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 The king; or, The first Plantagenet; a dr 
 
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' Fear me! I can destroy thy soul, proud king.'" 
 
 p. 14 
 
THE KING; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FIRST PLANTAGENET. 
 
 DEDICATED TO SIR SALAR JUNG, 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF 
 
 Hip VipiT TO Enqlaj^d. 
 By JOSEPH TURNLEY. 
 
 AVTHOR OF " THE LIFE AND TIMES OF RICHARD CCEUR DE LION," 
 
 " THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYE," 
 
 " ROYAL . REVERIES ON IMMORTALITY," ETC, ETC. 
 
 14^1TH ILLVSTSATIONS BY SIR JOHN GILBERT, A.R.A. 
 
 A. H. BAILY AND CO., CORNHILL. 
 1876. 
 
Dedicatiojv. 
 
 In dedicating this drama — The King— to Sir Salar yung, 
 I venture to observe that the presence of this faithful subject 
 of the " Empress of India," is an event of the greatest interest 
 to Englishmen, and cannot fail to evince to the youths of this 
 country that such glory, beauty, and refinement as the life and 
 conduct of this valiant man has displayed cannot fail to attract 
 the notice and admiration of the great and good, and that 
 neither distance nor time can eclipse the light of a great soul.' 
 In Sir Salar Jung heroism itself seems gracefully ennobled and 
 magnificently enshrined. 
 
 We may perhaps partly trace this visit to that timely and 
 wise undertaking, naniely, the journey to India of our gallant 
 Prince, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and the 
 invitation of the courteous and much-respected nobleman, His 
 Grace the Duke of Sutherland. Queen Victoria does not pos- 
 sess a more faithful. and useful subject than Sir Salar Jung of 
 Hyderabad. 
 
 There have been many conquerors who returning from fields 
 of blood have won the p;-aise and gratitude of England's 
 princes and people, and have received liberal rewards. We 
 might instance Marlborough, Wellington, and others. 
 
 Such conquerors have mostly been inducted to and living in 
 the very grooves of war, surrounded by every concomitant aid 
 and appliance, supplemented by a waiting anxious nation, and 
 watched by able and critical officials. 
 
Dedication. 
 
 In Sir Salar Jung we recognize the highest class of con- 
 queror, standing almost alone, and far distant from supreme 
 government. This hero triumphed without spilling a single 
 drop of human blood, whilst commanding and teaching tens of 
 thousands of his countrymen that rebellion to England was the 
 sure way to disgrace, ignominy, and death. He turned the 
 current of events. 
 
 Yes, it was by his astounding influence (nurtured by a long 
 period of noble acts and pure government) that he at the very 
 risk of his life prevented the alienation of Southern India, and 
 a scene of blood-sheddings and rebellion which no pen can 
 describe. Alone he unfurled the defiant flag of old England 
 amidst tens of thousands who were alone bayed by his courage 
 and wisdom ! 
 
 If this is true, — and where is the Englishman who will deny 
 it ? — then let England m masse wish and pray that health, hap. 
 piness, and success may lattend our distinguished visitor, and 
 that if England possesses any tribute good enough and espe- 
 cially suitable for his acceptance it may (whatever it may be) 
 be presented without delay or deduction. 
 
 jpune, 1876. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 TO say why a great man appears on the stage 
 of this world at a particular epoch, or what 
 of his own individual genius he imparts to the 
 generation in which he appears, is beyond our 
 power ; but the fact is certain, that society is ever 
 and anon resuscitated by the presence, of such 
 spirits, to whom the debilitated immobility and 
 succumbing state of the governed, and the warring 
 tyranny of the civil or ecclesiastical government, 
 are revolting and almost intolerable. It is then, 
 under the influence of an intellectual and heartfelt 
 anguish, they determine to summon all their 
 powers to satisfy their unconquerable desire to 
 restore order, and animate many powers waiting 
 for a leader to create permanent establishments for 
 the growth and preservation of liberty and justice. 
 For awhile they astound and illuminate (in the 
 midst of some errors and weaknesses too subtle to 
 be foreseen), yet they pause not whilst performing 
 feats of grandeur and glory which give to hu- 
 manity new, exalting, and salutary influences. 
 They remain awhile to perform their mission, and 
 though time carries away their mortality (as the 
 day star in the western seas), yet their works live 
 after them, to illumine and embrighten future cycles 
 
iv Preface. 
 
 of time. Such a character these pages (though 
 imperfectly) are intended to portray. 
 
 "The First Plantagenet" may be regarded as 
 part of that brilHant mihtant host who, travelHng 
 in their greatness, have stamped upon the rigidity 
 of many obstacles which might have delayed the 
 triumph of liberty. 
 
 The dramatic form has been selected as likely 
 to impress on the mind some of those interesting 
 and remarkable qualities, with which spirits (though 
 unseen) were ever inciting this heroic beings Each 
 day of his eventful life he seemed to come forth 
 clad in some fresh fervour and grand impulse he 
 had been taught in mystic reveries. 
 
 It may be true that history and biography should 
 abound with facts, material and obvious, such as 
 wars and great acts of governments ; yet there are 
 moral, hidden facts, veiled for a time, which are 
 no less real than the unseen parts of physical man. 
 Indeed, they may be regarded as more essentially 
 operative than the more palpable and obvious. 
 
 It is hoped the reader will not assume any of 
 the. sentiments in this volume as pointed at any 
 existing ecclesiastical establishment. 
 
 The chief characters are pari passu with Lord 
 Littleton's life of the Second Henry. It is believed 
 the assassination of A Becket was not dictated by 
 the king. The Duchess de Bretagne, and some 
 subordinates, may be regarded as types of the 
 characters moving around the royal person. 
 
 January, 1876. 
 
gramatis ^p^rsoita;. 
 
 The King, Henry II. 
 
 Geoffery, the King's natural Son. 
 
 A Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Bishop of Chichester. 
 
 Richard de Lucey, Chief Justice. 
 
 Randolph de Glanville. 
 
 Walter Mapes. 
 
 Peter of Blois. 
 
 Eleanor, Queen of Henry II. 
 
 Duchess de Bretagne. 
 
 Rosamond de Clifford, Mistress of the King. 
 
 Priests, Courtiers, Servants, and others. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THESE pages are respectfully presented to the public as a 
 record of some parts of the life of one of England's most 
 noble, heroic, and politic kings, whose resistance of priestly arro- 
 gance and aggression in the twelfth century led to reformations 
 of no ordinary character. Henry II., the first Plantagenet, was 
 ever willing to recognize the Church as the natural ally of the 
 State, and never its slave ; but he demanded that it should 
 always be its voluntary subject. He acknowledged the Church 
 had innate dignity, and that it commanded the attention of 
 the reflecting philosopher and active politician. That she was 
 the natural arbiter and keeper of many things which advance the 
 peace and order of man and the comfort and taste of society. 
 That while some systems were but imperfect imitative theories, 
 wanting power and state, the genius of her hierarchy was exact, 
 extensive, and well delineated. 
 
 The Church was announced as the bride of Divinity, clad in 
 its robes and decked with its graces. Her high-bom lineage 
 awakened many lofty assumptions ; and though her foot was on 
 the earth, yet she quivered not, whilst she marshalled all her 
 properties with an energetic movement and order, wholly irre- 
 sistible by all worldly dynasties. She once wore a grace and 
 auspiciousness, which the conventions reared by the magi "of this 
 world never possessed. The divine character she had assumed, 
 united to the sublime purpose she declared, commanded for her 
 an imperial position, an extensive dominion, and a grandeur of 
 state which secured the reverence of millions. Her very vocation 
 rendered her a leader and a dictator ; for she professed one vast 
 and immeasurable end, viz., to arouse the millions of spirits of 
 men to a sense of their own dignity and power. Mighty and 
 extraordinary are her functions ever assumed by her priests for 
 placing before man the secrets of his own nature, with its de- 
 
viii Introduction. 
 
 gree of individual power and honour attainable in this world, and 
 laying before him the jewels of the treasury of heaven. 
 
 But let her cease to expose her dignity, grace, and power by 
 vain exhibitions and haughty assumptions, which delay the union 
 of the Churches and the development of liberty. 
 
 The Church should be the source of all the peace and happi- 
 ness which ever elevated man's nature and enlivened man's 
 earthly path, containing within its bosom light and loveliness, 
 which neither nian, nor fiend, hor time, 'ftor' eternity can ever 
 put out. She was the keeper of the' pandects of eternity. Many 
 were the graces of love and charity which distinguished her 
 from all other conventions. The light of knowledge glowed 
 upon her brow, and, associating with her divine pretensions, 
 secured for her real grandeur and powen She was tonservator 
 of the arts and sciences, of vast knowledge, and all those ele- 
 gant attainments which should regulate and refine society. It 
 was in the twelfth century the Church assumed new character- 
 istics, by the influence of the Pope, who induced the first Henry 
 to admit his Legate into England. 
 
 Yet even in the early part of the first Plantagenet's reign, the, 
 Church (notwithstanding its incomparable acumen) had scarcely 
 ascertained the nature of its powers, or the most effective mode 
 of using them. Its thirst for self-aggrandizement did not bhnd 
 its acute eye, which perceived that there revolved in the spirit 
 of the English monarch many sublime principles, which were 
 not easily bent to subjection. Quickly indeed was England^ 
 with its monarch and all its glorious and ingenuous properties, 
 weighed in the balances of the Vatican ; but the whole Papal 
 council could not immediately determine whether the king ot 
 England was better suited for an ally or a victim of the hierarchy.' 
 Many were the vacillations and hesitations of the Church, in 
 which it may be compared to a young vulture, who could just 
 espy her prey flickering below the craggy height, where mis- 
 fortune or circumstance had cast it ; but who dared not pounce 
 upon it with that eagerness her carnivorous nature dictated, lest, 
 her half-fledged wing should fail, or her intended victim over- 
 match her strength. 
 
 In the twelfth century the power of the Church was by' no 
 means comprehended. The sovereigns of Europe, and England 
 in particular, suddenly saw a monstrous thing stalking forth upon 
 the earth, with the mien and comeliness of an angel ; but they 
 knew not that its designs were subversive of the power and 
 happiness of man. Its ends and purposes were impervious to. 
 the common ken, but its aim was power unprecedented. It 
 
Introduction. ix 
 
 sought to be regarded as the Deity ruling on earth. For a time, 
 kings and princes and warlike men fell back ; and like frighted 
 steeds, _ with distended nostrils and ears erect, snorting and 
 champing, yet lookuig intently on some strange object, they 
 paused to gaze at what they could not understand. For awhile 
 their eyes were riveted upon it ; yet they soon returned to their 
 respective vocations, for they felt incompetent to contend with 
 a being that they thought belonged to the powers of heaven or 
 hell. In other words, a new principle had come to herd with 
 the corruptions of the earth. Its nature was too subUme and 
 active to rank under any common vassalage ; indeed, the monarchs 
 of the earth already displayed both jealousy and deference, for 
 they believed it had within its grasp some vast treasury and 
 mystic panoply, which was as unfathomable as it was august, 
 and sufficient to render it either a valuable ally or a dangerous 
 enemy. The lusts of time and power were soon detected as an 
 eminent part of its nature. 
 
 The ways and doings of the Church rendered the chief 
 government debilitated and timid, and the constitution seemed 
 tottering. It was at this crisis that Providence raised up the 
 noble and generous monarch Henry II., who required not the 
 authority of ancestral rights nor the aid of long-settled insti- 
 tutions ; for his genius was so elevated and independent, that 
 its action aggrandized its owner to- the highest degree of magnifi- 
 cence and dignity. In its career there was a glory about it so 
 conspicuous and transcendent, that whilst the noble and great 
 felt it honourable to be allied to it, the vicious shrank before its 
 development. His predecessors had been satisfied with the title 
 of king, and gratified with their limited territories in France, and 
 were content to be " lord of lords ;" but he had determined to 
 hold England in one hand and France in the other, and plant 
 his standard in lands almost unknown to his predecessors, and 
 (if we may be allowed the expression) bearing the inscription, 
 " King of kings." He was the sun and shield of all. Yes ; he 
 was the soul of his people ; and through him every hope, every 
 wish, and every fear passed ere it could have practical character. 
 His public conduct secured for him the highest dignity of 
 monarchy, viz.. Chief Conservator of Public Peace. He seemed 
 endued with the vital organs just adapted to the imperial and 
 massive genius of monarchy. 
 
