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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 X 

 
 ACTED DRAMAS
 
 ACTED DRAMAS 
 
 By henry SPICER 
 
 LONDON 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY 
 
 1875
 
 PHINTKD UY TATLOH AND CO. 
 Lllltt QVEEN SIBEKT, LIKCOLB's IMW VIKLPb.
 
 
 TO 
 
 J. J[. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF AN OLD FRIENDSHIP 
 
 WITH WHICH THE WRITER'S EARLIEST INTEREST IN THE 
 
 POETIC DRAMA 
 WAS GRATEFULLY AND PLEASANTLY ASSOCIATED, 
 THESE PLAYS ARE DEDICATED BY 
 
 H. S. 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The publication of any work claiming affinity 
 with the poetic drama is — even without a view to 
 profit — in these days so manifest an anachronism 
 as to demand actual apology. 
 
 Mine must be found in the kindly remark of 
 the critic of the ' Times,' who, in reviewing, not 
 very long since, the drama of a far more distin- 
 guished author, took occasion to observe that my 
 pieces deserved to be better remembered, and thus 
 inspired me with the idea that those friends, still 
 living, whose interest in their production afforded 
 me such sincere gratification, might be not un- 
 willing to possess them in a collected form. 
 
 H. vS.
 
 H 
 
 I
 
 HONESTY. 
 
 ^ Qrama, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 I 
 
 Sir Pmi.ir LANCASTEn. 
 Douglas Traffobd {Cousin 
 
 nf Jiili(t'). 
 Pembroke. 
 Lord Seyle, 
 
 MoRDAUNT. {Suitors to 
 
 GossEi.iN. I Julia.) 
 
 San DELL, 
 Graeme. -' 
 
 Francis Gage (an Advocate). 
 Cyril (hit Brother). 
 Deverell (« knavish Usurer). 
 Fairfax {Steward to Traf- 
 
 ford). 
 Stephen. 1 
 
 Gilbert. S- (Servants.) 
 Roger. J 
 Judge. 
 Confessor. 
 Julia (ouhj Child of Sir 
 
 Philip), 
 Infelice {an Italian, betrayed 
 
 ly Tr afford). 
 
 Covrnt Garden, 1845. 
 Mr, Archer. 
 
 Mr. Vandenhoff. 
 Mr. Rae. 
 Mr. Butler. 
 Mr. Richardson. 
 Mr. Stott. 
 Mr. Martin. 
 Mr. Young. 
 Mr. J. V"ining. 
 Miss Fitzjames, 
 Mr. Rogers. 
 
 Mr. Bass, 
 
 Mr. Biddle. 
 
 Mr. Henry. 
 
 .Mr. Thomas. 
 
 Mr. Braid. 
 
 Mr. Ilollingsworth. 
 
 Miss Vandenhoff. 
 
 Mrs. Brougham. 
 Ckeuitohs, Suitous, etc. etc. 
 
 { 
 
 Olympic, 1848. 
 Mr. Archer. 
 
 Mr. Stuart. 
 Mr. Lcc. 
 Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 Mr. Mazzoni. 
 Mr. Farrer. 
 Mr. Jones. 
 Mr. Ilarcourt. 
 Mr. II. Holl. 
 Miss S. Kenneth. 
 Mr. C. Perkins. 
 
 Mr. W. Davidge. 
 Mr, Buxton, 
 Mr. Pidgeon, 
 Mr. Jennings. 
 Mr. G. Aimer. 
 Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 Miss M. Duret. 
 
 Miss May.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — A saloon in Trafford's /loitse. It appears 
 in great confusion as from an overnight feast. Chairs 
 displaced^ cups strcnni about, with cards, dice, etc. 
 
 Gilbert, Stephen, Roger discovered. 
 
 Gilbert {yaivning). 
 Faith ! a wild revel. Be there many such ? 
 
 Stephen. 
 Seven in the week, sir, — seven. 
 
 Gilbert. 
 
 The Sabbath— 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Kept. 
 Dice are forbid ; 'tis true the wine cask bleeds. 
 No songs, but then the jest and roaring tale 
 Fill up till midnight — Monday. 
 
 Gilbert. 
 
 Well, 'tis said 
 That where the master's thriftless the man thrives. 
 
 Stephen. 
 Well said, but something tardily. My friend. 
 This is a world of change, a slippery world ; 
 Laggards and slumberers, while 'tis whizzing round. 
 Oft wake to find its prizes filched away 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ' Honesty. 
 
 By hands more wakeful. INIark this cup now ; 
 
 {takes a chalice) gold, — 
 Chaste, sir, and precious. See it ? 
 
 Gilbert. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Plainly. 
 
 
 I 
 
 put 
 
 it in 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 ray pocket {conceals it). 
 
 Gilbert. 
 Well ? 
 
 
 Good. 
 
 p 
 
 ure 
 
 gold 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 That's all, 
 is marketable. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Giluk.rt. 
 Well, 
 
 but- 
 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Pardon, 
 There stands a pepper-caster, massive gold, 
 "Worthy the chalice. Who shall separate 
 These plighted lovers ? No, be wedded here, — 
 My pouch your altar {puts it up). 
 
 Gn.IiERT, 
 
 But is it honest ? 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Dishonest to take wage ? 
 
 Gilbert. 
 
 Why, no. 
 
 Is it 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Then take it ;
 
 Honesty* 5 
 
 You'll get it no way else. Must I explain ? 
 The master's finished. 
 
 Roger. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Concluded, sir, — 
 Thrown his last cast, disbursed his final crown, 
 And some few more. 
 
 Gilbert. 
 Nay, then to business. These {secreting plate, etc.) 
 For wage this year, and next. This to requite 
 My loss of service. This but poorly pays 
 My wountled expectations. This — 
 
 Stephen, 
 
 Away. 
 {As they retire, Trafford enters, Fairfax fol- 
 lowing with papers, etc. Trafford paces the 
 room tJi agitation.') 
 
 Plate, jewels? 
 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 
 
 Fairfax. 
 Gone. 
 
 
 
 
 Trafford. 
 jSIy armoury 
 
 ? 
 
 Lord Seyle boi 
 
 .ight 
 
 Fairfax. 
 that— 
 
 Gone too. 
 
 
 
 Trafford. 
 The miser ! 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Sir,
 
 6 Honesty. 
 
 For hatred, as I think, or, as he called it, 
 Charity. Heaven ])ardon him, his eye 
 Flickered with malice as he mumbled that 
 The rats, which did infest his household might 
 Henceforth have lodgings cheap. 'Twas slight avail, 
 For fifty ])arched anil droughty mouths did catch 
 The golden drops, — aye, almost ere they fell. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Go, sell my horses. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Pardon, sir, that's done. 
 There's not a hair, black, sorrel, brown, or bay, 
 Housed in your stalls, but what might truly call 
 Another man its owner. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Am I mad, 
 Or do you mock me, sir ? What's left ? 
 
 Fairfax {counting on his fingers). 
 
 Your rings, 
 Your garments, your — 
 
 Trafford {furiously). 
 
 Fellow, you've robbed me. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Yes, 
 Even as for thirty years I robbed your father, 
 Hoarding the wealth you've squandered. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Sell my jewels ? 
 Who gave you licence ? Horses too ? Come, come. 
 You have used too much freedom. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 'Tis most true,
 
 Honesty. 7 
 
 A freedom worse than bondage ? Would you hear ? 
 
 I told you we were beggars. Vour reply 
 
 Was a new revel. If J showed two files, — 
 
 On this a thousand bills unpaid, on that 
 
 One poor receipt, you laughed. If, in despair 
 
 I dashed my empty coffer on the floor, 
 
 So to compel your notice, '' Out ! "' you cried, 
 
 " No temper, or no business." Oh ! good sir. 
 
 How can you marvel, since I failed to rouse 
 
 Manhood or masterhood in you, I should thus 
 
 O'erstep my natural duty ? 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Faith ! you have me. 
 Forgive me, good old man. And now to work 
 At last in earnest. If the need be pressing, 
 Pinch me once more our golden sponge ; I mean, 
 Seek Deverell out, the craf.y usurer, 
 And bid him — 
 
 Fairfax. 
 Sir, he'll lend no more. Nay, worse, 
 He has been so loud for present satisfaction 
 Of moneys long fall'n due, that more I dread 
 His sudden quiet. He's a beast that loves 
 An ambush to his soul. 
 
 Trafford {agitated). 
 
 To be struck down 
 Within a leap of safety ! These three months. 
 Used with the foresight of a boy, had won me 
 The richest dower in England. Oh ! sweet cousin, 
 Ev'n now so fair, what art could paint thee, coming 
 With rescue in thy hand ? What noise is that ? 
 
 Fairfax. 
 The proof and witness of my story, sir. 
 Who will not be denied. 
 
 ( Opens a door at the back, through which enter a 
 number of persons of tnean appearance, creditors 
 ^Trafford. He then retires^
 
 8 Ho)icsty. 
 
 Trafford {sfarfi/ig back). 
 
 How's this ? Beset 
 With thieves ? ^Ty steward, sirs — 
 
 First Creditor (Scrivener). 
 
 He bade us hither, 
 Saying that when you saw our wasted mien 
 And ragged robes, you could not choose but hear 
 And give us moneys, — he himself had none. 
 
 Trafford {after a pause addressing one). 
 Your claim ? 
 
 Scrivener. 
 'Tis (juickly said. You owe me, sir, 
 A poor five hundred crowns. That's to your worship 
 A supper missed — to me, existence. Sir, 
 Fever attacked my house ; no leech was there 
 To stop the jilague, no nurse to soothe, no priest 
 To whisper comfort. My young son was seized. 
 And ta'en to sea. I could not buy him off. 
 These woes l)roke down my father's heart. Last night 
 The old man died. 
 
 Trafford. 
 A sad tale, briefly told. 
 Well, sir, your claim ? 
 
 Second Creditor {An old man). 
 
 Your steward came to me 
 Weeping, and cursing the hard fate that made him 
 Slave to a thriftless lord. He knew my soul 
 Did teem with gracious feelings, as my purse 
 With cash ; and still his cry was gold — gold — gold — 
 Give him but gold, and — so Heaven prosper him — 
 It should be ])aid, yea, trebly. By my heart, 
 I could not see the old man wee];, and tear 
 I-ocks white as these. I pledged my house, my land, 
 And, for return, am beggared. For the debt, 
 I will forgive it, noble sir, I will —
 
 Honesty. 
 
 Being no usurer — give but half, mark that, 
 But half mine own. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Enough. Stand back, old friend ; 
 We'll speak again. And thotc ? 
 
 Third Creditor {ycwdlcr'). 
 The Lady 
 
 I dealt in gems. 
 
 Trafford {Jiasiily). 
 So — the pearls ! 
 
 Jeweller {siiHaily) . 
 
 My credit's gone 
 From too much faith in your nobility ; 
 And I, once rich in good report, am called 
 Rogue, cheat, and thief ! Yes, you niay pay the debt, 
 But you have crushed a fairer pearl than all — 
 Mine honourable name. 
 
 Trafford {apat-t). 
 
 This work is mine. 
 I — / have made these poor homes desolate ; 
 From infant mouths kept back the wholesome food ; 
 Struck from the old man's hand the crutch and stay, 
 And left him prostrate ! I — ! God, their tales 
 Cry to me with a truthful, hungry woe, 
 That sounds in spite of all. Ho ! there, within. 
 Fairfax. 
 
 {Enter Deverell with Officers.) 
 
 Officer {to Deverell). 
 Our man, sir ? 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 In the gold brocade.
 
 lO Honesty. 
 
 Trafford. 
 How now, thou cozening slave ! Dost thou lift up 
 Thy heel against me ? 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 Come, sir, better shape 
 Your language to your state. Why do you pause ? 
 Arrest this man. His three chief debts are mine. 
 To jail ! 
 
 {E/ttcr Scn'ant with a ldter>^ 
 
 Servant. 
 Sir, from Sir Philip Lancaster. 
 
 {Exit Scn'ant.) 
 
 Trafford {reads eagerly). 
 Lancaster to the rescue ! Glorious missive ! 
 What a fair hand the old man writes ! All's saved ! 
 All's well ! {Reads again.) 
 
 Officer {aside to Deverell). 
 Shall we proceed, sir ? 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 Fool ! keep quiet. 
 Would you hoist canvas ere you know the wind ? 
 Nearer the door. Don't press the gentleman. 
 'Tis something from his honourable friend 
 That 
 
 Trafford, 
 Welcome, and well timed ! Still lingering, fellow? 
 Read, then 
 
 Deverell. 
 Good sir, your lowliest creature. {To 
 Officers.) Go ! 
 Curse ye, be off I 
 
 Trafford. 
 Lend me your purse. Now, skip.
 
 Honesty. 1 1 
 
 'Twould pose the devil which side of thy double face 
 Shows uglier, slave or bully ! 
 
 {Exeunt Deverell and Officers^ 
 Leave me now, 
 My friends, and mark, to-morrow each man's claim 
 Shall meet due justice. Stay, there's gold for those 
 Whose wants are loudest tongued. At noon, I tell you, 
 And fail me not. To-mornnv I 
 
 {Exeunt Creditors. Re-enter Fairfax.} 
 Now, good Fairfax, 
 Is not this well ? Sir Philip writes me here. 
 That conscious of my suit, so fondly urged 
 (He's pleased to say so) to his beautiful child 
 (Why doesn't he add, and heiress), and, good man ! 
 Feeling that wealth so vast as must endow 
 That tender spirit, asks some hand to share 
 Its kindred duties, bids me put at once 
 My hope to issue. If I win {readins;) — I win 
 Her heart, then "Take her," it concludes, aye, "take her^ 
 Good Master Trafford, s/ie is thine / " ! joy. 
 O ! heaven ! 
 
 Fairfax. 
 You love her, then, sir ? 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 I.ove ! I worship 
 Her and her wealth, alike. And now to work. 
 Indeed ! To stop yon howling throats ; to sweep 
 Out of my fortune's droughty channel, with 
 This rich and bounteous stream, yon carrion flies 
 That 'gin to settle there, and then — why, then 
 If there be surplusage 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 What then? 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 To build 
 An altar, Fortune, to thy goddess-ship —
 
 1 2 Honesty. 
 
 For ever when my need has blamed thee most, 
 Thou cam'st most bounteously ! 
 
 Fairfax {a/ixionsly) . 
 
 You are sure — 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Of /icr ? 
 AVill the sun rise to-morrow ? {Exeunt.) 
 
 SCENE II.— A magiiifiicut apartment in tJic house of Sir 
 Philip Lancaster. 
 
 {Enter Sir Philip and Julia.) 
 
 Julia. 
 How ! leave you, sir? Is your poor nurse become 
 So rude and careless in her ministry, 
 So drowsy in her vigil 
 
 Sir Philip {fretfully). 
 No, girl, no. 
 I said not that. Why do you ever thus 
 Strive to pervert my meaning .'' You believe me, 
 Aye, by your winks, side-looks, and sneers, you think me 
 A weak old man, a ]iettish, weak old man ! 
 One to be dawdled, liumoured, trifled with ; 
 Told fondling lies — 
 
 Julia. 
 Nay, nay, dear sir. 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 A child 
 That must be put, with soothing, sugared words, 
 From dangerous asking. Why, what's seen in me
 
 Honesty. I a 
 
 To argue dotage ? When do I sit at gaze, 
 Gibbering ami making mouths at vacancy ? 
 Call the stars comfits ; think this chair my steed ; 
 Wash hands i' the moonlight ? Julia, Julia, child, 
 'Tis hard that thou shouldst mock me ! 
 
 Julia. 
 
 If one thought, 
 Untempered with its most fit attributes — 
 Dear love and deepest reverence — ever stirred 
 Within my breast, or quickened on my lip 
 In words, may the great Ear of heaven be sealed 
 For ever 'gainst my prayer, and mostly then 
 When my poor soul hath need. 
 
 Sir Philip (/// a hm>, fond tone). 
 
 Let her speak on ! 
 Still pausing, still, whene'er my soul grows warm, 
 And steals into the music. O ! my bird. 
 My melodist ! whose song so gently chides 
 My erring fancies home — when thou art caged, 
 Must thou, as all thy prisoned woodmates do. 
 Give up thy wilding sweetness ? I'll not think 
 Of that. Alas, me ! warble as thou wilt, 
 I shall not hear thee. *" ( Weeps.) 
 
 Julia (apart). 
 There's some painful thought, 
 Or half-born purpose, struggling in his brain. 
 That must be helped to live. Father, dear father, 
 Why then fling forth your happy bird to find 
 Some rough, exacting master, who will change 
 The songs you love to weeping ? Is't to mend 
 Her fortunes ? They are whole. Win pleasures ? Why, 
 I would not give, no, not for twenty thrones, 
 This low stool at your feet. 
 
 Sir Philip {quickly). 
 
 Nay, but you must, 
 And shall 1 I'll have no glittering, foppish fools.
 
 14 Honcstx. 
 
 Pert, feathered popinjays, come swaggering here, 
 Peeping and pointing at a fond, fair girl, 
 "Who, to their envy and lier own lost pain, 
 Wastes the bright sunshine of her happiest years 
 Upon an old, gnarled tree. Owls as they are, 
 There's truth in their dull croakings. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Aye, enough 
 To give the lie to their wisdom. Dearest father. 
 Let me be still your — 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 Child, I need thee not — 
 Love thee, how dearly ; but I need thee not. 
 Yes, ///('//, my music, light, and strength, and eye; 
 The one green leaf crowning my wint'ry age ; 
 My comfortable book, wherein I read 
 Sweet tales of heaven ! thou must be gone, and gild 
 One of that covetous myriad. To that end, 
 I have bid them hither. 
 
 Julia {faintly). 
 
 Whom, my father ? 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 Whom ! 
 Your suitors, child. All that desire to win 
 Your love or gold. Proud Pembroke, Douglas Trafford, 
 Mordaunt, the soldier; Seyle, the miser; Graeme, 
 And flocks of meaner note, all craving. I 
 Proclaimed an open field, and there shall be, 
 I trow, no lack of champions. 
 
 Julia {starting up). 
 
 How, sir ! make 
 A market of your child ? 
 
 Sir Philip (seizing her hand.) 
 Aye, girl, a mart,
 
 Hones fy. 15 
 
 Where thou alone shalt purchase. Dare but cross 
 
 My will in this, and — darling as thou art, 
 
 The knot that ties together my old life — 
 
 I'll sever thee ! Say, 'tis my will herein 
 
 To prove thy wit and judgment. Choose, thou shalt; 
 
 Not as I point, no, no, take or reject ; 
 
 Break hearts or heal ; patch fortunes ; frown or smile ; 
 
 None shall say nay. I would not seek to bind 
 
 Thy judgment to an old warped will. Within : 
 
 i^Enter Sef-varits.) 
 !My daughter needs her tirewoman. The guests 
 Arrive. 
 
 Servant. 
 The hall is thronged, sir. 
 
 Sir Philip {signs to Attendants'). 
 
 Here, I come. 
 
 (Exeunt?) 
 
 END OF ACT I.
 
 i6 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE I. — The street exterior of Sir Philip's mausion. 
 Guests arrivi/ig from time to time. 
 
 {Enter F. Gage, a Pauper follotving?) 
 
 Gage. 
 Nay, spare thy thanks, man. I rejoice with thee. 
 Not I, but truth, put forth thy stifled wrongs ; 
 Not I, but justice, gave them victory : 
 Come, come, no more. Go, and make glad thy home, 
 And husband thy new gain. 
 
 Pauper. 
 
 But, sir, dear sir, 
 Touching the wage wherewith I saiil (I don't 
 INIean to deny it) I wouhl jjay your toil, 
 Should it avail aught — 
 
 Gage {aside, observing Guests). 
 
 Still they come. Still more. 
 A churlish revel. No fair woman's face 
 In all their gilded rout. 
 
 Pauper. 
 
 Sir, as I said — 
 True, 1 am rich ; but wealth, so hardly won, 
 Should be spent sparingly. If these ten crowns — 
 
 CJage {aside eagerly). 
 The strangest concourse ! Mordaunt, too, and Graeme, 
 Lord Seyle. Here will be jarring interests, 
 Or rumour lies. Who ne.xt .-*
 
 Honesty. \ 7 
 
 Pauper (aside). 
 
 Nay, if he cares 
 No mere for't, these five crowns, or three, or none — 
 Sir, hem ! Good morning. 
 
 Gage {start i/ig). 
 
 Stay, I had forgotten. 
 Pray you, return. Listen, your suit is won. 
 You are rich, have plenty ; I have no wealth, nor friend, 
 Save a poor brother, hunger-sick at home ! {Aside.) 
 Still they throng in. Hark, man, I am distressed. 
 Give me, or lend. 
 
 Pauper {aside). 
 So poor ! A trifle, then, 
 Will answer all. My good friend, if this crown 
 May help thee, take it. Justice won my cause. 
 Not thou. {Exit.) 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Alack, poor honesty ! What, Trafford ! 
 
 {Enter Trafford a7id Pembroke.) 
 How the knave porter cringes, as to one 
 May be his lord. I'hey pause. {Retires 7iJ>.) 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 You've caught the mien, 
 And speak the language glibly ; yet, I think, 
 You never loved. 
 
 Trafford. 
 I've watched the sufterers, sir, 
 From the disorder. When the wretch sits thus, 
 With knitted brow, thinking he thinks, speaks short, 
 Refuses wine, looks sheepish, cares not much 
 (Bad symptom that) for play, he's sickening. When 
 This calm is streaked with passion, the locked lips 
 Open and curl with sneers, that man's deceived, 
 And convalescent. Dut if three long months 
 Pass o'er him and no change, the pulse still high, 
 
 c
 
 1 8 Honesty. 
 
 Sleep troubled, mind abstract, and language wild, 
 
 He's dead and gone in love ; he's fit for nought 
 
 But to be scarecrow to the rest. No, no ! 
 
 I'll be no lazar in love's hospital. {They pass in.) 
 
 Gage (adTajici'ng). 
 I can endure no more. To question now 
 Yon lackered menial. Stoop, good pride. 
 
 So, friend, 
 {Approaches a Servant at the door.) 
 Sir Philip feasts to-day ? 
 
 Servant. 
 
 If that your worship 
 Except not to his purpose. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Courteous sir, 
 One other question. What event imports 
 This throng of manly feasters ? 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Sir, my master 
 Holds, as it were, a tournament ; the course 
 Being love, arms, purses, — sword and lance, sweet words — 
 The prize, my Lady Julia ; free to all 
 Of worth and breeding. 
 
 Gage {eagerly). 
 
 Say'st thou ? Stand aside. 
 Let me go in. 
 
 Servant. 
 O ! yes, a likely tale. 
 Vender's the tavern, sir. 
 
 Gagy. {seizing him). 
 
 Fool ! knave and fool ! 
 Did you not tell me — Back, or —
 
 Honesty. ig 
 
 Servant {calls loudly'). 
 
 Ho ! within. 
 
 {Enter Sfaoard.) 
 Well, sir. What now, sir ? Is your humour tamed ? 
 Shall we — 
 
 Steward {fo Sc/Ta/it). 
 Peace, fool. Get to thy work within. 
 We know this gentleman, {Exit Servant.) 
 
 And honour him, 
 Good Master Gage. Yes, but for your bold hand, 
 That stayed her maddened palfrey ere he reached 
 The turn where death stood waiting both, good lack. 
 We had ])een mistressless ! IVc, sir, remember. 
 Do you think slie has forgotten ? No, sir, no — 
 As you shall find, belike. Will you go in ? 
 Here lies the guest-room. Ah ! sir, that you might — 
 Ah ! that you miglit — {Exeunt speaking.) 
 
 SCENE II. — Saloon in Sir Philip's mansion. 
 
 i^YKYYmAV seated, ^viaa beside lii/n. Trafford 
 stands near her. Pembroke, Lord Seyle, 
 Sandell, Gosselin, Mordaunt, and others, 
 si/itors.) 
 
 Gosselin. 
 Psha ! sorry jesting, was't not ? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 'Tis so old. 
 A loser's fashion to abuse the game, 
 I hold my tongue ; but 1 had no chance — none — 
 Nor hope to win. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 Honesty. 
 
 Sandell. 
 Nor I. 
 
 MORDAUNT. 
 
 I simply came 
 To laugh at your long faces ! 
 
 Lord Seyle. 
 
 I x\.\. yours — 
 The longest. {Aside). Cost a hat, though ! 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 How, my friends ! 
 Silenced so soon ? Your merits and your claims. 
 So deftly weighed and rated ? \\'hen I wooed, 
 I would have ta'en my sword-knot for a rope, 
 And hanged myself i'the gate, ere I'd have been 
 So (juickly answered. One would think this wench 
 Had better patience — less desire to quit 
 Her old, weak, whimsical, tyrannical sire. 
 Than hath been boldly spoken ; and must this — 
 This beauty own no lord ; this wondrous wealth 
 (For, let me warn you, 'tis a duchess' dower) 
 No master? Fie 1 What's to be done in this 
 Sad strait ? You, master Trafford, you alone 
 Have not, of all the goodly company, 
 ]''.ssayed that open palm. Find the right spell ; 
 'Tis a woman's, it will close. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 O, sir, I wait 
 My turn. What champion next ? 
 
 {Enter a Servant?) 
 
 Servant. 
 
 A gentleman 
 Claims audience, sir, and — 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 Jiid him come.
 
 Honesty. 2 1 
 
 Trafford {aside). 
 
 Another ! 
 Good. Then I'll end the show. Some city fop. 
 
 {Enter F. Gage). 
 No, as I live, the cunning man of law 
 That pleaded 'gainst me when yon beggar won 
 Redress — 'twas called so — for the means wherewith 
 I \vrested from him what I thought my own. 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 Your name is — 
 
 Trafford {insolently). 
 
 Francis Gage, sir, elsewise styled 
 " The beggars' advocate." 
 
 Gage. 
 
 I thank you, sir. 
 I could not ask a better groom of the chambers ; 
 A humble name, but spotless. 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 Master Gage, 
 Know yourself welcome. Outward fashion, sir, 
 Plain though it be, endangers no man's fortune, 
 So there be that within may challenge claim 
 To my child's love. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Sir, he has none. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 No claim ! 
 Aye, great and manifold, yet shadows all 
 If cast to your arbitrement. I love 
 This lady, deem that love so hopeless, yet 
 So true, doth draw into itself some part 
 Of the perfection of the thing beloved, — 
 Breathing an essence, a sweet, natural life. 
 In what might else seem worthless. I am here,
 
 2 2 Honesty. 
 
 Compelled to speech, for who, at call so open, 
 Stands mute, denies his faith. When you profess, 
 Could / be silent ? 'Twas a moment's duty ; 
 I have done it, and farewell. 
 
 Sir Philip. 
 
 \\'ell said ; but wait 
 Your answer. Speak, child. 
 
 Julia (/;/ a low voice). 
 
 Sir, I can but say 
 What, to no stranger — like this gentleman — 
 Can sound ungracious : Thanks. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 When we give alms — 
 Nay, when withhold them — charity will deign 
 One look. 
 
 (Julia looks at Jiiiii, then averts her face). 
 
 Trafford. 
 What's this ? By heaven, her brow is flame I 
 And 'tis not anger, nor amazement, nor 
 Confusion. Cousin, know you him ? or by 
 What right he stands among us ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Tell me, first, 
 What's yours, to challenge it. 
 
 Gage (aside). 
 
 Pity and pride 
 At strife. Will she deny me? 13e it so. 
 I will forestal the falsehood, sweet, and spare 
 Thy wavering heart a treason. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Sir, you see 
 Your part in the pageant's done.
 
 Honesty. 23 
 
 Gage. 
 
 You, sir, take care 
 Yours shall not pass unheeded. 
 
 Pardon, madam ; 
 We that do fill the social deeps, and prop 
 The rude side of that bright and polished floor 
 Whereon our betters walk, hear from above 
 Sometimes sweet echoes. It is said, your voice, 
 Out of its strangely soothing melody, 
 Can make the hearers weep. O, speak to me ! 
 One word in pity — one — pronounce me beggar, 
 Base, peasant, menial, slave ; thy worst shall lift 
 A million worlds above their ribaldry 
 This soul that worships thee — 
 
 Trafford {fiercely). 
 
 Withdraw, 1 say. 
 (Gage remains unmoved, standing zuitJi folded 
 arms before her. She does not notice him). 
 
 Trafford (enraged). 
 Will you not hear mc, fellow ? Feel, then ! 
 
 {Strikes him with his riding-rod. CiAGE seizes 
 him, and wrests it from his hand. Trafford 
 draws.) 
 
 Sir Philip {starting np). 
 Desist, young sir ! Cease, Douglas Trafford, sheathe 
 That coward sword. O, cousin ! does the word 
 Offend you ? Draw upon a man unarmed, 
 Who but repels unmannered passion, shown 
 Before this girl, my child ? Good sirs, I thank you. 
 The fault of this alarm is partly mine. 
 You have indulged an old man's whim. Let that 
 Blunt the slight sting. As yet, my child is left me ; 
 But there's one still to— well— Heaven's will be done. 
 Come to the board. You, sir, be welcome, too. 
 No ? As you will then. No constraint. Farewell. 
 
 {Exit Gage.)
 
 24 
 
 Honcsfv 
 
 Come, cousin Trafford, know thy fate, but keep not 
 
 The arbiter long in council. Till she comes 
 
 I fast. {Exemit all but Trafford and Julia.) 
 
 Trafford. 
 So, madam, this performance done, 
 And one sole juippet left ujion the board, 
 Will't please you touch the wire ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 It needs not. Go. 
 
 Trafford {impatiently). 
 Julia, no more delay. In candour, cousin, 
 I do believe my happy fortune gives me 
 That precious heart of thine, Avith all its gifts. 
 Too numerous now to reckon, and outward charms, 
 I should but wrong i'the painting. Speak, beseech you, 
 And with one gracious word, heal every insult 
 Borne for thy sake. 
 
 JULTA. 
 
 Provoked. Ill borne. No matter— 
 I loved you, cousin — once. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 I hoped so. Well ? 
 
 Julia. 
 Well! Is that lover-like ? Well, as you say, 
 Ev'n so it is — was, — for 'tis grown a legend — 
 One of those greybeard venerable tales. 
 At which we first thrill with delicious awe; 
 Then ponder, pause, smile; lastly, melt in wonder 
 We ever gave it credence. 
 
 Trafford. 
 How ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 In short,
 
 Honesty. 25 
 
 We've snuffed the candles, sir, put out the ghost, 
 And clipped the fairy's wings. 1 love no more. 
 You are my cousin ; at that pleasant distance 
 I like you well, no nearer. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Julia, Julia, 
 Beware of jesting with — 
 
 Julia. 
 
 With what ? With whom ? 
 What do I wound worth pity when I spurn 
 Thee and thy passion hence ? Restrain your rage. 
 I will not be commanded. I am proud, 
 And, as the i)roud do. hate my haughty peers 
 More than the humble that offend me not. 
 Am / a bird, at the first careless whistle 
 To perch upon your shoulder ? To your revels, 
 Your wine, your dicing ; but, for love, ah ! cousin. 
 Erase that misread monosyllable 
 Out of your memory's book, till your heart own 
 Its sad significance. Storm if you will, 
 I heed it not, but, if you can, lament ; 
 There's grace in that, it were retributive. 
 And I might bear you company, for both 
 Have from a nobler heart than either owns 
 Drawn anguish worse than tears. Cousin, farewell. 
 
 {Exit Julia.) 
 
 SCENE III.— The hall ^/Trafford's house. 
 
 {A crowd of persons. Fairfax at a table with 
 money, etc.) 
 
 Fairfax {paying smeral). 
 There, there, and there. Still crowding ! I have but
 
 i6 Honesty. 
 
 Two hands, and that's a cou})Ie more than men 
 Like using for this sport. There, sir ; take back 
 Thy burly form — give room. This is a court 
 "Where justice' scales weigh truly. Hold, man, so — 
 
 A Man. 
 Good sir, you've paid me double. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Heaven and earth ! 
 Have we an artist here ? Take this man's face. 
 Get it thrice copied. Hang up one i'the market, 
 One in the palace, (hold, sir, take thy gold,) 
 One in my lady's bower. 'Tis honesty 
 Disguised as man. {Loo/cs round.) Content } 
 
 Many Voices. 
 
 All, all ! 
 ^^TRAFFORD enters cloaked, and pauses unobserved.)^ 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Oft" then, 
 Ye cormorants. Think better of the world, 
 / do already. One man claims no more 
 Than his fair due. Another, that's my lord. 
 Strips his own shoulders, sells his horses, rings. 
 Begs, borrows ; yea, he pilfers (since 'tis theft 
 Fondly to trust the future), and all this 
 To see your claims amended. 
 
 {Exeiuit creditors. Tr AFFORD advances.)' 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Fairfax {starting). 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Trafford. 
 This is the truth ?
 
 Honesty. 2 7 
 
 Fairfax. 
 Ay, sir, what matter now ? 
 
 Trafford. 
 Man, I have played ; I have trilled with the game 
 And lost it. Do you hear? Have we no rope 
 Save that ? 'Tis shipwreck, and all's done. E'en now 
 We drift upon the rocks — lost, shattered, sunk, 
 Beyond a hope or succour. 
 
 Fairfax (aghast). 
 
 And — and — Deverell ! 
 
 Trafford {gazing round'). 
 Death to the hound ! Smells he the blood already ? 
 What's to be done ? Go howl to Lancaster 
 For his proud child ! No, dotard as he is, 
 He will not cross her. Might he die this night, 
 Much would be mine. And, Julia, but to bend 
 Thy haughty neck ! 
 
 Fairfax {aside). 
 How pale he looks ! Dear sir — 
 
 Trafford. 
 Give me my cloak. I'll taste the air. I want 
 My sword, too. Never look so frightened, man ; 
 I know what fancy moves thee. Were it so, 
 Wherefore should I go forth ? If I sought death, 
 My soul would pierce these roofs as easily 
 As 'twould the yielding and invisible air 
 Before my footstep. Follow not, I say. 
 
 {He goes otd.) 
 
 END OF ACT II.
 
 28 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A meanly furnished chamber. 
 
 (F. Gage "tcriting by a feeble himp. Cyril lies 
 stretched upon a rude mattress on the floor.) 
 
 Gage {after looking up impatiently'). 
 No rest ! No peace ! Boy — Cyril ; boy, I say ! 
 Now you feign sleep. Come, come — your lips but now 
 Shaped out articulate words. Could you be still j 
 Vexing yourself, you torture me, and turn 
 The idle loatliing of a petted child 
 'Gainst slumber's medicine. Why so restless, boy ? 
 
 J cannot sleep. 
 
 Cyril. 
 
 
 
 Gage. 
 You sigh, too. Why is that ? 
 
 For idleness. 
 
 Cyril. 
 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Tut— tut ! 
 
 
 
 Cyril. 
 For pastime, 
 
 then. 
 
 He will not say 
 
 Gage (aside). 
 for hunger. 
 
 
 Cyril {starting up). 
 
 Stay. I'll work.
 
 Honesty. 29 
 
 I've strengtii enough, and courage enough, to share 
 This labour with you. See, a page half tilled ; 
 While yours is scarce begun. 
 
 Gage (jnatching Cyril's peii). 
 Do you forget 
 I am your elder, sir? What folly's this? 
 You shall do no work, 1 say. 
 
 Cyril {faintly). 
 
 Yes, by your leave. 
 Must you, though elder, slave for both ? 
 
 Gage {falling on his shoulder). 
 
 My Cyril, 
 Not in reproach I spoke ; but boasting, rather. 
 The right of elder birth to bear the load 
 That fortune lays upon us. Patience, patience. 
 Seed-time is weary, but the harvest comes. 
 
 Cyril. 
 There is more blessing in your love, dear brother, 
 Than fear in that word, death. I do not wish 
 To live. Do you ? 
 
 Gage. 
 Do I ? What ! Cyril, fold 
 Our idle arms and sink, because the land 
 Is hard to reach ! Come, 'tis a coward creed. 
 Why those, my boy, whom giddy Fortune showers 
 Her costliest favours on, who glitter by 
 Wrapt in her flimsy shows, drunk with her smile. 
 Are Heaven's least favoured children. Come, to rest. 
 So there, to rest. (Cyril lies down and sleeps^ 
 
 At last. Thanks, kindly sleep. 
 Unfee'd physician, work thy cure. For me, 
 I can nor rest nor labour. 
 
 {He moves irsflessly about, pauses.) 
 Morn already ! 
 Another night has crept into the void
 
 30 Honesty. 
 
 And silent space of that eternity 
 
 That went before tlie world. If I have scorned, 
 
 restful night, thy brief and priced hours, 
 
 1 have robbed them of their sterner portion too. 
 Dark dream and bitter fancy. 
 
 {^A knock, he does not heed it.) 
 Julia, Julia ! 
 {Knocking repeated. Enter Deverell, bursting 
 in the door.) 
 
 Deverell. 
 You keep me knocking at your beggarly hutch 
 As though I were your servant, fellow, not 
 You mine. 
 
 Gage. 
 You have supplied the reason. 'Tis 
 A beggarly hutch, and not a palace. 
 
 Deverell. 
 Gage, 
 
 What ? 
 
 I say 'tis not a palace. 
 
 Deverell. 
 Well? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 No need 
 To thunder at a poor man's door. 'Tis free 
 I'o all, as 'tis to death. {Turns away.) I am a fool 
 To rail. 
 
 Deverell. 
 Proceed, sir. Where didst learn this fine 
 Philosophy ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 In sorrow's school.
 
 Honesty. 3 1 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 I thought so ! 
 There's not a student, under his wise rule, 
 But he's a paragon of virtue. Come, 
 My papers ; are they finished ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 No. 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 No! Not— 
 Not finished? And you dare sit idling here. 
 Why, sirrah, 'tis a loss of fifty pounds, 
 If 'tis a penny. 
 
 Gage. 
 And to me a loss 
 Of, let me see, five groats. Is't not enough 
 To starve ? 
 
 Deverell. 
 Hark, sirrah ! I have known you long. 
 And learned your fashions. In the eyes of men 
 You do affect a breathless industry — 
 A very lust of labour ; a fuie love 
 Of honesty, which, much exalting thee, 
 Of all men else makes thieves ; yet here you sit 
 In sullen laziness, that hardly deigns 
 Move hand to lip, charged with the unearned food 
 That better men provide thee. As for him, 
 The indolent whelp, I'll quickly — {^Approaches CVRIL.) 
 
 Gage {starting 7ip). 
 
 No. Stand back ! 
 He is too ill to labour. You may read 
 So much in that white cheek. Stand back, sir, or — 
 {Aside). But patience first. Good master Deverell, 
 Touch not my gentle brother. 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 'Sdeath! I will.
 
 32 Honesty. 
 
 Get up, sir. {Shakes him.) Work ! ]My papers ? Up ! 
 
 No drones 
 Hive here. {Seizes him roughly.) 
 
 Gage {rushing on hini). 
 Thou thing of self— unmannered brute, 
 Aping man's presence. 
 
 {Hurls him to the other end of the room.) 
 Cheerly, Cyril. Nay, 
 Lie down again. Ee tranquil. / am here. 
 
 Deverell {7vho has risen slowly). 
 ^Vho houses serpents must beware their sting. 
 It is a perilous mercy. I'll be quit on't. 
 Boys, we will speak again. {Exit Deverell.) 
 
 Cyril. 
 
 What ! — is he gone? 
 What said he, brother ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Nay, I care not. Yet, 
 The red, malignant flicker his dull eye 
 Sent back to us, spoke mischief Had you but 
 The needful strength, we might go forth and seek 
 A better, friendlier shelter. Back already! 
 
 {Re-enter Deverell.) 
 
 Deverell. 
 Now, gentle master Francis, aye, and you, 
 !My pretty Cyril, though I'd willingly 
 Bear with some loss, 1 cannot entertain 
 Guests of such hot design. If I mistake not. 
 There stands a brief account between us here 
 For food, for coin advanced, for lodging. Now, 
 Pay me, or tramp. 
 
 Cvril. 
 
 Alas ! goodmaster.
 
 Honesty. 2,2) 
 
 Gage {^pointing to Cyril). 
 
 Look. 
 He's ill. 
 
 Deverell. 
 The almshouse, or the hospital. 
 Come, sir. I wait, sir. What ! no money ? None ? 
 Shall I be swindled thus ; and when I come 
 Softly to seek mine own, be bowled aside 
 Like a king ninei:)in ? 
 
 Gage. 
 Fellow, give us peace 
 Till evening, I will then account to thee 
 For more than is thy due. 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 Do you forget 
 The blow ? /do not. Were yon livid wretch 
 At his last gasp, he should not spend it here. 
 You know the law, sir. Out he goes ! Away ! 
 
 Gage. 
 I hiow the law. He shall not. 
 
 Deverell, 
 
 Good. I'll help 
 You forth, {Stamps, Bailiff aud Assisiauts enter.) 
 
 Now, Master Grasp, come in, and rid 
 This dove's nest of some cuckoos. 
 
 (Cvril leans faintly on F. Gage.' 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Force alone 
 Shall move us. Don't essay it. {Enter Pembroke.) 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Is — How now? 
 A brawl ?
 
 34 Honesty. 
 
 Deverell. 
 Another creditor ! 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 I come 
 To Master Gage. Is this his chamber, sir 
 
 Deverell. 
 No, sir, 'tis mine ; though, 'faith, this advocate, 
 This man of law, disputes it with me. What's 
 Your pleasure with him ? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 You're his clerk then? 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 /.' 
 
 Pembroke. 
 Who bade you ask my pleasure, then ? 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 His clerk f 
 This fellow's — 'Sdeath ! Sir, you shall presently see 
 Who's clerk, who master. Troop, sirs. 
 
 Pembroke {interposing). 
 
 Patience, fellow. 
 ISIust we hear nothing but your brawling tongue ? 
 I come to Master Gage, the advocate. 
 If I mistake not, i/iis is he — and, sir, 
 I would entreat ten words. 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 I'hen take the street 
 For council-chamber. This fine lawyer, sir, 
 Hath not a closet save what sparrows, daws. 
 Kites, and such vermin, share with him. Come on. 
 My money, sir ; ten crowns.
 
 Honesty. 35 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Ten crowns ! There's twenty, 
 {T/iro-iOs a purse.) 
 Only to stop thy mouth. And now, begone. 
 A life's at stake, sir. Leave us. 
 
 (Deverell gazes a moment in surprise, then goes 
 out 7C'ith Attendants, etc.) 
 
 I am here 
 In anxious suit, seek honest aid, and take, 
 You see, the nearest way. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 A friendly face 
 Needs no apologist. Nay, I hold some clue, 
 For you have called me honest, and may know 
 It is my popular nickname, sir. Axe you so? 
 Do you come fairly from the world to court 
 A man that's out of fashion ? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Fairly, sir. 
 Waste no suspicion on me. I am sent 
 By one in peril, whom you can aid — none better ; 
 Indeed none else. 
 
 Gage. 
 Not you, sir, but your gold 
 Roused my distrust. My clients wear no purses ; 
 They are poor common knaves, downtrodden mostly, 
 Under some golden wrong. We starve together. 
 Truth is a hungry calling. To the point ! 
 Those twenty crowns — 
 
 Pembroke {hesitating). 
 I fear that I — 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Say on. 
 You have a suit that must be pressed, and I, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Honesty. 
 
 You know, lack labour. I'll not slumber on't, 
 Be sure. And, for the cause, 'tis based, I know, 
 On right and honesty, else wherefore here ? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 'Faith, sir, you bid me speak, and yet your words 
 Crush mine i'the forming. I'd invoke your aid, 
 To soften guilt scarce questioned. 'Tis indeed, 
 A monarch fault, a crime whose giant shape 
 Unfolds so redly on the eyes of men, — 
 Displays such foul and hideous leprosy, 
 It might almost be stamped a fellow-sin 
 To speak on such a side, or interpose 
 One breath, when justice, armed and terrible, 
 Awakes to strike it down. 
 
 Gage. 
 'Tis. 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 MurderJ 
 
 Gage {after a pause). 
 
 Well ! 
 That's called so, which sometimes is none. The fruit 
 Of madness, misadventure. 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Here 'tis linked 
 With a most foul accomplice — one that oft. 
 Working less bloodily, hath murdered too — 
 Filthy ingratitude. Serene old age — 
 But I waste time. Sir Philip Lancaster 
 Is dead — by poison. 
 
 Gage. 
 Dead ! Then parricide 
 Is rife among us.
 
 Honesty. 37 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Strange ! 
 
 Gage. 
 
 What's strange, sir? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 You touch the point so boldly. Did you say- 
 Parricide ? 
 
 Tiiat 
 
 Gage. 
 Aye, sir, not a wretch but found 
 A father in him ! You would have nie plead 
 For his assassin ! Me! I would not deem 
 That you intend an insult. Pardon me, {Rises.') 
 
 Time wears. 
 
 Pembroke {going). 
 Sir, God be with you. As regards 
 Those coins, I — 
 
 Gage {starting). 
 I had forgotten. Take 
 Your offered — T'tis too late. Sir, do not bind 
 My gratitude in such foul, loathsome chains ! 
 Nay then, some cause, some colourable end. 
 Why this fair life was ta'en. Not ev'n the savage 
 Will slay for slaying's sake. What cause, sir ? Madness? 
 Nor wrong? nor insult ? nor revenge? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 There's none. 
 {As Gage stands irresobitc, Cyril leans upon 
 him.) 
 
 Gage. 
 'Tis a bargain. Now, sir, to your tale ; 
 Out with it, quick. Show me the ditch, the pool, 
 Where I must plunge these honest hands and wring
 
 38 Ho7iesty. 
 
 The filthy dregs. I am guilt's swora brother. Come^ 
 Show't me, I say ! 
 
 Pembroke. 
 That's reasonable, now. 
 Listen. An hour past sunrise, you shall hear 
 Two blows on yonder panel. When you'd see 
 The murderer — 
 
 Gage. 
 How, at large ? 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 But trebly girt, 
 With eyes that would outstarc the basilisk. 
 Stay — you may need more gold. Here, here, and here. 
 Mark me ; an hour past sunrise. {Exit Pembroke.) 
 
 Gage (after a pause). 
 
 Cyril, Cyril, 
 Is — is he gone ? 
 
 Cyril. 
 Owx friend, dear brother ! look, 
 The gold. 
 
 Gage. 
 Sweet Cyril, 'tis the wage of hell ! 
 And I and honesty henceforth are foes. 
 
 {Falls on Cyril's neck^ 
 
 SCENE II.— A saloon in Trafford's /iouse. 
 
 {Music heard within. Guests enter in departure. 
 MoRDAUNT, Gosselin, Sandell, and others. 
 Tkkivokh follows eagerly.)
 
 Honesty. 3 9 
 
 Trafford. 
 Nay, come \ another round. 
 
 GOSSELIN. 
 
 Enough, already ; 
 Day blushes for us. Look ! 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Yet one more chorus, 
 Then part. Fill up the goblets,— gentlemen. 
 A health {i:;ucsts going). Indeed ! Well if it must be so, 
 My good friends all, farewell. {^Exeunt Gtiesis.) 
 
 Fairfax! {Enter Steiuaj-d). The hour? 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Night should be past, sir, yet it is not day. 
 The lids of morning droop. The sun was never 
 So loath to shine I 
 
 Trafford. 
 So shamed, sir ; that were truer ; 
 that, for one day, man might sleep supine, 
 And the surprised sun sink, as he arose, 
 The witness of no sorrow ! Hist ! 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 I heard 
 No noise, sir. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Man, nor I, 'twas fancy raised 
 Those shouts and cries of — {a roll oj thunder'). Hark ! 
 
 Fairfax. 
 'Tis thunder. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Groans 
 Wrung from the over-burdened element. 
 Not, as some say, the voice — {Enter a Servant)
 
 40 Ho/iesty. 
 
 Servant. 
 
 A woman, sir, 
 Craved shelter from the storm, who, having heard 
 Your name, fell swooning, and hath since besought 
 A moment's speech with you. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Admit her. Leave me. 
 {Exeunt So rants. £nter Infelice.) 
 Spirit of unrest ! 
 
 Always prophetic of mischance and ill ; 
 Pale star that sittest in my house of life, 
 To thwart my fairest auguries ! alas — 
 Why dost thou ever haunt me ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 For revenge, 
 Or justice. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Will you threaten ? Learn the truth. 
 The spring-day of my passion hath gone by. 
 The ghost of a dead love is loathlier far 
 Than was its being beauteous. Do you doubt ? 
 Look on my cheek, 'tis white ; the eye-lid dry ; 
 There, take my hand, 'tis cold. You cannot trace 
 Love's fever in't. The pulse, 'tis slow and dull, 
 Passion's quick foot skips like a bacchanal ! 
 Farewell, and peace be with thee ! 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 For the dear quiet meadows where we passed 
 That first unconscious time ? Why did you teach 
 The wrong you will not mend ? Why roughly wake 
 This restless, inward monitor ; then leave me 
 To bear the scourge alone ? Why say that we 
 Should, in like peace, with hands thus fondly twined. 
 And hearts thus bound, pass on from youth to age.
 
 Honesty, 4 1 
 
 And I, thy wife ? Alas ! I knew not then 
 What worth was in that word. Both blest, and I 
 So rich in love, I would have given it for 
 A kiss, a smile, a word, — a very 7oord 
 Had you so wooed me. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Why this change ? 
 
 Infelice {coiiccalhig her face). 
 
 Because 
 
 It lacked the mirror of the world's hard eye 
 To teach my heart its nakedness. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Enough — 
 My girl. You speak in vain. Between our souls 
 Is hung a veil through whose funereal gauze 
 Thy form, once fair, grows hideous. You know not 
 What toils environ me — what frowning fears 
 Make death seem beautiful. 
 
 Infelice {eagerly). 
 
 Dash them aside, 
 And live ! A gentle voice to our lost home 
 Recalls us. Come away ; quit these dark scenes. 
 And seek once more the valley where we strayed 
 From morn, not blither than our own glad souls. 
 Till languid eve, when to our lattice-pane 
 The prating night breeze stole with kiss and hymn 
 To chide our tireless talk. Cheerly, sweet life, 
 Come ; we have both been wanderers. I, the first, 
 Have seen the peril of the wa}- ; and now — 
 By honour's path, to truth, to peace, to love, 
 To calm in this poor world, and bliss beyond — 
 I woo thee back. 
 
 (Trafford titriis, deeply moved, and holds her by 
 both arms apart?) 
 
 Trafford. 
 My love ! my o\vn !
 
 42 Honesty. 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Ah, Heaven ! 
 He loves me yet ! Thine own ! Oh ! let me die 
 Thus on thy breast, my weary sad heart's home. 
 Thou wilt not force thy worn and shattered bark 
 To warring seas again. {Enter a Servant, running.y 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Sir, sir, alas ! 
 Oh ! good Sir Philip— 
 
 Trafford {seizing hini). 
 
 Fellow, when — where — how ? 
 Who did the deed ? 
 
 Servant. 
 
 The murder, sir ! 
 
 Trafford {eagerly). 
 
 Away ! 
 Call up thy fellows, arm them — 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Sir, 'tis vain. 
 The wretch was taken. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Ah! 
 {Servant approaching hijn, whispers. He drops 
 his sword.) 
 
 Dog ! this is false. 
 Some palsied beldame duped thee with this tale, 
 Wrought out of drunken sleep. {Seirant whispers again.) 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 What dreadful thing has chanced? Speak, dearest,. 
 
 speak. 
 Let me partake thy sorrow.
 
 Honesty. 43 
 
 Trafford {trying to avoid he?-). 
 Woman, go. 
 You madden me. Is this a time— Begone ! 
 
