hunchback ! " I can trample him 
 Under my stallion s hoofs ; or haggle him 
 Into a monstrous likeness of myself : 
 But to be pitied, to endure a sting 
 Thrust in by kindness, with a sort of smile ! 
 Sdeath ! it is miserable ! 
 
 (Enter PEPE.) 
 
 Pepe. My lord 
 
 Lan. My fool ! 
 
 Pepe. We 11 change our titles when your bride s 
 
 bells ring 
 Ha, cousin ? 
 
 Lan. Even this poor fool has eyes, 
 To see the wretched plight in which I stand. 
 How, gossip, how? 
 
 Pepe. I, being the court-fool, 
 
 Am lord of fools by my prerogative. 
 
 Lan. Who told you of my marriage ? 
 
 Pepe. Rimini ! 
 
 A frightful liar ; but true for once, I fear. 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA FJMIXI. 359 
 
 Tlic messenger from Guido has returned, 
 And the whole town is wailing over him. 
 Some pity you, and some the bride ; but I, 
 Being more catholic, I pity both. 
 
 Lan. Still, pity, pity ! (Aside. Sells toll.) Ha ! whose 
 knell is that ? 
 
 Pepe. Lord Malatesta sent me to the tower, 
 To have the bells rung for your marriage-news. 
 How, he said not ; so I, as I thought fit, 
 Told the deaf sexton to ring out a knell. [Sells toll.] 
 How do you like it ? 
 
 Lan. Varlet, have you bones, 
 
 To risk their breaking ? I have half a mind 
 To thresh you from your motley coat ! [Seizes him."] 
 
 Pepe. Pardee ! 
 
 Respect my coxcomb, cousin. Hark ! ha, ha ! 
 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 (Bells ring a joyful peal.) 
 
 Some one has changed my music. Heaven defend ! 
 How the bells jangle ! Yonder graybeard, now, 
 Rings a peal vilely. lie s more used to knells, 
 And sounds them grandly. Only give him time, 
 And, I 11 be sworn, he 11 ring your knell out yet. 
 
 Lan. Pepe, you are but half a fool. 
 
 Pepe. My lord, 
 
 I can return the compliment in fulL 
 
 Lan. So, you are ready. 
 
 Pepe. Truth is always so. 
 
 Lan. I shook you rudely ; here s a florin. 
 
 [Offers money.] 
 
 Pepe. No : 
 
 My wit is merchandise, but not my honor. 
 
360 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Lan. Your honor, sirrah I 
 
 Pepe. Why not ? You great lords 
 
 Have something you call lordly honor ; pray, 
 May not a fool have foolish honor too ? 
 Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat 
 ; T was the first sacrilege it ever knew 
 And you shall pay it. Mark ! I promise you. 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) Ha, ha ! you bluster well. Upon 
 
 my life, 
 
 You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath. 
 Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek 
 Thus, gossip, thus (Strikes him.) what would you 
 then demand ? 
 
 Pepe. Your life ! 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) Ha, ha ! there is the camp-style 
 
 too 
 
 A very cut-throat air ! How this shrewd fool 
 Makes the punctilio of honor show ! 
 Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles, 
 And what a figure is poor chivalry ! 
 Thanks for your lesson, Pepe ! [Exit.} 
 
 Pepe. Ere I m done, 
 
 You 11 curse as heartily, you limping beast ! 
 Ila ! so we go Lord Lanciotto, look ! 
 
 [ Walks about, mimicking him. ] 
 
 Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth, 
 
 To match your honor and nobility ! 
 
 You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake, 
 
 Or strike in jest, a natural man like me ? 
 
 You cursed lump, you chaos of a man, 
 
 To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good I 
 
 [Bells ring.] 
 There go the bells rejoicing over you : 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA RIJIIXI. 361 
 
 1 11 change them back to the old knell again. 
 You many, faugh ! Beget a race of elves ; 
 Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within 
 The limits of your nature ! Here we go, 
 Tripping along to meet our promised bride, 
 Like a rheumatic elephant ! ha, ha ! [Laughing.] 
 
 [Exit, mimickiny LANCIOTTO.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The Same. Jl Room in the Same. Enter LANCIOTTO, hastily. 
 
 Lanciotto. Why do these prodigies environ me ? 
 In ancient Rome, the words a fool might drop, 
 From the confusion of his vagrant thoughts, 
 Were held as omens, prophecies ; and men 
 Who made earth tremble with majestic deeds, 
 Trembled themselves at fortune s lightest threat. 
 I like it not. My father named this match 
 While I boiled over with vindictive wrath 
 Towards Guido and Ravenna. Straight my heart 
 Sank down like lead ; a weakness seized on me, 
 A dismal gloom that I could not resist ; 
 I lacked the power to take my stand, and say 
 Bluntly, I will not ! Am I in the toils ? 
 Has fate so weakened me, to work its end ? 
 There seems a fascination in it, too, 
 A morbid craving to pursue a thing 
 Whose issue may be fatal. Would that I 
 Were in the wars again ! These mental weeds 
 Grow on the surface of inactive peace. 
 I m haunted by myself. Thought preys on thought 
 
262 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 My mind seems crowded in the hideous mould 
 
 That shaped my body. What a fool am I 
 
 To bear the burden of rny wretched life, 
 
 To sweat and toil under the world s broad eye, 
 
 Climb into fame, and find myself 0, what ? 
 
 A most conspicuous monster ! Crown my head, 
 
 Pile Caesar s purple on me and what then ? 
 
 My hump shall shorten the imperial robe, 
 
 My leg peep out beneath the scanty hem, 
 
 My broken hip shall twist the gown awry ; 
 
 And pomp, instead of dignifying me, 
 
 Shall be by me made quite ridiculous. 
 
 The faintest coward would not bear all this : 
 
 Prodigious courage must be mine, to live ; 
 
 To die asks nothing but weak will, and I 
 
 Feel like a craven. Let me skulk away 
 
 Ere- life o ertask me. [Offers to stab himself.] 
 
 (Enter PAOLO.) 
 
 Paolo. (Seizing his hand.) Brother! what is this ? 
 Lanciotto, are you mad? Kind Heaven ! look here 
 Straight in my eyes. Now answer, do you know 
 How near you were to murder ? Dare you bend 
 Your wicked hand against a heart I love ? 
 Were it for you to mourn your wilful death, 
 With such a bitterness as would be ours, 
 The wish would ne er have crossed you. While 
 
 we re bound 
 
 Lili into life, a chain of loving hearts, 
 Were it not base in you, the middle link, 
 To snap, and scatter all ? Shame, brother, shame ! 
 1 tin night you better metal. 
 
 Lan. Spare your words. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 203 
 
 I know the seasons of our human grief, 
 
 And can predict them without almanac. 
 
 A few sobs o er the body, and a few 
 
 Over the coffin ; then a sigh or two, 
 
 Whose windy passage dries the hanging tear ; 
 
 Perchance, some wandering memories, some regrets ; 
 
 Then a vast influx of consoling thoughts 
 
 Based on the trials of the sadder days 
 
 Which the dead missed ; and then a smiling face 
 
 Turned on to-morrow. Such is mortal grief. 
 
 It writes its histories within a span, 
 
 And never lives to read them. 
 
 Paolo. Lanciotto, 
 
 I heard the bells of Rimini, just now, 
 Exulting o er your coming marriage-day, 
 While you conspired to teach them gloomier sounds. 
 Why are you sad ? 
 
 Lan. Paolo, I am wretched ; 
 
 Sad s a faint word. But of my marriage-bells 
 Heard you the knell that Pope rang ? 
 
 Paolo. ; T was strange : 
 
 A sullen antic of his crabbed wit. 
 
 Lan. It was portentous. All dumb things find 
 
 tongues 
 
 Against this marriage. As I passed the hall, 
 My armor glittered on the wall, and I 
 Paused by the harness, as before a friend 
 Whose well-known features slack our hurried gait ; 
 Francesca s name was fresh upon my mind, 
 So I half-uttered it. Instant, my sword 
 Leaped from its scabbard, as with sudden life, 
 Plunged down and pierced into the oaken floor, 
 Shivering with fear ! Lo ! while I gazod upon it 
 
364 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Doubting- the nature of the accident 
 
 Around the point appeared a spot of blood, 
 
 Oozing upon the floor, that spread arid sproad 
 
 As I stood gasping by in speechless horror 
 
 King beyond ring, until the odious tide 
 
 Crawled to my feet, and lapped them, like the 
 
 tongues 
 
 Of angry serpents ! 0, my God ! I fled 
 At the first touch of the infernal stain ! 
 Go you may see go to the hall ! 
 
 Paolo. Fie ! man, 
 
 You have been ever played on in this sort 
 By your wild fancies. When your heart is high, 
 You make thorn playthings ; but in lower moods, 
 They seem to sap the essence of your soul, 
 And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs. 
 
 Lan. Go look, go look ! 
 
 Paolo. (Goes to the door, and returns.) There sticks the 
 
 sword, indeed, 
 
 Just as your tread detached it from its sheath ; 
 Looking more like a blessed cross, I think, 
 Than a bad omen. As for blood Ha, ha ! 
 
 It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this! 
 Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself 
 For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems, 
 Do wonders for us. Brother, conic ; I 11 be 
 Your tiring-man, for once. 
 
 Lan. Array this lump 
 
 Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts 
 Best left imprisoned in the aching heart, 
 Lest the freed malefactors should dispri-.i 1 
 Infamous ruin with their liberty. 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA RIMIXI. 305 
 
 There s not a man the fairest of ye all 
 Who is not fouler than he seems. This life 
 Is one unending struggle to conceal 
 Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one 
 In vestal whiteness with a lecher s lust ; 
 There sits a judge, holding law s scales in hands 
 That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch ; 
 Here goes a priest, with heavenward eyes, whoso 
 
 soul 
 
 Is Satan s council-chamber ; there a doctor, 
 With nature s secrets wrinkled round a brow 
 Guilty with conscious ignorance ; and here 
 A soldier rivals Hector s bloody deeds 
 Out-docs the devil in audacity 
 With craven longings fluttering in a heart 
 That dares do aught but fly 1 Thus are we all 
 Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world, 
 That takes us at our seeming. 
 
 Paolo. Say t is true ; 
 
 What do you drive at ? 
 
 Lan. At myself, full tilt. 
 
 I, like the others, am not what I seem. 
 Men call me gentle, courteous, brave. They lie I 
 I m harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve 
 To cast my devils out upon the earth, 
 I d show this laughing planet what a hell 
 Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn, 
 It has forced back to canker in the heart 
 Of one poor cripple ! 
 
 Paolo. Ha ! 
 
 Lan. Ay, now tis out ! 
 
 A word I never breathed to man before. 
 Can you, who are a miracle of grace, 
 
;;il> FRANCKSCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 Feel what it is to be a wreck like me ? 
 Paolo, look at me. Is there a line, 
 In my whole bulk of wretched contraries, 
 That nature in a nightmare ever used 
 L T pon her shapes till now ? Find me the man, 
 Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing, 
 So out of harmony with all thing s else, 
 And I 11 go raving with bare happiness, 
 Ay, and I 11 marry Helena of Greece, 
 And swear I do her honor ! 
 
 Paolo. Lanciotto, 
 
 I, who have known you from a stripling up, 
 Never observed, or, if I did, ne er weighed 
 Your special difference from the rest of men. 
 You re not Apollo 
 
 Lan. No ! 
 
 Paolo. Nor yet are you 
 
 A second Pluto. Could I change with you 
 My graces for your nobler qualities 
 Your strength, your courage, your renown by 
 
 heaven, 
 We d e en change persons, to the finest hair. 
 
 Lan . You should be flatterer to an emperor. 
 
 Paolo. I am but just. Let me beseech you, 
 
 brother, 
 
 To look with greater favor on yourself; 
 Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain 
 To take the place of sound realities. 
 Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull 
 Your cruel delusions in domestic peace. 
 Ghosts fly a fireside : t is their wont to stalk 
 Through empty houses, and through empty hearts. 
 I know Francesea will be proud uf you. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 367 
 
 Women admire you heroes. Rusty sages, 
 Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been 
 Their idols ever ; while we fair plump fools 
 Are elbowed to the wall, or only used 
 For vacant pastime. 
 
 Lan. To Ravenna ? no ! 
 
 In Rimini they know me ; at Ravenna 
 I d be a new-come monster, and exposed 
 To curious wonder. There will be parade 
 Of all the usual follies of the state ; 
 Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands, 
 Would strut before rne, like vain mountebanks 
 Before their monkeys. Then, I should be stared 
 Out of my modesty ; and when they look, 
 How can I tell if t is the bridegroom s face 
 Or hump that draws their eyes ? I will not go. 
 To please 3^011 all, I 11 marry ; but to please 
 The wonder-mongers of Ravenna Ha ! 
 Paolo, now I have it. You shall go, 
 To bring Franoesca *, and you 11 speak of me, 
 Not as I ought to be, but as I am. 
 If she draw backward, give her rein ; and say 
 That neither Guido nor herself shall feel 
 The weight of my displeasure. You may say, 
 I pity her 
 
 Paolo. For what ? 
 
 Lan. For wedding me. 
 
 In sooth, she 11 need it. Say 
 
 Paolo. Nay, Lanciotto, 
 
 I 11 be a better orator in your behalf, 
 Without your promptings. 
 
 Lan. She is fair, t is said ; 
 
 And. dear Paolo, if she please your eye, 
 
3G8 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 And move your heart to anything like love, 
 
 Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm 
 
 By such a match. 
 
 Paolo. (Laughing.} Ha ! that is right : be gay ! 
 Ply me with jokes ! I d rather see you srnile 
 Than see the sun shine. 
 
 Lan. I am serious. 
 
 I 11 find another wife, less beautiful, 
 More on my level, and 
 
 Paolo. An empress, brother, 
 
 Were honored by your hand. You are by much 
 Too humble in your reckoning of yourself. 
 I can count virtues in you, to supply 
 Half Italy, if they were parcelled out. 
 Look up ! 
 
 Lan. I cannot: Heaven has bent me down. 
 To you, Paolo, I could look, however, 
 Were my hump made a mountain. Bless him, God ! 
 Pour everlasting bounties on his head ! 
 Make Croosus jealous of his treasury, 
 Achilles of his arms, Endymion 
 Of his fresh beauties, though the coy one lay, 
 Blushing beneath Diana s earliest kiss, 
 On grassy Latmos ; and may every good, 
 Bbyond man s sight, though in the ken of Heaven, 
 Round his fair fortune to a perfect end ! 
 O. you have dried the sorrow of rny eyes; 
 My heart is beating with a lighter pulse ; 
 The air is musical ; the total earth 
 Puts on new beauty, and within the arms 
 Of girding ocean dreams her time away, 
 And visions bright to-morrows ! 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 369 
 
 (Enter MALATESTA and PEPE.) 
 
 Malatesta. Mount, to horse ! 
 
 Pepe. (Aside.) Good Lord! he s smiling! What s 
 
 the matter now ? 
 
 Has anybody broken a leg or back ? 
 Has a more monstrous monster corne to life ? 
 Is hell burst open ? heaven burnt up ? What, 
 
 what 
 
 Can make yon eyesore grin ? I say, my lord, 
 What cow has calved ? 
 
 Paolo. Your mother, by the bleat. 
 
 Pepe. Right fairly answered for a gentleman ! 
 When did you take my trade up ? 
 
 Paolo. When your wit 
 
 Went begging, sirrah. 
 
 Pepe. Well again ! My lord, 
 
 I think he 11 do. 
 
 Mai. For what ? 
 
 Pepe. To take my place. 
 
 Once fools were rare, and then my office sped ; 
 But now the world is overrun with them : 
 One gets one s fool in one 7 s own family, 
 Without much searching. 
 
 Mai. Pepe, gently now. 
 
 Lariciotto, you are waited for. The train 
 Has passed the gate, and halted there for you. 
 
 Lan. I go not to Ravenna. 
 
 Mai. Iley ! why not ? 
 
 Paolo. For weighty reasons, father. Will you 
 
 trust 
 
 Your greatest captain, hope of all the Guelfs, 
 With crafty Guido ? Should the Ghibelins 
 
 VOL. i. 24 
 
370 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Break faith, and shut Lanciotto in their walls 
 Sure the temptation would be great enough 
 What would you do ? 
 
 Mai. I d eat Ravenna up ! 
 
 Pepe. Lord ! what an appetite ! 
 
 Paolo. But Lanciotto 
 
 Would be a precious hostage. 
 
 Mai. True ; you re wise ; 
 
 Guido s a fox. Well, have it your own way. 
 What is your plan ? 
 
 Paolo. I go there in his place. 
 
 Mai. Good ! I will send a letter with the news. 
 
 Lan. I thank you, brother. [Jipartto PAOLO.] 
 
 Pepe. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ! ! [Lauyhiny.] 
 
 Mai. Pepe, what now ? 
 
 Pepe. ! lord, ! ho ! ho ! ho ! [Lauyhinff.] 
 
 Paolo. Well, giggler ? 
 
 Pepe. Hear my fable, uncle. 
 
 Mai. Ay. 
 
 Pepe. Once on a time, Vulcan sent Mercury 
 To fetch dame Venus from a rornp in heaven. 
 Well, they were long in coming, as he thought ; 
 And so the god of spits and gridirons 
 Railed like himself the devil. But now mark 
 Here comes the moral. In a little while, 
 Vulcan grew proud, because he saw plain signs 
 That he should be a father ; and so he 
 Strutted through hell, and pushed the devils by, 
 Like a magnified of Venire. Kn> long, 
 His heir was born ; but then ho ! ho ! the brat 
 Had wings upon his heels, and thievish w.i\ s, 
 And a vile squint, like errant Mercury s, 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 311 
 
 Which honest Vulcan could not understand ; 
 Can you ? 
 
 Paolo. Sdeath ! fool, I 11 have you in the stocks. 
 Father, your fool exceeds his privilege. 
 
 Pepe. (Apart to PAOLO.) Keep your own bounds, 
 
 Paolo. In the stocks 
 
 I d tell more fables than you d wish to hear. 
 And so ride forth. But, cousin, don t forget 
 To take Lanciotto s picture to the bride. 
 Ask her to choose between it and yourself. 
 I 11 count the moments, while she hesitates, 
 And not grow gray at it. 
 
 Paolo. Peace, varlet, peace ! 
 
 Pepe. (Apart to him.) Ah ! now I have it. There *s 
 
 an elephant 
 
 Upon the scutcheon ; show her that, and say 
 Here s Lanciotto in our heraldry 1 
 
 Paolo. Here s for your counsel ! 
 
 [Strikes PEPE, who runs behind MALATESTA.] 
 
 Hal. Son, son, have a care ! 
 
 We who keep pets must bear their pecks sometimes. 
 Poor knave ! Ha ! ha ! thou rt growing villanous ! 
 
 [Laughs and pats PEPE.] 
 
 Pepe. Another blow ! another life for that ! 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Paolo. Farewell, Lanciotto. You arc dull again. 
 
 Lan. Nature will rule. 
 
 Mai. Come, come ! 
 
 Lan. God speed you, brother ! 
 
 I am too sad ; my smiles all turn to sighs. 
 
 Paolo. More cause to haste me on my happy 
 work . [ Exit with MALATESTA. ] 
 
 Pepe. I m going, cousiu. 
 
 Lan. Go. 
 
372 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Pepe. Pray, ask me where. 
 
 Lan. Where, then ? 
 
 Pepe. To have my jewel carried home : 
 
 And, as I in wise, the carrier shall be 
 A thief, a thief, by Jove ! The fashion s new. 
 
 Lan. In truth, I am too gloomy and irrational. 
 Paolo must be right. I always had 
 These moody hours and dark presentiments, 
 Without mischances following after them. 
 The camp is my abode. A neighing steed, 
 A fiery onset, and a stubborn fight, 
 Rouse my dull blood, and tire my body down 
 To quiet slumbers when the day is o er, 
 And night above me spreads her spangled tent, 
 Lit by the dying cresset of the moon. 
 Ay, that is it; I m homesick for the camp. [Exit.} 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 373 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Ravenna. A Room in Guide s Palar* Enter 
 GUIDO and a CARDINAL. 
 
 Cardinal. I WARN thee, Count. 
 
 Guido. I 11 take the warning 1 , father, 
 
 On one condition : show me but a way 
 For safe escape. 
 
 Car. I cannot. 
 
