It would offend him should he find you here.
Enter DOUGLAS.

Dou. How! Edric and his sister in close conference?

Do they not seem alarm'd at my approach?
And see, how suddenly they part! Now Edric,
[Exit BIRTHA.
Was this well done? or was it like a friend,
When I desir'd to meet thee here alone,
With all the warmth of trusting confidence,
To lay my bosom naked to thy view,
And show thee all its weakness, was it well
To call thy sister here, to let her witness
Thy friend's infirmity?—perhaps to tell her-
Edr. My lord, I nothing know; I came to learn.
Dou. Nay then thou dost suspect there's some-
thing wrong?

Edr. If we were bred from infancy together,
If I partook in all thy youthful griefs,
And every joy thou knew'st was doubly mine,
Then tell me all the secret of thy soul:
Or have these few short months of separation,
The only absence we have ever known,
Have these so rent the bands of love asunder,
That Douglas should distrust his Edric's truth?
Dou. My friend, I know thee faithful as thou'rt
brave,

And I will trust thee-but not now, good Edric. "Tis past, 'tis gone, it is not worth the telling, 'Twas wrong to cherish what disturb'd my peace; I'll think of it no more.

Edr. Transporting news!

I fear'd some hidden trouble vex'd your quiet.
In secret I have watch'd-

Dou. Ha! watch'd in secret?
A spy, employ'd, perhaps, to note my actions.
What have I said? Forgive me, thou art noble:
Yet do not press me to disclose my grief,
For when thou know'st it, I perhaps shall hate thee
As much, my Edric, as I hate myself
For my suspicions-I am ill at ease.

Edr. How will the fair Elwina grieve to hear it!
Dou. Hold, Edric, hold-thou hast touch'd the
fatal string

That wakes me into madness. Hear me then,
But let the deadly secret be secured
With bars of adamant in thy close breast.
Think on the curse which waits on broken oaths;

Enter ELWINA.

Elw. Alas, 'tis ever thus!

Thus ever clouded is his angry brow. [Aside. Dou. I were too bless'd, Elwina, could I hope You met me here by choice, or that your bosom Shar'd the warm transports mine must ever feel At your approach.

Elw. My lord, if I intrude,

[giveness: The cause which brings me claims at least forI fear you are not well, and come, unbidden, Except by faithful duty, to inquire,

If haply in my power, my little power

I have the means to minister relief
To your affliction?

Dou. What unwonted goodness
OI were bless'd above the lot of man,
If tenderness, not duty, brought Elwina;
Cold, ceremonious, and unfeeling duty,
That wretched substitute for love: but know,
The heart demands a heart; nor will be paid
With less than what it gives. E'en now, Elwina,
The glistening tear stands trembling in your eyes,
Which cast their mournful sweetness on the
ground,

As if they fear'd to raise their beams to mine,
And read the language of reproachful love.

Elw. My lord, I hop'd the thousand daily proofs Of my obedience

Dou. Death to all my hopes! [ence? Heart-rending word!-obedience! what's obedi'Tis fear, 'tis hate, 'tis terror, 'tis aversion, 'Tis the cold debt of ostentatious duty, Paid with insulting caution, to remind me How much you tremble to offend a tyrant So terrible as Douglas.-O, ElwinaWhile duty measures the regard it owes With scrupulous precision and nice justice, Love never reasons, but profusely gives, Gives, like a thoughtless prodigal, its all, And trembles then, lest it has done too little. Elw. Indeed I'm most unhappy that my cares, And my solicitude to please, offend.

Dou. True tenderness is less solicitous,
Less prudent and more fond; the enamour'd heart,
Conscious it loves, and bless'd in being lov'd,
Reposes on the object it adores,

And trusts the passion it inspires and feels.-
Thou hast not learn'd how terrible it is
To feed a hopeless flame.-But hear, Elwina,
Thou most obdurate, hear me.-

Elu. Say, my lord,

For your own lips shall vindicate my fame,
Since at the altar I became your wife,
Can malice charge me with an act, a word,
I ought to blush at? Have I not still liv'd

As open to the eye of observation,
As fearless innocence should ever live?
I call attesting angels to be witness,
If in my open deed, or secret thought,
My conduct, or my heart, they've aught discern'd
Which did not emulate their purity.

Dou. This vindication ere you were accus'd,
This warm defence, repelling all attacks
Ere they are made, and construing casual words
To formal accusations, trust me, Madam,
Shows rather an alarm'd and vigilant spirit,
For ever on the watch to guard its secret,
Than the sweet calm of fearless innocence.
Who talk'd of guilt? Who testified suspicion?
Elw. Learn, Sir, that virtue, while 'tis free from
blame,

Is modest, lowly, meek, and unassuming;
Not apt, like fearful vice, to shield its weakness
Beneath the studied pomp of boastful phrase
Which swells to hide the poverty it shelters;
But, when this virtue feels itself suspected,
Insulted, set at nought, its whiteness stain'd,
It then grows proud, forgets its humble worth,
And rates itself above its real value,

Dou. I did not mean to chide! but think, O
think,

What pangs must rend this fearful doting heart,
To see you sink impatient of the grave,
To feel, distracting thought! to feel you hate me!
Elw. What if the slender thread by which I
hold

This poor precarious being soon must break,
Is it Elwina's crime, or Heaven's decree?
Yet I shall meet, I trust, the king of terrors,
Submissive and resign'd, without one pang,
One fond regret, at leaving this gay world.