 As king, warrior, and statesman, Henry II. had no equal ; he 
 was far above and beyond the day in which he lived. Even 
 his private character was the display of superiority which a re- 
 fined and elegant mind was ever striving to hide — it was 
 
 b 
 
X Introduction. 
 
 seductive and interesting. Such was the dignity of the prince 
 whose resistance of priestly presumption awakened in some 
 degree the glorious Reformation, but whose spirit, because am- 
 bitious, earthy, and glory -seeking, was ultimately overwhelmed 
 by the intrigues of the Vatican. There is no scandal in say- 
 ing there ever was an inherent enmity in Popery towards civil 
 monarchy, and that it has been the policy of the Popes -to 
 endeavour to hide this predisposition from the observation of 
 the monarchs of Europe, except when the Papal power became 
 irresistible. This demand of supremacy, this hostility to civil 
 monarchs, is not a mere incident, but belongs to the very exist- 
 ence and nature of Roman Catholicism, and to every dynasty 
 which pretends to a supremacy over the conscience and soul of 
 man. 
 
 The appointment of A Becket to the see of Canterbury in- 
 creased the presumption of the Church. Indeed, it gave birth 
 to a sudden, protracted, and irritating animosity between the 
 Church and the King of England. In this A Becket took the 
 foremost part. 
 
 In Henry's reign Romanism affected but a formalism ; yet it 
 soon claimed to be the dictator, not only in religious matters, 
 but in many important civil matters, and, like all usurpers, be- 
 came bold and cruel in effecting every end its pride desired. 
 Its great assumption was that of a complete vicegerency of 
 Heaven to rule the acts and rights of all men — to govern all 
 thought, morals, opinions, and conscience. It was under the 
 protection of such unbounded power that it oft perpetrated with 
 impunity, perjury, murder, incest, blasphemy, and crimes of the 
 worst description. 
 
 Such was the dark state of the world, that all conventions, 
 more or less, were suppliantly bowing before the ecclesiastical 
 dynasty ; and the mass oft-times threw themselves, in the most 
 humiliating form, before this Juggernaut of Paganism. To resist 
 this leviathan, or check its progress, even for a time, became the 
 task or privilege of a mind which could see beyond and out of 
 the darkness around. It was not only necessary to awaken, but 
 to guide a sufficient means for the end, and to divert, if possible, 
 all the vast and valuable capacities of the Church to their proper 
 vocation. For this it required all the reason of a superior mind, 
 with unprecedented physical powers; but even these would ever 
 have been insufficient for the great engagement, unless they had 
 been upheld by the highest degree of station and authority, and 
 free, in a great measure, from that passion and weakness which 
 too generally mingle in man. It required a being, or rather a 
 
Introduction. xi 
 
 spirit, which could set up a standard of ethics and moral right, 
 with an fndividual independence unaffected by the dark de- 
 lusions around. It required a passionate and barbarian love 
 for liberty, united to a civilized genius and acumen. The true 
 sentiment of human spontaneity in its most vigorous and un- 
 restricted development, the love of nature and of man, the de- 
 fiance of archives and pandects, and all which had been and 
 might be. - It required that noble sensitiveness, yet headstrong 
 resolution, which seems truly derivative from high moral nature. 
 It is rather difficult for us, in regulated society, to comprehend 
 the vastness and magnificence of the spirit which must have 
 urged the first Plantagenet in many of his extraordinary feats. 
 Such men have been, and have stepped this earthly arena for 
 awhile; but the rapid advance of civilization seems to have 
 destroyed the chief features of their grand development. 
 
 This great prince sought to establish moral influence, and the 
 moderate separation of temporal and spiritual power ; for, in 
 their confusion, he saw the many vicious principles which have 
 ever had so baneful an effect on the progress of civilization. 
 This great task required a resolution, which neither the threats 
 of the mighty could shake, nor the indifference of the superior 
 class, nor the torpor of the unnumbered multitude, could distract 
 from its great vocation. For it was a war of years, pointed 
 against the prejudices of a mighty clags which no man could 
 number — against the partialities of nations of warriors and philo^ 
 sophers, and against the alliances and affections of many of the 
 kings and potentates of the earth. The treasures of the world, 
 the might of physical action, the patronage of honours and 
 riches — the gifts of the present, and the promises and hopes of 
 the future world- — were in possession of the great enemy that 
 was now to be attacked. This enemy had held a fortress im- 
 pregnable for generations, whose towers once touched heaven, 
 and whose foundations were now blanched with the bones of 
 thousands who had presumed to doubt its perfection, or to 
 attempt to reduce its arrogance. But it now perceived that one 
 of the champions of the human family, yet in his youth, in man- 
 hood's gallant hour, for awhile with less earthly weakness, had 
 thrown off the shackles which the human interpreters ■ of the 
 Divine will had attempted to cast upon him, and was not afraid 
 to measure lances with the leaders of the ecclesiastical govern- 
 ment. 
 
 It was then that the defensive life and faculty which reigned 
 within their mystic arcana were first tried and contended with. 
 There was then a sudden exercise of all that was splendid, mighty, 
 
xii Introduction. 
 
 and cruel. It was then that the degree of criminality and un- 
 faithfulness to which the tyranny of the Papacy could dare to 
 extend itself, was added to the miscellaneous band of its powers. 
 It was then that the meanest of the monastic order was invited 
 to cast all his tiny share of cloistered cunning and pelf into the 
 gathering tide of the common cause ; which, fed by ten thousand 
 tributary streams, did, by the vastness of its aggregate, astonish 
 both friend and antagonist. It was then that the coffers of the 
 Church, which had been filling during a long period of darkness, 
 were opened and emptied forth, with a haste and zeal that 
 afforded but little opportunity of distinguishing the tribute of 
 blood from the gold which common intimidation and promises 
 had ground from generations, in other lands, long since hidden 
 in their graves. It was then that the less differences between 
 the superior and inferior ecclesiastics were willingly laid aside, 
 and for awhile forgotten ; whilst every energy was put forth 
 against the spirit which threatened to expose the human nature 
 and imperfection of that convention, which had been so long 
 revered as altogether divine and immaculate. Yes ! it was then 
 that national councils, provincial councils, general councils, with 
 their perpetual correspondence and publication of letters and of 
 admonitions, carefully exercised their functions to one common 
 end. Not for the search of any great truth was the intellectual 
 life which resided in th^ bosom of this government then used, 
 but for the preservation of principles vicious and destructive ! 
 For it was then that the Church discovered that there still 
 resided within the temporal power that brute physical force (the 
 only resuscitating means), which, if guided by a just and noble 
 arm, would realize a government, superior and more worthy of 
 love than the ecclesiastical system was willing to provide. The 
 Papacy had for some time felt, that as lon^ as the temporal ruler 
 was satisfied to receive a part of the plunder which its various 
 agents had from time to time torn from the people, without in- 
 vestigating the degree and nature of the violence employed, 
 there was still hope that the temporal power might be kept in 
 subjection, and regarded as the inferior power. It was when 
 the civil government suddenly hesitated to lend to the Church 
 its physical powers of punishment, and claimed for itself an 
 individuality of character and action, that the ecclesiastical 
 monarchy proved that its own mystic machinery (however secret, 
 demoniac, and cruel), which gleamed through interstices of the 
 hierarchical fabric, was insufficient alone to keep at bay that 
 spirit which had been provoked to wrestle in the gloom of moral 
 darkness. For this spirit feared, that while the Church was 
 
Introdtcctioft. xiii 
 
 recklessly tearing off the remaining features of that moral beauty 
 and independence which its Maker had mantled it with, an arm 
 was raised to destroy all the good order and public tranquillity 
 of all the regular jurisdiction of the laws and of the king's 
 sovereignty itself, and, by sure consequence, of the whole state. 
 
 The martial character of Henry did not destroy his love of 
 society. He married the accomplished Eleonora when she had 
 just attained her thirty-first year, whilst he was in his twenty-first 
 year ; but this contract did not stay or interrupt the develop- 
 ment of his leading dispositions. At an early period of the 
 career of Henry II., ambition taught him to regard all danger 
 and fatigues as the flowers which were indigenous in the path 
 to glory and dominion, in which he must make many sacrifices. 
 
 But a few days after his marriage with the fascinating Eleo- 
 nora, he left her insinuating loveliness to seek the face of his 
 enemies. It might be said of him that, when he knew he 
 required sleep, he only took that rest which restored his body 
 to its perfect powers ; but he never slumbered or folded his 
 arms. Everything that sustained the comfort of his people 
 or the honour of royalty was now under his own eye ; indeed, 
 the good order of cities, the improvement of agriculture, manu- 
 factures, and trade, occupied a just portion of the mind of this 
 mighty and chivalrous being. He was a king; he claimed 
 not to be a delegate of Heaven, or heir to all earthly sove- 
 reignty; but he bowed to listen to the sighs and wishes of a 
 misgoverned and noble people ; and thus, by duly respecting 
 their comforts and his own dignity, he formed the model of a 
 monarchy' which was destined to generate principles that have 
 formed a part of the' present peace and happiness of England. 
 
 That he might be temperate and energetic at all times, he 
 knew that he must keep his body under, and ofttimes exer- 
 cised a self-denial both in eating and drinking, which astonished 
 his courtiers. In his dress he regarded all ornament as an incum- 
 brance and an effeminate association, which might iu the hour 
 of strife or danger become a hindrance. This is too often dis- 
 regarded from its minuteness or fascination, but has in some 
 signal instances given that httle balance of advantage to an 
 antagonist, which has turned, in the person of the leader, the 
 scale of fortune against nations long revered for their municipal 
 wisdom and warlike power. Yet it must not be assumed that 
 he was ignorant or regardless how much the mass, the herding 
 multitude, are affected by splendid equipage and gorgeous dis- 
 play; but he ruled them by superior and more majestic powers. 
 He was not unaware that the soft eye of woman delighted to 
 
xiv Introduction. 
 
 bend over brilliant dress and elegant ornament ; but his manly 
 and dignified person, his expressive and serene eyes, soon pro- 
 cured a preference in woman's heart, for one whose knightly for- 
 tune and warlike successes had become as the living romance 
 of those romantic times. 
 
 The history of his gallantries seems rather impervious and 
 indistinct, and some historians have said they throw a shadow 
 on his character, and that the love of woman produced many 
 enemies and detracting factions. Although the softer passions, 
 such as love, may give fervour and energy to many of the act- 
 ions of life, and without them our nature seems gloomy and 
 uninteresting ; yet this great king most frequently governed 
 them as servitors, to bow under the dark and lofty banner 
 of ambition. He well knew that to become the too docile 
 subject of sensual appetites was to disturb the great attributes 
 of the mind from, their inherent action, and to destroy the 
 powers of that body which should be a companion to the spirit 
 in all its earthly exaltations. Therefore neither Rosamond the 
 Fair, nor the handsome Stafford maiden, nor all that is lovely 
 in woman or flattering in man, seemed likely to seduce the 
 mind of Henry from the great vocation of ambition and the 
 leading objects of his life. 
 
 In tracing, however slightly, this energetic being, Henry II., 
 from the buoyant age of eighteen, and through the various 
 vicissitudes and deep anxieties which ever attended his path, 
 we shall observe that most of such trials and struggles seemed 
 rather to develop the powers and resources of his mind, than 
 to crush or overwhelm him : some were light as playful bubbles, 
 bursting on the face of the current ; some as billows soon joined 
 the general stream. But there was one as a wild tide, producing 
 angry eddies and dinning whirlpools, which have ever and anon 
 threatened to dash the noble swimmer to the depths of ruin. 
 Or, if we may presume to alter the simile, Henry It. and his 
 Primate (an ecclesiastic of vast talent, learning, and martial 
 courage) were as two mighty tides, seen by the timid traveller 
 in the trackless seas, contending with each other, so that their 
 chief powers were spent in breaking each other's form and 
 comeliness. It is difficult to conceive what would have been 
 the result of Henry's reign, if A Becket had never been en- 
 trusted with the see of Canterbury ; but it is very probable that 
 some most useful and important reforms were prevented by this 
 circumstance. 
 
 The king's successes in war were most remarkable, and much 
 aided his imperial position ; indeed, he became the subject of 
 
Introduction. xv 
 
 universal love and admiration. The strategy of Rome, united to, 
 the conspiracy of his Queen and sons, led to that great change 
 which attend on all human fortune. 
 
