SCENE I.

Enter RAYMOND and GREY.

Grey. My lord, you waste the precious hours
in cold

Irresolute delays: nor circumstance
Nor time admit of long deliberation.

Ray. Would I had never seen this fatal man-
sion!

Grey. A sorry wish, my lord. Behold the fierce,

The lordly ranger of the desert wild;

No sluggish fear he knows; he pauses not,
Nor looks behind, but onward speeds him till
He gripes the trembling prey: be ever thus
The youth, whom thirst of love and beauty fires.
Ray. Away; call forth my train-nay, murmur

not:

Command that, ere the lark proclaim the morn,
They hold them each prepared. Here I will rest,
If rest I can, this night; to-morrow's sun
Shall see me fled for ever from these walls.

Grey. Go I detain thee not.

Summon thy train, mount the swift steed, away ; The gates shall open to thy flight. But know, That shame and scorn shall follow at thy heels. Yet worse; the insulted, baron next pursues thee:

Nor rocks, nor mountains, nor opposing seas
Shall stay him; but with more than mortal rage
He shall assail thee.

Ray. Are there no other means?
Grey. None.

Ray. No other way but murder ? Horrid
thought!

Oh! Grey, if e'er the dagger's drawn, I feel
Such perturbation, here ! what then, oh what
Shall prove my portion when 'tis steeped in
blood?

The drops can from the point be wiped away,
But never from the mind.

Grey. Lift, lift thine eye,
And let it gaze upon the bright reward.
Riches and honours grace the swelling act,
While beauty, like the ruby-crowned morn,
When first she appears upon the mountain top,
Comes smiling on to meet you. These are ob-
Jects,

My lord, would irritate the palsied arm
Itself of fear; excite the lagging blood,
And spur it on to acts of noble daring.
Ray. What would you do? Think-Salisbury
is a name

Of all beloved, of more than vulgar sway
Throughout the land; a deed, unauthorised
As this, shall never 'scape the arm of justice.
Grey. Such wary counsels shall our steps o'er
rule,

As may deride suspicion-One there is,
A knight among thy vassal train, perhaps
Unnoted: soft of speech he is, and fair;
But of a heart that mocks at human feelings:
Him I have sounded with reserve; and find
Him not unapt to this our secret purpose.
But say, what recompence, what high reward
Awaits the man, whose arm for thee enacts
Such signal service?

Ray. Half my fortunes-all
Would I on him bestow, whose prosperous arts
Should make the fair one mine.

Grey. She shall be thine.

Ray. But say, my friend-what tale, what rare

device

Should fruitful art explore, that might amuse Her just suspicions?

Grey. Innocence ! the mask

Of innocence, and counterfeited sorrow

Enter ELEANOR.

Ele. If beauty in distress, if dignity,
Now sinking into ruin, can assail
Thy pity, come, oh! come, and weep to see-
Grey. The countess, I suppose.
Ele. My lord, my lord,

'Twould melt the savage into human softness,
And make him howl forth pity, to behold her-
Oh! did you see her, pale, disordered as
She runs, now calling wildly on her lord,
Again upon her son, again on thee!
Sometimes, alas! she beats her beauteous bo-

rows.

Till nature, spent and wearied, gives her pause.
Ray. Away : we will speak comfort to her sor-
[Exit ELE.
Wretch that I am! But I will yield them up;
Son, husband-all I will resign, if so
I may appease her phrenzy.

[Going, is detained by GREY.

Grey. Be not rash. Short is the date of every stronger passion; Unstayed the mind of woman; by a breath Oft agitated, by a breath composed ----Yield them, my lord! it would be madness, ruin.

But fancies of the sickliest hue-For shame!
Rouse, rouse, my noble lord; awake, shake off-
This weakness. Pleasure must be wooed with
toil.

Go to her, solace her; if that should fail,
Permit her, as by stealth, to visit Salisbury;
At sight of him this tumult shall subside.

Ray. With love and pity I am torn. In vain
I strive; too far I am advanced in error.
Oh! will no hand disclose a path, whereby
I may return? Accursed be thou, myself;
And doubly be accursed that fatal hour
I turned mine ear to thy destructive counsels !
[Goes out in great agitation.
Grey. [Alone.] My hopes begin to totter.
If he resign them, Salisbury is appeased,
And he retires: what then becomes of Grey?
On me, on me, of course, the tempest falls.
That must not be-he goes to see her now-
Who knows what new-sprung hope may follow
thence?

There is a charm in soft distress, that works
Upon the soul like magic; causing love
Oft times, as oft exciting loose desire-
It is most apt. I will, before he goes
To her, explore each access to his heart;
Attack each avenue that leads to virtue;
Try every winning art that may assist
The loose contagion: should he seize her beau-
ties,

Farewell remorse; then dies the injured hus[Exit.

band.