Dou. Yes, Madam, there is one, one man ador'd, For whom your sighs will heave, your tears will flow,

For whom this hated world will still be dear,
For whom you still would live-

Elw. Hold, hold my lord,

What may this mean?

Dou. Ah! I have gone too far.

What have I said?--Your father, sure, your father,
The good Lord Raby, may at least expect
One tender sigh.

Elw. Alas, my lord! I thought
The precious incense of a daughter's sighs
Might rise to heaven, and not offend its ruler.
Dou. 'Tis true; yet Raby is no more belov'd
Since he bestow'd his daughter's hand on Douglas:
That was a crime the dutiful Elwina
Can never pardon; and believe me, Madam,.
My love's so nice, so delicate my honour,
I am asham'd to owe my happiness
To ties which make you wretched. [Exit DOUGLAS.
El. Ah! how's this?

Though I have ever found him fierce and rash,
Full of obscure surmises and dark hints,
Till now he never ventur'd to accuse me.
"Yet there is one, one man belov'd, ador'd,
For whom your tears will flow"-these were his
words-

And then the wretched subterfuge of Raby-
How poor th' evasion!-But my Birtha comes.

Enter BIRTHA.

Bir. Crossing the portico I met Lord Douglas, Disorder'd were his looks, his eyes shot fire; He call'd upon your name with such distraction I fear'd some sudden evil had befallen you.

Elw. Not sudden: no; long has the storm been gathering,

Which threatens speedily to burst in ruin
On this devoted head.

Bir. I ne'er beheld

Your gentle soul so ruffled, yet I've marked you,
While others thought you happiest of the happy,
Bless'd with whate'er the world calls great, or
good,

With all that nature, all that fortune gives,
I've mark'd you bending with a weight of sorrow.
Elwo. OI will tell thee all! thou couldst not find
An hour, a moment in Elwina's life,
When her full heart so long'd to ease its burden,
And pour its sorrows in thy friendly bosom:
Hear then, with pity hear, my tale of wo,
And, O forgive, kind nature, filial piety,
If my presumptuous lips arraign a father!
Yes, Birtha, that belov'd, that cruel father,
Has doom'd me to a life of hopeless anguish,
To die of grief ere half my days are number'd;
Doom'd me to give my trembling hand to Douglas,
'Twas all I had to give-my heart was-Percy's.
Bir. What do I hear?

Elw. My misery, not my crime.
Long since the battle 'twixt the rival houses
Of Douglas and of Percy, for whose hate
This mighty globe's too small a theatre,
One summer's morn, my father chas'd the deer
On Cheviot Hills, Northumbria's fair domain.
Bir. On that fam'd spot where first the feuds
commenc'd

Between the earls?

Elw. The same. During the chace,
Some of my father's knights receiv'd an insult
From the Lord Percy's herdsmen, churlish fo-
resters,

Unworthy of the gentle blood they serv'd.
My father, proud and jealous of his honour,
(Thou know'st the fiery temper of our barons,)
Swore that Northumberland had been concern'd
In this rude outrage, nor would hear of peace,
Or reconcilement, which the Percy offer'd;
But bade me hate, renounce, and banish him.
O! 'twas a task too hard for all my duty:
I strove, and wept; I strove-but still I lov'd.
Bir. Indeed 'twas most unjust; but say what
follow'd?
[tale?
Elw. Why should I dwell on the disastrous
Forbid to see me, Percy soon embark'd
With our great king against the Saracen.
Soon as the jarring kingdoms were at peace,
Earl Douglas, whom till then I ne'er had seen,
Came to this castle; 'twas my hapless fate
To please him.-Birtha! thou can'st tell what
followed:

But who shall tell the agonies I felt?
My barbarous father forc'd me to dissolve
The tender vows himself had bid me form-
He dragg'd me trembling, dying, to the altar,
I sigh'd, I struggled, fainted, and complied.
Bir. Did Douglas know, a marriage had been
Propos'd 'twixt you and Percy?
[once

Elwo. If he did,

He thought, like you, it was a match of policy, Nor knew our love surpass'd our fathers' prudence. Bir. Should he now find he was the instru

ment

Of the Lord Raby's vengeance?

Elo. "Twere most dreadful! My father lock'd this motive in his breast, And feign'd to have forgot the chace of Cheviot.

Some moons have now completed their slow course | Since my sad marriage.-Percy still is absent.