 Henry II. as a conqueror, surrounded by the brave and triumph- 
 ant, was a dazzling spectacle ; but when the storm of life set in, 
 and with pelting violence followed him everywhere, his hardy 
 frame at last yielded and sank. The shock must have been 
 tremendous to a spirit wholly unschooled to humiliation. Alas ! 
 what can describe the intense agony that quivered through the 
 mortal frame tenanted by this undaunted spirit, when the dream 
 of his invincibleness was broken, and the tide of his victories 
 rolled back, with the shock of his destruction echoing through 
 all Europe ! That immeasurable weight of horror, which then 
 entered this spirit, could find no place on earth to bear it up ; 
 but heaving headlong in his mortal parts, urged them down even 
 to the relentless grave. A violent fever attacking him on the 
 6th day of July, 1189, at the city of Chinon, he caused himself 
 to be carried into the church, before the altar, supported by the 
 arms of Geoffery, the youngest son of Rosamond ; where, heav- 
 ing several heavy sighs, and throwing his head on the bosom of 
 Geoffery, he gave up the ghost. His reign was amongst the 
 longest of England's princes, viz., thirty-four years, eight months, 
 and twelve days. Stebbing, in his " Kings of England," says, 
 Henry's burial was thus : — " Clothede in royal robes, crown on 
 his head, white gloves on his hands, boots of gold upon his legs, 
 gilt spurs on his heels, a great rich ring upon his finger, his sceptre 
 in his hand, his sword by his side, and his face all bare and un- 
 covered." 
 
 But hark ! we hear the shouts of war ; the neighing of fiery 
 chargers ; and the blood-stained garment floats on the breeze. 
 The mountains hear the voice of woe. Cries are heard in the 
 valleys, and the mighty rivers are swollen with blood. Beside 
 the limpid water, and by the golden sand. Christian and Moor 
 lie blanching in the wind. But see ! there comes one mightier 
 than the rest, with hues as varied as the bow of heaven. As 
 some tall pine, he tops the myriads round; his sable plumes 
 wave like terrific clouds; his vest is smeared with gore; his 
 clanking mail resounds as the troubled waters of Acheron. 
 'Tween heaven and earth, like a dark fiend, he comes ; his eyes 
 flash with fire and rage ; midst groves of spears he cleaves his 
 fearful way, fierce as an angry boar. His charger is as the charger 
 of Death ; she paws the yielding air, and tramples on the slain, 
 the brave, the gory, tired brave (where ptained and broken 
 
xvi Introduction. 
 
 armour, and foaming steeds and dying men, in one vast ruin lie). 
 His lance is like some weaver's beam ; his ponderous axe smokes 
 with bright blood ; it seems as though the Judgment Day were 
 come, and yet he smiles and rallies thousands to his floating 
 banner. He smiles, as if in summer sport, to see the thousands 
 entering the first morn of the eternal world ; they are his fellows, 
 the equals of this king. He joys with Death — gaunt Death — to 
 see the share he takes ; and Death taunts and grins again. A shrill 
 and piercing cry comes o'er the blasted heath, and all is still. 
 The herald's vaunting trumpet sounds — "Richard, the warrior 
 king, the prince of chivalry, Richard, Coeur de Lion, knight of 
 the Holy Wars ! » 
 
 And now another king appears. 
 
 The moral purpose of this elevated personage is to watch the 
 development and action of society with a pure zeal and unceas- 
 ing superintendence, so as to secure by majestic authority the 
 greatest possible degree of happiness to that part of the human 
 family who obey his nod and maintain the grandeur and circum- 
 stance of the daily revelation of his office. This is the purpose 
 of England's Queen, Victoria. The life of the sons, especially 
 the heir apparent, of our Queen, promises to keep that universal 
 love which they have already obtained. 
 
 Englishmen love their Queen and all her family, in which 
 love the author heartily joins. 
 
THE KIN G. 
 
 (THE FIRST PLANTAGENET.) 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene i. 
 
 The King alone, walks to and fro hurriedly. 
 
 King. Alone ! now free from varied insolence 
 And fashioned flattery of crafty priests ; 
 And yet my spirit jousts 'midst reveries, 
 Parries with shades and wan uncertainties, 
 Which waste this poor mortality. 
 But I will rend aside the trembling veil, 
 And summon to the footstool of my soul 
 My traitorous kin, and some too near my throne. 
 Come forth, my enemies ! — Roger of York, 
 Bertrand de Born, Viscount de Hautefort, 
 Bold Strongbow, Pembroke, and wild Salisbury; 
 My ingrate sons, and my fanatic Queen ; 
 That hardy fool, the restless heir of France ; 
 Thou haughty saint, the Primate of my land, 
 The leader of this bold perfidious band. 
 
 \Pauses. 
 
 Perhaps sweet sleep may lull my weary brain. 
 
 \Here King pauses, lies on couch, soon starts up. 
 The air seems panting with inanity. 
 Save sounds now buzzing round like merry bees 
 
2 The King. 
 
 Returning from an unctuous festival, 
 Or some wild troop of gnats, at evening's tide. 
 Involved in orgies and in mystic dance. 
 With frantic chaunt, or dull weird monody. 
 
 \Pauses. 
 
 Perhaps the voices are to rouse e'en me. 
 
 And bear some messages from far-off worlds. 
 
 Ye mimic beings, whisper lowHIy, 
 
 Say what shall sad to-morrow bear for me ? 
 
 Shall I be spirit then, or be a king ? 
 
 A king ! that phantom thing ! struggling awhile 
 
 To worst black Death, and hug a crown of 
 
 thorns ! 
 A maniac's joy ! Alas ! I wish 't were o'er. 
 And I could sleep to wake no more. 
 But sleep deserts me now, hath joined my foes, 
 Or fears my soul is feigning weariness, 
 And that my dreams may murder sleep, 
 And tear it into dozing lassitude. 
 Or 'whelm it in some boiling cataract. 
 Or waft it up some craggy height ; 
 Then urge it to the bottom of the sea, 
 To watch the sullen monsters roaming there. 
 Thus drive it mad 'midst strange discordancy, 
 Writhing with wild and hateful fantasies^ 
 All incubate with turbid misery. 
 Ye spirits, provident in all. Oh ! list. 
 And kindly yield these trembling lids some rest. 
 Yea, yea, until the great archangel shouts. 
 And the loud seraphim resounds the cry, 
 "Awake from mazy earthliness. Awake ! awake !" 
 
 \Pauses. 
 O Sleep ! thou lord of dark forgetfulness ! 
 Unloose thy golden gates — a king now pleads — 
 (A warrior weary of blood-guiltiness) — • 
 
The King. 3 
 
 In soft petition as a gentle maid, 
 And promises no wantonness or slotTi. 
 Bowed down, I seek a grave in thy domains, 
 And there in confidence forget my foes, 
 Whilst ceaseless storms of ill roll on their way. 
 The everlasting sleep must end my woes ; 
 Then revelations grand will be declared — 
 Eternal life unravelled as a scroll. 
 And immortality will wear its robes 
 Of righteousness. In that palatial home 
 I will forget the wrongs of earthliness, 
 And thus be conqueror in heaven and earth. 
 Transporting thought ! to tread upon this dust 
 And all the ruins of exulting Time, 
 And share the wonders of Omnipotence ! 
 
 {After this soliloquy the King lies on couch, and 
 sleeps. The Archbishop enters unheard, 
 stands looking on the King. 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 A Becket. The tiger tired — hard hunted by 
 the dogs. 
 Now driven to his lair — his sleep is deep. 
 And all the turbulence of time stands by : 
 His great resolves are waiting his command, 
 To manifest their fearless lord's behests. 
 Well, well — ^all well — a fitful dream — then death— 
 A sure release e'en to Ambition's child. 
 'T is well 't is so ordained by gracious Heaven. 
 If so, then why not now ? Ah, no ! not yet. 
 
 \Listening. 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear some step — who 's there with- 
 out? 
 
The Kinz- 
 
 'i>' 
 
 No! no! 'twas but the morning breeze hied by, 
 Or frighted doe, shivering with night's cold dew, 
 Embrangled in the arms of the stout oak, 
 Whilst rushing through the woods to welcome 
 
 morn, 
 Encompassed, like me, for present time. 
 Now Fear, thou myth, thou wanton, stand aside. 
 And take thy place with cowardice and sin. 
 'T was only Nature's lonely sigh ! Conscience, be 
 
 still ! 
 Awhile relenting here, shining blade — not now. 
 'Tis true 'twould haste to heavenly rest ; but, but- — 
 
 \Pauses. 
 I was thy friend — and thou dost call me friend ; 
 But rocks and sands have riven our fair course. 
 Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy resolves, 
 I should have ever loved proud majesty ; 
 But pale expediency has led thee, king, 
 So looking on the surface of men's eyes — 
 And listen to the music of their tongues. 
 Until thyself hath meekly mocked thyself. 
 And left thee abject to their ends. 
 And now thy simulations are too late. 
 Thy strife for power, its shadow thou shalt have : 
 Its substance is in this pale palm intact. 
 
 \Pauses, and looks on dagger. 
 This would suffice and reconcile us well. 
 But stay ! another time — ^by other hands, 
 In tournament, or mazy dance, or broils. 
 Or e'en warm spice is sedative. 
 No, I '11 not kill thee, king ! Sleep soundly 
 
 now. 
 And may wild antics in thy brain rebel 
 And ravage through the channels of thy life. 
 Until o'erwrought, madness set up a throne. 
 
The Kinp 
 
 tS ■ 
 
 And jangles with ferocious gibes and whines, 
 Whilst midnight miseries confront thy soul. 
 Yet thou shalt have a wakeless sleep — more deep. 
 The Ides of March will soon come wheezing 
 
 here ; 
 Meanwhile, thy sins will ravel up. Sleep on. 
 Besotted with thy dreamy banqueting, 
 Or rollicking in vacancy. Beware ! 
 Oh, rnystery ! I see gay beams of smiles await 
 On that too' living face, my enemy's, 
 And jojraunce rushes forth as ardent youth. 
 Or romping kid on Ida's lofty peak. 
 As though thy life were guiltless as a babe's. 
 But greedy fiends shall vault from worlds of fire, 
 Disporting round thy brow in ribbed delves. 
 And stay thy prurient breath, thou heretic ! 
 See ! see ! He frowns ! — he menaces ! — he wakes ! 
 
 [The 'KiTUG gradually awakes. 
 King. What ! kill by stealth ! what ! tilt for royal 
 blood 
 E'en on my couch! Great Heaven! 'tis morn! 
 
 I 'm free — 
 Free from the frowning spirits I have seen : 
 This feverish night has wearied me, o'erwhelmed. 
 E'en proud futurity disclosed strange secrecies : 
 The long-since dead filed slowly in my path, 
 The clanking bones of the first Conqueror 
 Stalked forth — he seemed to pass contemptuously, 
 Dumb, pale, with languid gait: — proud ghost ! 
 I thought I was in France, near blood's affrays, ■ 
 Scuffling 'midst arms and reckless violence : 
 Vain Richard's heavy axe waved o'er my brovi^; 
 But in another dream fair forms a,ppeared ; 
 I saw the gates of heaven so gently oped, 
 And soon a group of fays descending thence, 
 
6 The King. 
 
 Singing soft songs of their eternal life. 
 
 Ah, me ! how sweet is peace e'en in a dream ! 
 
 Enter Officer. 
 Officer. Myliege,thehourappointed hasarrived 
 And the battalions now are marching near. 
 
 King. The lustrous sun now blushes for a king, 
 And chanticleer struts forth to sound my shame. 
 Awake, dull soul ! renew thy toil of blood ! 
 
 [Soldiers appear. Drums heard. King starts. 
 Another time. Let drum and fifes now cease. 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 Walter Mapes. The warrior Saul asked Music's 
 
 noble voice. 
 King (excited). But Saul's were wars with the 
 
 Almighty One. 
 I have not tempered ears for dainty strains, 
 Nor simpering notes of soothing lullaby, 
 Which stay the motion of the angry will ; 
 But I would list the raging breath of storms. 
 In concord with that drear and ruffled state 
 In which that priest would bait kind royalty. 
 Oh, for a muse of fiery elements ! 
 To fright the caitiff and false hierarchies 
 Into that dark abyss they contemplate 
 As resting-place for me and all I love. 
 Stay, drum and fife, now mocking my resolves. 
 
 The Queen, Duchess de Bretagne, and Courtiers enter. 
 King. There comes the queen — the Duchess de 
 
 Bretagne comes too : 
 Queen. Stirring by times, beloved majesty. 
 
The King. y 
 
 King. These times are stirring, too, for majesty. 
 
 [^Looking towards the Duchess. 
 All hail to thy sweet voluntary here ! 
 The duke is well — those eyes dispel all fear. 
 Duchess. 'T is well with priests, 't is ill with 
 royalty : 
 Take heed the springes of rebellion near 
 The prince ! and priests are fashioning thy bier. 
 Look now ! — see ! see ! thine enemies are there. 
 