SCENE II.-Opens and discovers Lord SALISBURY on the ground, in chains.

Enter LEROCHES.

Ler. Alas! on the cold ground! I fear his

wrongs

Have made him mad; I heard him rage-My lord

Rise, rise, my lord, and speak to thy Leroches. Lord Sal. -Thou art unkind.

Ler. Oh! would to Heaven that I could ease thy troubles!

Lord Sal. I had in sweet oblivion lost myself And every care; why hast thou called me back To hated recollection?-Oh! my wrongs, My wrongs! they now come rushing o'er my head

Again, again, they wake me into madness.

Ler. Thy wrongs shall be revenged.

Lord Sal. Torn from them both!

-Let me not think.

Ler. Think on our friends, my lord:

Perhaps, even now, they are at hand; and soon Will thunder at the gates.

Lord Sal. Is it possible?

Or do my eyes but false persuade me to it?In trammels, and within my walls! beneath That roof where I am sole invested lord!Ler. Look, behold.

Lord Sal. I see thou art dishonoured.
Ler. 'Tis the will

Of Heaven, and I submit me to my fortunes,
Lord Sal. How cam'st thou hither?
Ler. By command, as I

Suppose, of-but I will not name him.
Lord Sal. Blasts

Upon him! Didst thou see my wife?
Ler. No, my lord.

Lord Sal. Nor my son?

Ler. My lord, I saw not either.
Lord Sal. Nor of either heard?

Ler. No, my good lord ;-I trust that they are safe.

Lord Sal. Hear me, sweet Heaven! ye throned powers above,

Dread arbiters of mortal doings, hear-
Dry not instant up the springs of life,
But grant me measure of revenge! Unbind,
For pity, these dishonoured limbs unbind,
And give this monster to my willing arm:
If I not firmly gripe, if I not tear
With more than savage force his hated form-
Enter a Knight.

In me thy better angel, come to warn
Thee of unguarded danger-Oh! my lord,
My lord! beware of horrid treachery-
Whatever knight thou not'st, that, traitor-like,
Approacheth thee with smiles; that, with the
charm

Of honeyed speech, would practise on thy hearing,
Of him beware-They seek thy ruin; chance
Betrayed their purpose; I was touched with pity.
[Guing

Lord Sal. Nay, go not yet.
Knt. Suspicion's on the watch;
My thoughts are scarce my own.
Lord Sal. It is for guilt,

Not conscious honesty, to taste of fear.

Knt. Know then, my lord, though strict neces-
sity

Enrolls me in the list of Raymond's train,
Yet doth my soul abhor the unhallowed service.

Lord Sal. Be thou but faithful, and discover all Thou know'st, so shalt thou thrive in Salisbury's favour.

Knt. Fear not my faith. But shall lord S

lisbury prove

A friend indeed? For I shall need thy arm
And interest both against so great a foe.

Lord Sal. Now by my honour, ever yet held dear,
I will protect thee, 'gainst whatever foe.
Knt. Morton desires but this-Know then,
that late

As by the western porch I stood, my ear

Was met by certain voices: straight I turned; And through the crevice of the adjoining door Was known that same insidious knight and Grey, In low, but earnest converse. Thee they named; And I could hear the latter, whilst he said, "A dagger is the best. With honest smiles, 'And fair-instructed speech you must essay him. Thy peace and fortunes on this feat depend.' Lord Sai. I thank thee for this warning; and ere long

Shall recompence thy love.

Mor. Had I the power

To serve thee, as the will, thou should'st not wear Those marks of shame-But oh! the unhappy countess !

Lord Sal. What, what of her! Mor. Alas! to think the pangs She feels this moment, torn as she hath been, By rude barbarians, from her lord and son.

Lord Sal. But is she safe? Hath not dishonour reached her?

Mor. Oh may she never know dishonour!-Yet Lord Raymond

Lord Sal. Perish the detested name

For ever! for it makes my blood outcourse
The wholesome speed of nature.

Mor. It is true,

He holds her in his power

Lord Sal. He does, he does:

And I do live to know it!

Mor. But I trust

He will not use that power-Farewell, my lord;
I will away, and gather all I can
Of their condition.

Lord Sal. Thou shalt win my love.
See, see my wife, oh! see her if thou canst;
Speak comfort to her. Say, the only pangs I feel,
Are for her safety. Bid her hope for timely aid;
But to remember still, the virtuous mind
Will welcome death itself before dishonour.

Mor. To see her, is a task I fear will foil My utmost; but no art shall be untried.

[Exit MOR. Lord Sal. Is there no way to freedom ?—Oh my friends!

My friends! Haste, Ardolf, haste to my revenge! Ler. Thy fierce impatience, thy untoward will, It is, my lord, that hath betrayed our safeties. To Ardolf deaf, thou would'st not wait his suc

cours:

Deaf, too, to me, thou would'st approach the castle.