 Gui. There s the point : 
 
 We Ghibelins are fettered hand and foot. 
 There s not a florin in my treasury ; 
 Not a lame soldier, I can lead to war ; 
 Not one to man the walls. A present siege, 
 Pushed with the wonted heat of Lanciotto, 
 Would deal Ravenna such a mortal blow 
 As ages could not mend. Give me but time 
 To fill the drained arteries of the land. 
 The Guelfs are masters, we their slaves ; and we 
 Were wiser to confess it, ere the lash 
 Teach it too sternly. It is well for you 
 To say you love Francesca. So do I ; 
 But neither you nor I have any voice 
 For or against this marriage. 
 
 Car. T is too true. 
 
 GUI. Say we refuse : Why, then, before a week, 
 We 11 hear Lanciotto rapping at our door, 
 With twenty hundred ruffians at his back. 
 What s to say then ? My lord, we waste our breath. 
 
oT t FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Let us look fortune in the face, and draw 
 Such comfort from the wanton as we may. 
 
 Car. And yet I fear 
 
 Gai. You fear ! and so do I. 
 
 I fear Lanciotto as a soldier, though, 
 More than a son-in-law. 
 
 Car. But have you seen him ? 
 
 GUI. Ay, ay, and felt him, too. 1 Ve seen him 
 The best battalions of my horse and foot 
 Down like mere stubble : I have seen his sword 
 Hollow a square of pikemcn, with the ease 
 You d scoop a melon out. 
 
 Car. Report c 1 glares him 
 
 A prodigy of strength and uglii^ss. 
 
 GUI. Were he the devil But why talk of this ? 
 Here comes Francesca. 
 
 Car. Ah ! unhappy child ! 
 
 GUI. Look you, my lord ! you 11 make the best 
 
 of it ; 
 
 You will not whimper. Add your voice to mine, 
 Or woe to poor Ravenna ! 
 
 (Enter FRANCESCA and RITTA.) 
 
 Francesca. Ha ! my lord 
 
 And you, my father ! But do I intrude 
 Upon your counsels ? How severe you look ! 
 Shall I retire ? 
 
 GUI. No, no. 
 
 Fran. You moody men 
 
 Seem leagued against me. As I passed the hall, 
 I met your solemn Dante, with huge strides 
 Pacing in measure to his stately verse. 
 The sweeping sleeves of his broad scarlet r<l " 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 375 
 
 Blow out behind, like wide-expanded wings, 
 
 And seemed to buoy him in his level flight. 
 
 Thinking to pass, without disturbing him, 
 
 I stole on tip-toe ; but the poet paused, 
 
 Subsiding into man, and steadily 
 
 Bent on my face the lustre of his eyes. 
 
 Then, taking both my trembling hands in his 
 
 You know how his God-troubled forehead awes 
 
 lie looked into my eyes, and shook his head, 
 
 As if he dared not speak of what he saw ; 
 
 Then muttered, sighed, and slowly turned away 
 
 The weight of his intolerable brow. 
 
 When I glanced back, I saw him, as before, 
 
 Sailing adown the hall on out-spread wings. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, he should not do these things : 
 
 They strain the weakness of mortality 
 
 A jot too far. As for poor Ritta, she 
 
 Fled like a doe, the truant. 
 
 Ritta. Yes, forsooth : 
 
 There s something terrible about the man. 
 Ugh ! if he touched me, I should turn to ice. 
 1 wonder if Count Lanciotto looks 
 
 GUI. Ritta, come here. [Takes her apart.] 
 
 Hit. My lord. 
 
 GUI. ? T was my command, 
 
 You should say nothing of Count Lanciotto. 
 
 Eit. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 GUI. You have said nothing, then ? 
 
 Eit. Indeed, my lord. 
 
 Gui. ? T is well. Some years ago, 
 
 My daughter had a very silly maid, 
 Who told her sillier stories. So, one day, 
 This maiden whispered something I forbade 
 
376 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 In strictest confidence, for she was sly : 
 What happened, think you ? 
 
 Hit. I know not, my lord. 
 
 GUI. I boiled her in a pot. 
 
 Bit. Good heaven ! my lord. 
 
 Gui. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot 
 Ready for the next boiling. [ Walks back to the others.] 
 
 Bit. Saints above ! 
 
 I wonder if he ate her ! Boil me me ! 
 I 11 roast or stew with pleasure ; but to boil 
 Implies a want of tenderness, or rather 
 A downright toughness in the matter boiled, 
 That s slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me 
 Boil me ! ! mercy, how ridiculous ! 
 
 [Retires, lavyhing.] 
 (Enter a Messenger.) 
 
 Messenger. Letters, my lord, from great Prince 
 Mulatcsta. [Presents them, and exit.] 
 
 Gui. (Aside.) Hear him, ye gods ! " from great 
 
 Prince Mahitcsta ! " 
 
 Greeting, no (Joubt, his little cousin Guido. 
 AV r ell, well, just so we see-saw up and down. 
 
 [Reads.] 
 
 / nring our treachery" by heaven, that s blunt, 
 And Malatesta-like ! "he will not send 
 His son, Landotto, to Ravenna, but" 
 But what ? a groom, a porter ! or will he 
 Have his prey sent him in an iron < 
 By Jove, he shall not have her! ! no, no ; 
 " He }ti ntl. ///> younger son, tlie Count Paolo, 
 To fetch Francesca back to Rimini" 
 That s well, if he had left his reasons out. 
 And, in a postscript by the saints, t is droll ! 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 3T1 
 
 " T would not be worth your lordship s while, to shut 
 
 Paolo in a prison ; for, my lord, 
 
 I ll only pay his ransom in plain steel : 
 
 Besides, he s not worth having." Is there one, 
 
 Save this ignoble ofi shoot of the Goths, 
 
 Who d write such garbage to a gentleman ? 
 
 Take that, and read it. [Gives letter to CARDINAL.] 
 
 Gar. I have done the most. 
 
 She seems suspicious. 
 
 GUI. Ritta s work. 
 
 Car. Farewell ! [Exit.] 
 
 Fran. Father, } r ou seem distempered. 
 
 Gid. No, my child, 
 
 I am but vexed. Your husband s on the road, 
 Close to Ravenna. What s the time of day ? 
 
 Fran. Past noon, my lord. 
 
 Gui. We must be stirring, then. 
 
 Fran. I do not like this marriage. 
 
 Gui. But I do. 
 
 Fran. But I do not. Poh ! to be given away, 
 Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man 
 Whose face I never saw ! 
 
 Hit. That s it, my lady. 
 
 Gui. Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot 
 Boils to your liking. 
 
 Bit. (Aside.) ! that pot again ! 
 
 My lord, my heart betrays me ; but you know 
 How true tis to my lady. [Exit.] 
 
 Fran. What ails Ritta? 
 
 Gui. The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. 
 Francesca, 7 t is too late to beat retreat : 
 Old Malatesta has me you, too, child 
 Safe in his clutch. If you are not content, 
 
378 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 I must unclose Ravenna, and allow 
 
 His son to take you. Poh, poll ! have a soul 
 
 Equal with your estate. A prince s child 
 
 Cannot choose husbands. Her desires must aim, 
 
 Not at herself, but at the public good. 
 
 Both as your prince and father, I command ; 
 
 As subject and good daughter, you 11 obey. 
 
 Fra.i. I knew that it must be my destiny, 
 Some day, to give my hand without my heart ; 
 But- 
 
 Gui. But, and I will but you back again ! 
 
 When Guido da Polenta says to you, 
 Daughter, you must be married, what were best ? 
 
 Fran. T were best Francesca, of the self-same 
 
 name, 
 Made herself bridal-garments. [Laughing.] 
 
 Gui. Right ! 
 
 Fran. My lord, 
 
 Is Lanciotto handsome ugly fair 
 Black sallow crabbed kind or what is he ? 
 
 Gui. You 11 know ere long. I could not alter him, 
 To please your taste. 
 
 Fran. You always put me off; 
 
 You never have a whisper in his praise. 
 
 Gui. The world reports it. Count my soldiers 
 
 scars, 
 And you may sum Lanciotto s glories, up. 
 
 Fran. I shall be dutiful, to please you. fatlior. 
 If aught befall me through my blind submission, 
 Though I may suffer, you must bear the sin. 
 Beware, my lord, for your own peace of mind ! 
 My part has been obedience ; and now 
 I play it over to complete my task ; 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 379 
 
 And it shall be with smiles upon my lips, 
 Heaven only knows with what a sinking heart ! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. Before the Gates of the City. The walls hung with 
 banners, flowesr, fyc., and crowded with citizens. At the side 
 of the scene is a canopied dais, with chairs of state upon it. 
 Music, bells, shouts, and other sounds of rejoicing, are occa 
 sionally heard. Enter GUIDO, the CARDINAL, Noblemen, 
 Kniyhts, Guards, $c., with banners, arms, fyc. 
 
 Guido. My lord, I 11 have it so. You talk in vain. 
 Paolo is a marvel in his way : 
 I ve seen him often. If Francesca take 
 A fancy to his beauty, all the better ; 
 For she may think that he and Lanciotto- 
 Are like as blossoms of one parent branch. 
 In truth, they are, so far as features go 
 Heaven help the rest ! Get her to Rimini, 
 By any means, and I shall be content. 
 The fraud cannot last long; but long enough 
 To win her favor to the family. 
 
 Cardinal. T is a dull trick. Thou hast not dealt 
 
 with her 
 
 Wisely nor kindly, and I dread the end. 
 If, when this marriage was enjoined on thee, 
 Thou hadst informed Francesca of the truth, 
 And said, Now, daughter, choos,e between 
 Thy peace and all Ravenna s ; who that knows 
 The constant nature of her noble heart 
 Could doubt the issue ? There d have been some 
 tears, 
 
330 FRAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Some frightful fancies of her husband s looks ; 
 And then she d calmly walk up to her fate, 
 And bear it bravely. Afterwards, perchance, 
 Lanciotto might prove better than her fears, 
 No one denies him many an excellence, 
 And all go happily. But, as thou wouldst plot, 
 She 11 be prepared to see a paragon, 
 And find a satyr. It is dangerous. 
 Treachery with enemies is bad enough, 
 With friends t is fatal. 
 
 GUI. Has your lordship done ? 
 
 Car. Never, Count Guido, wMth so good a text 
 Do not stand looking sideways at the truth ; 
 Craft has become thy nature. Go to her. 
 
 GUI. I have not heart. 
 
 Car. I have. [Goi 
 
 Gid. Hold, Cardinal ! 
 
 My plan is better. Get her off my hands, 
 And I care not. 
 
 Car. What will she say of thee, 
 
 In Rimini, when she detects the cheat? 
 
 GUI. I 11 stop my ears up. 
 
 Car. Guido, thou art weak, 
 
 And lack the common fortitude of man. 
 
 Gui. And you abuse the license of your garb, 
 To lesson me. My lord, I do not dare 
 To move a finger in these marriage-rites. 
 Francesca is a sacrifice, I kimw,-- 
 A limb delivered to the surgeon s knife. 
 To save our general health. A truce to this. 
 Paolo has the business in his hands : 
 Let him arrange it as he will ; for I 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 381 
 
 Will give Count Malatesta no pretext 
 To recommence the war. 
 
 Car. Farewell, my lord. 
 
 1 11 neither help nor countenance a fraud. 
 You crafty men take comfort to yourselves, 
 Saying, deceit dies with discovery. 
 ; T is false ; each wicked action spawns a brood, 
 And lives in its succession. You, who shake 
 Man s moral nature into storm, should know 
 That the last wave which passes from your sight 
 Rolls in and breaks upon eternity ! [Exit.] 
 
 GUI. Why, that 7 s a very grand and solemn 
 
 thought : 
 
 I 11 mention it to Dante. Gentlemen, 
 What see they from the wall ? 
 
 Nobleman The train, my lord. 
 
 Gui. Inform my daughter. 
 
 Nob. She is here, my lord. 
 
 (Enter FRANCESCA, RITTA, Ladies, Attendants, fyc.) 
 
 Francesca. See, father, what a merry face I have, 
 And how my ladies glisten ! I will try 
 To do my utmost, in my love for you 
 And the good people of Ravenna. Now, 
 As the first shock is over, I expect 
 To feel quite happy. I will wed the Count, 
 Be he whatever he may. I do not speak 
 In giddy recklessness. I ve weighed it all, 
 T wixt hope and fear, knowledge and ignorance, 
 And reasoned out my duty to your wish. 
 I have no yearnings towards another love : 
 So, if I show my husband a desire 
 To fill the place with which he honors me, 
 
382 FRAXCESCA DA RIMIXT. 
 
 According to its duties, even he 
 
 Were he less noble than Count Lanciotto 
 
 Must smile upon my efforts, and reward 
 
 Good will with willing grace. One pang remains. 
 
 Parting from home and kindred is a thing 
 
 None but the heartless, or the miserable, 
 
 Can do without a tear. This home of mine 
 
 lias filled my heart with two-fold happiness, 
 
 Taking and giving love abundantly. 
 
 Farewell, Ravenna ! If I bless thee not, 
 
 ; T is that thou seem st too blessed ; and t were 
 
 strange 
 In me to offer what thou st always given. 
 
 Gui. (Aside.) This is too much ! If she would 
 
 rail a while 
 At me arid fortune, it could be endured. 
 
 [Shouts, music, SfC. within.] 
 
 Fran. Ha! there s the van just breaking through 
 
 the wood ! 
 
 Music ! that s well ; a welcome forerunner. 
 Now, Ritta here come talk to me. Alas ! 
 How my heart trembl ;s ! What a world to me 
 Lies neath the glitter of yon cavalcade ! 
 Is that the Count ? 
 
 Riita. Upon the dapple-gray ? 
 
 Fran. Yes, yes. 
 
 Hit. No ; that ? his 
 
 Gui. (Apart to her.) Ritta! 
 
 Bit. \ Y : that s that s 
 
 Gui. Ritta, the pot ! [Apart to her.] 
 
 Rit. ! but this lying chokes ! [Aside.] 
 
 Ay, that s Count Somebody, from Rimini. 
 
 Fran. I knew it was. Is that not glorious ? 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 383 
 
 Hit. My lady, what ? 
 
 Fran. To see a cavalier 
 
 Sit on his steed with such familiar grace. 
 
 Bit. To see a man astraddle on a horse ! 
 It don t seem much to me. 
 
 Fran. Fie ! stupid girl ! 
 
 But mark the minstrels thronging round the Coun i 
 All ! that is more than gallant horsemanship. 
 The soul that feeds itself on poesy, 
 Is of a quality more fine and rare 
 Than Heaven allows the ruder multitude. 
 I tell you, Ritta, when you sec a man 
 Beloved by poets, made the theme of song, 
 And chaunted down to ages, as a gift 
 Fit for the rich embalmment of their verse, 
 There s more about him than the patron s gold. 
 If that s the gentleman my father chose, 
 He must have picked him out from all the world. 
 The Count alights. Why, what a noble grace 
 Runs through his slightest action ! Are you sad \ 
 You too, my father ? Have I given you cause ? 
 I am content. If Lanciotto s mind 
 Bear any impress of his fair outside, 
 We shall not quarrel ere our marriage-day. 
 Can I say more ? My blushes speak for me : 
 Interpret them as modesty s excuse 
 For the short-comings of a maiden s speech. 
 
 Rit. Alas ! dear lady ! [Aside.] 
 
 Grid. (Aside.) Sdeath ! my plot has failed, 
 By overworking its design. Come, come ; 
 Get to your places. See, the Count draws nigh. 
 
 (Guino and FRANCESCA seat themselves upon the dais, surrounded 
 by RITTA, Ladies, Attendants, Guards, fyc, Music- shouts, 
 
VS4 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 ringing of bells, $c. Enter Men-at arms, with banners, $c. ; 
 Pages bearing costly presents on cushions ; then PAOLO, sur 
 rounded by Noblemen, Knights, Minstrels, $c., and follower 
 by other Men-at-arms. They range themselves opposite the 
 dais.) 
 
 Gui. Ravenna welcomes you, my lord, and I 
 Add my best greeting to the general voice. 
 This peaceful show of arms from Rimini 
 Is a new pleasure, stranger to our sense 
 Than if the East blew zephyrs, or the balm 
 Of Summer loaded rough December s gales, 
 And turned his snows to roses. 
 
 Paolo. Noble sir, 
 
 We looked for welcome from your courtesy, 
 Not from your love ; but this unhoped for sight 
 Of smiling faces, and the gentle tone 
 In which you greet us, leave us naught to win 
 Within your hearts. I need not ask, my lord, 
 Where bides the precious object of my search ; 
 For I was sent to find the fairest maid 
 Ravenna boasts, among her many fair. 
 I might extend my travel many a league, 
 And yet return, to take her from your side. 
 I blush to bear so rich a treasure home, 
 As pledge and hostage of a sluggish peace ; 
 For beauty such as hers was meant by Heaven 
 To spur our race to gallant enterprise, 
 And draw contending deities around 
 The dubious battles of a second Troy. 
 
 Gai. Sir Count, you please to lavish on my child 
 The high-strained courtesy of chivalry ; 
 Yet she has homely virtues that, 1 hope, 
 Kay take a deeper hold in Rimini, 
 
FRANCESCA DA KIM1XI. 385 
 
 After the fleeting beauty of her face 
 Is spoiled by time, or faded to the eye 
 By its familiar usage. 
 
 Paolo. As a man 
 
 Who ever sees Heaven s purpose in its works, 
 I must suppose so rare a tabernacle 
 Was framed for rarest virtues. Pardon me 
 My public admiration. If my praise 
 Clash with propriety, and bare my words 
 To cooler judgment, t is not that I wish 
 To win a flatterer s grudged recompense, 
 And gain by falsehood what 1 7 d win through love. 
 When I have brushed my travel from my garb, 
 I 11 pay my court in more befitting style. 
 
 (J[fusic. Exit with his train.) 
 
 GUI. (Advancing.) Now, by the saints, Lanciotto s 
 
 deputy 
 
 Stands in this business with a proper grace, 
 Stretching his lord s instructions till they crack. 
 A zealous envoy ! Not a word said he 
 Of Lanciotto not a single word ; 
 But stood there, staring in Francesca s face 
 With his devouring eyes. By Jupiter, 
 1 but half like it! 
 
 Fran. (Advancing.) Father? 
 
 Gui. Well, my child. 
 
 Fran. How do you like 
 
 GUI. The coxcomb ! I Ve done well ! 
 
 Fran. No, no ; Count Lanciotto ? 
 
 GUI. Well enough. 
 
 But hang this fellow hang your deputies ! 
 I 11 never woo by proxy. 
 
 VOL. i. 25 
 
380 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Fran. Deputies ! 
 
 And woo by proxy ! 
 
 GUI. Come to me anon. 
 
 I 11 strip this cuckoo of his gallantry ! 
 
 [Exit with Guards, $c.\ 
 
 Fran. Ritta, my father has strange ways of late. 
 
 Ril. I wonder not. 
 
 Fran. You wonder not ? 
 
 Bit. No, lady : 
 
 lie is so used to playing double games, 
 That even you must come in for your share. 
 Plague on his boiling ! 1 will out with it. [Aside.] 
 Lady, the gentleman who passed the gates 
 
 Fran. Count Lanciotto ? As I hope for grace, 
 A gallant gentleman ! How well he spoke ! 
 With what sincere and earnest courtesy 
 The rounded phrases glided from his lips ! 
 He spoke in compliments that seemed like truth. 
 Metliinks I d listen through a summer s day, 
 To hear him woo. And he must woo to me 
 I 11 have our privilege he must woo a space, 
 Ere I 11 be won, I promise. 
 
 Hit. But, my lady, 
 
 He 11 woo you for another. 
 
 Fran. lie? ha! ha! [Laughing. } 
 
 I should not think it from the prologue, Ritta. 
 
 Hit. Nor I. 
 
 Fran. Nor any one. 
 
 Hit. T is not the Count 
 
 T is not Count Lanciotto. 
 
 Fran. Gracious saints I 
 
 Have you gone crazy ? Ritta, speak again, 
 Before I chide you. 
 
FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 387 
 
 Kit- 7 T is the solemn truth. 
 
 That gentleman is Count Paolo, lady, 
 Brother to Lanciotto, and no more 
 Like him than than 
 
 Fran. Than what ? 
 
 Bit- Count Guido s pot, 
 
 For boiling waiting-maids, is like the bath 
 Of Venus on the arras. 
 
 Fran. Are you mad, 
 
 Quite mad, poor Ritta ? 
 
 Bit- Yes ; perhaps I am. 
 
 Perhaps Lanciotto is a proper man 
 Perhaps I lie perhaps I speak the truth - 
 Perhaps I gabble like a fool. ! heavens, 
 That dreadful pot ! 
 
 Fran. Dear Ritta ! 
 