 [Hef eyes glisten with teai-s. 
 King. Oh, weep not here ! lest those warm tears 
 of faith 
 Should melt repute, and leave me here suspect. 
 Duchess. Kind love 't is weeps for kinder 
 royalty. 
 And breeds deep anguish in my mourning soul. 
 I now will tell thee what my demon* warns : 
 ^' The brave oft meets what oft the brave oft scorns." 
 
 \Gtves letter. 
 Good king, read quick ; there 's travail for thy 
 
 strife, 
 Lest dark conspiracy shall seize thy life. 
 
 King. Fear nought ! Plantagenet defies the 
 
 world. 
 Duchess. My liege, in the grey morn I saw 
 the priest 
 Under the casement of her majesty 
 Counting his beads thus hurriedly — then stopped : 
 Such dreadful frowns stood on his angry brow, 
 Like crests of ocean's waves in turbulence ; 
 And once he started as though death had come, 
 And witches whispered some dire ministry, — 
 Walked on, stamped vehemently, looked around : 
 
 * See Note at end. 
 
8 The King. 
 
 He seemed to balance to and fro some thought. 
 
 O king, I do conjure thee, king, — beware ! 
 
 A woman's eye, untainted by this world, 
 
 Is 'luminated by the stars of heaven, 
 
 And they are fed by angels' hands. Beware ! 
 
 King. 'T is angry ill ; yet from that silver voice 
 It seems not ill companioned in that light 
 Which on that brow enthroned entrances mc. 
 Accept this ring for love's fidelity. 
 
 Duchess. We now outstand good time. Beware 
 for aye ! 
 Spices are well in wine — not well for thee ; 
 They give strange rheums to noble majesty, 
 Which often lead to deathly casualty. 
 Farewell to sovereign ears— dull walls can see, 
 The queen's soft step moves on so stealthily. 
 
 King. Farewell ! Kind angel, fare thee well 
 awhile ! {Turning to Mapes. 
 
 Now, wise and learned priest, cease praying here, 
 And sin elsewhere, as priests so well know how. 
 
 Mapes {leaving). My liege's will commands me 
 hence. 
 
 King. Ah! ah f 
 
 The flood of holy thought must halt awhile, 
 E'en as the dead do rest in purgatory. 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Peter of Blois comes in.' King holds tip letter, much excited. 
 
 King. I am deceived ; the wolf has left his lair ; 
 Now, soul, sail fast on this wild hurricane, 
 Laden with fire. Stand back. Mortality, 
 And let this spirit bathe in crimson tides, 
 Where traitors' blood in many an alcove hides. 
 
The King. g 
 
 How little did the First Henry, opine 
 
 What ills would come with legates sent from 
 
 Rome!* 
 These bloody wars are bred by Rome's intrigues ; 
 Its dastard craft o'erweaving all our state. 
 This burning blade may cut its way too late : 
 All ease and mirthful hours must now break up. 
 Awake ! awake ! — the Primate plays me false : 
 My crown is envied by the Vatican, 
 Awake, dull soul ! and gird thine armour on ; 
 Thy rest is o'er, the war is now begun. 
 But woe to all who dream that I can sleep 
 Whilst wolves and glistening snakes range o'er this 
 
 land. 
 Now majesty stalks forth, defying fate. 
 
 Peter OF Blois. Could noble majesty confide — 
 
 once more ? 
 Oh, stay ! and explicate what haste might hide. 
 
 King. This sword shall explicate all treacheries 
 Now in the bowels of hypocrisy. 
 Stay ! — ask the angry Mameluke to stay ! 
 List to that wild reply o'er burning Araby 
 (Swift as the lion on his prey it comes ; 
 Sure as the thunder follows lightning's torch) : 
 " Stand back ! I seek my country's enemy ! " 
 Now every priest from every land shall learn — 
 Ay, learn, and teach to all, to understand 
 'T is death to disobey the king's command : 
 All shall obey the will of proud England. 
 
 Peter of B. Heaven's arm is ever on the side 
 
 of kings. 
 King. The greatest power is in the hand of God, 
 And far afield from priestly truculence. 
 
 * Henry I. was the sovereign who first permitted legates from 
 Rome. 
 
 2 
 
lo The King. 
 
 Peter of B. But thou hast powers of state 
 await thy will. 
 
 King. Nay, call them forms of power, which oft 
 prove vain — ■ 
 Oft lie about as glittering garniture 
 For holidays and summer parasites. 
 Some power is weighed, and has a price in gold ; 
 And some is used as wages for vile sins : 
 With priests 't is oft a venal prostitute — 
 Makes gibes, sells condiments and counterfeits, 
 Seduces with the serpent's tongue the poor. 
 Hiding its form 'midst absolution's clefts ; 
 And thus supplant the law's resolve. 
 
 Peter of B. Great king ! thy power is infinite 
 on earth, • 
 
 And powers unseen will regulate all else. 
 
 King, Such platitudes are never worth their birth. 
 I know there is a Power bright and free — 
 Its being traces from eternity ; 
 'T is seen in dignity and awful pomp, 
 When the Almighty, from His jasper throne. 
 All glorious moves. Mine ever cumbent lies 
 As vassal ; yet 't is mine own — -all mine— 
 'T is mine, by man and Heaven's appointment — 
 mine ! 
 
 Peter of B. 'T is thine, great king l^incarnate 
 robe ! — all thine ! 
 
 King. This priest would steal it and deform the 
 world. 
 'T is mine, and this it shall be whilst I am — 
 'T is precious in my sight. 
 
 Peter of B. My gracious liege 
 
 Will bear the fickle changes of this world : 
 'Tis Heaven marks out those worthy of such 
 wrongs, 
 
The King. 1 1 
 
 And leaves the worthless to fade slow and die. — • 
 
 Become pestiferous in sultry suns. 
 
 So mark, the rustling children of the wood — 
 
 Under whose shade the fairies dance at eve, 
 
 When gay Apollo sinks in western seas — , 
 
 E'en die, the sport of every gamesome wind. 
 
 Oh, let not royal hands in anger fold, 
 
 Or spread their power to gratify revenge ! 
 
 King. Oft have I heard thee say that every sin 
 May absolution gain ; the sins of kings 
 Are noted nought ; sins of the dazzled eye 
 Effaced ; the tongue's foul eloquence made dumb ; 
 And the polluted porches of the ear 
 Swept out, and, as a temple, purified. 
 
 Peter of B. 'T is true, my liege ; the dew of 
 Heaven falls free. 
 Ah, yes ! into the sacred hands of Rome, 
 Whence every earthly sin may be absolved. 
 
 King. Yet there are sins unnatural and base. 
 Which make my kingdom rank and nauseate. 
 How many murders has De Lucey traced 
 To sundry priests ? The civil arm shall reach 
 These holy murderers ! Now ponder, priest ! 
 Peter of B. I would obey my king. I sorrow 
 
 much. 
 King. Thou know'st the length and breadth of 
 England's lands 
 Are in surveillance to thy brethren. 
 • 'T would seem that neither love, nor gold, nor fame 
 Can make my people free. 'T is strange. Sir Priest ! 
 Oft would I firmly grasp this sullen foe ; 
 But, as a spirit flies, he 'scapes my thrust. 
 He seems to lie in woman's eye as smiles ; 
 In warriors' brows as harsh and haughty power ; 
 In gold, from ingot's bar to tiny coin ; 
 
1 2 The King. 
 
 He hides and waits in glistening scaly form, 
 In dreams, in wars, in gallant tournament. 
 
 Peter of B. My noble king sees shadows 
 flickering. 
 
 King. Ye priests but live with shadows simpering. 
 Floating in air — fearing to touch this earth. 
 
 Peter of B. The Church oft mourns when royal 
 sorrow sighs. 
 
 King. A seeming mourning — oft-successful garb! 
 But penetrable by thy monarch's eye. 
 I 've seen my foe pass by me with disdain. 
 Sometimes he wears the sackcloth of the poor. 
 And oft the chaplet of the brave he wears ; 
 In buzzing crowds of serfs and soldiery, 
 In fairs and hucksters' booths and mummers' troops, 
 This foe creeps in and grins upon my state. 
 My angel tells me in my fitful thoughts, 
 " These are the missions sent from holy Rome" — 
 Bear spice for some, narcotic draughts for some. 
 And storied absolutions perfumed oft ; 
 For some, bright gems — ay, diadems for some ; 
 For some — for me they bear a poignard, priest, 
 To help me on my way to purgat'ry. 
 
 [Peter of Blois leaves. 
 
 Scene 5. 
 
 The King and Walter Mapes return to palace. 
 
 King. Well, happy Gollias, we would be gay ; 
 But these rank priests, thy brethren, all toil 
 To make me sad, and puzzle my sick brain. 
 
 Mapes. Some virtues need much time to be ap- 
 proved. 
 I do confess, some flowers are slow to bloom ; 
 The storms of passion spoil their radiance. 
 
The King. 1 3 
 
 King. Walter, some day, far hence, in majesty 
 We may sit down with all the thousand tribes, 
 And judge these recreant priests ! But now — 
 But now, just now, we must be chill and meek, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene i. 
 King and Sir Richard de Lucey. 
 
 King. Sir Richard, now at highest premium 
 Your mystic art appears. A king's reward 
 To rout — ay, instantly — from forth his web, 
 Bedabbled deep in varied treason's wiles, 
 A bloated monk, now loathsome to my s,ight ! 
 What of our royal summons to this priest — 
 This great example of dark treason's ways ? 
 
 Sir Richard. It is reported he is sick and 
 sad : 
 Some say that Hermitage delays his steps. 
 
 King. But who 's without ? List ! 'T is the priest 
 himself ! 
 I know the gait and rumour of his step. 
 
 [A Becket appears with Retainers. 
 
 A Becket. E'en now my liege's humble servant 
 here, 
 Has dragged these weary limbs, now failing fast. 
 To be revived e'en in the presence air 
 Of royalty, so gracious, comely, just ! 
 
 King. Sir Priest, 't is well ! I wish the vulgar 
 voice 
 
1 4 The King. 
 
 Would tell some tale of honour of ye priests, 
 And that this sinning world, less reprobate, 
 Could see one heavenly ray or honest grace 
 In thine abundant comeliness. 
 
 A Becket. When virtue's lovers so fastidious 
 grow. 
 The eye is querulous, the ear wide opes. 
 And fashions shadows into substances. 
 What need, my liege, to aid a vulgar broil 
 With me ? — with me thy best, thine earliest friend ? 
 This leads to woes immedicably wide — 
 Too wide for puny hands of kings to close ; 
 Whilst vulgar eyes and ears waylay all state. 
 But know, I am the Primate of this land. 
 The only mission of great Heaven's high court ! 
 Protector of the rights, all paramount, 
 Of the eternal world ! Consider this ! 
 
 King. Let prudence with thine eloquence keep 
 pace ! 
 Be frugal of thy words ; for present time 
 Admits no idleness or wandering. 
 True grace is wanting, and a patriot's fear. 
 
 A Becket. Fear me ! I can destroy thy soul, 
 proud king. 
 And plunge this land in solemn interdict. 
 And close the gaping grave of heretics, 
 Defying thee and all thy fuming powers. 
 
 Sir R. My lord, the king commands your pre- 
 sence here 
 To-morrow's morn, John Marshall, knight, to meet. 
 
 King. Yes, yes ! Thine eloquence may stead thee 
 then. 
 
 A Becket. What revolutions are in state ! 
 
 King. In priests. 
 
 With' innuendoes oft and trait'rous hearts ! 
 
The King. 1 5 
 
 Away ! thou ingrate faithless priest ! Go forth 
 And rule thy mythic world, and tyrannize 
 Amidst the herds of sleepy sensual knaves, 
 Whose lewd and murderous ways do plague my 
 
 land ! 
 Take heed, thine eminence is dangerous now : 
 The civil arm will execute its vow ; 
 A cloud is in the heavens will strike thee low ! 
 Thy lust for power is flaming on thy brow. 
 
 A Becket. I leave thee, recreant king— poor 
 heretic 1 
 Thy courage soon shall faint, I swear, I vow !. 
 Thy troubles now will very quickly grow ! 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 A Becket, disguised as a Knight, visits Peter of Blois. 
 
 A Becket. A knight without, from holy Rome, 
 Demands thy fealty. 
 
 Peter of B. Thy mission, knight ? 
 
 A Becket. Peter of Blois, the Church requires 
 thy faith. 
 
 Peter of B. The Church commands my faith, 
 my love, my life ! 
 