Lord Sal. Fear not this stranger, like Heaven's brighter star,

Hath risen propitious-Heavens! but what of that?

My wife!-perhaps, even now within the gripe Of fell incontinence she struggles-Beware That thought-down, down, or I shall rage to madness.

Ler. My lord, he would not

Lord Sal. Hark!

Ler. He would not, dare not, sure: or if he dare,

Her inborn dignity, her virtue

Lord Sal. Peace! Lady Sal. Hold off your brutal hands! [From without.

Lord Sal. 'Tis she! 'tis she!
The slave assails her-Let me forth-
Slaves! murderers! instant let me forth, or I-
Lady Sal. Hast thou no touch of pity?
Lord Sal. Horror! horror!

Out hair! out by the roots! nor let a grain
Be left to tell there grew such honours there.
Lady Sal. O, my lord! my lord!-
Lord Sal. By Heaven I will not be restrained→→→
[LER. strives to stay him.
Nor all your bolts, nor barriers, all the powers
Of hell united shall withhold me from her-
Ler. Preserve him, Heaven! I fear
Some act of horrid import-Oh! she comes!
Wild, wild as the rough ocean vexed with storms.
[Bursts forth.

Enter Lady SALISBURY, ELEANOR, and MOR

TON.

Lady Sal. I will have vengeance. Such an outrage--No,

I will not weep. They think I have no means: 'Tis false: I will resume a spirit.

Ele. Alas, alas!

Lady Sal. I had a son: sweet William !—thou

hast heard

Him prattle; there was music on his tongue. Ele. Can Heaven behold such crimes, and not awake

Its thunders?

Lady Sal. Weep'st thou? I can weep myself; I have some cause- -He is my husband-who Will part us?-Cold, cold, cold. The rains beat

sore,

And the winds make a noise; 'tis a rough night;
No little star to guide his darkling steps-
The heavens do rain down pity for me.

Ele. Rave

Not thus, dear lady; oh! be comforted.

Lady Sal. Yes, yes; I know; these trifles have disturbed me,

The bird is rifled.

Poor flutterer! oh! it was naught to spoil
Her of her little hope-Did'st thou not see
Her valiant mate, how fierce he shook his plumes,
And pecked at them? Did he not?—He had saved
His mistress from the spoilers, but they snared
him.

Lord Sal. [Entering.] Where is the slave?
I will not brook delay.

Lady Sal. He's come! he's come- -Now, ruffians, I have found

Him, we will die together ere you part us!
Lord Sal. Hell! what are your blackest hor-

rors to this?

Lady Sal. We will have justice,-bury Grey

alive.

Lord Sal. She's lost!

Lady Sal. Say you !-Put Raymond to the

torture.

Lord Sal. I will tear him joint by joint. Lady Sal. But they will part us

SCENE I-A Forest and Cottage.

Enter ARDOLF and a Knight.

Ard. The storm is laid; and from the parting
clouds

See where the moon steps forth, pale goddess,
Cheering the dark, dull brow of haggard night.
This is the forest-that the cottager's,
Or I do err, the appointed place of meeting.
Knt. It is: behold the rock, as was described,
The torrent foaming down his rugged side.
Ard. See, the bright harbinger of morning
climbs

The steep of heaven: they're in the first reposeWake, peasant, wake-How balmy sweet the sleep

Of him, who stretches under rustic roof!
His task of labour o'er, content he lays
Him on his rushy couch; nor elves, nor goblins
(The coinage of swoln surfeit or of guilt)
Approach his peaceful pillow. Wake, I say:
Peasant, awake.

Enter a Peasant from the Cottage.
Pea. Who calls?

What is your business, that at this late hour
You make the forest echo with your cries?

Ard. Peasant, are there not certain travellers Within your cottage?

Pea. No.

Ler. Happily met-where are your friends? Ard. At hand; and well appointed eachwhere is my lord?

Lera In chains: in his own castle basely bound

Torn from his wife and son-How I escapedBut haste; time is too precious now for more; His life hangs upon each eventful moment.

Ard. In chains! his life in danger!-Ho! my-
friends!

To horse, quick; we will rescue him, or perish.
Ler. Ardolf, pursue the eastern causeway you;
I, with a chosen few, will trace the path,
Which led me from the postern.

Ard. Wisely cautioned:

Divided thus, we wage an easier war. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Within the Castle.

Enter GREY and MORTON. Grey. My noble Morton!-well hast thou repaid

The nicer hope which I reposed in thee.
-Their unprovided rest outruns my wishes.

Mor. Fools! not to see through my hypocrisy ! That, in the borrowed guise of honest friendship, I studied but to lure them to my toilsConcealed from upper light, it yields a safe Retreat through that they purposed their escape. Grey. Within the secret womb of that same vault,

When all the castle's hushed, their bleeding trunks