 Rtt> By the mass, 
 
 They shall not cozen you, my gentle mistress ! 
 If my lord Guido boiled me, do you think 
 I should be served up to the garrison, 
 By way of pottage ? Surely they would not waste 
 me. 
 
 Fran. You are an idle talker. Pranks like these 
 Fit your companions. You forget yourself. 
 
 Rit. Not you, though, lady. Boldly I repeat, 
 That he who looked so fair, and talked so sweet, 
 Who rode from Rimini upon a horse 
 Of dapple-gray, and walked through yonder gate, 
 Is not Count Lanciotto. 
 
 Fran. This you mean ? 
 
 Hit. I do, indeed ! 
 
 Fran. Then I am more abused 
 
 More tricked, more trifled with, more played upon 
 
388 FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 By him, my father, and by all of you, 
 Than anything, suspected of a heart, 
 Was ever yet 1 
 
 Rit. In Count Paolo, lady, 
 
 Perchance there was no meditated fraud. 
 
 Fran. How, dare you plead for him ? 
 
 Rit. I but suppose : 
 
 Though in your father ! I dare not say. 
 
 Fran. I dare. It was ill usage, gross abuse, 
 Treason to duty, meanness, craft dishonor ! 
 What if I d thrown my heart before the feet 
 Of this sham husband ! cast my love away 
 Upon a counterfeit ! I was prepared 
 To force affection upon any man 
 Called Lanciotto. Anything of silk, 
 Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name, 
 Might have received me for the asking. Yes, 
 I was inclined to venture more than half 
 In this base business shame upon my thoughts ! 
 All for rny father s peace and poor Ravenna s. 
 And this Paolo, with his cavalcade, 
 His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs, 
 His showy person, and his fulsome talk, 
 Almost made me contented with my lot. 
 
 ! what a fool ! in faith, I merit it 
 Trapped by mere glitter ! What an easy fool ! 
 Ha! ha ! I m glad it went no further, girl : 
 
 \_Ltnujhiny.~ 
 
 1 m glad I kept my heart safe, after all. 
 
 There was my cunning. I have paid them back, 
 I warrant you ! I 11 marry Lanciotto ; 
 I 11 seem to shuffle by this treachery. No ! 
 I 11 seek my father, put him face to face 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 389 
 
 With his own falsehood ; and I 11 stand between, 
 Awful as justice, meting out to him 
 Heaven s dreadful canons gainst his conscious guilt. 
 I 11 marry Lanciotto. On my faith, 
 I would not live another wicked day 
 Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear 
 That I should take to lying, with the rest. 
 Ha ! ha ! it makes me merry, when I think 
 How safe I kept this little heart of mine ! [Laughing.] 
 
 [Exit, with Attendants, #c.] 
 
 Eit. So, tis all ended all except my boiling, 
 And that will make a holiday for some. 
 Perhaps I m selfish. Fagot, axe, and gallows, 
 They have their .uses, after all. They give 
 The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. 
 Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh ; 
 And that s a point gained. I have seen a man 
 Poor Dora s uncle shake himself with glee, 
 At the bare thought of the ridiculous style 
 In which some villain died. " Dancing," quoth he, 
 " To the poor music of a single string ! 
 Biting," quoth he, " after his head was off! 
 What use of that ? " Or, " Shivering," quoth he, 
 "As from an ague, with his beard afire ! " 
 And then he d roar until his ugly mouth 
 Split at the corners. But to see me boil 
 
 ! that will be the queerest thing of all ! 
 
 1 wonder if they 11 put me in a bag, 
 Like a great suet-ball ? I 11 go, and tell 
 Count Guido, on the instant. How he 11 laugh 
 To think his pot has got an occupant ! 
 
 I wonder if he really takes delight 
 
 In such amusements ? Nay, I have kept faith : 
 
390 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 I only said the man was not Lanciotto ; 
 No word of Lanciotto s ugliness. 
 I may escape the pot, for all. Pardee ! 
 I wonder if they 11 put me in a bag ! 
 
 [Exit, laughing. ] 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 TJie Same. A Room in Guidons Palace. Enter GUIDO and 
 
 RlTTA. 
 
 Eitta. There now, my lord, that is the whole of it: 
 I love my mistress more than I fear you. 
 If I could save her finger from the axe, 
 I d give my head to do it. So, my lord, 
 I am prepared to stew. 
 
 Guido. Boil, Ritta, boil. 
 
 Hit. No ; I prefer to stew. 
 
 GUI. And I to boil. 
 
 Rit. ; T is very hard, my lord, I cannot choose 
 My way of cooking. I shall laugh, I vow, 
 In the grim headsman s face, when I remember 
 That I am dying for my lady s, love. 
 I leave no one to shed a tear for me ; 
 Father nor mother, kith nor kin, have I, 
 To say, " Poor Ritta ! " o er my lifeless clay. 
 They all have gone before me, and t were well 
 If I could hurry after them. 
 
 Gui. Poor child ! [JlsUe 
 
 But, baggage, said you aught of Lanciotto ? 
 
 Eit. No, not a word ; and he s so ugly, too ! 
 
 Gui. Is he so ugly ? 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 391 
 
 
 
 Hit- Ugly ! he is worse 
 
 Than Pilate on the hangings. 
 
 Gui. Hold your tongue 
 
 Here, and at Rimini, about the Count, 
 Arid you shall prosper. 
 
 Bit. Am I not to boil ? 
 
 Gid. No, child. But be discreet at Hi mini. 
 Old Malatesta is a dreadful man 
 Far worse than I he bakes his people, Ritta ; 
 Lards them, like geese, and bakes them in an oven. 
 
 Hit. Fire is my fate, I see that. 
 
 GUI. Have a care 
 
 It do not follow you beyond this world. 
 Where is your mistress ? 
 
 Bit. In her room, my lord. 
 
 After I told her of the Count Paolo, 
 She flew to have an interview with you ; 
 But on the way I know not why it was 
 She darted to her chamber, and there stays 
 Weeping in silence. It would do you good 
 More than a hundred sermons just to see 
 A single tear, indeed it would, my lord. 
 
 Gui. Ila ! you are saucy. I have humored you 
 Past prudence, malpert ! Get you to your room I 
 
 [Exit RITTA.] 
 
 More of my blood runs in yon damsel s veins 
 Than the world knows. Her mother to a shade ; 
 The same high spirit, and strange martyr-wish 
 To sacrifice herself, body and soul, 
 For some loved end. All that she did for me ; . 
 And yet I loved her not. ! memory ! 
 The darkest future has a ray of hope, 
 But thou art blacker than the sepulchre ! 
 
392 FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 
 
 % 
 
 Thy horrid shapes lie round, like scattered bones, 
 
 Hopeless forever ! I am sick at heart. 
 
 The past crowds on the present : as I sowed, 
 
 So am I reaping. Shadows from myself 
 
 Fall on the picture, as I trace anew 
 
 These rising spectres of my early life, 
 
 And add their gloom to what was dark before. 
 
 ! memory, memory 1 How my temples throb ! 
 
 (Enter FRANCESCA, hastily.) 
 
 Francesco,. My lord, this outrage (He looks up.) 
 
 Father, are you ill ? 
 
 You seem unhappy. Have I troubled you ? 
 You heard how passionate and bad I was, 
 When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. 
 Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask 
 A child s forgiveness. T was undutiful 
 To doubt your wisdom. It is over now. 
 I only thought you might have trusted me 
 With any counsel. 
 
 Gui. \jlsile.) Would I had ! 
 
 Fran. Ah ! well, 
 
 I understand it all, and you were right. 
 Only the danger of it. Think, my lord, 
 If I had loved this man at the first sight: 
 We all have heard of such things. Think, again, 
 If I had loved him as I then supposed 
 You wished me to t would have been very sad. 
 Hut no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure, 
 Nor will I loose it till you give the word. 
 I in wiser than you thought me, you perceive. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 393 
 
 But when we saw him, face to face, together, 
 Surely you might have told me then. 
 
 GUI. Francesca, 
 
 My eyes are old I did not clearly see 
 Faith, it escaped my thoughts. Some other things 
 Came in my head. I was as ignorant 
 Of Count Paolo s coming as yourself. 
 The brothers are so like. 
 
 Fran. Indeed ? 
 
 GUI. Yes, yes. 
 
 One is the other s counterpart, in fact ; 
 And even now it may not be ! shame ! 
 I lie by habit. [Aside.] 
 
 Fran. Then there is a hope ? 
 
 lie may be Lanciotto, after all ? 
 0! joy- 
 
 (Enter a Servant.) 
 
 Servant. The Count Paolo. [Exit.] 
 
 Fran. Misery ! 
 
 That name was not Lanciotto ! 
 
 GUI. Farewell, child. 
 
 I 11 leave you with the Count : he 11 make it plain. 
 It seems twas Count Paolo. [Going.] 
 
 Fran. Father ! 
 
 Gui. Well. 
 
 Fran. You knew it from the first! (Exit GUIDO.) 
 
 Let me begone : 
 
 I could not look him in the face again 
 With the old faith. Besides, t would anger him 
 To have a living witness of his fraud 
 Ever before him ; and I could not trust 
 Strive as I might my happiness to him, 
 
391 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 As once I did. I could not lay my hand 
 
 Upon his shoulder, and look up to him, 
 
 Saying, Dear father, pilot me along 
 
 Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. 
 
 Saints, no ! The gold that gave my life away 
 
 Might, even then, be rattling in his purse, 
 
 Warm from the buyer s hand. Look on me, Heaven ! 
 
 Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes, 
 
 Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy, 
 
 With guardianship of a weak orphan girl, 
 
 Has fallen from grace, has paltered with his trust ; 
 
 I have no mother to receive thy charge, 
 
 ! take it on thyself; and when I err, 
 
 Through mortal blindness, Heaven, be thou my guide ! 
 
 Worse cannot fall me. Though my husband lack 
 
 A parent s tenderness, he yet may have 
 
 Faith, truth, and honor the immortal bonds 
 
 That knit together honest hearts as one. 
 
 Let me away to Rimini. Alas ! 
 
 It wrings my heart to have outlived the day 
 
 That I can leave my home with no regret ! [ 
 
 (Enter PAOLO.) 
 
 Paolo. Pray, pardon me. 
 
 Fran. You are quite welcome, Count 
 
 A foolish tear, a weakness, nothing more : 
 But present weeping clears our future sight. 
 They tell me you are love s commissinm-r. 
 A kind of broker in the trade of hearts : 
 Is it your usual business ? or may I 
 Flatter myself, by claiming this essay 
 As your first effort ? 
 
 Paolo. Lady, I believed 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 395 
 
 My post, at starting, one of weight and trust ; 
 When I beheld you, I concluded it 
 A charge of honor and high dignity. 
 I did not think to hear you underrate 
 Your own importance, by dishonoring me. 
 
 Fran. You are severe, my lord. 
 
 Paolo. No, not severe ; 
 
 Say candid, rather. I am somewhat hurt 
 By my reception. If I feel the wound, 
 "T is not because I suffer from the jest, 
 But that your lips should deal it. 
 
 Fran. Compliments 
 
 Appear to be the staple of your speech. 
 You ravish one with courtesy, you pour 
 Fine words upon one, till the listening head 
 Is bowed with sweetness. Sir, your talk is drugged ; 
 There s secret poppy in your sugared phrase : 
 I 11 taste before I take it. 
 
 Paolo. Gentle lady 
 
 Fran. I am not gentle, or I missed my aim. 
 I am no hawk to fly at every lure. 
 You courtly gentlemen draw one broad rule 
 All girls are fools. It may be so, in truth, 
 Yet so I 11 not be treated. 
 
 Paolo. Have you been ? 
 
 If I implied such slander by my words, 
 They wrong my purpose. If I compliment, 
 T is not from habit, but because I thought 
 Your face deserved my homage as its due. 
 When I have clearer insight, and you spread 
 Your inner nature o er your lineaments, 
 Even that face may darken in the shades 
 Of my opinion. For mere loveliness 
 
390 FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 Needs inward light to keep it always bright. 
 All things look badly to unfriendly eyes. 
 I spoke my first impression ; cooler thought 
 May work strange changes. 
 
 Fran. Ah ! Sir Count, at length 
 
 There s matter in your words. 
 
 Paolo. Unpleasant stuff, 
 
 To judge by your dark brows. I have essayed 
 Kindness and coldness, yet you are not pleased. 
 
 Fran. How can I be ? 
 
 Paolo. How, lady ? 
 
 Fran. Ay, sir, how ? 
 
 Your brother my good lord that is to be 
 Stings me with his neglect; and in the place 
 lie should have filled, he sends a go-between, 
 A common carrier of others love ; 
 How can the sender, or the person sent, 
 Please overmuch ? Now, were I such as you, 
 I d be too proud to travel round the land 
 With other peoples feelings in my heart ; 
 Even to fill the void which you confess 
 By such employment. 
 
 Paolo. Lady, t is your wish 
 
 To nettle me, to break my breeding down, 
 And see what natural passions I have hidden 
 Behind the outworks of my etiquette. 
 I neither own nor feel the want of heart 
 With which you charge me. You are more than 
 
 cruel ; 
 
 You rouse my nerves until they ache with life, 
 And then pour fire upon them. For myself 
 1 would not speak, unless you had comprlK >l. 
 My task is odious to me. Since 1 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 397 
 
 Heaven bear me witness how my traitor heart 
 lias fought against my duty ; and how oft 
 I wished myself in Lanciotto s place, 
 Or him in mine. 
 
 Fran. You riddle. 
 
 Paolo. Do I ? Well, 
 
 Let it remain unguessed. 
 
 Fran. You wished yourself 
 
 At Rimini, or Lanciotto here ? 
 You may have reasons. 
 
 Paolo. Well interpreted ! 
 
 The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands I 
 
 Fran. It has become your turn to sneer. 
 
 Paolo. But I 
 
 Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you 
 Jest in the wanton ease of happiness. 
 Stop ! there is peril in our talk. 
 
 Fran. As how ? 
 
 Paolo. T is dangerous to talk about one s self; 
 It panders selfishness. My duty waits. 
 
 Fran. My future lord s affairs ? I quite forgot 
 Count Lanciotto. 
 
 Paolo. I, too, shame upon me ! [Aside.] 
 
 Fran. Does he resemble you ? 
 
 Paolo. Pray drop me, lady. 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me. 
 
 Paolo. Somewhat in feature. 
 
 Fran. Ila ! 
 
 Is he so fair ? 
 
 Paolo. No, darker. He was tanned 
 
 In long campaigns, and battles hotly fought, 
 While I lounged idly with the troubadours, 
 Under the shadow of his watchful sword. 
 
398 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Fran. In person ? 
 
 Paolo. He is shorter, I believe, 
 
 But broader, stronger, more compactly knit. 
 
 Fran. What of his mind ? 
 
 Paolo Ah ! now you strike the key 
 
 A mind just fitted to his history, 
 An equal balance twixt desert and fame. 
 No future chronicler shall say of him, 
 His fame outran his merit ; or his merit 
 Halted behind some adverse circumstance, 
 And never won the glory it deserved. 
 My love might weary you, if I rehearsed 
 The simple beauty of his character ; 
 His grandeur and his gentleness of heart, 
 His warlike fire and peaceful love, his faith, 
 His courtesy, his truth. I 11 not deny 
 Some human weakness, to attract our love, 
 Harbors in him, as in the rest of us. 
 Sometimes against our city s enemies 
 He thunders in the distance, and devotes 
 Their homes to ruin. When the brand has fallen, 
 He ever follows with a healing rain, 
 And in his pity shoulders by revenge. 
 A thorough soldier, lady. He grasps crowns, 
 While I pick at the laurel. 
 
 Fran. Stay, my -lord ! 
 
 I asked your brother s value, with no wish 
 To hear you underrate yourself. Your worth 
 May rise in passing through another s lips. 
 Lanciotto is perfection, then ? 
 
 Paolo. To me : 
 
 Others may think my brother over-nice 
 Upon the point of honor ; over-keen 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 399 
 
 To take offence where no offence is meant ; 
 
 A thought too prodigal of human life, 
 
 Holding it naught when weighed against a wrong ; 
 
 Suspicious of the motives of his friends ; 
 
 Distrustful of his own high excellence ; 
 
 And with a certain gloom of temperament, 
 
 When thus disturbed, that makes him terrible 
 
 And rash in action. I have heard of this ; 
 
 I never felt it. I distress you, lady ? 
 
 Perhaps I throw these points too much in shade, 
 
 By catching at an enemy s report. 
 
 But, then, Lanciotto said, " You 11 speak of me, 
 
 Not as I ought to be, but as I am." 
 
 He loathes deceit. 
 
 Fran. That ; s noble ! Have you done ? 
 
 I have observed a strange reserve, at times, 
 An over-carefulness in choosing words, 
 Both in my father and his nearest friends, 
 When speaking of your brother ; as if they 
 Picked their way slowly over rocky ground, 
 Fearing to stumble. Ritta, too, my maid, 
 When her tongue rattles on in full career, 
 Stops at your brother s name, and with a sigh 
 Settles herself to dismal silence. Count, 
 These things have troubled me. From you I look 
 For perfect frankness. Is there naught withheld ? 
 
 Paolo. (Aside.) 0, base temptation ! What if I 
 
 betray 
 
 His crippled person imitate his limp 
 Laugh at his hip, his back, his sullen moods 
 Of childish superstition ? tread his heart 
 Under my feet, to climb into his place ? 
 Use his own warrant gainst himself; and say, 
 
400 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Because I loved her, and misjudged your jest, 
 Therefore I stole her ? Why, a common thief 
 Would hang for just such thinking ! Ila ! ha ! ha I 
 
 I reckon on her love, as if I held 
 The counsels of her bosom. No, I swear, 
 Francesca would despise so mean a deed. 
 Have I no honor either ? Are my thoughts 
 All bound by her opinion ? 
 
 Fran. This is strange ! 
 
 Is Lanciotto s name a spell to all ? 
 I ask a simple question, and straight you 
 Start to one side, and mutter to yourself, 
 And laugh, and groan, and play the lunatic, 
 In such a style that you astound me more 
 Than all the others. It appears to me 
 I have been singled as a common dupe 
 By every one. What mystery is this 
 Surrounds Count Lanciotto ? If there be 
 A single creature in the universe 
 Who has a right to know him as he is, 
 I am that one. 
 
 Paolo. I grant it. You shall see, 
 
 And shape your judgment by your own remark. 
 All that my honor calls for I have said. 
 
 Fran. I am content. Unless I greatly err, 
 Heaven made your breast the seat of honest 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 You know, my lord, that, once at Rimini, 
 There can be no retreat for me. By you, 
 Here at Ravenna, in your brother s name, 
 I shall be solemnly betrothed. And now 
 I thus extend my maiden hand to you ; 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 401 
 
 If you are conscious of no secret guilt, 
 Take it. 
 
 Paolo. I do. [Takes her hand.] 
 
 Fran. You tremble ! 
 
 Paolo. With the hand, 
 
 Not with the obligation. 
 
 Fran. Farewell, Count ! 
 
 T were cruel to tax your stock of compliments, 
 That waste their sweets upon a trammelled heart ; 
 Go fly your fancies at some freer game. [Exit.] 
 
 Paolo. 0, heaven, if I have faltered and am weak, 
 T is from my nature ! Fancies, more accursed 
 Than haunt a murderer s bedside, throng my 
 
 brain 
 
 Temptations, such as mortal never bore 
 Since Satan whispered in the ear of Eve, 
 Sing in my ear and all, all are accursed I 
 At heart I have betrayed my brother s trust, 
 Francesca s openly. Turn where I will, 
 As if enclosed within a mirrored hall, 
 I see a traitor. Now to stand erect, 
 Firm on my base of manly constancy ; 
 Or, if I stagger, let me never quit 
 The homely path of duty, for the ways 
 That bloom and glitter with seductive sin ! [Exit.] 
 
 VOL. i. 26 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIUI.VI. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Rimini. A Room in the Castle. LAXCIOTTO discov 
 ered reading. 
 
 Lanciotto. ! fie, philosophy ! This Seneca 
 Revels in wealth, and whines about the poor ! 
 Talks of starvation while his banquet waits, 
 And fancies that a two hours appetite 
 Tlinm-s light on famine ! Doubtless he can tell, 
 As he skips nimbly through his dancing-girls, 
 
 I low sad it is to limp about the world 
 
 A sightless cripple ! Let him feel the crutch 
 Wearing ;ig;iinst his heart, and then I d hear 
 This, sago talk glibly ; or provide a pad, 
 Stuffed with his soft philosophy, to ease 
 
 I 1 is aching shoulder. Pshaw ! he never felt, 
 Or pain would choke his frothy utterance. 
 