 Infelice {dinging to him). 
 Not in thy sorrow, then. I love thee. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Hence ! 
 {Thro'ci's her off, and exit.) 
 
 Infelice. 
 Hear, earth, sole parent ! Ere this humbled knee 
 Lift from thy dusty bosom life's dull load, 
 From throne and empire do I here depose 
 My o'er-enduring love ; thought, word, or deed, 
 By love engendered, do confess a sin ; 
 And every gift of nature, reason, strength, 
 Wit, courage, craft, devote to furnish forth 
 A vengeance worthy of my wrongs — and thee ! {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE III.— 77/^ apartment of Gage. 
 (Gage discovered reading) 
 
 Gage. 
 " Wherefore, to let the guiltie 'scape the law, 
 Is soe much mercie as he findes who slippes 
 The hangman's gripe, and, leapynge, is empayled 
 Upon the speares below."* 'Tis quaintly summed, 
 But with such close and cogent reasoning. 
 Thou plead'st for patience ami the sheathed sword, 
 'Tis won ; and herein will I marshal me 
 
 * The remark of an old writer.
 
 44 Honesty » 
 
 Upon the piteous side. (S////fs the book.) 
 
 A sound — a step ! 
 The murderer comes. Oh guilt ! what deadly fear ; 
 What sick, expectant tremor, conscience-born, 
 Is eloquent in every glance and breath. 
 Footfall and finger-touch ! {A knock.) Thou knockest 
 
 timidly 
 For one of heart so bold. Approach. 
 
 {Enter Julia Lancaster.) 
 ( Without tur/n'/ig) .Vpijroach. 
 
 Why dost thou hesitate ? I sit not here 
 To judge thee, but defend. What, robbed of speech? 
 {Aside) Perchance he weeps ; and if he weeps there's 
 
 shame, 
 And shame is pitiful. {Looks round and starts up.) 
 
 (After a pause) 'Tis life ! It breathes ! 
 
 Oh ! lady, why — Your will, beseech you ? Pardon, 
 I did not dream of this. 'Twas Pembroke's tongue 
 Bade me expect — not ikee — 
 
 Julia. 
 
 My messenger 
 Did his kind mission faithfully. All, save he. 
 Fled from my side, scared by this cloud of blood. 
 And left me to the storm. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Grief, gende lady, 
 F'or this most sudden and most foul misdeed 
 Hath hurt your reason. 
 
 JUUA. 
 
 Are my words so wild ? 
 I did not know it. Pardon ; Fll be lirief ; 
 Indeed, 'tis needful, for Avithout stand those 
 Will not be long controlled. .Misjudge me not, 
 That's necessary too. Know therefore, sir, 
 I am by nature cold and passionless ; 
 An unemotioned, tearless wretch, — not so 
 'Ihe safer — happier, ijuch mental mould
 
 Ho7iesty. 4^ 
 
 Repels the pigmy darts that slay the weak , 
 
 But when the arrow pierces, it remains 
 
 And rankles to the core. Not joy, nor grief, 
 
 Nor any sharp soul-sickness ever dimmed 
 
 Mine eye, nor spurred these pulses. Place a hand 
 
 Here, on my bosom ; there's the heart within, 
 
 Coldly and sternly pacing to and fro 
 
 His natural prison. I would kneel and bless you 
 
 If you could make me weep. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Pray speak your will ; 
 Why breathe I but to hear it ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Softly, sir ; 
 Here will be recantations. To be plain, 
 I am called Sir Philip's murderer. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Thou ? Oh, Heaven ! 
 Who dares accuse thee ? Tell me, let me seek 
 In his black heart — 
 
 Julia. 
 
 I seek an advocate, 
 A man of peace, crafty, and wise, and cool ; 
 Quick to discern, and patient to enlarge 
 Such flaw as chance may offer in that net 
 Spread to enmesh the guilty — 
 
 Not i/tec ! — not thee ! 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Yes, the guilty- 
 
 Julia. 
 Have I denied the deed ? 
 
 Gage. 
 Nay, do so ; I had forgotten. How long bear you
 
 46 Honesty. 
 
 !My questioning gaze ? Must I, to win denial, 
 Ev'n feign suspicion ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 To the work in hand ; 
 For my unliveried pages will abide 
 No longer question. Listen. I was seized — 
 The fatal goblet in tliis hand ; and tJiis, 
 Glued to the ohl man's white and wrinkled brow, 
 Searching 'midst its dead pulses to discern 
 If more were left to do. Thus was I found, 
 I — /, his nurse — his leech — his cupbearer — 
 Almost his pillow, for no sleep so calm 
 As that which visited those grey old lids 
 At rest upon my bosom. 
 
 Gage. 
 Thanks, kind Heaven ! 
 All's clear, all's safe ! You knew not — could not dream 
 That death was in the cup. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 So well I knew 
 That silent agent's skill and potency, 
 That when I saw the baleful glitter hang 
 Upon his lip, I knew me fatherless 
 Ere life had fluttered forth. Have I not said 
 None but myself did cater to his meal ? 
 None but myself watched o'er his slumbering? 
 Hath any seen me mourn him ? If not guilt, 
 It is a task well worth your eloquence 
 To give't an honest mien. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Eternal power ! 
 Rend off the veil from this strange heart, and show 
 Its natural colour. 
 
 Julia. 
 Will you answer me ?
 
 Honesty. 47 
 
 I sent for other aid. Alas ! none came. 
 You have infected men with hate of crime ; 
 And not for gold — ambition — pity — pride — 
 Will one hold counsel with me. You have cut 
 My hope away. Defend — or let me die. 
 
 CtAGE. 
 I will defend you, but— Oh, woman ! woman ! 
 If you have done this, you have slandered Heaven, — 
 I^ied to the hand that framed and sent you forth 
 A bright ambassador to teach mankind 
 Truth's grace and loveliness ! Thus, double traitress 
 To nature and to God, how can you hope 
 Emancipation ? Speak, in mercy, speak ! 
 For oh ! 'tis easier than to think thee guilty, 
 To hold that mirror false in which we view 
 Men's crimes inlimned, — the scales iniquitous 
 In which we weigh them. Guide us now, great Heaven, 
 That, for some wise inexplicable end. 
 Hast let the rebel angels loose among us, 
 But veiled their thunder-scars. {He turns a7vay.) 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Well, your reply, 
 And quickly ? I am called. 
 
 Gage (eagerly). 
 
 I am resolved ; 
 Guilty or not, strange being, I am thine, 
 Heart, soul, and brain. Oh ! yet be merciful. 
 Hear me, thou shalt — 
 
 (Throws himself madly at her feet?) 
 Look ! By this constant earth, 
 The air that robes it, and the heaven that guides — 
 By every passion sown in human hearts — 
 Mine own unheeded love, by these fond tears 
 That, bursting some sealed conduit, will have way, — 
 With glance or gesture, if not word, reply — 
 Are you not innocent ? Lift from my soul
 
 48 Honesty. 
 
 The burden of tliis doubt, and all that love, 
 Such as man never felt, can urge man to, — 
 Art, eloquence, and skill, and zeal, and passion, — 
 I'll do for thee, and, Heav'n permitting, save thee. 
 Art thou not innocent ? 
 
 (Julia stamps slightly. Sa'cral persons otter 
 and surround licr.^ 
 
 Julia. 
 You see. And so, 
 Farewell. For ever,— or but till the hour 
 Of trial ? Speak. I may expect you ? 
 
 Gage {^liides Iit's face). 
 
 Aye. 
 {Exit Julia, guarded. Gage sinks into his 
 chair.) 
 
 END OF ACT III.
 
 49 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A room in Trafford's house. 
 
 (Enter Fairfax, with Infelice disguised.) 
 
 Fairfax. 
 Eat, drink, and sleep ; 'tis well, sir. What beside ? 
 Canst lie, too ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 No. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 Why, there, thou dost ! How old ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 Eighteen, sir. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 And no falsehood yet ? Tell truth, 
 For eighteen years ! A page, too ? 'Tis the first 
 Step of thy calling. 
 
 Infelice. 
 An it please you, sir, 
 Under tuition, I'll soon — 
 
 Fairfax {pushes her away) . 
 Out! 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 But I've 
 Some lighter arts, sir. I can sing a stave , 
 Dance, strike the cymbal — 
 
 E
 
 50 Honesty, 
 
 Fairfax {ti/rning). 
 
 Sing ! boy. Canst thou sing ? 
 Then serve my master. 'Faith, one strain shall more 
 Bestead thee than a score of silken lies, 
 Spun from the devil's own loom. My master's sick 
 For music. If thy warbling can allay 
 His frenzied spirit, we are thy debtors all ; 
 For since his kinsman's murder, he doth fright 
 All duty from him. do, my boy, get food, 
 Dress, and come hither. 
 
 {Exit Infelice. Trafford enters slowly and 
 dejectedly, Ins dress neglected, etc) 
 Sir, Fve chanced upon 
 A minstrel page. 
 
 Trafford. 
 I met him yonder ; 'tis 
 A fair, well-seeming boy. There was a thought 
 Troubling my mind. Ah ! Fairfax, didst thou give 
 Those alms I spoke of? 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Aye, sir ! Gratefully, 
 The poor souls took them ; will repay, too, nobly 
 With poverty's sole coin — its tearful prayers. 
 
 Trafford, 
 This wealth was lent, 'tis bought. But zvill they do so ? 
 Will they remember, Fairfax? 
 
 I think so. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 On my faith. 
 
 Trafford. 
 Go ! {Exit Fairfax.) 
 
 I am restless, sick, and sad. 
 Faint at the heart, and weary in the limb. 
 Could bluster with a sparrow, rhide the wind 
 That, with the mu.sic of its westering moans.
 
 Honesty, 5 1 
 
 Mocks my tumultuous — {Rc-enfcr Fairfax.) 
 
 How, sir ! I have said 
 I'll speak with none. 
 
 {Enter Deverell. Fairfax retires.) 
 
 Deverell. 
 But friends. (Trafford turns away^ Aye, friends, 
 
 good sir, 
 If you'll hear all. You owe me, as I think, 
 Some seven thousand — {Looks at tablets.) 
 
 Trafford {impatiently). 
 
 Know at once, old man, 
 I cannot pay thee. 
 
 Deverell. 
 Nay, most honoured sir, 
 Who talked of payment ? Thomas Deverell 
 Feels for his friends. He's not a post, a stone. 
 And seeks no further than to 'scape the losses 
 Men daily thrust upon him. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Master Deverell, 
 Show me your drift. You knew my hopes, and how 
 This most unhappy 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 Murder ! Aye, I know 
 What's said, and I suspect that — You look pale ! 
 
 Trafford. 
 Proceed, man. Never heed my looks. {Sits down.) 
 
 Deverell. 
 
 'Tis plain 
 She's guilty ; and, as lucky fortune wills, 
 Old black-browed Gisborne sits in judgment, — he 
 Whose Hfe his own child sought. He'll not be found 
 Too hard of faith ! What slender proof soe'er, 
 
 e 2
 
 52 Honesty. 
 
 He'll hang her for ensample. But the law 
 Is complex and unsure, and those wise brains 
 Who lend, for wage, the talents Heaven assigned, 
 In aid of its worst foes, might haply light 
 Upon some nook of refuge. Now, admire 
 My prudence, su-. I have seen these gentlemen ; 
 Some I have bought, persuaded some, of some 
 T')eep in my debt, made sure ; and so 'twill fall 
 That no lip opens on the accused side ; 
 No witness called to palliate, nor quaint rule 
 Be twisted to her safety. What remains ? 
 The murderess once disposed, her forfeit wealth 
 Due to the crown, shall, on petition, fall 
 To you, her kinsman. Is this — Ha ! how now ! 
 FaH'n senseless ! Ho ! 
 
 {Re-enter Infelice and Fairfax.) 
 
 Look to your lord. Poor fool ! {aside; exit). 
 
 Trafford {recovering). 
 
 Then he is gone ; nay, leave me ; all is well. 
 I will o'ercome this weakness. 
 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Sir, the Court 
 Send to require your presence. 
 
 Trafford {to Infelice). 
 
 Alan, haste 
 To master Pembroke. Bid him follow me 
 To — to the court — of — ah ! he knows. Away. 
 
 {Exetmt.y
 
 Honesty. 53 
 
 SCENE ll,-—21ic street. Exterior of the Court Hall. 
 
 {Many persons assembled and passing to and fro. 
 Enter Pembroke and Infelice.) 
 
 Pembroke. 
 This note, boy, to your master. As you pass. 
 Note well the prisoner — looks she red or pale — 
 Stands she — or sits — who's speaking ; if the judge. 
 The elder of them, he with sluggish brows, 
 Fingers his robe, thus. Then to me again ; 
 Here will I stand beside this pillar. Fly. 
 
 {Exit Tnfelice.) 
 Myself I dare not trust. Here's one conies forth — 
 
 (Enter a clerk.) 
 How goes the day, sir ? 
 
 Clerk {juith a conceited air). 
 Very gloomily 
 For justice ; well for those, sir, who possess 
 Light consciences, and skill in drugs ! {Exit.) 
 
 Pembroke {approaching nearer). 
 
 All's still ! 
 What beating hearts anticipate the birth 
 Of fate, that pregnant pause may furnish ! Ah ! 
 
 {A sudden and loud murmur heard wit/iin, tJien 
 enter two Advocates, eagerly conversing.) 
 
 First Advocate. 
 Well spoke, I grant ! But 'tis a dangerous zeal 
 That o'ersteps nature. Never was truth so mauled, 
 So daubed with fancies hypothetical, 
 Andthrust in reason's room ! (Exeunt.) 
 
 {Enter another Advocate.) 
 
 Pembroke {meeting him). 
 
 Whither so fast ?
 
 54 Honesty. 
 
 Third Advocate. 
 To bum my books, sir, sell my gown, and give 
 My tongue a lasting holiday. No hope 
 For plain dull plodders more. Gage is the man ! 
 In the rich field of mortal eloquence 
 He hath not left a flower. No sophistry 
 Forgotten, shift unventured. Sir, he forced 
 Belief from weak hearts. Where the strong refused, 
 He took his tribute out in womanish tears, 
 Dropt on the yellow scrolls his pained, pleased hearers 
 Sought to seem studying ! Hearts of adamant. 
 And nerves of steel ! else is yon fair wretch free, 
 Half England at her footstool. Ha ! 
 
 (Gage staggers out. They surround km.) 
 
 Omnes. 
 
 Huzza! 
 
 Gage {struggling through theui.') 
 Off I breathe fire ! ' 
 
 A Clerk {foUoics him eagerly with scrolls). 
 
 An hundred crowns, sir, hold — 
 Plead but this cause to-morrow. We have long 
 Beheld your rising. No 1 Then, fifty more, 
 A hundred more I Two hundred, sir, for tliis — 
 And every future — 
 
 Gage {distractedly). 
 
 Lost ! lost ! lost ! {Rushes out.) 
 
 Clerk. 
 
 O! mad. 
 
 {Returns.) 
 
 (Pembroke to Infelice who enters). 
 Alas ! condemned. Away ! Let's after him. 
 
 {Exeinit. Crowd dispel se^
 
 Honesty. 55 
 
 SCENP: III.— The Court. 
 
 {J^udi^cs and officials seated. Julia stands before 
 them, guarded. Trafford as accuser, with 
 Advocates, etc. The court, croivded ivith persons 
 of botli sexes, is dimly lighted, and the whole 
 wears a dismal aspect.) 
 
 First Judge. 
 Record the verdict. 
 
 Crier of the Court. 
 Julia Lancaster, 
 Duly convict of blood and parricide, 
 Hold up thy hand. Keep silence. 
 
 Second Judge. 
 
 Stay a moment. 
 If, Julia Lancaster, thou hast ought to urge 
 In stay of lawful sentence, speak it now ; 
 Our duty bids us hear. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 O, good my lords, 
 Abhor me not, that I have learned to rule 
 Those mental furies — passion, hate, and fear ; 
 To see nought strange in any giddy height 
 That guilt may reach at ; nothing beautiful 
 In innocence assumed, or worthy blame 
 In that too-eager justice which o'erleaps 
 The crouching guilt, and hunts the innocent 
 For that it seems to fly. Great griefs are dumb ; 
 And, as the heart-wound leaves but little trace, 
 The bitterest tears fall inward. Tell me what 
 Shall nature build on, if her holiest fields 
 Are mined with murder ? cultivate what flowers. 
 If opening buds burn up the parent tree 
 With poisonous distillation ? How, sirs, give
 
 56 Hojiesfy. 
 
 Death with caresses? Steal my fother's life 
 
 Holding his white head to my breast ? For so 
 
 Ye found him. Yes, thence had he gone, and left me 
 
 Richer by nothing of the gifts of life. 
 
 And poorer, by a parent. But, for I know 
 
 An iron fate, stifling my better will, 
 
 Shall, for a season, keep this mystery sealed 
 
 Out of man's knowledge, and my life, meanwhile, 
 
 A loathsome and polluted thing — content, 
 
 I give it ye. {Turns) But, by this hand I raise 
 
 Up toward the source of truth, I now adjure 
 
 The doer of this dark and monstrous deed, 
 
 Shortly to meet me, and to answer there 
 
 The stain of double murder. I have done. 
 
 Tr AFFORD {rising eagerly). 
 Sirs, I beseech you, spare her. Let her live, 
 If there be doubt. Nature herself declares 
 This crime too hideous, and man's elder law 
 Soiled not its mighty page with parricide's 
 Impossible name. If mercy — 
 
 Many Voices (vmrmnringly). 
 
 Mercy ! Mercy ! 
 
 A Clerk {aside to Another). 
 He hath but clenched it. Ha ! mark Gisbome now. 
 
 Another. 
 Aye, dumb and white witli rage. Thinking, poor devil, 
 Of his own assassin-daughter. 
 
 ■•0' 
 
 First Judge {rising). 
 
 Master Trafford, 
 You do mistake your office, lending breath 
 To that besotted cry. Above your head 
 The murdered victim shakes his grizzled hair, 
 Moaning for vengeance. Shall our cups be baned ? 
 Harm dogs unpolicicd mercy. Life for life !
 
 Honesty. ^y 
 
 The sword that glances from the well-condemned 
 Stabs twenty guiltless. Woman, raise thy head. 
 Hark. As those cressets flicker and grow wan, 
 So ebbs thy life. And, look you, since 'tis meet 
 That, in the scraping this unnatural blot 
 From God's disfigured earth, tlicre should be shown 
 Some due abhorrence, though tlie rope be shameful, 
 And the axe keen, we here pronounce on thee 
 The penalty of Jire. 
 
 Julia. 
 I am very young. 
 How long, my lords, may be accorded me 
 To urge life's feelings, memories, hopes, and fears, 
 To this untimely harvest — pluck their roots. 
 And cast them, in one fair and living heap, 
 Into my gaping grave ? How long ? 
 
 Second Judge. 
 
 Three days, 
 Which, by petition on the accuser's part, 
 May somewhat be enlarged. 
 
 First Judge. 
 
 Not at my will. 
 Three days, thou murderess ! Aye, thou witch, three days. 
 Therefore, prepare. 
 
 Julia. 
 I will, my lord, and when 
 I shall recount my catalogue of sin. 
 Murder and witchcraft, as my chiefest crimes. 
 Shall first be thought of. 
 
 {As the yiidge rises, Gage rushes in eagerly 
 
 First Judge {turning from him). 
 Drag her to the cell. 
 Proclaim the Court dissolved.
 
 58 Honesty. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Not so, my lords. 
 I have that to urge — 
 
 First Judge. 
 
 You are too tardy, sir. 
 Not even your fiery eloquence can stay 
 The course of justice longer. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Keep your scorn 
 Till you have heard. 
 
 First Judge. 
 Sir, sir, I've heard enough. 
 The day's, I trust, not distant far when guilt 
 Shall fee no devil's advocate. What need 
 Hath innocence of a mentor ? Have you witness ? 
 If not, I hear not. 
 
 Gage. 
 Witness I have none. 
 But in those ancient volumes, by whose rule 
 Our fathers meted justice, it is writ, 
 That if a prisoner, howsoe'er accused 
 (The act not seen), sliall by a champion's sword 
 Engage, and, ere the first star shines, prevail. 
 He shall be free. No scroll less merciful 
 Repeals this plain enactment. On the part 
 Of Julia Lancaster, I here demand 
 The wage of battle. {Sensation; a paiise.y 
 
 First Judge. 
 Rather would I blot 
 One twelvemonth from this waning calendar. 
 Than stretch a life so forfeit. But the law 
 Cannot be curbed, nor lightly bent aside. 
 Even to good ends. 'Tis granted. Master Trafford, 
 Throw down your gauntlet. Do you pause, sir? How ! 
 You are the challenger. (Trafi'okd drops his glove.')
 
 Honesty. 59. 
 
 There lies his gage. 
 And with his body in a listed field, 
 Will he defend our sentence. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 It is well. 
 
 First Judge. 
 Where is your champion, girl ? 'Tis a short step 
 From field to scaffold. 
 
 Julia. 
 Aye, if Heaven so wills. 
 
 First Judge. 
 Peace, thou profane one ! Should the appellant yield, 
 He dies before thee. 
 
 Gage. 
 Aye. 
 
 First Judge {to Julia). 
 
 Can I not shake 
 Thy stubborn spirit? To the cell with her. 
 
 [Exeunt Judges and others.') 
 
 end of act IV.
 
 6o 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — A large gloomy apartment in the house of 
 the Laxc ASTERS. Old pictures hang roiuid. 
 
 (Trafford discovered at a table writing.^) 
 
 Tr AFFORD {starting). 
 Again, thou boding voice ! Will no thought drown, 
 No reason stifle thee ? Have I not said 
 She shall not perish ? Can the eyesight weep 
 Red, visible blood, that wheresoe'er I turn, 
 A drop lies weltering? T^ira shapes flit by, 
 Old men, with halting gait and grizzled hair, 
 AVliile from the walls an hundred grim old sires 
 Glare hate like mocking demons. O ! my soul, 
 Fear'st thou to wear thy dearly purchased crown ? 
 Cup of my life, art thickening to the dregs. 
 And yet no sweetness ? I — 1 cannot bear 
 This shrieking silence. Alan, Alan ! Boy, 
 
 {Enter Infelice.) 
 Come hither. In this tedious march of life, 
 The few steps thou hast walked with me have wrought 
 A pathway through my heart. I say, my boy, 
 I do believe none, none in all this world. 
 Saving thyself, doth love me. 'Tis most strange 
 How like thou art to — there — 'tis gone again. 
 Form, air, and voice and feature. Sure, if those 
 We love — (Infelice laughs^ 
 
 Why smilest thou ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Pardon me. To think 
 Of the fantastic forms love takes.
 
 Honesty. 6 1 
 
 Trafford {thoughtfully). 
 
 'Twas much 
 To say I loved her then. But there's a thing 
 That bears so mucli love's semblance, that 'tis hard 
 To name it lowlier. The difference is, 
 It lacks the undying soul. It is a fire 
 That may be quenched, re-kindled, drowned again, 
 Yet hold a glimmering vitality. 
 Obedient to the hour ; but love, that curse, 
 That serpent, fostered in man's heart to turn 
 Its little good to ill, can know no change, 
 No, not an hour's death. 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Do you yet repent 
 Your rage with Infelice ? Would you — 
 
 Boy, 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 I never knew repentance. 
 
 Infelice {aside bitterly). 
 'Tis to learn. 
 
 Trafford. 
 What say'st thou ? Alan, I did bid thee once, 
 Or 'twas my purpose, question of her fate. 
 What didst thou hear .? 
 
 Infelice. 
 Sir, she is dead. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Dead! 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Aye. 
 She, that did so adore thee, lives no more. 
 Heart-dead, she wanders through a world that hath, 
 Like thee, no pity for the fool that gave
 
 ■6 2 Honesty. 
 
 The bright pearl lionour, for the ruby love, 
 And failed of both. Beware ! For with such rule, 
 As night treads out the dead sun's track, doth hate 
 Spring from the sei)ulchre of love that's slain 
 By him that was its keeper. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Be it so. 
 Here's scai-ce enough of peace for her revenge 
 To flesh its tooth upon. God rest her! Dead! 
 I trust she is. The stamp of horse ! Look out ! 
 Beneath the window. Fl)' ! boy. Wilt thou let 
 Good news stand shivering at the door, and leave 
 Its welcome to cold lips of— {Exit Infelice.) 
 
 Now — Oh ! Now — 
 Pardon — reprieve — or — God ! {Sinks into his chair.) 
 
 Come, Alan ! What ? 
 To hear a laugli, a liappy cry, a leap, 
 A bounding step i'the stair. ! crawler. Gone 
 An hour ! {Rc-cntcr Infelice.) 
 
 Thou hast it on thy cheek. Shriek, owl ! 
 Is — is it — 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Death. 
 
 Trafford. 
 ^Vhy there's a black page turned. 
 Leave me — to bed ! Sleep, if thou canst. No ; stay 
 Without awhile. These news have troubled me, 
 Even past belief. My prayer refused, though backed 
 With untold wealth. Not gone ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 So please you, sir, 
 You have guests to supper, bade to celebrate 
 The pardon you — 
 
 Trafford. 
 Why, let them come. But — stay.
 
 Honesty. 62 
 
 The little flask thou know'st of, let it stand 
 Beside me at the board. I warned tliee once, 
 Did I not, Alan, what a dangerous gem 
 Gleams in that crystal casket ? 'Faith, of late 
 It likes me to consort with things of death ; 
 I love to raise that flask before the sun. 
 And think that every crimson mote that skips 
 And glitters there, can drag down to the grave 
 A giant's life. It is a dreary thought, 
 And should not be indulged. Thou'lt do this ? 
 
 (Infelice S7iiiles.) 
 How ? My mission pleases thee ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 It ever does, 
 To serve my gentle lord. {Exit Infelice). 
 
 Trafford {starting). 
 
 Again — wild knell ! 
 
 {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ prison. 
 
 (Julia lies asleep upon a rude couch. Gage 
 stands beside her, his arms folded!) 
 
 Gage. 
 
 She stirs not,— hardly breathes. If flattering tongues 
 Brought this brief rest, these latest friends have proved 
 Thy falsest. But a moment, I am loth 
 To snatch away the robe of this sweet calm, 
 Since deep indeed must be the rest that next 
 Shall marry those dear lids, li guilt be here, 
 Then conscience, sick of torture, drops the whip, 
 And dozes o'er the wheel. If innocence.
 
 64 Honesty. 
 
 Would thou wast dead before me ! ( Clock heard. 
 
 To my task. 
 Wake, madam. {Kneels and kisses her hand.) 
 
 Julia (awaking a?id starting up). 
 Is it time ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Dear lady, yes j 
 For life's great end. Prepare. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Look up ; I fear not ! 
 Men hold my cause dishonour. I must die. 
 
 Gage. 
 'Tis even so. Death robes himself in peace, 
 And lays his dart aside, and takes your hand 
 To lead you past all ill. Your sleep was calm, 
 And I was anxious lest that busy life 
 Should, with delusive and impertinent dreams. 
 Dress it unfitly. Time is jealous of thee, 
 And, miser-like, weighs every grain that quits 
 Its almost drained exchequer. 
 
 Julia, 
 
 Thoughtful,— kind. 
 How — how repay — 
 
 Gage. 
 You cannot. My reward 
 Is this, — to seek none. 
 
 We are at peace ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 You are cold. I trust 
 
 Gage (agitated). 
 At peace !
 
 My haughty spirit — 
 
 Hojicsty. 65 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Yes, for the wrong 
 
 Gage. 
 Mine was haughtier, lady. 
 To wrong and smile is easy ; theirs' the triumph 
 Who bear it and still smile. Oh ! pardon me. 
 What do I prate of? Your disdain was just. 
 The sole fault mine, and for the punishment 
 Enough. 'Twas borne. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Julia. 
 
 You had that stay so oft 
 Enjoined to me, your pupil. You could hoJ)e. 
 
 Gage. 
 1 had no hope. Perhaps that's false, for all 
 Is possible to faith, and love is faith, 
 The blindest of all bigots, — holding trusts. 
 Sweet, simple, hard to blame, among them f/iis. 
 That its immaculate idol, owning not 
 The low constraints of pride, makes to herself 
 A better law, spurns reason, knows no fear. 
 But that of leaving one true worshipper 
 Unpitied, if unpaid. 
 
 Julia. 
 But you, so wise. 
 So schooled, so doubting all that cannot show 
 Reason's calm countersign ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 The common law, 
 Retributive. We boast our strength — and fall. 
 Ah ! lady, such temptations fronting him, 
 Man needs a better yEgis than his reason. 
 Warning, — example fails. One falls ; we blame 
 His fortune, not his creed. While woman breathes, 
 There will be idols to engender faith, 
 
 F
 
 66 Honesty. 
 
 And fools to yield it. I am mad, 1 think, 
 
 To mock )-()ur ear with this jooor prate. Forgive me 
 
 This, ni}- last fault, 
 
 Julia. 
 Good friend, what other? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Truth. 
 Lady, I said I loved. To that confession 
 I thought my dut}- prompted. It was pride. 
 Cowards bewail their hurts, — the brave man turns 
 Apart to hide them. Which did I ? 
 
 Julia. 
 
 'Tis easy 
 To pardon trespasses our bosom yearns 
 To copy. I am dying ; and I use 
 The licence of a tongue, henceforth to keep 
 Its secrets better. To these pitiless walls, 
 To me, that never nursed my own heart's peace, 
 Peace willingly came. I am as one who sinks 
 in wearied slumber on some arid i)Iain, 
 But, waking, finds it Paradise, — bright fruit, 
 Antl blue lakes, forest-fringed ; and mottled glades, 
 And waving stems, and delicate sweet flowers. 
 And valleys green and golden. So my heart 
 I'nfolds an inner life, — delicious, glad, 
 E.xulting; every thought a music strain, 
 And every pulse a joy ! Hence, pride and fear, — 
 Hence, womanly reserve. Protector — friend — 
 I love thee ! 
 
 Gage. 
 Do not mock me — 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Be it so. 
 It best becomes thine honour to reject 
 The humbled heart that, sought in fortune's noon,
 
 Honesty. 67 
 
 Was gracelessly withheld. Poor triumph, to call 
 Its last few pulses thine ! 
 
 Gage (/// uiicont rolled emotion). 
 Life of my life ! 
 Guide of my footsteps ! Thou sweet only star 
 That my hope's heaven gave throne to ! dost thou stoop 
 Earthward at last ? Too late, too late ! 
 
 Julia, 
 
 Dear friend, — 
 
 Gage. 
 Is this a living hand ? Ah ! Julia,— Julia, 
 Why yield it now ? 
 
 Julia. 
 To be embalmed in tears ? 
 
 Gage. 
 Forgive them; they are happy — {Enter Cyril.) 
 
 Brother, brother ! 
 She has confessed — {Shouts within.') 
 
 What cry is that ? You're pale ! 
 What is the matter ? Speak ! 
 
 Cyril. 
 
 A mighty crowd 
 Is closing round the prison, — one huge sea 
 Of tossing arms and furious faces. 
 
 Gage {exultingly). 
 
 Life ! {Runs to Julia.) 
 'Tis life! The storm breaks. {Loud tumult?) 
 
 Gaoler {tvithin'). 
 
 Double the guard there. Ho ! 
 Discharge the culverin ; we shall need more aid. 
 
 {^Shot heard. Tumult increases. Gaoler and 
 Guard rush in.) 
 Come, — to the western tower. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Honesty. 
 
 Another {rushing iu). 
 
 No, — 'tis assailed. 
 {The gates are attacked. Guard defcjid thcm.y 
 
 Gaoler. 
 Up to the parapets. Arrows, lead, and stones 
 Are there in plenty. Comyn, Hugo, Gray, 
 Surround the prisoner. Should your iron yield, 
 Ye have daggers. Use them. 
 
 {They rush out. Attack continues. Shotits oj 
 " Rescue." The Guards stand bewildered. 
 Gate burst in, and Guards forced off.) 
 
 Gage. 
 
 See, — the gates give way \ 
 
 First Man. 
 The litter, there. Madam, we bring you life. 
 
 Julia. 
 Life ! What is life ? The privilege to wear 
 Humanity's frail garb ? Friends, you misjudge 
 My purpose and my will. I seek not life 
 I'nsanctioned by the high and unbought grace 
 (Jf justice. 'l"he proud gratulating joy, 
 And honest welcome of all good men's eyes. 
 Hence will I pass to death,— or with a name 
 Clear as the heart within,— a felon doomed— 
 Or else an honoured sister, 'scaped more fair 
 From slander's noxious handling. Oh ! away 
 To aims more hf)i)eful. Seek the guilty, or— 
 If Heaven so will it — one devoted arm 
 To meet the accuser there. 
 
 First Man. 
 
 Who dare do that } 
 Beast ! — liar as he is— a man must own 
 He's good at sword-craft.
 
 Honesty, 69 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Then to your homes. Fall down, — 
 Plead for the soul whose earthly house must fall. 
 Die not to save the dying. Hear my words, — 
 There is more pain in serpent-slander's tongue 
 Than any mortal death. {Takes Gage's hand,) 
 
 Within this hand, 
 As in a sacred casket, have I lodged 
 That dear bequest, mine honour. Heav'n shall aid 
 To whiten my stained name. Blessing and health, — 
 I mean the heart's health, friends, wait on ye all. 
 Till next we greet each other. {Noise of arms heard.) 
 
 The guard ! Oh, hence ! 
 Call you this love, — to stain my parting soul 
 With true blood vainly poured ? 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Away, — away ! 
 Seek out a champion. Still there's hope. 
 
 {They retire sloivly and sullenly as the Gaoler 
 and Guard rush in.) 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 On ! Seize 
 The prisoner. Charge. Take her alive or dead. 
 
 Julia {xualks towards him). 
 
 Behold her. Brothers, fare ye Avell ! 
 
 ( They surround and lead her off. Gage staggers 
 across and falls in Cyril's arms. Exeunt.)
 
 70 Honesty. 
 
 SCENE THE LAST.— 6>/^ Smithficld, shounn^ the Old 
 
 Prioty of St. BarthoIomcii<, founded by Rahcrc ; the 
 
 Convent of St. John, Old St. PauVs, etc. To the 
 
 rear, the place of execution, scaffold, pile, etc. Lists 
 
 prepared. Judges" chairs, etc. 
 
 (Pembroke enters shnc'ly.) 
 
 Pemrroke. 
 'Tis as I feared. The day is come, and Fame, 
 So loudly vaunting Traftbrd's skill in arms, 
 Hath done us mortal hurt. \ never debt 
 Did gall so bitterly an honest heart, 
 As mine to Douglas Trafford, which hath bound 
 My rapier here, when — 
 
 iA Sen-ant enters li'lth missives.) 
 What says Mordaunt ? (Reads) That 
 " His honour and his love hold strife." Why then 
 ^^'e know who's conqueror. What more ? " That he's 
 His country's soldier." Pah, the coxcomb ! " Owns 
 No foe save hers." Hence with thy love, and teach 
 The zephyrs lightness. Seyle, my generous Seyle ! 
 Hatli this harsh need stirred thy two drops of blood 
 Into a warlike tempest ? (Reads) Out, alas ! 
 " He is too old, and were his years more few, 
 Lacks gold to furnish him. His heart," ha ! ha ! 
 " Is with the right." Now, Sandell, Gosselin. 
 
 (Reads, and dashes down the letters.) 
 False-hearted cravens ! Julia, must thou die, 
 And such lives mock theworld ? {Distant trumpets.) 
 
 'Tis the first challenge f 
 Now, Trafford, if thy bosom closets aught 
 That fears the face of day, look to thyself. 
 Thy witness comes. Heaven guard the innocent now ! 
 
 (Exit. Cnru'ds begin to press on.} 
 
 A Woman. 
 A goodly day, my gossips. 
 
 Another. 
 Very fair. 
 From Brentford ?
 
 Honesty, 7 1 
 
 First Woman, 
 Aye. iVIy little Michael, here, 
 (Your cap, sir) begged so takingly to see 
 The pretty lady burned, that — boy, don't tease 
 That butterfly ! Let go, sir. It hath bones 
 And sinews like our own. Wilt never learn 
 Humanity ? And so, ma'am, 'twas agreed 
 To make a merry day on't. And we go 
 To supper in E^astcheap. {They pass on.) 
 
 A Forester {pointing off). 
 Is that the man ? 
 Beshrew him for a coward ! You ne'er see 
 A fellow of such frightened aspect, but 
 There's a black heart to match it. 
 
 {Enter on one side Trafford armed, and Pem- 
 broke on the other. Julia /// white, her 
 feet bare. A Priest beside her. Guards, 
 etc.) 
 
 Confessor {speal'ing as they enter). 
 This holy resignation. Truly, they 
 Who take their fortune frankly by the hand — 
 You heed me not, my daughter. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Father, yes, 
 I did but — I — {Stiii gazing around) 
 
 Confessor {in a low voice). 
 Nay, but if any link 
 Dearer than other — 
 
 Julia. 
 Nothing, no, 'tis nothing. 
 Only I thought I had one friend. Look, father, 
 Stand you between my heart and that false world. 
 For we have nought in common now but form, 
 And promise of decay. {Procession resumed.)
 
 72 Honesty. 
 
 Pembroke {to Trafford). 
 
 What would you, man ? 
 Why do you catch mine arm ? 
 
 Trafford {hoarsely). 
 
 The world goes on. 
 The sun above us, the green earth below, 
 The living, leaping waves, the multitude 
 Of human atoms, dancing up and down. 
 All keep their wonted office, and no howl, 
 Nor strange eclipse, nor earth-engendered flame, 
 Striking the vain, presumptuous souls of men, 
 Consorts witli what we look on. 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Guilt should die. 
 
 Trafford. 
 It should so. Aye, and blench, and quake ; not wear 
 This martyrish visage. It should not outface 
 Even death. She was my playmate. Speak, is't done ? 
 
 Julia {pauses suddenly). 
 I have forgotten something. Father, hold. 
 And you, gentle my executioners, 
 Temper your zeal with patience. I must speak 
 One moment witli my kinsman. 
 
 Confessor {i/i let-posing). 
 
 Dearest daughter — 
 
 Julia. 
 Father, refuse me, and }our holy work 
 May lack fruition. Drag me not to death, 
 Which I oppose not, so my soul be freed 
 From earthly cumberings which afflict an dstay 
 Its passion. 
 
 Tkaffokd {shrinking aiuay as she advances). 
 Back, sirs. I withdraw.
 
 Honesty. 73 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 You cannot. 
 What, are you mad ? 
 
 Trafford {attempting to pass). 
 
 The air — the throng — the weight 
 Of arms — 
 
 Pembroke (detaining him). 
 She comes, man ! See, she comes ! 
 
 Trafford {madly). 
 
 Stand off! 
 I am not bound to hear. 
 
 Julia. 
 Aye, but alone. 
 
 {Approaches nearer^ 
 Douglas, a word can save me. 
 
 Trafford {trembling and pale). 
 
 What — what word ? 
 
 Julia. 
 Your fancy never set these terrors forth, 
 Ne'er dreamed what shameful rings should girdle me, 
 What fiery tongues lap up my bounding blood. 
 And stamp upon my thrice-accursed name 
 The brand of such a deed ! O ! thy revenge 
 Went not to this. Have pity on my youth ? 
 Strike off these horritl fetters, quench the flame, 
 Give back my life — mine honour. 
 
 Trafford. 
 
 Die for thee ! 
 
 Julia. 
 For that step through the lattice. 
 
 Trafford {cagerlv). 
 
 "Hist !
 
 74 Honesty. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 You see 
 1 miglit say something, yet I will not. Speak. 
 At least they'll yield thee a more merciful death, 
 And but one murder done. Have mercy, cousin ? 
 Speak, Douglas ! Douglas Trafford, speak. 
 
 Trafford {stanunenngly). 
 
 To innocence 
 
 Death has no pang. 
 
 Julia. 
 And to the guilty, life, 
 What joy ? Farewell ! 
 
 Trafford {eagerly). 
 O ! pardon. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Seek it fhere. 
 {Turns arvay.) 
 I stay the pageant. On, sirs. I have said. 
 
 {As the crowd close round, a distant shout is 
 heard) 
 
 Trafford {grasping Pfmbroke's ami). 
 Lo ! you. A champion ! Hark ! that cry — 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 The howl 
 
 Of wolves that sight their prey. Hold ! Hark, again ! 
 Can there be hope ? Stay, sir, there may be yet 
 Work for thy ];uissant arm. How now ? You shrink, 
 You tremble, man ! (/// a -ivJiispcr) Dost fear? 
 
 Trafford {passing distractedly to and fro). 
 
 She dies ! Away. 
 Men— fiends— beset me not. {Stops aghast.) 
 
 Ah ! what art thou ? 
 Blood-seeking phantom 1 What is done, is done.
 
 Honesty. 7 3 
 
 I cannot save thee now, nor my lost soul, 
 From tliy denouncement. O ! be merciful. 
 Gracious thou wert in life, and in thy truth, 
 Most womanly. Thou shalt have honour. Aye, 
 Glory shalt grow from thy sweet blood. But non', 
 Avoid me. Oh! avoid. {C(nuenngdo7uii. Trumpet.) 
 
 Pembrokk {toiichiu^ hiiii). 
 Behold \ 
 
 {Crowd opens, discovering Gage armed, and 
 Cyril, They advance.) 
 
 Gage [gazing around). 
 
 ^Vith whom 
 Come I to fight ? ^^' here stands the enemy 
 Of truth and Heaven ? The bold-faced, living lie, 
 That slays the guiltless with the accursed stain 
 Of his own murderous fingers ? 
 
 Pkmbrokk {eagerly). 
 
 Here's your foe ! 
 Now let the truth be manifest and plain. 
 Awake, man, wake. Yield you, or fight. 
 
 With him 1 
 
 Trafford {looking up). 
 
 A bookish stripling, a — nay, gentlemen, 
 Set me a soldier here, at least, a foe 
 Worth my reputed sword. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Come, to thy guard. 
 And know, vain braggart, truth requires not hands 
 Tutored in strife, but oft, by humble ways. 
 By poor, unpractised instruments, works out 
 Its righteous purposes. Defend thyself, 
 Thou coward slanderer. 
 
 Trafford (ti'/VA sudden rage). 
 
 Give me mine arms !
 
 76 Honesty. 
 
 Villain [striking Infelice), mine arms I Stay'st thou to 
 
 hear thy lord 
 Baited by beggars, and — {to Gage) Thy wretched life 
 Come not to mine account. 
 
 {Anns, etc., brought. He das lies t/ie corslet from 
 /lini.) 
 
 Trouble me not 
 With toys. The very glitter of my steel 
 Must end this quarrel. 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Wine, there, for my lord, 
 He thirsts. (IVine brotiglit.) My failing heart, hast thou 
 
 not looked 
 For such an hour ? Give me the goblet. Hold ! 
 Look to his belts. Shall I give up mine office 
 At such a time ? {Offers it.) Drink, sir, and nerve your arm 
 To victory. 
 
 Trafford. 
 I need it not. O ! heaven, 
 My brain. Nay, if thou wilt. {Drinlis deeply^ 
 
 'Tis cheering. How ! 
 (Infelice drops the goblet.) 
 Art sick, boy? 
 
 Infelice. 
 With a sudden fancy, sir. (Stoops.) 
 Your dagger hangs awry. 'Tis mended now. 
 
 (Marshal and Guards ad7'ance.) 
 
 Marshal. 
 Let no man aid, by voice or sign, the cause 
 Of either combatant. (A pause.) 
 
 Take your places. On ! 
 And God defend the right. {Trumpets. They engage.) 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 His step is wild.
 
 Honesty. 77 
 
 His blows drop feebly, yet he shows no hurt. 
 What ails your master, boy ? 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 Sir, there are harms 
 Not of the sword. Some hearts, I think, are most 
 Assailable within ; and we have seen 
 Unwholesome drinks may strike — 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 What do you mean ? {Shouts.) 
 Ha ! look. 'Tis over. 
 
 (Trafford throuis up /lis arms and falls ^ 
 
 Trafford. 
 I am slain, but not 
 By thee. The poison. Help ! I die. 
 
 Gage. 
 
 Confess. 
 Speak, thou unhappy — she is guiltless ! Aye. 
 
 Trafford {hoarsely) . 
 Lift up my head. I murdered Lancaster! 
 
 {Exit Pembrokk.) 
 And, with my steel glued to her snowy breast, 
 Prescribed the oath which, wretched fool, she kept 
 Ev'n to the grasp of death. The page ! the page ! 
 'Tis he hath done this. Seize him ! Bring him near. 
 O fellow, tell me, what did I to thee ? 
 What Avrong hadst thou ? 
 
 {He raises himself with a sudden effoii, gases 
 eagerly at her, and falls back dead. ) 
 
 Infelice. 
 
 He knew me. It is good. 
 Now lead me where you will. {She is led back.) 
 
 Gage {sinks at Julia's feet). 
 
 Spotless and saved !
 
 78 Honesty. 
 
 That shout. My fainting heart, one moment hold, 
 Then, if thou wilt, be nothing. 
 
 {Shouts wii/ii/i, " Pardon ! Pardon !") 
 
 Pembroke {/-ushtng in 7oith a scroll). 
 
 Pardoned ! Free ! 
 Truth liath prevailed. 
 
 Gage {leans fo/icard.) 
 O ! happy — 
 
 Pembroke. 
 
 All our hearts 
 Rejoice with thee, sweet lady. 
 
 Julia. 
 
 Not with me 
 Alone, my friend. With love, with Honesty ! 
 
 {Gives her hand to Gage.) 
 
 the end.
 
 THE 
 
 LORDS OF ELLINGHAM 
 
 % grama, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS : 
 
 {yis performed at the Royal Olympic Theatre, May 17, 1S48).
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The groundwork of this dramatic tale is derived from 
 tlie event known in history as " Raleigh's Conspiracy," 
 — a plot having for its object the advancement to the 
 throne of the Lady Arabella Stuart (cousin-german to 
 James I.), but so slight in its construction, and hopeless 
 in its i^rospects, tliat, but for the celebrated name in- 
 volved in its complicity, it might not have attracted even 
 that slight notice since accorded by liistorians. The 
 name of I.awrency (or, more properly, La Renzy), is 
 scarcely alluded to, excepting by Sanderson, by whom 
 that person is stated to have betrayed the conspiracy. 
 
 The author is unwilling to forego the satisfaction of 
 recording that this, his earliest attempt at dramatic com- 
 position, received, at its first publication, the valuable 
 stamp of Mr. Macready's approbation, and was indeed 
 accejjted by that gentleman for performance, — an inten- 
 tion, however, whicli circumstances unconnected with 
 the piece ultimately prevented. The writer's connection 
 with the Olympic Theatre being a matter of sufficient 
 notoriety to most persons interested in theatrical matters, 
 it may be as well to mention that the piece, whatever its 
 merits or future fortune, is no less the choice of the 
 company than of the management, — Mr. Brooke having
 
 Preface, 8 1 
 
 from the first entered into it with a warmth and interest 
 which assisted to create in others a similar feeling ; and 
 Mrs. Mowatt having devoted to a somewhat thankless 
 character a careful and discriminating study, which, at 
 all events, cannot fail to have its fruits in future suc- 
 cesses. These, however, must be achieved in that more 
 congenial spliere, where all that is earnest and beautiful 
 in the dramatic art yet commands the triumph it de- 
 serves, and which this true interpreter of woman's nature 
 has quitted, leaving, for a time, a prosperous career, for 
 the purpose of adding to her dramatic wreath the some- 
 what shrivelled leaf of European fame. 
 
 G
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 
 
 Dudley Latvmer 
 
 Lawrency (^formerly betrothed to 
 
 P>dith) Mr. 
 
 Walter Vivian (Jiis Friend) . . Mr. 
 
 Sir Griffin Markham,\ Hampshire Mr. 
 
 Sir Edward Parham, gentlemen Mr. 
 
 Brooke, engaged in Mr. 
 
 Peyton, the conspi- Mr. 
 
 Farninghame, 
 
 Watson {a Fries t) vour of the Mr. 
 
 Mr. Davenport. 
 
 vour of the 
 Lady Ara- 
 
 BELLA 
 
 Stuart. 
 
 G. V. Brooke. 
 H. Hell. 
 Kinloch. 
 H. Mellon. 
 Darcie. 
 Butler. 
 Morton. 
 C. Perkins. 
 
 H UGH K ENSELL ( Gaoler and Heads- 
 man) . . . . . 
 Bagot {a King's Officer) 
 
 Grossvelt, If, , , T 
 
 ,,r ) Se?'va?itstoLhVfK^^Ci. 
 
 First Sen'ant . . . . 
 
 Second ditto . . . . , 
 
 Third ditto . . . . . 
 
 To7vnsman . . . . , 
 Giovanni {a Boy — Page to Edith) 
 
 Edith ([F//^<7/"Latymer) 
 Ethelind (herAttcndant) 
 Marion {Daughter of Kensell) 
 
 { 
 
 Mr. E. Stirling. 
 Mr. H. Lee. 
 Mr. Fortescue. 
 Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 Mr. Mazzoni. 
 Mr. Buxton. 
 Mr. Pigeon. 
 Mr. Lawrence. 
 Miss Mandlebert. 
 
 Mrs. Mowatt. 
 Miss K. Howard. 
 Miss Marie Duret. 
 
 Scene — {in Hampshire), a.d. 1603.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — A room in the manor-house. Latymer, 
 Edith. 
 
 Edith. 
 So you evade my questions. So you'd trifle 
 With a capricious child. {Goes to htm.) 
 
 Husband, I take 
 My ample portion in your happier thoughts, 
 Deny me not the bitter. Well I know 
 What threatens us, and, woman as I am, 
 Such humble sense I have as teaches me 
 That plots like these, on such weak warrant based, 
 Run one set course, — dissension ; reach one end, — 
 Death ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 Be it so, then. One word binds me, sweet. 
 Men call it honour. 
 
 Edith. 
 Truth might call it — {Pauses.) 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 What? 
 
 Edith. 
 Treason, my Dudley. Think of your dead father ; 
 Or if that loyal heart could — 
 
 Latymer {rising). 
 
 Spare me, love. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 This only can I promise ; three days hence, 
 A secret council of our band is held 
 In the oak chamber — 
 
 {A Scn'a/it enters and delivers a letter. Laty- 
 MER Opens it eagerly.) 
 
 Edith. 
 
 What ill words have stol'n 
 Your colour thus ? Speak, Dudley. 
 
 Lat\tmer. 
 
 Nothing, sweet. 
 That is — Ha, ha ! How strangely this strange world's 
 Affairs are jumbled ! Here is — {Aside) Cursed chance ! 
 Why tends he hither now ? — {Aloud) Here is a scroll 
 From our good friend — our playmate, Lawrency. 
 
 From LaAvrency ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Latymer. 
 Even so. How now, my love ? 
 Who loses colour now ? You cannot think — 
 Not fear that — 
 
 Edith. 
 Fear ! 'Tis true he knows not yet 
 Our happy fortune, — dreams not that this hand, 
 By his- wild life — his long neglect, — redeemed 
 From a most hateful bond, hath claimed the right 
 To choose its master. Fear I I fear not. He 
 Hath, doubtless, other aims, — fresh objects — ties — 
 Myself forgotten. 
 
 Latymer {who has been reading in an agitated vian7ier). 
 
 Why, the insolent scroll, 
 From end to end, is honied with thy name ! 
 Nought else, — nought else. " Come (quickly," — " gone 
 
 too long — " 
 (Who told him that?) "Star of his hope,"— " a heart
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 85 
 
 Unworthy, but still true." Ha, Ha ! Forgotten ? 
 Lo ! here again, — " His rose, his pretty Edith " — 
 " His playfellow "— " his—" 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 Look, what he ^vrites. 
 " His promised, plighted />r/def " What ! do I dream ? 
 Are you not mine ? 
 