 A Becket. 'T is well ! Be true and firm, and 
 steady too. 
 Nor blench at services Rome now commands, 
 To bear the vengeance of the holy Church. 
 Dost hear ? 
 
 Peter of B. I hear ; but all to me is mystery. 
 
 A Becket. Whilst I relate thy work (look not 
 at me) 
 Which holy Rome demands forthwith by thee. 
 It must be soon — not slow — p'r'aps suddenly \ 
 For scruples oft creep warily. Now list : 
 
1 6 The King. 
 
 I bear great honour, gifts, and grants for thee, 
 For which some saints yearn anxiously. 
 
 Peter of B. I am a poor and very humble priest, 
 Seeking but Heaven's great rest and earthly peace; 
 I pray for Heaven's Vicegerent twice a day. 
 And fifty paternosters have I said 
 That holy light may veil the Primate's path. 
 
 A Becket. 'Tis well. The Primate is great 
 Heaven on earth. 
 Be sober. Mark ! I list no canting now. 
 My mantle tells you I 'm a holy knight ; 
 My. purpose is with death and silent tongues. 
 We want no pallid doubts what steel can do, 
 Or pleasant draughts inducted by the true. 
 Thou often art confessor, that I know : 
 The wafer is a boon of dying love 
 From sacred hands, it comes direct from heaven : 
 In that, thou know'st, some spice is often given. — 
 Don't stare at me as though I were the devil ! 
 Nor breathe so hard, as though about to cavil : 
 Not me, the Church requires this good or evil. 
 'T is said the great Plantagenet is sick at heart — ■ 
 (Perhaps gay Rosamond betrays his strength) 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Some say he sinks, and you are complicate. 
 
 Peter of B. I ? I ? He is my sovereign, and 
 
 kind. 
 A Becket. Which makes you stupid, obstinate, 
 and blind. 
 Be kind, and humour all his mortal lust ; 
 But mark — the Church, requires thy fealty first. 
 Peter of B. I 'm in bewilderment. I loye the 
 Church, 
 And every holy feature of its face. 
 O Mary ! angel of my life ! uphold ! 
 
The King. 1 7 
 
 Seraphs and saints, and all possessing souls, 
 Divert this holy knight from this affray ! 
 
 A Becket. Wake up, thou sulky monk ! — thy 
 reverie 
 May cost thee much : 't is prurient artifice. 
 I '11 find thy betters — better for my end. 
 
 Peter of B. Oh, hear my humble vow. I swear 
 to love 
 
 A Becket. Don't trifle with a soldier of the 
 cross. 
 
 Peter of B. Oh ! say what a poor monk can 
 do for Rome. 
 
 A Becket. (aside). He relents ! Why, mix nar- 
 cotics for a wakeful king. 
 And see he swallows portions well within. 
 That nothing dribbles from his wanton lips ; 
 See that he swallows quick, and not in sips ; 
 Sleeps deep and deeper still — and never wakes ! 
 
 Peter of B. (pretending to misunderstand and to turn the 
 conversation). \ hear the king is well, so rumour says. 
 
 A Becket. Rumour 's a fool, and idiots love its 
 ways ! 
 Come, monk, awake, and serve the Church, or die. 
 For seeking royal life thy life must pay. 
 I can be saint or vouch complicity : 
 The king will take my word and fealty. 
 And I can swear to thy hypocrisy. 
 Your body's mine, — the Pope may have thy soul. 
 List, monk, be Christian and philosopher. 
 Man toils in dust and shadowy scenes — in dreams. 
 And oft a deep dense sleep of nothingness. 
 Some are but blots on sweet creation's face.. 
 The race of royalty is sad disgrace. 
 All swathed in clouds of lusts' anxieties : 
 Now help this "gallant king," far off, to heaven. 
 
1 8 The King. 
 
 Peter of B. I know all men must die ; yet, 
 awful thought ! 
 That all must pace the vale of death — alone ! 
 Then sin, unhappy sin, will have no cloak, 
 Or cowl, or knight's gay dress to hide awhile. 
 
 A Becket. Tush ! simple fool, some even yearn 
 to die. 
 Let his bold sprite rise there, for there 'tis wanting. 
 And with thy lips seal idle news withal, 
 And let the world's vile tongue wag on and on : 
 He's worth more sorrow than he now receives ; 
 Besides, he '11 verify what oft he doubts. 
 There 's nothing worthy in mortality ; 
 E'en life 's a toy. Now haste, and let him die ! 
 Smothered in errors oft, — now brave, now weak, 
 Hasten the goal which all that 's noble seek. 
 
 Peter of B. The ills I see now fill my heart 
 with fear. 
 
 A Becket. He who is slave of fear is the wan 
 fool 
 Who fails and follows shadows anywhere : 
 In many a rueful way he stumbles in ; 
 He feigns to be a saint when black in sin. 
 Once more take heed, thou painted hypocrite ! 
 Thou dotard, listen now — confess I 'm right. 
 Reply, if thou art able, instantly ! 
 A curse is on thy couch : if thou shalt die. 
 Accursed thy unprofitable store. 
 Though grasped within thy bony hands so twain ! 
 Thy dream is nearly o'er, thou fool ! \Aside. 
 
 Another tack, and then he 's Rome's sure tool. 
 Thou undone knave ! consider well thy fate ! 
 
 Peter of B. Let spirits' aid, not man, or knight, 
 or priest. 
 Make sorrow for the soul, unholy feat ! 
 
The King. 19 
 
 A Becket. Consider, priest, with thy rare intel- 
 lect : 
 The wave is never weary of the winds, 
 But in bold playfulness leaps haughtily, 
 To join a freedom from the sullen calm, 
 And rides in state upon the hurricane ; 
 Exchanges fervent looks with the bright stars, 
 Companionizes with the lonely moon. 
 And whispers many a melody to night. 
 Whilst they descant on vain mortality ; 
 Thus doth the soul exult in every power. 
 Where, free from gloomy fashion's earthliness, 
 Mind makes its own infinity 
 Complete, as in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 Peter of B. Oh, why discourse to me so learn- 
 edly ? 
 
 A Becket. To free a king from sad delirium 
 And slow decay of earth — humiliating-^ 
 With miserable chills — unconsciousness — 
 And all the hue and cry of gasping death ! 
 To raise him to the eternal lights at once, 
 Where he may bask for never-ending years — 
 Visions on visions waiting on his soul — 
 Inducting to sublimity and peace. 
 
 Peter of B. If I can serve the king I will. 
 
 A Becket. - Tush ! tush ! 
 
 Well ! well ! make haste to help a king to heaven — 
 A mortal king, with many mortal toila — 
 Distracted worm ! so pale, insensate, too. 
 As e'en the chilly marble of some god. 
 His presence in this world is not required. 
 His absence by the Church is much desired ; 
 His body yet remains, his spirit gone. 
 Come, priest, thou know'st the ins and outs of life ; 
 And matter hath so many qualities : 
 
20 ■ The King. 
 
 Part lives too long, and wants a friendly hand : 
 
 Here is thy warrant, opportunity, and all : 
 
 Thy chill effeminacy will serve no cause. 
 
 Take him to Mother Valley's pious hall, 
 
 And, if thou hast the courage of a fly, 
 
 Don't lose the golden opportunity. 
 
 Peter or B. Indeed I am an infirm instrument, 
 
 I am. 
 A Becket. Then urge some drunken monk to 
 some affray. 
 
 And charge he killed the king, and hie away ; 
 
 Or if in cups the king drinks greedily, 
 
 Then use thy wits and spices easily. 
 
 And charge it all to Val's iniquity. 
 
 Peter of B. 1 know no exercise in such sad 
 
 broils. 
 A Becket. Be boisterous — ay, and e'en indig- 
 nant, monk ; 
 
 Be sober in thyself; if need be, drunk. 
 
 I leave thee now — ■&. fortune in thy palm. 
 
 Whate'er thou dost, strike home : be steady, firm. 
 
 I 'm off till midnight ; then I '11 seek thee, monk, 
 
 To tell me if, in cups or else, he sunk. 
 
 But if thou fail'st, thou mimic murderer, 
 
 Thine hours are few, and I 'm no flatterer. 
 
 \Leaves, saying, 
 This monk is over-honest and a fool ; 
 I '11 find a substitute in Father Gull. 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 Peter of Blois alone. 
 
 Peter of B. Oh, sad necessity] I kill ? Never ! 
 never ! 
 Oh, sad the will that wills my soul to sin, 
 
The King. 2 1 
 
 And fall a victim as a regicide. 
 
 Can I forget this scene ? — perhaps a dream. 
 
 I '11 hasten to my sovereign this eve, 
 
 Then visit Mother Val's in deep disguise, 
 
 For some scenes there may ward off sad surprise; 
 
 Perhaps the holy knight may go himself, 
 
 To meet some substitute — some murderer. 
 
 I feel my spirit fail ; thought over thought 
 
 Now curdles in quaint mass my trembling blood. 
 
 That death is a necessity, I know : 
 
 To goad that awful minister of Heaven 
 
 Is not for knights, or priests, or any man. 
 
 I 'm not afraid of death — so oft a friend 
 
 In dreadful throes of wan mortality. 
 
 Death will and must bow this poor being down. 
 
 As dew the grass ; then comes another life. 
 
 Where pastures green and Rose of Sharon blooms ; 
 
 And then, the wondrous Majesty unseen, 
 
 Shall wipe away the varied tears of time. 
 
 A Becket, disguised, returns suddenly. 
 
 A Becket. Now, if thou art a man, be ready 
 now. 
 Dost thou love woman, monk, with frail desires ? 
 I know a treasured nun not quite a saint. 
 With quaint deliciousness no eye hath seen — 
 A wondrous feast for long oft-waiting love. 
 She is the model of the beauteous Eve, 
 With fragrance of the timid jessamine. 
 That sweet perfection of a tender form. 
 And all the revelations tending there. 
 With queenly soul engraved o'er all her mien : 
 She is the mistress of the wanton king. 
 Now, wouldst thou give a truce to speciousness. 
 Ay, in the face of very loveliness 
 
2 2 The King. 
 
 Exceeding all our wild conceit — ay, more — 
 I '11 lend thee armour stern and bright 
 To aid thy venture — ay, this very night. 
 Betray that nun — that 's saying " if thou canst ;" 
 But if thou fail'st, yet say that thou hast won. 
 And from her quietude export some test^ — ■ 
 A handkerchief, or any under- vest ; 
 Then on the wings of winds inform the king — 
 Make money, man, and misery of this thing. 
 
 Peter of B. (aside). This knight is cold blood 
 guiltiness itself: 
 He would seduce the angels up on high. 
 
 A Becket. Thou frozen, pale, cold knave, be 
 warned — take heed ! 
 Or feel the ways of vengeance and their speed. 
 
 Peter of B. All seems confusion, giddiness, and 
 dark. 
 
 A Becket. Thou fool ! why take plain things 
 too soon to heart ? 
 What cunning musing now ? — art faint or drunk ? 
 Can unsubstantial death alarm a priest ? 
 We all must yield our fashions unto mire 
 Ere we can hope to end this weariness. 
 And all the penitential throes of time. 
 
 Peter of B. My spirit fails, and thought o'er 
 thought leaps forth ; 
 Like burning waves they dash upon my soul. 
 
 A Becket. Thou crafty monk, I spend my time 
 for nought. 
 What is there in a king — to Rome a foe ? 
 Come, rouse thyself — from this faint dream awake. 
 
 Peter of B. Why talk as one who never loved 
 a king 
 Of such proud parts and royal eminence. 
 So generous and confiding in his ways ? 
 
The King. 23 
 
 Alas ! the dogs that fawned -upon his state, 
 And licked the very feet of monarchy, 
 Wear traitorous hearts and dark ubiquities. 
 
 A Becket. Away ! away ! some duties call me 
 hence : 
 I '11 seek another aid with less pretence. 
 
 Scene 4. 
 King and Walter Mapes. 
 
 Mapes. There is a scene this eve would tell 
 strange tales : 
 'T would make the eyes of majesty stand out. 
 
 King. But where, and when, and how could I 
 survey 
 The merry monks who pray so heartily ? 
 They know my bearing well. 
 
 Mapes. Leave that to me. 
 
 The merriment this night is opportune. 
 Where foreign monks carouse and spend their gold, 
 I '11 lead my liege right in the midst of all, — 
 Yes, at the house I know: 'tis old Saint John's. 
 I '11 show at once the passions in full play, 
 At summit all, with all their hectic glow. 
 And burning glance, which ever radiate 
 The brow of sin which wars against the soul. 
 