 T is easy for the doctor to compound 
 
 His nauseous simples for a sick man s health ; 
 
 But let him swallow them, for his disease, 
 
 Without wry faces. Ah ! the tug is there. 
 
 Show me philosophy in rags, in want, 
 
 Sick of a fever, with a bark like mine, 
 
 Creeping to wisdom on these legs, and I 
 
 Will drink its comforts. Out! away with you ! 
 
 There s no such thing as real philosophy ! 
 
 [Throws down the book.} 
 (Enter PEPE.) 
 Here is a sage who 11 teach a court i.-r 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 403 
 
 The laws of etiquette, a statesman rule, 
 A soldier discipline, a poet verse, 
 And each mechanic his distinctive trade ; 
 Yet bring him to his motley, and how wide 
 He shoots from reason ! We can understand 
 All business but our own, and thrust advice 
 In every gaping cranny of the world ; 
 While habit shapes us to our own dull work, 
 And reason nods above his proper task. 
 Just so philosophy would rectify 
 All things abroad, and be a jade at home. 
 Pepe, what think you of the Emperor s aim 
 Towards Hungary ? 
 
 Pepe. A most unwise design ; 
 
 For mark, my lord 
 
 Lan. Why, there ! the fact cries out. 
 
 Here s motley thinking for a diadem ! 
 Ay, arid more wisely in his own regard. 
 
 Pepe. You flout me, cousin. 
 
 Lan. Have you aught that 7 s new ? 
 
 Some witty trifle, some absurd conceit ? 
 
 Pepe. Troth, no. 
 
 Lan. Why not give up the Emperor, 
 
 And bend your wisdom on your duties, Pepe ? 
 
 Pepe. Because the Emperor has more need of 
 
 wisdom 
 Than the most barren fool of wit. 
 
 Lan. Well said ! 
 
 Mere habit brings the fool back to his art. 
 This jester is a rare philosopher. 
 Teach me philosophy, good fool. 
 
 Pepe. No need. 
 
404 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 You 11 get a teacher when you take a wife. 
 
 If she do not instruct you in more arts 
 
 Than Aristotle ever thought upon, 
 
 The good old race of woman has declined 
 
 Into a sort of male stupidity. 
 
 I had a sweetheart once, she lectured grandly ; 
 
 No matter on what subject she might hit, 
 
 T was all the same, she could talk and she would. 
 
 She had no silly modesty ; she dashed 
 
 Straight in the teeth of any argument, 
 
 And talked you deaf, dumb, blind. Whatever struck 
 
 Upon her ear, by some machinery, 
 
 Set her tongue wagging. Thank the Lord, she 
 
 died ! ~? 
 
 Dropped in the middle of a fierce harangue, 
 Like a spent horse. It was an even thing, 
 Whether she talked herself or me to death. 
 The latest sign of life was in her tongue ; 
 It wagged till sundown, like a serpent s tail, 
 Long after all the rest of her was cold. 
 Alas ! poor Zippa ! 
 
 Lan. Were you married, fool ? 
 
 Pepe. Married ! Have I the scars upon me ? 
 
 No; 
 
 I fell in love ; and that was bad enough, 
 And far enough for a mere fool to go. 
 Married ! why, marriage is love s purgatory, 
 Without a heaven beyond. 
 
 Lan. Fie, atheist! 
 
 Would you abolish marriage ? 
 
 Pepe. Yes. 
 
 Lan. What ? 
 
 Pepe. Yes. 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 405 
 
 Lan. Depopulate the world ? 
 
 Pepe. No fear of that. 
 
 I d have no families, no Malatesti, 
 Strutting about the land, with pedigrees 
 And claims bequeathed them by their ancestors ; 
 No fellows vaporing of their royal blood ; 
 No one to seize a whole inheritance, 
 And rob the other children of the earth. 
 By Jove ! you should not know your fathers, even ! 
 I d have you spring, like toadstools, from the soil 
 Mere sons of women nothing more nor less 
 All base-born, and all equal. There, my lord, 
 There is a simple commonwealth for you ! 
 In which aspiring merit takes the lead, 
 And birth goes begging. 
 
 Lan. It is so, in truth ; 
 
 And by the simplest means I ever heard. 
 
 Pepe. Think of it, cousin. Tell it to your friends, 
 The statesmen, soldiers, and philosophers ; 
 Noise it about the earth, and let it stir 
 The sluggish spirits of the multitudes. 
 Pursue the thought, scan it, from end to end, 
 Through all its latent possibilities. 
 It is a great seed dropped, I promise you, 
 And it must sprout. Thought never wholly dies ; 
 It only wants a name a hard Greek name 
 Some few apostles, who may live on it 
 A crowd of listeners, with the average dulness 
 That man possesses and we organize ; 
 Spread our new doctrine, like a general plague ; 
 Talk of man s progress and development, 
 Wrongs of society, the march of mind, 
 The Devil, Doctor Faustus, and what not ; 
 
406 FRAN CESCA J)A KIMINI. 
 
 And, lo ! this pretty world turns upside down, 
 All with a fool s idea ! 
 
 Lan. By Jupiter, 
 
 You hit our modern teachers to a hair ! 
 I knew this fool was a philosopher. 
 Pepe is right. Mechanic means advance ; 
 Nature bows down to science haughty tread, 
 And turns the wheel of smutty artifice ; 
 New governments arise, dilate, decay, 
 And foster creeds and churches to their tastes : 
 At each advance, we cry, " Behold, the end I " 
 Till some fresh wonder breaks upon the age. 
 But man, the moral creature, midst it all 
 Stands still unchanged ; nor moves towards virtue 
 
 more, 
 
 Nor comprehends the mysteries in himself, 
 More than when Plato taught academies, 
 Or Zeno thundered from his Attic porch. 
 
 Pepe. I know not that ; I only want my scheme 
 Tried for a while. I am a politician, 
 A wrongs-of-man man. Hang philosophy ! 
 Let metaphysics swallow, at a gulp, 
 Its last two syllables, and purge itself 
 Clean of its filthy humors ! I am one 
 Ready for martyrdom, for stake and fire, 
 If I can make my great idea take root ! 
 Zounds ! cousin, if I had an audience, 
 I d make you shudder at my eloquence ! 
 I have an itching to reform tin 1 world. 
 
 Lan. Begin at home, then. 
 
 Pepe. Home is not my sphere ; 
 
 Heaven picked me out to teach my fellow-men. 
 I am a very firebrand of truth 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 40T 
 
 A self-consuming, doomed, devoted brand 
 That burn to ashes while I light the world ! 
 I feel it in me. I am moved, inspired, 
 Stirred into utterance, by some mystic power 
 Of which I am the humble instrument. 
 
 Lan. A bad digestion, sage, a bilious turn, 
 A gnawing stomach, or a pinching shoe. 
 
 Pepe. ! hear, but spare the scoffer ! Spare tho 
 
 wretch 
 
 Who sneers at the anointed man of truth I 
 When we reached that, I and my followers 
 Would rend you limb from limb. There ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! . [Laughing.] 
 
 Have I not caught the slang these fellows preach ; 
 A grand, original idea, to back it ; 
 And all the stock in trade of a reformer ? 
 
 Lan. You have indeed ; nor do I wonder, Pepe. 
 Fool as you are, I promise you success 
 In your new calling, if you ll set it up. 
 The thing is far too simple. [Trumpet sounds within. } 
 
 Pepe. Hist ! my lord. 
 
 Lan. That calls me to myself. 
 
 Pepe. At that alarm, 
 
 All Rimini leaped up upon its feet. 
 Cousin, your bridal-train. You groan ! Ods wounds ! 
 Here is the bridegroom sorely malcontent 
 The sole sad face in Rimini. Since morn, 
 A quiet man could hardly walk the streets, 
 For flowers and streamers. All the town is gay. 
 Perhaps t is merry o er your misery. 
 
 Lan. Perhaps ; but that it knows not. 
 
 Pepe. Yes, it does : 
 
 It knows that when a man ? s about to wed, 
 
408 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 He s ripe to laugh at. Cousin, tell me, now, 
 Why is Paolo on the way so long ? 
 Ravenna s but eight leagues from Rimini 
 
 Lan. That s just the measure of your tongue, 
 
 good fool. 
 
 You trouble me. I ve had enough of you 
 Begone ! 
 
 Pepe. I m going ; but you see I limp. 
 Have pity on a cripple, gentle Count. [Limps.] 
 
 Lan. Pcpe ! 
 
 Pepe. A miracle, a miracle ! 
 
 See, see, my lord, at Pepe s saintly name 
 The lame jog on. 
 
 Malatesta. ( Without.) Come, Lanciotto ! 
 
 Lan. Hark ! 
 
 My father calls. 
 
 Pepe. If he were mine, I d go 
 
 That s a good boy ! [Pats LANCIOTTO S back.] 
 
 Lan. (starting.) Hands off! you 11 rue it else ! 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Pepe. (Laughing.) Ha! ha! I laid rny hand upon 
 
 his hump ! 
 
 Heavens, how he squirmed ! And what a wish I had 
 To cry, Ho ! camel ! leap upon his back, 
 And ride him to the devil ! So, we ve had 
 A pleasant flitting round philosophy ! 
 The Count and Fool bumped heads, and struck ideas 
 Out by the contact ! Quite a pleasant talk 
 A friendly conversation, nothing more 
 Twixt nobleman and jester. Ho ! my bird, 
 I can toss lures as high as any man. 
 So, I amuse you with my harmless wit ? 
 Pcpe s your friend now you can trust in him 
 
FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 409 
 
 An honest, simple fool ! Just try it once, 
 
 You ugly, misbegotten clod of dirt ! 
 
 Ay, but the hump the touch upon the hump 
 
 The start and wriggle tfiat was rare ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Exit, laughing. ] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. The Grand Square before the Castle. Soldiers on 
 guard, with banners, fyc. Citizens, in holiday dresses, cross the 
 scene. The houses are hung with trophies, banners, garlands, 
 Sf-c. Enter MALATESTA, with guards, attendants, $c. 
 
 Malatesta. Captain, take care the streets be not 
 
 choked up 
 
 By the rude rabble. Send to Caesar s bridge 
 A strong detachment of your men, and clear 
 The way before them. See that nothing check 
 The bride s first entrance into Rimini. 
 Station your veterans in the front. Count Guido 
 Comes with his daughter, and his eyes are sharp. 
 Keep up a show of strength before him, sir ; 
 And set some laborers to work upon 
 The broken bastion. Make all things look bright ; 
 As if we stood in eager readiness, 
 And high condition, to begin a war. 
 
 Captain. I will, my lord. 
 
 Mai. Keep Guido in your eye ; 
 
 And if you see him looking over-long 
 On any weakness of our walls, just file 
 Your bulkiest fellows round him ; or get up 
 A scuffle with the people ; anything 
 Even if you break a head or two to draw 
 
410 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 His vision off. But where our strength is great, 
 Take heed to make him see it. You conceive ? 
 Capt. Trust me, my lord. [Exit with guards.} 
 
 (Enter PEPE.) 
 
 Pepe. Room, room ! A hall, a hall ! 
 
 I pray you, good man, has the funeral passed ? 
 
 Mai. Who is it asks ? 
 
 Pepe. Pepe of Padua, 
 
 A learned doctor of uncivil law. 
 
 Mai. But how a funeral ? 
 
 Pepe. You are weak of wit. 
 
 Francesca of Ravenna s borne to church, 
 And never issues thence. 
 
 Mai. How, doctor, pray ? 
 
 Pepe. Now, for a citizen of Rimini, 
 You re sadly dull. Does she not issue thence 
 Fanny of Rimini ? A glorious change, 
 A kind of resurrection in the flesh ! 
 
 Mai. (Laughing.) Ha! ha! thou cunning villain! 
 
 1 was caught. 
 I own it, doctor. 
 
 Pepe. (Aside.} This old fool would laugh 
 To see me break a straw, because the bits 
 Were of unequal lengths. My character 
 Carries more dulness, in the guise of wit, 
 Than would suffice to break an ass s back. 
 
 (Distant shouts, music, #c.) 
 
 Hark ! here comes Jeptha s daughter, jogging on 
 With timbrels and with dances. 
 
 Mai. Jeptha s daughter ! 
 
 How so ? 
 
FRAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 411 
 
 P<pe. Her father s sacrifice. 
 
 MaL (Laughing.) Ho ! ho ! 
 
 You 11 burst my belt ! ! you outrageous wretch, 
 To jest at Scripture ! 
 
 Pepe. You outlandish heathen, 
 
 ; T is not in Scripture ! 
 
 Mai. Is it not ? 
 
 Pepe. No more 
 
 Than you are in heaven. Mere Hebrew history. 
 She went up to the mountains, to bewail 
 The too-long keeping of her honesty. 
 There s woman for you ! there s a character ! 
 What man would ever think of such a thing ? 
 Ah ! we of Rirnini have little cause 
 For such a sorrow. Would she d been my wife ! 
 I 11 marry any woman in her case. 
 
 MaL Why, Pepe? 
 
 Pepe. Why ? because, in two months 7 time. 
 
 Along comes father Jeptha with his knife, 
 And there s an end. Where is your sacrifice ? 
 Where s Isaac, Abraham ? Build your altar up : 
 One pile will do for both. 
 
 Mai. That s Scripture, sure. 
 
 Pepe. Then I m a ram, and you may slaughter me 
 In Isaac s stead. 
 
 Mai. Here comes the vanguard. Where, 
 
 Where is that laggard ? 
 
 Pepe. At the mirror, uncle, 
 
 Making 1 himself look beautiful. He comes, 
 
 [Looking out.] 
 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ! Mark his doublet s fit 
 Across the shoulders, and his hose ! 
 By Jove, he nearly looks like any other man ! 
 
412 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Mai. You M best not let him hear you. Sirrah, 
 
 knave, 
 I have a mind to swinge you ! [Seizes his car. ] 
 
 Pepe. Loose my ear ! 
 
 You Vc got the wrong sow, swineherd I You re 
 
 unjust. 
 
 Being his father, I was fool sufficient 
 To think you fashioned him to suit yourself, 
 By way of a variety. The thought 
 Was good enough, the practice damnable. 
 
 MaL Hush ! or I 11 clap you in the pillory. 
 
 (Enter LAXCIOTTO.) 
 
 Pcpe. (Sinys.) IIo, ho, ho, ho! old Time has 
 
 wings 
 
 We re born, we mourn, we wed, we bed, 
 We have a devilish aching head ; 
 So down we lie, 
 And die, and fry ; 
 And there s a merry end of things ! 
 
 (Music, Sfc. t within.) 
 
 Here come Ravenna s eagles for a roost 
 
 In Rimini ! The air is black with them. 
 
 When go they hence ? Wherever yon bird builds, 
 
 The nest remains for ages. Have an eye, 
 
 Or Malatesta s elephant may feel 
 
 The cable s talons. 
 
 Lanciotlo. You re a raven, croaker. 
 
 Pcpe. And you no white crow, to insure us luck. 
 
 Mai. There s matter in his croak. 
 
 Pepe. There always is ; 
 
 But men lack cars. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 413 
 
 Mai. Then eyes must do our work. 
 
 Old Guido shall be looked to. If his force 
 Appear too great, I 11 camp him out of town. 
 
 Lan. Father, you are a sorry host. 
 
 Mai Well, well, 
 
 I m a good landlord, though. I do not like 
 This flight of eagles more than Pepe. Sdeath ! 
 Guido was ever treacherous. 
 
 Lan. My lord, 
 
 You mar my holiday by such a thought. 
 My holiday ! Dear saints ! it seems to me 
 That all of you are mocking me. 
 
 Pepe. So so 
 
 Guido was ever treacherous ? so so ! 
 
 Mai. So so ! How so ? 
 
 Pepe. What if this treachery 
 
 Run in the blood ? We 11 tap a vein then so ! 
 
 Mai. Sew up your mouth, and mind your fooling, 
 fool! 
 
 Pepe. Am I not fooling ? Why, my lord, I thought 
 The fooling exquisite. 
 
 Lan. (Aside.) This thoughtless knave 
 
 Hits near us sometimes with his random shafts. 
 Marriage for me ! I cannot comprehend, 
 I cannot take it to my heart ; the thing 
 Seems gross, absurd, ridiculous. Ah ! well, 
 My father bears the folly of it all ; 
 I in but an actor in his comedy. 
 My part is bad, but I must through with it. 
 
 [Retires.] 
 (Shouts, music, fyc., within.) 
 
 Pepe. Look ! here s the whole parade ! Mark, 
 yonder knave 
 
414 FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 
 
 The head one with the standard. Nature, nature ! 
 Iladst them a hand in such a botch-work ? Why, 
 A forest of his legs would scarcely make 
 A bunch of fugots. Mark old Guido, too ! 
 lie looks like Judas with his silver. Ho ! 
 Here s news from sweet Ravenna ! 
 
 Mai (Lauyhiny.) Ha! ha! ha 
 
 Pepe. Ah ! now the bride ! that s something 
 
 she is toothsome. 
 
 Look you, my lord now, while the progress halts 
 Cousin Paolo, has he got the dumps ? 
 Mercy ! to see him, one might almost think 
 T was his own marriage. What a doleful face ! 
 The boy is ill. Jle caught a fever, uncle, 
 Travelling across the marshes. Physic ! physic ! 
 If he be really dying, get a doctor, 
 And cut the matter short. T were merciful. 
 
 Mai. For heaven s sake, cease your clamor! I 
 
 shall have 
 
 No face to meet them else. T is strange, for all : 
 .What ails Paolo? 
 
 Pepe. Dying, by this hand! 
 
 Mai. Then I will hang you. 
 
 Pepe. Don t take up my craft. 
 
 Wit s such a stranger in your brain that I 
 Scarce knew my lodger venturing from your mouth. 
 Now they come on again. 
 
 Mai. Stand back ! 
 
 Pepe. (Looking round.} The bridegroom ? 
 
 lie flics betimes, before the bride shows fight. 
 
 [ Walks back, looking for LAXCIOTTO.] 
 
 (Made, shouts, ringing of bells, SfC. Enter Men-at-arms, vilh 
 banners, fyc., GUIDO> Cardinal, Knights, JHtcn,lant*, $<.; 
 
FRASCESCA DA RIMINI. 415 
 
 then PAOLO, conducting FRANCESCA,/oZZowetf by RITTA, Ladies, 
 Pact s, 4 c - and other Men-at-arms. They file around the 
 stage, and halt.) 
 
 Mai. Welcome, to Rimini, Count Guido ! Welcome, 
 And fair impressions of our poor abode, 
 To you, my daughter ! You are well returned, 
 My son, Paolo ! Let me bless you, son. 
 
 [PAOLO approaches. ] 
 How many spears are in old Guido s train ? 
 
 [Apart to PAOLO.] 
 
 Paolo. Some ten-score. 
 
 Mai. Footmen ? 
 
 Paolo. . Double that. 
 
 Mai. T is well. 
 
 Again I bid you welcome ! Make no show 
 Of useless ceremony with us. Friends 
 Have closer titles than the empty name. 
 We have provided entertainment, Count, 
 For all your followers, in the midst of us. 
 We trust the veterans of Rimini 
 May prove your soldiers that our courtesy 
 Does riot lag far behind their warlike zeal. 
 Let us drop Guelf and Ghibelin henceforth, 
 Coupling the names of Rimini and Ravenna 
 As bridegroom s to his bride s. 
 
 Guido. Count Malatesta, 
 
 I am no rhetorician, or my words 
 Might keep more even with the love I feel : 
 Simply, I thank you. With an honest hand 
 I take the hand which you extend to me, 
 And hope our grasp may never lose its warmth. 
 You marked the bastion by the water-side ? 
 Weak as a bulrush. [Jipxrt to a 
 
416 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Kniylit. Tottering weak, my lord. 
 
 GUI. Remember it ; and when you re private, sir, 
 Draw me a plan. 
 
 Knight. I will, my lord. 
 
 GUI. How s this ? 
 
 I do not see my future son-in-law. 
 
 Mai. Lanciotto ! 
 
 Lan. (Advancing.) I am here, my lord. 
 
 Francesca. (Starting.) 0! heaven! 
 
 Is that my husband, Count Paolo ? You, 
 You then, among the rest, have played me false ! 
 He is [Apart to PAOLO.] 
 
 Paulo. My brother. 
 
 Lan. (Aside.) Ha ! she turns from me. 
 
 Pepe. (Approaching LAXCIOTTO, sings.) 
 
 Around, around the lady turned, 
 
 She turned not to her lord ; 
 She turned around to a gallant, gallant knight, 
 
 Who ate at his father s board. 
 