 Edith. 
 What power can sever us 
 ' Till death parts all ? Had he ne'er left me thus, 
 For years unheeded, like a thing he held 
 Not worth the search ; or grasped at will, and used 
 To patch his tattered fortunes, I had still 
 Been thine. Love knows no bond, no counsel, save 
 Its mighty impulse, to select its throne. 
 Mine did so. It is /lere ! {Embraces Latymer.) 
 
 Latymer {regaining his composure). 
 
 Why, let him come. 
 We'll welcome, in all cheerful confidence, 
 This sudden visitant, who treads upon 
 The heels of his despatch. Have courage, love j 
 Albeit he is our kinsman, trusted with 
 Life secrets, — dearest counsels, — soon I hope 
 To need his aid no more. My gentle one. 
 Be thou alone my counsellor, my guide, 
 My bosom's hope and home ! Oh ! let me learn 
 Some fairer language. I must weary thee 
 With this old, passionate, never-varying tale, 
 J love thee, and I love thee. {Exeunt.)
 
 86 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 SCENE \\,—A part of the grounds. 
 {Efitcr Lavvrency a7id Vivian as from a Journey.) 
 
 Vivian. 
 Yon gipsy seemed to know you. — " Hound of Cecil ! " 
 
 Lawrencv {sjnih'ng). 
 Small skill in divination. I am just now 
 Less hound than huntsman. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Could the hag have seen 
 The warrant in your bosom ? 
 
 Lawrencv {feels eagerly in Ids vest). 
 
 How should — Ha ! 
 What, Grossvelt, — Wilhelm, — knaves ! {Servants enter?) 
 
 A paper lost — 
 A scroll — it is of import. Back, and trace 
 The way we entered. Fly ! {Exeiuit Sen/ants.) 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 What names are writ 
 In the scroll ? This may breed mischief. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 Every one. 
 Latymer first, Markham, and Faminghame, 
 Bold Brooke, young Parham — {Re-enter Servants.) 
 
 Speak. 'Tis found ? 
 
 Wilhelm. 
 
 So please you, 
 We think you dropped it at the end of the wood. 
 Where the old gipsy fronted us. Perchance — 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 Away — and seek her out. An hundred crowns 
 When my hands close on it ! {Exeunt Servants.)
 
 The Lords of Ellingha7n. 87 
 
 Walter, thou know'st 
 I come no stranger hither. The last lord 
 Of these domains was my youth's earliest friend ; 
 But cast me from his bosom in the hour 
 I most did need protection. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 In revenge, 
 You doom his son to the headsman. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 In revenge, 
 I come to save his child. Aye, rescue thee, 
 My little rosy playmate of the wood, 
 My love, my Edith ! Thou hast been with me 
 In many an hour of peril, cheering, watching ; 
 Thy soft voice drowned the battle, the wild storm 
 Shrieked by unheeded. All my inner world 
 Was peace — and Edith. 
 
 Vivian. 
 You are moved. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 My friend, 
 This prize was mine. 
 
 Vivian. 
 Was? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Was ! Did I say so r 
 Honour and hope rebuke me ! We were pledged ; 
 Her father willed it. She was but a child, 
 Nor thought to cavil at the fatal bond 
 Her riper years refused. She never loved me ; 
 And was too fresh and innocent of soul 
 To feed me with false hope. Beneath that roof
 
 88 The Lords of Ei/iiig/iam. 
 
 Five years were wasted — years of doubt and fear — 
 That laughed and sorrowed like a various May. 
 ^^'ell, she grew colder, frowns more frequent, smiles 
 Llost chill. At last, — Vivian, my patience failed — 
 On the strong faith of her dead father's pledge 
 I built the temple of my hope — and fled 
 For present peace — to 
 
 Vivian (smi/i//!^). 
 
 Marion Kensell ! Well, 
 You might have found worse comforters. 
 
 Lawr?:ncy, 
 
 I had 
 A different meaning, sir, — but since you name 
 The flower, I own the balm it bore. Poor child ! — 
 Poor Marion ! gentle — trusting — of my grief 
 She knew not — questioned not. With patient tears 
 She wrapped me in her soft, caressing arms, 
 As I had been a wapvard, peevish babe, 
 Upon her breast, and soothed with happy songs 
 The fiend that vexed me thus. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 You did accept 
 The love you could not give her ? 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 With each morn 
 I swore that ere yon glorious sun had done 
 His course, I'd tell her all — eve after eve, 
 Still left the word unspoken. Oft I turned 
 "With a bold, studied, villain look — the sound 
 Died on my severed lips. How could I gaze 
 Into those mild — those trustful, piteous eyes — 
 And say " //orte thee jwt?" — how rend apart 
 The veil that drooped above my struggling soul. 
 And show her — Edith ?
 
 The Lords of Ellinghain, 89 
 
 Vivian. 
 Where dwells Marion now ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 With the old brute, her father, gaoler here, 
 In Winchester. Enough of this. I would 
 'Twere night — all well. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 What fear you ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Did I say 
 I feared ? But to the purpose ; see you yet 
 My purpose here ? Wherefore I seemed to join 
 This idle plot ? Why, when I found 'twas known, 
 I flew to Cecil, and, for what I told. 
 Obtained this honourable spyship ? Look, 
 Why did I this ? To warn them, man — mislead 
 The subtle hounds of justice ; cast a shield 
 Around my Edith's head ; — to save her — save 
 Dear Latymer, her playmate — give her peace 
 For anguish — safety, for her hatred — life — 
 Life for her frowns ! You hear ? Why do you stand 
 So coldly mute ? Is't not a blest exchange, 
 A luscious vengeance ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 Calm yourself, my friend, 
 It is a generous aim. See, who comes here. 
 Our host, in faith, and the fair dame ; what, man ! 
 You flush — and pale. I swear they shall not see 
 A soldier shaken thus ! {Leads him aside.) 
 
 {Enter Latymer and Edith, attended by 
 Giovanni.) 
 
 Latymer {to Giovanni). 
 
 Said he no more ? 
 Yet Parham minces not his words. Once more, 
 The message.
 
 90 TJie Lords of Ellingham, 
 
 Giovanni. 
 " Three days hence, in the oaken room, 
 I'll prove th}' wren a vulture. Let your lord, 
 Meanwhile beware his talons." (Retires.) 
 
 Edith. 
 
 He would say 
 That La^\Tency's a traitor ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 No ! some jest. 
 He false ! Lawrency false ! Dismiss your fear. 
 The man is brave and constant. In our scheme, 
 None plunged with readier zeal. Who know him best 
 Most wholly trust him. Let us in. Come, come — 
 All's well, my love. 
 
 Edith. 
 \fear. {Re-enter Lawrency.)' 
 
 Lawrency {meeting them.) 
 
 My kindest cousin ! 
 Dear Edith ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 Welcome. By this very oak, 
 We parted — how long since ? No matter, cousin. 
 Here stands he yet to greet you — worn in limb. 
 But heart-whole, like true friendship. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 A good omen. 
 I pluck an indented leaf — his honest hand — 
 And wish all staunch as he. 
 
 {Aside) Great heaven, how fair ! 
 Dream, memory, fancy, what poor things are ye 1 
 O artists ! feeble and incapable, 
 How are ye beggared all !
 
 The Lords of Ellinghavi. 9 r 
 
 Makes little change. 
 
 Latymer, 
 
 Time, as you see, 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 I know it. Had a tree 
 Sunk down with years, or but a single stone 
 Of the old mansion changed its wonted hue, 
 I would detect it, trust me. {Enter Vivian.) 
 
 Latymer, 
 Here is a comrade, Walter Vivian ; give him 
 Some welcome too ; he's worthy. 
 
 {Aside) Most demure 
 And smiling priestess, sits thy worship there ? 
 Her breath waits on his words ; her eye claims his, 
 And will not be denied. My soul grows dark ; 
 I'll hence and walk. 'Twere better far to gaze 
 On souls that float in the red streams of hell 
 Than longer on this pair ! [Exit.) 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Hath aught occurred 
 To vex our kinsman ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 Sir, he ne'er seemed merrier ; 
 These lovely scenes called many a pleasant hour 
 Back to his mind. No warrior to the field, 
 Lover to bridal, schoolboy to his home. 
 Passed with more gamesome mood. His generous heart 
 Dwells on it strongly. {Aside) Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 {Re-enter Lawrency.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Cousin, 
 You will forgive my lack of ceremony. 
 A foe, that I had hoped to leave behind 
 In the damp fields of Holland, haunts me still, — 
 A sudden faintness, which the calm fresh air 
 Doth quickly medicine. {Aside) I will try her now.
 
 92 The Lords of Ellingham.^ 
 
 {To Edith) Dear cousin— Edith— Z^^ Edith — 
 
 madam ! 
 What, is the harp strung with such chilHng wires? 
 1 have no heart to touch. {Turns atcay.) 
 
 Edith. 
 
 You spoke, sir? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 To my kind cousin Edith. Lady, you 
 Have struck it from my mind. 
 
 Something 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 (Aside) So grave, my Edith ? 
 A word, good Master Vivian. (T/ity talk apart.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Edith,— still 
 I call you so, — am I forgotten, Edith ? 
 Is all forgotten ? All the pleasant things 
 That we have loved ? the rose-walk and the bower, 
 The tale of witch and fairy, conned beside 
 The gossiping brook ? Shall I go on ? What need 
 To play tlic tutor to your memory. 
 Which doth put on this dull and careless garb 
 In very wilfulness ? 
 
 Edith, 
 What joys are these 
 To fill the heart with ? Our maturer thought 
 Sweeps brightly o'er the mind's expanding scroll, 
 And reason on the ready surface writes 
 In characters more loved, and lasting too. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Oh ! do not, — do not preach so harsh a faith! 
 Drag not the fabric down in whose kind shade 
 This outcast soul hath hidden from despair ; 
 Nor, with such cruel sorcery, transform"
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 93 
 
 Memory's bright gold to ashes. Must the heart 
 Crowd its fair mansions with new tenants, stern 
 And world-polluted, yet refuse its first — 
 Its innocent guests, a home ? Would I had died, 
 Ere wandered back to find such heart as thine 
 Turned from its woman's truth and tenderness ! 
 
 Edith. 
 I am not changed ; and, since you challenge truth. 
 Then blame me not for its unwelcome mien. 
 I loved the roses then, — I love them now, — 
 Armed as they stand, their tiny points show fair 
 And patent to the eye. The fount, the bird, 
 Have the same melody so loved of old. 
 They cannot pander the sweet gift of song 
 To falsehood's purposes. No changeling I, — 
 What I have loved, I love ; what hated, I 
 Past words abhor, and that is, — would you know 
 Its name ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Aye, Edith. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Treachery ! 
 (^Crossing, gives her hand to Vivian, and exeunt.) 
 
 Latymer, 
 You are not well. Smile as you will, that cheek — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 It lies, sir ; don't believe it. Are they gone ? 
 Why do we stay, prating of nothing ? Come. {Exeunt.) 
 
 END OF ACT I.
 
 94 
 
 ACT ir. 
 
 SCENE I. — A summer parlour. 
 
 (Edith alone.) 
 
 Edith {pushes her harp aside.) 
 I cannot recollect it. It is strange, 
 The melody so perfect in mine ear 
 Should 'scape my touch. My heart is ill at ease. 
 Pass but this day in safety — Who is there ? 
 The page ! {Enter Giovanni.) 
 
 What news, good boy ? 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Madam, this day 
 Shall make all known and sure. There has been talk 
 Of some strange proof — 
 
 (Lawrency appears at the door.) 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 A word, I pray you. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 \ 
 
 You see me. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 I must speak upon a theme 
 That brooks not listeners. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Well, Giovanni, go ; 
 Presently I shall need you.
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 95 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 I accept 
 The warning, and am brief. Wherefore these cold 
 Averted looks ? What fatal hand hath raised 
 This icy barrier, still more sundering hearts 
 Never too dearly tied ? Oh, Edith ! now 
 That time and grief — rude-handed mediciners — 
 Have tamed this soul, and made it teachable, 
 Be my instructress. Show me how to win, 
 If not thy love, — thy mercy. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Will you learn ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 As though a world were guerdon. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Listen, then. 
 I am loth to seem inhospitable, — but 
 Your horse has rested ; put him to his purpose. 
 Be silent as to all you may have seen 
 And noted here. So will I school my mind, — 
 Confess I have judged you hastily, take back 
 Suspicion, and give — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 What,— what ? 
 
 Edith {turns away). 
 
 Gratitude, 
 Thanks, welcome, and — surprise. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 A prudent pledge ! 
 must, I fear, ask more. For your own sake, — 
 For life's sake, — honour's sake, — lastly, for mine, — 
 Say not " despair." Oh ! put not to the test 
 The frailty of this heart, nor set at strife 
 Gratitude, mercy, and the love of thee, —
 
 g6 TJie Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 1-est that the last prevail. See, Fate has laid 
 
 Her sharpest weapons ready to my hand, 
 
 And fair occasion courts me. Nay, no more. 
 
 Throw this ill-fitting garb of anger by ; 
 
 Oppose no longer your dead father's will, 
 
 And, even at mine own peril, these thy friends, 
 
 Though far advanced in treason's dangerous march, 
 
 Shall be, by friendly hands, drawn back and saved ! 
 
 Reject me, and they perish with the boy 
 
 Whose blood is worth them all. Do not speak yet ; 
 
 Pause on the final doom ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Pause ! That were treason. 
 The life you threaten is my husband's ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Thy— 
 Thy husband's? Ha ! betrothed you mean. 
 
 {Seizes her arm.y 
 What right— 
 You jest though. No, you dare not. And the blood 
 ^Mounts to your temples, — voluntary Avitness 
 Of this foul falsehood. Dare you give it tongue ? 
 
 Edith. 
 I am wife to Dudley Latymer. 
 
 Lawrency {after a pause). 
 
 Look at me. 
 I challenge you, proud as you are, to do it ! 
 See, after all, you are but woman, Edith — 
 Woman, whose soul's first element is love, — 
 Whose nature's essence, mercy. Woman never 
 Turns back on the neglected, — tramples never 
 Upon the fall'n. Honour's her earthly god. 
 And her high creed and code admit no faith. 
 No law that wrongs the innocent, lulith, you 
 Were mine, by promise, in the face of Heaven 1 
 When did 1 tear that bond ?
 
 The Lords of Ellijigham. 97 
 
 Edith. 
 
 When, with no word 
 Of parting or of promise, you — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Were thrust 
 Forth from this home, that might have been my Eden, 
 ]]y the fierce angel of your cruelty. 
 Alas ! I hoped my absence might bring forth 
 A better angel, — pity ! Latymer ! 
 Why, woman, to my passion, this boy's love 
 Was but an idiot's fancy ! Edith, thou 
 Sat'st empress in mine honour's throne. Thy hand 
 Wielded the radiant sceptre nought could hide, 
 Nor question, nor withstand. Have mercy, Edith ! 
 
 Edith. 
 Have I not said I am a wife ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Forsworn 
 Already, — false to me ! Be falsely truer. 
 Come, I will pardon all, — love still — will save you 
 From ills you dare not dream of. Storms are near ; 
 Turn then and lly. Oh, Edith ! fly with me 
 Back to bright lands, aspiring hopes, high dreams 
 I left, to bid you share them. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Are you vile 
 Beneath all scorn, or do I wickedly 
 Pervert your meaning? Have I wronged you ? AVell, 
 I relegate my cause to the sole Judge 
 That cannot err. There plead with me. Begone ! 
 And know that I disdain your menace, man, 
 Ev'n as I loathe your love. Go, serpent, that 
 Would sting my more than life ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Oh ! yet be warned. 
 
 H
 
 gS TJie Lords of Ellinghajji. 
 
 Send me not from you wjth such poisonous thoughts 
 Warring upon my reason. Edith, speak ! 
 Have you no pity — none ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Take all the truth, 
 And then repeat that question. La^vTency, 
 We know your errand. You are Cecil's sp)-, 
 Worse office than the headsman's. He but sheds 
 Forfeited life. You traffic in the guiltless. 
 Shall I stay longer ? {ExiL} 
 
 Lawrency {a pause, lie looks up suddenly). 
 Who — who spoke to me ? 
 What shapes are these that float upon mine eyes, 
 Glide o'er the landscape, glitter from the tree, 
 Inviting as to some rich banquet, each 
 With aspect fairer than his fellow ? Ha ! 
 With what fell craftiness ye choose your time ! 
 Such should not tempt in vain ! I know you all. 
 Ye smiling fiends and ministers of hell ! 
 Whence ye arise, and whither lead, I know, 
 And who your master. Still, with heart enslaved 
 V>Y your surpassing mien, and promise kind, 
 I make ye mine, and follow. Come, Revenge ! 
 Come, sweet Revenge ! swift Hope for once outrun — 
 From nought I'll shrink, so 't be but quickly done. 
 
 {Rushes out.) 
 
 SCENE II.— A retired part of the Gardens. 
 
 (Walter Vivian sauntering listlessly about.) 
 
 Vivian. 
 This will not do. I must shake off this calm 
 That steals, like some deceitful foe, on one
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. gg 
 
 Whose life is action. Yet 'tis sweet. I like 
 Those sleeping skies, and, to my ears, there's music 
 In that brook's mumiur — nay, in the wordless hum 
 O' the summer insects. Would I were a fly ! 
 A soft and gentlemanly life he leads, 
 Without on earth a duty or a care, 
 Making his love and music to the flowers, 
 With honey for his pains. With day he dies. 
 The wisest act, and last, of his little life. 
 Night being too chill for his luxurious ease, 
 Too coarse for his gentility. Heigho ! 
 Who would not be a fly ? 
 
 {Enter Lawrency in a disordered manner. He 
 paces up and dcnvn, as not noticing Vivian.) 
 What, comrade ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Ha! 
 You here ? I sought you. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 What has happened ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Lost! 
 Lost ! lost ! You jested at our speed of travel. 
 Walter, the horses must be foaled o' the wind, 
 That shall outgallop human treachery ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 She has refused ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Refused ! A puling boy 
 Has snatched my prize, as you would thistle-down, 
 And whiffed it from me. It is well — quite well ! 
 I woo another mistress, now — and you, 
 Dear Vivian, sliall secure her. Take this scroll, 
 I wouUl have written something, but can trace 
 No characters that man may read. Mine eyes 
 
 H 2
 
 lOO The Lords of Ellvighavi. 
 
 Dazzle and throb — beneath my writhing hand 
 The letters turn to blood ! Horse— and away 
 George Bagot lies at Mallwood with his troop, 
 Not ten miles hence — awav ! 
 
 What must I do ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 My mission first 
 
 Lawrkncy. 
 Oh! ]:)ardon. In this scroll — 
 It bears the seal of Cecil — thou wilt write 
 The names of Griffin IVIarkham, Farninghame, 
 Brooke, Peyton, Parham, and — and — Latymcr! 
 To-night the witch of Discontent doth hold 
 High council here ; and hither come her sons, 
 In strange disguises. Choicest plotters they ! 
 Oh ! I could laugh, but for a demon thought 
 That burns me ; here — Let Bagot draw his men 
 About the door, and when my rapier falls. 
 Unleash thy l)loodhounds, and secure them ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 All I have named. Dost understand me? 
 
 All 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Aye; 
 But I have ate and drank with Latymer, 
 Looked in his heart, and now, to hang him ! Think 
 Of the poor girl, too ! Nay, my conscience shuns 
 This act of — of — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Stern justice, thou wouldst say : 
 I'll help thee to the word. Tax as thou wilt 
 My friendship. Try it utterly. Come, come, 
 To work. {Exit Vivian.)
 
 The Loi'ds of EilingJiam. loi 
 
 With every pulse I feel 
 My nature change and darken. Edith — Edith ! 
 This is thy deed, not mine. No, no, not mine ! {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE III.— The Oaken Chamber. 
 
 (Latymer, Farninghame, Peyton, Brooke, 
 Sir Griffin Markham, and others carelessly 
 disguised. Sitting as in deliberation^ 
 
 Farninghame. 
 Well, as you please. I care not. I have said ; 
 And let him hear that, spite his pleasant mien, 
 I hold the gentleman too crafty far 
 To trust our necks with. 
 
 Peyton. 
 Judging by its chain, 
 You value yours but slightly. At what tryst 
 Bought you the gew-gaw ? 
 
 Farninghame, 
 
 Spanish boots, bright spurs, 
 And jewelled dagger, harmonise so sweedy 
 With a butcher's frock and beaver. 
 
 Peyton. 
 
 Gentle shepherd. 
 Wilt try a fall with me ? 
 
 Farninghame {rises). 
 
 Good sir o' the shambles. 
 Tempt not your bullock's fate. 
 
 Markham {ititerposing.) 
 
 How now ? how now ?
 
 I02 Tlic Lords of EllingJiam. 
 
 Here is a coil betwixt two honest men, 
 The butcher anei the boor ! Our friends have yet 
 To learn disguises. We, who breathe in courts, 
 Are the sworn masquers. The world finds us ever 
 What we would be, not what we are. 
 
 Brookk {aside to Farninghamk). 
 
 Lo! now 
 Sir Griffin Markham (fifteenth page of state, 
 Deputy-usher of the (queen's back-stairs) 
 ]\Iounts his court palfrey. You shall hear anon 
 The very words the Lady Clarice Mayne 
 Whispered the duchess in the presence-chamber, 
 That made her stiff grace smile. Would'st know how oft 
 The king caressed his poodle ? He will tell you 
 These news, and more ; and for all rumours— 'Sooth, 
 Commend me to these know-alls, who know nothing ; 
 Who skim the airy froth of circumstance, 
 But leave the cream behind. 
 
 Farninghamk. 
 
 Our scale is light — 
 Be thankful to the very butterfly 
 
 That perches on the beam. {Aloud) But this is strange. 
 The trysting time is past ; yon empty seat 
 Doth augur badly for our brotherhood. 
 What, can the blossoms of our sprouting tree 
 Drop off so quickly? 
 
 Brooke. 
 
 'Twas my own remark. 
 And, Latymer, I tell thee to thy beard, 
 Thou nursest carelessly our infant cause. 
 I do mistrust this friend of D'Aremberg, 
 Whoe'er he be. 
 
 Latvmi.r. 
 Rest you contented, sir ; 
 If freely 1 confide to this man's hand
 
 The Lords of Ellingha^n, 103 
 
 My life — as deeply gaged as any here — 
 Why, so may you. 
 
 {Enter Lawrency, speaking 'to one without.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 I tell thee, sirrah, no ; 
 Hence ! — / will do thy message. Cousin Dudley, 
 Here was some man of thine before the door — 
 A most importunate knave — who would intrude 
 Upon these worthy gentlemen, to bring 
 A pressing embassy from thy idxx bride. 
 
 Latymer. 
 From Edith ? — ha ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 That thou must keep in mind 
 To ride with her to-morrow, else she would 
 Believe — something, I know not what — 
 
 Peyton. 
 
 To business. 
 Now, may no half-heart friends delay our deeds, 
 Nor discord mar our councils. Let us first 
 Consult our letters. AVhat says D'Aremberg? 
 
 Brooke. 
 Oh ! he ? But little to the point. He writes 
 As if the paper were red hot. Wise hound ! 
 He never cares to open till the game's 
 Afoot, but then, hark to him ! 
 
 Farninghame. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 There is a little custom, a mere form. 
 That's true, but still a safe one. Our new friend. 
 Good Master Lawrency, hath not yet taken 
 The oath that binds our brotherhood. 
 
 {Enter ^^'■ATSON, closely muffled.)
 
 104 TJ^^ Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Latv-mer. 
 
 Watson ! Then 
 
 There's danger. 
 
 Watson. 
 Not a whit. I am here to quicken, 
 And not to quench your courage. Pray take seat, 
 While briefly I unfold a project framed 
 Last night, and needing but a few bold hands 
 To make it ])erfect. Ten days hence the king 
 ^^'ill hunt at Hanworth. 
 
 Markham. 
 
 Sport to his grace ! 
 
 Watson. 
 
 Amen. 
 And, to save fruitless questing, while he hunts 
 The deer, we'll hunt the king ! That hart once snared, 
 We make our own conditions, — lift our lady, — 
 Set free men's consciences, work full revenge 
 On Hume and Cecil. Well ? {A silence?) 
 
 Markham. 
 
 'Tis well conceived. 
 How rides the king ? Much following ? 
 
 Watson. 
 
 But his band 
 Of thirty yeomen-foresters, lightly armed 
 With hunting-spear and knife. Stay, hear this first. 
 Then answer. 
 
 Brooke. 
 'Tis the— 
 
 Watson. 
 
 ^Vait and hear. You'll find 
 That he who should be foremost in reward, 
 As he is ever first in danger, claims
 
 The Lords of EUingham. 105 
 
 Nothing but honour. To my own lot falls 
 A high distinction, England's Chancellor. 
 The noble Cobham's kinsman, Master Brooke, 
 Lord Treasurer. Next him, his mate in talent, 
 Sir Griffin Markham, versed in court intrigue — 
 Quick in resources— who so fit as he 
 For our State Secretary ? Last, not least, 
 The good Lord Grey, our Master of the Horse, 
 England's Earl Marshal. 
 
 {During this speech Sir Edward Parham 
 has entered and placed himself opposite to 
 Lawrency.) 
 
 Parham. 
 
 There's one other post — 
 
 What, sir, is that ? 
 
 Watson. 
 
 Parham. 
 The office, sir, of — hangman ! 
 If I mistake not, we shall have quick need 
 Of such a functionary. I, too, beg 
 To read my schedule. 
 
 {He produces a paper, whicli Lawrency snatches 
 and tears.) 
 
 Matthew Lawrency, 
 Thou art a traitor and a villain ! {All rise in confusion.y 
 
 Markham. 
 
 Hal- 
 How well he played his part ! and yet, methinks. 
 He hath not lived at Court. 
 
 Parham. 
 
 Now hear me, sirs ; 
 While here you sit, dispensing place and pay, 
 Honours and titles, by this gentleman
 
 io6 The Lords of Elliiighajn. 
 
 Our lives are bought and sold. Look here, sirs ! here 
 
 {^Points to the writing.) 
 From this torn witness we may gather still 
 AVhat will convict a traitor. Seize the spy ! 
 Pluck down the base informer ! 'Tis but choice — 
 Our lives or his. {T/icy advance upon Lawrency.) 
 
 Lawrencv {aside, irresolute). 
 They prick me to the verge. 
 A leap — and over ! Edith ! — I must gulp 
 The hellish potion. Back, sirs ! — I can use 
 My sword, if needed. {They press him.') 
 
 Rash and headstrong fools ! 
 Your blood upon your heads ! 
 
 {Strikes doum Parham's rapier. The door and 
 li'iiido^us are forced open, and Bagot rushes 
 in with soldiers.) 
 
 Bagot. 
 
 Swords, gendemen ! 
 Secure that window — let no bird escape — 
 A brimming trapful ! 
 
 Peyton {to the guard). 
 
 Let me pass, good friends. 
 Alack ! I knew not what disloyal mouths 
 I came to measure for to-morrow's feast. 
 
 Bagot. 
 Good master butcher, not so fast. Ho ! sirs, 
 Let him not pass — him in the fisher's frock ! 
 'Tis (iriffin Markham. 
 
 Markham. 
 
 Ha ! you know mine air. 
 Your courtier can't be hidden. {Draws.) 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 In the toils?
 
 The Lords of Ellin gham. 107 
 
 Draw, friends, and try the temper of your steel. 
 
 Rapier to partisan ! {^All draw.) 
 
 Bagot, 
 Hold— hold ! hot boy. 
 Your sires were loyal gentlemen. I'd not drench 
 Their ancient hall in blood. Let fall your swords, 
 Trust your king's mercy. 
 
 Parham {to t/ie gitai'ds, %i<ho secure them.) 
 You have forgotten ojie ; 
 The master-spirit of our enterprise ; 
 {Aside) And, as I think, its traitor. 
 
 Bagot. 
 
 Sir, the list 
 Of disaffected shows no other name 
 Than those I deal with now. {Enter Vivian.) 
 
 Vivian {aside to Lawrencv), 
 
 You were not prompt 
 In signal. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Prompt enough, 1 fear ; less close — 
 Quick eyes observe us. 
 
 Bagot. 
 
 For\vard, gentlemen. 
 Such treatment as may make your prison-hours 
 Less galling, shall be yours. 
 
 {As tJiey are led out, 'Latyukk pauses, a7id beckons 
 Lawrency.) 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 Cousin, a word — 
 Closer — come closer ; fix thine eyes on mine. 
 A dark suspicion rests upon thee • tongues 
 Have freely used thy name : but I am slow 
 To see the cloud I would not, and prefer,
 
 io8 TJie Lords of EUinghavi. 
 
 By grCcater love, and fuller trust, to shame 
 
 A fleeting honour back. Think wliat is tlicrel 
 
 A thing how loved — how fair — liow friendless — how 
 
 Unused to sorrow's sting. I think thee honest 
 
 I know that thou'rt a man. Thou'lt watch this treasure ? 
 
 Thou'lt guard her with all truth and tenderness ? 
 
 And soothe and strengthen when my danger comes ? 
 
 For well I know there's danger. In a word — 
 
 All vile suspicion spurned like hate aside — 
 
 I give her to thine arms, a gem to be 
 
 Returned me here, as pure ; or else, redeemed 
 
 With added grace, in heaven. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 Cousin, I take 
 The gracious pledge, and %vill defend it so 
 That when thou'rt free, thou shalt suspect no more, 
 But know me — as 1 am. {To Bagot.) Sir, with your 
 
 leave 
 I'll journey with you. I'll to London too, 
 And there jjartake the fortune, good or ill. 
 Of my dear friend and cousin, Latymer. 
 
 Bagot. 
 Your presence may be needed. jNIuch I hope 
 This l)oyish plot may finish, as it ought, 
 Rather in jest than blood. 
 
 (^Exeunt all but Lawrencv and Vivian.) 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Was it well managed ? 
 
 Lawrkncy. 
 Excellent well, sir. The most diligent fiend 
 In Satan's train could make no better speed, 
 Were a lost soul just turning back to heav'n 
 That had been deemed secure. 'Tis done — no more — 
 I bargained with thee, not for praise, but gold : 
 Thou shalt not lose thy hire.
 
 Tlie Lords of EllingJiain, 109 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 How ! — pitiful ! 
 Wast thou not mocked — and — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Give me thine hand, good friend ; 
 'Tis very true. What strange forgetfulness ! 
 Yes, I was mocked ; thank (iod that / 7L<as mocked, 
 Insulted, spurned ! I know thou dost not heed 
 My sometimes churlish speech ; no, no, thou dost not, — 
 Thou'rt my good friend : come on, we'll follow them. 
 
 {Exeunt^ 
 
 END OF ACT II.
 
 I lO 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A cell in the old gaol of Winchester. 
 
 (Latymer conducted by Hugh Kensell and 
 others.) 
 
 Latymer. 
 More of thy lantern, friend. Scant light is here, 
 To thread sucli mole-paths. 
 
 Kensell {stillcnly) . 
 
 Men have preferred our darkness, 
 To the sunshine of the scaffold ! Randolph, make 
 Those rivets sure. 
 
 Latymer. 
 How ! Chains ? 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Up with him straight. 
 Secure, but not too close ; just room to reach 
 The couch. Aye, so. Let no tight tether spoil 
 The gentleman's repose. 
 
 (As they secure him to the wall, enters Marion.) 
 
 Marion {passitjg near hifti). 
 Be patient. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Good. 
 Now for the banquet ! How, girl, what hast here ? 
 Black bread and water, wench, are prisoners' fare.
 
 The Lo7'ds of Ellingham. 1 1 1 
 
 Marion. 
 But, father, he is gently bred. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 The better. 
 Luxury must learn temperance. Off with you, 
 And fetch his fitting meal. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 But, father — 
 
 Kensell {furiously). 
 
 School me ? 
 Are you the mistress here ? {Seizes her brutally^ 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Hands off, you savage ! 
 Base fellow, will you kill the girl ? 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Why — no. 
 She's useful yet — though she's — , no matter. Go ! 
 Avoid the cell. Begone ! 
 
 {Pushes her violenUy from him. Lawrencv, 
 tvho ejiters, catches her in his anns.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 How now. Black Hugh ! 
 At the old sport ? Grim keeper of hell-gates, 
 I've warned you once. Take care. {Pushes him aside.) 
 
 Nay, my poor girl — 
 Be calm — be comforted. {Exit Marion.) 
 
 Well, cousin — How ! 
 What trinkets have we here ? 
 
 {Examining Latymer's chains.) 
 Unlock them straight ! 
 
 {To Kensell 7C'/io releases him.) 
 And now begone, old ban-dog ! For the time 
 I take thine office from thee. {Exit Kensell.)
 
 112 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 By what spell 
 Canst awe yon savage thus ? 
 
 Lawrency {coolly). 
 
 Murder, my cousin, 
 Done in these walls — not 'twixt the night and mora, 
 But, day by day, with slow and lingering pains — 
 And for a price a hungry beggar would 
 Have flung in the giver's face. Enough ! your look 
 Questions of Edith. 
 
 Latvmer (eagerly). 
 
 Speak ! How did she bear 
 The shock that parted us i" 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 When first aroused 
 From that most kind oblivion which affords 
 Hearts breathing-time, she gave herself to grief 
 'I'hat awed all comfort dumb. At length, her mood 
 Changed, and the mourner thenceforth wore her grief 
 With proud, calm constancy — as if wound up 
 To some fi.xed aim. Hark, Dudley! she is here ! — 
 In Winchester — at hand ! 
 
 Laty.mkr {i)npaticnt!y) . 
 
 Say'st thou at hand ! 
 And not upon my breast ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Ah ! better there — 
 Word, thought, and sense joy-steeped — forgetting old- 
 Not shaping forth fresh ill. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 How?
 
 The Lords of Ellinghaiii. 1 13 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 She hath planned 
 A forceful rescue. 
 
 Latymeu. 
 Worse than vain. Ah, heaven ! 
 A fond, yet fatal rashness — while one hope 
 Of mercy's left us. Look you, I'll not pause 
 To ask why you so oft have crossed my way 
 For good or evil, for I deem the last 
 But cloak to the better future. Tell me, then. 
 My strange, mysterious kinsman, who, since youth, 
 Hast been a dreamer — 
 
 Lawrency {gloomily). 
 
 'True, I have dreamed. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Awake 
 And give us counsel. Edith — 
 
 Lawrency {/lasiily). 
 
 Hush ! no need 
 For more. Write comfortably. Bid her note 
 How things that do obeisance to the storm 
 Rise up in fresher state. Say life is dear — 
 Love-gilded — and so bid her seek to save, 
 By swift compliance — patience — gentleness — 
 Rather than dangerous schemes. I must begone — 
 Vivian, I think, is here. Give whom you will 
 The letter. 'Twill pass free. {Going.). 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Then farewell, cousin. 
 How cold your hand is ! How ! no friendly gripe ? 
 
 Lawrency (gms/>s his hand). 
 What call you this— and this ? {Exit.y
 
 114 Tlic Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 SCENE II. — A meanly furnished room in the Gaoler's 
 house. 
 
 (Marion, ivatching by her child.) 
 
 Marion. 
 More quiet now. That restless wail no more, 
 Grates on my heart. O kind physician, sleep — 
 What balm can equal thine ? 
 
 (Sings, in a lo7v tone, a melancholy song.) 
 Out on my tongue ! 
 Why should it choose this discontented strain, 
 When I'd for once be merry ? There's a time 
 For grief — that's hourly ; joy — that's when kind looks 
 And loving words, like visitors who know 
 How welcome is their coming, boldly knock 
 At memory's mansion. In, sweet guests — come in. 
 Here's room for all — and lo ! the master's step 
 Sounds on the threshold ! {Enter Lawrency.) 
 
 Lawrf.ncv. 
 
 Where's your father, child ? 
 Came he not hither 
 
 Marion {runs to him). 
 
 Hush, dear love, he sleeps ! 
 The baby sleeps at last. The fever fit 
 Hath worn him sadly. Heaven be praised thou'rt come. 
 I've much to say to thee. 
 
 Lawrf.ncv. 
 
 Then quickly, girl ; 
 I must away again, — my horses wait. 
 
 Marion. 
 First look upon the little slumberer ; 
 Soft — soft — I pray you ; if you knew the pains 
 To win him to this sleep. O Lawrency, 
 Looks he not lovely?
 
 The Lords of Ellin gham. 115 
 
 Lawrency (//; a low voice). 
 
 Ah, what ill hast thou, 
 jNIy little folded rosebud, at thy core. 
 That paints thy leaf so dimly ? Fade, my flower ; 
 Best fruit of earth — better thou should'st be worn 
 On angel breasts than here. {Tunis away^ 
 
 I'll harm thee not 
 With prayer or blessing. 
 
 Marion {to Lawrency). 
 
 Come and rest awhile. 
 Look, I'll sit here — {Places herself at his feet). 
 
 And lean this throbbing brow 
 Upon thy knee. I would not see thine eyes, — 
 For if I looked and found rejection there, 
 Methinks 'twould kill me. Take me from this place, 
 And keep the pledge you gave. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Again, again, 
 The weary, sad old tale. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 With added sorrow. 
 My father hates me, Lawrency. 'Tis true — 
 That sense, which in the sternest parent's heart 
 Hath some dominion, hath been changed to gall, — 
 To scorn, — to loathing. Foul, contemptuous words, 
 And blows, less hard to bear. Worse still, O God : 
 My child, — he struck my child, — even as it stretched 
 Its little arms, and would have flown to him 
 Had he permitted. Pity — I can bear 
 This weary hope no longer ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 It is well ; 
 Thou shalt not. Know then, thou canst never be 
 My lady-wife. But, for that silken snare 
 Which binds so many discontented hearts, 
 
 I 2
 
 Il6 TJic Lords of Ellin^ham. 
 
 I'll give thee— nay, — whate'er thou wilt. I'll WelH 
 
 Why do you turn so pale and clutch mine arm ? 
 
 Marion. 
 Forgive me ; I am faint — I scarcely think 
 I understand you 
 
 I^AWRENCV. 
 
 When, in former days, 
 I talked of love, thou wast not wont to be 
 So slow of comprehension. Plainly, then, 
 Thou hast no longer hold upon my heart, — 
 But for thy patient, thy enduring faith, 
 I'd still reward thee. I am not ungrateful — 
 I will protect thee, Marion — nay, I will ; 
 But in the narrow and blind path I climb, 
 Not both may stand — and if thou meet'st me there, 
 ^^'ho falls ? Be wise, then. Dost thou heed my words ?' 
 If thou didst love me— Marion 
 
 Marion. 
 
 If]— I love 
 Thee more, because grown out of love with sin. 
 Oh, therefore, hear me. Armed with honesty, 
 We may defy the stings of outward ill, — 
 Yea, laugh to scorn the malice of the world, 
 And teach it envy. Load the heart with guilt, 
 And the calm look of that unconscious babe 
 Can set the cheek on fire. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 Hold me not thus ; — 
 I like it not. Marion, I bid you rise. 
 Fond girl, thou should'st have known my nature more 
 Than to believe my purpose might be swayed 
 By such a whining homily as this. 
 
 Marion {springing up ivildly'). 
 Another voice, another look than mine 
 Must force a passage to this stony heart
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 117 
 
 Yet newly-closed ! Come, little advocate, — 
 
 (^She takes the c/iild.) 
 Fail thou, we're lost indeed. Hush, darling, hush ! — 
 'Tis nothing. Look upon this cherub face — 
 The blue eye glistening through the half-formed tear, 
 The tiny fingers in each other twined. 
 As some sweet angel prompted him to join 
 His wretched mother's prayer. Canst thou refuse 
 So innocent a pleader ? Take us hence ; 
 Leave us in scorn, disgrace, and poverty, — 
 But, oh, not here ! 
 
 Lawrency {his head averted, waves her from him). 
 Away ! I cannot — Heav'n ! 
 Must I bear this ? Woman — have mercy — Hence ! 
 Thou wilt not ? 
 
 Marion {daspi/ig him). 
 Never ! never ! 
 
 Lawrency {forcing himself from her) . 
 
 Stubborn girl — 
 Selfish and wilful. Since you will not take 
 The good I offer, bear thy slavish lot — 
 Thy felon-father's menial. Let me go. {Exit) 
 
 Marion. 
 My child— is this the end ? To rest again, 
 ]VIy bird ! O heart— unwilling heart,— confess 
 The source of this rejection. He has looked 
 Upon a fairer face. Shall I die thus — 
 No pity— and no vengeance ? Let me think — 
 Not feel — that's over. Man, man, — you have roused 
 A demon in me, and the strength that should 
 Have met and conquered it, thy merciless hand 
 Itself has plucked away ! Rest, rest, my child— 
 We will be both avenged.
 
 1 1 8 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 SCENE III. — Corridor tn the prison. 
 
 {Enter Lawrency and Kensell.) 
 
 Lawrencv {impatiently) . 
 He does, I tell you. What a fool art thou, 
 To think, because a man can gulp down wrath, 
 He shows you all his soul ! A slow suspicion, 
 Unce wakened, is the strongest. 
 
 Kensell {sullenly). 
 
 'Twas your fault. 
 {Takes an axe from the wall, and begins lazily 
 to sharpen it.) 
 You handled me too roughly. Who'd believe, 
 That I — with knife at hand — 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Thou obdurate ass ! 
 Learn then to curb thine instincts. Keep thy blows 
 For men. I tell you what, my worthy friend — 
 You've not looked well of late. I'm a physician — 
 A dose of hemp might 
 
 Kensell {aside). 
 
 Curse him ! I would give 
 One hand, to stab with the other ! What's to do ? 
 Speak, sir. I've work here. 
 
 Lawrency {leans familiarly on him). 
 
 Did we talk of health ? 
 What of my cousin's ? Did you note, sharp Hugh, 
 A dim look in his eye — upon his cheek, 
 A more than prison paleness ? These young spirits, 
 Endued with eager life — can't brook the cage — 
 I think he'll die. 
 
 Kensell. 
 Yes — give him time.
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 119 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Well, time. 
 But time, good Hugo, like a blundering leech, 
 Can cure as well as slay. Say the law fail : 
 He will come forth — a bright bird, newly fledged. 
 And with, besides, that smell of virtue on him, 
 Which to my nostrils, as to thine, good Hugh, 
 Wafts no such grateful incense. Time ! — pshaw — time ! 
 All men are beaten in that race. Old gossip ! 
 Are there no graves wii/iin ? 
 
 Kens.ell {grin>!ing). 
 
 For living men ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Happily phrased. With your accustomed wit, 
 Keen as an axe — you've hit it. There's enough. 
 I know you. 
 
 Kensell. 
 Why, not quite ; best speak out plain : 
 You want me to do murder ? {Sivingiug the axe.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Well, you fool ! 
 
 Kensell. 
 I'm sick of this commanding ! Look you, master, 
 I am your instrument, and abhor mine office ; 
 Your slave — and curse you for it. I had once 
 A child with cherry lip and silken hair, 
 A blue-eyed baby-face ! She was the chain. 
 That to sweet Nature linked this bruted soul, — 
 yiy penitence — sole sphere where guilty eyes 
 Meet Heav'n unchidden. You— oh, curse you for it ! 
 Passing the opened-armed, the wooing sin, 
 Sought, found, and plucked my cherished, innocent 
 
 flower, 
 And tossed her, withered, back to me. E'er since.
 
 I20 The Lords 0/ Eilingham. 
 
 Her wan cheek is my torture — her sad glance, 
 Like red-hot wire, thrills through me, and incites 
 My savage soul to madness. First I sought 
 With wealth — blood-gained, or how I cared not — to 
 Purchase your tardy justice ; but that failed. 
 You smile ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Go on, sir — finish. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Look you now. 
 You've a rough job in hand — you want my aid, 
 To win it. Wed my daughter. I'll do that ; 
 Nay more — what work soe'er, albeit your lip 
 Falter in whispering to me. Wed my child. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Well— and what then ? 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Why, stab her, if you list ; 
 She'll die— a wife ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 I'll think of it. {Aside) At least. 
 There's little risk in promising. Well— well — 
 It is an honest claim. Be true to me. 
 As I have ever found you. Have your way. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Your hand upon it. 
 
 Lawrency {reluctantly). 
 
 There— enough. Next time 
 The thumbscrew, rather. I'll begone. {Exit.) 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Huzza !
 
 The Lords of Elli?ig/iam. 121 
 
 We'll have the j oiliest bridal ! Bolts and shackles ! 
 These walls shall echo till the deepest cells 
 Heave up a sullen rouse. Ho, there — what, ho ! 
 
 {Ri/ns to door, back?) 
 Girl ! Wench ! My Marion ! {Enter Marion.) 
 
 Spindles to the devil ! 
 Give me a kiss. Don't look so pale. Goto ! 
 Come hither, little fool. 
 
 Marion {timidly). 
 
 Don't beat me. 
 
 Kens ELL {ex nit I ugly). 
 
 Tush ! 
 You'll be a wife, soon. Let your lord do that. 
 'Tis a good English pastime. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Wife, sir? 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Yes, 
 A kiss, I tell you. Thank your good old father ! 
 'Tis a great price he pays, to make his lost one 
 A brave and honest dame. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 What price ? 
 
 Kensell {fiercely). 
 
 Why— blood ! 
 {Aside) Old blockhead ! Can't I hold my tongue ? 
 
 Marion {seizing his arm sinks kneeling). 
 
 This way, 
 F ather, look on me. Can that devil-man 
 So damn all brother-souls ? Will he reject 
 This hand when graced with honour — virtue — God ! 
 And grasp it, dowered with murder ?
 
 122 The Lords of Elli7igha7n. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Wliy — why — 
 
 Marion {faini/y, as she rises). 
 Hold— 
 
 I thank you, father. I am very grateful. 
 I cannot tell how grateful. But you'll see. {Exeunt^ 
 
 SCENE IV. — /// a house near Wmchester. 
 
 (Edith, Ethelind.) 
 
 Ethelind. 
 Your journey, madam, squared not with the will 
 Of Master Lawrency ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 The eager zeal 
 With which he did oppose it, gave more strength 
 To my resolve. Clothed with some secret power, 
 He sways our destiny ; and 'tis no shame 
 To say I fear him. Yet I woukl not stay — 
 Ha ! here at last ? Leave us, good Ethelind. 
 
 {Enter Lawrency attended. Exit Ethelind.) 
 What of my husband ? Speak, — hast seen him ? Hath 
 He sent for me ? How fares my lord ? 
 
 Lawrency {to attendant). 
 
 Some wine {drinks). 
 
 Edith. 
 I pray you — 
 
 TvAWRENCY. 
 
 Stay, sir. Let me ne'er bestride
 
 The Lords of Ellin gharn. 125 
 
 Yon dapple more ; slie flung at every bush, 
 As if a lion couched there. I would know 
 When Master Vivian comes. (^Exeunt attendajifs.y 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Oh ! wilt not answer ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Ha, lady ! what with me ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 With thee ! Alas ! 
 Much,— very much. I'd have thee render back 
 A perilled life ; I'd have thee wash away 
 From thy stained soul the wrong that thou hast done 
 In making merchandise of the dear blood 
 Of thy familiar friend ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 I marvel what 
 The suit may be to which these kindly taunts 
 Are but the prelude. 
 
 Edith. 
 Give me back my husband. 
 
 Lawrency {after a pause). 
 How, lady, are tliese clasped and suppliant hands 
 The same that waved me from thy presence once 
 With sucli a royal scorn? Are these the eyes 
 That scathed me with their lightning ? This the voice 
 That, when I murmured of my passionate love, 
 Willed me to take my palfrey and depart, 
 And I should have thy gratitude ? Nay, come ; 
 I fear me 'tis but jest. 
 
 •5 Edith. 
 
 Is this an hour, — 
 A theme for jesting ? Lawrenc)', thy heart
 
 124 "^^^^ Lords of El lino ham. 
 
 "Was noble, — is so ; pause then, listen to 
 Its language, and my prayer. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 I will. 
 
 Edith {joyfully). 
 
 I wronged thee ; 
 And you, disdaining vengeance, greatly choose 
 A gift no gold may purchase, — that sweet peace 
 That self-approval brings. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Come, this is well. 
 No thanks ; I do my portion, richly j^aid 
 By this most blissful moment. Thus we seal 
 Our mutual compact. Now thou'rt mine indeed. 
 
 {Advancing as if to embrace her. She starts back.) 
 
 Edith. 
 It cannot be ; thou dost not mean it. Say 
 Thou dost not mean it ! Listen, Lawrency ; 
 Thou stand'st this moment where the paths divide 
 To good and evil. Choose the right, nor make 
 The devils blush at thine excelling sin. 
 I tell thee, could I list such fearful terms. 
 The sacrifice were vain, for he would cast, 
 In hate and scorn, the worthless life away, 
 Bought at such a price. 
 
 Lawrency {after a pause, gazing at her). 
 Twill be a sorry sight, 
 When some dark locks we wot of are beheld 
 "Wreathing the hangman's fingers ! "When low hinds, 
 While homeward wending from their honest toil, 
 (iaze on the blackening features, and cry, "See 
 The bloody traitor's doom ! " whife mothers raise 
 Their whimpering brats to touch the scaffold's rim, 
 And bid them love their king.
 
 The Lo7'ds of EUinghavi, 125 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Oh, God ! no more. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Alack ! a flimsy thing is woman's love. 
 Lo ! how the winter of self-sacrifice 
 Doth chill it to the core ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 My life for his. 
 If not, accuse me. Let me die with him. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Thee, my sweet friend ? Our gallant king might well 
 Forgive so fair a foe. 
 
 Edith. 
 Hold, sir. Here end 
 This devilish mockery 1 Love, \ cannot give ; 
 It dwells within a cold and dreary cell. 
 Bound to the fettered prisoner with a tie 
 Stronger than chains. Hatred itself mi<^ht blush 
 To plant a scorpion on his couch of stone, 
 Or quench the last lone spark that cheers the night 
 Of his soul's darkness ! Take my gold, I pray thee, — 
 My land — my jewels — I will be thy slave, — 
 Thy mistress, never ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 See, I want thy love, — 
 Thy love, — and thee. Look you, I jest no more. 
 Be mine thou shalt ! Ay, sweetheart, never dream 
 That thine accursed minion can escape 
 My vengeance. Know that, though the headsman miss, 
 My hatred shall be fed. If one hour hence 
 Thou dost relent — 
 
 Edith. 
 Away ! I heed thee not, — 
 I know not what thou speakest. Go ! thy words
 
 126 The Lords of EUingham. 
 
 Make a strange senseless murmur in mine ear ; 
 !My soul rejects their meaning. Tempter, hence ! 
 
 {JExit Lawrency. Edith remains motionless, 
 absorbed in grief, till Vivian enters^ 
 
 Vivian. 
 Madam, my master, — that is, I would say, 
 l^ly fn'cjid, — desired me bring this loving scroll 
 To your fair hand. 'Tis from your lord — 
 
 (Edith snatches it eagerly.) 
 And say 
 That — but you chid him hence — he would have told 
 Much that had giv'n you comfort, — what calm cheer 
 Marked the discourse — 
 
 Edith. 
 Not see me ! Do I read 
 The words aright? Bid me return, and leave 
 My husband fenced with foes ? Have I not sworn 
 To cheer and tend him through all grief and pain, 
 Ev'n as we shared our love ? Alas ! what hour 
 So much demands the duty he disdains ? 
 Speak, sir. I cannot read this riddle. Speak, — 
 Canst thou ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 If my poor judgment may presume, 
 He knows his safety best. Doth he not Avrite 
 Of love, of pardon, duty, gentleness ? 
 Nay, says he not his life's salvation rests 
 On thy most prompt obedience ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Ay, 'tis so, 
 Ev'n so 'tis written. Heaven, my footsteps guide ! 
 As he can scarce test that obedience more. 
 I am ready at your pleasure. 
 