 King. 'T is well : I '11 join this happy scene this 
 night, 
 And view these sage Italian monks in cups. 
 What order shall I be — Cistercian ? 
 
 Mapes. Capuchin will be best becoming thee : 
 I '11 make thee priest. I '11 come, my liege, at ten. 
 Unless some murderer shall step between. 
 
24 The King. 
 
 Scene 5. 
 
 Monks and Cavaliers carousing in a Tavern. 
 
 AnSELM DE Burgos {throwing himseif back in Ms chair). 
 I hear some news — A Becket fights the king ! 
 Tell me what all this means — say, Godrich, say. 
 GoDRiCH {rather drunk). The king is mad, and kicks 
 against the pricks. 
 As some wild colt he wrestles with his lord. 
 
 Anselm de B. He's sick with love, and passion 
 rules his life. 
 
 A Cavalier near. Father Godrich, who is drunk, takes up 
 his hands. 
 
 SONG BY ALL VOICES. 
 
 (Sings.) A bumper of good liquor 
 Will end a contest quicker 
 Than justice, judge, or vicar : 
 
 So fill a cheerful glass, 
 
 And drink to the fair lass. 
 But if more deep the quarrel, 
 Then quickly drain the barrel, 
 That 's for the stupid fellow 
 That 's crabbed when he is mellow. 
 
 Then let the glass pass, 
 
 And drink to the lass, &c. 
 
 Cavalier. Ye learned friars, just list to me 
 awhile ; 
 This is the holy priest who seldom prays. 
 Yet often fasts until his hunger comes. 
 And never drinks except the wine be good. 
 He is the Pope's vicegerent — well employed. 
 
 \^The Monk fa/Is on the floor, tipsy. 
 He 's sleepy now ; but that 's the fault of wine ! 
 Some day he '11 be archbishop, so they say. 
 And find us merry souls another way 
 To heaven ; and all I say I wish he may. 
 
 \Turns his empty glass on the face of the fallen Priest. 
 
The King. 25 
 
 Here 's holy water, which I pour on thee, 
 And make St Osith's priest thus consecrate. 
 All who can stand, now join your hands with me, 
 And let us dance and sing right merrily ! \Stngs. 
 
 Here 's Hennitage and Burgundy so bright, 
 Which makes old joys return, and woe so light. 
 That like a feather it goes dancing by. 
 To seek a bed in some fair maiden's eye, 
 And gives to loveliness a pensive dye, 
 And heaving cadence to soft minstrelsy ! 
 
 Enter King and Walter Mapes as foreign Monks. 
 Mapes. All happy souls who quaff old Vally's 
 
 wine ! 
 King. 'T is wine which washes sin into the veins, 
 And drives men on to Pluto's gloomy shade. 
 See ! see ! these priests seem sliding in apace. 
 Mapes. Ah, yes ; they drink of Sodom's feverish 
 wines, 
 And waste their strength to drink Gomorrah's gall, 
 And thus fall into Hades after all, 
 
 Vally, the Hostess, appears. 
 
 Vally. Good holy fathers, ye are welcome here. 
 What generous wines shall tempt your sacred lips ? 
 'T is heaven-born liquor — take my word- for that. 
 
 Mapes. Good Mother Val; your guests are rather 
 gay: 
 They sing so loud I cannot hear them pray. 
 
 Val. The night is early yet ; we soon shall have 
 The fairest dames who live in palaces ; 
 A noble holy knight from Palestine, 
 With cavaliers and many pious souls ; 
 And I expect the Pope this very night, 
 And many fair less rigid to the sight. 
 Some come to speed a royal soul to heaven — 
 The doating lover of Fair Rosamond. 
 
26 The King. 
 
 She 's very handsome, so I 've heard men say ; 
 Her eyes make darkness brig-ht as any day. 
 Such form ! such fashion ! — I have seen this maid : 
 Fair as the moon, and knows as many things. 
 She 's never condescended to come here — 
 Perhaps 't is innocence. 
 
 King. Perhaps 't is fear. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene i. 
 
 Rosamond, in bower, sings. 
 
 Whilst the dull breeze is whispering lowlily, 
 And waits in Night's cold arms alone, like me, 
 Just where the moody owls in woods hard by 
 Wake echo from sweet mystic reverie, 
 I '11 offer prayer for my dear prince away. 
 
 \Listens. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear some step. 'T is phantasy, 
 Or the dry leaves in their wild roundelay, 
 Or timid sprite from dreadful scenes walks by. — 
 List! list! 
 
 Attendant. That whining priest, who once con- 
 fessed thy soul, 
 I do declare ! Beware ! beware ! 'T is he ! 
 
 Rosamond. Who ? who ? Say, man, who art 
 thou ? and from whom ? 
 
 Pr. Dear lady fair, the silver stars come forth, 
 Illume the devious path, when trembling- hope 
 Bears heavenly news to sweet mortality. 
 
 Ros. But who art thou, intruding covertly .? 
 
 Pr. I come to join thy prayers — the evening 
 prayers ; 
 
The King. 2 7 
 
 And will attend thee to confessional. 
 
 Rosamond and Priest in Confessional. 
 
 Pr. Fair lady fair, say whence those pensive 
 sighs, 
 Which add such beauty to those lustrous eyes ? 
 Perhaps remorse of some false step gone by 
 Makes beauty sigh ? 
 
 Ros. 'T is sorrow makes me sigh. 
 
 Pr. Sweet beauty's sigh is sacred minstrelsy. 
 Why shouldst thou sigh so near the feast of love ? 
 Now, sweetest dreams should play in ecstacies ; 
 Now, love should spend its gallant holiday, 
 And spread its rare possessions free. 
 Regardless of the rapids of wild time. 
 
 Ros. (aside). (Until that hour my precious prince 
 returns). 
 Woe's heavy waves roll o'er my weary ^heart ; 
 In rightful majesty they take their course : 
 As tide of burning streams they dash o'er all. 
 And seem to tell of grief so drearily. 
 Until my 'prince returns — all mystery ! 
 
 Pr. How strange that he should leave so sud- 
 denly ! 
 Hark ! hark ! the nightingale now tells her tale. 
 
 Ros. Alas ! sweet bird, thy tender notes I hear : 
 Is it for love, or for some dreary woe, 
 Thy gentle notes now plead so very low ? 
 Oh, plead that England's noble king may live ! 
 
 Pr, The brightest flowers are killed by earth'-i 
 cold winds ; 
 And such are best in heaven. For this oft pray. 
 
 Ros. Wise priest ! I pray to Heaven incessantly. 
 
 Pr, Pray that the Primate's foes may fall ! — say. 
 Ay,- 
 
28 The King, 
 
 Like autumn's faded flowers no more may rise. 
 
 [Rosamond seems more amazed. 
 
 Just list, fair nun, awhile, prepare thine ear : 
 
 Now be attent. Wise love grasps present time, 
 
 And breathes its perfumed life to audient ears, 
 
 Full sanctified e'en by our holy Church. 
 
 I come to soothe thy woes — no common guest ; 
 
 I come to shrive thy soul of every sin. 
 
 And seek the full confession of thy love ; 
 
 I come to bear full witness, if thou wilt : 
 
 Thou art with pious ornament replete — 
 
 To thee I bow : to love's eternal self ! 
 
 [Rosamond looks aside contemptuously. 
 Pr. (asidi). I need the trappings and august 
 
 display 
 Of chivalry and martial attitude ; 
 But loss in love shall buy me full revenge. 
 
 [Rosamond looks round to Priest alarmed. 
 'T is pious passion elevates my soul ! 
 Say, shall its lustre shine in clouds and die. 
 Whilst Time's rough foot impairs its beauteous- 
 
 ness, 
 And made to quiver like a midnight lamp, 
 Or live for ever bright in thee, sweet saint ? 
 
 [Priest appears retiring. 
 
 Ros. (aside). O love, thou wilderness of woe ! 
 This priest assumes thy faint beatitudes ; 
 He would betray a sad and lonely one 
 Into some darkness now to me unknown. 
 
 [Priest turns back. 
 Sir Priest, disport not in this nether world : 
 Thy vows have made thee servant of high Heaven. 
 I do implore thy absence instantly ! 
 
 Pr. I do implore thee now. My love for thee 
 
The King. 29 
 
 Is high as heaven — vast as eternity ; 
 
 It lives, and ne'er, ay, ne'er can change or die. 
 
 [Priest approaches Rosamond. 
 
 Ros. I do adjure thee, priest, whate'er thou art, 
 Hast thou no reverence for mighty Heaven ? 
 And dar'st thou hide thy vile intendments thus 
 In folds and palid comeliness ? Stand back ! 
 What ! in the sacramental garb thus act ? 
 Stand back ! What evil spirit has seduced thee 
 
 thus? 
 Those flickering lights are soon put out by this. 
 
 \Points to her breast, shows dagger. 
 'T is now I feel a sphere encircles us. 
 And that thine abject life is in my palm. 
 I will not let thee add besetting sins 
 Unto the catalogue of that gross heap 
 Which fester on thine ignominious heart. 
 
 Pr. Dear lady, do not sigh and groan with 
 threats. 
 As though sweet love was in its mourning clothes. 
 Nor measure admiration's ecstacies 
 As high offence or dark designs on thee. 
 That I do love thee shall appear anon, 
 When I recount the virtues of our king, 
 Who reigns on thrones of loveliness. 
 Fair as the fairest flowers- which deck the earth. 
 And one there is, arrayed in beauty's sheen. 
 With love that wins the heart it would upbraid : 
 He often loves, as rumour dares to say, 
 Some else — I 've heard soft names oft given ; 
 The Stafford maiden's heart is somewhat riven. 
 Yes, passing life contains its varied gifts. 
 Fair Rose, 't is love's chief joy to live in loyalty— 
 
 Ros. Such love and loyalty are virtue's fruits. 
 
 Pr. I often watch the beauteous stars above, 
 
30 The King. 
 
 The pallid moon, the ever-restless sea, 
 The morning's earliest hour, its dainty dew — - 
 All steal the sweetest of all worship — ^love. 
 And dress the panting heart in fervency. 
 
 Res. Such love and loyalty I well approve 
 Which wear the countenance of mighty Heaven. 
 
 Pr. Oh, hear me, lady fair, I do implore ! 
 
 [Approaching her. 
 
 Ros. Priest ! monk ! stand back ! Thou hideous 
 monk, avaunt ! 
 If thou hast prayers and homilies to say. 
 Be warned betimes, ere time has run away : 
 Thou art a traitor to thy king and God. 
 
 Pr. The king is sad, in many dangers lives ; 
 If dead, enthralled in war's uncertainties ; 
 And dead men's love will barely suit good taste. 
 
 Ros. (excited). But dost thou say he lives in heaven ? 
 or earth ? 
 
 Pr. If living, he must meet a direful doom. 
 Rebellion to the Pope kills many a king ; 
 Has cost a thousand- worlds of suffering : 
 Between the fires I see no way for him. 
 Strange beauties make some lovers wavering. 
 
 Ros. {alarmed). Good priest, forget my past 
 timidity ; 
 But say — oh, say ! what dost thou think or know ? 
 (The king is true in all love's fealties, [Aside. 
 
 And yet he seems oft laden with deep sighs — 
 Some strange surmises into body grow). 
 Oh, if my lord is ta'en to heaven — oh, say ! 
 I will confess my heavy sins and die. 
 
 Pr. Of this anon : this life is but a spark ; 
 To-day it brightly shines, to-morrow, dark. 
 But now awake, and with all pleasantry 
 We '11 pass the precious hour — both happily. 
 
The King. 31 
 
 I '11 keep the secret safe from jealous eyes : 
 The Church has ways to lull all secrecies. 
 Ros. My lord, great king, as ghost or bodily, 
 
 \Shouts in excitement. 
 Appear ! avert this evil from thy love ! 
 This vampire dares to violate thine own ! 
 
 Pr. Oh, come — now yield ; liv^ in my arms, 
 sweet fair ! 
 For thee I '11 yield eternal life — dost hear ? 
 Oh, doubt not me ! such passing sins ne'er fear ; 
 I hold authority to stop the tear 
 Which timid conscience oft will seem to bear. 
 I am the Pope's familiar — don't fear : see this ! 
 \Shows Pope's absolution for this and other sins. 
 Ros. (aside). Kind Heaven, forbid me falling here 
 — alone. [Turns round, and vehemently stamps. 
 Thou wily priest ! thou shalt unfold my woe 
 In words distinct— ay, one by one. Now say — 
 Say what is in thine evil mind — oh, say ! 
 For silence may thy mortal life betray. 
 Make haste, then, monk — eschew thy vile intents 
 (Come heaven, come earth, lend me thy mighti- 
 ness !) 
 If thou hast love for gold or glistening stones, 
 Or rubies' brilliancy — oh, say the cost — 
 The price, however high ; thy reticence. 
 Break that I will, or thou or I must die ; 
 For time grows short — watch woman's trembling 
 eye. \Shouts. 
 