 A pretty ballad ! all on one string though. 
 Lan. Pope, go hence ! (PEPE retires.) 
 
 (Aside.) I saw her start and pale, 
 Turn off with horror ; as if she had seen 
 What ? simply me. For, am I not enough, 
 And something over, to make ladies quail, 
 Start, hide their faces, whisper to their friends, 
 Point at me dare she? and perform such tricks 
 As women will when monsters l.last their sight? 
 () ! saints above me, have I come so low ? 
 Yon damsel of Ravenna shall bewail 
 That start and shudder. I am mad, mad, mad ! 
 1 must be patient. They have trilled with her : 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 41 1 
 
 Lied to her, lied ! There s half the misery 
 
 Of this broad earth, all crowded in one word. 
 
 Lied, lied ! Who has not suffered from a lie ? 
 
 They re all aghast all looking at me too. 
 
 Francesca s whiter than the brow of fear : 
 
 Paolo talks. Brother, is that well meant? 
 
 What if I draw my sword, and fight my way 
 
 Out of this cursed town ? ; T would be relief. 
 
 Has shame no hiding-place ? I ve touched the depth 
 
 Of human infamy, and there I rest. 
 
 By heaven, I 11 brave this business out ! Shall they 
 
 Say at Ravenna that Count Lanciotto, 
 
 Who s driven their shivering squadrons to their 
 
 homes, 
 
 Haggard with terror, turned before their eyes 
 And slunk away ? They 11 look me from the field, 
 When we encounter next. Why should not I 
 Strut with my shapeless body, as old Guido 
 Struts with his shapeless heart ? I 11 do it ! (Offers, 
 
 but shrinks back. ) S death ! 
 Am I so false as to forswear myself? 
 Lady Francesca ! [Approaches FRANCESCA.] 
 
 Fran. Sir my lord 
 
 Lan. Dear lady, 
 
 I have a share in your embarrassment, 
 And know the feelings that possess you now. 
 
 Fran. ! you do not. 
 
 Paolo. (Advancing.) My lady 
 
 Lan. Gentle brother, 
 
 Leave this to me. [PAOLO retires.] 
 
 Fran. Pray do not send him off. 
 
 Lan. "I is fitter so. 
 
 Fran. He comforts me. 
 
 VOL. i. 27 
 
418 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Lan. Indeed ? 
 
 Do you need comfort ? 
 
 Fran. No, no pardon me I 
 
 But then he is you are 
 
 Lan. Take breath, and speak. 
 
 Fran. I am confused, tis true. But, then, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 You are a stranger to me ; and Paolo 
 I ve known so long ! 
 
 Lan. Since yesterday. 
 
 Fran. Ah! well: 
 
 But the relationship between us two 
 Is of so close a nature, while the knowledge, 
 That each may have of each, so slender is 
 That the two jar. Besides, Paolo is 
 Nothing to me, while you are everything. 
 Can I not act ? [Aside.] 
 
 Lan. I scarcely understand. 
 
 You say your knowledge of me, till to-day, 
 Was incomplete. lias naught been said of me 
 By Count Paolo or your father ? 
 
 Fran. Yes ; 
 
 But nothing definite. 
 
 Lan. Perchance, no hint 
 
 As to my ways, my feelings, manners, or 
 Or or as I was saying ha ! ha ! or 
 
 [Ltiuyhi/if/ ] 
 
 As to my person ? 
 
 Fran. Nothing, as to that. 
 
 Lan. To what ? 
 
 Fran. Your person. 
 
 Lan. That s the least of all. [Turns aside."} 
 
 Now, had I Guido of Ravenna s lu-ud 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 419 
 
 Under this heel, I d grind it into dust ! 
 False villain, to betray his simple child ! 
 And thou, Paolo not a whit behind 
 Helping his craft with inconsiderate love ! 
 Lady Francesca, when my brother left, 
 1 charged him, as he loved me, to conceal 
 Nothing from you that bore on me : and now 
 That you have seen me, and conversed with me, 
 If you object to anything in me, 
 Go, I release you. 
 
 Fran. But Ravenna s peace ? 
 
 Lan. Shall not be perilled. 
 
 Gui. (Coming behind, whispers her.) Trust him not, 
 
 my child ; 
 
 I know his ways ; he d rather fight than wed. 
 ; T is but a wish to have the war afoot. 
 Stand firm for poor Ravenna ! 
 
 Lan. Well, my lady, 
 
 Shall we conclude a lasting peace between us 
 By truce or marriage rites ? 
 
 Gui. ( Whispers her.) The devil tempts thee : 
 
 Think of Ravenna, think of me ! 
 
 Lan. My lord, 
 
 I see my father waits you. [Guioo retires. } 
 
 Fran. Gentle sir, 
 
 You do me little honor in the choice. 
 
 Lan. My aim is justice. 
 
 Fran. Would you cast me off? 
 
 Lan. Not for the world, if honestly obtained ; 
 Not for the world would I obtain you falsely. 
 
 Fran. The rites were half concluded ere we met. 
 
 Lan. Meeting, would you withdraw ? 
 
 Fran. No. Bitter word ! [Aside.] 
 
4:20 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Lan. No ! Arc you dealing fairly ? 
 
 Fran. I have said. 
 
 Lan. ! rapture, rapture ! Can it be that I 
 Now I "II speak plainly ; for a choice like thine 
 Implies such love as woman never felt. 
 Love me ! Then monsters beget miracles, 
 And Heaven provides where human means fall short. 
 Lady, I 11 worship thee ! I 11 line thy path 
 \Vitli suppliant kings ! Thy waiting-maids shall be 
 Un ransomed princesses ! Mankind shall bow 
 One neck to thee, as Persia s multitudes 
 IJi. fore the rising sun ! From this small town, 
 This centre of my conquests, I will spread 
 An empire touching the extremes of earth ! 
 1 11 raise once more the name of ancient Rome ; 
 And what she swayed she shall reclaim again! 
 If I grow mad because you smile on me, 
 Think of the glory of thy love ; and know 
 How hard it is, for such a one as I, 
 
 tze unshaken on divinity! 
 There \s no such love as mine alive in man. 
 From every corner of the frowning earth, 
 It has been crowded back into my heart. 
 .Now. take it all ! If that be not enough, 
 A>k. and thy wish shall be omnipotent! 
 Your hand. (Takes her hand.) It wav<-rs. 
 
 / ran. So does not my heart. 
 
 . Brave! Thou art every way a ><>hliri- s 
 wife ; 
 
 Thou shouldst have been a Caesar s! Father, hark ! 
 1 blamrd your judgment, only to perceive 
 The weakness of my own. 
 
 J/;//. \V!i it mean -.I! t 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 421 
 
 Lan. It means that this fair lady though I gave 
 Release to her, and to Ravenna placed 
 The liberal hand, which I restored to her, 
 Back in my own, of her own free good-will. 
 Is it not wonderful ? 
 
 Hal. How so ? 
 
 Lan. How so ! 
 
 Paolo. Alas ! tis as I feared ! [Aside.] 
 
 Mai. You re humble ? How ? 
 
 Lan. Now shall I cry aloud to all the world, 
 Make my deformity my pride, and say, 
 Because she loves me, I may boast of it ? [Aside.] 
 No matter, father, I arn happy ; you, 
 As the blessed cause, shall share my happiness. 
 Let us be moving. Revels, dashed with wine, 
 Shall multiply the joys of this sweet day ! 
 There s not a blessing in the cup of life 
 I have not tasted of within an hour ! 
 
 Fran. (Aside.) Thus I begin the practice of deceit, 
 Taught by deceivers, at a fearful cost. 
 The bankrupt gambler has become the cheat, 
 And lives by arts that ere while ruined me. 
 Where it will end, Heaven knows ; but I 
 I have betrayed the noblest heart of all ! 
 
 Lan. Draw down thy dusky vapors, sullen night 
 Refuse, yc stars, to shine upon the world 
 Let everlasting blackness wrap the sun, 
 And whisper terror to the universe ! 
 We need ye not ! we 11 blind ye, if ye dare 
 Peer with lack-lustre on our revelry ! 
 I have at heart a passion, that would make 
 All nature blaze with recreated light ! [Exeunt.i 
 
422 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE L The Same. An Apartment in the Castle. Enter 
 LANCIOTTO. 
 
 Lanciotto. IT cannot be that I have duped myself, 
 That my desire has played into the hand 
 Oi my belief; yet such a thing might be. 
 We palm more frauds upon our simple selves 
 Than knavery puts upon us. Could I trust 
 The open candor of an angel s brow, 
 I must believe Francesca s. But the tongue 
 Should consummate the proof upon the brow, 
 And give the truth its word. The fault lies there. 
 I ve tried her. Press her as I may to it, 
 She will not utter those three little words 
 " I love thee." She will say, " I 11 marry you ; 
 I 11 be your duteous wife ; I 11 cheer your days ; 
 I 11 do whate er I can." But at the point 
 Of present love, she ever shifts the ground, 
 Winds round the word, laughs, calls me " Infidel ! 
 How can I doubt ? " So, on and on. But yet, 
 For all her dainty ways, she never says, 
 Frankly, I love thee. I am jealous true ! 
 Suspicious true! distrustful of myself: 
 She knows all that. Ay, and she likewise knows, 
 A single waking of her morning breath 
 Would blow these vapors off. 1 would not take 
 The barren offer of a heartlrss hand. 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 423 
 
 If all the Indies cowered under it. 
 
 Perhaps she loves another ? No ; she said, 
 
 " I love you, Count, as well as any man ;" 
 
 And laughed, as if she thought that precious wit. 
 
 I turn her nonsense into argument, 
 
 And think I reason. Shall I give her up ? 
 
 Kail at her hcartlessness, and bid her go 
 
 Back to Ravenna ? But she clings to me, 
 
 At the least hint of parting. Ah ! tis sweet, 
 
 Sweeter than slumber to the lids of pain, 
 
 To fancy that a shadow of true love 
 
 May fall on this God-stricken mould of woe, 
 
 From so serene a nature. Beautiful 
 
 Is the first vision of a desert brook, 
 
 Shining beneath its palmy garniture, 
 
 To one who travels on his easy way ; 
 
 What is it to the blood-shot, aching eye 
 
 Of some poor wight who crawls with gory feet, 
 
 In famished madness, to its very brink ; 
 
 And throws his sun-scorched limbs upon the cool 
 
 And humid margin of its shady strand, 
 
 To suck up life at every eager gasp ? 
 
 Such seems Francesca to my thirsting soul ; 
 
 Shall I turn oft" and die ? 
 
 (Enter PEPE.) 
 
 Pepe. Good-morning, cousin ! 
 
 Lan. Good-morning to your foolish majesty ! 
 
 Pepe. The same to your majestic foolery ! 
 
 Lan. You compliment ! 
 
 Pepe. I am a troubadour, 
 
 A ballad-monger of fine mongrel ballads, 
 And therefore running o er with elegance. 
 Wilt hear my verse ? 
 
424 FKAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Lan. With patience ? 
 
 Pepe. No, with rapture. 
 
 You must go mad weep, rend your clothes, and 
 
 roll 
 
 Over and over, like the ancient Greeks, 
 When listening to Iliad. 
 
 Lan. Sing, then, sing ! 
 
 And if you equal Homer in your song, 
 Why, roll I must, by sheer compulsion. 
 
 Pepe. Nay, 
 
 You lack the temper of the fine-eared Greek. 
 You will not roll ; but that shall not disgrace 
 My gallant ballad, fallen on evil times. [St/i^*.] 
 
 My father had a blue-black head, 
 
 My uncle s head was reddish maybe, 
 
 My mother s hair was noways red r 
 Sing high ho ! the pretty baby ! 
 
 Mark the simplicity of that ! Tis called 
 "The Babe s Confession," spoken just before 
 ]lis lather strangled him. 
 
 Lan. Most marvellous ! 
 
 You struggle with a legend worth your art. 
 
 Pepe. Now to the second stanza. Note the hint 
 I drop about the baby s parentage : 
 So delicately too ! A maid might sing, 
 And never blush at it. Girls love these songs 
 Of sugared wickedness. They 11 go miles about, 
 To say a foul thing in a dcanly way. 
 A decent immorality, my lord, 
 Is art s specific. Get the passions up, 
 But never wring the stomach. 
 
 Lan. Triumphant art ! 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 425 
 
 Pepe. (Sings.) 
 
 My father combed his blue-black head, 
 
 .My uncle combed his red head maybe, 
 My mother combed my head, and said, 
 Sing high ho ! my red-haired baby ! 
 
 Lan. Fie, fie ! go comb your hair in private. 
 Pepe. What ! 
 
 Will you not hear? Now comes the tragedy. [Sings.] 
 
 My father tore my red, red head, 
 My uncle tore my father s maybe, 
 
 My mother tore both till they bled 
 Sing high ho ! your brother s baby ! 
 
 Lan. Why, what a hair-rending ! 
 
 Pepe. Thence wigs arose ; 
 
 A striking epoch in man s history. 
 But did you notice the concluding line, 
 Sung by the victim s mother ? There s a hit ! 
 
 " Sing high ho ! your brother s baby ! " 
 
 Which brother s, pray you ? That s the mystery, 
 
 The adumbration of poeiic art, 
 
 And there I leave it to perplex mankind. 
 
 It has a moral, fathers should regard, 
 
 A black-haired dog breeds not a red-haired cur. 
 
 Treasure this knowledge : you re about to wive ; 
 
 And no one knows what accident 
 
 Lan. Peace, fool ! 
 
 So all this cunning thing was wound about, 
 To cast a jibe at my deformity ? [Tears O^PEPE S cap.] 
 There lies your cap, the emblem that protects 
 Your head from chastisement. Now, Pepe, hark 1 
 
-Il2lj FRAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Of late you Ve taken to reviling me ; 
 Under your motley, you have dared to jest 
 At God s inflictions. Let me tell you, fool, 
 No man e er lived, to make a second jest 
 At me, before your time ! 
 
 Pepe. Boo ! bloody-bones ! 
 
 If you re a coward which I hardly think 
 You Ml have me flogged, or put into a cell, 
 Or fed to wolves. If you are bold of heart, 
 You Ml let me run. Do not ; 1 Ml work you harm ! 
 I, Beppo Pepe, standing as a man, 
 Without my motley, tell you, in plain terms, 
 I Ml work you harm I Ml do you mischief, man ! 
 
 Lan. I, Lanciotto, Count of Rimini, 
 Will hang you, then. Put on your jingling cap ; 
 You please my father. But remember, fool, 
 X jests at me 1 
 
 / < pe. I will try earnest next. 
 
 Lan. And I the gallows. 
 
 Pepe. Well, cry quits, cry quits ! 
 
 I Ml stretch your heart, and you my neck quits, 
 quits ! 
 
 Lan. Go, fool ! Your weakness bounds your 
 malice. 
 
 Pepe. Yes : 
 
 So you all think, you savage gentlemen, 
 Until you feel my sting. Hang, hang away ! 
 It is an airy, wholesome sort <>f death. 
 Much to my liking. \Yhrn 1 hang, my friend, 
 You Ml be chief mourner, I can promise you. 
 Hang me ! I ve quite a notion to be hung : 
 1 Ml do my utmost to deserve it. Hang ! [/Jx//.] 
 
 Lan. I am bcrnockcd on all sides. .My sad Mate 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 421 
 
 Has given the licensed and unlicensed fool 
 Charter to challenge me at every turn. 
 The jester s laughing bauble blunts my sword, 
 His gibes cut deeper than its fearful edge ; 
 And I, a man, a soldier, arid a prince, 
 Before this motley patchwork of a man, 
 Stand all appalled, as if he were a glass 
 Wherein I saw my own deformity. 
 
 Heaven ! a tear one little tear to wash 
 This aching dry ness of the heart away ! 
 
 (Enter PAOLO.) 
 
 Paolo. What ails the fool ? lie passed me, mut 
 tering 
 
 The strangest garbage in the fiercest tone. 
 " Ha ! ha ! " cried he, " they made a fool of me 
 A motley man, a slave ; as if I felt 
 No stir in me of manly dignity ! 
 Ha ! ha ! a fool a painted plaything, toy 
 For men to kick about this dirty world ! 
 My world as well as theirs. God s world, I trow ! 
 
 1 will get even with them yet ha 1 ha I 
 In the democracy of death we 11 square. 
 
 I 11 crawl and lie beside a king s own son ; 
 
 Kiss a young princess, dead lip to dead lip ; 
 
 Pull the Pope s nose ; and kick down Charlemagne, 
 
 Throne, crown, and all, where the old idiot sprawls, 
 
 Safe as he thinks, rotting in royal state ! " 
 
 And then he laughed and gibbered, as if drunk 
 
 With some infernal ec.stasy. 
 
 Lan. Poor fool ! 
 
 That is the groundwork of his malice, then, 
 His conscious difference from the rest of men ? 
 
4-8 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 I, of all men, should pity him the most. 
 Poor Pepe ! I 11 be kinder. I have wronged 
 A feeling heart. Poor Pepe ! 
 
 Paolo. Sad again ! 
 
 Where has the rapture gone of yesterday ? 
 
 Lan. Where are the leaves of Summer ? Where 
 
 the snows 
 
 Of last year s Winter ? Where the joys and griefs 
 That shut our eyes to yesternight s repose, 
 And woke not on the morrow ? Joys and griefs, 
 Huntsmen and hounds, ye follow us as game, 
 Poor panting outcasts of your forest-law ! 
 Each cheers the others, one with wild halloos, 
 And one with whines and howls. -A dreadful chase, 
 That only closes when horns sound amort! 
 
 Paolo. Thus ever up and down ! Arouse yourself, 
 Balance your mind more evenly, and hunt 
 For honey in the wormwood. 
 
 Lan. Or find gall 
 
 IIi<l in the hanging chalice of the rose : 
 Which think you better ? If my mood offend, 
 We 11 turn to business, to the empty cares 
 That make such pother in our feverish life. 
 When at Ravenna, did you ever hear 
 Of any romance in Francesca s life ? 
 A love-tilt, gallantry, or anything 
 That might have touched her heart? 
 
 Paolo. Not lightly even. 
 
 I think her heart as virgin as her hand. 
 
 Lan. Then there is hope. 
 
 Paolo. Of what? 
 
 Of wi.ining her. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 429 
 
 Paolo. Grammercy ! Lanciotto, are you sane ? 
 You boasted yesterday 
 
 Lan. And changed to-day. 
 
 Is that so strange ? I always rnend the fault 
 Of yesterday with wisdom of to-day. 
 She does not love me. 
 
 Paolo. Pshaw ! she marries you : 
 
 7 T were proof enough for me. 
 
 Lan. Perhaps, she loves you. 
 
 Paolo. Me, Lanciotto, me ! For mercy s sake, 
 Blot out such thoughts they madden me ! What, 
 
 love 
 She love yet marry you ! 
 
 Lan. It moves you much. 
 
 T was but a fleeting fancy, nothing more. 
 
 Paolo. You have such wild conjectures ! 
 
 Lan. Well, to nie 
 
 They seem quite tame ; they are my bed-fellows. 
 Think, to a modest woman, what must be 
 The loathsome kisses of an unloved man 
 A gross, coarse ruffian 1 
 
 Paolo. ! good heavens, forbear I 
 
 Lan. What shocks you so ? 
 
 Paolo. The picture which you draw, 
 
 Wronging yourself by horrid images. 
 
 Lan. Until she love me, till I know, beyond 
 The cavil of a doubt, that she is mine 
 Wholly, past question do you think that I 
 Could so afflict the woman whom I love ? 
 
 Paolo. You love her, Lanciotto ! 
 
 Lan. Next to you, 
 
 Dearer than anything in nature s scope. 
 
430 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Paolo. (Aside.) ! Heaven, that I must bear this ! 
 
 Yes, and more, 
 
 More torture than I dare to think upon, 
 Spreads out before me with the coming- years, 
 And holds a record blotted with my tears, 
 As that which I must suffer ! 
 
 Lan. Come, Paolo, 
 
 Come help me woo. I need your guiding eye, 
 To signal me, if I should sail astray. 
 
 Paolo. ! torture, torture ! [jJsWe.] 
 
 Lan. You and I, perchance, 
 
 Joining our forces, may prevail at last. 
 They call love like a battle. As for me, 
 I m not a soldier equal to such wars, 
 Despite my arduous schooling. Tutor me 
 In the best arts of amorous strategy. 
 I am quite raw, Paolo. Glances, sighs, 
 Sweets of the lip, and arrows of the eye, 
 Shrugs, cringes, compliments, are new to me ; 
 And I shall handle them with little art. 
 Will you instruct me ? 
 
 Paolo. Conquer for yourself. 
 