 {Exit. lie-enter Lawrency.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Bravely done,
 
 The Lords of Ellinghavi, 127 
 
 Shrewd second ! Let not this consenting mood 
 Change by delay. To-morrow we'll set forth 
 For those broad lands, which, fairly confiscate, 
 Shall call me lord. For our caged bird — 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 For him ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Hugh Kensell is his keeper. Would'st thou more ? 
 
 SCENE Y.—The Prison. 
 
 Latymer {as if suddenly awaking). 
 Let go my arms ! Why do ye mock me ? Ha ! 
 False villain ! I can reach thee still. 'Tis nought ; 
 Thank God ! 'twas but a vision. Strange, — I thought, 
 While sadly musing o'er my numbered hours, 
 A silent angel came and set me free, 
 And pointed to my home. There Edith stood 
 To greet her lord ; when one like Lawrency 
 Leaped from the earth beneath my very feet, 
 And bore her shrieking thence. 'Twas terrible ! 
 Still I behold that look of malice mixed 
 With fiercer passion. Hark ! the bolt revolves. 
 
 {Enter Marion sfealt/u'ly.) 
 My mute purveyor, I ne'er hailed thy step 
 As now I do. Speak to me. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 I am changed 
 Since you beheld me.
 
 128 The Lords 0/ E/lingham. 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 So thou art, indeed 
 Or else this dungeon-light gives ghastlier hue 
 Than captive cheeks are wont to wear. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 I mean 
 My heart is changed. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Gentler it cannot be ; 
 And that tliou art not grown less merciful, 
 This visit proves. 
 
 Marion. 
 I bring nor hope, nor aid. 
 Hope mocks me ever ; pity veils her brow ; 
 The flowers I plant bear thorns. Why should I deal 
 In mercy's sweet and tender offices, 
 Yet ne'er partake of them ? 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 Why, art thou not 
 A woman ? 
 
 Marion. 
 You love life ? 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 I court not death, 
 And would not meet him on the scaffold. 
 
 Marion {sternly). 
 
 See; 
 I come to traffic with thee for thy life. 
 My price — revenge ! Look on me. I am wronged, 
 And need the service of a stalwart arm 
 Like thine. Do but my bidding, and thou'rt free ; 
 Refuse, and here I leave thee to thy doom.
 
 The Lords oj Ellingham. 129 
 
 Come, — choose. But three days past, I would have 
 
 spent 
 My heart's blood, drop by drop, to save from harm 
 One hair of that fair brow. I'll not look back ; 
 Love lies behind, — hate onward. Would'st thou live? — 
 But now my thought grows wild, my senses reel. 
 Blood ! — I will have his blood ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Can passion work 
 A change so fearful ? Thou hast not yet named 
 Him who hath wronged thee. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 My friend ? 
 Leave thy revenge to God ! 
 
 Marion, 
 
 Back to your straw ; 
 That fearless look misled me, — I mistook 
 Your nature. Fare you well. {She retires^ 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Oh, Edith ! Edith ! 
 
 Marion h-etums suddenly). 
 Stay, I have news for thee. Thy Edith lies 
 Within a ruffian's snare, — ev'n as we speak, 
 'Tis closing round her. 
 
 Latymer {starting tip). 
 Ha ! the dream ! 
 
 Marion {going). 
 
 Farewell 1 
 
 Latymer. 
 Hold — hold — in pity ! Is this dungeon hell, 
 
 K
 
 130 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 And yon fair thing a demon sent to prove 
 My spirit's strength? I — I will follow thee. 
 Girl, thou hast raised a fiend, with which to dwell 
 Alone exceeds my power. What of my wife ? 
 My Edith? Has she — Woman, thou didst speak 
 Of danger, — of a snare ! Fool, — fool ! 'tis plain, 
 It is — it is my dream's reality, 
 
 Marion. 
 Wilt thou revenge me ? Swear ! 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 I swear ! 
 
 Marion {unlocks the chain). 
 
 'Tis well ; 
 {Brings a disguise.) 
 Throw these rude garments o'er you. Quickly ; now 
 Follow, — but not a word. {Exeunt.) 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Street near the Castle. 
 
 {Enter Latymer and Marion.) 
 
 Marion. 
 Now thou art free ; away, and quickly make 
 Thy ransom good. {Stops as she retires.) 
 
 Hist you ! Avoid the Tower, 
 For man to-day makes holiday to see 
 His fellow butchered. Fare you well ! {Exit Marion.) 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 The Tower ! 
 What secret impulse bids me seek the spot
 
 The Lords of Ellinghmn. 131 
 
 From which she warns me ? I will go. Good rags, 
 Be my protection, 
 
 i^As he is going, efiter some Townspeople.) 
 Hold, I pray you, sir ; 
 What do they at the Tower ? 
 
 Townsman. 
 
 What do they at 
 The Tower? Curtail man's fair proportions, sir. 
 Would'st see the subjects they do practise on, 
 Thither with me. {Dead march without^ 
 
 Another. 
 Back, neighbours, — back, I say ! 
 Room for this lady. Come, sirs, let us on. 
 
 {Exeunt ; Latymer follows, and enter at ike 
 other side Hugh Kensell and others ., armed, 
 with a Totvnsman.) 
 
 Townsman. 
 By yonder corner. Ha ! mine eye just caught 
 The flutter of his ragged cloak. He makes 
 Straight for the river. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Twenty crowns I give 
 The man who grasps him first. Jerome and Cole, 
 Round to yon corner, and head back the game ; 
 We follow on his track. Who's for the crowns ? 
 
 Townsman. 
 Start fair, sirs. One must win. The prize is sure. 
 
 {Exeunt, running different ways.) 
 
 END of act hi. 
 
 K 2
 
 13- 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Gat-den at Eilingham. 
 
 (Edith — Ethelind») 
 
 Edith. 
 Look on the dial, Ethelind ; the day 
 Is surely waning. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 'Tis just noon. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 No more ? 
 I would that it were evening. Sit by me. 
 Did I not talk of dreams ? I'll tell thee what 
 Befell last night. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 What was't, dear lady ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Hark ! 
 Put close thine ear ; are we secure ? Methinks 
 The air is listening, it has grown so still — 
 The flowers seem glancing hitherward. Come on, 
 Into this nook ; their bright eyes pain me. Hist ! 
 'Twas thus : — There sat a weight upon my bosom, 
 A croucliing phantom, whose white ghastly hand 
 Beckoned my sleep away. There was a sound 
 Of fluttering wings, as if a prisoned bird 
 Had seen her love-mate in the skies at play, 
 And would be with him. Then — 
 
 {llicy walk aside conversing^
 
 The Lords of Ellvigham. 133 
 
 {Enter Vivian, 7nuttering angrily.) 
 
 'Tis ever thus — 
 I see — with pride. While plotting, it doth sit 
 With drooping brow, and lips demurely pursed, 
 A humble suitor — till its end be won, 
 And then it doth begin to flout and scold 
 And show its blacker nature. I know not 
 When I have been so stirred ! {Exit.) 
 
 (Edith and Ethelind return.) 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 You wakened then ? 
 The blessed Virgin shield us from all ill : 
 Would we might never dream ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 So thou wouldst cast 
 A world away ! Sweet soother ! gentle sleep ! — 
 Who paints forgotten pictures on our hearts, 
 So that we deem them real ; gives despair 
 Hope's healthful whisper ; brings the beggar wealth ; 
 Plucks down oppression ; bursts the prison-door ; 
 And justice gives, unbribed. Nay, let us dream ; 
 For only then, if we perforce must err, 
 'Tis done in innocence. Whose form is that 
 Amid the trees ? Methought that here mine eyes 
 Might shun the presence of false-scheming men ; 
 But there's no peace — no peace ! 
 
 Ethelind, 
 
 I know his gait ; 
 ^Tis Walter Vivian. Look, he turns — now stops — 
 Now turns again. He's angered. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Come this way — 
 I hate his scrutiny — the wicked tool 
 Of a worse master !
 
 134 ^/^^' Lords of EllingJiam. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 To the bower, sweet madam ; 
 I have a charm to lure tliis dragon lience. 
 Trust him to me. {^As they go oat, re-enter Vivian.) 
 
 Vivian. 
 He grows in maUce, too, 
 E'en as in villany. Blind and sottish fool ! 
 To yoke my fortune to so wild a car, 
 Which bears me breatliless over rugged ways, 
 And depths scarce fathomed, from whose fearful leap 
 My cooler thought recoils. And for what end 
 Have I done this ? For none. Offence nor feud 
 Had I with Latymer ; no revenge to wreak 
 In blood or ruin. By heaven, I'll move no more 
 In aid of Lawrency ! As yet — {Enter Ethelind.) 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 How now ? 
 
 What sturdy vagrant's this that dare approach 
 
 So near my mistress' person? Out ! — Alack ! 
 
 'Tis Master Vivian ! Pardon, sir, I took you 
 
 For some poor vagabond — some petty thief — 
 
 Some gaol-bird newly freed. Kind sir, I hope 
 
 You pardon me. {Curtscymg ironically^ 
 
 Vivian. 
 I understand you, child. 
 No music soothes me like a woman's tongue 
 Tuned for a scold. I am in a bitter mood. 
 And would be cheered ; so here I'll rest me ; now 
 (io on : let's see thy spirit, — in good faith, 
 Thou hast one. Come, child. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 Would that men might say 
 The like of thee ! Thou wear'st a sword, indeed, — 
 (Is't of true metal or a peacock's plume?) 
 And hast a manly swagger — airs would fright
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 135 
 
 My very grandame ; still, I dare be sworn, 
 The worth o' the picture's chiefly in the frame. 
 
 Vivian. 
 Again well said. I'll kiss you. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 You had better ! 
 May a poor damsel know what mighty cause 
 Hath moved this generous ire ? At shovel-board 
 Did Master Holdfast beat thee ? Does thy back 
 Ache from a recent cudgel? Art dismissed ? 
 Was the last flask of Malvoisie too sour 
 To please thy palate ? Tell me. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Worse than that. 
 What think you ? The new lord took strange offence 
 At some misdoing ; stiaick the steward twice, — 
 A grey old man that might have been his sire, — 
 And hath discharged the cellarer, a man 
 I held in high esteem. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 I know you did. 
 A most discreet old man. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 True, child — 'tis base ! 
 And, but my pouch is empty as a drum, 
 I'd serve his beck no longer. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 Are you mad 
 To tell me so ? What, if yon bird reported 
 That to your master ? You'd be packing soon. 
 Ay, sir, right quickly thou'dst be fain to take 
 Thine honoured spyship hence. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 My master, truly !
 
 136 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Since wlien wore 1 his livery ? Hark you, girl ! 
 Were it my will to — Humph ! I'll talk no more. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 'Tis best. Thou'dst else betray some confidence 
 That none but knaves should hear ; some valorous plot 
 Against a woman, when no manly foot 
 Is near to crush ye. By these heavens that shine, 
 One stained with deeds like this had better dwell 
 On .savage shores, with things untaught and wild, 
 Than strut the world, clad in such garb as thine, 
 And call himself a man ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 It was not I. 
 
 No deed of mine — I thought — {Aside ; turns arvay.) 
 
 Am I a fool, 
 To blush and stammer like a chidden child 
 Before this wench's eye .-* 'Tis bitter truth 
 Gives her words venom ; she but drives more deep, 
 A thorn was fixed before. I am not yet 
 So much at odds with virtue as to make 
 All reconcilement vain. I'll speak to her — 
 Tell her the tidings ; ask her — Ethelind ! 
 Hem ! Ethelind ! 
 
 Ethelind. 
 Mocker ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 I mock thee not. 
 Nay, Ethelind, believe me, — trust me, child. 
 Less hardened than I seem, I here reject 
 An office fits me not. I honour thee, 
 And pity thy poor mistress. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 'Tis too late. 
 Alas — alas ! too late !
 
 The Lords of Ellinghatn, 137 
 
 Vivian. 
 For once thou'rt wrong. 
 Canst keep a secret safely ? Spare thy fib, — 
 I'll trust thee, woman as thou art. Then know 
 That, by a hand unknown, some instruments, 
 Useful for man's enlargement, were conveyed 
 To an imprisoned knight, one Latymer ; 
 Who thereupon escaped. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 Can this be true? 
 
 Vivian. 
 'Twas thought he sailed for Flanders \ but of this 
 I have no certain knowledge. To thy mistress ; 
 And, with these news possessed, sing in her ear 
 A song of comfort. Say, withal, that I — 
 I, Walter Vivian, kiss her hands, in shame 
 That I have stained my erewhile manhood, thus 
 Joining her crafty foe; but from henceforth 
 Am vowed her champion. 
 
 Ethelind. 
 
 Never would I seek 
 A blither errand. 
 
 Vivian. 
 To thy charge, my maid. 
 
 (^Exeunt severally.) 
 
 SCENE \\.—A Part of the Grounds. 
 
 {Enter Marion as a page.) 
 
 Marion. 
 Well, I have traced this dark, corroding ill 
 Through nerve and vein, and, as I deemed, the core
 
 138 The Lords of Ellinghain. 
 
 Is — Edith ! Mocking villain, thou shalt make 
 A dear account ! 'Twas well I Avaited not 
 The cold and sluggish aid of Latymer. 
 My ready path lies open. I will seem, 
 False Avretch ! thy faithful and most loving slave — 
 The tool and i)ander of thy hate and crimes — 
 Until the ripe hour comes ; and then I'll doff 
 This servile badge, and shew thee Marion ! 
 
 (Homis miihoiit.) 
 What — from the chase ? Hunter, thyself art snared. 
 
 (^Exit.) 
 
 {Enter Lawrency, 7i.nih hounds, hiintS7nen, etc.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Hang me yon spotted brach without delay ! 
 Beauty, ye call her ! Hang her I 'Tis the won't 
 Of beauties to mislead. Dost hear me, sir? 
 Now what dost gape at ? 
 
 Huntsman. 
 
 Did your honour say 
 The spotted brach ? The best — 
 
 Lawrency (impatiently). 
 
 She shall be hanged \ 
 Away, and do it. 
 
 Huntsman. 
 Sir, the hound is staunch ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Dost parley with me, fellow ? Here, give up 
 Thy belt and horn. Seek out another lord. 
 Take thyself hence. 
 
 (Tlic liuntsman throivs d(nvn his belt, etc., and 
 exit.) 
 Where's Julian ? Where's the page ? 
 Go, seek him. (Enter Vivian.)
 
 The Lo7'ds of Ellingham. 139. 
 
 Thou here ! lazy fellow — hence ! 
 Did I not give thee hasty missives ? Now 
 Beshrew thee ! What dost here ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 A quiet stroll 
 Did better suit my fancy. I'll not ride 
 Unless the humour serve. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Why, what means this ? 
 Away, sirs ! {Attendants go out.)- 
 
 Now, thou most untoward knave, 
 Where are the papers my rash confidence 
 Gave to thy charge ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Safe, sir. The scrolls are safe ; 
 Heed not for that. But I'll no longer be 
 An unrewarded drudge. The game is played — 
 And, while thou'rt fattening on the treasure won. 
 In purse and prospect I am lean as ever. 
 Give me a thousand crowns ! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Get thee to bed 
 And sleep thy senses sober ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 If I drink, 
 'Tis but to drown the devil. He is here 
 Again — or, is it thou ? 
 
 Lawrency {turning away). 
 
 There, get thee gone ! 
 I'll talk with thee to-morrow. 
 
 Vivian {following^ 
 
 No, to-day.
 
 140 TJie Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Tempt not my patience further. Look you, Vivian : 
 Let us not quarrel. I am hot as thou, 
 And, being provoked, more dangerous. I say, 
 Beware ! 
 
 Vivian. 
 Beware thyself. 
 
 Lawrency (grasps his s7uord, but looses it again). 
 
 Go — go, thou'rt drunk. 
 I'his time I pardon thee. 
 
 Vivian. 
 Yon helpless girl 
 Is not thy victim. / protect her, /.' 
 Storm as thou wilt, and vapour with thy sword, 
 That bird hath 'scaped the snare. 
 
 Lawrency {draws and advances on hint). 
 
 Stand from thy path. 
 Fool ! wilt thou tempt thy fate ? 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 I fear thee not, — 
 Come on. {They fight, and Vivian falls?) 
 
 The curse of En^dish hearts upon 
 Thy French-taught tricks of fence,— thou hadst me there; 
 Thy bodkin's point has pricked me from the world 
 Ere I could make my peace with honesty. 
 This is Heaven's justice. On this very spot 
 I sold myself to thee. As thou'rt a man. 
 Undo thy guilt. O me ! I faint — this blood — 
 
 {He dies.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Beshrew thee for a quarrel-seeking knave ; 
 Thou forcedst this on me. When the whelp we rear 
 (irows to a lion with his teeth undrawn. 
 No mar\'el if those dangerous fangs be turned
 
 The Lot'ds of EllinoJiam. 141 
 
 Upon their feeder. Vivian, this was ill — 
 
 The morning of our friendship promised not 
 
 To couch in bloody clouds. Ah ! destiny. (Exit.) 
 
 {Enter Edith cloaked.) 
 
 Edith. 
 Alas ! my shadow warns me that the day 
 Is older than I thought. My champion, ho ! — 
 Soft — here he lies ! Great Heaven — to slumber thus 
 At such a moment. Hist ! Good friend, awake ! 
 'Twas not my will to keep thee. Sentinel, 
 Is this thy watchful faith ? Up — up, for pity ! 
 Alas ! what stain is on my robe ? 'Tis red — 
 'Tis blood — the sleeper's blood — and he will wake 
 No more till angels summon. Now, indeed, 
 Am I deserted. Ah ! 
 
 {Re-enter, Lawrency, attended by Grossvelt 
 and WiLHELM.) 
 
 Lawrency {approaching her). 
 My truant bird ! 
 Would'st slip thy jesses? Grows thy perch so dull, 
 That thou would'st fain be soaring ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Hast thou torn 
 Life's temple down, and now return'st to mock 
 Its senseless ruins ? 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Nay, I'd spare thee, love, 
 This most unsightly scene ; but — Knaves, there needs 
 No leechcraft. Bear him in — thence, speedily. 
 With rites befitting, to his kindred clay. 
 For this mischance I will account to all 
 Who have the right to question. 
 
 (Grossvelt and Wilhelm remove the body.) 
 Thou art pale, 
 Yet thou look'st gladly.
 
 142 The Lords of Ellingham, 
 
 Edith. 
 Aye, my lord is safe. 
 Safe, and at liberty ! These cheering news 
 Thy murdered comrade brought me. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 I'hen he died 
 With falsehood on his lips. Aye, Latymer 
 Escaped — that's true. But there were hawks abroad, 
 And the freed pigeon circled round so oft, 
 Ere darting homeward, that his flight was stayed. 
 He'll scarce try that again. Now, fairest cousin, — 
 Nay, fear me not, — / do not love thee now. 
 
 {Leads her to a scat.) 
 I would but tell thee of a thing I saw 
 When absent last. Watson, thou know'st, is dead ? 
 
 Edith. 
 Dead! 
 
 Lawrency. 
 On the scaffold. So is Clarke, — these both 
 Less guilty than thy lord. I stood by them 
 In the last moments of their awful doom. 
 They were dragged forth — 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Spare me the tale. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 And hanged ; 
 But not to death. Oh ! that were merciful 
 'J"o what succeeded. With clenched hands, — with throats 
 Black with the stifling rope, and breath that came 
 In short convulsive throbs, they chained them down. 
 (Already pale ?) 'Tis well thou could'st not hear 
 The last loud shriek of mortal anguish, wrung 
 From those whose superhuman fortitude
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 143 
 
 Up to that hideous moment stood supreme, — 
 Nor note the savage yell that round me rose 
 When the masked torturer, with his bloody hands, 
 Tore from their wretched bosoms life's quick source, 
 And hurled it in the flame ! What victim next ? 
 List to the thrilling whisper of thy heart. 
 
 {Pause. He rises.) 
 He is condemned. 
 
 Edith {lineeling at his feet). 
 
 Hear me, thou bloody judge ! 
 If thou canst fear, — hast faith in holy prayer, — 
 If thou believ'st there is a time when thou. 
 Before a wak'ning universe shalt stand 
 And answer the demand, " Why didst thou thus? 
 Where is thy brother?" — spare my perilled lord. 
 Or, if thou canst not, take me to him. Let 
 Us meet on this side death. We do not ask 
 To mar thy triumph, — to regain the peace 
 Thy hand has wrested from us. We will die, — 
 We will both die ! 
 
 Lawrency {aside, irresolutely). 
 
 Sad music ! Cease, — oh, cease ! 
 Quick, to my aid, dark fiend, or I am lost 
 To my revenge, and thee ! {recovering himself^ Arise, 
 
 arise ! 
 I owe ye no such favour. Woman, hark ! 
 
 {Seizes her arm.) 
 Heard you that cry ? It is the greedy rack 
 Distorting his young limbs ! Look ! his white cheek, 
 Palsied with inner anguish ! his pale lips 
 That thou hast kissed — the hand that thou hast strained — 
 The breast that was thy pillow ! Hark ! he cries 
 Aloud for death, and death is merciful. 
 But thou — thou wilt not hear ! 
 
 Edith {starts up with sudden loildness) . 
 
 Speak — speak ! canst save him ?
 
 144 TJie Lords of EUinoham, 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Aye, — so thy part be done. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 'Tis o'er, — I yield. 
 Do what thou wilt. Come, devil as thou art, 
 Struggle no longer for thy hellish hire. 
 Body and soul, destroy me ! Work thy will. 
 In all the outward fashion of a man 
 Thou dost confront me, and I hear thy voice 
 Fearfully tempting. Look ! there is God's throne, 
 Whereto the stain of murder doth attain 
 Ere earth can green it o'er. God's blessed air 
 Surrounds us, and is passing onward now, 
 Soiled with thy words of sin and treachery, 
 Yet harmless all to thee ; from this I know 
 That Heaven forsakes me. No ; he shall not die ! 
 I'll rend mine honour first \ then, dying, sue 
 At his pure feet for pardon. Live, my Dudley ! 
 How can I leave that form of honoured life 
 To the rude scoffs of maddened multitudes ? 
 How can I give the generous heart, a prey 
 For human wolves to tear ? Take life, — hope, — honour, 
 But save,— oh, save him ! 
 
 {She falls senseless at Ids feet.y 
 
 END OF ACT IV.
 
 145 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Ah Apartment. 
 
 (Edith is seated on a couch, her head bent down 
 on her hands. Giovanni kneels at her feet.) 
 
 Giovanni. 
 She hears me not ; yet for a weary hour 
 I kneel, and clasp this dead-cold hand, and pray 
 Some word or sign of consciousness. Oh ! speak, 
 Lady ! sweet mistress ! poor Giovanni calls. 
 These woes have killed her. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Had they but such power ! 
 Life, that deserts joy's new and glittering fane, 
 Clings to its ruins. Boy, the hopeful die, — 
 The trusted, — loved, — those for whose weal, bowed 
 
 hearts 
 And hands uplift, and sacrifice of tears 
 Are offered. Hark, — a step ! Secure the door. 
 Ah ! that were vain. Who comes ? {Enter Marion.) 
 
 Marion. 
 
 My master, lady. 
 Craves pardon for his seeming negligence. 
 He lingers but to seal a hurried scroll 
 Touching the theme on which you spoke this mom, 
 And will attend you, madam. {Exit Marion.) 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Then all's true ; 
 I did not dream. Under the peaceful wing 
 Of holy night the dark assassin comes 
 To strike at my soul's health. Giovanni, hark ! 
 
 L
 
 146 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Had guilty snares beset thee, — life become 
 A thing unprized — which, being spent, would buy 
 A dearer life's salvation — what would'st do ? 
 Speak boldly. Thou would'st— ha ! 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Die, madam ! spurn 
 The slavish load, and die ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Why, that's well said. (^Fauses^ 
 Giovanni, thou hast loved thy mistress ? 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Aye, 
 Lady, my counsel proves it. 
 
 Edith. 
 
 And wilt serve her, — 
 Thou wilt ; I know thee. Canst thou call to mind 
 One summer's eve, Giovanni, when I sat 
 In yonder bower, and (quicklier to beguile 
 The absence of my lord) taught thee strange names 
 Of many curious herbs, whose deep hearts hide 
 The healing balm of death ? And, idly, too, 
 As then I thought, showed thee a cunning mean 
 To draw from them their rank and inner juice, 
 And make them skilful ministers to hearts, 
 Like mine, past other cure ? 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Yes, I remember 
 That evening, madam ; not, I fear, the task. 
 
 Edith . 
 Cull me white lilies, and the hooded flower 
 That in its monkish cowl at once doth bear 
 Both death and healing ; nightshade, with its fruit 
 Of royal purple ; drooping widow's flower. 
 To me most fitting; swallow-wort of gold. 
 That lures the honey-seeker to its heart,
 
 The Lords of Elli7igJiam. 147 
 
 Then hugs the thief to death ; and last, good page, 
 Forget not that stout hemlock, by whose aid 
 The wise and honoured heathen won his way 
 Into the gods' embrace. 
 
 Giovanni; 
 
 I'll do it, madam. (Exit.) 
 
 Edith. 
 Thus, tyrant, I recall the extorted pledge, 
 And, in its stead, give life. May that suffice 
 To turn thy vengeance from that richer food 
 For which it hungers, — teach thee penitence, 
 And pity to thy kind. 
 
 {She jiiairs ioivards a portrait, atid kneels.) 
 Mother, 'tis thou 
 Should'st stead me in this misery ; but, oh ! 
 It breaks my heart to look on thy sweet face, 
 So proudly innocent. Though but in thought 
 Grown vile, that glance condemns. Down, guilty head. 
 Into the dust of the impassive earth 
 That can no more thy dainty looks defile, 
 More pure than thou. My unknown parent, if, 
 As I did never nestle on thy breast. 
 Nor in thy kind arms ready refuge weep 
 My infant griefs away, — so my lost soul 
 May miss the path to that blessed world where thou 
 Hast rest for aye— yet pray for me, — for one 
 Who, sick with sorrow and beset with snares, 
 Found this world's paths too rugged for her tread, _ 
 And the grave's peace too tempting. Ha ! what light 
 Steals o'er thy features } 'Tis Heaven speaks to me 
 In pity of this deed, and — 
 
 {Re-enter Giovanni ivith chalice^ 
 Thanks ; you have found 
 All my deliverers, — cool and fresh, and filled 
 With that rich solvent, at whose softest kiss 
 Life's chain drops from us. For this service, boy, 
 I must be still thy debtor. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 The Lords of Ellin gham. 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 There is more 
 To do. Revenge. 
 
 Edith. 
 I will not have it so. 
 I'll tread that path alone. My last true friend, 
 Farewell. 
 
 Giovanni. 
 Farewell, sweet mistress. 
 i^He retires. After a pause, a step is heard ap- 
 proac/iiiig.') 
 
 Edith {starting to her feet). 
 
 Ha ! he comes. 
 Earth chides me hence, Heaven beckons, and I pause, 
 As there were space for question. (Dri/ihs.) Fatal cup ! 
 Sweet hath o'ercome thy bitter, — life thy death. 
 I am ready for thee. 
 
 {Enter Latymer, pale; his dress bloody?^ 
 Thy — thy message ? Speak ! 
 Com'st thou, impatient of thy lonely grave, 
 To meet me, hastening to thee ? 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Edith, — wife ! 
 Calm thee, — I live. 
 
 Edith (/// a loia, troubled tone). 
 
 My brain seems wandering. 
 The villain mocked me, for he could not save. 
 And so my sweet lord died. 
 
 I^atymer. 
 
 He lives for thee. 
 My loved, — my lost one ! To thy home, my heart. 
 Do you not know me ? 
 
 PLdith. 
 
 Aye, methinks I do.
 
 The Lords of Eilins^havi. 149 
 
 But do not trifle with me ; I have slept 
 And had a dream so fearful, that I see 
 Its phantoms round me yet. Oh ! can it be 
 That I do stand beside thy living form, 
 Feeling thy touch, and dwelling on thy tone ? 
 Speak on, speak gently. Say that woes are past, 
 That we shall live as in old loving days, 
 And all be peace again. 
 
 Latymer. 
 It shall. 
 
 Edith {clinging frantically to him). 
 
 Oh, come ! 
 Why linger, then ? Why draw one other breath 
 In this hot atmosphere of shame and sin ? 
 Oh, come — come — come ! 
 
 Latymer {eagerly). 
 
 It is my prayer. 
 
 Edith {sinking back). 
 
 Ah, me ! 
 This is lost labour, Dudley. I would fly, — 
 Indeed I would ; but ever, when I move. 
 Some unseen monster seems to coil around. 
 And force me from your anns. 
 
 Latvtmer {drawing her tcnuards a casement). 
 
 Look forth, my love. 
 There lies our path, across the wooded glen. 
 Whose mazes we have trod so oft together. 
 Shall we essay it now ? See how the night 
 From her fringed mantle flings a silvery star, 
 To be our guide and welcome ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Blessed star ! 
 Stand in the gate of heaven, and guide me lience.
 
 150 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 My strength begins to fail. Oh, Lawrency ! 
 Thy bitter vengeance ! 
 
 Latvmer. 
 
 Ha ! my dungeon dream !' 
 Thou dost not mean that — Mercy, God ! 
 
 Edith. 
 
 'Tis true. 
 I see you murmur to yourself. 'Twas guilt ; 
 Yet do not cast me from you. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Edith,— Edith, 
 (Giovanni enters and springs to her assistance?^ 
 Spoke I too harshly ? 
 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Hadst thou come this mom, 
 All had been well ; now, death. 
 
 Edith (ranving). 
 
 Thy hand, — thy hand* 
 Be armed, dear husband ; he has spoken sooth, — 
 Our life of love is over. 
 
 Latvmer. 
 I have heard 
 Of strange delusions that do mock men's souls. 
 How changed thou art ! Thy voice is deep and stem. 
 That made such music as a sleepless bird 
 Might scatter through night's waste. That drooping 
 
 fomi. 
 Where is its matchless majesty? Why grows 
 Thy brow so dark and wrinkled that, but now. 
 Fair as an angel's seemed ? 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Dudley, I die. 
 Start not— grieve not, but hear. When thou wast gone,.
 
 The Loi'ds of EllingJiam. 151 
 
 Came there that false betrayer, — that foul friend, 
 
 And hourly hissed into my helpless ear 
 
 Dark tales of blood and torture ; spoke of wolves. 
 
 That, shaped like men, had bloodier hearts, and yelled 
 
 And thirsted for thy life — ray hiisbauLVs life ! — 
 
 Which he could save, he only ; and myself 
 
 Alone could find the ransom. I grow faint. 
 
 Nay, spur thy fancy ; bid it leap the gulf 
 
 And roam the hell beyond. Canst guess the price 
 
 Of thy redemption ? Do not speak. 'Tis true ; 
 
 In your white cheek I read it. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Villain — villain ! 
 
 Edith. 
 He talked of what was done ; the fate our friends 
 Had borne, their shrieks, their terrible death. In brief, 
 I did consent — 
 
 Latymer. 
 Ha! 
 
 Edith {faintly). 
 
 Let me say all. 
 Though in mine agony I did consent 
 To be thy saviour, think not, dearest lord, 
 I would have lived to be thy scorn and shame. 
 No, — no ! I better knew myself, and thee. 
 Listen. The hour was near, — the torturer bent 
 To claim his devilish pact. Thus driv'n to bay, 
 Finding no way to freedom, love, I made one. 
 Yes, I have drunk, and die. Dudley, forgive. 
 Sweet husband, pardon me. {Sinks at his feet.) 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 I stand and gaze, 
 As if some magic touch had made me stone, 
 Leaving no sense but vision, and that spared 
 For torture, — not in mercy. Art thou, Edith,
 
 152 TJic Lords of Ellinghavi. 
 
 My love and life ? My flesh begins to creep. 
 How came I hither ? Would this dream were o'er ! 
 
 Edith. 
 Dudley, come nearer. All is darkness now, 
 But I can hear thy voice, — my faint heart thrills 
 To its accustomed echo. Griev'st thou, Dudley ? 
 
 Latymer. 
 My tears speak for me. Edith, I — Oh, God ! 
 I am a wretched and heart-stricken man, — 
 A guilty man ! Spare me this child, — this lamb 
 From out the world's great flock. Oh, gentle one ! 
 Oh, noblest heart that e'er this world did bear ! 
 / have done this, — / loved thee more than Heaven, — 
 And jealous Heaven recalls thee to itself. 
 And will not heed my prayers. Thus, hand in hand. 
 Cold lip to lip, and bleeding heart to heart, 
 We will obey the summons. 
 
 {Places her on a loui couch^ and kneels supporting 
 her.) 
 
 Edith. 
 
 Welcome rest ! 
 The day has been too long. Nay, do you weep ? 
 No tears. I am your wife, — your honoured wife ; 
 Your — happy — wife. Dear Dudley, will you give me 
 The good-night kiss ? That's well. And now, my head 
 Eeels weary — on thy bosom — thus — to sleep — 
 
 Latymer. 
 To sleep ! 
 
 {He lies denvn at her feet. After a momenty 
 Giovanni approaches and whispers him.) 
 What art thou, ])loody counsellor? 
 I know thy favour, and 1 heed tliy words. 
 Oh, you, Giovanni ! In one breath, my boy, 
 How dark the world has grown ! Come, — to the work ! 
 
 {Kus/ies out.)
 
 The Lords of Ellin irJiain. 153 
 
 SCENE l\.—A Dark Gallery. 
 
 i^Armed servants ^/Latvmer, 7vith HuGH Ken- 
 SELL, a prisoner.) 
 
 First Servant. 
 Finish thy tale. He burst the outer gate, 
 And entered by the oriel. Whither then ? 
 
 Second Servant. 
 Straight to the lady's chamber. I, meanwhile, 
 Sought thee and our bold comrades here, with whom 
 He bade me wait his summons, to escort 
 The lady forth. He swore us all to touch 
 No hair o' the base informer, — else — 
 
 First Servant. 
 
 Who's this? 
 Faith, he's no cherub ! 
 
 Second Servant. 
 Sir, this cavalier 
 Is gaoler commonly, and, at over-hours, 
 Headsman, of Winchester. Seeing him on our track, 
 We made free with his person. What's his errand. 
 The devil, that sent him, knows ; but if he came 
 In chase of Master Latymer, 'twas lucky 5 
 For, as it seems, he's caught him. 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 Fool ! you lie, — 
 'Tis Lawrency. 
 
 Second Servant, 
 Come, sir, be civil. Speak 
 The truth for once. 
 
 Kensell. 
 I do. And were't, my friend, 
 Your natural tongue, you'd understand it better. 
 I follow Lawrency.
 
 154 ^/''^ Lords of Ellin gJiain. 
 
 First Servant. 
 And wliy ? 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 He's lured 
 My daughter from me, and pretends — Good knaves, 
 Let me but see this man. 
 
 Second Servant. 
 
 Perhaps you will. 
 Hast e'er a halter with you ? You shall meet, — 
 You precious pair of rogues ! 
 
 First Servant. 
 
 Is it not strange 
 We hear no summons ? What's the signal ? 
 
 i^A bloii.' is struck on the panel ^ 
 
 Second Servant. 
 
 That! 
 {They rush out, dragging Kensell.) 
 
 SCENE THE LAST.— ^ Saloo?i. Night. At one 
 side the remains of a baiiquet. 
 
 (Lawrencv at a table covered with books, papers,, 
 plans, etc. Lights do7vni) 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 Thrice have I moved those hangings, yet could swear 
 That their dark folds concealed some form instinct 
 With moving life. How yon grim portrait stares ! 
 His eyes outgleam my cresset. S'death, he smiles ! 
 Truce with thy ghastly merriment ; I'll spoil 
 Thy grinning, friend, to-morrow. Sense o'ertaxed,
 
 The Lords of Ellinghmn. 155 
 
 Plays us, in spite, strange tricks. {A pause ; he writes^ 
 
 'Tis very still, 
 And yet it is not. I have seen it writ, 
 That on the brooding earth 710 silence dwells, 
 But ever there are deep mysterious sounds, 
 Whose source we know not, flitting to and fro. 
 Like shades condemned, that wander earth and heaven, 
 Yet nowhere find a home. What have we here ? 
 
 {Tossing over papers.) 
 " Hangings for chamber in the eastern wing. 
 Six nobles and a mark." " For closing in 
 The right of pasturage, ten marks." " The sale 
 Of old Dame Gillian's tapestry brought no more 
 Than fourteen crowns." Indeed ! What's this ? " The 
 
 plan 
 For building of the church you promised, when — " 
 'Tis nought. Lo ! how the tongueless night doth give 
 Significance to every wonted sound ! 
 'Tis time. AVho waits there ? Julian, boy ! 
 
 {Enter Marion.) 
 The hour ? 
 
 Deep midnight, sir. 
 
 Without. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 'Tis fitting. Place a lamp 
 
 Marion {aside.) 
 He hath not changed his purpose. Heart, 
 Hold thine. 
 
 Lawrencv, 
 Away, sir ; go ! 
 
 Marion {appi-oaching). 
 
 My gentle lord 
 Is wear}-^ with much study. 1 have here 
 A draught so soothing —
 
 156 The Lords of EUingham. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Give it me. I drink 
 To — Dost thou see the devil, boy, that thus 
 You tremble and grow pale ? I drink to JIaie, 
 And Vengeance, crowned and full ! {Drinks.') 
 
 Marion. 
 
 The cup is drained. 
 There's no drop left — not one. A worthy pledge. 
 Revenge, — revenge, — Oh, God ! {Hushes out.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 The boy hath had 
 His revel with the pages. His young brain — 
 Why wait I here ? My soul hath spurned aside 
 Its sick oppression, and triumphant sits 
 Upon the chariot of my hopes, which stand 
 Full-winged to bear me home. Thus, Edith, t/ius 
 I sweep to my revenge ! 
 
 {As he is rushing out, the door is thrown open. 
 He stands petrified. ) 
 
 Pale dream, that hast 
 No bond, nor fellowship with breathing men, 
 Remain, or vanish, know thy mission vain ; 
 I'hou canst not teach me fear, liack to thy grave, 
 Thou gaunt and bloody thing ! 
 
 ( While he speaks, Latymer has appeared at the 
 door.) 
 
 I come. 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 To summon thee, 
 
 lyAWRKNCY {aside, recovering) . 
 'Tis he himself, — his voice, — his eye ! 
 Whence and how cam'st thou hither ? 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 I was bidden 
 Unto a bloodier banquet, but escaped.
 
 TJie Loj-ds of Ellmgham. 157 
 
 And I am here. I knew not, gentle cousin, 
 My seat so fairly filled. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Dudley, be calm. 
 You need repose. Ho, Julian ! 
 
 Latymer (^placing himself before hiui). 
 
 Would you quit 
 Your guest thus rudely? Nay, then, I must seem 
 Discourteous too. Look on this sword, and mark, — 
 If thou dar'st seek, by voice or sign, to raise 
 Thy slumbering vassals to oppose me here, 
 I'll set it in thy bosom. 
 
 Lawrency {aside.) 
 Curses light 
 Upon those drunken villains ! He is armed, — 
 I helpless ! In his wild and glaring eye. 
 Despair and madness sit. I am a child 
 Beneath his arm ! {Looks eagerly round?) The flask ! 
 
 Oh, whispering fiend ! 
 Another step with thee? {Drops a ring into the chalice?) 
 
 I'll walk aside ; 
 If he should stumble on the smiling death. 
 Why, 'tis no deed of mine. {Rises and walks fortcard.) 
 
 Drink, cousin, drink! 
 We'll talk anon. You're travel-wom and tired, — 
 Drink ! All shall be made clear. You will confess 
 I have done cleverly and wisely. Come, 
 This is a merry meeting ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 And shall be 
 Yet merrier ere it end. {Drinks.) There's life in that ! 
 Aha ! how glibly through the warming veins 
 The red magician speeds. Now tell me, cousin, 
 Hast thou done well by me ? Hast safely kept 
 My precious gem? Hokls honour in thy breast 
 Her wonted throne ?
 
 158 The Lords of Ellin gJiavi, 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 What's this ? Some meddling foe 
 (For such I have) hath soiled my fair report 
 In my good kinsman's mind. Did he but know 
 What loving, dangerous zeal I — 
 
 Latvmkr. 
 
 So I thought ! 
 And how the knaves belied thee who presumed 
 To call thee — false ! Cousin, this curious ball — 
 This world — hath known strange habitants ; the bold, 
 The stealthy sinners, — murderers, courtiers, rogues, 
 Flatterers, and thieves, — but never one so base. 
 But, in some secret chamber of his heart, 
 There lurked a chord of mercy. Could I think 
 Thou would'st not listen to that syren voice 
 That older villains hear ? 
 
 Lawrency {aside). 
 
 Thou'rt slow of work, 
 My potent minister, when most I need 
 Dispatch ! His cheek grows white, — he gnaws his lip ! 
 Good, good! {Aloud) What say'st thou, Dudley? 
 
 What dost mean ? 
 Mercy ! To whom ? 
 
 Latymer {starting up). 
 
 To that poor lamb, which I, 
 Deluded fool ! hid in the he-wolf's den 
 For safety. Hark ! dost hear her bleating cry ? 
 Iliou didst not think the shepherd's ear was yet 
 Awake to such a sound ! 
 
 (Lawrency, alarmed at his increasing viole?tce, 
 starts up. Latymer seizes him.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Take off thy hand ! 
 She shall come hither.
 
 The Lords of EUhighani. 139 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 She shall come, indeed ! 
 And scare us with her beauty. True, her cheek 
 Hath lost its red, her eye its fire, her look 
 Its scorn, that should have struck temptation dumb ; 
 But, in their stead, there glitters on her brow 
 The star of everlasting peace, beyond 
 Thy power to cloud it more. You have been feasting ! 
 Place for the queen of the revel ! 
 
 (^Dashes open the door in centre^ displaying the 
 corpse of Edith on a couch. The armed ser- 
 vants bear it forward, Giovanni and Marion 
 folloiv.) 
 
 Lawrency. 
 
 Some wild jest, — 
 Some Christmas mummery? You cannot mould 
 Men's fears and fancies thus. What have ye there. 
 This is past fouling ? Answer me ! 
 
 (Latymer lifts the covering^ 
 Is Death, 
 So dim and corpse-like in its shape and hue, 
 The revel's queen ? Ho ! stand aside. What, sirs ! 
 Think ye I dare not meet her eye to eye ? 
 
 {They stand back^ 
 How this hath chanced, I know not. Since thou hast 
 Paid Nature's debt, I can forgive thee mine. 
 Thou who didst mar my fresh and budding hopes, — 
 Seal up the fount of mercy in my soul. 
 Repel my gentler purposes, — and pay 
 Mine eager love with scorn. Firm in my Avrongs, 
 I'll look on thee again, thou proud — 
 
 {He lifts the veil, then dropping it, falls beside the 
 couch.) 
 
 Oh, God ! 
 Look not upon me thus, — not thus ! Oh, Edith ! 
 Thou know'st I am not used to meet thy smile ! 
 Open those white lips, taunt me with my guilt. 
 Point thy pale finger to the abyss whose fires 
 Are kindling to avenge thee. Did I say
 
 1 60 The Lords of Elli'ngha7ii. 
 
 I loved thee not ? It was the fiend within 
 
 That vomited the lie ! Mate and revenge 
 
 Snatch from this mangled heart their mask and scale, 
 
 And leave it naked to remorse. Ah ! why — 
 
 Why didst thoQ crush tlie angel mercy down, 
 
 And raise instead this demon ? Wherefore deal 
 
 So hardly witli my blind and baffled love, 
 
 That, mad for vengeance, saw not where it struck ? 
 
 Oh ! art thou gone, sweet Edith ? Must the world 
 
 Awake to glor}' and to life, and thou 
 
 Keep thy cold i)illow, — the red, writhing worm 
 
 At banquet on thy beauty ? Edith — cousin — 
 
 My love — my hope— my promise, — art thou gone 
 
 For ever — ever? 
 
 Latymer. 
 Loose that lifeless hand. 
 Pitiless ruffian ! Hast thou so much grace, 
 Commend thy soul to God. 
 
 Lawrency, 
 
 AVhat do you mean ? 
 
 Latymer. 
 To kill thee! 
 
 Lawrkxcy {pointing to attendants). 
 
 Here are swords enough, brave cousin, 
 Against one naked breast ! 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 You will not fall 
 So nobly. Fonvard, fellow ! 
 
 (Kensell 7i<alks suddenly fo7-ward^ and con- 
 fronts Jiini.) 
 
 Lawrency {recoiling). 
 Kensell! 
 
 Kensell. 
 
 So!
 
 The Lords of Ellmgham. 1 6 1 
 
 I've found you, master. You've escaped one knot 
 To run your neck into a harder. Come ! 
 
 Lawrency (aside). 
 Has poison lost its power ? I must gain time. 
 To Latymkr) You'll let me speak first ? By the kindred 
 
 blood 
 That fills our veins, — you'll hear me ? 
 
 Latymer. 
 
 Speak. You've gazed 
 Enough on that dead glory, and thy breath 
 Insults the parted spirit. Say at once. 
 {To Kensell) Fellow, prepare ! 
 
 Kensell {gruffly). 
 
 I'm ready. Why lose time ? 
 He'll talk you by the hour, and 'scape at last. 
 Well, never mind, — he's young. 
 
 Lawrency {starting to his feet). 
 
 Then list to me. 
 With all the serpent passion of man's soul, 
 I hate thee, Latymer ! From infancy — 
 From merry childhood— /w/<? thee ! Thou hast been 
 The shadow on my path — cloud of my air, 
 That shut out heaven — the reptile on whose scales 
 I trod, and slipped. Ev'n from that earliest time 
 When, sporting in the woods, I plucked a rose, 
 The queen-flower of the fields, for Edith's hair. 
 And you— the stronger — tore the coveted prize 
 Away, and bade me seek if all the woods 
 Held such another, — from that hour thou hast 
 Forestalled me ever. Who was't taught me sin ? 
 Who, hate ? Who, jealousy ? Whose influence drove 
 My tortured heart to wild and reckless ways, 
 That rooted me from out thy father's love. 
 And set my bark afloat in life's wide sea 
 With scarce a sail ? Who took my promised bride—
 
 1 62 The Lords of Ellin o^ham. 
 
 RIybeautiful — whose fair possessions might 
 Have given the outcast beggar wealth and home ? 
 Why, tlioii — and tJiou — and thou! And didst thou 
 
 dream, 
 Poor fool ! that I should crouch beneath thy glare, 
 Though stealing through the dark, defenceless night. 
 With murder-scowling bravoes at thy back, 
 To slay me on the hearth ? Hast yet to learn — ? 
 You called me — serpent. Dost thou feel my fangs 
 At work within thee ? Ha, thou dost ! Down — down ! 
 Boy, wilt thou die unshriven ? To thy knees, 
 And pray ! 
 
 Latymer {dropping his swo'd faintly). 
 I feel it. For this half-hour gone, 
 My soul liath wrestled with the coiling death ; 
 Now nature yields into its cold embrace, 
 Shuddering and stiffening. Give me light and air, — 
 I thirst. {^Attendant offejs winei) 
 
 You proffer death. That cup, — 'twas drugged. 
 A\' here lies my Edith ? My — my martyred love, 
 For my sake murdered ! Lead me to her side. 
 This anguish, love, is sweet ; each fiery throb 
 Doth pluck our souls together. I shall soon 
 Be with thee now. My sight fails {feeling), but I know 
 This face, — how cold ! My Edith, it is I. 
 
 {Falls on the couch.) 
 
 Giovanni {to attendants). 
 What I are ye men, }et stand and gaze as if 
 On deeds of daily import ? 
 
 {They advance on Lawrency.) 
 
 Lawrency {snatching up I-atymer's sword). 
 
 I will take 
 ]iut one life more, that's his who first shall raise 
 His steel against me. Not io you I owe 
 (Jr pay this being. From some mortal cup 
 Proceed, I know, these scorching pangs that drink
 
 The Lords of Ellingham. 163 
 
 Its fainting sources up. Who gave't I know not. 
 Stand ye asiile in peace, and let me die. 
 
 First Man {to the rest). 
 Draw back awhile. 'Tis true, — his livid cheek 
 Confirms his words. Repent, unhappy man ; 
 Think on thy crimes, — thy plots, — thy treachery 
 Against the king. 
 
 Giovanni. 
 The woman that you loved, 
 In furtherance of a wild and fiendish hate. 
 You practised with base menace, and lewd arts. 
 Against her spirit's health, and, failing, slew 
 Her life, through wild despair. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Your earliest friend, — 
 The son of him who gave your infant years 
 A blest and kindly shelter, — you have slain 
 By poison at the board. 
 
 Lawrencv. 
 
 Speak to the dust, 
 Wherewith this seared, uprooted stalk of life 
 Shall quickly be confounded. It will heed 
 As much as I. Ye babbling fools, that still 
 Condemn the weeds of guilt, but never heed 
 What hand hath sown and fostered them, get hence 
 And leave me to my fate ! No word from lips 
 Of earth can move me more. 
 
 Marion {coming fonvard). 
 
 Art sure of that ? 
 The draught whose hideous, fatal functions call 
 Blood from thy cheek, light from thine c> e. and firom 
 Thy scarcely ripened manhood power and life, 
 Was given — by me. 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 The Lords of Ellingham. 
 
 Lawrency. 
 Ah ! wherefore ? 
 {She discovers herself. Lawrency starts, and 
 staggers toioards her.) 
 
 Marion! — Thou! 
 {Falls dead.) 
 
 THE END.
 
 JEFFREYS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE WIFE'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The character of George Jeffreys (Lord Chief Justice, 
 and afterwards Chancellor, of England) somewhat 
 roughly described by a recent writer in the 'Times,' 
 as the beau ideal of drunken justice, and condemned in 
 Lord Campbell's elaborate memoir to unmitigated 
 obloquy, offered, in my opinion, materials for a stage- 
 hero worth consideration. Striking incidents are, how- 
 ever, necessary, even for the " bringing out " a character 
 fiill of originality ; and of these the career of this 
 extraordinar}' man, though replete with political and 
 professional adventure, scarcely supplies one of a nature 
 adapted to dramatic purposes. An opportunity for 
 bringing the character of Jeffreys into juxtaposition with 
 one no less singular — that of James the Second — would 
 certainly have offered a powerful temptation, had it 
 occurred to me at an earlier moment ; and had I not, 
 moreover, since read a play, wherein the latter is por- 
 trayed with so masterly a hand as to discourage any 
 attempt by lesser bards to follow. I allude to that fine 
 tragedy, the ' Karl of Gowrie,' by a gentleman who, if 
 report spjeaks sooth, has not long to rank with the 
 unacted. It was needful, therefore, to present a story of 
 the times, and introduce the judge as an accessory,
 
 Preface, 167 
 
 rather than a principal therein ; an arrangement which 
 materially detracts from the effect of the part, and which 
 (combined with the author's inability to realize his own 
 conceptions) considerably enhances the labour of the 
 talented perfomier, who has kindly undertaken the 
 personation. 
 
 An additional interest attaches, in my mind, to 
 Jeffreys' history, from the fact that local tradition has 
 marked the old " Mansion " at Leatherhead, in Surrey, 
 many years in possession of my family, as the occasional 
 residence of the Chancellor; and pointed to a strange 
 •concealed chamber, beneath the cellarage, as a cachetic 
 prepared by his order, for a refuge in case of sudden 
 danger. In our juvenile days, a terrible judicial presence 
 •certainly seemed to pervade that subterranean region : 
 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 
 and a threat of summoning the " Judge " was a charm to 
 allay the wildest nursery storm. 
 