 Hear Madness cry ; declare, thou hypocrite — 
 Reveal the secret thou wouldst meanly sell : 
 You trifle at the very gate of hell. 
 For crime so vast, and wanton villany. 
 Thy blood — thy putrid, rampant blood — shall 
 cease : 
 
32 The King. 
 
 'T is my turn now to have my great revenge. 
 If thou hast prayers to say, say instantly ; 
 This anguish bears me in its stormy back,^- 
 Make haste, thou caitiff — haste, or humbly die. 
 
 Pr. And if I tell thee all I know — what then ? 
 Wilt thou abjure thy heresy in love ? 
 
 Res. Beware ! beware ! I will not bear delay ; 
 I '11 dash into thine eyes this liquid flame, 
 And stop those inlets to thy lustful brain. 
 See here, this smoking fire — my second aid ; 
 Thou priest, beware ! the cloud is o'er thy brow 
 (The opening light of heaven confirms my vow) 
 Which holds a thunderbolt to bear thee low. 
 
 \Pauses — walks with maniac step. 
 
 Silence ! Sweet echo brings my prince — list ! 
 
 list! 
 Rejoice, my soul ! I hear the tramping steed 
 Which bears my love to lonely love's great need. 
 Escape as for thy life — the king ! the king ! — 
 My precious ever-during love,^ — he comes ! — 
 
 \Listens. 
 I am deceived : it was the evening's breeze. 
 
 \The Priest, alarmed, tries to escape; but hides 
 in bushes near, and for hours. 
 
 Res. (aloni). In what a mesh this timid spirit lies! 
 
 These feigning hypocrites ! these whining priests, 
 
 They burrow far within, and soil the soul. 
 
 (That holy beauteous gift, companion fond ! 
 
 That dove which mourns when cloudy sin appears. 
 
 As some hoarse havirk springs on his hapless prey,) 
 
 Wringing from thence its first, its holy love ; 
 
 And then corruption desolates the whole. 
 
 O Mary! Holy Mother! shield thy child ! 
 
 Ye myriad fires which walk the vaulted heavens, 
 
 Attend the thousand saints who sleep in peace, 
 
" I am deccivid: it was the meninges breeze." 
 
The King. 33 
 
 And rest insensate now to mortal woe, 
 
 Their labours o'er ; faithful have been their lives. 
 
 I come not to disturb ye, burning fays, 
 
 Nor ask the secrets of yon vaulted skies. 
 
 Which bound the spacious empire where ye roam : 
 
 I come to tell the winds and oozy tides. 
 
 Upon the frontiers of all hope I stand. 
 
 Ye starry lights, now be my witnesses ; 
 
 I come to tell my woes, ye ministers of light ; 
 
 To you I would unfold my grief 
 
 I seek a place of rest or some cold grave^ 
 
 Which some wild waves might rock through 
 
 endless time. 
 And gentle Vesperus might moan with me, — 
 A sea-girt grave, close by some rocky spot. 
 Where I might watch the secrets of the deep. 
 The gamesome stars and meteorous lights of 
 
 heaven, 
 And wait until the wand'ring moon is up, 
 Walk forth and ponder by the sad sea-shore, 
 Then start e'en to my icy bed of death. 
 In reverie awful, no more to wake. 
 
 Scene 2. 
 Enter King and Queen. 
 
 King. Good queen, thy earnest piety puts shade 
 On all the seemings of religious life. 
 
 Queen. A holy life puts shame on piety ; 
 It is the refuge of mortality. 
 
 King. O thou hast heavenly love attending thee, 
 good queen ! 
 
 Queen. Love on earth, where pure, 
 
 Is heavenly love ; where forced, it is not love. 
 
34 The King. 
 
 King. The spirits pure revolve in perfect love ; 
 But what is earthly love ? This question oft 
 I poise and balance at my lance's end. 
 My chaplain says it herds amongst the sins. 
 
 Queen. Ah ! be the owner of that holy joy 
 Which throbbing passion ever vainly seeks. 
 By loving, all may learn the answer true ; 
 As the bold diver knows the white pearl's bed, 
 Whilst they who buy and sell this precious thing, 
 Know nothing of her deep and beauteous cell. 
 Love will exalt, although dependence comes 
 And forms its nature and its dignity ; 
 As ivy o'er the castle turret high 
 Clings to the rugged wall ; and whilst it yields, 
 It borrows strength from might and majesty, 
 And with its emerald cloak, in sombre guise. 
 It decks the noble pile of mother earth, 
 Diverts the sultry sun ; and every storm 
 And hurricane hut strengthens that embrace. 
 Which shall for ever last. 
 
 King. For ever ? Ah ! 
 
 Queen. Sire, yes; and when -these stars and 
 changeful moon 
 Have sunk within those far unknown degrees, 
 Still shall remain the sweet embrace of love, 
 Which shall for ever be. 
 
 King. For ever ? Ah ! 
 
 For ever is so very long, good queen ! 
 
 Queen. As ever any earthly thing shall be. 
 But that tall castle height must fall ; 
 The mountain where the golden sun has hid ; 
 Those rocks, where lonely eagles, sullen, rest ; 
 The peaceful valley, where the kine oft lowed ; 
 The boundaries of the raging billow's crest ; 
 The Pleiades and wild Arcturus, too. 
 

 
 " Lmie! thou inexpressible mystery.^ 
 
The King. 3 5 
 
 Must render up their native majesty, 
 
 When the shrill trumpet of the angel sounds, 
 
 Which calls the wand'ring tribes of man to heaven. 
 
 But love's exhaustless song, all melody, 
 
 Shall lead the choirs of heaven's great palaces. 
 
 And in the presence of Almighty Love, 
 
 Shall sound its sweeter notes to angels there. 
 
 It is not long— it is no part of time. 
 
 King. Wise queen, thou shalt instruct me more 
 at length ; 
 For I do love grave learning's depths and heights. 
 And schoolmen's difficult and knotty points. 
 I love romantic thought and heavenly recipes. 
 
 Queen. No, no. I speak no more to thee ; 't is 
 vain : 
 I leave thee with thy monitor within. 
 Stand well with that great company. — Farewell ! 
 
 Scene 3. 
 The King walking towards Rosamond's Bower. 
 King. O Love ! thou inexpressible mystery — 
 Oh, say, kind Heaven, and ye mystic things. 
 Why was I born with impulses so rare ? 
 Why born a king 'midst dark conspiracies ? 
 Why not some happy serf, with appetites 
 For ordinary boons and rosy healthfulness. 
 That neither love's entanglements, though sweet, 
 Nor pleasing hopes deferred, or pride dismayed, 
 Could tantalize in this strange pilgrimage ? 
 
 \Y>A'iiG pauses — hears a voice: 
 
 Near a tall distant tower, 
 
 Where vesper bells were ringing, 
 
 A fair maid watched in a lonely bower. 
 Faintly and slowly singing. 
 
36 The King. 
 
 I heard her song, sweet maiden fair, 
 
 As she passed her hand through her long fair hair : 
 
 This trembling hand oft held by one 
 For whom my heartfelt prayer shall be ; 
 
 But must I wait so long alone — 
 Say, angels, when will he return ? 
 A bounding step hastes near that bower. 
 Whilst quivering lips are singing lower. 
 She sighed no more — sweet, happy fair ! 
 For the love who loved her with love was there ! 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 King appears before Rosamond, whereupon she says : 
 
 Ros. Awake, my soul ! awake ! Now contem- 
 plate 
 The joys the presence of thy lord creates, 
 Which have no life in his long tarryings. — 
 But why, sweet love, so sorrowful ? 
 
 King (sighs). Ah ! ah ! 
 
 Ros. Perhaps some long vicissitudes have torn 
 That breast I loved to lean upon so oft. 
 
 King. Dear one, we would not mingle in this 
 hour 
 The strifes and turmoils of this naughty world. 
 
 Ros. Then stay that deep philosophy, which 
 weighs 
 With secret power upon thy gentle breast. 
 I fear it often heaves when far away : 
 Thou dost not tell me, love, what makes thee sigh. 
 Is it the heaving of a storm gone by 
 That gives those glittering orbs that pensive dye ? 
 
 King. Well, yes. This heart has deeply sighed 
 and heaved 
 Wildly, as some sore vexed and angry sea 
 Madly throws up its ancient firm foundation 
 In many countless dusky atoms, thickly. 
 
The King. 37 
 
 Which hid the glorious golden sands below, 
 That sparkled in the sun of calmer days. 
 
 Ros. {in tears). 'T is thus : thy brow has gloomy 
 . spectres dark, 
 Which execute sad havoc on the heart. 
 Well, well ! this misspent life is wearing fast. 
 
 King. Life is a speck — a visionary spot ; 
 Or like a fragment or a splintered spar 
 Lent for awhile to sinking mariners. 
 Some buffet long — ne'er gain the distant shore ; 
 Some drift along the turbid tide alone ; 
 Some bound upon the beach triumphantly. 
 
 Ros. My dearest one, I love to hear thee talk : 
 It elevates my soul to rapturous heights; 
 But then come dull and stormy thoughts and fears. 
 Well, be it so J Bright life is fading now. 
 And soon comes peaceful death to hide e'en all ; 
 And then the resurrection comes, when Heav'n 
 Will give me back that pearl which, being lost 
 
 King. What pearl ? what pearl ? What means 
 my Rosamond ? 
 What pearl is lost ? and where ? and when, and 
 
 how ? 
 Through every land, o'er every sea I '11 roam, 
 Until I find the pearl my love has lost. 
 
 Ros. It was a pearl of drifted snow, given me 
 By One who rules the heavens, the earth, the sea, 
 And before whom all kings must humbly stand. 
 
 King. Some heavy woe disturbs my Rosamond. 
 
 Ros. Oh ! 't is a woe no mortal hand can heal — 
 Not e'en my precious one's own hand : 
 It has eternal influence to wound, 
 Until one stream of anguish fills my soul. 
 
 King. Sweet Rosamond, see! heaven's pale 
 queen is up 
 
38 The King. 
 
 To take her lonely course. The sparkling stars 
 Will soon assemble round : be cheerful now. 
 
 Ros. Ah ! ah ! 't is thus with man. Woman to 
 him 
 Is but a toy. 
 
 King. Thy pallid cheek alarms — — 
 
 Ros. The hour has come : I now will yield up 
 all. 
 Monarch of heaven, I now will yield to thee ! 
 These mortal eyes, which loved to glisten bright. 
 Feasting on all these kindred things, in midst 
 Of which I fell — fell ! — are now immortal. 
 And ne'er shall glow again with finite joys. 
 Listen ! ye radiant beings bright — listen ! — 
 Listen ! With you I '11 spend eternity : 
 To you I '11 chant sad melody — too sad 
 For mortal ears. Alas ! sad minstrelsy ! 
 
 King. Dear Rosamond, revive — consider, love. 
 
 Ros. I wait the blast which calls the wand'rer 
 home : 
 I speak amid the ruins of my heart. 
 See ! watch the flames ! they burn as high as heaven. 
 And sorrow is my fated- prophetess. 
 
 King. Come, charm this human sorrow off, dear 
 love : 
 How often we have met, and often may. 
 
 Ros. We may ! Oh, faithless, fragile, hopeless 
 hope ! 
 I dash thee and thy opiate censer down 
 To that poor being who, well intending me. 
 Did win me from my heavenly path so far 
 To sink for ever — alas, for ever ! — love. 
 
 King (aside). Oh, now I feel the scorching fires 
 of hell! 
 
 Ros. Thus the green leaves of youthful life to die. 
 
The King. 39 
 
 Entangled 'midst this pride and wild desire, 
 With them to putrify. 
 
 King. Oh, say not so ! 
 
 Why wilt thou hug this sorrow, Rosamond ? 
 
 Ros. 1 1 is my spirit and my angel now ; 
 We live together in sweet confidence : 
 Disturb it not, my love, my ever-loving love ! 
 Not one, but many thoughts, distract me oft. 
 E'en now let pale and greedy Sorrow hear ; 
 Thou gentle spirit, hear e'en me. Alas ! 
 Listen ! Thou shalt have all these ashes — 
 To thee I yield these charms, though now so spoil'd, 
 Which made this mortal being loved and lost. 
 Ye aiding spirits — missions of kind Heaven — 
 Unloose this trembling, anxious thing — 
 This sister spirit take : it longs to fly ; 
 For whilst it writhes, it longs to be released. 
 Oh, tender be ! as your Creator, kind. 
 Farewell, dear king ! Until we meet in heaven. 
 Ten thousand years may roll in purgat'ry 
 Ere that bright hour shall be. Dear king, farewell ! 
 