 Two captains share one honor : keep it all. 
 What if I ask to share the spoils ? 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) Ha ! ha ! 
 
 I 11 trust you, brother. Let us go to her : 
 Francesca is neglected while we jest. 
 I know not how it is, but your fair face, 
 And noble figure, always cheer me up, 
 More than your words ; there s healing in them, too, 
 For my worst griefs. Dear brother, let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 431 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Same. A Chamber in the Same. FRANCESCA and RITTA 
 discovered at the bridal toilet. 
 
 Eilta. (Sings.) 
 
 Ring high, ring high ! to earth and sky ; 
 
 A lady goes a-wedding ; 
 The people shout, the show draws out, 
 
 And smiles the bride is shedding. 
 
 No bell for you, ye ragged few ; 
 
 A beggar goes a-wedding ; 
 The people sneer, the thing s so queer, 
 
 And tears the bride is shedding. 
 
 Ring low, ring low ! dull bell of woe, 
 
 One tone will do for either ; 
 The lady glad, and beggar sad, 
 
 Have both lain down together. 
 
 Francesco,. A mournful ballad ! 
 
 Eitta. I scarce knew I sang. 
 
 I m weary of this wreath. These orange-flowers 
 Will never be adjusted to my taste : 
 Strive as I will, they ever look awry. 
 My fingers ache ! 
 
 Fran. Not more than my poor head. 
 
 There, leave them so. 
 
 Hit. That s better, yet not well. 
 
 Fran. They are but fading things, not worth your 
 pains : 
 
\:} 2 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 They 11 scarce outlive the marriage merriment. 
 Ritta, these flowers are hypocrites ; they show 
 An outside gayety, yet die within, 
 Minute by minute. You shall see them fall, 
 Black with decay, before the rites are o er. 
 
 Rit. How beautiful you are ! 
 
 Fran. Fie, flatterer! 
 
 White silk and laces, pearls and orange-flowers, 
 Would do as much for any one. 
 
 Rit. No, no ! 
 
 You give them grace, they nothing give to you. 
 Why, after all, you make the wreath look well ; 
 But somewhat dingy, where it lies against 
 Your pulsing temple, sullen with disgrace. 
 Ah ! well, your Count should be the proudest man 
 That ever led a lady into church, 
 Were he a modern Alexander. Poh ! 
 What are his trophies to a face like that ? 
 
 Fran. I seem to please you, Ritta. 
 
 Hit. Please yourself, 
 
 And you will please me better. You are sad : 
 I marked it ever since you saw the Count. 
 I fear the splendor of his victories. 
 And his sweet grace of manner for, in faith, 
 His is the gentlest, grandest character, 
 Despite his 
 
 Fran. Well ? 
 
 Rit. Despite his 
 
 Fran. Ritta, What ? 
 
 Rit. Despite his difference from Count Paolo. 
 
 [FRAXCESCA stagers.] 
 What is the matter ? " O /v " " . / / ] 
 
 Fran. Nothing: mere fatigue. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 433 
 
 TTand me my kerchief. I am better now. 
 What were you saying? 
 
 Hit. That I fear the Count 
 
 Has won your love. 
 
 Fran. Would that be cause for fear ? 
 
 \_Laughing.~\ 
 
 Hit. ! yes, indeed ! Once long ago I was 
 Just fool enough to tangle up my heart 
 With one of these same men. T was terrible ! 
 Morning or evening, waking or asleep, 
 I had no peace. Sighs, groans, and standing tears, 
 Counted my moments through the blessed day. 
 And then to this there was a dull, strange ache 
 Forever sleeping in my breast, a numbing pain, 
 That would not for an instant be forgot. 
 ! but I loved him so, that very feeling 
 Became intolerable. And I believed 
 This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers, 
 The shrugs and glances, of my intimates. 
 They slandered me and him, yet I believed. 
 He was a noble, and his love to me 
 Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed. 
 He wearied of me, tried to shake me off, 
 Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt. 
 ! lady, I was true ! Nor till I saw 
 Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door 
 With Dora, the rich usurer s niece, upon 
 The very arm to which I clung so oft, 
 Did I so much as doubt him. Even then 
 More is my shame I made excuses for him. 
 " Just this or that had forced him to the course : 
 Perhaps, he loved me yet a little yet. 
 His fortune, or his family, had driven 
 
 VOL. i. 28 
 
434 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart. 
 The low are sorry judges for the great. 
 Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me ! " But at last 
 I did awake. It might have been with less : 
 There was no need of crushing me, to break 
 My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced, 
 Dora and he went by me, and he laughed 
 A bold, bad laugh right in my poor pale face, 
 And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed. 
 Ah ! then I saw it all. I ve been awake, 
 Ever since then, I warrant you. And now 
 I only pray for him sometimes, when friends 
 Tell his base actions towards his hapless wife. 
 ! I am lying I pray every night ! [ Weeps.] 
 
 Fran. Poor Ritta ! [Weeping.] 
 
 Kit. No ! blest Ritta ! Thank kind Heaven, 
 That kept me spotless when he tempted me, 
 And my weak heart was pleading with his tongue. 
 JVav, do not weep. You spoil your eyes for me. 
 But never love ; ! it is terrible ! 
 
 Fran. I 11 strive against it. 
 
 Eit. Do : because, my lady, 
 
 Even a husband may be false, you know ; 
 Ay, even to so sweet a wife as you. 
 Men have odd tastes. They 11 surfeit on the charms 
 Of Cleopatra, and then turn aside 
 To woo her blackamoor. T is so, in faith ; 
 Or Dora s uncle s gold had ne er outbid 
 The boundless measure of a love like mine. 
 Think of it, lady, to wrigh love with gold ! 
 What could be meaner ? 
 
 Fran. Nothing, nothing, Riita. 
 
 Though gold s the standard measure of the world, 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 435 
 
 And seems to lighten everything beside. 
 Yet heap the other passions in the scale, 
 And balance them gainst that which gold out 
 weighs 
 
 Against this love and you shall see how light 
 The most supreme of them are in the poise ! 
 I speak by book and history ; for love 
 Slights my high fortunes. Under cloth of state 
 The urchin cowers from pompous etiquette, 
 Waiving his function at the scowl of power, 
 And seeks the rustic cot to stretch his limbs 
 In homely freedom. I fulfil a doom. 
 We who are topmost on this heap of life 
 Are nearer to Heaven s hand than you below ; 
 And so are used, as ready instruments, 
 To work its purposes. Let envy hide 
 Her witless forehead at a prince s name, 
 And fix her hopes upon a clown s content. 
 You, happy lowly, know not what it is 
 To groan beneath the crowned yoke of state, 
 And bear the goadings of the sceptre. Ah ! 
 Fate drives us onward in a narrow way, 
 Despite our boasted freedom. 
 
 (Enter PAOLO, with Pages bearing torches.} 
 
 Gracious saints ! 
 What brought you here ? 
 
 Paolo. The bridegroom waits. 
 
 Fran. He does ? 
 
 Let him wait on forever ! I 11 not go ! 
 ! dear Paolo 
 
 Paolo. Sister ! 
 
 Fran. It is well. 
 
436 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 I have been troubled with a sleepless night. 
 
 My brain is wild. I know not what I say. 
 
 Pray, do not call me sister : it is cold. 
 
 I never had a brother, and the name 
 
 Sounds harshly to me. When you speak to me, 
 
 Call me Francesca. 
 
 Paolo. You shall be obeyed. 
 
 Fran. I would not be obeyed. I d have you 
 
 do it 
 
 Because because you love me as a sister 
 And of your own good-will, not my command, 
 Would please me. Do you understand ? 
 
 Paolo. Too well ! [Aside.] 
 
 Tis a nice difference. 
 
 Fran. Yet you understand ? 
 
 Say that you do. 
 
 Paolo. I do. 
 
 Fran. That pleases me. 
 
 Tis flattering if our friends appreciate 
 Our nicer feelings. 
 
 Paolo. 1 await you, lady. 
 
 Fran. Ritta, my gloves. Ah ! yes, I have them 
 
 on ; 
 
 Though I in not quite prepared. Arrange my veil ; 
 It folds too closely. That will do ; retire. 
 
 [RITTA retires.] 
 
 So, Count Paolo, you have come, hot haste, 
 To lead me to the church, to have your share 
 In my undoing ? And you came, in sooth, 
 Because they sent you ? You are very tame ! 
 And if they sent, was it for you to come ? 
 
 Paolo. Lady, I do not understand this scorn. 
 I came, as is my duty, to escort 
 
FBANCESCA DA RIMTXI. 431 
 
 My brother s bride to him. When next you re called, 
 I 11 send a lackey. 
 
 Fran. I have angered you. 
 
 Paolo. With reason : I would not appear to you 
 Low or contemptible. 
 
 Fran. Why not to me ? 
 
 Paolo. Lady, I 11 not be catechized. 
 
 Fran. Ha ! Count ! 
 
 Paolo. No ! if you press me further, I will say 
 A word to madden you. Stand still ! You stray 
 Around the margin of a precipice. 
 I know what pleasure ? t is to pluck the flowers 
 That hang above destruction, and to gaze 
 Into the dread abyss, to see such things 
 As may be safely seen. 7 T is perilous : 
 The eye grows dizzy as we gaze below, 
 And a wild wish possesses us to spring 
 Into the vacant air. Beware, beware ! 
 Lest this unholy fascination grow 
 Too strong to conquer ! 
 
 Fran. You talk wildly, Count ; 
 
 There s not a gleam of sense in what you say ; 
 I cannot hit your meaning. 
 
 Paolo. Lady, come ! 
 
 Fran. Count, you are cruel ! [ Weeps.] 
 
 Paolo. ! no ; I would be kind. 
 
 But now, while reason over-rides my heart, 
 And seeming anger plays its braggart part . 
 In heaven s name, come ! 
 
 Fran. One word one question more : 
 
 Is it your wish this marriage should proceed ? 
 
 Paolo. It is. 
 
433 FRAXCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 Fran. Come on ! You shall not take my hand : 
 I 11 walk alone now, and forever ! 
 
 Paolo. (Taking her hand) Sister! 
 
 [Exeunt PAOLO and FRAXCESCA, with Pages.] 
 
 Ritta. ! misery, misery ! it is plain as day 
 She loves Paolo ! Why will those I love 
 Forever get themselves ensnared, and heaven 
 Forever call on me to succor them ? 
 Here was the mystery, then the sighs and tears, 
 The troubled slumbers, and the waking dreams ! 
 And now she s walking through the chapel-door, 
 Her bridal robe above an aching heart, 
 Dressed up for sacrifice. "Pis terrible ! 
 And yet she 11 smile and do it. Smile, for years, 
 Until her heart breaks ; and the nurses ask 
 The doctor of the cause. He 11 answer too, 
 In hard thick Latin, and believe himself. 
 
 ! my dear mistress ! Heaven, pray torture me ! 
 Send back Giuseppe, let him ruin me, 
 
 And scorn me after; but, sweet heaven, spare her! 
 
 1 11 follow her. ! what a world is this ! [Exit.} 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 Tlie Same. Interior of the Cathedral. LANCIOTTO, FRAXCESCA, 
 PAOLO, MALATKSTA, Guino, RITTA, PEPE, Lunls, Knight*, 
 Priests, Pages, a bridal-train of L<f/ic<, N . C.lizcns, 
 
 Attendants, 4-c., discovered before the High Jlltar. Organ music. 
 The rites being over, they advance. 
 
 Malatesta. By heaven 
 
 Pe.pe. ! uncle, undo, you re in church ! 
 
 Mai. I 11 break your head, knave 1 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 439 
 
 Pepe. I claim sanctuary. 
 
 Mai. Why, bridegroom, will you never kiss the 
 
 bride ? 
 We all are mad to follow you. 
 
 Pepe. Yes, yes ; 
 
 Elere was Paolo wetting his red lips 
 For the last minute. Kiss, and give him room. 
 
 Mai. You heaven-forsaken imp, be quiet now ! 
 
 Pepe. Then there d be naught worth hearing. 
 
 Mai. Bridegroom, come ! 
 
 Pepe. Lord ! he don t like it ! Hey ! I told 
 
 you so 
 
 He backs at the first step. Does he not know 
 His trouble s just begun ? 
 
 Landotto. Gentle Francesca, 
 
 Custom imposes somewhat on thy lips : 
 I 11 make my levy. [Kisses her. The others follow. ] 
 
 (Aside.} Ha I she shrank ! I felt 
 Her body tremble, and her quivering lips 
 Seemed dying under mine ! I heard a sigh, 
 Such as breaks hearts ! no, a very groan ; 
 And then she turned a sickly, miserable look 
 On pale Paolo, and he shivered too ! 
 There is a mystery hangs around her, ay, 
 Paolo knows it too. By all the saints, 
 I 11 make him tell it, at the dagger s point ! 
 Paolo ! here ! I do adjure you, brother, 
 By the great love I bear you, to reveal 
 The secret of Francesca s grief. 
 
 Paolo. I cannot. 
 
 Lan. She told you nothing ? 
 
 Paolo. Nothing. 
 
 Lan. Not a word ? 
 
440 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Paolo. Not one. 
 
 Lan. What heard you at Ravenna, then ? 
 
 Paolo. Nothing 
 
 Lan. Here ? 
 
 Paolo. Nothing. 
 
 Lan. Not the slightest hint ? 
 
 Don t stammer, man I Speak quick ! I am in haste. 
 
 Paolo. Never. 
 
 Lan. What know you ? 
 
 Paolo. Nothing that concerns 
 
 Your happiness, Lanciotto. If I did, 
 Would I not tell unquestioned ? 
 
 Lan. Would you not ? 
 
 You ask a question for me : answer it. 
 
 Paolo. I have. 
 
 Lan. You juggle, you turn deadly pale, 
 
 Fumble your dagger, stand with head half round, 
 Tapping your feet. You dare not look at me ! 
 By Satan ! Count Paolo, let me say, 
 You look much like a full-convicted thief ! 
 
 Paolo. Brother ! - 
 
 Lan. Pshaw ! brother ! You deceive me, sir : 
 You and that lady have a devil s league, 
 To keep a devil s secret. Is it thus 
 You deal with me ? Now, by thje light above, 
 I d give a dukedom for some fair pretext 
 To lly you all ! She docs not love me \Vell, 
 I could bear that, and live away from her. 
 Love would be sweet, but want of it becomes 
 An early habit to such men as I. 
 But 3 r ou ah ! there s the sorrow whom 1 loved 
 An infant in your cradle ; you who rn-\v 
 Up in my heart, with every inch yoii 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 441 
 
 You whom I loved for every quality, 
 
 Good, bad, and common, in your natural stock ; 
 
 Ay, for your very beauty ! It is strange, you 11 say, 
 
 For such a crippled horror to do that, 
 
 Against the custom of his kind ! ! yes, 
 
 I love, and you betray me ! 
 
 Paolo. Lanciotto, 
 
 This is sheer frenzy. Join your bride. 
 
 Lan. I 11 not ! 
 
 What, go to her, to feel her very flesh 
 Crawl from my touch ? to hear her sigh and moan, 
 As if God plagued her ? Must I come to that ? 
 Must I endure your hellish mystery 
 With my own wife, and roll my eyes away 
 In sentimental bliss ? No, no ! until 
 I go to her, with confident belief 
 In her integrity and candid love, 
 I 11 shun her as a leper ! \_JLlarm-bells toll.] 
 
 Mai What is that ? 
 
 (Enter, hastily, a Messenger in disorder.) 
 
 Messenger. My lord, the Ghibelins are up 
 
 Lan. And I 
 
 Will put them down again ! I thank thee, Heaven, 
 For this unlooked-for aid ! [dside.] 
 
 Mai. What force have they ? 
 
 Lan. It matters not, nor yet the time, place, 
 
 cause, 
 
 Of their rebellion. I would throttle it, 
 Were it a riot, or a drunken brawl ! 
 
 Mai. Nay, son, your bride 
 
 Lan. My bride will pardon me ; 
 
 Bless me, perhaps, as I am going forth ; 
 
442 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Thank me, perhaps, if I should ne er return. [j?si</e.] 
 A soldier s duty has no bridals in it. 
 
 Paolo. Lanciotto, this is folly. Let me take 
 Your usual place of honor. 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 AVhat ! tliou, a tilt-yard soldier, lead my troops ! 
 My wife will ask it shortly. Not a word 
 Of opposition from the new-made bride ? 
 Nay, she looks happier. ! accursed day, 
 That I was mated to an empty heart ! [Aside. 1 } 
 
 Mai. But, son 
 
 Lan. Well, father? 
 
 Pepe. Uncle, let him go. 
 
 He 11 find it cooler on a battle-field 
 Than in his 
 
 Lan. Hark ! the fool speaks oracles. 
 
 You, soldiers, who are used to follow me, 
 And front our charges, emulous to bear 
 The shock of battle on your forward arms, 
 Why stand ye in amazement ? Do your swords 
 Stick to their scabbards with inglorious rust ? 
 Or has repose so weakened your big hearts, 
 That you can dream with trumpets at your ears ? 
 Out with your steel ! It shames me to behold 
 Such tardy welcome to my war-worn blade ! [Draws.] 
 
 (The Knights and Soldiers draw.) 
 
 Ho ! draw our forces out ! Strike camp, sound 
 
 drums, 
 
 And set us on our marches ! As I live, 
 I pity the next foeman who relies 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMIXI. 443 
 
 On me for mercy ! Farewell ! to you all 
 
 To all alike a soldier s short farewell ! [Going.] 
 
 (PAOLO stands before him.) 
 
 Out of my way, thou juggler ! [Exit.] 
 
 Paolo. He is gone ! 
 
4 1 I FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Same. The Garden of the Castle. Enter TEPE, 
 singing. 
 
 Pepe. T is jolly to walk in the shady greenwood 
 
 With a damsel by your side ; 
 T is jolly to walk from the chapel-door, 
 
 With the hand of your pretty bride ; 
 T is jolly to rest your weary head, 
 When life runs low and hope is fled, 
 
 On the heart where you confide : 
 T is jolly, jolly, jolly, they say, 
 
 They say but I never tried. 
 
 Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls 
 
 In motley suits, and pair us, to increase 
 
 The race of fools. T would be a noble thing, 
 
 A motley woman, had she wit enough 
 
 To bear the bell. But there s the misery : 
 
 You may make princes out of any stuff ; 
 
 Fools come by nature. She 11 make fifty kings 
 
 Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cru<-l go*Mnor8- 
 
 For one fine fool. There is Paolo, n<>\\-, 
 
 A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart 
 
 Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. 
 
 Lo ! here he comes. And there s fierce crook-1 -ark s 
 
 bride 
 Walking beside him 0, how gingerly ! 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 445 
 
 Take care, my love ! that is the very pace 
 We trip to hell with. Hunchback is away 
 That was a fair escape for you ; but, then, 
 The devil s ever with us, and that ? s worse. 
 See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta, 
 And melancholy as a cow. How s this ? 
 1 11 step aside, and watch you, pretty folks. 
 
 \_Hidcs behind the bushes. ] 
 
 (Enter PAOLO and FRANCESCA, followed by RITTA. He seats him 
 self in an arbor, and reads. RITTA and FRAKCESCA advance.) 
 
 Francesco,. Ritta. 
 
 Ritta. My lady. 
 
 Fran. You look tired. 
 
 Rit. I m not. 
 
 Fran. Go to your chamber. 
 
 Rit. I would rather stay, 
 
 If it may please you. I require a walk 
 And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers, 
 To stir my blood. I am not very well. 
 
 Fran. I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear. 
 Paolo has a book to read to me. 
 
 Rit. What, the romance ? I should so love to 
 
 hear ! 
 
 I dote on poetry ; arid Count Paolo 
 Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. 
 I m weary now, quite weary, and would rest. 
 
 Fran. Just now you wished to walk. 
 
 Rit. Ah \ did I so ? 
 
 Walking, or resting, I would stay with you. 
 
 Fran. The Count objects. lie told me, yesterday, 
 That you were restless while he read to me ; 
 
116 . FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed, 
 And yawned, until he almost paused. 
 
 Rit. Indeed 
 
 I will be quiet. 
 
 Fran. But he will not read. 
 
 Rtt. Let me go ask him. [Runs towards PAOLO.] 
 
 Fran. Stop 1 Come hither, Ritta. 
 
 [She returns.] 
 
 I paw your new embroidery in the hall, 
 The needle in the midst of Argus eyes ; 
 It should be finished. 
 
 Rit. I will bring it here. 
 
 no ! my finger s sore ; I cannot work. 
 Fran. Go to your room. 
 
 Rit. Let me remain, I pray. 
 