 The impossibility of placing a criminal trial — in all its 
 solemn and somewhat tedious formality — upon the stage, 
 is so obvious as to render needless any apology for the 
 sketchy and imperfect character given, in the fifth act, to 
 the memorable " red assize. '^
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Judge Jeffreys . . . . 
 Pom FRET, (a Dorsetshire Gentleman). 
 De l'Isle {a Follmver of Moji- 
 
 7fW1lth''s) ..... 
 MoRGRAVE {a former Suitor of Lady 
 
 Grace) 
 
 L'EsTRANGE, {Secretary to Jeffreys) . 
 Colonel Kirke . . . . 
 Lord Feversham . . . . 
 Tory Tom, (a mischievous Clowti) 
 
 HODGK HOLEPEEP 1 
 
 OzL^s Hemp j 
 
 J Tost of the Red Lion 
 
 Marshal . 
 
 Jailor 
 
 Clerk of the Court 
 
 Rider 
 
 Page 
 
 Sen'ant . 
 
 Rustics. 
 
 Mr. Phelps. 
 Mr. H. Marston 
 
 Mr. H. Mellon. 
 
 Mr. G. Bennett. 
 
 Mr. Morton. 
 
 Mr. Knight. 
 
 Mr. Warde. 
 
 Mr. Scharfe. 
 r Mr. Graham. 
 \ Mr. C. Fenton. 
 
 Mr. AVilliams. 
 
 Mr. Lingham. 
 
 Mr. Doughty. 
 
 Mr. Franks. 
 
 Mr. Josephs. 
 
 Master Newman. 
 
 Mr. Thomas. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Lady Grace {of great wealth) . 
 Mistress Alice {sister to Pomfret, 
 
 married to De l'Isle) 
 JuLE Vane {her Attendant) 
 
 Mrs. Warner. 
 
 Miss Cooper. 
 Miss Stephens. 
 
 Guards, Cotin try people, etc. etc. 
 Scene in Dorsetshire. Time, 1685.
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE I. — Terrace before Po77ifret house. 
 
 (Lady Grace alone, seated on a rustic bench.} 
 
 Lady Grace, 
 I'll try him. 'Tis my birthday. Now, will he 
 Remember that, I wonder ? Thirty-five ! 
 Am I so old ? Alas ! in truth, yes. This, 
 Joined with a fading face, makes the ear quick 
 And jealous of time's foot-fall. Let him pass 
 This one day with me — nay, let him but meet me 
 With the frank look of old — for that's enough 
 For me. I am not of those wives who must 
 Have all words sauced to their love's palate ! No — 
 Let him do thus — and this fair morn shall be 
 The first of a new summer. I will weed 
 All self-tormenting fancies from my brain, 
 Smooth every tangled thought, and henceforth deem 
 That thou, my young, gay mate— my dear, dear Harry \ 
 Age-stricken as I am, canst love me. 
 
 POMFRET {without). 
 
 Quick ! 
 A fresh horse, instantly ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 But just returned ! 
 {Enter Pomfret — page followin^.)- 
 I'll be indifferent too. Ah — now he sees me !
 
 170 Jeffreys; or. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 What, not a smile to light me forth, my Grace ? 
 I shall ride heavily. Take my hat, boy. See — 
 The feather droops — 'tis broken, is it ? 
 
 Lady Grace (aside). 
 
 Horse — 
 Feather — and — wife — 'Tis well. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 No word, Grace? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Yes, 
 Good morning — and good speed. 
 
 POMFRET, 
 
 Good morning — and — 
 Off with this mask, dear wife, and let me see 
 The bright face under it. Nay — nay — look thus 
 A moment more — and I am grave as thou. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Sir, I am sorry that my natural gloom 
 Shadows your mirthful humour. Age, you know, 
 Is spleenful. 
 
 A^re ! 
 
 Such words ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Is spleenful. You have heard 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 And used them. I — I could not mean — 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 That they should reach me. Know you not, ill words 
 Have fleeter wings than fair ? Your horses wait. 
 I^t me not stay your pleasures.
 
 The Wif^s Vengeance. 171 
 
 PoMFRET {offers to take her /mud). 
 
 Yon ! Their source 
 And fountain ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Am I ? True ; I had forgot 
 My gold. O shining curse ! great as thou art — 
 Set up in the high places of this world ! — 
 One grain of the dank soil from whence thou'rt wrung 
 Is worth the total mine ! 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Come, come, my love, 
 'Tis a good, sensible metal — malleable 
 To fair and worthy shapes. If wrong there be, 
 'Tis in the hand that studies not to wield 
 So great a weapon wisely. Come, come — psha ! 
 What stuff is this ? Give me your finger ; since 
 With so much only of that dear white hand 
 You starve my lips when angry. Ah, sweet Grace ! 
 Wherefore so doubting? Must I, hour by hour. 
 Proclaim my gratitude, and 
 
 Lady Grace {scornfully). 
 
 Gratitudo ! 
 
 POMFRET, 
 
 My deep affection ! 
 
 Lady Grace {aside). 
 
 Hypocrite ! — May Heaven 
 Forgive me for so loving him ! 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 One kiss, 
 And I depart. Not on this day, my love, 
 Let anger rest between us !
 
 172 7'ff^'O'^ ' or^ 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 This day ! — this ! 
 i^Aside) Ah ! lie remembers ! Heav'n be praised 1 
 Yes! 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 Peace 
 Reigns in the heaven, beauty on the green earth : 
 I could not quarrel with my dearest foe 
 With God's sun cheering me. 
 
 Lady Grace {aside). 
 
 Alas ! the day 
 Hath but a common glory. Pomfret — I — 
 
 I thought— I trusted — that but go — go — go ! 
 
 {Bursts i)ito a passion of tears?) 
 
 Pomfret. 
 My love ! — my own Grace ! — what is this ? Dost thou 
 So much desire my presence ? I must seem 
 The more ungrateful ^for I leave thee, — aye, 
 And fortune, governing my will, forbids 
 That I should tell thee wherefore. On my knee, 
 Sweet wife, I beg your patience, and — 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Forbear! 
 You do but more afflict me. {Exit.} 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 I am a fool ! 
 'Tis love's worst policy to entreat a mood 
 That will not be assuaged. To every riddle 
 That crowds this puzzling world belongs some clue — 
 But luotnair ! There ; 'tis easier to divine 
 Which surface of that twirling leaf shall kiss 
 First the damp earth, than follow to its source 
 A woman's complex humour.
 
 The Wife's V^eiigeance. 173 
 
 (Tory Tom * enters, and stands aloof.) 
 
 Tom, 
 
 Halloa ! sir ! 
 You're master Pomfret, — the poor gentleman 
 That married the rich wife ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 Well guessed, sir. 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Here, 
 Catch this ! 
 
 ( Tosses a letter to Pomfret, who examines it, then 
 reads eagerly.) 
 What answer ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 None for thee, knave. Go -, 
 I hasten thither. What could make her choose 
 So blunt a page as thou ? 
 
 Tom. 
 Why, sir, she said 
 That she liked handsome servitors, for such 
 Were mostly honest too. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 She paid you, then, 
 With flattery ? 
 
 Tom. 
 Yes, sir, — and twopence. You 
 Would give the rest. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 Not quite so fast, my friend. 
 Who bade you seek me here ? Whom saw you, sir, 
 As you came hither ? 
 
 * Note A.
 
 174 Jeffrey.; or, 
 
 Tom {poiniitig). 
 Only she. 
 
 POMFRF.T. 
 
 She ! Who ? 
 
 Tom. 
 Why, she — the lady there. She asked me what 
 I sought, and I said_jv//, and then I showed 
 The note — 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 You did! Well — 
 
 Tom. 
 
 And she started, so — 
 Her face grew white — then red. She tossed her hands 
 Angrily — so — burst into weeping — cried 
 " Hiere — then he is ! " and left me. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 Bravely done, 
 Most clever youth ; yet not so clever as 
 A moment since I thought you. Go. {Exit To'^i) 
 
 De I'Isle, 
 Fainting with corporal anguish — more with pain 
 For her who shares his peril ! Bloody Jeffreys 
 Commissioned here. Fair sister, the more need 
 To seek thee — aye, and presently. I am loath 
 To part without a word — {Approaches the zmndoiv^ 
 
 Hark ! — Grace ! to leave thee, 
 With anger at thy solitary side. 
 The worst companion. Psha I one single word, 
 Might I but speak it, would renew those smiles 
 Whereon my heart still banquets. Grace, I say, 
 The day grows while I linger — (Going, reluctantly.) 
 
 Psha ! — 'Tis useless ! 
 
 {Exit.)
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 175 
 
 SCENE W.—A Room iti the Mansion. 
 
 (Lady Grace. Morgrave.) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Thanks for your pains ; and if their fruits, my friend, 
 Be gall to this spoiled heart, with early loves 
 Too lavishly o'erfed, I recognise 
 That self-denying zeal which will not shrink 
 From functions of low nature, base or hateful, 
 Through pity of its kind. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 Madam, what else ? 
 
 Lady Grace {jvarmly). 
 No ; friendship hath no fellow. Sure it seems 
 A copy of that high beneficence, 
 That, mingling mercy with correction, leaves 
 Its love but half concealed. Thanks, heartily — 
 M ore of my husband, then. I am prepared — 
 You see I am — to hear all. Let me learn- 
 The worst of his defection. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 To what end ? 
 I do beseech you, force me not to bear 
 More witness 'gainst my friend. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Are you not mine ? 
 Man, have you led me to a strait so dismal, 
 But to cast off my hand ? 
 
 Morgrave (sudden fy). 
 
 What would you know ? 
 Lady, yoiu: eyes look through my soul, and give 
 Thoughts that lie dead new birth. Oh ! my first faith, 
 Trust not to mine enforced apostasy — 
 Lest I — Enough — I am myself again !
 
 176 7^ff^^y^'> or. 
 
 My heart is in your hand as ever, lady — 
 
 Dull, passionless, slave of your will. Oh ! mould it 
 
 Even to what shape you fancy. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Yet what's left 
 To learn ? But twelve months wedded ! Now, wherein 
 Have I so WTonged him ? But he's grateful, sir ; — 
 He may be grateful, if not loving. Was't not 
 This hand that, from the darkest haunts of the world — 
 Those poor, condemned comers, where proud hearts 
 Seek out lone spots, and perish — drew him forth 
 To wealth ? Nay, let that go. How speaks he of me ? 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Press me not there. Oh ! be content — 
 
 Lady Grace {^passionately). 
 
 I ask, 
 How speaks he of me ? 
 
 MoRGRAVE. 
 
 As a truant flies 
 Scholastic thraldom, or a soft court-slave 
 That royal atmosphere of busy lies, 
 Where heart, eye, tongue, are fettered, — does your lord 
 Avoid your gracious presence ; yielding so 
 For trash (blintl merchant ! ) wares both sound and new ', 
 Selling your sweet smiles for the drunkard's glare — 
 Your wise discourse for lewd and witless speech — 
 Your pure affections and true heart for — nay, 
 Not from my lips. {Half aside.) 
 
 Lady Grace {faintly). 
 Go on. 
 
 MoRGRAVE. 
 
 We must confess, 
 Wine and gay fellowship may wean some hearts 
 From reverence of a too-much absent tie.
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 177 
 
 There's one among them — Montford — lately bound 
 To a rich dame, whose womanhood, in sooth, 
 Steals towards its winter. 'Tis his wont to ape 
 His lady's mien — her palsied brow, thick speech, 
 And tottering gait. " Ha !" Pomfret cries, " like mine ; 
 Grace, to the life ! Her glance, her vinegar smile, 
 Wherewith, kind soul ! she greets me in the morn 
 After late watching ! Here's to all old wives ! 
 Peace to deserted pillows ! " Have I killed you ? 
 
 {S/w sinks down.) 
 Madam ! Alack, she hears not. Grace — sweet Grace — 
 My love, and cruel foe — light of my hope. 
 Yet with a gulf between ! Oh, pardon me ! 
 Love, pity, rage, combine within, and set 
 My long-held passion free. O pardon, Grace! 
 Stay not for colder reasons, when this man — 
 By every sweet chain fettered to his troth — 
 Hath taught the way to break it ! 
 
 Lady Grace {joii/i a sudden effort). 
 
 Master Morgrave, 
 I thank you for those words. My fearful spirit, 
 By gazing too much down a dreaded height. 
 Had nearly fall'n below. Your mistimed speech 
 Hath plucked me back. I do mistrust thy words, 
 And that my happiness indeed hath grown 
 So deadly sick, seeing to what end you come. 
 And what foul remedy you dare prescribe me. 
 Sir, for myself, if, as you say, my years 
 Are grown so ripe, I thank Heav'n that, therewith, 
 Judgment hath ripened too. Your last rash words 
 Wounded, but warned — and saved me. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 This rebuke 
 Is the blind spurning of a chafed, high spirit, 
 That knows not friends from foes. I can give proof 
 Of all that I affirm. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Thou canst ? 
 
 N
 
 1 78 Jc^reys ; or, 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Enough 
 To satisfy the heart that hungers most 
 For jealousy's sharp food. That — 
 
 Lady Grace, 
 
 Master Morgrave, 
 You are foully false, or I most foully wronged : 
 Such is the doubt unto whose dread solution 
 I challenge your advance. I will have proof, 
 Or, by the heav'n above us — yea, by that 
 Once cloudless in my heart, now blurred and dim — 
 I will denounce your baseness. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 How, if I prove 
 My truth ? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Then shall you lack no gratitude. 
 Nay, nor reward. 
 
 Morgrave {eagerly). 
 That smile — 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 O, sir, beware 
 How you interpret. Yet, be sure of this, 
 If wronged, I will have vengeance. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 'Tis agreed. 
 Encase your fair form in some coarse disguise, 
 And come with me. You fear not ? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 In my heart 
 Is room for but one terror. {Exit,') 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 Pride's a dress
 
 The IVifis Vengeance. 179 
 
 That ever best became her. That which she 
 
 Calls age, hath sown but little wisdom here ; 
 
 For when, as now, I holiday my hate, 
 
 And clothe it in love's dollish frippery, 
 
 And perk it in her very face — Come, come, 
 
 No triumph }et ! As one whose debtor climbs 
 
 To sudden wealth, let me sit down, and strain 
 
 My claims— once fruitless— to their utmost. First, 
 
 Thy coyness— ah ! for that's a costly crime 
 
 'Gainst us plain-dealers. Secondly, that thou 
 
 Didst, for this boy, reject me. Next, I'll rack thee 
 
 For mere delight. In the last place, to feed 
 
 That hate which, like a growing savage, craves 
 
 Each day robuster food. Cold spirit, disdain — 
 
 I will exorcise thee. My wand be pain. {Exii.^ 
 
 I 
 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 2 N
 
 l8o Jeffreys; or. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE I. — Evening. A 7inld spot of Moorland. 
 
 (Tory Tom enters, iai/g/iing heartily, holding a 
 hideous mask in his hand.) 
 
 Tom. 
 I've settled that youth's courage. He'll not stop 
 This side of " father's " hut. Ha, ha !— halloo ! 
 There he runs still ! What mischief next ? Who's here ? 
 Two travellers, 'faith ! They've lost their way. Pray 
 
 Heaven 
 They seek't of me. They seem in wrath, too. Ha ! 
 No. Fool ! I'm drunk — or dreaming. Sure there's none 
 Like //////. 'Tis he ! 'Tis he ! 
 
 ( Claps his hands joyfully.) 
 Jeffreys ! — black Jeffreys ! 
 The hanging, brawling judge, that had me — me — 
 Wliipped from the court for aping him. Aha ! 
 Thanks to that brow's black arch. Sweet spirit of mischief, 
 Whom I do nought but serve, inspire me now. 
 What shall I do with him ? Skulk, and make sure. 
 Ah ! that's his voice. {Skulks apart.) 
 
 (Enter Jeffreys and L'Estrange.) 
 
 Jeffreys (angrily.) 
 
 The fault was yours, L'Estrange. 
 
 L'E.strange. 
 Nay, nay, my lord. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 I say, aye, aye — sir ! You should know the ways —
 
 The Wi/^s Vengeance. i8i 
 
 That's in your office. But for this mishap, 
 
 We had been supping now at Dorchester. 
 
 Plague take your ignorance ! All the country stirred — 
 
 Sore as a half-healed wound too. Here's a triumph 
 
 For disaffected souls ! My lord chief justice 
 
 Starved on a barren moor ! I say — 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 The wheels 
 Are extricate ere now. This soil — 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 The soil 
 Partakes the nature of the clowns that till it. 
 Close — close it is — and stubborn — with a dull, 
 Black, and rebellious flood still bubbling through, 
 That yields at slight'st dependence. Stay, 1' Estrange — 
 Don't leave me, sir — don't leave me I {Grasps him.') 
 
 L'EsTRANGE. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Nay, but — 
 
 Come, 
 
 I did but jest. Deserted as we are, 
 Don't quarrel. Why, how curst a place is this ! 
 Not one dry turf to rest the languid limb — 
 Not half a hedge for shelter ! Who goes there ? 
 'Tush ! 'tis an owl, 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 There should be— or I err — 
 An hostel hereabout. Here comes a native. 
 
 (Tom appears.) 
 Holloa ! you clown. Come hither. Which of these 
 Cross-paths conduct us — 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Which you please.
 
 i82 - Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 Jeffreys {angri/y). 
 
 They bend 
 
 To every point of the compass ! 
 
 Tom. 
 
 So they do. 
 But each may lead a man to the devil, and that's 
 Your journey's end, I take it ! 
 
 L'EsTRANGE {restraining Jeffreys). 
 
 My lord, hold ! {Aside) 
 I know this felIo^v. He's more knave than fool — 
 But men make light of him. Why, sir, this clown 
 Could hang up half the county ; and, I tell you, 
 Could you attach him, he were worth a score 
 Of Kirke's rough, blundering bloodhounds. 
 
 Jeffreys {eagerly). 
 
 Say you so ? 
 You, fellow. Hem ! my merry little man — 
 You've a sharp eye — an honest face. Wilt be 
 My servant, boy ? What say you ? 
 
 Tom {surveying him from head to foot). 
 
 Well— I'll take you 
 On trial. What's your name ? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 What's thine, my friend ? 
 That's more to the purpose. 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Tory Tom. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Then, Tom, 
 My politician— know'st thou ne'er a hostel 
 Where we may wash our throats ? None of your sheds — 
 Your sneaking, hedge-side, beggar-haunted dens 
 Of barley-broth, and ale of turnips ! Show us 
 Where jolly fellows congregate.
 
 The VVifeh Vengeance, 183 
 
 Tom. 
 
 This way. 
 I'll show you a brave sign, sirs \ and a taj)ster 
 That never leaves a guest with parching throat 
 For want of good example. (Aside) So, my lord, 
 You thought I had forgot you. Wait and see. 
 
 (£xeunf.) 
 
 SCENE 11. — yf C/ose, xvith a humble Cottageand Garden. 
 (PoMFRET. De lTsle, wowidcd. Alice.) 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Oh ! you did well to send for me. This rumour 
 Took wings, and gathered round me as I rode : 
 No tongue but adds some terror to the tale — 
 No eye but frowns mistrust. L'Estrange is coming — 
 Kirke and his bloodhounds are already here — 
 And black George Jeffreys follows, breathing death. 
 Husband your strength, De ITsle. Sister, hold fast 
 Your wonted courage. To remain is death. 
 You must be gone to-morrow. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 
 Be it so. 
 They took my better arm at Sedgmoor ; but 
 Left legs to run, and so remove all danger 
 From the brave homes that shelter us. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 To rest. 
 I will arrange with Alice my design 
 For your departure, and new home. At night 
 I'll send again. 
 
 {Exit De l'Isle. Pomfret and Alice pass 
 to and fro conversing. Morgrave and Lady 
 Grace enter, and stand apart.)
 
 1 84 . Jeffreys; or, 
 
 JVIORGRAVE. 
 
 Here is a holly screen, 
 Made for our purpose. Couch, and note them. 
 
 (PoMFRET a/!d Alice return.). 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 T/iat 
 Were safe, indeed — but far too distant. I 
 Would hold you ever near me. There are spots 
 Ev'n in our own demesne — 
 
 Alice. 
 
 No, Harry, no. 
 That must not be. The common voice reports her 
 Noble and free of heart. She must not know 
 How dearly we are bound. 
 
 MoRGRAVE {aside to Lady Grace). 
 Sweet hypocrite ! 
 Are you not grateful, madam ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 Well, be't so. 
 You are right, my Alice. She shall never know 
 How dear a treasure I have hoarded here, 
 Out of her comprehension. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Open, earth ! 
 Pluck me to the centre. I can better hate 
 "J'han blush for thee, thou false one. I'll not share 
 Thy guilt, by being its witness. {Going.y 
 
 Morgrave {de/avii/ig her). 
 
 Pause, I pray you — 
 Else, in some mood of weakness, you will turn 
 Your anger on me, and deny the meed, 
 Saying, this was not so.
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 185 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 I am your sport : 
 Let it go on. 
 
 Alice. 
 It is my only prayer. 
 Oh ! must you leave me ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 I am expected, sweet ; 
 Should I be sought for, some o'er-zealous foot 
 Might track the mazes of your labyrinth — 
 And that were perilous. There's one, I know, 
 That marvels at my absence. Come — one smile — 
 I'd take some comfort Avith me. So, farewell — 
 And with this kiss — 
 
 MoRGRAVE {funis suddenly). 
 Come, will you go ? 
 
 {Exeimt PoMFRET and Alice.)- 
 
 Ladv Grace. 
 
 Go! Whither? 
 Home ! home ! No, no. In love's place, by my hearth,. 
 There sits a ribald fiend. Mine eyes dream, too — 
 You were but now a proper man enough. 
 As nature's image goes. Faith is of heaven. 
 What makes you look so devilish ? 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 All things yet 
 Are coloured by your just resentment, lady. 
 'Tis of your calmer reason I must seek 
 Which shows the better — mine ill-featured truth, 
 Or his fair falsehood. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Light, that shows the sin. 
 Is not itself of pure source always. I, 
 That, with the heart he values not, bestowed
 
 1 86 7^J^''^ys >' or^ 
 
 Rank, luxury, pleasures. Why do I talk of that ? 
 These were but mates, and idle consequents— 
 The gaudy, useless tints my fancy chose 
 To deck out love with. Oh, my Harry I Oh, 
 My heart-selected ! would thou hadst ta'en my wealth- 
 Scattered my fortune's gifts — yea, buried them 
 Deeper than thought in the unfathomed sea, 
 So thou hadst left thy love to buoy me up 
 Into God's haven with thee ! 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Nay, be calm. 
 Bethink you of what course — 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 What course ! Advise 
 With thee! I have counsellors. Stand more apart. 
 I hate thee heartily. 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 And thus requite 
 The service you demanded ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Psha ! I'll give you 
 What you love better — vengeance ! You can't dream 
 111 more intense — revenge more exquisite 
 Than I will cater for thee. Never pinch 
 Thy features into that love-shape. Good faith ! 
 They were not measured for it ! Was't for love 
 Of me, you did entice me hither ? No. 
 Love's thoughtful — patient — pitiful for love — 
 Is gentler in his needful surgery — 
 Finds remedy, not rancour. He has broke 
 My heart — but you'll not gain by that. Be sure 
 Those poor, ]joor remnants are too costly yet, 
 For breath of thine to sully. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 I — I swear —
 
 The Wife's Vengcmice. 187 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 That wilt thou, readily. And so do I. 
 I'll use thee for revenge — and yet will be 
 So tender with the instrument I wield, 
 That angels shall not blush at my device. 
 Which seems, but is not, sin. Only mark this ; 
 When I shall smile — or beckon — clasp thy hand — 
 Or seem — pah \—fond on thee — presume not on't : 
 'Tis artifice — no more. For from this hour, 
 When thou seem'st nearest, stand'st thou most aloof — 
 Aye, man, as distant from my soul's pure gate, 
 As blest ones from perdition. 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Well — content. 
 {Aside) For all this I will have thee at my foot. 
 Meanwhile, these high heroics do but add 
 An item to the long account. Well, patience. 
 
 {Exeunt.) 
 
 SCENE III. — Before a road-side inn, the Red Lion. 
 Many country people drinking. Host bustling to and 
 fro. Behind, the nuwrland. Gibbets, etc. 
 
 Host. 
 Come, sirs, be busy. What ! a sucking babe 
 To-night should be your tapster. I shall never 
 Be a fat host, I fear. Let me have work, 
 Or else I shame my calling. 
 
 First Man. 
 
 Five foot round ! 
 That's starveling measure, host ! 
 
 Host. 
 
 Wanting an inch —
 
 1 88 yeffreys ; or, 
 
 More than an inch, I swear, sir. Ale ? I've seen 
 But t\vo-and-thirty winters yet. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Thin host, 
 What is the score, I prithee ? 
 
 Host. 
 
 Let me see : 
 Two cups of cider — one, metheglin — bread — 
 Twelve cups of ale — sirs, a jacobus. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Out, 
 You common robber ! Iwelve ! As much as thou 
 Hast years but two-and-thirty. Host, you count 
 Ale-score and age-score by a difterent rule. 
 \\'ell — well— here comes black Jeffreys. He has a charm; 
 Turns all men honest, but himself. 
 
 First Man. 
 
 Black fiend ! 
 He hung my sister's son. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 And will hang thee. 
 Content thee, friend. We are all traitors here. 
 Host, you shall have fair company adorning 
 These neighbour-gibbets. Here's a hint, man, for thee. 
 Keep with the times. Down with thy lion there — 
 Put up the triple tree ! 
 
 {Sings.) 
 
 Bustle, bustle, my I.ion-host ! 
 
 Tipple the ale — tlie mead. 
 Old death seeks just such a well-fed ghost 
 
 To pamper his glutton greed. 
 Right sooii you'll hear, mid the jolly feast, 
 
 A low \oice whisj)'ring thee — 
 You must down, gocxl host, with thy scarlet beast. 
 
 And up with the triple tiee ! 
 
 Chorus — You must, etc.
 
 The Wifeh Vengeajice. 189 
 
 Loud let the British raven croak, 
 
 For the Briton's faith is fled — 
 Guilt elbows guilt 'neath the rich man's cloak — 
 
 Poor honesty i^oes to bed, — 
 And, Lion-host, with the waist so fair, 
 
 The gallows creak for Tuf.k ! 
 Then down with dog, ape, lion, and bear 1 
 
 Hurrah ! for the triple tree ! 
 
 Chorus — Then down, etc. 
 
 Like you the carol, sirs ? 'Tis mine. More ale, 
 Mine host of the gibbet ! Ere our necks be stretched, 
 Here's to King Monmouth's memory ! Hurrah ! 
 A rouse ! a rouse ! {Enter Tory Tom hastily.) 
 
 Tom {eagerly). 
 
 Sirs, here's the man to thank you ! 
 Don't stare — I'm sane enough, and sober — Jeftreys — 
 Black Jeftreys — lost — benighted — close at my heels — 
 You'll see ! Now work your pleasures. Strangle him — 
 Toss him in blankets — duck him in the pool — 
 Only — don't hurt him. He's my master. Sit ! 
 Keep up the fun. 
 
 Host {eagerly). 
 Hist ! Here they come, sirs. Hist ! 
 Plague take your drunken tongue ! 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Drunk 1 You must broach 
 A better cask first. 
 
 {Enter Jeffreys and L' Estrange.) 
 
 Jeffreys {aside to L'Estrange). 
 Here's as fair a knot 
 Of snakes as ever coiled. Landlord, a stoup 
 Of liquor. Come, be quick, man. Here we'll couch — 
 Two ferrets in a burrow. Mark, L'Estrange, 
 That rogue in the blue gaberdine. If e'er 
 I saw a rebel, he's one. 
 
 {T/iey sit apart, while Tom hovers abotit at back, 
 etc.)
 
 190 JcJJreys ; or, 
 
 Tom {obscn'ing t/iem im easily). 
 I've led my lord 
 Into a pretty wasp's nest ! One bold spirit 
 To lead the way, and the whole swarm set on him — 
 And turn me out of service ! {Moving abojit.y 
 
 Hold ! What's that 
 Moves yonder on the moor ? His guard — I'll swear 
 I saw the muskets glitter. They must come, 
 Or he be murdered. And — for these — tut, tut ! 
 Good fellows as they are — there's not a rogue 
 But I've a score against him. {Steals off.) 
 
 L'ESTRANGE {to SECOND Man). 
 
 Holloa, friend ! 
 You seem a jovial comrade. Taste this stuff — 
 Thine honest name, my friend ? 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Hodge Holepeep, sir, 
 That sees with half an eye. 
 
 Jeffreys (aside). 
 
 The parish wag — 
 Dispenser of small jokes. The next? 
 
 L'Estrange {to First Man). 
 
 Your health, 
 Good master,— humi)h ! your name? 
 
 First Man. 
 
 Ozias Hemp, 
 An't please }Our worship — christened by my lord 
 Chief Justice Jeffreys. He that hanged my father, 
 Brother, and sister's son, could scarce do less 
 Than be my godfather. Bless your j^lcasant face ! 
 He's very like your worship ! {To Jeffreys.) 
 
 Jeffreys {starting.) 
 
 How ! like me ?
 
 The Wife^s Vengeance. 191 
 
 Second, Man. 
 Aye, sir, in visage — nothing else — an't like ye. 
 You are a temperate gentleman — he's a sot. 
 You are a soft and mercy-loving sir — 
 Jeffreys, a dark-souled monster, ever hunting 
 The lives that shame his own. 
 
 First Man. 
 
 A mouthing fiend — 
 
 Second Man. 
 A brawling drunkard — 
 
 First Man. 
 
 True — a beast. 
 
 Jeffreys {aside to L'Estrange). 
 
 I vow 
 They know me! Let's begone. {Aloud) A beast. What 
 
 beast. 
 My merry souls ? A lion ? 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 That bold brute 
 Worries the free. My good lord justice's game 
 Comes shackled to Jiis lair. 
 
 Jeffreys {aside to L'Estrange). 
 The chase is up. 
 L'Estrange, I'm known — run — fly ! {Rising^ 
 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 Sit, sit — my lord ! 
 'Tis rooting their suspicions. How now, sirs ! 
 
 Second Man. 
 A health, my masters ! fill the beakers, host ; 
 'Tis worth the drinking. Three in one ! Here's health 
 To master Harry Pomfret. Shout !
 
 192 Jejgrcys; or^ 
 
 L'EsTRANGE {aside to Jeffreys). 
 
 Oho! 
 Tenants and hinds of Pomfret manor — ha ? 
 There's a hint gained, at least. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 Confusion, sirs, 
 To those black-hearted traitors that betrayed 
 Sweet Monmouth's life ; and to his murderer, 
 George JeftVe}s — present death ! 
 
 {S/ioiit. He approaches Jeffreys and 
 
 L'FLSTRANGE.) 
 
 How now, my masters ! 
 Do ye refuse my pledge ? 
 
 L'EsTRANGE {starting up be/ore Jeffreys). 
 
 fellow, stand back ! 
 You pusli the jest too far. 
 
 Second Man. 
 
 The jest! Ha— ha! 
 
 First Man. 
 Gag them, and force it down their throats ! 
 
 Host {behind). 
 
 Take heed ! 
 Look how he fumbles in his vest. Your spy 
 Always goes armed. 
 
 A ^VoMAN {coming close to Jeffreys). 
 
 How pale your lordship grows ! 
 
 Another 
 Aye — black hearts make white faces. 
 
 First Man. 
 
 Pond or gibbet ?
 
 The Wifis Vengeance. 193 
 
 Second Man. 
 Or both ! 
 
 {They surround them menacingly?) 
 
 Jeffreys (/// a loud voice). 
 Fools ! look behind, 
 (Jeffreys' military guard alters, guided by Tom.) 
 
 Tom {aside to Jeffreys). 
 
 My work, my lord — 
 If it's worth payment, keep these clowns from your 
 Red rascals' fingers. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Why, what sanctified, 
 Prim souls are these become ! Sweet friends, I thank ye, — 
 I thank ye for your purposed entertainment. 
 Why have ye thrust the gallows on my mind, 
 That came disposed to mercy ? Lion-host, 
 Book up your scores. You'll lack some guests — for know, 
 My friends, that every honest visage here 
 Is on my memory's page as clearly writ 
 As, in this book, your names. Farewell. Be merry ! 
 Drink while ye may — to-night. The beast, you see, 
 For once creeps harmless to his den. 
 
 {Exit with L'EsTRANGE attended) 
 
 First Man. 
 
 We've done 
 Our business. 
 
 Host. 
 Yes, and master Pomfret's too ! 
 That's worse. Yott merit it. Beshrew ye all ! * 
 
 * Note B. 
 
 END OF ACT II.
 
 194 Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— In Pomfnt Manor. 
 
 (Nii^Jit. Lady Grace is seated pensively at a table., 
 in pretended study — Jule Vane attending^ 
 
 JULE {approaching her). 
 Will you to rest, my lady ? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Whither, Jule ? 
 To rest ? I hear a voice within that tells me 
 I never sliall sleep more. Come hither, Jule, 
 Am I not patient ? Have I not borne ? And, lo ! 
 How bitter a reward ! 
 
 Jule. 
 You have deserved 
 Much, my dear lady. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Much ! Oh, patience. Heaven! 
 How measured, girl ? How much of her lord's love 
 May a poor wife make bold with ? Piece ? or grain ? 
 Or drachma ? Give me no such pedlar's phrase. 
 I-,ove's food is lore. What is the matter, Jule? — 
 What is the reason he has ceased to love me ? 
 Grow I lank-visaged ? white-haired ? sickly-eyed ? 
 Hath stiff age chilled my pulses ? — hath wan care 
 •Scraped furrows in my cheek Y 
 
 Jule. 
 
 These two months gone 
 You have lost beauty, madam.
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 195 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Thanks, dear Jule : 
 You will not flatter, with a finical lie, 
 That which needs cure or death. Were it no more, 
 Peace and sweet hope should redden on this cheek, 
 Like flowers of early spring — more welcome-fair 
 For the dire season gone. Out of these knots — 
 These yellow snakes, that wind at their large will — 
 I'd weave a thousand cunning silken webs, 
 To snare my bird that wanders. Nay — lost pain ! 
 'Twould fly again, and farther. Wo ! ah, wo ! 
 Such gall should from such rooted sweetness grow ! 
 
 Jule. 
 Comfort, dear lady. Speak him fair, and — 
 
 Lady Grace {passionately). 
 
 Fair! 
 
 Woo him, perhaps ! watch for his tardy step ! 
 
 Then sit at his footstool — fondle with his hand — 
 
 " Sir, prithee, love me ; so you'll set me there, 
 
 The darkest corner of your heart I'll make 
 
 A sunny Eden ! " Hark ! {Starts ///.) 
 
 Accompanied 
 
 Jule. 
 
 'Tis he, my lady, 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 The better. {A Servant enters^ 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Master Morgrave, 
 To see your ladyship. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 'Tis well : I come. 
 
 {Exit Servant.) 
 Jule, not a word. Thou lov'st me, child. Be secret — 
 Be patient, /am. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 Jeffreys; or, 
 
 [They go out. — Enter at a?wther door Pomfret 
 and L'EsTRANGE.) 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Therefore have I sought 
 These western shambles — this Aceldama. 
 Since blood must flow, it is my care to choose 
 That which, if left to its natural promptings, would 
 Grow most ungovemed, and beget worst sores 
 In this afflicted country. The dull fools 
 Have styled me Jeffreys' jackal ! Psha ! they jeer 
 Their friend ; for, look you, if I give my lion 
 A tit-bit here and there, 'tis but to soothe 
 That fierce insatiate appetite, which else 
 Would, bones and all, devour them. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 By your words, 
 Some such especial morsel you expect 
 To trace among us ? 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 To be honest — no 
 Many good fellows are in hiding here, — 
 Involuntary woodsmen — (I shall pounce 
 On some half-dozen) — but of better blood, 
 Nothing — no, nothing — I assure you. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 What 
 Of Johndel'Isle, of late? 
 
 L' Estrange {earclessly). 
 
 Why, that his head 
 Being valued at three thousand crowns, he has moved 
 The prize to safer distance. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 So ! He hath ?
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 197 
 
 {Aside) All's well, then. If this sleuth-hound miss, 
 
 the scent 
 Is cold indeed ! — {Re-enter L. Grace, tvith Morgrave.) 
 
 Dear Grace, this gentleman, 
 Master L'Estrange — 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Your friends are welcome, sir. 
 
 {Turns away.) 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 Morgrave, how now ? 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 Ha ! At your service, madam. 
 {They retire together, and sit conversing apart ^ 
 
 Pom FRET {after a pause). 
 Sir, you will pardon this chill welcome : I 
 Partake it, as you see. Come, come, sit down. 
 To follow our discourse. Your look, I see, 
 Is yonder. Yes, yes — we must let them have 
 Their gossip. So, the judge — They are old friends, 
 Very old friends. {Observing them covertly.) 
 
 L'ESTR.\NGE. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 PoMFRET {quickly). 
 
 Why should you say 
 Indeed ? In truth, he — Psha, sir ! we don't mete 
 Friendships by time. At the first beckon, oft 
 Souls rush together, and their strict embrace 
 Scarce death shall sunder. Then, again, we see 
 Natures so doubting, dwelling with such fear 
 On timorous question of the metal's truth. 
 That there's no time to use it. 
 
 L'Estrange {smiling). 
 
 Yonder seems 
 The former sort.
 
 198 Jcffi'eys ; or, 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 You laugh, sir ! 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Did not you ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 / / — yes, of course. — So, sir, you think — you — think — 
 The coming of the lord chief justice augurs 
 Some lavishment of blood ? (She has made him sit 
 Close at her side.) But then, sir — (How they pore 
 Over that missal ! Curse him ! — " Wonderful! 
 Strange colours — lia /" — Perish the hand that Avrought 
 A veil so specious ! Doubtless, much ye think 
 Of it ! — " Ah ! curious, quaint, and well devised !" 
 Would they Avere scorpions, sweetheart, for thy sake ! 
 They'd sting thee back to duty.) 
 
 Lady Grace [aside, watching him). 
 
 So, my friend, 
 Wince you at this ? Your heart's not callous — nay, 
 I'll probe it deeper ere I've done with you. 
 
 L'EsTRANGE (rising). 
 Well, well — to-morrow — 
 
 Pom FRET (starting). 
 
 Master Morgrave ! — Death ! 
 Pardon. I mean — we need your counsel. Traitors 
 Are stolen into our precincts. How may we 
 Detect them ? 
 
 MoRGRAVE (confused). 
 Traitors ! 
 
 Lady Grace (half aloud). 
 
 Go, I pray you — go ! 
 If he be crossed I fear —
 
 The Wifeh Vengeance. 199 
 
 MoRGRAVE {rising). 
 Enough. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Thanks, thanks ! 
 He knits his brow. I should begone. Is't so 
 He means ? 
 
 Pomfret {ifiipatiefitly). 
 Come, master Morgrave. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Sir, good night. 
 Whene'er it fits your leisure to resume 
 This learned and pleasant converse, here, be sure, 
 A willing pupil stays. — {Half aside) To-morrow noon, 
 Come to my garden-bower. {Exit.) 
 
 Pomfret {aside). 
 
 Mine ears are liars. 
 No — no ; there's nothing in the words — tut ! nothing — 
 Some study, doubtless — but the look. Let words 
 Prate of things fair and wholesome, the bold eye 
 Betrays the bitter kernel shut within — 
 And that's the heart on't. Aye, mock love and duty, 
 And so to prayer. 
 
 {He strides up suddenly to Morgrave.) 
 Morgrave, you are a villain ! 
 
 Morgrave. 
 Pomfret ! Stand back. What mean you ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 Never seek 
 To fool me with your bland, persuasive tones, 
 From that I owe myself. Hold off, L'Estrange — 
 I say, a villain ! I have long believed it : 
 Sure as a cloud brings rain, distrust and grief 
 Track this man's presence near my hearth. I tell you.
 
 200 Jeffreys; or. 
 
 If ever ^\Tetch were doomed to walk the world, 
 
 Dogged by a smiling devil swathed in rags, 
 
 Stolen from virtue, 1 am he ; — and this 
 
 My — Back, L'Estrange ! You heard me, sir, I think, 
 
 Pronounce you — villain ? Must I add thereto 
 
 A coward, and — 
 
 L'EsTRANGK {f'cstraiiiiiig him). 
 
 Beneath your own roof ! Nay, 
 \{ fight you must, come forth. 
 
 MoRGRAVE {retreating). 
 
 He's mad with rage. 
 I will not fight — at least, not here. Take notice, 
 I draw not on him. 
 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 Best begone, then. See ! 
 He slips my grasp. I cannot help — away ! 
 There will be blood ! 
 
 No hand against him. 
 
 Morgravk. 
 1 am his guest. I lift 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Thou, my guest! What? — thou! 
 Good faith ! I welcomed thee, like him who hung 
 A skull beside his banquet-chair, to curb 
 The passion of his joy ! I bore thy presence 
 In very scorn of fear ; beheld thee twine 
 In serpent-folds around mine honour's tree, 
 Yet crushetl thee not ; for I believed its treasures 
 Beyond thy wit to harm. There ; go. L'Estrange, 
 You have heard all. Not for my sake, nor for 
 This dog's, Imt hers, whose honour, if but scratched. 
 Must die, be mute on wliat has chanced. For thee — 
 Begone, I say ! (Moj'es towards Morgrave.)
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 201 
 
 MoRGRAVE {as he retires). 
 You shall repent this ! (/// a loud 7'oice.) 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 He threatens ! Thus I spurn you — Grace ! 
 
 (Lady Grace, re-ciitcring, tJi rows herself between 
 them.) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Alas ! 
 You have slain my peace. Kill not your friend. 
 
 Pom fret. 
 
 My friend/ 
 Come from your shelter, sir. Do you fear still ? 
 There — {Thro7(.'s his sword at Grace's feet.) 
 
 Lady Grace (taking Morgrave's hand). 
 Master Morgrave, for my sake, withhold 
 Your just resentment. 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 For her sake ! Grace ! wife ! 
 You know not what you do. What, madam ! loose 
 That villain's hand ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Is truth iu any shape 
 So hideous to thee ? Fettered by no vow. 
 This friendship shames the vile and borrowed love 
 That scoffs at dearest duties. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 ^Voman — wife ! 
 What dost thou mean ? what innocent play lies hid 
 Beneath a mask so lewd ? Have I deserved this ? 
 Didst thou endow me with thy fortune's gifts — 
 Thyself, far richer— but to shame me ? Look—
 
 202 y*ii^''0'^ ' ^^'' 
 
 I cannot rend in fury that white hand, 
 
 Nor pluck yon cowering traitor from thy skirts. 
 
 But I may take mine outraged honour hence 
 
 From this polkited home, leaving thy thoughts 
 
 My sole avengers. Nay, thou shalt not say 
 
 That I have e'er been harsh with thee. Once more 
 
 Let go that hand ! I pray thee, Grace, sweet Grace, 
 
 Put not thy sacred honour to such shame 
 
 As my sad love hath borne. Stand'st thou unmov'd ? 
 
 Farewell for ever ! {Rits/ics out, L'Esri<Ai^GE/o//o7C's.} 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Guilt that turns to bay 
 Can for the instant force as bold a front 
 As any. Dearest lady — ( OJirs to take her ha?id.) 
 
 Lady Grace {standi?!}:^ hnoi'/dcred). 
 Gone for ever ! 
 Did he say — ever ? Who is't grasps my hand ? 
 Back, sir — and touch me not. Will you insult me 
 Ev'n in my husband's — Man, dost thou believe 
 That, on the ruins of an holy love, 
 I'd let thine inclination — that rank weed — 
 Take root and flourish ? See, I have done all 
 I promised thee. You are avenged. I, ^\Tetched — 
 I am faint. Yes, lead me in ; but then, if you've 
 A man's heart, cjuit me. I must think — must weep. 
 
 {Bursts into tears. Exit.) 
 
 SCENE \\.— A part of the Grounds near the Manor-hotise. 
 
 (De l'Isle enters, Alice supporting him eagerly 
 along. Sounds of pursuit^ 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 No farther. I — I faint. Let go this heap 
 Of worthless flesh— and save thee. Hark— their voices
 
 The Wifeh Vengeajice. 203 
 
 Float up the wind ! Quest on. The wounded hart's 
 At bay. Fly — fly, sweet Alice — fly ! 
 
 Alice. 
 
 / leave you ! 
 One trial more — one efl"ort more — See, love, 
 I almost bear you. — Oh, this woman's arm ! 
 Weak as a sapling ! 
 
 De l'Isle {swks dowii). 
 
 We shall rest, love, soon — 
 Here is my grave. O, earth — kind mother ! open 
 Thy cool and dewy breast, for bitter pangs 
 Oppress me, and the toil of fevered life 
 Is heavy on my heart. 
 
 (Alice, ^vringing her hands, sinks beside him. 
 Enter Morgrave.) 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Those tears were prophets ; 
 Plainer than tongues they teach me that the way 
 Back to her heart is open yet to him — 
 His patience — aye, and those fierce accessions 
 Which love, renewed, brings with it. I must find 
 Some sharper curb to rule this skittish soul — 
 Else, hope-fed, she will grow too powerful, 
 And cast me from my — Who's there ? [Starting.) 
 
 Alice. 
 
 One who tends- 
 A husband sick to death. I pray you, sir, 
 If you are one of nature's teaching, help — 
 Give succour. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 But what are ye ? 
 
 Alice. 
 Nameless and houseless. Help if you can — if not. 
 
 Gentle beggars —
 
 204 Jej^reys ; or^ 
 
 Pass on — forget. 'Twas but a stretching spray 
 That stayed you for an instant. 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 By my life, 
 J know — I pity you. 
 
 Alice. 
 Indeed! Find him 
 A refuge. Why do you pause ? 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 It is a risk — 
 A mortal hazard. 
 
 Alice. 
 So are deeds made noble, — 
 Well, sir, betray us not. 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Stay ! give me time 
 To think. {Aside) Can I not, from this chance, sift 
 
 out 
 Advantage to my power ? What if I take them 
 Straight to my haughty mistress, and, resigning 
 Their lives into her earnest care, make that 
 iVIy present meed, and their concealment hold. 
 Like a fell curse, above them all ? 'Twill do, 
 I think. {Aloud) Come, trust my guidance ; and 
 
 although 
 Not lord of this demesne, I may perchance 
 Have influence as potential. Courage, madam, 
 Let me relieve your shoulder of its charge. 
 Sir, lean on me. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 The faintness passes. With 
 My first free breath I'll thank you.
 
 The Wifes Vengeance, 205 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Nay, no thanks. 
 Good deeds repay themselves. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 
 'Tis fortunate. 
 This world hath ne'er a treasury, I fear, 
 For such disbursements. 
 
 Morgrave. 
 
 Follow closely, madam, 
 And I will show you where we may obtain 
 An entrance unperceived. Come, lean on me. {Exeimt.) 
 
 SCENE III. — Another part of the Groimds close to the 
 Mansion. 
 
 {Enter Pomfret and L'Estrange.) 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Come, come ; you're cooler ; now return. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 Return ! 
 I was a soldier when I wooed, sir. All 
 My wealth hung at my side ; and when I wrapped 
 My ragged cloak over a heart as worn, 
 And even in such guise, won her — she that was 
 My love, clothed on with gratitude, became 
 Mine angel. But that's past. This wrong of hers 
 Exalts mine honest poverty above 
 That mount of gold she sits on. We have now 
 Changed places. She, proud heart, shall sue to me — 
 Aye, kneeling, shall she woo her beggar-lord
 
 2o6 y^ffycys ; or^ 
 
 Or ere he cross that threshold. Do you smile ? 
 What do you mean ? 'Tis folly, sir, — not guilt — 
 She has to answer. Please her, for awhile, 
 To toy and j^rate with any mincing fool — 
 Dare you affirm that 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 1 1 — No, — Heaven forbid. 
 I affinn nothing. {Pressing him to7uards the house.) 
 
 POMFRET, 
 
 Withered be the foot. 
 That brings me nearer to that threshold, till 
 Her penitence adjures me. 
 
 L' Estrange 
 
 Yet reflect— 
 Her wealth. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 What's that ? I love her, man ! 'Tis so. 
 Smile as you will your cool, superior scorn — 
 Your curst pretence of pity. 'Tis most true. 
 Sleep had no silent vision, thought no world, 
 That for its sun and centre did not choose 
 Her darling life. And this was mine — this was ! 
 Won — purchased — for a moment. Ah ! that death 
 Had gathered home our love's sweet harvest then, 
 Not left the ears to wither ! 
 
 L'EsTRANGE. 
 
 You shall reap 
 Many such harvests yet. 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 No — none. Farewell, 
 L'Eslrange. I am for the wars — less soldier far 
 Than jjilgrim — for that liopeful sap is dry 
 That gives us heart-strength.
 
 The Wifis Vengeance, 207 
 
 L' Estrange, 
 
 If she knew that — Stay, 
 Pomfret, come hither. Quick ! what chamber's that — 
 There — whence the light bursts ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 'Tis her oratory. 
 
 L' Estrange. 
 Ah ! she is praying. Hold ! what shadow glooms 
 Along the wall ? 
 
 Pomfret {eagerly). 
 Why, hers. 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 And those dark plumes 
 'That crown it ? {Fulls Pomfret away suddenly.) 
 
 Let's begone. 
 
 Pomfret {eagerly). 
 
 Stand still. My sight 
 Was for a moment dim. 'Tis clear again. 
 Stand. I invite you to a mystery. 
 We'll call it— eh, L' Estrange !— The Honest Wife— 
 A tale of truth. Ha, ha ! And lo ! there stands 
 The villain of the play. What doth he there ? 
 There, in a spot held consecrate to peace 
 And pious meditation ? Ah, my love ! 
 Awake ; the serpent's in thy paradise 
 Stinging thy soul ! 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Wliy, as you say, 'tis strange. 
 Look how the infinite coxcomb bears himself, 
 Tossing his feathered pate, and leaning down. 
 Not with a wooing diffidence, but rather 
 Claiming, as 'twere, some boon — some promise — some 
 Intent, impatiently foregone. 
 
 Pomfret {starting). 
 
 L' Estrange, 
 Your sword ! {Seizes it.) Lend it, I say !
 
 ao8 ycfjreys ; or^ 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Tut ! what's the good ? 
 His is a knave's trick ; but what's hers ? No, no, 
 I've better counseL As your wrongs are great, 
 So magnify your vengeance. Pomfret, listen ! 
 I say you shall have vengeance. \\\\\ you hear ? 
 
 Pom FR F.T {still gazi/iir) . 
 Yes— yes, L' Estrange, I hear thee. I am watching 
 The sinking of mine argosy. I stand 
 Upon the hither shore. I cannot move 
 To rescue, but, Prometheus-like, am bound, 
 Clutching at air, the while a monstrous thing 
 Gnaws at my vitals. Stab me, good L'Estrange. 
 
 L' Estrange. 
 Nay, listen. Not around that spot of light 
 Is gathered all the evil. Traitors, Pomfret, 
 Are sheltered 'neath that roof. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 Traitors ! 
 
 L'Estrange. 
 
 I told you 
 Morgrave came forth. It was but to seek out 
 Dark spirits like his own. By heaven, it seems 
 Fortune herself entwines this knot of snakes 
 And casts them down before j'ou. Haste, my friend, 
 Denounce them, one and all, or Hnger here. 
 Perhaps to — 
 
 Hold! 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 L'Estrange. 
 To Jeffreys ! 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 And the end ?
 