Bir. Nor will return before his sov'reign comes. Elo. Talk not of his return! this coward heart Can know no thought of peace but in his absence. How, Douglas here again? some fresh alarm! Enter DOUGLAS, agitated, with letters in his hand. Dou. Madam, your pardonElw. What disturbs my lord? [ease. Dou. Nothing.-Disturb! I ne'er was more at These letters from your father give us notice He will be here to-night :-He farther adds, The king's each hour expected. Elw. How? the king?

Said you, the king?

Dou. And 'tis Lord Raby's pleasure

That you among the foremost bid him welcome. You must attend the court.

Elw. Must I, my lord?

Dou. Now to observe how she receives the news! [Aside. Elw. I must not, cannot.-By the tender love You have so oft profess'd for poor Elwina, Indulge this one request-O let me stay! Dou. Enchanting sounds! she does not wish to go [Aside. Elu. The bustling world, the pomp which waits on greatness,

Ill suits my humble, unambitious soul;-
Then leave me here, to tread the safer path
Of private life; here, where my peaceful course
Shall be as silent as the shades around me;
Nor shall one vagrant wish be e'er allow'd'
To stray beyond the bounds of Raby Castle.
Dou. O music to my ears! [Aside.] Can you
resolve

To hide those wondrous beauties in the shade,
Which rival kings would cheaply buy with empire?
Can you renounce the pleasures of a court,
Whose roofs resound with minstrelsy and mirth?
Elw. My lord, retirement is a wife's best duty,
And virtue's safest station is retreat.

Dou. My soul's in transports! [Aside.]

can you forego

But

[Takes her hand, and looks steadfastly at her as he speaks.

But reflect once more:

When you shall hear that England's gallant peers.
Fresh from the fields of war, and gay with glory,
All vain with conquest, and elate with fame,
When you shall hear these princely youths contend,
In many a tournament, for beauty's prize;
When you shall hear of revelry and masking,
Of mimic combats and of festive halls,
Of lances shiver'd in the cause of love,
Will you not then repent, then wish your fate,
Your happier fate, had till that hour reserv'd you
For some plumed conqueror ?

Elw. My fate, my lord,

Is now bound up with yours. Dou. Here let me kneel

[der;

Yes, I will kneel, and gaze, and weep, and wonThou paragon of goodness!-pardon, pardon. [Kisses her hand. 43

VOL. I.

I am convinc'd-I can no longer doubt, Nor talk, nor hear, nor reason, nor reflect. I must retire, and give a loose to joy.

Bir. The king returns.

[Exit DOUGLAS.

Elo. And with him Percy comes!
Bir. You needs must go.

Elw. Shall I solicit ruin,

And pull destruction on me ere its time?
I'will not go-I disobey thee, Douglas,
I, who have held it criminal to name him?
But disobey thee to preserve thy honour. [Exeunt
ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Hall.
Enter DOUGLAS, speaking.

See that the traitor instantly be seiz'd,
And strictly watch'd; let none have access to him.
-O jealousy, thou aggregate of woes!
Were there no hell, thy torments would create one.
But yet she may be guiltless-may? she must.
How beautiful she look'd! pernicious beauty!
Yet innocent as bright seem'd the sweet blush
That mantled on her cheek. But not for me,
But not for me, those breathing roses blow!
And then she wept-What! can I bear her tears?
Well let her weep-her tears are for another;
O did they fall for me, to dry their streams
I'd drain the choicest blood that feeds this heart,
Nor think the drops I shed were half so precious.
[He stands in a musing posture.

Enter LORD RABY.

Raby. Sure I mistake-am I in Raby Castle? Impossible; that was the seat of smiles; And Cheerfulness and Joy were household gods. I us'd to scatter pleasures when I came, And every servant shar'd his lord's delight; But now Suspicion and Distrust dwell here, And Discontent maintains a sullen sway. Where is the smile unfeign'd, the jovial welcome, Which cheer'd the sad, beguil'd the pilgrim's pain, And made Dependency forget its bonds? Where is the ancient, hospitable hall, Whose vaulted roof once rung with harmless mirth, Where every passing stranger was a guest, And every guest a friend? I fear me much, If once our nobles scorn their rural seats, Their rural greatness, and their vassals' love, Freedom and English grandeur are no more.

Dou. [Advancing.] My lord, you are welcome.
Raby. Sir, I trust I am;

But yet methinks I shall not feel I'm welcome
Till my Elwina bless me with her smiles:
She was not wont with ling'ring step to meet me,
Or greet my coming with a cold embrace;
Now, I extend my longing arms in vain:
My child, my darling, does not come to fill them.
O they were happy days, when she would fly
To meet me from the camp, or from the chace,
And with her fondness overpay my toils!
How eager would her tender hands unbrace
The ponderous armour from my war-worn limbs,
And pluck the helmet which oppos'd her kiss!

Dou. O sweet delights, that never must be mine!
Raby. What do I hear?

Dou. Nothing: inquire no farther.

Raby. My lord, if you respect an old man's peace,

If e'er you doted on my much-lov'd child,
As 'tis most sure you made me think you did,
3 S