 T is better, lady ; you may wish for me : 
 
 1 know you will be sorry if I go. 
 
 Fran. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you. 
 AY ill you be headstrong ? 
 
 Rit. Do you wish it, then ? 
 
 Fran. Yes, Ritta. 
 
 Rit. Yet you made pretexts enough, 
 
 Before you ordered. 
 
 Fran. You are insolent. 
 
 Will you remain against my will ? 
 
 Rit. Yes, lady ; 
 
 Rather than not remain. 
 
 Fran. Ha! impudent! 
 
 Rit. You wrong me, gentle mistress. Love like 
 
 mine 
 
 Does not ask questions of propriety, 
 Nor stand on manners. I would do you good, 
 Even while you smote me ] I would push you back, 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 447 
 
 With my last effort, from the crumbling- edge 
 Of some high rock o er which you toppled me. 
 
 Fran. What do you mean ? 
 
 Eit. I know. 
 
 Fran. Know what ? 
 
 Eit. Too much. 
 
 Pray, do not ask me. 
 
 Fran. Speak ! 
 
 Eit. I know dear lady, 
 
 Be not offended 
 
 Fran. Tell me, simpleton ! 
 
 Eit. You know I worship you ; you know I M 
 
 walk 
 
 Straight into ruin for a whim of yours ; 
 You know 
 
 Fran. I know you act the fool. Talk sense i 
 
 Eit. I know Paolo loves you. 
 
 Fran. Should he not ? 
 
 He is my brother. 
 
 Eit. More than brother should. 
 
 Fran. Ha ! are you certain ? 
 
 Eit. Yes, of more than that, 
 
 Fran. Of more ? 
 
 Eit. Yes, lady ; for you love him too. 
 
 I ve said it ! Fling me to the carrion crows, 
 Kill me by inches, boil me in the pot 
 Count Guido promised me, but, 0, beware ! 
 Back, while you may ! Make me the sufferer, 
 But save yourself ! 
 
 Fran. Now, are you not ashamed, 
 
 To look me in the face with that bold brow ? 
 I am amazed ! 
 
 Eit. I am a woman, lady ; 
 
418 FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 I too have been in love ; I know its ways, 
 Its arts, and its deceits. Your .frowning face, 
 And seeming indignation, do not cheat. 
 Your heart is in my hand. 
 
 Paolo. (Calls.) Francesca ! 
 
 Fran. Hence, 
 
 Thou wanton-hearted minion ! hence, I say ! 
 And never look me in the face again ! 
 Hence, thou insulting slave ! 
 
 Rit. (Clinging to her.) lady, lady 
 
 Fran. Begone! [Throws her off.} 
 
 Rit. I have no friends no one to love 
 
 0, spare me I 
 
 Fran. Hence ! 
 
 Rit. Was it for this I loved 
 
 Cared for you more than my own happiness 
 Ever at heart your slave without a wish 
 For greater recompense than your stray smiles ? 
 
 Paolo. (Calls.) Francesca! 
 
 Fran. Hurry ! 
 
 Hit. I am gone. Alas ! 
 
 God bless you, lady ! God take care of you, 
 When I am far away ! Alas, alas ! [Exit wecpiny.] 
 
 Fran. Poor girl ! but were she all the world to 
 
 me, 
 
 And held iny future in her tender grasp, 
 I d cast her off, without a second thought, 
 To savage death, for dear Paolo s sake ! 
 Paolo, hither ! Now he comes to me ; 
 J feel his presence, though I see him not, 
 Stealing upon me like the fervid glow 
 Of morning sunshine. Now he comes too near 
 He touches me Heaven ! 
 
FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 440 
 
 Paolo. Our poem waits. 
 
 1 have been reading while you talked with Ritta. 
 How did you get her oft ? 
 
 Fran. By some device. 
 
 She will not come again. 
 
 Paolo. I hate the girl : 
 
 She seems to stand between me and the light. 
 A.nd now for the romance. Where left we off? 
 
 Fran. Where Lancelot and Queen Guenevra 
 
 strayed 
 
 Along the forest, in the youth of May. 
 You marked the figure of the birds that sang 
 Their melancholy farewell to the sun 
 Rich in his loss, their sorrow glorified 
 Like gentle mourners o er a great man s grave. 
 Was it not there ? No, no ; t was where they sat 
 Down on the bank, by one impulsive wish 
 That neither uttered. 
 
 Paolo. (Turning over the book.) Here it is. (Reads.) 
 
 11 So sat 
 
 Guenevra and Sir Lancelot " J T were well 
 To follow them in that. [They sit upon a bank."] 
 
 Fran. I listen : read. 
 
 Nay, do not ; I can wait, if you desire. 
 
 Paolo. My dagger frets me ; let me take it off. 
 
 [Rises.] 
 In thoughts of love, we 11 lay our weapons by. 
 
 [Lays aside his dagger, and sits ayain.~\ 
 Draw closer: I am weak in voice to-day. [Reads.] 
 
 " So sat Guenevra and Sir Lancelot, 
 
 Under the blaze of the descending sun, 
 But all his cloudy splendors were forgot. 
 
 Each bore a thought, the only secret one, 
 VOL. T. 29 
 
450 FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 
 
 Which each had hidden from the other s heart, 
 
 Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun. 
 Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start, 
 
 Put by the ripples of her golden hair, 
 Gazing upon her with his lips apart. 
 
 He marvelled human thing could be so fair ; 
 Essayed to speak ; but, in the very deed, 
 
 His words expired of self-betrayed despair. 
 Little she helped him, at his direst need, 
 
 Roving her eyes o er hill, and wood, and sky, 
 Peering intently at the meanest weed ; 
 
 Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot s eye. 
 Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe, 
 
 Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh ; 
 Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew ; 
 
 Until she felt Sir Lancelot s arm around 
 Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew. 
 
 While through his fingers timidly he wound 
 Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed 
 
 Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound : 
 For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed, 
 
 Firing her blood with most contagious heat, 
 Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed. 
 
 Each heart was listening to the other beat. 
 As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk, 
 
 Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet, 
 So met their faces. Down the forest walk 
 
 Sir Lancelot looked he looked east, west, north, 
 
 south 
 No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk : 
 
 She smiled ; he kissed her full upon the mouth." 
 
 [A r - \ ] 
 
 I 11 read I1O more ! [Starts up, dashinj .W.< /. ,< W/,-.] 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 451 
 
 Fran. Paolo ! 
 
 Paolo. I am mad ! 
 
 The torture of unnumbered hours is o er, 
 The straining cord has broken, and my heart 
 Riots in free delirium ! 0, Heaven ! 
 1 struggled with it, but it mastered me ! 
 I fought against it, but it beat me down ! 
 I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me ; 
 And every tear rolled backward on my heart, 
 To blight and poison ! 
 
 Fran. And dost thou regret ? 
 
 Paolo. The love ? No, no ! I M dare it all again, 
 Its direst agonies and meanest fears, 
 For that one kiss. Away with fond remorse ! 
 Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand ; 
 Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge ! 
 Thou canst not name a terror so profound 
 That I will look or falter from. Be bold ! 
 I know thy love I knew it long ago 
 Trembled and fled from it. But now I clasp 
 The peril to my breast, and ask of thee 
 A kindred desperation. 
 
 Fran. ( Throwing herself into his arms.) Take me all, 
 Body and soul ! The women of our clime 
 Do never give away but half a heart : 
 I have not part to give, part to withhold, 
 In selfish safety. When I saw thee first, 
 Riding alone amid a thousand men, 
 Sole in the lustre of thy majesty, 
 And Guido da Polenta said to me, 
 " Daughter, behold thy husband ! " witli a bound 
 My heart went forth to meet thee. He deceived, 
 He lied to me ah ! that s the aptest word 
 
452 FRANCESCA DA RIMIN I. 
 
 And I believed. Shall I not turn again, 
 And meet him, craft with craft ? Paolo, love. 
 Thou rt dull thou rt dying like a feeble fire 
 Before the sunshine. Was it but a blaze, 
 A flash of glory, and a long, long night ? 
 
 Paolo. No, darling, no ! You could not bend me 
 
 back ; 
 
 My course is onward ; but my heart is sick 
 With coming fears. 
 
 Fran. Away with them ! Must I 
 
 Teach thee to love ? and re inform the ear 
 Of thy spent passion with some sorcery 
 To raise the chilly dead ? 
 
 Paolo. Thy lips have not 
 
 A sorcery to rouse me as this spell. [fosses her.} 
 
 Fran. I give thy kisses back to thee again : 
 Arid, like a spendthrift, only ask of thee 
 To take while I can give. 
 
 Paolo. < I i ve, give forever ! 
 
 Have we not touched the height of human bliss ? 
 And if the sharp rebound may hurl us back 
 Among the prostrate, did we not soar once ? 
 Taste heavenly nectar, banquet with the gods 
 On high Olympus ? If they cast us, now, 
 Amid the furies, shall we riot go down 
 With rich ambrosia clinging to our lips, 
 And richer memories settled in our hearts ? 
 Fran cose*. 
 
 Fran. Love ? 
 
 Paolo. The sun is sinking low 
 
 Upon the ashes of his fading pyre, 
 And gray possesses the eternal blue ; 
 The evening star is stealing after him, 
 
PRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 453 
 
 Fixed, like a beacon, on the prow of night ; 
 The world is shutting 1 up its heavy eye 
 Upon the stir and bustle of to-day ; 
 On what shall it awake ? 
 
 Fran. On love that gives 
 
 Joy at all seasons, changes night to day, 
 Makes sorrow smile, plucks out the barbed dart 
 Of moaning anguish, pours celestial balm 
 In all the gaping wounds of earth, and lulls 
 The nervous fancies of unsheltered fear 
 Into a slumber sweet as infancy s ! 
 On love that laughs at the impending sword, 
 And puts aside the shield of caution : cries, 
 To all its enemies, " Corne, strike me now ! 
 Now, while I hold my kingdom, while my crown 
 Of amaranth and myrtle is yet green, 
 Undimmed, unwithered ; for I cannot tell 
 That I shall e er be happier ! " Dear Paolo, 
 Would you lapse down from misery to death, 
 Tottering through sorrow and infirmity ? 
 Or would you perish at a single blow, 
 Cut off amid your wildest revelry, 
 Falling among the wine-cups and the flowers, 
 And tasting Bacchus when your drowsy sense 
 First gazed around eternity ? Come, love ! 
 The present whispers joy to us ; we 11 hear 
 The voiceless future when its turn arrives. 
 
 Paolo. Thou art a siren. Sing, forever sing ! 
 Hearing thy voice, I cannot tell what fate 
 Thou hast provided when the song is o er ; 
 But I will venture it. 
 
 Fran. In, in, my love ! [Exeunt.] 
 
45-1 FRANCESCA DA HI MI XI. 
 
 (PKPK steals from behind the bushes.) 
 
 Pepe. 0, brother Lanciotto ! 0, my stars ! 
 If this thing lasts, I simply shall go mad ! 
 
 [Laufflis, and rolls on the grouna.} 
 
 Lord ! to think my pretty lady puss 
 
 Had tricks like this, and we ne er know of it ! 
 
 1 tell you, Lanciotto, you and I 
 Must have a patent for our foolery ! 
 
 " She smiled ; he kissed her full upon the mouth ! " 
 There s the beginning ; where s the end of it ? 
 poesy ! debauch thee only once, 
 And thou rt the greatest wanton in the world ! 
 
 cousin Lanciotto ho, ho, ho ! [Laughing. } 
 Can a man die of laughter ? Here we sat ; 
 Mistress Francesca so demure and calm ; 
 
 Paolo grand, poetical, sublime ! 
 Eh ! what is this ? Paolo s dagger ? Good ! 
 Here is more proof, sweet cousin Broken-back. 
 "In thoughts of love, we 11 lay our weapons by ! " 
 
 [Mimicking PAOLO.] 
 
 That s very pretty ! Here s its counterpart : 
 In thoughts of hate, we 11 pick them up again ! 
 
 [Takes the da</</er.] 
 
 Now for my soldier, now for crook-backed Mars ! 
 Ere long all Rimini will be ablaze. 
 He 11 kill me ? Yes : what then ? That s nothing 
 
 new, 
 
 Except to me ; I 11 bear for custom s sake. 
 More blood will follow; like the royal sun, 
 
 1 shall go down in purple. Fools for luck ; 
 The proverb holds like iron. I must run, 
 Ere laughter smother me. 0, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 I a \Kjhiny.] 
 
FKANCESCA DA &MINI. 455 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 H Camp among the Hills. Before LANCIOTTO S tent. Enter, 
 from, the tent, LANCIOTTO. 
 
 Lanciotto. The camp is strangely quiet. Not a 
 
 sound 
 
 Breaks nature s high solemnity. The sun 
 Repeats again his e very-day decline ; 
 Yet all the world looks sadly after him, 
 As if the customary sight were new. 
 Yon moody sentinel goes slowly by, 
 Through the thick mists of evening, with his spear 
 Trailed at a funeral hold. Long shadows creep, 
 From things beyond the furthest range of sight, 
 Up to my very feet. These mystic shades 
 Are of the earth ; the light that causes them, 
 Arid teaches us the quick comparison, 
 Is all from heaven. Ah ! restless man might crawl 
 With patience through his shadowy destiny, 
 If he were senseless to the higher light 
 Towards which his soul aspires. How grand and 
 
 vast 
 
 Is yonder show of heavenly pageantry ! 
 How mean and narrow is the. earthly stand 
 From which we gaze on it ! Magnificent, 
 God, art thou amid the sunsets ! Ah ! 
 What heart in Rimini is softened now, 
 Towards iny defects, by this grand spectacle ? 
 Perchance, Paolo now forgives the wrong 
 Of my hot spleen. Perchance, Francesca now 
 Wishes me back, and turns a tenderer eye 
 On my poor person and ill-mannered ways ; 
 
456 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Fashions excuses for me, schools her heart 
 Through duty into love, and ponders o er 
 The sacred meaning in the name of wife. 
 Dreams, dreams ! Poor fools, we squander love 
 
 away 
 
 On thankless borrowers ; when bankrupt quite, 
 We sit and wonder of their honesty. 
 Love, take a lesson from the usurer, 
 And never lend but on security. 
 Captain ! 
 
 (Enter a CAPTAIN.) 
 
 Captain. My lord. 
 
 Lan. They worsted us to-day. 
 
 Capt. Not much, my lord. 
 
 Lan. With little loss, indeed. 
 
 Their strength is in position. Mark you, sir. 
 
 [Draws on the ground with his sword.} 
 Here is the pass ; it opens towards the plain, 
 With gradual widening, like a lady s fan. 
 The hills protect their flanks on either hand ; 
 And, as you see, we cannot show more front 
 Than their advance may give us. Then, the rocks 
 Are sorry footing for our horse. Just here, 
 Close in against the left-hand hills, I marked 
 A strip of wood, extending down the gorge : 
 Behind that wood dispose your force ere dawn. 
 I shall begin the onset, then give ground, 
 And draw them out; while you, behind the wood, 
 Must steal along, until their flank and rear 
 Oppose your column. Then set up a shout, 
 Hurst from the wood, and drive them on our spears, 
 They have no outpost in the wood, I know ; 
 T ifi too far from their centre. On the morrow , 
 
FRANCESCA DA RTMIXT. 457 
 
 When they are flushed with seeming victory, 
 And think my whole division in full rout, 
 They will not pause to scrutinize the wood ; 
 So you may enter boldly. We will use 
 The heart to-day s repulse has given to them, 
 For our advantage. Do you understand ? 
 
 Capt. Clearly, my lord. 
 
 Lan. If they discover you, 
 
 Before you gain your point, wheel, and retreat 
 Upon my rear. If your attack should fail 
 To strike them with a panic, and they turn 
 In too great numbers on your small command, 
 Scatter your soldiers through the wood : 
 Let each seek safety for himself. 
 
 Capt. I see. 
 
 Lan. Have Pluto shod ; he cast a shoe to-day : 
 Let it be done at once. My helmet, too, 
 Is worn about the lacing ; look to that. 
 Where is my armorer ? 
 
 Capt. At his forge. 
 
 Lan. Your charge 
 
 Must be at sunrise just at sunrise, sir 
 Neither before nor after. You must march 
 At moonset, then, to gain the point ere dawn. 
 That is enough. 
 
 Capt. Good-even! [Going.] 
 
 Lan. Stay, stay, stay ! 
 
 My sword-hilt feels uneasy in my grasp ; 
 
 [Gives his sword.} 
 
 Have it repaired ; and grind the point. Strike hard ! 
 I 11 teach these Ghibelins a lesson. 
 
 [Loud laughter within. } 
 
408 FRAXCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 What is that clamor ? 
 
 (Enter hastily PEPE, tattered and travel-stained.) 
 
 Pepe. News from Rimini ! [Falls exhausted.} 
 
 Lan. Is that you, Pepe ? Captain, a good-night ! 
 
 [Exit CAPTAIN.] 
 
 I never saw you in such straits before. 
 Wit without words ! 
 
 Pepe. That s better than ! ! [Panting.} 
 Words without wit. 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) You 11 die a jester, Pepe. 
 
 Pepe. If so, I 11 leave the needy all my wit. 
 You, you shall have it, cousin. ! ! ! 
 
 [Panting. } 
 
 Those devils in the hills, the Ghibelins, 
 
 Ran me almost to death. My lord ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 It all comes back to me ! Lord a mercy ! 
 
 The garden, -and the lady, and the Count ! 
 
 Not to forget the poetry ho ! ho ! [Laughing.} 
 
 ! cousin Lanciotto, such a wife, 
 
 And such a brother 1 Hear me, ere I burst ! 
 Lan. You re pleasant, Pepe ! 
 
 Pepe. Ami? Ho! ho! ho! [Laughing.} 
 
 You ought to be ; your wife s a 
 
 Lan. What ? 
 
 Pepe. A lady 
 
 A lady, I suppose, like all the rest. 
 
 1 am not in their secrets. Such a fellow 
 As Count Paolo is your man for that. 
 
 I 11 tell you something, if you 11 swear a bit. 
 Lan. Swear what ? 
 Pepe. First, swear to listen till the end. 
 
FRAXCESCA DA RIMIXT. 4f>9 
 
 ! you may rave, curse, howl, and tear your hair ; 
 But you must listen. 
 
 Laii. For your jest s sake ? Well. 
 
 Pepe. You swear ? 
 Lan. I do. 
 
 Pepe. Next, swear to know the truth. 
 
 Lan. The truth of a fool s story I 
 Pepe. You mistake. 
 
 Now, look you, cousin ! You have often marked 
 
 1 know, for I have seen strange glances pass 
 Between Paolo and your lady wife. 
 
 Lan. Ha ! Pepe ! 
 
 Pepe. Now I touch you to the quick. 
 
 I know the reason of those glances. 
 
 Lan. Ha ! 
 
 Speak ! or I 11 throttle you I [Seizes him.] 
 
 Pepe. Your way is odd. 
 
 Let go my gullet, and I 11 talk you deaf. 
 Swear my last oath : only to know the truth. 
 
 Lan. But that may trouble me. 
 
 Pepe. Your honor lies 
 
 Your precious honor, cousin Chivalry 
 Lies bleeding with a terrible great gash, 
 Without its knowledge. Swear ! 
 
 Lan. My honor ? Speak I 
 
 Pepe. You swear ? 
 
 Lan. I swear. Your news is ill, perchance ? 
 
 Pepe. Ill ! would I bring it else ? Am I inclined 
 To run ten leagues with happy news for you ? 
 0, Lord ! that 7 s jolly ! 
 
 Lan. You infernal imp, 
 
 Out with your story, ere I strangle you ! 
 
4 CO FRANCESCA DA RIMIN I. 
 
 Pepe. Then take a fast hold on your two great 
 
 oaths, 
 
 To steady tottering manhood, and attend. 
 Last eve, about this hour, I took a stroll 
 Into the garden. Are you listening, cousin ? 
 
 Lan. I am all ears. 
 
 Pepe. Why, so an ass might say. 
 
 Lan. Will you be serious ? 
 
 Pepe. Wait a while, and we 
 
 Will both be graver than a church-yard. Well, 
 Down the long walk, towards me, came your w r ife, 
 With Count Paolo walking at her side. 
 It was a pretty sight, and so I stepped 
 Into the bushes. Ritta came with them ; 
 And Lady Fanny had a grievous time 
 To get her off. That made me curious. 
 Anon, the pair sat down upon a bank, 
 To read a,poem ; the tenderest romance, 
 All about Lancelot and Queen Guenevra. 
 The Count read well I 11 say that much for him- 
 Only he stuck too closely to the text, 
 Got too much wrapped up in the poesy, 
 And played Sir Lancelot s actions, out and out, 
 On Queen Francesca. Nor in royal parts 
 Was she so backward. When he struck the line 
 " She smiled ; he kissed her full upon the mouth ; " 
 Your lady smiled, and, by the saints above, 
 Paolo carried out the sentiment ! 
 Can I not move you ? 
 