 The Wife^s Vengeance. 209 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 For Jiini, — the dog's death he has earned. For her, — 
 Should the law touch her life, she has wealth — you'll find 
 The judge not difificult of access. Thus, 
 Guilty or innocent, you may work your will. 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 I am your instrument. From my strings you chami 
 What rnusic pleases you. 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 At once, then, come. 
 {Ptilli?ig him away. Exeunt^ 
 
 END OF ACT III.
 
 2IO Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Room in the Sessions-house, Dorchester. 
 
 Night. 
 
 (KiRKE, L' Estrange, and Lord Feversham 
 at a tabled 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 Good. A fair total. Be it writ henceforth, 
 In Dorset rolls, if treason hath long claws, 
 Justice hath longer. AVhat with hangings, fines, 
 The scourge, and fear — 'tis like our busy friends 
 Here in the west shall, for a century, lead 
 Patterns of Christian lives. Lord Feversham, 
 Our learned judge is malcontent. He swears 
 Your lordship spoiled his harvest. 
 
 Feversham. 
 
 // 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 Nay spare 
 Feversham's blushes. He has a virtuous dread 
 Of being thought humane. 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 I never meant 
 So gross an imputation. My good lord, 
 You but abolished that dull hindrance, called 
 Trial by jury. 
 
 Feversham {laughing). 
 How should I discern
 
 The Wifes Vengeance. 211 
 
 At what fine point the soldier's duty gave 
 Place to the hangman's ? I am never good 
 At nice distinctions. Hark ! 'Tis Jeffreys ! 
 
 Jeffreys (within). 
 
 Knaves ! 
 Had ye no whips ? Must I be followed still ? 
 Beset at bed and board ? May every rogue 
 That owns a rebel kinsman, fray me thus — 
 Clutch at my skirts, and clog my carriage-wheels 
 As I pass to and fro ? (Enters, his guard following^ 
 
 Good even, colonel. 
 Well, my good lord ! L'Estrange, I want you. Hark ! 
 
 L'EsTRANGE (after whispering). 
 I will, my lord. (Exit.) 
 
 Jeffreys (pacing about). 
 They think all's over — ha ! 
 Good souls — they think so. When the storm seems past, 
 The game peeps from the covert. They shall find 
 The sharpest arrow's in the quiver yet — 
 And that the red assize — (so, gentlemen, 
 The scurrilous rogues christen our noble court) — 
 Hath yet some terror. 
 
 Feversham. 
 What hath chanced, my lord ? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 I'll tell ye both a secret. These — Away, sirs ! 
 We are at council. (Exeunt the guard.) 
 
 These stout Dorset folk — 
 Bold, resolute souls, with not a doit to lose — 
 Are not our men. At Taunton,* t'other day, 
 I sent a knave to the gallows — one, I thought, 
 Would howl, and cringe, and fright the honest loons 
 That gathered round in thousands — (for, it seems, 
 
 * Note D. 
 
 p a
 
 212 Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 He was well-neighboured 'mong them). ]iut the dog's 
 Pale face deceived me. " Ho! " quoth he — and laughed — 
 "-(4 populous place, God bless it !" Now, I tell you, 
 Example's lost on such, and we must spare 
 These low-sprung weeds that foil and leave no gap, 
 Whose poisonous essence would not else work harm, 
 And turn the scythe to loftier. 1 am chid 
 For showing favour. Give me one high head — 
 Gracious or gifted — noble — lovely — young — 
 Mark how I'll deal therewith ! 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 There's one — but, 'faith,. 
 'Tis hard to come by. 
 
 Jeffreys {eagerly). 
 Ha ! his name ? 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 De ITsle ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 De risle. De I'lslc. Of kin to old dame Alice,* 
 That Presbyterian, canting witch ? 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 My lord. 
 Her brother's child. Twice has he baffled me — 
 This very night, two of my trusty lambs 
 Pounced on his haunt. The nest was Avarm. He'd fled 
 To Pomfret. 
 
 Jeffreys {eagerly). 
 Pomfret ? Colonel, I am bold 
 To doubt your wood-craft — but, for once — no — no — 
 'I'is not so lucky, sure ! 
 
 {Enter an Officer.) 
 
 * Note E,
 
 The Wife^s Vengeance, 213 
 
 Officer. 
 
 A man, my lord, 
 Stands muffled here without, and boldly seeks 
 Admission to your presence. 
 
 KiRKE {carelessly). 
 
 Some poor devil 
 Come to the mercy-market. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 'P'aith, sir — hardly. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 No ? I'll sit here then. Now, admit him. You 
 Are armed — {Enter Pomfret.) 
 
 Now, most importunate sir, we trust 
 The pith of this affair will recompense 
 Its outwai'd husk and roughness. 'Faith ! you're right. 
 {Aside to Kirke) He trembles. Mark him. 
 
 Well, sir, let us hear 
 What you've to say ; yet take this with you — 'tis 
 No fitting time for mercy. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 I am here 
 Not to deliver, but betray. You choose 
 To hear me ? 
 
 Jeffreys {quickly'). 
 O my good young gentleman. 
 Your pardon. Welcome to our council. 'Slife ! 
 We are so pestered here with prayers — so stayed 
 In our dread office by distressful plaints — 
 'Tis little marvel each new visage wears 
 The aspect of a suppliant. Ho ! there — sirs ! 
 A chair for — master — eh ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 Pomfret !
 
 214 Ji^ffi'cys ; or^ 
 
 Jeffreys {glancing at Kirke). 
 
 A name 
 Sacred to loyilty. 
 
 Kirke {tenth a rough laugh). 
 Ha— ha ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 But, come ! 
 Out with your history. Give us who and where — 
 No prefacing, beseech you. Among friends, 
 Short counsels ever ! Do you drink ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 My lord, 
 Since I demand no meed for taking on me 
 This devil's office — shall my prayer have weight 
 Against the extreme judgment? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Mercy's fount 
 Dwells not in us, but doubtless the good word 
 Of master Pomfret (in so far as his 
 Kno\vn loyalty responds) shall have its weight. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 It should, in truth — else honour, love, and faith, 
 Are sacrificed unto a bloody end. 
 
 Kirke {half aside). 
 My charger to a squirrel, he'll impeach 
 His wife ! 
 
 Jeffreys {coolly). 
 Well, Where's the marvel ? 
 
 Pomfret {suddenly). 
 
 Hark ye, sirs ! 
 To you, lord justice, whose great boast it was 
 That upon certain witness you'd not pause
 
 The Wif^s Vengeance. 215 
 
 To hang up her that bore you — you, brave sir, 
 Who now wring EngHsh necks as gleefully 
 As at Tangier you trampled Moorish heads 
 Like acorns ; you, Lord Feversham, whose zeal 
 Hath saved the law some labour, I denounce 
 iv/(!r victims ! Does that please? To men like you 
 Fond ties are spider's meshes. You want blood — 
 I put it to your lips. 
 
 KiRKF, {starfiiii::; Up). 
 
 That's more the tune. 
 Your lordship's guard waits — shall I — 
 
 Jeffreys {gaitly). 
 
 Fair and softly. 
 You spoke of four, I think, sir. Will you name me 
 This knot of pestilent rogues ? 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Two of the four 
 I know not. They are traitors. That's enough 
 For you. 
 
 Jeffreys {writing). 
 The third, then ? 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 William Morgrave. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Morgrave of Ivyburn ! What — snared at last. 
 Dear William ? Will, the slippery ! {Reads tablets.) 
 
 Here's his name — 
 Red cross — suspected. Come, we'll make him sure — 
 The fourth remains. 
 
 Kirk K {impatiently) . 
 
 Come, sir, the fourth. My lord
 
 2 1 6 yeffreys ; or^ 
 
 Requires you name the fourth. 
 
 (PoMFRET turns fiercely vpon hhn, but checks 
 himself. After a pause — ) 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 My wife ! 
 {Sinks back, concealing his face.) 
 
 'Tis as I said. 
 
 Ejrke. 
 
 By Heaven 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Hark, colonel ! 
 {Whispers Kirke, who goes out, Feversham 
 following.') 
 
 Master Pomfret, 
 You have done well. See that you do not choose 
 Another scolding mate. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 To hold a court to-morrow. As we shall 
 Require your presence, you had best stay here. 
 The wine's indifferent good. We'll sup at eight. 
 ( Ymoning) Do you play brag? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 
 l"he game of deatli I play — 
 And souls are forfeit. There's a scent of blood- 
 Let me go forth. I sicken. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 No — no — no. 
 I may not tnist you. You are young, sir; it 
 Becomes mine age and office to preserve 
 Youth from temptation. Ah, 1 once was young 
 And tender— very tender— till the rubs
 
 The Wife^s Vengeance. 217 
 
 Of the hard world, and rude, unchristian men, 
 Made my veins iron. But, as I said, being )oung, 
 I know what power dwells in a woman's eye — 
 A wife's especially. No, sweet master Pomfret, 
 To-night we part not. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 Do you doubt me, then? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Marry, the heavens forbid ! So frank a youth 
 Mistrusted ! Hark you, master. I can guess — 
 Aye, without magic — that your loyalty 
 Moves but a finger here, while deeper views 
 Labour like hinds. But one attainted life 
 Stands between you and fortune — in my hand 
 The issue. Am I plain ? The shears of justice. 
 Grown dull of late, perchance, if edged with gold, 
 Might clip the surer. 
 
 Pomfret {passiofiately). 
 
 Tiger, and man of blood ! 
 Into whose snare — brief-sighted fool ! — I have 
 Betrayed mine innocent lamb — thou dost, indeed, 
 As thou hast said, instruct me. In your eyes 
 I read the monstrous image of my guilt, 
 And sink before it. What hath my fury done ? 
 Slay and divide the spoil ? Laughest thou, fiend ? 
 My wife— my Grace ! {Falls back) 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Irresolute fool ! 
 {Rings a handbell. Guard cuter.) 
 Poor youth ! 
 Prepare a room within, sirs. My young friend 
 Hath a vertigo — eye-sickness — or some 
 Such soft distemper. 'Twill subside, I think — 
 Look to him. I'here ! begone. (Pomfret is led out.) 
 
 I thought I saw
 
 2i8 Jeffreys; or. 
 
 More resolution in his features. Idiot ! 
 
 Was ever chance so wasted ? * {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE II.— In the Mansion. 
 
 (Lady Grace enters^ cautiously guiding Alice 
 and De l'Isle, both disguised.) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 A chamber Hes beyond, safer by far 
 Than that from which I bring you, to strange eyes 
 Scarce notable. Heed not this gloom, — the best 
 Assurance of your safety ; and, for comfort. 
 Think, in this world, how oft the darkest ways 
 Conduct to light and peace. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 With thankful hearts, 
 Thankful as confident, we follow. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Then 
 Behold your refuge. {Opens a secret door.) 
 
 Sacred once to prayer, 
 'Twill but renew its holy purpose, thus 
 Calming poor nature's fears. 
 
 De lTsle {feebly). 
 
 Thanks, dearest lady. 
 Here is a tongue that shall witli better grace 
 Rehearse our gratitude. I faint with pain, — 
 Your shoulder, love. 
 
 (Alice supports him in, and returns.) 
 
 * Note F.
 
 The Wifeh Ve7igeance. 219 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Some strength-restoring sleep 
 Shall by to-morrow eve give power to move 
 Our dangerous presence farther. Dearest lady, 
 May we then know you by no other name 
 Than friend and benefactor ? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Rather say, 
 Grace Pomfret. Ah ! do you start ? Why, now my 
 
 pulse 
 Begins to leap too ! Heaven ! the form agrees, — 
 Her movements — stature ! Madam, I would see 
 Your face. Do you pause ? 
 
 {Catches her hood, ivhich falls back.) 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Am I Medusa, lady ? 
 My snakes are stingless. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Would thyself were so ! 
 Thou fiend, so gloriously incarnate ! Thou 
 Lost thing, whose melancholy beauty thus 
 Dazzles and sears mine eyesight ! Leave me — go ! 
 
 Alice. 
 Is this distraction, madam ? 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 If despair 
 Be madness, — aye. Dost thou not see how much 
 Thou art mine enemy ? Know, fell sorceress ! 
 Your spring hath trod upon my winter's heels. 
 While yet some flowers were left me. Your smooth 
 
 cheek 
 Ploughs furroAVS here. The love of your sweet eyes 
 Hath taught mine tears. Ah ! had you coveted 
 But wealth, I would have so dealt with you, that
 
 220 yeffrcys ; or. 
 
 You might have trampled gold, and haply spared 
 The first great bond of nature. 
 
 Alice {eagerly). 
 
 Hear me — hear ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 You did not sin in ignorance. I could else 
 Search my own soul, and pardon, but you knew 
 I'he prize you played for was another's, and, 
 Using your budding sweetnesses to make 
 More dark my front of gloom, you selfishly 
 Plucked from this breast, its honourable home, 
 A gem you cannot wear. {Noise within.) 
 
 Alice {starti/ig). 
 
 Ah, — listen ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Yes,— 
 We are traced. I thank you. Now you feel. Oh, 
 
 woman ! 
 Have you no plea, — no palliation, — no 
 Grief for your fiital mischief '( Oh, I pray you ! 
 Devise some specious cause to justify 
 My mere)' — I would save you. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 For myself 
 I care not ; but for hi/ii, — oh, save ! (Noise.) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Infatuate 
 Not less than guilty ? To your refuge — go. 
 Repent ! 
 
 {Alarm. Alice disappears tJirougli the secret 
 door. Enter Colonel Kirke.) 
 
 Kirke. 
 All's well. Madam, your ladyship's 
 Obedient servant.
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 221 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 What means this ? 
 
 KiRKE, 
 
 Come in, 
 My lambs {guard enter). These rough but worthy souls, 
 
 fair lady, 
 Have a small duty to perform. 
 
 Lady Grace, 
 
 This outrage 
 Is worthy of its leader, else report. 
 Widely corroborate, to Colonel Kirke 
 Owes deep amends. 
 
 Kirke. 
 Report may split its tongue, — 
 And you, fair madam, learn to govern yours. 
 I search for traitors here, and, if I err not. 
 Find one already. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Search then, and begone 1 
 Aye, sir, no wiser than you came, steal back 
 To those whose tool you are. But haste ; day comes,. 
 And men may be abroad. 
 
 Kirke. 
 
 Aye, search I will, — 
 Even to this napkin — to this pouncet box. 
 Here in this cabinet's a likely drawer. 
 Who stuffed this damask ? Nothing here, nor here ? 
 
 {Runs his s^oord through cushions, ct 
 Throw back those tables. Sound the panels, sirs. 
 Is that a crevice 'neath the tai)estry ? Death ! 
 AVhere is the traitor, madam? Where's De I'lsle? 
 
 {Seizes her rudely by the arm ; she cries out. 
 De l'Isle throws open the door, and appears 
 with Alice.)
 
 222 Jejffnys ; or, 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 Hold ! I am here. Release the noble lady. 
 By heaven ! she knew not to what hunted lives 
 She did vouchsafe a refuge. 
 
 Lady Grace (sprins;ing fortvard). 
 Ah ! De l'Isle ! 
 And thou ? 
 
 Alice (embracing her). 
 Your Harry's sister. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Mine! Oh, Alice ! 
 Why did you hide this from me ? 
 
 Alice. 
 
 To prevent 
 This sad self-sacrifice. We feared that — 
 
 KiRKE {advancing). 
 
 Come, 
 Remove the prisoners. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 
 I am ready. How ! 
 You will not, surely — 
 
 (Pointing to Lady Grace a^id Alice.) 
 
 Kirke. 
 Sir, I know my duty 
 Better than you can teach me. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 
 This is my wife, — 
 Guilty alone in her unwavering faith 
 To my dark fortunes. This most generous lady 
 Knew not my name or station, — scarce the cause 
 Wherefore I sought concealment. Do not harm them \ 
 Take my own life, and be content.
 
 The Wifis Vengeance. 223 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 Not worth 
 A splinter from my falchion. For such wares 
 You must bid higher, Avhen my good lord justice 
 Stands in the mart, your rival. In your ear — 
 Look for no mercy, comrade. 
 
 De l'Isle {gazing o?i him) . 
 
 Colonel Kirke, 
 We are not strangers. 
 
 Kirke {carelessly). 
 
 Strangers ! no. We fought 
 At Medj' together ; and right soldierly 
 You bore yourself, De l'Isle. You should have died 
 
 there ; 
 'Twas in your mind, I think. 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 
 Then, for the memory 
 Of those old soldier-days, I — 
 
 Kirke {turning fro jh him). 
 
 Sir, I see you 
 But through the medium of my duty, which 
 Colours all men alike. Back, comrade, tut ! 
 I'm an old mastiff, madam ; rage and wheedling 
 Alike are lost upon me. {Shot and alarm within.) 
 
 Well ! What now,— 
 A rescue ? Stand, men. Serves me right, i'faith, 
 For babbling here, 
 
 ( The doors arc burst open., and a body of depend- 
 ants., etc., armed, and headed by Gabriel, rush 
 in.) 
 
 Let one among you raise 
 His finger. {They pause.) 
 
 Gabriel {furiously). 
 Cowards, where is your courage ? Stayed it 
 Without the door ?
 
 224 Jeffreys; or, 
 
 KiRKK. 
 
 Body o' me ! This cock 
 Crows shrilly for a fowl so ancient. 
 
 Gabriel. 
 
 Madam, 
 Our gracious mistress, hither are we come 
 AN'ith strength and will to guard you. Speak one word,. 
 Wave your hand thus, and these marauding thieves 
 Shall, head first, plumb the moat. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Your zeal afflicts me; 
 I need no strength, but innocence, — no shield, 
 But from my country's justice. If both fail, 
 There is a greater law shall one day work 
 i\Iore vengeance than your swords — whereto, meanwhile. 
 Humbly to bend is glory. Shed no blood 
 For me or mine. Come, kind old Gabriel, 
 Obey me. See, your mistress, none beside, 
 Disarms this faithful hand. 
 
 {She takes the halberd from him.) 
 
 Gabriel {hesitating). 
 
 Still, if i thought— 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Think nothing, but obey. Oh, Gabriel ! 
 This truth of thine, unsworn, may put to shame 
 Their plighted fliith, who, to preserve it, had 
 A thousand times thy cause. Away, my friends I 
 Thanks, and farewell. {They reluctantly retire^ 
 
 Lead them away. 
 
 Kirke. 
 'Tis i>rudently resolved ; 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 Stay, sir! You cannot. How! 
 This instant,— so attended !
 
 The Wifeh Vengeance. 225 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Sir, I pray you 
 Respect our sex, — our innocence, as yet, 
 Not legally attainted. My — my lord 
 Is absent, as you doubtless knew before 
 You led your ruffian band to desecrate, 
 By night, his English home. 
 
 KiRKE. 
 
 Your husband, eh ? 
 
 {Signs to the guard.) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 That mocking smile,— what doth it bode? Oh, Heaven! 
 Pomfret is innocent. He was from home- 
 He cannot share this trouble. 
 
 KiRKE {coolly). 
 
 I perceive 
 A curious scene awaits us. 
 
 Lady Grace {distractedly). 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 Entreat him, some one. Sir, in mercy tell me 
 What hath befallen. Hath Pomfret— Ah, you smile 
 Again, — he is safe. One word, — oh, answer ! 
 
 Kirke, 
 Patience. {Exeunt.) 
 
 end of act IV.
 
 2 26 'Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Judges^ chamber in the Sessions-house. 
 
 (Jeffreys. L'Estrange.) 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 He said so, did he ? If the seventh cup 
 Had passed, why then I pardon him. Who cares 
 Then ? Tlie imagination, sir, becomes 
 So over-fruitful, that men scorn it. 'Faith, 
 'Twould puzzle the man sober to make good 
 Half the man drunk affirms. Tut — I've been drunk, ' 
 And know it. 
 
 L'Estrange. 
 He had drunk, sir, but was still 
 Sober as a — {checks himself) —as, in fact, any man, 
 Who doesn't drink. Once and again he swore 
 That, in the matter of Dame Alice, you 
 Had sorely wronged and cheated him. Moreover, 
 Young Felthorp's ransom, ere it reached his hand, 
 Suffered strange diminution. And that now, 
 When the due working of this Pomfret mine 
 Might pay for all — you heed not, but would take 
 Three paltry lives instead. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 I ever knew 
 Lord Feversham an ass, and therefore used him. 
 Chiefly, as men employ such brutes, to drag 
 The more disgusting burdens. What beside ?
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 227 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 He said no more, my lord. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 My compliments 
 Unto his discontented lordship. Tell him 
 That, Heaven jiermitting, on the third day hence, 
 He will be present in his duty, aiding 
 To hang this worthy three. 
 
 L' Estrange {hastily). 
 My lord ! 
 
 Jeffreys {showing his hatid). 
 
 See here ! 
 
 L' Estrange. 
 A bloodstone— is't not ? * 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 By our gracious king 
 Thrust on my finger when I last took leave. 
 I tell you 'tis my memory, L' Estrange — 
 My much-neglected memory. Well, there's time 
 To heed its precepts. You have seen me play, 
 Worthy L' Estrange, the gracious English judge — 
 
 L' Estrange {aside). 
 Yes — being paid for't. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Now, sir, I'll enact 
 The Roman. Yes, though baffled Feversham 
 Howl like a satyr — though the whole land join 
 In cries of mercy— these shall die— shall die. 
 Traitors, or traitors' friends, their race is run — 
 I have said. They die ! 
 
 L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 But if— 
 
 * Note G. 
 
 Q 2
 
 a28 Jeffreys; ^r, 
 
 Jeffreys {tiirmng suddenly upon hini). 
 
 How dare you, sir, 
 Stand in the path of justice? Now I think on't, 
 !Master L' Estrange, you shall to Bristol. Look 
 To that affair we spoke of. 'Gainst these rebels 
 We shall not need your witness. William Morgrave 
 Lends us his tongue, and saves his neck. Away. 
 I follow soon. Farewell. {Exit L'Estrange.) 
 
 So much for him. 
 He's got the pity-fever, and must hence 
 Ere the contagion — Well, sagacious sir, 
 
 {Enter Tory Tom.) 
 What seeks your wisdom here ? You must be whipped, 
 And know your station better. To your kennel. 
 Did you not hear me, brute ? 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Come — don't hit me. 
 You ! yoit a judge ! You'd make a brave swash-buckler, 
 To brawl at fairs — or cudgel-play i' the ring 
 For greasy halfpence. {Evading Iiini) So, you thought, 
 you had me ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 You pestilent hound — you maggot — you poor fly — 
 Still in the chrysalis — and never doomed 
 To burst ! I am glad to own thy carcase — there 
 To vent the spleen that stifles me. 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Ho !— ho ! 
 So fierce ? See how I'll tame this bitter mood 
 With honey-tidings. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Thou ! A crack-brained herald 
 Sent from the court of Folly ! 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Yes— to greet
 
 The Wif(^s Vengeance. ii() 
 
 Madness — his elder brother. Not a man 
 
 Of your brave guard could pluck up heart to tell you, 
 
 And so they sent the fool. 
 
 Jeffreys {turns suddenly and seizes hint). 
 
 How, sir ! — what said they ? 
 
 Tom. 
 Don't strangle me. Already the rogues say 
 You hang with half a trial — and — your name 
 Cannot bear slander. Ah — let go, 'Tis well — 
 You've saved your learned fingers, Morgrave's gone. 
 
 Jeffreys 
 Morgrave ! escaped ! {Rings furiously. Officers enter?) 
 Sirs — tell me — does this — thing — 
 This idiot lie ? 
 
 Officer. 
 I fear, my lord — 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 You fear ! 
 I am answered. Go. True coward ! He mistrusts 
 Even his friends. Go — send L'Estrange. 
 
 He too is gone. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 My lord, 
 
 Jeffreys, 
 True — that's my doing {Afusing.) All 
 So far conspires to save them. They may yet 
 Evade — no — no — that way remains — and yet 
 Could it be managed otherwise — I hate 
 Such scenes — no — Pomfret must — {Enter Marshal.) 
 
 They are arraigned ? 
 Open the doors. Make proclamation, sir — 
 I come. {Examt)
 
 230 Jeffreys; or, 
 
 SCENE 11. — Great Court-room of the Sessums-hoiise. It 
 is himg entirely ivith red.* fudges seated. A Mili- 
 tary Guard under Colonel Kirke. J^niy and 
 Officials. Lady Grace, De l'Isle, and Alice at 
 the Bar. Many persons bclo^c it. Jeffreys enters 
 and takes his place. 
 
 Jeffreys {after a pa7ise'). 
 t Sirs, we are come to this good, loyal tovm — 
 Meaning to malce short work. Not to indulge, 
 As some, I see, expect — in fair, set speech 
 And formal declamation ; not to follow 
 A brace of puffing trumpeters ; — for, psha ! 
 We have seen these things twenty times before — 
 We come to do some business for the king ! 
 I know such visits are unwonted ! 'Faith ! 
 Your very women storm at us — for fear 
 We should invade their rights— for, gentlemen, 
 I hear 'tis in your city much the fashion 
 For women to bear sway. I say to you, 
 My prating madams, justice is a jade 
 That if she rails not, bites — and never stays 
 For compliment of sex. {Pauses, then resumes^ 
 
 Now, hark ye, sirs — 
 All you who love your king, or hold in heart 
 The memory of the crowned martyr — prompt 
 As you must be, to vengeance — yet remember 
 Justice must point the way. For John de l'Isle — 
 Yon bold, notorious traitor — let him turn 
 His thinkings heavenward — 
 
 Kirke {aside). 
 
 Now it comes ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 For he 
 
 Hath writ his name in English blood, and waved it 
 * Note H. t Note I.
 
 The Wifis Vengeance. 231 
 
 Aloft before men's eyes. An infant's cry 
 Shall, with the accusing angel's thunder-tone, 
 Call hiin to death. His wretched partner — 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Sir, 
 Waste not your words on me, who scorn alike 
 Your wrath and pity. If my lord be guilty, 
 What then am I, who from the first have been 
 His spur and counsellor ? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 'Tis well avouched — 
 Your turn will come, fair lady. Now, sirs, mark me — 
 Here stands a third respondent, challenging 
 Your sad but needful duty. Be it your task 
 Closely to sift unwilling witness — mine 
 To guard the majesty of English law 
 Inviolate. 
 
 (PoMFRET here enteis si 07vly, places himself by 
 KiRKE, his head drooping and face concealed. 
 KlRKE draws the guard about hi/n.) 
 
 Clerk {rising). 
 Call William Morgrave. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Do— 
 And get no answer. Spare your lungs, sir. William 
 Hath left us in the lurch. 
 
 Pomfret (starting). 
 
 Gone — say they ? Gone ! — 
 Then Heaven forgive me — I have slain my lamb 
 And let the wolf go free ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Sirs, I might call 
 This man — or that — but, to say truth, I hate
 
 232 Jeffreys; or. 
 
 Such patchwork dealing. In this court stands one 
 May spare us all the labour. 
 
 {Pauses, glancing at Pomfret.) 
 
 KiRKE {aside to Pomfret). 
 
 Now, then — up ! 
 Speak, man — denounce them. Be a ready witness — 
 So make the judge your friend. 
 
 Pomfret {raising his head). 
 
 Well may he deem 
 No better, than that these stained lips should turn 
 Deftly to their foul office. But he is wrong. 
 Enough, I have dragged her to the scaffold's edge — 
 Let others strike. Call on your bloodhound gang 
 That tracked them down — your spies — your messengers — 
 There's proof enough. 
 
 Kirke. 
 
 Not for the guilty knowledge — 
 But see — his eyebrows shake. Hell speak — 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 'Tis known — 
 ITiat justice, like a river, if it run 
 Smooth and unchecked, spreads out and wastes itself 
 In wide yet harmless shallows ; but, opposed, 
 Crests up and overwhelms ye. Look you, sirs ; 
 You know my mind now. 'Tis a short step hence 
 To execution — ha ? {Glaring at Pomfret.) 
 
 Alack -a-day ! 
 Doth no man answer ? Yet, I thought but now 
 I spied an honest face. 
 
 Kirke {aside). 
 
 Now note the tiger 
 Lashing itself to fury. Let him spring. 
 All's lost.
 
 The Wife^s Vengeance. 2^;^ 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 I cannot speak. Yet — yet, to save her — 
 Hold — looks she hither ? But 'tis vain. As well 
 Hurl ashes toward the weltering source of day, 
 As with the venom of my traitorous lips 
 Taint her white robe of innocence ! They'd not, 
 For shame, believe me, 
 
 Jeffreys {impatiently). 
 
 Reason, then, and pity 
 Alike are lost upon ye. {Starts u_p.) IV/io denounced 
 These three to Justice ? 
 
 KiRKE {eagerly). 
 
 Speak — speak — speak ! 
 
 PoMFRET {starting forward). 
 
 'Twas I! 
 
 (Lady Grace looks wildly round, and stretching 
 
 out her arms, falls fonoard. Murmurs of 
 
 amazement and horror pass through the 
 
 assembly.) 
 
 De l'Isle. 
 Pomfret ! 
 
 Pom fret {starting round, recognizes him). 
 Thou too — My sister — 
 
 Alice {stretching her arms towards him). 
 
 Here. 
 Pomfret {clasping his eyes.) 
 
 And thou ! 
 Villain — L'Estrange — I'll have thy blood for this, — 
 Aye, glare on me — 'twas I ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Crier, make silence ; 
 You, madam, stay your tears. Shall I be bantered
 
 234 Jeffreys; or, 
 
 With such sham stuff as this ? What know you, sir, 
 Of the foul crime whereof the prisoners stand 
 Accused ? 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 I will not answer. 
 
 J E F FR E YS {smiling) . 
 
 Wilt thou not ? 
 Nay, but thou wilt, I think. Alack -a-day ! 
 We needs must have it. Come. 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 They are my kin. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Rebels are kin to none. Hark, we are bent, 
 As yet, to mercy. Show ye obstinate, 
 Thwart us with closeness or reluctancy, 
 And I will sound a trumpet here i' the west, 
 Shall make the ears of every hearer tingle 
 For fifty years to come. 
 
 KiRKE {aside). 
 
 Do you mark that ? 
 Now, you are launched — set forth. All's well, I tell you. 
 
 Pomfret {in a low voice). 
 What would you know ? 
 
 Jeffreys {sho^ving De l'Isle). 
 
 You recognise in him 
 A fugitive of Monmouth's ? 
 
 Pomfret. 
 Aye. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 L' Estrange 
 Told you he saw them welcomed — comforted —
 
 The Wifis Vengeance. 235 
 
 And— yourself absent — by your wretched wife 
 
 Housed in your mansion, ever till that hour 
 
 Sacred from rebel footsteps ? You conceive, 
 
 Nay, more, are rooted in a firm belief 
 
 That, in full sense of her disloyalty, 
 
 Your lady did this deed, which you, denouncing, 
 
 In every land where honesty is praise, 
 
 Have built yourself a name. How say you, sir, 
 
 Is this — is all not true ? 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 It is all true. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 I'm satisfied. O me ! 'tis marvellous 
 From what tough roots the great, the mighty truth, 
 Shoots forth apparent ! Look you, master Pomfret ; 
 Needs must we had your witness — wanting which, 
 These might have 'scaped ; but, for it hath been given 
 With such an ill, disloyal grace, — stand by. 
 And see the end on't. Let the trial proceed ; 
 God send ye good deliverance* — for if I 
 Read honest faces right, you have it not 
 Of men. 
 
 Pomfret {starting frauticly fof'ward). 
 Why, is this possible ? thou vile 
 And treacherous deceiver ! hast thou led me 
 To this? didst thou not promise — Pah! to talk 
 Of faith, to such as thee ! 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 Hey ! hey ! what now? 
 What is the matter with this gentleman ? 
 Nay — stay him not — I'm clamour proof. I know 
 My duty. 
 
 Pomfret. 
 And I thee ! To the black heart 
 
 * Note I.
 
 236 y^ffy^y^ > or^ 
 
 I know thee, monster ! and 'twere poor amends 
 
 To speak it ; but that the despairing cry 
 
 Of injured lips, in place of i)resent strength, 
 
 Hath prophecy. Therefore, thou bold avenger. 
 
 That strik'st where God would sufter— merchant-fiend, 
 
 That sell'st thy victims ere thou slay'st them — here. 
 
 {Crosses doiuJi.) 
 Standing among thy trophies newliest-won. 
 Aye, even from their lost side — I sentence thee. 
 Vengeance shall haunt thee, and posterity 
 Howl curses on thy name. Nay, from this heart 
 A living spirit cries that, even now, 
 Sharp retribution dogs that path, up which 
 Thou climb'st in thought to honour. In that hour 
 When thou shalt drag thy hat upon thy brows. 
 For dread of each man's eye — when hopes and friends 
 Hourly drop from thee — think on us — and so 
 Cringe to thy fate — spurned — buffeted — a dog 
 Not worth a rope — Hung in some headlong cell 
 To die ! * {Sinks back exhausted ivith passion) 
 
 Jeffreys {coolly). 
 Remove that maniac. Come, proceed. 
 
 {Scene closes.) 
 
 SCENE HI.— Gallc/y without. 
 {Enter Lord Feversham and Tory Tom.) 
 
 Feversham. 
 So loath to save his neck ? 
 
 Tom. 
 
 He said, my lord, 
 
 •NotcK.
 
 The Wife's Vengeance, 237 
 
 Since Jeffreys swore he would respect his Hfe, 
 Where was the need to fly ? Quoth I, " Sir, hope 
 Is but the meat wherewith my good lord justice 
 Fattens his beasts for slaughter," That sufficed. 
 He vanished. 
 
 Feversham. 
 Good : but lest this wolf obtain 
 The blood he covets, should they be convict, 
 I'll to the king, and — I have a means to win 
 Pardon for twenty. Tom, thine idiotcy 
 Is worth a senate's wisdom. Serve with me. 
 I'll make thy fortunes grow. How goes the work 
 
 {Enter several Clerks and others^ 
 Within ? 
 
 Clerk. 
 As looked for. Thrice, my lord, he chid 
 The jury back, till their reluctant word 
 Squared with his bloody will. O Magna Charta ! 
 
 Feversham. 
 They are condemned, then ? 
 
 Clerk. 
 
 Truly, yes. All three 
 To die on Wednesday. [Exeunt Clerks, etc.) 
 
 Feversham. 
 
 Ha ! so soon ? Away, boy ! 
 
 {Exit hastily.) 
 
 Tom. 
 Not yet. I must give warning. Now, to knock 
 Their lordly heads together ! 
 
 {E?iter Jeffreys attended.) 
 
 Jeffreys {yawning). 
 
 So — that's done. 
 Kick out that fool. He's growing wise.
 
 238 ^#'0'-^; or^ 
 
 Tom. 
 
 You'd best 
 Leam of his folly. Hark ye : Feversham's 
 Gone to the king. He creeps beneath the table — 
 Then, where's your house of cards ? Wise as you are, 
 You'd be a fool without me. 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 To the king ! 
 He has been bought then. To the king — that's Oxford — 
 He'll win my prisoners, will he ? Let him. Come — 
 At least we'll have a run for't. Clerk, the warrant. 
 
 {IVrites) 
 At noon — to-morro7v — be it execute. 
 Check-mate, my lord ! {Exit.) 
 
 A deal too merciful. 
 
 Tom. 
 Kick out that judge. He grows 
 
 {An officer re-enters. Exit Tom.) < 
 
 SCENE IN.— A Gloomy Cell in the Prison. 
 
 (Lady Grace. Alice.) 
 
 Alice. 
 Farewell, dear Grace. 
 
 Lady Grace {embracing her). 
 
 And fare thou well, sweet Alice, 
 My three-days' sister. May the world we leave 
 Ne'er suffer worse heart-sickness than results 
 From partings, brief as ours !
 
 The Wife^s Vcjigeafice. 239 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Amen. With me 
 Life hangs like slumber on a weary brow, 
 That nods and droops to meet it. I ne'er knew 
 Tranquillity ; and yet 'tis comfort now, 
 When all life owns of terror hath gone by, 
 That I have ever been with /wn — albeit, 
 As 'twere, entrusted with two precious lives. 
 And but one woman's heart, to fear for them ! 
 Your lot was different. But for my — 
 
 Lady Grace 
 
 Forbear ! 
 I warned you. 
 
 Alice. 
 Grace, I am your murderer ! 
 You, for revenge, but opened your great heart, 
 And took me to its shelter. Oh ! complete 
 The good. Forgive him, too, whose hand hath struck 
 This love's dear temple do^vn ; for, on my soul, 
 You were his world. 
 
 Lady Grace {gaspmg). 
 
 Entreat me not. I — I — 
 Have pardoned. Go, dear Alice — go. 
 
 (Alice embraces her and exit.) 
 
 Gaoler {entering). 
 
 A person, 
 With the lord justice's pass, attends without 
 To see your ladyship. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 My holy guide ! 
 Pray him to enter. (Pomfret e?iters, disguised.) 
 
 Welcome, sir. Hold — {takes his hand) — Here, 
 You may well claim my service. Come you not 
 To speed my faint feet to that fairer shore
 
 240 Jeffreys; or, 
 
 Where no night lives ? Most welcome. 
 
 [Leads him to a seat.) 
 There's no need 
 To urge me now to pardon. One b}- one 
 Each bitter thought hath parted from my soul. 
 And, for my poor betra}-er — Harry — Harr}- — 
 Must I so name thee ? O my worthiest friend, 
 See him, I pray you. Say I forgave. For him 
 Keep all your consolations ; yes — for he 
 Hath greater need, believe me. Bid him recall 
 Our few and fleeting hours of happiness, 
 And shrine them in his heart, as men preserve 
 Some wondrous herb of healing ; for, I fear, 
 A voice that never rests may sometimes mix 
 With his life's music mournful knells, and so 
 The memory of those pleasant days shall be, 
 Perchance, a comfort to him — for I think 
 He loved me — once. 
 
 POMFRET {discovering himself). 
 
 Once, and for ever, Grace ! 
 Yes, you may start from me — you cannot now 
 Unsay those gracious words. For them alone 
 I lived. What, would'st thou clasp my bloodstained 
 
 hand — 
 Grow to the breast from which I spurned you ? No — 
 I am no more your lord. [Sits at her feeti) 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Harry, dear Harry ! 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 True. A dear husband have I been, sweet Grace. 
 BUnd, doting idiot ! I mistrusted you — 
 Aye, fooled and spell-bound by a glimmering lie. 
 Saw not the truth that sun-like blazed beyond ; 
 And, lest another eye should share its light, 
 Quenched all my glorious day ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 Alas ! alas !
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 241 
 
 We sought for vengeance on each other's pride, 
 
 And have but mocked ourselves, ^\'e have made war, 
 
 Like traitors, 'gainst love's sacred majesty 
 
 And high selected throne ; scoffed at his gifts — 
 
 Made poison of his sweet, his wholesome fruit — 
 
 Turned all his good to wrong. We merit not 
 
 His knowledge — the more blest that we, for this 
 
 Brief moment, may enjoy his free delight, 
 
 Better, far better than a thousand lives, 
 
 Tortured by frigid fear ! 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 It should be precious : 
 Know'st thou the price, my love ? 
 
 Lady Grace {cagcr/y). 
 
 But that mine hours 
 Are told, how sweet the travail were to bring 
 This late-found knowledge to its full fruition ! 
 How happy — were it not ? — to note each cloud 
 Die from our heaven, and things of monstrous mien 
 Cower and dissolve beneath the simple spell 
 Of frank interrogation ! Why that deed ? 
 That glance of unbelief? or that cold word ? 
 Or that long absent day ? So should love glean 
 Out of its former weakness, strength to live — 
 Aye, grow immortally. O phantom bliss! 
 A new, bright world is bom into my view, 
 And death leaps up between ! 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 What — didst thou think 
 I came for this ? To picture forth the joys 
 Thou shalt not taste ? To snatch a short farewell, 
 And from thy martyr- scaffold bear my shame 
 Back to the world — a vile auil loathed thing — 
 Who for a puny spite, not worth the name — 
 Nor with the spur — of vengeance, and to draw 
 In selfish age, a sick abhorred breath, 
 
 R
 
 242 Jeffreys ; or^ 
 
 Betrayed your summer life ? No, no, my Grace — 
 I had a nobler task. My mission is 
 Of life ! 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Of Ufa Ah, Harry. To retread 
 Our erring footsteps ! 
 
 Pom FRET {ca(:;erly). 
 
 Life hath many bonds. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 Greater than love ? 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 Yes, in endurance, sweet. 
 Love pays the price of contact with the world, 
 And so must perish with the perishing clay 
 That did inspire it. If its great hope lives, 
 'Tis worship, reverence — but not love. 
 
 Lady Grace {falls on his breast). 
 
 Love here, 
 And hope hereafter ! Who would more ? 
 
 Pomfret {suddenly) . 
 
 God help me 
 I must not trifle longer. Hark ! my Grace ; 
 Believe you I could ransom your sweet life 
 With gold ? No, no ! Yon fiendish judge, I tell you 
 He is a tiger — thou, too dear a prey 
 To rend from out his closing fangs, without 
 A price most fearful. Prayers he met with sneers. 
 I proffered riches, — he asked blood. " 'Tis vain, 
 Examples were required. (Jive him a prisoner. 
 Thy mate in birth, in name, — thou'rt free." I grasped 
 The bloody terms — 
 
 Lady Grace (reeoili'ng). 
 
 Man ! and the victim ?
 
 The Wife's Vengeance. 243 
 
 PoMFRET {falls at her feet). 
 
 Here! 
 
 Lady Grace {staggers towards the door). 
 And you believe that — never — 
 
 Pom FRET. 
 
 It is too late. 
 Thank God, too late ! I was arraigned — was tried — 
 Witnesses called — my own confession heard — 
 All the scant needs of law were fully met 
 And satisfied. Without a pause, condemned, 
 I passed, as 'twere from life to death. But lo ! 
 I have gained the prize I sought for, and my blood 
 Throws wide thy prison-gates. Look, dearest wife, — 
 
 {Shows a parchment.) 
 The judge kept faith with me ; moreover, made 
 Myself the bearer of this joy. All's well ! 
 I am the prisoner now, and you are free ! 
 Dost thou not understand me yet ? Come, love, 
 I wait to read in those mild eyes, that yet 
 They hold me worth regard. I do not now 
 Refuse thy pardon. Fold thine arms about me, — 
 Forgive me ; dost thou, (}race ? 
 
 {She leans upon his breast?) 
 
 It is enough. 
 Ho, there ! come forth, thou janitor, and set 
 This noble prisoner free. {Gaoler enters?) 
 
 Let fall thy bars. 
 What dost thou stay for ? Ah, the warrant ! Hold ! 
 Not yet content ? I am thy captive, man ; 
 But this — this lady — 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 Madam, I am grieved 
 If the stern purport of this parchment comes 
 
 R 2
 
 -44 7<:ff''0'^' ^^'5 
 
 Indeed unlocked for. You are both to die,- 
 And on the coming morn. 
 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 All's well, my Harry. 
 
 {Scene c/oses.) 
 
 SCENE V. — Niglit. Exterior of the Prison. 
 
 (MoRGRAVE enters, wa7idej'ing to and fro.) 
 
 MORGRAVE. 
 
 Is that the dawn? Not yet. And thou art caged, 
 My bird that sung so proudly ! Why, what cliange 
 A three days' prison sojourn must have wrought 
 In your triumphant modulations ! Thou, 
 Coy darling ! wouldst not brook this loving hand 
 About thy waist, and lo ! a brutal hangman 
 Girds thee with chains. You barred against me, once, 
 Your sumptuous gates ; and now, ten feet of stone 
 Is all thy palace. You disdained my clasp, — 
 Fire shall embrace thee. Grace, mine enemy, 
 Proud as thou wert — poor wench, — I pity thee ! 
 Thou lov'dst, I think, this being. It grows chill. 
 
 ( lVraJ)s his cloak round him, and cowers do'W7i.) 
 Will the day never come ? From tower to tower 
 A gleam skips stealthily, — some truant, crept 
 Abroad before its time. She's wakening now 
 From dream-afflicted slumber, and recoils 
 As the gTim spectre grows to life, and now 
 Stands weltering in her view. She shrieks. Ah, ha! 
 Pet child of fortune, delicately nursed. 
 How like you the new wooer ? Come, 'tis time.
 
 The Wifis Vengeance. 245 
 
 How quick the day grows !— brightly too. The guests 
 Draw toward the bridal banquet. I'll be one. {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE THE 'L.\.?>i:.— Approach to the Market-place, 
 
 Dorchester. 
 
 [Crowds pass towards the place of execution. 
 
 Gicards and Officials, who are saluted with 
 
 jeers and laughter; during which Kirke 
 
 enters with his guard. Tom is sauntering 
 
 about as usual.) 
 
 Kirke {dashing them roughly back). 
 Come, sirs, enough of Dorset wit. Stand back, 
 You that have tender brows. Some chance may knock 
 
 them 
 Against our halberts, look ye — 
 
 A Man {sulkily). 
 
 Mayn't one speak ? 
 
 Kirke. 
 I've brained a better skull than yours, my friend, 
 For less. 
 
 Another. 
 Who's that, sir ? 
 
 Tom {carelessly). 
 
 Not the cock you'd think. 
 A workman. 
 
 Man. 
 Workman !
 
 246 Jeffreys; or^ 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Aye, indeed, sir j driving 
 A dirty, spattering, and unwholesome trade. 
 That's Jeftreys' butcher. {Shout.) 
 
 Stand — uncover — see ! 
 
 (De l'Isle and Alice pass.) 
 
 Man. 
 How slow they tread ! 
 
 Tom. 
 Aye, sir. 'Tis feared he'll die 
 Untimely. Here's more dainty feeding still ! 
 
 (PoMFRET and Lady Grace enter.) 
 
 Man. 
 They bear a noble countenance ; and yet 
 The sun shines fairly. Should 1 e'er be hanged, 
 Give me a storm. She smiles, too. Nay, sir, surely 
 She is reprieved 1 
 
 Tom. 
 Right, sir ; reprieved she is — 
 Out of this bloody world. I think — Nay, pass j 
 
 (^To MoRGRAVE, w/io enters, and attempts to pass.) 
 Here's room. Ha, carrion-bird ! 
 
 MoRGRAVE (grasping /lis arm). 
 
 Would you betray me ? 
 Be silent, Tom — dear fool. I'll pay thee. Yes, 
 If I have beaten thee, 'twas but in sport, 
 And I'll repay thee. Though I look so poor, 
 'I'hese rags may cover gold. I never yet 
 Saw one I hateil die ! 
 
 POMFRET. 
 
 Sweet, — courage. We 
 Leave fear behind ! 
 
 Lady Grace {elingtng to Itini). 
 
 It is not fear. But, look !
 
 I 
 
 The Wif^s Vengeance. 247 
 
 That face — that fiendish face! — I thought I had 
 Forgiven all j but I — I — 
 
 POMFRET {to MoRGRAVe). 
 
 Poor, base wretch ! 
 Thy presence scarce hath power to kindle scorn. 
 Rage is not for the dying, and revenge 
 Is God's. Your hate a moment hath prevailed, 
 Only in mightier and eternal bonds, 
 To knit our souls together. Live ! Thank God, 
 E'en that we share not with thee ! 
 
 MoRGRAVE {choking with rage). 
 
 There — to death ! 
 {Enter Jeffreys, escorted as nsiial.) 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 How now, sirs ? What delay is this ? Pass on, — 
 Force a clear passage. Knock me down that knave 
 That strives — Why, may I ne'er taste bread if that 
 Is not my friend — mine ancient — truant William, — 
 William the slippery ! Ho, Master Marshal ! 
 Arrest that man. Away there ! 
 
 (MoRGRAVE is dragged off. Enter Officer, zvith 
 messenger?^ 
 
 Well, sir, now? 
 
 Officer. 
 One from Lord Feversham, my lord, sent in 
 To stay the execution. He demands — 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 He doth ! Upon your word ? Stand by ] let's see 
 This asking gentleman. Your letters. None ? 
 Put him aside. {Another 7ncssenger.) 
 
 Marshal. 
 My lord, a second, wearing 
 The badge of Feversham.
 
 248 Jcffj-eys ; or, 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 
 My noble friend ! 
 I do respect his lordship much ; but here's 
 A higher call than courtesy. Put him 
 Aside too. Have they reached — 
 
 Marshal. 
 
 Another rider, — 
 The king's, my lord. See, they fall back. My lord^ 
 The kind's — 
 
 'O 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Why, man, I see him not. 
 
 Marshal. 
 
 My lord, 
 T/iis -d'ay ! {Loud s/ioiils.) 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Foiled— foiled I What meddling fiend hath lent 
 Him wings ? 
 
 {Enter Lord Feversham 7vif/i a King's Cou- 
 rier. Prisoners guarded as before, crowd fol- 
 lo7ving.) 
 
 Feversham. 
 Your lordship's incredulity 
 Had nearly wrought a murder. Will you read 
 This missive ? 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Tell us first, my lord, what witch 
 Gave you her broomstick hither ? 
 
 Feversham. 
 
 By your leave. 
 The pardon first. 'Tis here. Now mark him, sirs ; 
 Mark him, I tell you. Here's a curious study, — 
 The tiger baulked of blood. He grinds his teeth, —
 
 The Wif^s Vengeance. 249 
 
 Puckers his terrible brow — Why, lo ! he smiles ! 
 What ! have I wronged this man ? Can pity touch 
 That soul of adamant ? Hark 
 
 Jeffreys. 
 Master Marshal, {writes on a paper.) 
 Hang these fifteen to-morrow ; twelve o' Wednesday, — 
 And the last score on Friday noon. Now, sirs. 
 For Bristol. 
 
 {Exeunt Jeffreys and train. Curtain falls.) 
 
 THE END.
 
 250 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note A. Page 17.^. Tory Tom. 
 
 A Dorsetshire clown, known by this appellation, has been honoured 
 with a place in the records of those times. His character — as far as 
 history (which, as in the case of greater men, has been rather sketchy 
 in its portraiture) has depicted it — seems to have been a mixture of cun- 
 ning and boldness ; for the latter of which qualities, at least, the Dorset 
 folk are remarkable. 
 
 Note B. Page 193. 
 
 Indisposed as Jeffreys already was to mercy, an incident which oc- 
 curred during his western progress had like to have driven away its 
 veriest shade. A riot and alarm arising, in which the judge was, or 
 believed himself to be, in some personal j)eril, he declared at parting 
 that " not a man of all those parishes that were of that vicinitude, if 
 found guilty, should escape." — Woolrych. 
 
 Note C. Page 196. 
 
 " He (JcflTreys) made all the west an Aceldama, some places quite 
 depopulated, and nothing to be seen in them but forsaken walls, unlucky 
 gibbets, and ghostly carcases. The trees were loaden almost as thick 
 with quarters as leaves; the houses and steeples covered as close with 
 heads as at other times frequently in that country with crows or ravens.
 
 Notes, 251 
 
 Nothing; could be liker hell than all those parts ; nothing so like the 
 dtvil as he. Caldrons hissing, carcases boiling, pitch and tar sparkling 
 and glowing, blood and limbs boiling, and tearing, and mangling ; and 
 he the great director of all, and, in a word, discharging his place who 
 sent him, the best deserving to be the king's late chief justice then, and 
 chancellor after, of any man that breathed since Cain or Judas." — 
 Ralph. 
 
 Note D. Page 21 1. 
 
 William Gatchell, a constable, had been compelled to execute a war- 
 rant for bringing provisions to Monmouth's army, on pain of having 
 his house destroyed, etc., and was sent to gaol as an accomplice! "Un- 
 fortunately," as the historian says, " he had the courage to plead * not 
 guilty'" Of course, the jury convicted him, and he, with another, 
 equally innocent, was hanged the following day. Gatchell was a "very; 
 decided character," — for, as he went to execution, he looked upon the 
 Taunton men very calmly, and said, " A papuhnis town, God ilcss it .'" 
 
 Note E. Page ; 12. 
 
 The Lady Alicia de I'lsle was judicially murdered, at the age of 
 seventy, in the manner recorded in the State Trials, vol. xi. 
 
 Jeffreys' whole conduct and demeanour throughout this proceeding 
 (trial it was not) are excellently characteristic of the man. 
 
 Having obtained a verdict (alike unwarranted by law or by the evi- 
 dence adduced) from a timid jury — " If I had been among you, and she 
 had been my oioi mother/" exclaimed Jeffreys, "I would have found 
 her guilty ; " and he ordered her to be burned the same afternoon. 
 
 In conformity, however, with a broad hint from the judge, a certain 
 mode of application for a respite was successful, during which brief 
 inten'al the sentence was changed to decapitation. One thousand 
 pounds had been ofFered to Lord Feversham if he should succeed in sav- 
 ing the aged prisoner. 
 
 Note F. Page 218. 
 
 " It must be confessed that he QefFreys) began a system of corruption 
 on this circuit, to say the least, and being himself originally without an 
 •estate, now spared no means of acquiring one." — Woolrych. 
 
 Note G. Page 227. 
 
 " Having plotted that the king should give some token of acceptance 
 in respect of his services — [qy. to come ?"] — on the morning of his 
 expedition, he had a ring fresh from the royal finger. . . . This 
 ring was called the bloodstone" — Woolrych.
 
 252 Notes. 
 
 Note H, Page 230. 
 
 The court was hung entirely with scarlet cloth ; "a colour," says a 
 writer, " suitable to such a succeeding bloody tragedy." 
 
 Note I. Page 230. 
 
 " Gentlemen, — 1 am, by the mercy of God, come to this great and 
 populous city. ... 1 find here are a great many auditors who are very 
 intent, as if they expected some formal or prepared speech ; but, assure 
 yourselves, we come not to make neither set speeches nor formal decla- 
 mations, nor to follow a couple of puffing trumpeters ; for, Lord ! we 
 have seen these things twenty times before ; no — we come to do the 
 king's business. . . . But 1 find a special commission is an unusual 
 thing here, and relishes very ill, — nay, the very women storm at it, for 
 fear we should take the upper hand of them too ; for, by the bye, 
 gentlemen, / heur it is mvch in fashion in this city for the ivomen to 
 govern and bear sicay." — Charge to Bristol jury. 
 
 Note K. Page 236. 
 
 The story of Jeffreys' attempted escape, his seizure, and subsequent 
 death in the tower, at the early age of forty -one, are matters of history. 
 Some portion, at least, of the censure which has been bestowed upon the 
 vice and cruelty which marked his career, should attach to the harsh 
 and profligate temper of his times.
 
 THE 
 
 WITCH-WIFE: 
 
 A TALE OF MALKIN TOWER. 
 ^ ©rama, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS : 
 
 {As produced at the Theatre Royal, Marylehone, May 1849, 
 under the direction of Air. Ellis, Stage-manager.)
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The ' Witch-Wife,' though including one or two cha- 
 racters of some notoriety, is based upon no circum- 
 stances of actual occurrence ; neither was it suggested, 
 as has been alleged, by my friend Mr. Ainsworth's 
 ' Lancashire Witches,' — a work I had purposely denied 
 myself the i)leasure of perusing, lest the stirring scenes it 
 could not fail to embody should exercise an influence 
 destructive, at least, of the originality, however bene- 
 ficial to the dramatic interests of the piece. 
 
 To any who desire a further acquaintance with the 
 notorious Matthew Hopkins, or insight mto the grotesque 
 horrors practised at the period of the witch persecutions, 
 the State Trials and Somers' Tracts will afford abundant 
 information, and at the same time prove that nothing in 
 the following pages is unjustifiably farcical.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Mole (ci Country 
 
 Coitiit/y 
 Gentlemen 
 
 Sir Gerald 
 Knight) 
 
 Marchmont Needham 
 
 Antony Gabb, 
 
 Harry Martyn, 
 
 Vaughan, 
 
 Matthew Hopkins {the Witch- 
 finder) 
 
 Stern [Jiis Follmver) 
 
 Gayre, 
 
 Ho^VLETT, 
 
 Constable 
 Officer 
 Countryman 
 Gaoler 
 
 Mr. J. H. R.AY. 
 
 Mr. Davenport. 
 ( Mr. Craven. 
 •< Mr. Wheatleigh. 
 (. Mr, Morris. 
 
 [.^ j Judges 
 
 { 
 
 Mr. J, Johnstone. 
 Mr. Morrison. 
 Mr. Tindell. 
 Mr. H. Lee. 
 Mr. Morland. 
 Mr. Maurice. 
 Mr. Hance. 
 Mr. Bowen. 
 
 Cecil Howard {Niece of Sir 
 
 Gerald) .... Mrs. Mowatt. 
 
 Mistress Frill {her Governess) . Mrs. E. Young. 
 
 Alison Devise .... Mrs. J. Johnstone. 
 
 Maggie Miss Feist. 
 
 Country People, Officers, etc. 
 
 a.d. 1634.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Library in Pendcll Alanor. SiR Gerald 
 Mole at a table covered with books, etc. A large black 
 board is siispended on the wall, 7oith geometrical 
 figures, etc. A croivd of rustics at the loiver end of 
 the room, among ^ahom is seen Alison Devise, as a 
 prisoner in charge of Stern and another. Sir 
 Gerald appears absorbed in study. 
 
 Constable {aside to Stern). 
 Come, this won't do. Accost him, Master Stern ; 
 Assault him with your wonted eloquence ; 
 Make a speech, Master Stern. 
 
 Stern {sloioly and gravely). 
 Ahem ! 
 
 Sir Gerald [abstracted^. 
 
 From A 
 To BCD, draw three straight lines — 
 
 Constable {aside). 
 
 Old dunce ! 
 He's still at his alphabet. 
 
 Stern {loudly). 
 Ahem ! 
 
 Sir Gerald {starting). 
 
 Who's there ? 
 Heav'n give me patience ! There's the thread o' the work 
 For the fifth time snapt short. Will nothing, sirs, 
 Deserve of ye some daily hours of peace ? 
 Go, patch your quarrels in the buttery :
 
 The Witch-Wife. 257 
 
 I ne'er knew village feud that would not yield 
 To the mild persuasion of a can of ale. 
 Ho ! there, the cellarer. 
 
 Stern. 
 Stop. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Well, man, speak. 
 
 Constable {biistUng fonvard). 
 An't please your worship, / will. Master Stern 
 Has been at school, and learned the worth of words ; 
 He's like a ship provisioned with parched peas 
 Doled singly by the niggard steward. This 
 Old dame's charged, on suspicion, with bewitching 
 Dame Pepper's old dun cow. 
 
 Sir Gerald [studying). 
 
 ' IV/iich is ahsitrd — ' 
 But if, as was proposed, the angle B — 
 
 Constable (Jiastily). 
 Sir, if your worship — 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Oh, aye ! Well, old woman. 
 Can you rebut this evidence ? Go, sirrah. 
 Call Master Marchmont Needham. He's a scholar. 
 Teamed in the law. Aye, there's more sense, I tell^you, 
 Under his curling love-locks than resides 
 In twenty eraiined frizzle-wigs. He's here. 
 
 {Ejiter Marchmont Needham.) 
 Marchmont, good day. 
 
 Needham. 
 Good morrow, my good friend. 
 News reached me that our village casuists 
 Had broached a theory of more painful proof 
 Than those which in this learned page you know 
 
 S
 
 258 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 So well to deal with, and I hastened on 
 To offer aid. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Thanks ! thanks ! 
 
 {Retunis eagerly to study ^ 
 
 Needham. 
 
 The matter, friends ? 
 
 Constable {aside to Stern). 
 Speak, speak, man ! 
 
 Stern. 
 Witches — 
 
 Needham {impatiently). 
 
 Nonsense ! 
 
 Stern. 
 
 Law — 
 
 Needham {sits'). 
 
 We'll hear 
 The case, then. Who complains ? 
 
 ( Countryinaii steps fonaard.) 
 What, Master Phinn ! 
 You don't seem pinched or withered in the flesh. 
 What have you suffered ? 
 
 Countryman {scratching his head). 
 Nawthing. 
 
 Needham {frozaming?) 
 
 What do you charge 
 'Gainst this poor woman ? Out with it. 
 
 Countryman {with much hesitation). 
 
 Well, master, 
 She squints — God sain us !
 
 The Witch' Wife. 259 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Master Phinn, amen ! 
 And put some brains in that disfurnished hut, 
 Thy noddle. Get you gone. But, in Heav'n's name, 
 Is not this monstrous ? Some one hath a sheep 
 Sick of the giddies, or a hog of the mumps, — 
 A girl of the sullens, or a boy of the school. 
 And the first grandame that comes halting by, 
 Hath done't of fiendish mischief! Where's your proof, 
 Or witness ? 
 
 Stern. 
 Ducking ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Out, you ruffian ! 
 
 Sir Gerald [looking uf). 
 
 Stay. 
 Marchmont, this must be looked to ; let's proceed 
 With caution. I'm a justice of the peace. 
 And sworn to thwart the devil. Master Stem, 
 Your charge ? 
 
 Needham {to Stern). 
 Well, sir ? If she's a witch, you seem 
 Possessed by a dumb devil. Where's your tongue ? 
 
 Stern {^producing a letter). 
 There ! 
 
 Needhaim {cxaviiuiiig it). 
 'Tis a scroll, Sir Gerald, to say truth, 
 Nor over clean nor clerkly ; but withal 
 Scratched in a bold, black, earnest hand enough, 
 And superscribed to you. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Ha ! read it, Marchmont. 
 s 2
 
 26o The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Needham {fcads). 
 " My service to your worship presented. I have this 
 day received a letter to come to a place called Pendell 
 Forest, to search for evil-disposed persons called witches. 
 I much marvel such evil members should have any to 
 take their parts — " 
 
 Sir Gerald {imeasily). 
 Who takes their parts ? Not I. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Shall I conclude ? 
 " I intend to give your precinct a visit suddenly ; for I 
 would certainly know whether it affords many sticklers 
 for such cattle, or willing to give us good welcome and 
 entertainment : for so shall we work without control, and 
 likewise with thanks and recompense. So I humbly take 
 my leave, and rest your worship's servant to command. — 
 Matthew Hopkins." 
 
 {As he reads the name, a movement of terror 
 among the connt/y people.) 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Ha! Is he coming? Then I warn ye'all, 
 Bum every broomstick, say your prayers straightforward, 
 And get to bed betimes. He'll find you out, 
 If there's a witch among ye. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 And if not, 
 He'll make one. 
 
 Sir Gerald {donhtiugly). 
 
 Marchmont, 'tis a gifted man. 
 He comes not purposeless. J think — I — eh — 
 We must commit this prisoner ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 You will hear 
 The charge first ?
 
 The Witch- Wife. 261 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Aye, that's fair. 
 
 Needham {aside to a villager). 
 
 Hark, little Maggie ! 
 Seek Mistress Cecil. {Exit Maggie.) 
 
 Master Stern, your speech, 
 Condensed and pithy though it be, scarce guides 
 Judgments not preinformed. A trifle more 
 Detail, sir. 
 
 Stern {points to a coffer held by Constable.) 
 
 There 1 {Enter Cecil, running^ 
 
 Cecil. 
 0, what a race ! Dear uncle, 
 Lend me your watch. Quick ! I gave Mistress Frill 
 Once round the pleasance, where we walked, to you^ 
 And beat her by — a minute. Here she comes ! 
 Dear lady ! Tired, ma'am ? 
 
 {Offers chair to Mistress Frill, ivho enters 
 panting and disordered^ 
 
 Mistress Frill. 
 
 Ah — oh — fie — girl ! 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Cecil! 
 
 Cecil. 
 Don't knit your brows. You know I hate it. Come ! 
 I've told you that before. 
 
 Mistress Frill {lifting her hands). 
 Miss Cecil — child ! 
 You make my blood run cold. 
 
 Cecil {aside). 
 
 It never did 
 
 Aught else.
 
 262 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Mistress Frill. 
 Is this my teaching ? Lack-a-day ! 
 Go stand in the corner till you've learned to give 
 Your elders reverence. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Come, come, Mistress Frill \ 
 She's not a child, good lady. Here, wild thing, 
 Sit down by me. We'll make a pretty twain — 
 Justice and Mercy. How shall we dispose 
 These evil-doors ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 Give them a crown apiece. 
 
 And send them home. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Nay— but — 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Another word. 
 And Mercy quits the bench. You'll be my clerk, 
 Good Master Ncedham. {To Sir Gerald.) 
 
 You^ sir, will be dumb ; 
 For Justice acts, not chatters. 
 
 Stern. 
 
 Hold! 
 
 Pray who are you ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Stern. 
 Stem. 
 
 Heyday ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Mercy will be sterner, 
 If you don't find your tongue.
 
 The Witch-Wife. 263 
 
 Constable {sulkily). 
 
 Madam, my lady ! 
 (Since 't is his worship's i)leasure you should hear) — 
 We've brought a witch for judgment. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Witch ! What ? Where ? 
 Old ? bearded ? bent ? with imp and broomstick, all 
 Complete ? 
 
 Constable {to Alison). 
 Stand forth there, prisoner. You, young lady. 
 Beware her evil eye. 
 
 Cecil {starting up~). 
 I'll risk the— 77/^/ ./ 
 Why, that's my nurse, man, Alison Devise ! 
 Good, patient, loving, dear old Alison ! 
 Man, ere her years had half attained to thine, 
 More deeds of love and Christian charity 
 Stood to her count, than there are white hairs now 
 On her poor forehead. Alison, a witch ? 
 Then I'm a witchling ! 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Eh ! why, — eh ! 'tis she. 
 That's certain— isn't it ? For they tell us that 
 AVitches sometimes change feature. Well, well, well — 
 Why didn't you speak, old woman ? 
 
 Alison {curtseying). 
 
 There was nought 
 To answer, please you. These good gentlemen 
 Were so resolved, I feared, sir, I might be 
 A witch, and didn't know it. 
 
 Constable. 
 
 That won't do. 
 Produce the image. Master Stem. We kept 
 One horrid witness back, hoping to spare
 
 264 The Witch^Wife. 
 
 Your worship's tender heart, and this poor lady, 
 Whom — shame to yonder evil-hearted hag ! — 
 It doth affect more nearly. 'Tis a form 
 In wax, shaped like the lady Cecil, doomed 
 To devilish tortures, which, by wizard arts, 
 Reach to the living copy. First we lit 
 
 {Opens the coffer^ 
 On these. Item, one broom, one kitten (lame), 
 Sundry glass beads, six ringlets of fine hair, 
 And fifteen i)ins, some crooked. Next we came 
 To this most terrible object. (^Produces an image.) 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 Dear Master Constable, I thank your zeal. 
 That, from this good old creature's drawer of treasures, 
 Has rummaged — my first doll ! 
 
 Alison. 
 
 And 'tis as like 
 Your little cherub face, at three years old, 
 As sister-peas. God bless ye both ! That's why 
 I ke])t it. 
 
 Needham (r/si//g). 
 Master Stern and constables, 
 'Gainst this poor soul three things are proven. First, 
 She squints ; second, loved babes ; third, hath a kitten 
 Goes on three legs. She is discharged. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 But stay ; 
 To make all sure, we will impound the doll. 
 And pop the cat i' the cistern. So, be off; 
 And, all whose conscience tingles, mend your doings, 
 For hither comes Mat Hopkins, Satan's foe ; 
 One who has brought more witches to the pyre 
 Than I have tongue to number. Some of ye 
 See the poor woman to JK-r home in safety ; 
 And— (^All shrink from her:) 
 
 How's this? All afraid?
 
 The WitcJuWife. 265 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 /'// guard her, uncle. 
 Come Alise, lean on me. Do as I bid you. 
 Lean all your weight. Aye, so. 
 
 Needham {aside). 
 
 Heaven bless thee, child ! 
 Lovely thou art, but glorious charity, 
 With skill surpassing nature, paints thee now 
 With tints of heavenly origin : I'll not 
 Spoil thy good deed by sharing ; yet \ may 
 Humbly precede, and smoothe the hallowed way. 
 
 {Exeunt?) 
 
 Constable {as they go out). 
 Well, what says Master Stern, the magpie ? 
 
 Stern. 
 
 Wait. 
 {Exeunt^ 
 
 SCENE II. — A glade in Pendell Forest. Evening. 
 
 £>• 
 
 {Enter Anthony Gabb, Martyn and Vaughan. 
 
 Gabb. 
 I tell you, we're too many. What the deuce 
 Brought you botJi poking hither ? 
 
 Martyn {laughing). 
 This! {ivaving a paper). No pheasant 
 Was ever snared with verse. If you're in love, 
 Don't be ashamed on't ! Tell us, like a man ; 
 Tis but a young disorder, like the chin-cough,
 
 266 The Witch-Wi/e. 
 
 Best early caught, and done with ; but delayed — 
 As I live, here's another ! 
 
 (Runs to a tree and snatches off a paper which 
 Gabb tries in vain to obtain^ 
 
 Vaughan. 
 
 And besides, 
 Some dogs hunt best in couples. Here is Martyn ! 
 Now, were not / — a sober gentleman, 
 Of staid and shrivelled reputation, by, 
 To check his frolic-passion — 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 What you promise, 
 Might have brought half the county. Hem ! Let's see. 
 
 {Reads. y 
 
 Glances that, if they did not please, 
 
 Would sure with terror fray us — 
 Fair suns — or blue-cold spheres that freeze ; 
 
 Comets flashed fresh from chaos. 
 
 Vaughan. 
 Right — your stale comet's not worth a bulrush. On — 
 
 Marty]!* {reads). 
 
 Lips like a rosebud, newly cleft — 
 
 Ripe as an autumn plum — 
 Whereon some lovesick bee has left 
 
 Its honey and its hum. 
 
 Vaughan. 
 Its hitni ? What, does she buzz ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 I lacked a rhyme. 
 
 No — to say truth. 
 
 ■Iartyn. 
 B " hum ? " Critics might say 
 had a bee in her b .net. Sir, that hum's
 
 The Witch-Wife. 267 
 
 A humbug— cut it out. So, then, 'tis here 
 The spirit wanders ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 Sometimes two. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Eh ! Two ? 
 In ghosts and women, all the interest 
 Ends with the individuality. 
 I'm off. 
 
 Gabb. 
 I see a shadow. Steal apart ! 
 Disperse — disperse ! 
 
 {T/iey retire aside, as March. NEEDHAM^/z/^ry.) 
 
 Needham. 
 All's clear enough. Poor souls 
 The very name of Matthew Hopkins scares them 
 Like conies to their burrows. I'll watch here 
 Till she has passed — then follow. 
 
 {^Retires. Gabb advances^ and stealing round 
 grasps him.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 What sport, sir ? 
 
 Stalking deer ? 
 
 Needham. 
 Master Gabb ! What do you here,. 
 Alone ? Indulgence in great thoughts, not doomed 
 To find their issue in heroic deeds, 
 Is robbery of the world, sir. You're a thief — 
 I apprehend you. Come with me. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 First tell me 
 What is your object here ?
 
 268 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Needham, 
 I, sir, attend 
 Sweet nature's vespers. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 So do the frogs. I hear them ! 
 
 Needham. 
 And, lingering in these dells, could dream — 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 No doubt. 
 But /, most learned and poetic Marchmont, 
 Am very much awake. Never tell me — 
 You care as much for vistas, towers, and trees, 
 As donkeys do for diamonds. What's the matter ? 
 Who's that parting the boughs ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 By Heaven, 'tis he ! 
 'Tis the witch-finder, Hopkins — a bold knave, 
 Bankrupt in virtue as in wealth ; and apt 
 For any deed — as who can nothing lose 
 In either. 
 
 Gabb. 
 Savage brute ! He treads as though 
 He'd grind the very turf to powder — ugh ! 
 
 {Enter AIatthew Hopkins and two followers^ 
 
 Hopkins. 
 This path, they told us, led to the old squire's den \ 
 But I don't — Soft you, here are natives. Well, 
 Masters, whaf s stirring hereabouts ? 
 
 Gabb {aside to Needham). 
 
 That's cool. 
 
 Needham. 
 A squirrel on that bough, sir, cracked just now
 
 The Witch- Wife. 269 
 
 Afilbert — that proved sour. By yonder stile 
 There lies a weasel, simulating slumber ; 
 But he's a cheat, I take it. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Sir, you're pleased 
 To be facetious. I demand what's new 
 In these wood-ways ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Why, nothing, sir. That is, 
 The devil writes farces, and mankind enact them. 
 As for ourselves, we kneel, and, in bright eyes, 
 See future fertile acres — buy and sell 
 Pigs, oxen, and each other — backbite, jest, 
 Get dnmk, and sober. 'Tis, in truth, the world's 
 Accustomed chaos — needing one rogue more. 
 With good, bold vices, to bind in the whole — 
 And that want's furnished. {Aside.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Will this present path 
 Lead us to Pendell Manor ? 
 
 Needham (aside). 
 
 Not if I 
 Can help it. {Aloud) No, sir. 
 
 One Alison Devise ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Know you an old hag, 
 
 Needham. 
 
 The honest soul 
 Dwells yonder. {Pointing?) 
 
 Hopkins {grinning). 
 Honest, eh, Paul ?
 
 270 The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Follower {gruffly). 
 
 Humph ! 
 
 Needham {aside). 
 
 I'll lead 
 These gentlemen a dance. Well, sirs, for love 
 Of such society, I'll be your guide 
 To hut and manor both. Come, master Gabb, 
 Go with us. 
 
 Gabb {aside to him). 
 Hang me if I do. Just leave 
 Your friend in some convenient ditch, and earn 
 The county's thanks. 
 
 {Exeunt Needham, Hopkins, aiidfolloivefs.) 
 Now, Anthony Gabb, sit down, {Sits.) 
 
 And listen. Sir, should fortune, yet untired 
 Of lavishing fair opportunities 
 On such a recreant knave — bring that sweet soul 
 Across your vision — try, sir, to reflect 
 That legs were given for nobler ends than that 
 Of simply taking flight ; that tongues should speak, 
 And lips — Confound this fellow ! {Re-enter Martyn.) 
 
 Mart\'n. 
 
 Still alone ? 
 Why, Where's the nymph ? 
 
 Gabb {stilkily). 
 Not come. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 How's that? I saw her 
 Approaching, through the trees. 
 
 Gabb {starts up). 
 
 The deuce you did ! 
 Good night. It's getting late.
 
 The Witch-Wife. 271 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 What, don't you want 
 To meet her ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 Ye-e-s— I did — but now, — 
 
 Martyn {laughing) . 
 
 She's here ! 
 Stand, or she'll think you're drunk. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 I Nvish I were. 
 No man's afraid in his cups. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Then counterfeit — 
 You'll do it to the life. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Good thought ! I will — 
 But stand beside me. 
 
 {They retire. Enter Cecil, leading h.u.so's. 
 Devise.) 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Fie on this drear place ! 
 And on those aches that force me drag my weight 
 Of years, so tardily. Now must thou return 
 With those poor feet threading the long, dank grass. 
 That teems with agues. Weil, wit comes with age, 
 And soon you'll hate me. They'll compel you. I'm 
 An old witch, am I ? 
 
 Cecil, 
 Come, be calm, dear Alise. 
 If I believed them, I must pity. Now 
 You've love and pity both. What creature's this ? 
 Ah ! 'tis my mute adorer — but bewitched, 
 And talking !
 
 272 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 {Re-enter Gabb, stumbling as if drunk. He reels 
 against a tree.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 Sir, I really beg your pardon. 
 'Twas awkward. I ne'er saw you, till my nose 
 Struck yours. Why, what a labyrinth is here ! 
 Nettles and briers ! Where's my brother-owl ? 
 Oh, here you come, you mouser ! {Re-enter Martyn.) 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Whither now ? 
 Madam, excuse him, — a poor, harmless soul, 
 When he's not drunk. Come on, sir. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Drunk, sir 1 drunk ? 
 Have you the— ears — to say so ? This fair dame— 
 This grandame of the wood-nymphs— shall be judge. 
 Fair Dryad, am I drunk ? 
 
 {Falls on his knees before Alison.) 
 
 Alison. 
 
 He ! he ! — He seems 
 A merry gentleman ! Stand up. Poor thing! 
 'Tis very much o'erta'en. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Away — nurse — come. 
 
 I am ready, darling. 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Gabb. 
 Darling ! — A sweet word. {Sits down.) 
 A frank avowal ! All my spirit owns 
 The sweet intoxication. I — I choose 
 The sitting posture, having thus my legs 
 More, as it were, beneath us. Now would men
 
 The Witch- Wi/e. 273 
 
 Dwell in revolving tickets, thus, thatched roofs 
 Would soon be deemed luxurious. 
 
 Martyn {aside to him). 
 
 Courage. Speak 
 To your goddess, man, or leave her. 
 
 Gabb {aside). 
 
 'Faith, I dare not. 
 Look at that eye. By heaven, its glances seem 
 To thread one, and pass on. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Sharp vision, truly ! 
 Madam, 'tis late, and these are no safe paths 
 For such fair pilgrims. Will you accept our escort ? 
 We'll leave you at your pleasure, 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Go, then, now. 
 And for this gay, convivial gentleman, 
 Whose sin of drunkenness, I fain would hope, 
 Is no accustomed guise — so awkwardly 
 It sits upon him — take him with you. Look, 
 He's marvellously sobered ! 
 
 Gabb {aside). 
 
 'Faith, she's right. 
 
 Martyn. 
 We are both fools, and I the greater. Come, 
 There's comfort for thee. Heaven be with you, madam, 
 The field being lost, I yield it, and retire, 
 A wise commander, sending, as you see, 
 My heavier baggage forward. {Exit, pushing of Gabb.) 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 It has grown 
 So dark ! Lean harder, Alise,— I can bear 
 More than you think. How strange ! If I were one 
 
 T
 
 2 74 ^/^^ Witch-Wife. 
 
 To harbour gloomy prescience, I could deem 
 Some dark, unwonted, evil influence 
 Sat brooding o'er this wood. 
 
 [As they are going out, re-enter Hopkins ajid 
 followers, meeting themi) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 A pretty guide ! 
 I never knew a fellow could discourse 
 In words of twenty syllables, hke him, 
 Worth a cock's feather. 
 
 Follower. 
 
 He deceived us. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Ha! 
 If I were sure of that— Hallo ! here's game, — 
 Whirr ! two birds flushed together ! 
 
 Follower. 
 
 Chick and hen. 
 
 Hopkins {catching Alison as they try to pass). 
 Stop, neighbour, not so fast. A word with you. 
 
 Cecil {agitated). 
 What do you want? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Why, firstly, child, to see 
 From what red, pretty rustic lip proceeds 
 So musical a query. 
 
 Cecil {throws np her head with dignity^ 
 There, sir. Back, 
 And leave me room to pass. 
 
 Hopkins {admiringly). 
 
 Eh ! By these hilts,
 
 The Witch- Wife. 275 
 
 But you're a beauty ! No clown-architect 
 Built that brow's arch, I take it ! You may go, 
 Young lady, — I have no right to stay you ; but 
 This ancient fowl comes of another nest, 
 And I must hear her singing. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Sir— 
 
 Hopkins (Jaughi/ig). 
 
 Don't be 
 So haughty, little madam. I am charged 
 To hunt up certain witches hereabout ; 
 Among them (where's the paper? — here 'tis) — humph — 
 Among them {reads) one, " called Alison Devise, — 
 An ancient gentlewoman, rather lame, 
 Owning a slight obliquity of vision." 
 Hum ! " Causes of suspicion," hum ! ah ! " old, 
 Dwells in the forest, keeps a cat, hates beer, 
 Refused to kill a toad " (her imp, of course), 
 " Keeps a wax image" (vicious hag !), "prescribes 
 For cows in mortal sickness " (hum !), " which die." 
 Here's proof on proof. Stand from before her, madam ; 
 Down hood, old girl, If you're not she, I'll eat you. 
 Tough as you are, unsalted. ( Teats ofi her hood^ 
 
 Seize the witch ! 
 I told you so. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Let her alone. Stand back. 
 Sir, with your sex a woman's weakness is 
 Her best assurance. You, it seems, would turn it 
 Against her as a weapon. Where's your warrant 
 Thus to molest us, — none ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 That's soon repaired. 
 We will but ask this lady"s company 
 To the next justice. 
 
 T 3
 
 276 The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Cecil {eagerly). 
 
 That's Sir Gerald Mole, 
 My uncle, who, on full investigation 
 Of the rank follies that disgrace us here, 
 Has set her free already. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Humph ! Are you 
 Niece to that old curmudgeon — I — I mean 
 That learned and wealthy squire ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 What's that to the purpose ? 
 Yet, since you know me, sirs, in courtesy 
 Let us begone to-night, and take my pledge 
 That this poor soul be at the hall to-morrow, 
 There to abide your question. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 No, fair lady, 
 You little know the malice of this kind. 
 We've stirred her venom now, and, ere the mom. 
 Backed by the devil, her lord, she'll scatter round 
 A tenfold mischief. That is not my way 
 Of doing the work ; nor ever doth this hand 
 Loose its first gripe till the foul prey be brought 
 To that safe goal — the gallows ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 She is innocent. 
 Heavens ! Can this be? It will not. You relent — 
 You hesitate — 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Not I. Yet stay, — come nearer. 
 Don't be afraid. Is — is your heart vincli set 
 On saving this old hag .-* Enough ! — I'll do't 
 On one condition. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Well, sir, what ?
 
 The Witch' Wi/e. 277 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 A kiss. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Is the man drunk, or mad ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Drunk, pretty one, 
 With love j and mad with fury if you baulk me. 
 You must be mine. Tush ! I mean honestly. 
 We are alone, as 'twere, in the dark wood, 
 And you shall hear me what I list to speak, 
 And answer too. I love you. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 You ! 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Ev'n I. 
 No saucy glances, — no curled lips. I warn you. 
 I am not that I seem. I have a name 
 For courage, zeal, and sanctity. I feel, 
 Within this rugged rind, a slumbering spell. 
 Awaiting but the charmer's voice to wake 
 Its fine and terrible action. Girl, that voice, 
 That power, are thine ! I saw you, and my soul. 
 Never yet moved, shrank helpless. 
 
 Cecil {faintly). 
 
 I — I pray you — 
 
 Hopkins {catching her). 
 Stay — you must hear — must speak too, — for the game's 
 Begun, and must be played out now. I love — 
 I love you, maiden ! I've no mincings, drawled 
 By feathered apes o' the world, but by this sword — 
 And that's a soldier's oath, — I'll woo you like 
 A soldier. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Will you ? Then begone, and know,
 
 278 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 When you would practise on a woman's fears, 
 The true road to her heart — at least, to mine, — 
 Lies not through terror. 
 
 Hopkins {eagerly). 
 
 The true road ! 
 
 I'll not 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Deceive you. This is idleness. To you, 
 And such as you, there's none. 
 
 Hopkins {furiously). 
 
 Then {checking himself) 
 — stay, — so young, 
 And fair, and pitiless ! I was not always 
 The man you see me now. My youth, stripped bare 
 Of all sweet subtleties that win mankind, 
 Was wasted in vain searcli for bliss. At length, 
 I touch it, and 'tis ashes. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Am I free 
 To leave you now ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 You are, with this assurance. 
 That, as you scorn me, and reject my love. 
 So shall you find the hate 30U calmly dare. 
 As strong as love, but deadlier. Our short strife, 
 Passed in the dull depths of the silent wood, 
 Revenge shall visit you within the gaze 
 Of gaping thousands, and before this sun — {Goes up.) 
 Ho ! Michael,— Voules ! 
 
 {Followers advance with Alison.) 
 
 Follower. 
 
 Here, master. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Let her go.
 
 The Witch-Wife. 279 
 
 Follower. 
 
 Eh? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Let her go, man. Did your grandame never 
 Teach you 'twas wisdom to expend a sprat 
 To catch a grampus ? We have greater ends 
 To compass than are gathered in the grilhng 
 This piece of parchment skin ! 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Heaven bless you, sir ! 
 You're very kind, 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Enough. A witch's benisons 
 Are doubtful gifts. {Hesitatingly^ Madam, if I might 
 
 touch 
 That hand, — mistake me not, the pact is made, — 
 Are we not foes ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 On that condition — {Gives her hand ^ 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Trust me, 
 I will fulfil it, — to the death / Farewell. {Exeunt.) 
 
 end of act I.
 
 28o 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Apartment in a Hunting Lodge, opening in 
 
 the Forest. 
 
 {E?iter Martyn and Gabb.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 I say again, I'm satisfied. I say, 
 I've every reason to be no less pleased 
 Than flattered by such notice. Why, you saw 
 Our meeting ? 
 
 Martyn. 
 Plain enough. If that meant love, 
 Heaven keep me from its tokens ! 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 I confess 
 My nymph is somewhat of the panther kind, 
 As stem as beautiful. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 A pleasant beast 
 For semblance — that accepts her love with growls 
 Below all vocal divings, and soft pats 
 Would smash a human occiput ! Come, come, 
 You're disappointed. Own it. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Not at all. 
 Last night I added to my calendar 
 A golden day. 
 
 Martyn. 
 A what ?
 
 The Witch- Wife. 281 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 A golden day. 
 Those, sir, are golden days on which I hold 
 Converse with Mistress Cecil. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 So ! It seems 
 The ice is broken ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Not precisely. She 
 Ne'er fails to greet me, but, to say truth, my tongue 
 Has, up to this time, steadfastly declined 
 Articulation. 
 
 Martyn. 
 Then what passes ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 This, — 
 *' Ah, Master Gabb ! " or else, " Good morning, sir," 
 Or, " Here's a fine day, Master Gabb ! " For thus 
 (As though to keep me longer at her side) 
 She'll spin out commonplaces. Sometimes 'tis 
 Most sweet, and graceful, and confiding, as, — 
 " Should you meet Goody Plumstick gathering wood, 
 Say that I have been at her cot, and left her what 
 Will cure her toothache." These are golden days, 
 And so recorded. Silver ones are those 
 On which we meet, but speak not ; and all else 
 Are of that blank complexion, that no base 
 Dishonoured metal's poor enough to note 
 Their sadness in. 
 
 Martyn. 
 Why, then, in point of fact, 
 Your suit stands still ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Sir, on the contrary. 
 It flies — it rushes ! Hem! {Drops a paper.')
 
 282 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Holloa, there ! What ! 
 
 {Snatches it up.y 
 Another poem ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 Eh ? Well, read. I know 
 We are in honourable hands. 
 
 Martyn {reads). 
 " He whose time-mellowed judgment, as is fit, 
 Holds passion reverence, and silence wit, — 
 He that hath love, hath courage, time, and power, 
 Should read the stars this night on Malkin Tower." 
 
 And pray, 
 Where found you this mysterious bidding ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Pinned, 
 Like a sweet postscript, to a loving scroll, 
 Whereon this teeming brain had lately spent 
 Some idleness in rhyme. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 You'll go ? 
 
 Gabb (gravely). 
 
 I will. 
 Poor thing ! One can't do less, you know. 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 Tu'O can do more. I'll go with you. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Why— eh! — 
 
 You see, she doesn't propose that — 
 
 Martyn. 
 
 As you will. 
 
 Only take care. 
 
 Perchance
 
 The Witch'Wife. 283 
 
 Gaeb. 
 Care ! — eh ? 
 
 Martyn, 
 
 You have no faith 
 In such things. One in your lost state beheves 
 In nothing but his mistress. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Such things! What things? 
 
 Martyn. 
 Why, know you not that yonder Malkin Tower 's 
 A sort of witch-cathedral ? All the hags 
 Of the district gather there to consecrate 
 Unholy sabbaths, raising, we may say. 
 In truth, the devil's own row, — since he himself 
 Presides there. How's the moon ? Why, as I live. 
 It is their very night — their storm — their revel — 
 Their St. Walpurga ! 
 
 Gabb. 
 Is it ? Hang it now, 
 That's most unlucky ! Stay, I think I know 
 A counter-charm. There's Matthew Hopkins ! I'll 
 To him at once, and bid him lay his nets 
 For a fine haul. 
 
 Martyn. 
 A brilliant thought ! About it. 
 Why, there he passes. After him at once ! 
 The time draws on, — 'tis noon already. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 No ! {Exeunt. y
 
 284 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 SCENE II.— Sir Gerald's Study. 
 
 (Sir Gerald studying. Cecil.) 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Quod erat demonstraudum. ^\^ond'rous volume ! 
 Thou philosophical magic ! — mass of marvels ! 
 How through thy clear, yet complex tracery 
 Of line and circle, mighty truths evolve, 
 And grow to life ! Why, pet ! 
 
 Cecil {starting, drops her book). 
 
 Dear uncle ! 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Come, 
 I've solved my problem, let's have yours. It seems 
 The harder, love. Why don't you talk ? 
 
 Cecil {smiling). 
 Some great discovery ? 
 
 And spoil 
 
 Sir Gerald {gravely). 
 
 You would not, Cecil. 
 Talk when you will, my child, I can resign 
 With ease the filmiest and most subtle thread 
 Of argument, and, when your voice has hushed 
 Its music, turn, old spider as I am, 
 To my unbroken meshes. 'Tis because 
 That happy spirit, like a hidden sun. 
 Is ever beaming on me. So our blood 
 Runs its articulate course, dispensing life, 
 Vigour, and health through this wrought frame, the 
 
 while 
 The functions of the busy brain proceed, 
 And, feeling, heed it not. Come, let me hear 
 Your voice. Speak ! Ask ! Sometimes I cannot hold 
 Pace with your questions.
 
 The Witch- Wife. 285 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 So I will. Now listen. 
 Dear uncle, you are very learned ? 
 
 Sir Gerald {smiling). 
 
 Indeed ! 
 Who told you so } 
 
 9 
 
 Cecil. 
 But are you not ? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Well, well,— 
 A thing or so, perhaps. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Learned, — and kind, — 
 And just ? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 I hope so, chick. 
 
 Cecil (s^aris up and thrmvs herself on his neck). 
 
 You don't believe 
 Nurse Alison's a witch ? You don't believe 
 There's one in the wood, — in the county, — in the land ? 
 In earth or heaven ? You, uncle, grave and wise. 
 Cannot yield up your great prerogative 
 Of reason, judgment, truth, to that wild dream, 
 Bom of an idiot's fancy — nursed by knaves — 
 Insult to Nature, and to Nature's God, — 
 That hideous, writhing mockery of nothing. 
 That men call witchcraft .? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Soft — nay, soft, my child ! 
 There, be composed ; I never saw you thus 
 Before. These matters are too deep and strange 
 For your young judgment yet. To Mistress Frill. 
 'Tis school-time, eh ?
 
 286 The Witch-Wife, 
 
 Cecil. 
 First, promise — 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 What ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 To give 
 No heed to any that shall seek to use 
 Your warrant, and the name of English law, 
 Against poor souls like Alison. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Come, come. 
 What know you of these matters ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Till to-morrow — 
 That's but a day. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 I cannot promise, child. 
 I'm but a ser\-ant of the commonweal ; 
 I trust to hear no more on't. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Wait, at least, 
 Till you've consulted Master Needham, 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 / 
 
 Consult ! Come, to your lessons ! Stay, how dare you 
 Go without kissing mc ? 
 
 Cecil {runs back and kisses him). 
 
 There, there, remember! {Exit.) 
 
 Sir Gerald {looking after). 
 It's odd enough. I always thought, till now, 
 Dame Nature, through her fair gradations, glides
 
 The Witch-Wife. 287 
 
 With step so slow and noiseless that no eye 
 Detects the stealthy movement. Hitherto, 
 The babe we nurse on Monday is not much 
 Too big on Tuesday ; now, forsooth, it seems, 
 The world's received an impetus, a spur — 
 The toy we doat on goes to rest a child, 
 And rises zvoman ! 
 
 {Enter Hopkins hastily ; 'S)T-e.^^ follows.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 A fine dance, indeed ! 
 High time I came among ye. Here we've plumped 
 Into tlie heart of witchdom. What d'ye say 
 To that, Sir Gerald ? 
 
 Sir Gerald {abstracted). 
 
 That, sir, if the bases 
 And altitudes of solid parallelograms 
 Be but reciprocally proportional. 
 The parallelopipeds are equal too. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 'Tis most unanswerable. {Aside) The old fool ! 
 As well accost a milestone. Sir, I need 
 Your warrant to take certain rogues, suspect 
 Of devilish arts. A warrant, and, perchance, 
 More power, to — 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Power, sir.^ Where's your lever? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Lever ? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Sir, the immortal genius, Archimedes, 
 Wrote ('tis in science' annals), " Give" wrote he, 
 *' Give me a lever only big enough, 
 I'll move the world." Great man !
 
 2 88 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 A wizard, sir ! 
 And that reminds me of the work in hand — 
 That warrant ? 
 
 Stern. 
 Haste. 
 
 Sir Gerald {aside). 
 
 Now, could I but divert 
 Their thoughts till Marchmont Needham comes ! Let's 
 
 see — 
 Some lively problem. Master Hopkins, one 
 Of your grave aspect cannot but have drunk 
 At geometric fountains — revelled in 
 The luxury of angles. 
 
 Hopkins {aside). 
 Sir, I've given 
 My brightest years to mathematical lore, 
 And found all's nothing. Algebra's a hoax ; 
 Euclid a humbug — a pedantic ass, — 
 I saw it — and exposed him. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Did you so ? 
 Oblige me with a trifling illustration 
 Of his absurdities. Just cause to meet 
 Two parallel lines. Or will you square the circle ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Square what ? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 The circle. 
 
 Hopkins {boldly). 
 Yes.
 
 Tne Witch' Wife. 289 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 -, . , The deuce you will ! 
 
 bcience has ofifered some ten thousand crowns 
 To him shall do it. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 She has ? The liberal soul ! 
 I'm half ashamed to take it. Ne'ertheless, 
 Just to oblige. Now, sir, attend to me— ' 
 
 {Takes the chalk and approaches board.') 
 A IS a country justice, kind, but weak. 
 B is a zealous witch-destroyer, thwarted 
 And crossed by A ; C is the public, looking 
 To both for comfort and protection. Well ? 
 
 Sir Gerald {j-ductaiitly). 
 The point is clear — 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Most lucid. Or, again. 
 Let A, B, C, be certain witches ; D, 
 The— hem— the devil— and E, a ducking-pond. 
 Now, then, 'tis plain that lines from A, B, C, 
 Produced to E, and there united, passing 
 Downward to D, get their desert. And now, sir, we pro 
 
 ceed 
 To business. Sign. {Offers pen and paper:) 
 
 Sir Gerald {tu rites reluctantly). 
 
 But you will need some aid 
 To back the warrant— eh ? Let's see— let's see. 
 Old Simon Mopchase— bedrid, to be sure— 
 But then his name— as constable — 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 No fear ! 
 I've three stout villains— pious knaves enough— 
 Who put their trust in God, and carry cudgels ; 
 And Richard Stern, the eloquent. Ere you sleep, 
 Look for some news, Sir Gerald. 
 
 u
 
 290 TJie Witch- Wi/e. 
 
 Stern. 
 
 Plenty. 
 {Exeunt Hopkins rt'/;^ Stern.) 
 
 Sir Gerald {alone). 
 
 There— 
 'Tis done — and now, as eager to reproach 
 My too precipitate yielding — here comes Ncedham ! 
 
 {Enter March. Needham.) 
 Why, you seem breathless. What's the matter, boy ? 
 
 Needham. 
 Does yonder ruffian lie ? 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 These walls contain 
 No ruffians. Master Needham. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 True, Sir Gerald. 
 They have attained their object. They have wrung 
 From your unthinking judgment what the law 
 Wisely withheld. Ah ! sir, this litde pen 
 Has i)ricke.l a vein of innocent blood, will drain 
 The life from bosoms tliat ne'er beat with aught 
 But love to you — goodwill and charity 
 To all mankind. Shame — shame, sir — 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Master Needham, 
 I would forgive this speech — you 're hot and young ; 
 Age, sir, that dims our eyes, destroys, at least. 
 That fine, false medium which in early years 
 Clothes guilt in rosy attributes. Kn<nigh — 
 Sit down, and I'll reward you with a problem 
 Unmatched in simple grandeur. Let — 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Excuse me — 
 
 This nonsense —
 
 The Witch- Wife. 29 1 
 
 Sir Gerald {starting up). 
 
 Nonsense ! Look, sir — here's a problem 
 Asks no great wit to solve. See, from this point, 
 This centre, A (my manor-house), I draw 
 A circle, B, C, D, within the which 
 I do not ask your entrance. {Exit.) 
 
 Needham. 
 
 I was wrong 
 To cross his humour ; yet, so far, it spares 
 Expenditure of thanks and compliment. 
 For here's a more implacable summoner 
 Chiding me hence. {Takes otit a letter^ 
 
 " What madness chains you, man ? 
 What spell beguiles you from the noble strife 
 Your soul was pledged to ? Wherefore cast your staff 
 Aside, and like a tardy pilgrim sit 
 Dreaming beside the waters ? Up ! Awake ! 
 Come to life's battle — and earn rest. The worn 
 And wayward sleep. Thou'rt neither." 
 
 Good, blunt friend — 
 I love thee — have thy will. And yet, methinks 
 E'en thy stoic nature might discern 
 Discretion in my madness. Am I asked 
 What spell? Ah — Cecil — it replies ! 
 
 {Enter Cecil and Maggie.) 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Do that, 
 And then return ; I'll keep your skipping-rope — 
 'Twill bring you back the sooner. {Exit Maggie.) 
 
 Master Needham ! — 
 With that grave aspect ? What's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Needham. 
 I cannot laugh. 
 
 Cecil {skipping). 
 Nor skip ? There — mind your eye, 
 I saw you wink. Keep off, then. 
 
 u 2
 
 292. The UltcJi-Wife. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Cecil — Cecil ! — 
 
 Cecil. 
 Well — what's the matter ? O, I did not tell you 
 Our frolic for to-night. 'Tis all arranged — 
 Masks, dresses, broomsticks — 
 
 Needham {amazed'). 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 A. feast 
 Of little witches, sir, is held to-night 
 In the dells of Pendell Forest. There's a moon 
 Brightening expressly — dews will keep their distance — 
 And there's a band of merry forest-minstrels 
 (Led by one Signor Cicala), engaged 
 To dance to. You'll be there ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Alas ! I must 
 To horse within this hour. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 To horse at once ! 
 And make haste back, sir. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 I shall be — 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Too happy,. 
 Of course, you will. Be back by half-past nine ; 
 For at that wizard hour Sir Gerald Mole 
 Will be in the moon with Euclid — Mistress Frill, 
 In a laced night-cap, safe in bed — and I, 
 With twenty other madcap damsels, culled 
 Out of my village-pets o' the vicinage,
 
 The Witch-Wife. 293 
 
 Holding a banquet in the Malkin Tower, 
 Shall craze the owls that mope there. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Are you mad ? 
 Or jesting? 
 
 Cecil. 
 Neither, sir. Ere now, you've told me 
 (More truly than politely) I was strange 
 In fancy, as in deed ; defying rule, 
 Marching to strange — not all unworthy — ends, 
 By quick cross-paths, while others will jog round, 
 Pay toll, and pass more safely. And, in truth, 
 You're right enough, I fear ; for when at chess 
 I beat my uncle — with a quick thought, at once 
 Conceived and execute — he cries, " Ah ! psha I 
 Absurd^ unscientific — " So it was ; 
 But then it won the game ! 
 
 Needham. 
 
 And may I know 
 The secret of your present plan ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 O, surely. 
 The plot, sir, has two branches. Master Gabb 
 Loves me, and needs discouragement. He, therefore, 
 Has been beguiled to meet — you'll not guess whom ; 
 And hear — I'll not say what. A graver end 
 Is this — to prove to such as, on pretext 
 Of witchcraft, dog the steps and hunt the life 
 Of every lame and ancient gentlewoman. 
 That they are fools, and might as well harm me 
 For May-day masqueing and fantastic sports. 
 As those for sorcery. Ridicule's the cure 
 For these witch-seekers. Never trust my word, 
 If I don't make them dance to-night to a tune 
 Shall hiss them from the country !
 
 294 The Witch- Wife, 
 
 Needham. 
 
 ^Vould to Heaven 
 I might have stayed to-night, were 't but to mix 
 With this unmellowed plot a drop or two 
 Of plain discretion ! But I must begone — 
 Must hidfarac'cll! Sweet Cecil, will you hold 
 Your poor friend in remembrance ? Will you, Cecil ? 
 
 Cecil {faiiit/y). 
 You're saying this to vex me. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 'Tis too true — 
 I go to-night. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Why, then, you're very cruel. 
 I thought you loved us all : tliat's why I've teased you.. 
 You might have studietl Euclid all day long, 
 In peace and comfort, else. And now you leave 
 The hawk — the spaniels — Mistress Frill — and me ; 
 And more than these — than all — the kind old man 
 That loves and leans on you ! 
 
 Needham. 
 
 But he himself 
 Desires it. And, were that not so, a voice 
 As potent calls me. Cecil — 
 
 Cecil {passionately). 
 
 Go, then — go ! 
 Why do you wait ? — what care for here ? O Heaven ! 
 To dwell six happy months, accepting love, 
 Respect, and hospitality ; and when 
 You've stol'n our fancies, just turn on your heel — 
 And part ! 'Tis cruel — cruel ! We're well rid 
 Of such a guest. I'm very glad to lose you — 
 Only — it — breaks my heart ! {Bursts into tcars.y 
 
 Needham. 
 
 What do I hear ?
 
 The WitcJi-WiJe, 295 
 
 Away, suspense ! {Thrmvs hvnself at her feet.) 
 
 O, Cecil ! O, sweet bird ! 
 Start not to hear this strange and sudden tongue — 
 I love you, Cecil ! Conimun love needs time 
 And grace to perfect it, but mine was born 
 Gigantic — sprang to manhood at a leap — 
 And stretches to you its true, honest arms, 
 Offering a refuge where your love shall, in 
 Its own good season, flourish too ! You blush — 
 You tremble ! Cecil, do you love me ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 I— 
 
 Perhaps-^I — I'm not sure. You needn't ask 
 Such downright questions. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Cecil, I must take 
 My fortune with me. Sweet one, can you guess 
 What love is ? Cecil, darhng Cecil, speak. 
 I love you — will you be my wife ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 You love ? 
 And you'll be gone to-night ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 It is love's self 
 That spurs me. Sweet, you shall know all — meanwhile 
 This scholar's gown grows threadbare. I must woo 
 Dame Fortune for a fitter. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 No — in thai — 
 And that alone — approach me. There's my hand. 
 Kiss gentlier. 
 
 Needham. 
 Why, the eloquence that scorches 
 On the dumb lip can find no better vent
 
 290 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Than burning kisses. O, be faithful to me — 
 Be kind— be loving. But a few short weeks — 
 Then, re-united — passing hand in hand 
 Into that sunny vista, love's bright world — 
 We'll make its paths eternal. Now. farewell — 
 Farewell ! One kiss, my Cecil. O, the music 
 Of those sweet wedded words ! And you'll give up, 
 For my sake— will you not?— this wizard scheme 
 To-night ? 
 
 Cecil {stnili/ig). 
 I've little heart for it now, believe me ; 
 But it's too late. 
 