 Lan. With such trash as this ? 
 
 And so you ran ten leagues to tell a lie ? 
 Run home again. 
 
 Pepe. I am not ready yet. 
 
FKAXCE3CA DA RIMINI. 461 
 
 After the kiss, up springs our amorous Count, 
 Flings Queen Guenevra and Sir Lancelot 
 Straight to the devil ; growls and snaps his teeth, 
 Laughs, weeps, howls, dances ; talks about his love, 
 His madness, suffering, and the Lord knows what, 
 Bullying the lady like a thief. But she, 
 All this hot time, looked cool and mischievous ; 
 Gave him his halter to the very end ; 
 And when he calmed a little, up she steps 
 And takes him by the hand. You should have seen 
 How tame the furious fellow was at once ! 
 How he came down, snivelled, and cowed to her, 
 And fell to kissing her again ! It was 
 A perfect female triumph ! Such a scene 
 A man might pass through life and never see. 
 More sentiment then followed, buckets full 
 Of washy words, not worth my memory. 
 But all the while she wound his Countship up, 
 Closer and closer ; till at last tu ! wit ! 
 She scoops him up, and off she carries him, 
 Fish for her table ! Follow, if you can ; 
 v My fancy fails me. All this time you smile ! 
 
 Lan. You should have been a poet, not a fool. 
 
 Pepe. I might be both. 
 
 Lan. You made no record, then ? 
 
 Must this fine story die for want of ink ? 
 Left you no trace in writing ? 
 
 Pepe. None. 
 
 Lan. Alas ! 
 
 Then you have told it ? T is but stale, my boy ; 
 I in second hearer. 
 
 Pepe. You are first, in faith. 
 
 Lan. In truth ? 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Pepe. In sadness. You have got it fresh. 
 I had no time ; I itched to reach your ear. 
 Now go to Rimini, and see yourself. 
 You 11 find them in the garden. Lovers are 
 Like walking ghosts, they always haunt the spot 
 Of their misdeeds. 
 
 Lan. But have I heard you out ? 
 
 You told me all ? 
 
 Pepe. All ; I have nothing left. 
 
 Lan. Why, you brain-stricken idiot, to trust 
 Your story and your body in my grasp ! [Seizes him.] 
 
 Pepe. Unhand me, cousin ! 
 
 Lan. When I drop you, Pepe, 
 
 You 7 11 be at rest, 
 
 Pepe. I will betray you ! 
 
 Lan. Not till the judgment day. [They struggle.] 
 
 Pepe. (Drawing PAOLO S dagger.) Take that ! 
 
 Lan. ( Wresting the dagger from him.) Well meant, 
 
 But poorly done ! Here ; s my return. [Stabs him.] 
 
 Pepe. 0! beast! [Falls.] 
 
 This 1 expected ; it is naught Ha! ha! [Laughing.] 
 ] Ml go to sleep ; but you what you will bear ! 
 Hunchback, come here ! 
 
 Lan. Fie ! say your prayers. 
 
 Pepe. Hark, hark ! 
 
 Paolo hired me, swine, to murder you. 
 
 Lan. That is a lie ; you never cared for gold. 
 
 / /H\ He did, I say ! I 11 swear" to it, by heaven ! 
 Do you believe me ? 
 
 Lan. No ! 
 
 Pepe. You lie ! you lie ! 
 
 Look at the dagger, cousin Ugh ! good-night ! 
 
 [Dies.] 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 463 
 
 Lan. ! horrible ! It was a gift of mine - 
 He never laid it by. Speak, speak, fool, speak ! 
 
 [Shakes the body. } 
 How didst thou get it ? speak ! Thou rt warm - 
 
 not dead 
 Thou hast a tongue 0! speak! Come, come, a 
 
 jest - 
 
 Another jest from those thin mocking lips ! 
 Call me a cripple hunchback what thou wLt ; 
 But speak to me ! He cannot. Now, by heaven, 
 I 11 stir this business till 1 find the truth ! 
 Am I a fool? It is a silly lie, 
 Coined by yon villain with his last base breath. 
 What ho ! without there ! 
 
 (Enter CAPTAIN and Soldiers.} 
 
 Captain. Did you call, my lord ? 
 
 Lan. Did Heaven thunder ? Are you deaf, you 
 
 louts ? 
 
 Saddle my horse ! What are you staring at ? 
 Is it your first look at a dead man ? Well, 
 Then look your fill. Saddle my horse, I say ! 
 Black Pluto stir! Bear that assassin hence. 
 Chop him to pieces, if he move. My horse ! 
 Gapt. My lord, he s shoeing. 
 -Lan. Did I ask for shoes ? 
 
 I want my horse. Run, fellow, run ! Unbarbed 
 My lightest harness on his back. Fly, fly ! 
 
 [Exit a Soldier. ] 
 [The others pick up the body.} 
 Ask him, I pray you, if he did not lie ! 
 Gapt. The man is dead, my lord. 
 
46 A FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Lan. (Laughing.) Then do not ask him ! 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers with the body."] 
 
 By Jupiter, I shall go mad, I think ! [Walks about. ] 
 Capt. Something- disturbs him. Do you mark the 
 
 spot 
 
 Of purple on his brow ? [Apart to a Soldier.] 
 
 Soldier. Then blood must flow. 
 
 Lan. Boy, boy! (Enter a Page.) My cloak and 
 
 riding-staff. Quick, quick ! 
 
 How you all lag ! (Exit Page.) I ride to Rimini. 
 Skirmish to-morrow. Wait till my return 
 I shall be back at sundown. You shall see 
 What slaughter is then ! 
 
 Capt. Ho ! turn out a guard ! 
 
 Lan. I wish no guard ; I ride alone. 
 
 [Reenter Page, u:ith a cloak and staff.] 
 [Taking them.] Well done 1 
 Thou art a pretty boy. And now my horse ! 
 
 (Enter a Soldier.) 
 
 Soldier. Pluto is saddled 
 
 Lan. " is a damned black lie ! 
 
 Sol. Indeed, my lord 
 
 Lan. 0! comrade, pardon me: 
 
 I talk at random. What, Paolo too, 
 A boy whom I have trotted on my knee ! 
 Poh ! I abuse myself by such a thought. 
 Francesca may not love me, may love him 
 Indeed she ought; but when an angel comes 
 To play the wanton on this filth}- earth, 
 Then I 11 believe her guilty. Look you, sir ! 
 Ami quite calm ? 
 
 Capt. Quite calm, my lord. 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 465 
 
 Lan. You see 
 
 No trace of passion on my face ? No sign 
 Of ugly humors, doubts, or fears, or aught 
 That may disfigure God s intelligence ? 
 I have a grievous charge against you, sir, 
 That may involve your life ; and if you doubt 
 The candor of my judgment, choose your time : 
 Shall I arraign you now ? 
 
 Capt. Now, if you please. 
 
 I 11 trust my cause to you and innocence 
 At any time. I am not conscious 
 
 Lan. Pshaw ! 
 
 I try myself, not you. And I am calm 
 That is your verdict and dispassionate ? 
 
 Capt. So far as I can judge. 
 
 Lan. Tis well, tis well ! 
 
 Then I will ride to Rimini. Good-night ! [Exit.] 
 
 [The others look after hi?n, amazedly, and exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Rimini. The Garden of the Castle. Enter PAOLO and FRAN 
 CESCA. 
 
 Francesco,. Thou hast resolved ? 
 
 Paolo. I Ve sworn it. 
 
 Fran. Ah ! you men 
 
 Can talk of love and duty in a breath ; 
 Love while you like, forget when you are tired, 
 And salve your falsehood with some wholesome saw ; 
 But we, poor women, when we give our hearts, 
 Give all, lose all, and never ask it back. 
 
 VOL. i. 30 
 
406 FRAXCESCA DA KIMIXI. 
 
 Paolo. What couldst thou ask for that I have not 
 
 given ? 
 
 With love I gave thee manly probity, 
 Innocence, honor, self-respect, and peace. 
 Lanciotto will return, and how shall I 
 
 ! shame, to think of it ! how shall I look 
 My brother in the face ? take his frank hand ? 
 Keturn his tender glances ? I should blaze 
 With guilty blushes. 
 
 Fran. Thou canst forsake me, then, 
 
 To spare thyself a little bashful pain ? 
 Paolo, dost thou know what t is for me, 
 A woman nay, a dame of highest rank 
 To lose my purity ? to walk a path 
 A\ r hose slightest slip may fill my ear with sounds 
 That hiss me out to infamy and death ? 
 JIavr I no secret pangs, no self-respect, 
 No husband s look to bear? ! worse than these, 
 
 1 must endure his loathsome touch ; be kind 
 AVhon lie would dally with his wife, and smile 
 
 To see him play thy part. Pah ! sickening thought ! 
 From that thou art exempt. Thou shall not go! 
 Thou dost not love me ! 
 
 Paolo. Love thce ! Standing here, 
 
 With countless miseries upon my head, 
 I say, my love for thee grows day by day. 
 It palters with my conscience, blurs my thoughts 
 Of duty, and confuses my ideas 
 Of right and wrong. Ere long, it will persuade 
 My shaking manhood that all this is just. 
 
 Fran. Let it ! I 11 blazon it to all the world, 
 Ere I will lose theo. Nay, if! had choice, 
 Between our lovo and my lost innocence, 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 461 
 
 I tell tlico calmly, I would dare again 
 
 The deed which we have done. ! thou art cruel 
 
 To fly me, like a coward, for thy ease. 
 
 When thou art gone, thou It flatter thy weak heart 
 
 With hopes arid speculations ; and thou It swear 
 
 I suffer naught, because thou dost not sec. 
 
 1 will not live to bear it ! 
 
 Paolo. Die, t were best ; 
 
 T is the last desperate comfort of our sin. 
 
 Fran. I 11 kill myself! 
 
 Paolo. And so would I, with joy ; 
 
 But crime has made a craven of me. ! 
 For some good cause to perish in I Something 
 A man might die for, looking in God s face ; 
 Not slinking out of life with guilt like mine 
 Piled on the shoulders of a suicide ! 
 
 Fran. Where wilt thou go ? 
 
 Paolo. I care not ; anywhere 
 
 Out of this Rimini. The very things 
 That made the pleasures of my innocence 
 Have turned against me. There is not a tree, 
 Nor house, nor church, nor monument, whose face 
 Took hold upon my thoughts, that does not frown 
 Balefully on me. From their marble tombs 
 My ancestors scowl at me ; and the night 
 Thickens to hear their hisses. I would pray, 
 But heaven jeers at it. Turn where er I will, 
 A curse pursues me. 
 
 Fran. Heavens ! 0, say not so I 
 
 I never cursed thee, love ; I never moved 
 My little finger, ere I looked to thee 
 For my instruction. 
 
 Paolo. But thy gentleness 
 
408 FRANCE3CA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Seems to reproach me ; and, instead of joy, 
 It whispers horror ! 
 
 Fran. Cease ! cease ! 
 
 Paolo. I must go. 
 
 Fran. And I must follow. All that I call life 
 Is bound in thee. I could endure for thee 
 More agonies than thou canst catalogue 
 For thy sake, love bearing the ill for thee I 
 With thee, the devils could not so contrive 
 That I would blench or falter from my love ! 
 Without thee, heaven were torture ! 
 
 Paolo. I must go. [Going} 
 
 Fran . ! no Paolo dearest ! - 
 
 [Clinying to him.} 
 
 Paolo. Loose thy hold ! 
 
 ; Tis for thy sake, and Lanciotto s ; I 
 Am as a cipher in the reckoning. 
 I have resolved. Thou canst but stretch the time. 
 Keep me to-day, and I will fly to-morrow 
 Steal from thee like a thief. [St rubles with her.} 
 
 Fran. Paolo love 
 
 Indeed, you hurt me ! Do not use me thus ! 
 Kill me, but do not leave me. 1 will laugh 
 A long, gay, ringing laugh if thou wilt draw 
 Thy pitying sword, and stab me to the heart ! 
 (Enter LAXCIOTTO behind.) 
 
 Nay, then, one kiss ! 
 
 Lanciotlo. (Advancing between them ) Take it : twill 
 be the last. 
 
 Paolo. Lo ! Heaven is just ! 
 
 Fran. The last ! so be it. [A iss PAOI.O.] 
 
 Lan. Ha! 
 
 Dare you these tricks before my very face ? 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMIXI. 4G9 
 
 Fran. Why not ? I ve kissed him in the sight of 
 
 heaven ; 
 Are you above it ? 
 
 Paolo. Peace, Francesca, peace I 
 
 Lan. Paolo why, thou sad and downcast man, 
 Look up ! I have some words to speak with thee. 
 Thou art not guilty ? 
 
 Paolo. Yes, I am. But she 
 
 Has been betrayed ; so she is innocent. 
 Her father tampered with her. I 
 
 Fran. J T is false! 
 
 The guilt is mine. Paolo was entrapped 
 By love and cunning. I am shrewder far 
 Than you suspect. 
 
 Paolo. Lanciotto, shut thy ears ; 
 
 She would deceive thee. 
 
 Lan. Silence, both of you ! 
 
 Is guilt so talkative in its defence ? 
 Then, let me make you judge and advocate 
 In your own cause. You are not guilty ? 
 
 Paolo. Yes. 
 
 Lan. Deny it but a word say no. Lie, lie I 
 And 1 7 11 believe. 
 
 Paolo. I dare not. 
 
 Lan. Lady, you ? 
 
 Fran. If I might speak for him 
 
 Lan. It cannot be : 
 
 Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt ? 
 
 Fran. No ! I assert it ; but 
 
 Lan. In heaven s name, hold 
 
 Will neither of you answer no to me ? 
 A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape. 
 Bethink you, life is centred in this thing. 
 
470 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Speak ! I will credit either. No reply ? 
 What does your crime deserve ? 
 
 Paulo. Death. 
 
 Fran. Death to both 
 
 Lan. Well said ! You speak the law of Italy ; 
 And by the dagger you designed for me, 
 In Pepe s hand, your bravo ? 
 
 Paolo. It is false ! 
 
 If you received my dagger from his hand, 
 lie stole it. 
 
 Lan. There, sweet heaven, I knew ! And now 
 You will deny the rest ? You see, my friends, 
 How easy of belief I have become ! 
 How easy t were to cheat me ! 
 
 Paolo. No ; enough ! 
 
 I will not load my groaning spirit more ; 
 A. lie would crush it. 
 
 Lan. Brother, once you gave 
 
 Life to this wretched piece of workmanship, 
 When my own hand resolved its overthrow. 
 Revoke the gift. {Offers to stab himself.} 
 
 Paolo. (Preventing him .) Hold, homicide ! 
 
 Lan. But think, 
 
 You and Francesca may live happily, 
 A fter my death, as only lovers can. 
 
 Paolo. Live happily, after a deed like this ! 
 
 Lan. Now, look ye I there is not one hour of life 
 Among us three. Paolo, you are armed 
 You have a sword, I but a dagger : see ! 
 I mean to kill you. 
 
 Fran. (Whispers PAOLO.) Give thy sword to me. 
 
 Paolo. Away ! thou rt frantic ! I will never lift 
 This wicked hand against thee. 
 
FRAXCKSCA DA RIMINI. 4*1 
 
 Lan. Coward, slave ! 
 
 Art them so faint ? Does Malatesta s blood 
 Kan in thy puny veins ? Take that ! [Strikes him.} 
 
 Paolo. And more : 
 
 Thou canst not offer more than I will bear. 
 
 Lan. Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt 
 Transformed thee to ! Why, I have seen- the time 
 When thou dst have struck at heaven for such a 
 
 thing ! 
 Art thou afraid ? 
 
 Paolo. I am. 
 
 Lan. ! infamy ! 
 
 Can man sink lower ? I will wake thee, though : 
 Thou shalt not die a coward. See ! look here ! 
 
 [Stabs FRANCESCA.] 
 
 Fran. ! ! [Falls.] 
 
 Paolo. Remorseless man, dare you do this, 
 
 And hope to live ? Die, murderer ! 
 
 [Draws, rushes at him, but pauses,} 
 
 Lan. Strike, strike ! 
 
 Ere thy heart fail. 
 
 Paolo. I cannot. [Throws away his sward.] 
 
 Lan. Dost thou see 
 
 Yon bloated spider hideous as myself 
 Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig ? 
 When he has touched it, one of us must die. 
 Here is the dagger. Look at me, I say ! 
 Keep your eyes from that woman ! Look, think, 
 
 choose ! 
 Turn here to me : thou shalt not look at her ! 
 
 Paolo. 0, heaven ! 
 
 Lan. T is done I 
 
472 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Paolo. (Struggling with him.) 0! Lanciotto, hold I 
 Hold, for thy sake ! Thou wilt repent this deed. 
 
 Lan. I know it. 
 
 Fran. ( Rising.) Help ! ! murder ! help, help, 
 help ! [She totters towards them, and falls.] 
 
 Lan. Our honor, boy ! [Stabs PAOLO, he falls.} 
 
 Fran. Paolo I 
 
 Pooh. Hark I she calls. 
 
 I pray thee, brother, help me to her side. 
 
 [LANCIOTTO helps him to FRANCESCA.] 
 
 Lan. Why, there ! 
 
 Paolo. God bless thee ! 
 
 Lan. Have I not done well ? 
 
 What were the honor of the Malatesti, 
 With such a living slander fixed to it ? 
 Cripple ! that s something cuckold ! that is 
 
 damned ! 
 You blame me ? 
 
 Paolo. No. 
 
 y 
 
 Lan. You, lady ? 
 
 Fran. No, my lord. 
 
 Lan. May God forgive you I We are even now : 
 Your blood has cleared my honor, and our name 
 Shines to the world as ever. 
 
 Paolo. ! ! - 
 
 Fran. Love, 
 
 Art suffering ? 
 
 Paolo. But for thee. 
 
 Fran. Here, rest thy head 
 
 Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood ! 
 It stains thy ringlets. Ha ! he dies ! Kind saints, 
 I was first struck, why cannot I die first ? 
 Paolo, wake ! God s mercy ! wilt thou go 
 
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 473 
 
 Alone without me ? Prithee, strike again ! 
 
 Nay, I am better love now ! [ Dies. ] 
 
 Lan. (Sinks upon his knees.) Great heaven ! 
 
 Malatesta. ( Without.) This way, I heard the cries. 
 ( Enter, ivithQtvino, Attendants, etc.) 
 
 Guido. ! horrible ! 
 
 Mai. ! bloody spectacle ! Where is thy brother ? 
 
 Lan. So Cain was asked. Come here, old men 1 
 
 You shrink 
 
 From two dead bodies and a pool of blood 
 You soldiers, too ! Come here ! 
 
 [Drays MALATESTA and GUIDO forward.] 
 \ Mai 0! 0!- 
 
 Lan. You groan ! 
 
 What must I do, then ? Father, here it is, 
 The blood of Guido mingled with our own, 
 As my old nurse predicted. And the spot 
 Of her infernal baptism burns my brain 
 Till reason shudders ! Down, upon your knees ! 
 Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they 11 wake. 
 Keep still ! Kneel, kneel ! You fear them ? I shall 
 
 prowl 
 About these bodies till the day of doom. 
 
 Mai. What hast thou done ? 
 
 GUI. Francesca I ! my child ! 
 
 Lan. Can howling make this sight more terrible ? 
 Peace ! You disturb the angels up in heaven, 
 While they are hiding from this ugly earth. 
 Be satisfied with what you see. You two 
 Began this tragedy, I finished it. 
 Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up 
 Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie ! 
 A moment since, they walked, and talked, arid kissed ! 
 
474 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. 
 
 Defied me to my face, dishonored me ! 
 They had the power to do it then ; but now, 
 Poor souls, who 7 11 shield them in eternity ? 
 Father, the honor of our house is safe : 
 I have the secret. I will to the wars, 
 And do more murders, to eclipse this one. 
 Back to the battles ; there I breathe in peace ; 
 And I will take a soldier s honor back. 
 Honor ! what s that to me now ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 A great thing, father ! I am very ill. 
 1 killed thy son for honor : thou mayst chide. 
 
 God ! I cannot cheat myself with words ! 
 
 1 loved him more than honor more than life 
 This man, Paolo this stark, bleeding corpse ! 
 Here let me rest, till God awake us all ! 
 
 [Falls on PAOLO S body.] 
 
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