 Needham. 
 Indeed ! W^ell, dearest, may 
 The kind intent hallow the mystic means 
 You work with ! One word— and I go — Sweet Cecil ! 
 There are some points in every life wherein 
 All wandering rays of happiness converge — 
 Ev'n in such haven, such sweet, sheltering bay, 
 We anchor now. Then, loveliest, once more search 
 Thy heart. If changed from its first prompting, here — 
 Here, in this quiet wilderness, my fate 
 Interpret to me. .So content I am 
 To know the world no nearer, here I'd pause-— 
 Here, at thy feet, lie down — here rest — here die! 
 
 Cecil {sniili/ig). 
 The search were fruitless, sir ; I never loved 
 Until you taught me. Marchmont — oh, my Marchmont, 
 Alay Heav'n forgive you ! 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Sweet, for what ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 You've spoiled 
 
 The calmest, sunniest, and most innocent dream ! 
 / thought J tvas a child. O love — love — love
 
 The Witch- Wife, 297 
 
 If you enrich us, 'tis but a debt repaid. 
 
 I am a slave now — must be docile — grave — 
 
 Never climb trees again, nor care for skipping ! 
 
 O, if you knew how I have nursed this dream — 
 
 This happy, careless, thoughtless, tearless dream — 
 
 You would have spared it for a while— not plucked 
 
 This young old age upon me ! Heav'n forgive you ! 
 
 / won't — till you return. {Aside) Who knows ? — perhaps 
 
 You'll come the sooner for it. 
 
 Needham {eagerly). 
 Cecil ! — 
 
 Cecil {motions Jiiin away). 
 
 There !— 
 Leave me — don't speak ! Away, I say ! 
 
 {Exit Needham.) 
 
 Gone — gone ! 
 {Bursts into tears.) 
 
 END OF ACT II.
 
 2g8 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — /;/ the Wood. Near evening. 
 
 {Enter Gabb and Hopkins.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 In point of fact, then (do I take you right ? 
 If not, correct me), witcli or no witch, 'tis 
 My duty to mount guard on Malkin Tower, 
 And take what follows ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Every principle 
 Of love demands it, sir. A man is bound, 
 Sa)s Euclid, to keep love-tryst, though he stump 
 Bleeding and footless thither. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Hang it, man ! 
 Can't you use milder illustrations ? Well, 
 I must not quarrel with my monitor. 
 A confidant is, to a man in love. 
 Essential as a mistress. 
 
 Hopkins (aside). 
 
 So 't would seem. 
 I'll wager, not a soul in twenty miles 
 But has been yours. 
 
 Gabb. 
 'Tis almost time. You'll walk 
 Some little distance, eh ?
 
 The Witch' Wi/e. 299 
 
 Hopkins 
 
 I'll keep aloof. 
 My hounds are out. If there's a witch i' the wood, 
 She'll grunt her vespers to the devil, her lord. 
 'Twixt four stone walls to-night. Come, sir, away. 
 
 Gabb. 
 I'm rather — nervous. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Have no fear. You go 
 On a high mission, man. The world's large heart 
 Expands with symp — 
 
 Gabb. 
 The world's large countenance 
 Expands with mirth — when any great mishap 
 Befalls one. So be near me, as you promised, 
 And if you hear me whistle, — so — 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Or scream, 
 (That's better) we'll be with you. All success. 
 How now ? Why, what's the matter ? Hold up, man ! 
 Is it a witch ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 Yes, — or a woman, — now, 
 Should it be her — 
 
 {Enter Stern and two others, disguised as old 
 7uomen peasants.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Well done, my rustic beauties ! 
 Here's masqueing, 'faith ! Pray know this gentleman : 
 Sir, Mistress Richard Stern, — Miss Sampson Voules, — 
 The lady Peter BuUman. Covert, boys ! 
 Stay, though, — I'll post you. Master Gabb, you stare ; 
 You'll see more wonders yet, sir. Come along. 
 
 {Exeunt.)
 
 300 TJie Witch-Wife. 
 
 SCENE II. — A glade in Pen dell Forest. Exterior of 
 the ruin called Malkin Torvcr. Moonlight. A village 
 girl enters disguised as an old tigly woman with broom; 
 her dress torn and disordered. 
 
 Fierce brute ! Yet he's a civil dofj enough 
 
 Girl {crying). 
 
 le's a civil dog 
 
 By dayhght. {Another enters suddenly.) 
 
 Second Girl, 
 Judy! 
 
 First Girl {sta?iing). 
 
 Who — who's that ? Dear — dear ! 
 I thought it was a wolf. 
 
 Second Girl. 
 
 It's Katty He wit. 
 How pale you look, child ! What's the matter ? 
 
 First Girl. 
 
 Matter ! 
 If you'd been half devoured by Burrough's mastiff 
 You might look pale. Kate — I do think 'tis WTong, 
 A-flying, you may say, in the parson's face, 
 Pretending to be witches. 
 
 Second Girl. 
 
 Nothing's wrong, 
 Miss Cecil says. I'd play the very — 
 
 First Girl {stopping her mouth). 
 
 Hush! 
 You wouldn't. Here's some more. Thank goodness ! 
 
 {Enter Maggie, and several others^ similarly 
 disguised.) 
 
 Second Girl. 
 Here's a repentant witch. Let's send her home , 
 Or she 11 infect the party.
 
 ^ 
 
 The PFiU/i-JFi/e. 301 
 
 Maggie, 
 
 Little coward ! 
 Don't mind. I'll give her heart. Take courage, Judy. 
 (Aside) You know the white-thorn on the Lowmoor, child? 
 Just think you're there, and young Will Peters — 
 
 He didn't. 
 
 What ? 
 
 First Girl. 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 First Girl. 
 Why, kiss me ! 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 Stuff! 
 
 Who said he had ? 
 
 Well ? and pray — 
 
 First Girl. 
 Vol/ did, or, — eh, — perhaps 
 You might if I hadn't stopped you. 
 
 (Enter Cecil disguised.') 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Scolding, children? 
 Do you forget you're not mere flesh and blood. 
 But witches ? things that own no foe but truth. 
 Reason, and sense — ahem ! {aside) the last, I fear, 
 Is scarce upon our side. It's past the time ; 
 I stopped to listen to a nightingale : 
 He had a deal to say, and to my ear 
 Ne'er sang so sweetly. Well, he's flown. Let's see, — 
 Are we all here ? What ! only ten in all ? 
 Where's my pet Rhoda ? 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 Frightened, and gone home. 
 And Polly Frere, in squeezing through the lattice, 
 Was caught by her mother, whipped, and put to bed. 
 Two witches less !
 
 302 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Cecil. 
 And Dorcas Eames ? 
 
 A Little Girl. 
 
 She's got 
 The hooping-cough, my lady. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Little imp ! 
 Give me a kiss. Come, then, let's make the best 
 Of our scant fellowship. Witches, I hope 
 You met some honest people by the way, 
 And let yourselves be seen ? I've other ends 
 Than a mere moonlight skipping, clothed in rags, 
 I promise ye. Have courage, and observe 
 All that I said this morn. Maggie, the paper 
 I bade you hang on the oak, — did Master Gabb 
 Detect it ? 
 
 Maggie. 
 Yes : I watched him from the tower : 
 He spelled it twice, then tossed his hat in the air, 
 So gaily that it caught upon the tree, 
 And he'd to climb — 
 
 Cecil {hastily). 
 Hush ! Skip ! 
 
 {They retire to the Tower and other spots, as 
 Gabb enters.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 The wood's asleep. 
 I wish I could say snoring. Any sound. 
 How rude soe'er, were melody. I'd sing, 
 ]3ut that the echoes in this cursed dell 
 (iive one's own voice a witchy twang. I'll try. 
 Halloo I 
 
 Girls {within). 
 Halloo— o — o !
 
 The Witch-Wife. 303 
 
 Gabb {starting). 
 
 I thought so. Hang it, now ! 
 That echo's in the day-time a mere grunt, — 
 The north wind with a quinsy — a hoarse sob. 
 ( Calls) . Don't— de— a— fool ! 
 
 Girls {within from different parts). 
 
 Fool— fool — fool — fool ! 
 
 Maggie {from the Tower). 
 
 You fool I 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 It is herself; she knows me ! There's no echo, 
 Save in this bosom. Help me, Love ! the path 
 Up to thy bower is dark, and (might I judge 
 By certain irritations), slightly fringed 
 With stinging-nettles. Hah ! 
 
 {A bluish light seen zvithin.) 
 Thanks, sweetest Hero ! 
 Leander comes. My ancle ! Ha ! — a toad ! 
 So, one more scramble, and all's safe. I'm— 
 
 {The interior of the Tozver becomes suddenly 
 illuminated; Gabb starts and falls back to 
 the ground.) 
 
 Help ! 
 Song iwithin). 
 Imp and witch, to the Malkin gate, 
 
 In all strange shapes, assemble 1 
 Gather, till with the fiendish weight 
 
 The old walls shriek and tremble ! 
 Snake from muddy pit, toad from tomb, 
 
 Cat from the cottage ember ; 
 Hurrah for the hell-broth, banquet, broom, 
 
 Blue fog, and black November. 
 
 Gabb. 
 Mercy ! I'm in the witch-trap— caught— betrayed : 
 Poof! {tries to 7ahistle) poof! My lips are parched; I'll 
 
 creep away, 
 And give them notice.
 
 304 The Witch-Wife, 
 
 Cfxil {ivithin). 
 
 I'^olly, in man's form, 
 Approaches ! Rutterkin, out — out, good fiend, 
 And make it prisoner. 
 
 {One of the girls, dressed as a huge ro7igh dog-^. 
 runs down and seizes Gabb. Cecil and the 
 rest follo7ving, enter on all sides.) 
 Gently, gently, fiend ! 
 Seize, but don't mangle him at first. The wretch 
 iMust have witch-baptism. See that's all prejjared : 
 Then to your nightly pleasures, Tituba, 
 You're but a baby imp ; stay with your mistress. 
 Cloyse, hunt the yellow raven. Hawthorn ! Ball ! 
 Burn Goody Joyce's haggard. Fancy! Fancy! 
 Bite the brown cow ! 
 
 Gabb {aside). 
 Amiable pleasantries ! 
 What mischief next, I wonder ? They surround me. 
 Now for an incantation. 
 
 Cecil. 
 * Join your hands. 
 
 (/;/ a low chanting voicei)' 
 
 All ye that have stol'n the miller's eels, 
 
 Laudale Dominum de cceVi ; 
 All ye that have given consent thereto, 
 
 Bcnedicamus Daviino ! 
 
 {Aside) Dear Marchmont ! 
 Who taught me that rude rhyme ? Now, Heav'n be 
 
 praised ; 
 You cannot see this folly I 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Worthy souls ! — 
 
 Cecil, 
 He calls us worthy ! Tic a knot in his tongue 
 For lying !
 
 The • Witch- Wife. 305 
 
 Gabb. 
 Mercy ! I retract. Vile hags ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Vile! 
 
 Gabb. 
 I beg pardon ; mild, or mischievous, — 
 Lovely, or loathsome, — foetid, or fragrant, — belles, 
 Or beldames : only let me 'scape you now, 
 And never shall this Christian hoof again 
 Impress your cursed precincts. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 No, you've seen 
 Too much of our dark doings. We must take 
 Judgment and memory from you. Ho ! there ! bring 
 The goblet filled with nightmare's blood and spiced 
 With acorns. {Cup broiighf). Drink, or die ! 
 
 Gabb {aside). 
 
 And die, you mean. 
 I am forbid fermented liquors ; pray, 
 Excuse me. I've a bilious habit. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Come — 
 To supper, then. We only staid iox yoic. 
 
 Gabb. 
 You're very kind. (Aside) I wonder what foul dish 
 They browse on ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 Wretch ! I read thy thought. To-night 
 We've got a sodden— fool ! 
 
 Gabb {uneasily). 
 A what ?
 
 306 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 You'll know 
 In time, poor creature. Does the cauldron boil ? 
 
 Maggie. 
 
 Dread mistress, no. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Drop in the woolly knot 
 Pluck'd from a bat's left ear. Now for a dance 
 To give us an appetite, and then — 
 
 A grotesque dance, during which several figures 
 enter, and mingle ivith them.) 
 
 Cecil {pausing suddenly). 
 
 Dark comers ! 
 Whate'er you are, disclose yourselves ! 
 
 (Hopkins and the rest throw off their disguises ; 
 all fly, but Cecil.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 That will we. 
 
 Cecil {hurriedly). 
 Stay, children, stay ! Flight ruins all. Remain, 
 And you are safe. 
 
 Hopkins {aside to the rest). 
 Disjjerse, don't hold them. {Aloud) Fools ! 
 You can't bestride the moon-beams. Let them go ; 
 We've got the queen-witch safe, 
 
 Cecil {eagerly). 
 
 Back, little fools ! 
 Show what you are. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Why, so they do. All vanish'd, — 
 Fiend, imp, and sucking-witch. Ho ! Master Gabb, 
 Stand up, man !
 
 The Witch-Wife, 307 
 
 Gabb {beiuildered^. 
 Night-mare's blood ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Good Master Gabb, 
 If T, and those poor frightened maids, have used 
 Some merry freedoms with you, pardon them, 
 And see us safely hence. 
 
 Gabb. 
 I— I— eh !— I— 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Look how he shrinks and trembles ! 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 When she speaks, 
 Strange thrills come over me, 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Yes, that's her spell ! 
 Come, bring the witch along. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 The witch ! Keep off! 
 I know your ruffian leader. But, for you. 
 Beware, sir, how you use me. I am a lady, 
 Niece of Sir Gerald Mole. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Indeed ! Then — lady — 
 Niece of old Mole — but, ne'ertheless, a witch, 
 Will you be pleased to walk, or shall we make 
 A litter for your dainty ladyship, 
 To visit the town gaol ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 You dare not use 
 This vile indignity ! Nor, for the sport 
 We follow — 
 
 X 2
 
 3o8 The Witch'Wi/e. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Pretty sport ! Who was't that bade 
 Fire Goody Joyce's haggard ? See ! 
 
 {A conflagration is seen rising.) 
 
 Cecil {aghast). 
 
 Great Heaven 
 What have I done ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 You hear? She owns it. Come — 
 
 Cecil {faintly). 
 To the Manor. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 What's the use ? Your worthy uncle's 
 In his first sleep ; but, if it's any comfort, 
 Here's his own warrant. {Aside) Struggle as you vnW, 
 You're in the net. 
 
 Cecil {aside). 
 Marchmont ! had I ta'en 
 Thy counsel ! 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Come — {aside to them) Who fired the haggard? 
 
 Stern. 
 
 I. 
 , {Exeunt.y 
 
 END of act III.
 
 309 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Hall in ike Manor. 
 
 (Sir Gerald, 7nuch altered, sits at the table, re- 
 garding his books, etc., loitk a vacant and be- 
 wildered manner ; Gabb atid Mistress Frill 
 seated apart, watching him.') 
 
 Mistress Frill {sighing). 
 I fear you're wrong. 
 
 Gabb. 
 Excuse me, I am clear 
 He did. He spoke distinctly, — " Master Gabb^ 
 Sit down, sir ; you're a fool." 
 
 Mistress Frill {eagerly). 
 
 Did he say that ? 
 Gracious be thanked ! I thought his wits were gone. 
 
 Gabb. 
 At least, perhaps, they're wakening ; and, of course, 
 At first see mistily. " Fool " is a word 
 That means so little ! I knew a merry squire 
 Would pinch his wife by the ear, and called her "fool," — 
 " His pretty, jealous fool." Well, I must take 
 My leave. I fear I tire you ; but, in truth, 
 Since that accursed eve in the Malkin Tower, 
 I have no comfort, object, act, or thought. 
 Out of your presence ! Dearest mistress Frill, 
 love — 
 
 Mistress Frill. 
 Sir!
 
 3IO The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Gabb. 
 Yes. Of course — to talk with you 
 Of mistress Cecil. Idiot that I was, 
 Not to perceive 't was jesting ! /to bear 
 Witness against her ! May my tongue be seared first ! 
 O, Cecil ! Cecil ! Oh, my goodness ! 
 
 ( Walks about much agitated?) 
 
 Sir Gerald {looking up). 
 
 Cecil ! 
 She's to be tried to-day. 
 
 Mistress Frill {aside). 
 
 Who told him that? 
 Nonsense, my dear Sir Gerald ! Turn your thoughts 
 To rectinatural pipeds. 
 
 Sir Gerald {sternly). 
 Recti what ? 
 You don't know what you talk of. Never think 
 To play on me. Alack, I know there's something 
 Gone from my brain ! I can't define a rhombus. 
 They'd whip a schoolboy for the faults I make 
 In multilateral polygons. But one thought 
 Is nailed and rooted here. I moan it o'er 
 Nightly before I sleep. My darling's tried 
 To-day for witchcraft. 
 
 We are powerless. 
 
 Let's go. 
 
 Mistress Frill. 
 
 Heav'n protect its o\vn ! 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Are we? Where's my mantle? Come, 
 
 Mistress Frill. 
 But, dear sir, whither ?
 
 The Witch-Wife. 311 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 To the court. 
 I have a word to speak, if my heart hold. 
 But time grows brief. Good Master Gabb, you loved 
 My poor child, did you not ? Be welcome, sir. 
 
 {Exit, leaning on Mistress Frill.) 
 
 Gabb. 
 " 1 loved his child''' and " welcomed Does that mean 
 Welcome to love her ? Hem ! I only wish 
 He'd found that out before. It's like a man 
 Bidding " Good morning" as one goes to bed, — 
 More courtesy than significance. Oh, brain, 
 For once be active for some good ! Devise 
 Some means to save this angel. Would to Heav'n 
 Needham were still among us ! To my mind 
 There is about him a plain, simple wisdom, 
 That, in his presence, really makes one feel 
 Almost an ass ! If he should — 
 
 {Starts back from the window ?j 
 Heav'n forefend 
 This should be witchcraft ! Yes, one can't mistake 
 His eager step. 'Tis Needham, as I live ! — 
 But spurred and cloaked. {Leaiis out at the window.) 
 
 Hist ! Hillo ! Marchmont ! Stop ! 
 Don't you know Antony Gabb ? I'm coming. Wait ! 
 
 {Etms out?) 
 
 SCENE \\.—In the Grounds. 
 
 {Enter Marchmont Needham.) 
 
 Needham. 
 When flight's impossible, 't is wise to show 
 A fair front to the enemy. Master Gabb ! {Enter Gabb.) 
 Welcome How thrives the Muse !
 
 312 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 The Muse be hanged ! 
 
 Needham. 
 So, so ! A lover's quarrel ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 I shall change 
 Your tone, or I'm mistaken. 
 
 Needham, 
 
 Pardon me. 
 I can be grave — and ought — for, to say truth, 
 Some strange misgiving has enticed me back 
 Long ere I purposed. Prithee, what's the matter ? 
 This Hopkins has not — 
 
 Gabb {eagerly). 
 Yes, he has. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Found out 
 Some grandame flirting with the devil, and clapped 
 His steeple hat upon them ? 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Worse. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Sir Gerald's — 
 
 Gabb. 
 Mad — and no wonder. 
 
 Needham {impatiently). 
 
 Out with your tale. If 'tis 
 Of the wounding nature, use it like a sword, 
 Not like a gimblct. Mistress— Cecil? No, 
 They dare not do it !
 
 The Witch-Wife, 313 
 
 Gabb. 
 Mistress Cecil chose 
 To play the witch in the wood. Upon the sport 
 Came Hopkins and his ruffians. All were scared 
 And fled, save that sweet angel, whom they seized 
 And bore to prison. And, with some few more, 
 By whose condemning they may colour hers, 
 She will be tried to-day — do you hear ? — this day — 
 Monday — the last of beautiful May — henceforth 
 Accursed in Nature's calendar ! 
 
 Needham, 
 
 To-day !— 
 To-day ! That's fatal. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 You will drive me mad ! 
 Think of some remedy. Let her die, then see 
 What all your learning's worth. She wrote. The clown 
 Showed me the letter, I spelt it — " Marchmont Need- 
 ham." 
 
 Needham {starting). 
 Now Heav'n forgive me ! a more thoughtless fool 
 Never wore bells. I but assumed that name 
 Worn by a scapegrace cousin. 
 
 Gabb, 
 
 Then you're more 
 Villain than fool. Do you indeed wear aught 
 So honest as a sword ? 
 
 Needham. 
 You are mad ! 
 
 Gabb {passionately). 
 
 I am. 
 I love her, sir — whate'er you are — I care not 
 Who knows it now. I'd give my life to save her,
 
 314 The Witch-Wife, 
 
 And, with my last gasp, place her — in your arms, 
 For that's the home she looked for. 
 
 Needham {pausing). 
 
 You have learned 
 Love's lesson nobly. {Offers to take his hand.) 
 
 Gabb {refusing). 
 I believed you wise 
 And honourable ; now, sir, I would rather 
 Cross swords than hands with you. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 I offer you 
 A nobler contest — for a richer prize. 
 Advocate as I am, I cannot use 
 My calling now, nor with a bold truth scatter 
 This foul charge to the winds. Yet there's one hope. 
 And time wanes fast indeed. We will divide 
 The work between us. Hie you to the Dolphin ! 
 'Tis there the judges, Gayre and Hewlett, lay 
 Last night. Then summon patience and await 
 A mounted runner, bearing a sealed scroll, 
 Which, while in London, should have reached my hand, 
 But that my haste forbade. Stay for no words \ 
 But force your way into the very court. 
 And place that scroll beside me. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Is that all? 
 Were but the rest as easy ! 
 
 Needham. 
 
 We shall see. 
 I dare not promise. At the worst, 'tis something 
 To knoxij the worst. Heav'n prosper all ! Away !
 
 The Witch.Wi/c. 315 
 
 SCENE \\\.—Room in a Prison. 
 
 Cecil {alone). 
 Twelve days alone ! No knowledge of what's done. 
 Or what's to be. No sign of sister-life 
 But the dumb wretch that doles me needful food, 
 And spreads the couch that brings not rest, but tears. 
 Where is my old kind uncle ? Alice ! Maggie ! 
 And — Marchmont— what oithee'i Hast thou received 
 My earnest mission ? Was the bearer true ? 
 Then why no answer ? Why ? So ever ends 
 My mournful questioning. The twelfth eve, and lo. 
 There passes from the earth the golden smile 
 That kept my heart warm. Linger in the skies ! 
 There's a sad sweetness in the sun's farewell ; 
 'Tis a tried friend that leaves us, passing slow. 
 And often gazing backward. So — he goes — 
 Slowly — how slowly ! — scattering crimson light 
 On tree, and tower, then hill-top, and then cloud, 
 As one, in dying, turns on loftiest things 
 His latest aspirations. Ah, farewell ! 
 
 {Enter Alison Devise ; Cecil flies to embrace 
 her.) 
 
 Ha ! a dear face ! Nurse — Alison ! Thank Heaven 
 That gives this comfort ! 
 
 Alison. 
 Comfort ! — fool ! 
 
 Cecil {starting back). 
 
 Why — nurse 
 
 Alison. 
 Would I had nursed a snake, ere cherished thee 
 I'm an old branch, sapless, and winter-worn. 
 Fit for the burning ; but to slaughter these 
 Is more than murder. Heaven assoil their souls, 
 The young unready things !
 
 3i6 The Witch-Wife, 
 
 Cecil {aghast). 
 
 What mean you ? 
 
 Alison {fiercely). 
 
 Mean ! 
 That you had better died in innocent sleep, 
 Than let your baby-fancies loose to ape 
 Witch-feasts in Malkin Tower ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Nurse ! Alison, 
 Why don't they come to take me home ? 
 
 Alison. 
 
 They'll come 
 
 To psha ! it chokes me. Why, poor, silly lamb, 
 
 You're penned for slaughter, or I'd thank you for 
 My death in other guise ! 
 
 Cecil {shrieking). 
 
 Death ! {clasping her eyes.) 
 
 Alison. 
 
 'Twas fine sport 
 To fright yon silly gentleman ; but stake 
 And chain are ugly toys. 
 
 Cecil {still clasping her eyes). 
 Death ! 
 {Several women and children brought in by 
 gaolers^ prisoners.) 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 Come, no bawling ! 
 Get to your cells ; then bellow till the devil, 
 Your master, come to your succour. Hang ye all ! 
 
 Alison {to Cecil). 
 More of your victims, madam !
 
 The Witch- Wife. 317 
 
 Cecil (jcildly). 
 
 ^^^lat are these ? 
 What brings old age and childish innocence 
 To this dark house of grief? 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Woman {exultingly). 
 
 'Tis she ! 
 Gossips, 'tis she ! Her frolics there i' the wood 
 Brought Hopkins' hell-hounds on us ! To her, all ! 
 Give her a parting token. {They stirround Cecil.) 
 
 Gaoler {driving them back). 
 Off, you hags ! 
 
 Woman. 
 Well, we can curse at distance. Pretty devil ! 
 'Twill be like water on the flames, to know 
 Your delicate limbs must feel them ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Are ye mad ? 
 My Lilian, little darling ! Sweet, come hither ! 
 
 Gaoler. 
 Come, come, — in with ye ! 
 
 Woman {fiercely to Cecil). 
 
 Let my child alone ! 
 Spit at her, Lilian ! She's a witch and murderess ! 
 
 {The child repulses her. Exeunt to inner cell.") 
 
 Cecil. 
 Nurse, nurse ! my heart is broken. 
 
 {Falls on the ground before Alison.) 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Psha ! Your tears
 
 3i8 The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Won't melt stone walls. There's your poor uncle, blind 
 With weeping for you : all his learning drowned 
 In helpless dotage. Master Hopkins rules. 
 Fine sport, child, is't not ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Torture me no more ! 
 Oh, Alise ! Alise ! this from you ! Can fear 
 Turn your old love to gall ; when mine defied 
 Malice and vile report, and left me your 
 Sole friend? 
 
 Alison {moved). 
 AVhy, mistress Cecil — 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Now, be mine. 
 This is the earliest home my memory claims. 
 There, put my head upon your kind old breast, — 
 My night shuts early in. 
 
 Alison {passionately cmhraeing her). 
 
 Why, they shall rend me, 
 Fibre and vein ! This worn and worthless frame 
 Shall yield and crackle in the rustling flame, 
 Ere m.y vile, graceless tongue shall breathe again 
 One word of anger toward thee ! Oh, my child ! 
 My darling ! Monsters ! Men of bloody minds ! 
 If in the den of your steeled bosoms dwells 
 No touch of pity, then look up and fear / 
 You dare not cut this blossom from the earth. 
 Lest all else wither ! 
 
 (Hopkins enters rudely j Gaoler follows.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Turn the old witch in. 
 I'll have some chat with the other. 
 
 {Exit Gaoler with Alison.) 
 Now then, girl ! 
 Time's precious with us both. No whimpering. Come! 
 Is your mind changed towards me ?
 
 The Witch- Wi/e. 319 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Yes, from scorn 
 To loathing. Why do you haunt me ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 'Tis a folly ; 
 Yet I would save you from a rougher grasp 
 Than that of Matthew Hopkins. Can you, — come, 
 I'll not say love — but bear with me ? Who knows 
 What may ensue ? That's a fair offer. Come ! — 
 Age brooks no coynesses— those womanish toys. 
 The spurs to younger fancy. Rude as I am, 
 I've some good points ; and, at the worst, if Matthew 
 Be a grim bridegroom. Death's a grimmer. Psha ! 
 Marry me, and ha' done with 't. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 I will first 
 Dig with these hands my grave. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Unhappy girl ! 
 I am thy fate. Trust not my pity. 
 
 I trust my innocence ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Man, 
 
 Hopkins. 
 What's that? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 A child 
 Of HeaVn — no kin to thee ! 
 «i 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Poor witness ! Here, 
 You're innocent enough, child — if that's all ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 And therefore you denounced me. Well, you deemed
 
 320 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 A name disgraced — fenced out, like some rude field 
 
 That no man owns — a haunt for thieves and beggars — 
 
 Was fittest for your wear. Report bespeaks you, 
 
 Daring in purpose, resolute in deed ; 
 
 Yet, in the spirit of my soldier-sires, 
 
 I give you fair defiance. What do you see 
 
 To gaze at thus ? 
 
 Hopkins. 
 As fair a fleshly work 
 As ever Nature fashioned. Silly one! 
 Had'st thou ambition mated with thy courage, 
 We two might rule the world ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 A child, bold man, 
 Reminds you that ambition, ill-directed, 
 First made, then peopled hell. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Here's change, i' faith ! 
 A week ago, you were a simple thing, 
 Trundling a hoop, or trembling at the frown 
 Of that sweet composite of starch and snow. 
 Your governess. Mother Frill. Of late, I think. 
 You have found other teachers. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Oh, I have, — 
 I have ! 
 
 Hopkins {furiously). 
 I knew that scholar's frock concealed 
 Some crafty purpose. Hang me, but I ever 
 Mistrust a man in petticoats ! You love 
 This Marchmont Needham ? No more trifling— come. 
 Confess it, or — {Grasps her ann.) 
 
 Cecil. 
 How dare you touch me, fellow ?
 
 The Witch' Wife. 3 2 1 
 
 Then, for reward of your vile insolence, know 
 I love, and am beloved. Aye, more, I have sent 
 To warn him of his Cecil's danger here ; 
 And he will fly to rescue, or there's little 
 Of love or truth i' the world. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 The devil you have ! 
 Psha, — pedant coxcomb ! 
 
 Gaoler {entering). 
 
 Here's a stuttering clown, 
 Charged with some message for the prisoner. 
 Should he have entrance, Master Hopkins ? 
 
 Hem! 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Is 't her familiar, think you ? Hath his eye 
 An impish cast ? 
 
 Gaoler. 
 It hath, sir, as it were 
 A smack of gooseberry — nothing more. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Admit him. 
 (Exit Gaoler?^ 
 Cecil {aside). 
 And sunshine with him. Marchmont ! 
 
 {Re-enter Gaoler with Count?yman.) 
 Give 't me,— quick ! 
 
 Countryman. 
 There, take the 'chantment. I'd 'a burned it, only 
 I veared 'twould do m' a mischief. Sorrow on me, — 
 They tell me you're a witch ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 If you're a man, 
 You served me, notwithstanding. 
 
 Y
 
 32 2 The Witch- Wife, 
 
 Countryman. 
 
 Yees, I did. 
 They zent me to a place where Master Needham, 
 With other gallants, all in silk and lace, 
 Was playing bowls. I poked the scroll in 's face. 
 He vrowned and laughed ; then tossed it to his vriends, 
 And bade me zay, for answer, he was then 
 Within five points of the game, and twenty crowns 
 Depending. So I caught the letter up, 
 And left. A witch, then, bee'st ? (Eyeing her curiously^ 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Ha, ha ! Discreet, 
 Courteous, and loving ! Well ? 
 
 To-day ? 
 
 Cecil {faintly). 
 
 I am to be tried 
 
 Hopkins {aside). 
 She's mine, — within this hour ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 The haste 
 Is mercy. Now you'll leave me. Though six words 
 From yon poor clown have, in this heart of mine, 
 Stifled a lustrous world, there yet remain 
 Some earthly scintillations, which my soul 
 Needs peace to wrestle down. Grant me so much, 
 And go. I have chosen. 
 
 Hopkins (/// a rage). 
 
 Obstinate fool, — thou hast ! 
 
 {RusJus out.) 
 
 END OF ACT IV.
 
 0^3 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — The yustice-Room, representing the Trials 
 of the supposed Witches, a.d. 1634. 
 
 {Before the fudges, Gayre and Howlett. 
 Hopkins, Stern, Clerks, Officers, etc. Alison 
 Devise and others at the bar. The room 
 lined with spectators of all ranks, among whojn 
 Needham is seated.) 
 
 Howlett. 
 Set them all forward. Alison Devise, 
 Rachel and Margaret Pinder, Lilian Grey, 
 Tried and convict of witchcraft — 
 
 Alison. 
 
 Tried, my lord ? 
 
 Howlett. 
 Most tenderly ; for 'tis a Christian land. 
 And you, inhuman, hellish, murderous — 
 
 Gayre. 
 Sentence. 
 
 Howlett. 
 Nay, I must speak ! Oh, ye ungrateful crew ! 
 Sit here ten hours ! Your fate, ten mortal hours, 
 Hang in the balance ; and, after that, not tried ! 
 Not fried! 
 
 Gayre. 
 Proceed to sentence. 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 The VVitch-Wife. 
 
 HOWLETT. 
 
 So I will. 
 
 But such ingratitude ! You, of all persons 
 Within this land, have the least cause to murmur, 
 Seeing what time and labour have been spent 
 In taking of your lives ! Why, look around ye, 
 What persons, of your nature and condition. 
 Have with so gentle, soft solemnity. 
 Been graciously convicted ? No, no, no, — 
 All your lives long, be — 
 
 Gayre. 
 Hem! 
 
 HowLETT {qiiickly). 
 
 Eh ! That's to say^ 
 Till you are hanged to-morrow ; for the blood 
 Of many victims — 
 
 Gayre. 
 Cows and horses — 
 
 HOWLETT. 
 
 And 
 Other his majesty's subjects, cries aloud. 
 Give Heav'n due thanks, — first, that your horrible sins 
 Have been so soon cut short. Then, that your end 
 Hath not been swift nor sudden, at a blow, — 
 But with the grave and gradual course of law. 
 And, lastly ('tis your sweetest consolation). 
 That the full record of your devilish deeds 
 Is left behind, as warning. You'll be hanged 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Alison. 
 And 'tis time ! Farewell, wise world, 
 Where every wrinkle on an old wife's face 
 Is brand of felony. Heav'n keep your souls 
 From taint of richer blood. My lords —
 
 The Witch' Wife. 325 
 
 Gayre. 
 
 Remove them. 
 {Pnsoticrs tcithdrcnun.) 
 Set Cecil Howard to the bar. 
 
 Needham (aside). 
 
 Hold — patience ! 
 Death of my life ! 'Tis she— {Starts up.) 
 
 (Cecil is brought in guarded, and placed before 
 the bar^ 
 
 Officer {to Needham, who presses forward'). 
 
 Stand further back. 
 Cork up your pity, friend, and hold your tongue, — 
 This trial's for life or death. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Good fellow, are all 
 This crowd, or I, grown lunatic ? 
 
 Officer. , 
 
 I thought • 
 Your look was something wild. Come, sit ye down, — 
 At least be mad like a gentleman. Hush, hush ! 
 Silence, behind there ! Ladies, I can't stop 
 Your prating but by cracking the man's head 
 That's nearest to you ! 
 
 Gayre. 
 Come, — proceed . 
 
 Hopkins {coming forward). 
 
 My Lords — 
 
 Gayre. 
 A moment, sir. Why stands she thus alone ? 
 Have you no counsel, prisoner ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Three, sir ; but
 
 326 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Tliey're of strange speech, and in this court will scarcely 
 Stead me, I fear. 
 
 HOWLETT. 
 
 How do you call them ? 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Truth, 
 Reason, and Innocence. 
 
 Gayre. 
 Add another, — justice, 
 For you shall have it to the full. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 It seems 
 You don't mean to keep faith, sir, — or what doth 
 This ruffian here? {Turning on Hopkins.) 
 
 Hopkins {aside to her). 
 
 That shall you know anon. 
 Your wisdom, grave and learned Justices, 
 Lopping the infected branches, hath left bare 
 This tmnk and root o' the mischief Ev'n to a source 
 So bright, we track the thick, envenomed flood 
 That taints our neighbouring world. I see you gaze, 
 As doubting ev'n the devil's power to gain 
 Mastery of such fair province, Avhose good hap 
 Angels might sentinel. But I, my lords, 
 Alas ! see deeper. All the garden wearing 
 The stamp of Satan's hoof; her spirit's soil. 
 Arid and curst ; her holy leaves stript off, — 
 All glory gone, — there stands before you, here, 
 A lightning-withered Eden. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Turn this way. 
 Leave shuffling with your feet, and do your best 
 To fix that wandering, guilty gaze on her, 
 Of all this court, that knows you. To revenge 
 A just repulse —
 
 The Witch- Wife. 327 
 
 Hopkins {hurriedly). 
 My lords, she'd speak before 
 My charge be made, 
 
 Cecil. 
 Lest that, the motive known, 
 No man accord an ear to 't. In the dells 
 Of Pendell Forest— 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Listen, — only listen ! 
 She'll have you think I hid myself in a wood 
 To court her, — whisper love ! 
 
 Cecil {quick l}>). 
 
 No, — Heav'n forbid ! 
 Love's empty uai/ie is yet too sacred for 
 Such foul association. Look how close 
 Sin hes to the door ! I charged him not, yet something, 
 Beyond his nature's impulse or control, 
 From his own lips forestals me. Yes, my lords, 
 In the twilight forest, this grave gentleman 
 Came on me unaware. It seems my face 
 Had the mishap to please him, — for he paused, 
 And, as a schoolboy skips aside to pluck 
 Some red-lipped daisy, would have gathered 7ne. 
 That honour I declined ; and therewithal 
 His lover's vows, to more congenial oaths 
 Of vengeance changed, find promised action here. 
 I pray your pardon ; I have done. Henceforth, 
 Void on my name what poisoned drops they will, 
 I have deserved no worse report than one 
 Who, in the motley tumult of this world, 
 Is jostled by a knave. {Sits down.) 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Poor soul ! Poor soul ! 
 What virulence ! 'Tis just their way. Dick Stern, 
 How strongly she's possessed !
 
 328 The Witch- Wife, 
 
 Stern. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 By what strange licence does this grey buffoon, 
 This solemn ape, chatter and grin unchecked, 
 Before our faces ? Fie ! 
 
 Hopkins {furiously). 
 
 A chit ! A child ! 
 Not so young, neither, but she might have learned 
 The world's ways better. That she eyes me thus 
 Askance, I can forgive. No culprit thinks 
 The hangman an Apollo. What's the matter ? 
 
 Officer {to Gayre). 
 Sir Gerald Mole, sir, claims admission. 
 
 Cecil {starting up). 
 Then all is well ! 
 
 Uncle ! 
 
 Hopkins {aside). 
 The devil ! I thought I had 
 That old bird safe, at least. 
 
 {Enter Sir Gerald supported by attendants?) 
 No matter ; all 
 The wit he o\v'ned lies dead in that dull eye. 
 He'll do our cause good. Dear Sir Gerald — 
 
 Sir Gerald {not heeding). 
 
 Cecil ! 
 Where are you, darling? Why don't you come home ? 
 You are the centre whence my circling life 
 Is drawn, and, lost, all's crooked. There's no circle 
 Without a centre, love. 
 
 Cecil. 
 Oh ! gracious Heaven !
 
 The Witch-Wi/e. 329 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 I'm very old — these three days — and I sit 
 Alone, with dry eyes, moping. It is hard 
 That old age cannot weep, but must cage up 
 Its burning woes within the heart's dry veins, 
 Till time quench life and all ! 
 
 HOWLETT. 
 
 Sir Gerald ! 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 All's 
 
 So dismal yonder ! Mistress Frill's heart-broken, 
 And wears her ruft' awry. What's this they tell me 
 Of people to be hanged ? 
 
 To say, Sir Gerald ? 
 
 Gavre. 
 
 Well, have you more 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 Oh ! sir, this. I've learned 
 Mankind as well as Euclid, and I know 
 The worst right-angle science ever drew, 
 Is made by the dangling criminal. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Poor soul ! 
 He wanders. If you listen, sirs, he'll prose 
 Till midnight thus. 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 
 The fault is mine — 'tis mine. 
 I cursed her. When they said she was a witch, 
 And swore — I know not what — I — I — Alack ! 
 Wlio deals in curses surely doth invade 
 The armoury of God. I'll make it clear 
 With a short — I forget. A sane man, sirs, 
 But with a wit grown wildered, and a heart 
 Too heavy for its fleshly home. O, Cecil !
 
 330 The Witch- Wife. 
 
 My child !— my flower !— fair, gentle, graceful, mild, 
 Full of sweet charities ! I should know, I think, 
 For she was seldom from me. Mistress Frill 1 
 Where's Mistress Frill? {Turning, sees Hopkins.) 
 
 O treacherous, smiling villain ! 
 Had you no means to work what you call justice, 
 But you must use the old man's trusting hand 
 To slay his darling ? 
 
 Cecil [eagerly). 
 Uncle ! — dear, kind uncle ! 
 
 Sir Gerald (sfri/gg/i//g). 
 Let me go to her ! Back, I say ! What, fellow? 
 I'll brain you with my crutch ! I'll— Oh, I am weak— 
 I want you, Cecil. 
 
 {Fa//s back ifito the attendants' arms.) 
 
 Hopkins {eagerly). 
 Sirs ! my lords ! {aside) Pale fools, 
 They sit aghast. In the king's name, my lords, — 
 
 Needham. 
 The king's belied ! 
 
 Gayre. 
 What rascal's that ? Look to 't. 
 
 Who spoke ? 
 
 Officer. 
 My lords, I did not notice. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Sirs, 
 Let's come to business. Yield not your grave ears 
 Captive to dotish wailings, nor regard 
 This fair illusion. Crush the devil, ev'n in 
 His gorgeous palace. Let the golden walls 
 Crumble in fires of earth, that the poor soul, 
 Once to a holier kingdom consecrate,
 
 The Witch- Wife. 331 
 
 Be purified and saved. Think where 'tis writ, 
 " No witch shall live." 
 
 HowLETT {ne?voiisly). 
 
 Yes, as you say, let's to 't. 
 There's no defence, I think. So, Master Hopkins, 
 You must recount once more this dismal tale, 
 And 'twill suffice. 
 
 Needham. 
 I cannot hold. (Sfarls up) My lords — 
 
 Cecil {shrieking). 
 Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 Hopkins {angrily). 
 What nonsense next ? O, sir, tis yon ! 
 Here is a second gentleman to be soothed 
 Ere the king's work proceed. {Sits doivn sulkily^ 
 
 Gavre {to Needham). 
 
 Be silent ! Usher, 
 Look to that person. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 But the prisoner needs 
 Counsel, my lords. 
 
 Gayre. 
 Have you a right to plead, sir ? 
 
 Needham. 
 I cannot claim it. Still — 
 
 Gayre {loudly). 
 
 Out of the court ! 
 Begone, sir — 
 
 {Noise at the door. Gabb enters, forcing his icay 
 through all, and places a packet in Needham's 
 hand.)
 
 332 The Witch' Wife, 
 
 Needham {aside to him). 
 You have saved her. At the least, 
 I pray your merciful and learned lordships 
 Read my petition. 
 
 Gayre {rejecting it). 
 Fellow ! 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Hangman ! Down. 
 
 Gayre {starts up in a fury). 
 You insolent clown ! Here, marshal ! beadles ! whip 
 This rascal forth ! 
 
 Needham {pushing them back). 
 Not yet, sirs. Stand aside. 
 I'll take that seat a moment. 
 
 ( Walks up to the bench, and places himself in 
 the centre.) 
 
 It would seem 
 There's room for justice. Sirs, I am Richard Bromley, 
 New Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. 
 Here's the king's signet — here the warrant from 
 His gracious hand, that trembled as it wrote 
 With kingly passion, for his subjects slain 
 By blind and brutish ignorance, or, what's worse, 
 Witness suborned. My lords, although my power 
 P^xtends not to unravel this foul web 
 Of sophistry and slander, miscalled trial, 
 I'll cut the sting out. Bring all those condemned 
 Back to the court. 
 
 {Sits, Alison and prisoners brought in.) 
 Poor creatures, you are free. 
 Pity and gifts for all, and chiefly those 
 By your vile means convict. {To Hopkins.) 
 
 Hopkins {aside to Stern). 
 
 A change of wind — 
 That always brings a gale. Just wait the lull — 
 I've not done yet luith her.
 
 The Witch- Wife. 333 
 
 Needham. 
 
 This court's dissolved, 
 Never again to test, on grounds so frail. 
 Issues of life and death. Mark, gentlemen, 
 Already in these fair and tranquil scenes. 
 Where, if at all, mercy and truth should reign, 
 There is a more enlightened spirit born — 
 Foster it, and farewell. 
 
 {All rise. He descends. Enter a Marshal 
 hastily. Alarm.) 
 
 Marshal. 
 May 't please your lordship 
 To pause some space, until your javehn guard 
 Have well dispersed a somewhat angry crowd, 
 Now thronging the court precincts. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 What's their object? 
 
 Marshal. 
 Revenge, my lord, upon the ^\^tnesses. 
 They say the poor man's blood hath swelled the purse 
 Of Hopkins and his band ; that these are true, 
 And he's himself the wizard. 
 
 Needham. 
 
 So doth crime 
 Fashion its proper scourge. {To Hopkins) Get you within 
 Till night— then rid us of your presence. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 Open the doors. Come, Richard. 
 
 Psha ! 
 
 Stern (drawi^ig). 
 
 Ready ! 
 
 Cecil {eagerly). 
 
 Stay !
 
 334 The Witch-Wife. 
 
 Stay, Master Hopkins. Let your last act be 
 A gloss to its base precedent. Some rude minds 
 Tvlay yet retain the poison your bold lie 
 And my own folly placed there. Take away 
 This hideous stigma — and all wrong beside 
 I'll freely pardon you. 
 
 Hopkins {turns at the door). 
 
 Good. That's my duty. 
 
 {Advanci/jg.) 
 I'm glad you stopped me, madam. I had gone else, 
 Leaving the fancies of yon fickle crowd 
 To goddess you. If ever — as is writ 
 In terms that none dare question — our fall'n nature 
 Took service with the fiend — behold, for here 
 Stands one, who for three years hath practised charms, 
 Philtres, and all the deadly art of hell ! 
 \'ea — how much longer, she and the devil know best, 
 AVith whom she made her covenant. Record 
 This in your souls— and wait Heaven's vengeance. Stay! 
 Who's for a merry wager ? Come, I'll bet 
 That, ere three months, Sir Richard Bromley, Lord 
 Chief Justice, weds a witch ! A legion imps 
 Dance at the nuptials — antl the fiend himself 
 Be bridesman. There's my blessing. 
 
 {Striding towards the door.) 
 
 Needham {to Constables). 
 
 Go with him. 
 See him beyond their fury. {Alarm.) 
 
 Hopkins {furiously). 
 
 To the devil ! 
 Show me the man dare lay his finger on me! 
 Come, Richard ! Back, thou icitch ! 
 
 {He rushes out, Stern following. Loud alarm 
 as the doors open.)
 
 The Witch^Wi/e. 2>3S 
 
 Needham. 
 
 Let him begone. 
 {To the rest) 
 Withdraw a little ; but don't quit us. Something 
 Whispers a sequel here. Life of my heart ! 
 But for that impulse unmistakable 
 Wherewith thy presence thrills me, this might pass— 
 The pageant of a dream. Speak to me, Cecil. 
 
 Cecil. 
 You love me still ? 
 
 Needham. 
 From the heart's centre to 
 The utmost bourn of sense ! 
 
 Cecil {glancing at the spectators.) 
 They look on me 
 With doubt ; and yet you love ? 
 
 Needham. 
 
 What's that to me? 
 I'd clasp this lily hand, were 't stained with gore. 
 Slack not the grasp for any frowns of earth \ 
 And, if I have no power to clear thy name, 
 I'll even love thee more ! 
 
 Cecil. 
 I thank you, Marchmont. 
 Now hear my answer. For your sake, this hand 
 Shall wear its maiden honours to the grave. 
 Knowing no other lord. But I'll not link 
 With thine, my soul — curse-laden. Little know you 
 How deep and clinging are the stains imparted 
 Ev'n by a villain's hand. 
 
 Needham {eagerly). 
 
 You will not —
 
 336 The Witch- Wife. 
 
 Cecil {pointing to Sir Gerald). 
 
 Look 
 At that old man. He loves me as his being — 
 Yet he's bewildered ^\'ith an aching sense 
 Of ^^Tong \ and, if there be a leaning, 'tis 
 To think me guilty. 
 
 Be that the test. 
 
 Needham. 
 'Tis impossible. 
 
 Cecil. 
 It shall. {They approach him^ 
 
 Dear uncle, here's 
 An old friend come to greet us. 
 
 Sir Gerald {Imuilderedly). 
 
 She of Endor 
 Drew spirits earthward, and among them, one 
 More than she dreamed of Who shall trifle Avith 
 The powers of darkness ? Let's to thought and prayer. 
 For Master Hopkins is a pious man, 
 And he has sworn to 't. 
 
 Cecil {calmly). 
 
 Are you satisfied ? 
 Needham, forgive me, for the thing you loved 
 Is no more Cecil. Since we parted, ages 
 Have swept above me \\ith their wintry wings. 
 And blighted all my youth. The dream has closed 
 As such dreams will — in darkness, and 'tis time 
 You left me. Go. There lies your world — and here 
 My sorrcius grave. {Turns a^vay. Alarm within.) 
 
 Voice {within). 
 Open the doors ! Quick ! quick ! 
 
 {The doors arc thrown open., ajid Hopkins, 
 disordered and bloody, is borne in. Many 
 follow, kept back by guards.)
 
 The VVitch-lVifc. 337 
 
 Nekdham. 
 
 What wretched thing is that ? 
 
 o 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 My witness ! 
 
 Hopkins {Jioarsely). 
 
 Water ! 
 
 Officer. 
 You've had enough, I think. {Gives water.) 
 
 My lords — 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Stand by, 
 Good fellow. Let me tell it. You shall sit 
 And drone and mope by many a Christmas fire, 
 When my pipe's stopped. 
 
 {Raisi/ig himself.) You told me true. Sir Richard 
 I found the county up — and bellowing 
 Death to the witch-informer. What the deuce ! 
 We could not fight the parish ! Awkward clowns — 
 They don't know how — to duck — a man — and yet 
 The pains — I took — to teach. I think I broke 
 One fellow's head ? 
 
 Officer. 
 You did. 
 
 Hopkins. 
 
 I'm sorry now. 
 But never mind him. Now, what's more to the purpose — 
 Take all your eyes from me, and nail them there — 
 There, on that peerless piece of maidenhood. 
 Praise, pity, love her. She's no more a witch 
 Than I'm an angel ! {She fails in Needham's arms.) 
 
 Sir Gerald. 
 Erat demonstrandum — 
 In God's good time. 'Tis done.
 
 n 
 
 38 The JViich-W^e. 
 
 Hopkins {li/fing Jiimsclf tvith difficulty). 
 
 Don't blind me. Ah ! 
 'Tis the world that loses light. Help me — I reel — 
 And stagger through the gloom ; but there's a speck 
 Cresting the darkening waves. Young, lovely one, 
 Give the old sinner pardon, and dismiss 
 His grey hairs peacefully. 
 
 Cecil {eagerly). 
 
 Think not on me. 
 Nor man's forgiveness — but that's yours — 
 
 {To the attendants) Good friends, 
 Look to his hurts, I pray you. The more guilt. 
 The longer respite's needed. 
 
 Officer. 
 
 'Tis too late- 
 He's gone. 
 
 Nekdham. 
 Remove the couch. One friend, sweet Cecil, 
 Awaits your kind remembrance ; and full well 
 Indeed he merits it. {Showing Gabb.) 
 
 Cecil {giving her hand). 
 Dear Master Gabb, 
 Take all that's left me to bestow — warm thanks, 
 And earnest friendship. 
 
 Gabb. 
 
 Are you happy ? Hush ! 
 Don't speak. I am answered. All is well. 
 
 Cecil. 
 
 It is. 
 
 And, thanks to Heaven, it shall be. For, as here 
 These curtains close upon each varied show 
 Of mimic mirth or anguish, even so 
 Hath growing Reason spread her vail between
 
 The Witch- Wife. 339 
 
 Knowledge that is, and weakness that has been. 
 
 From heart to heart, on wings of mercy, flies 
 
 A free and brother spirit, and supplies 
 
 For sorcery, sense ; malice, the Avill to please ; 
 
 For philtres, wit ; spells, smiles ; and Avitches, — these / 
 
 THE END. 
 
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