 [Rosamond reclines on couch. 
 Left in this wilderness so oft alone — 
 A toy, or less, to be but gazed upon. 
 Now all the charms of life have fallen. 
 And nature's self is tattered and forlorn. 
 Farewell, good king ! farewell to all — to all ! 
 
 Scene 5. 
 
 Enter Eleonora, the Queen. 
 Queen. The king ! What ! here ? — is it the 
 
 king himself? 
 King. Madam, how came you here ? Answer 
 
 me, dame. 
 
40 The King. 
 
 Much difficulty to trace a path 
 So devious — -^ — 
 
 Queen, {showing a skein). So devious ! — yes, very 
 so. 
 But see this faithful skein !— see here, wise king ! 
 True lover's haste, forgetting bolts and bars. 
 Had left the drawbridge flagging to and fro.* 
 This pretty guide was honest, too, my lord ! 
 With safety it hath led my timid steps 
 To one whom England boasts her king ; to one 
 Who once did make this wild impassioned heart 
 Beat high and proud. — -But I no more complain ; 
 I see enough to excite my sorrow. 
 
 King. Hold ! 
 
 Madam, all this I can explain anon. 
 I do command thee hence ; for, present time 
 Allows not explications various. — 
 Leave me, I say ! 
 
 Queen. Nay, why so earnest. Sire ? 
 
 Just now I saw commissioners from Rome, 
 And business brought me to sequestered parts — - 
 I wished to see a king a-chambering. 
 
 [Affecting to leave. 
 I leave, I grant thy suppliant claim^-I go. 
 Thou once my humble adoration held ; 
 But the sweet glances of a dying nun, 
 Which well entreat such fitting company, 
 Have made thee truant, negligent, unkind ; 
 But since thou lov'st, love still, I pray thee love. 
 I do e'en yet admire thy fortitude : 
 Thy majesty hath much endured, I fear ? 
 Thy treasure there has cost thee watchings long, 
 
 * The bower could only be ascended by a moveable draw- 
 bridge, which Henry II. had caused to be built. 
 
The King. if i 
 
 Waitings, and kind sustainings, and the like. 
 
 King. I look to see thee gone. 
 
 Queen. Oh, do not look 
 
 This barren way ; for see, that lily pale 
 Threatens to sink again, and e'en will die 
 Without thine arm. 
 
 King. Madam, I mark thy poisoned raillery. 
 Thy malice wears a proud crest, eminent 
 Above thy other passions numerous. 
 This lady is as favoured as a queen, 
 As honoured, as well-bred, as learned too ; 
 And wants no drop of gentle blood. 
 
 Queen. Sans doute / 
 
 The lady you 've described with graphic touch — 
 For which her thanks abundantly are due — 
 Wants nought ; her wants are richly all supplied ! 
 Her pearl-whit6 hands oft well employed 
 To cool the fevered brow of gallant kings. 
 
 King. Madam, I may do that which I would 
 not. 
 
 Queen. Is it, then, courteous to leave a nun, 
 A meek and fainting maid, to sink so low. 
 Without the delicate aids which her own sex, 
 Methinks, are meetest to afford ? Well, well ! 
 I will not blame — I rather pity thee, 
 A monarch great, encompassed as thou art. 
 And yet, O blissful state ! how fine the tie 
 That binds in secret bonds congenial souls ! — 
 But see, my lord, that lady falls again. 
 Now she essays to speak. Perhaps she seeks 
 The unction of the Church ? 
 
 [Rosamond opening her eyes, unaware 
 of Queen's presence. 
 
 Ros. Ah, that cold hand ! 
 
 Remove its heavy palm : it drives me down ' 
 
 6 
 
42 The King. 
 
 With more than lightning speed ! Yet, yet I have 
 The fond assurance here that angels' love 
 Will bear me from this low abandonment 
 To those sublime and pure ethereal realms 
 That are too rarefied to bear the weight 
 Of sin, or pain, or penitential woe : 
 There all is lost in love, so pure, so great ! 
 Hark ! Heard you not that glorious voice ? so 
 
 sweet. 
 The seraphim ? They call for Rosamond — 
 The guilty, sad, and wandering Rosamond : 
 " Return ! return ! " Hark ! hark ! Angels, I 
 
 come. 
 To live with thee above, and grafted there 
 On stem no earthly power can dare to break. 
 
 [ Wild and wandering, sees the Queen. 
 
 Ha! ha! See there ! Who's that? What do I 
 
 see ? 
 Is that dark gulf for Rosamond ? Here ! here I 
 Take me, some fury, now ! Must I go there ? 
 What ! go to hell to find a refuge there 
 From the hot fire that burns within this heart, 
 And rase for ever from my maddened eyes 
 That sin I see as deed of yesterday. 
 When, deaf to all but passion's suasive voice, 
 I left the peaceful roof that sheltered me 
 In buoyant childhood's days of innocence ? 
 Ah, ah I this weight of woe succumbs me quite. 
 Where can I lean ? ye spirits say — oh, where ? 
 The Church did promise to withhold this draught, 
 This bitter draught ! Oh, faithless, faithless Church ! 
 It vowed to blot all sins from memory. 
 
 {Seizes Henry wildly. 
 Is this, then. Death? Is this long-envied Death? 
 
The King. 43 
 
 If so, I love thee, Death ! I love thee, Death ! 
 That e'en not Henry shall vinknit this clasp, 
 Or tear thee, Death, from Rosamond ! — But soft ! 
 
 \Passionately pushing Henrv' aside. 
 
 Hush ! ye rude boisterous winds, and lightly blow ; 
 And in soft dying cadence waft your wings 
 To your far-distant homes, where southern skies 
 Shed brighter beams upon the smiling earth — 
 Go ! go where cascades clear and crystal streams 
 Did erst suppress their murmur sweet, to list 
 The sweeter sounds with which the Mantuan reed 
 All vocal made the sunny vine-clad hills 
 And orange bowers, so loved by Dryad nymphs. 
 
 \Pauses. 
 
 And now the shadowy vale is nearly passed. 
 And the bright confines of eternity 
 Before me shine. See, yonder now descends 
 The fairest, meekest of the spiritual world — 
 The herald Mercy, smiling through her tears. 
 Yes, yes ! she 's pointing to the spotless robe ; 
 And all my accusers stand abashed and dumb : 
 The wicked priest who prompted me to sin, 
 Now bound in fetters in that dreary world 
 Where angry serpents, never ceasing, hiss. 
 See ! see ! — the angels beckon me — I come ! 
 Now plume my wings to fly. — Where am I now ? 
 In heaven, or earth, or purgatory's clime ? 
 Now let this secret mystery be mine : 
 Shall I be welcome, or for ever cursed ? 
 
 [Rosamond reclines. 
 
 King This scene has wearied thee. Now rest 
 awhile, 
 Sweet Rosamond ! thou hast forgiving love, 
 And many smiles from spirits high in heaven, 
 
44 The King. 
 
 Whilst every wave of time (some ruffled now) 
 
 Wafts thy kind heart to sweet societies, 
 
 Where fears of this cold world are hushed for aye. 
 
 And when the lingering sighs of life is still, 
 
 Thou wilt partake the sacrament of love. 
 
 To me each moment brings some torture fresh. 
 
 Which courses through my blood as denizen. 
 
 Bearing the anguish of that dreary state 
 
 To which I seem now driving on apace. 
 
 [Rosamond sleeps. 
 
 May angels guard thee, love ! Farewell, farewell ! 
 All hail ! Great Master of all wand'ring earth ! 
 Under Thy pall. Thy mystic hallowed vault. 
 The spirit there may fly 'midst curling clouds. 
 And scale the skies in its prerogative ; 
 Or enter realms of fire, or beard the moon. 
 And list to sulphurous roarings underneath, 
 Above, and all around the murky world ! 
 Then rest in Purgatory's arms, listening 
 To waves which ever beat on Lethe's shore. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene i. 
 Queen alone, walking in Ditchley Wood. 
 
 Queen. Long have I mused (as on a couch intent 
 Fair Dido let the proud ^Erieas leave 
 Her arms expanded for his noble love). 
 And thus this ambling doe escapes my toils. 
 I now throw back the curtain of delay ; 
 But how ? — but how ? No room is left for doubt : 
 
The Ki'kg. 45 
 
 That must be quickly done which must be done. 
 Dull resolution lies on the back of time ; 
 As on a speck of land, 'mid boisterous seas, 
 Some shipwrecked treasure long neglected lies, 
 Whilst many suns and moons alternately 
 Glance by, and many a billowy tide bounds on, 
 Until some angry storm sweeps all away. 
 Thus change on change goes on, and chance is lost : 
 'T is now the king being absent for awhile ; 
 'T is now I may enfold this downy lamb 
 Within my longing arms, and then — ay, then ! — 
 I well may feast in all the rest of time, 
 When that blood chills which in its current dares 
 To gleam like rubies sparkling on the cheek, 
 As Hebe's fresh, of Rosamond the Fair ! 
 Up, up, my daring soUl ! — up, up, I say ! 
 Let fiends attend and gossip as we go — 
 Contend— dissent — agree — 
 
 Furies appear. 
 
 Too-wit, too-wit ! 
 
 The day is gone ; whilst Evening beckons Night 
 To array the concave heaven in funeral suit, 
 That Melancholy from her cell may step, 
 To indulge her dreamy thoughts and musings deep. 
 But night is bright, and day is dark, to Guilt, 
 Whose lidless eye owns not the boon of sleep. 
 Ye furies, blench not at the task prescribed. 
 But some wild song of hideous import chant. 
 But sing some dreary glee to please black Death. 
 
 First Fury. 
 
 I sit by the forest pine, 
 
 And dream of death and blood : 
 
 The realms of the future are mine, 
 I float in its boiling flood. 
 
46 The King. 
 
 Second Fury. 
 The speckled moon rides high, 
 
 The gloomy fir rocks in her bed ; 
 And every angry wind that 's nigh 
 
 Is by a fiery demon led. 
 
 Third Fury. 
 I have poised in the trembling air, 
 
 I have slept in the coral bed, 
 Where every glistening spar 
 
 Shines on the putrid dead. 
 
 Fourth Fury. 
 
 The sighing breeze with perfiamed wing, 
 
 That wantons o'er the plain. 
 Shall fan a victim's death-pale cheek, 
 
 And Henry's reign be vain. 
 
 Fifth Fury. 
 I sleep near the cataract's thunder, 
 
 Within the lion's lair ; 
 Where the rocks are riven asunder. 
 
 And forked lightnings tear. 
 
 Sixth Fury. 
 As sure as mom shall gild the sky, 
 
 Or rippling stream declare its course, 
 De Clifford's peerless child shall die. 
 
 And die by vengefiil woman's force. 
 
 Queen. Oh that the murky lamp of wandering 
 fiends 
 Would gleam conductive on my devious way ! 
 Oh ! how I long for proofs most palpable 
 Of Death's irrevocable work ! Yes, yes ! 
 Let every sensual organ yield its share : 
 The fixed, the glassy, visionless eye ; the mouth 
 Half open, and the nostril gaunt, from whence 
 No breath of pride or grateful sweetness comes : 
 The bosom silent, marble cold, and still. 
 But I must haste, lest better angels come 
 
TJie King. 47 
 
 With PM[ercy's palm, and stop this work of blood. 
 Come, tardy Death ! here is my bright ally ! 
 
 \Looks at dagger. 
 
 Or if my purpose turns, accounting well. 
 Here are more tender viands sparkling high. 
 
 ■ \HoMs up phial. 
 
 What holds me thus, and keeps me from my end ? 
 
 Now, soul, be steadfast here. Long hast thou worn 
 
 An earthly crown : bright is that precious earth ; 
 
 But yonder lies a kingdom brighter far 
 
 Than Paradise. A waxen wall alone 
 
 'T wixt thee and thy long-sought possession stands. 
 
 But hark ! It is the nightingale I seek. 
 
 The King approaches Bower. Rosamond's voice is heard 
 singitig. 
 
 That morning's beam is gone 
 Which shone at break of day, 
 
 And I am still alone — 
 No ray for me ! 
 
 Oh, do not change that face. 
 Thou lonely murmuring stream ! 
 
 Oh, do not lose that grace, 
 O'er which I loved to lean. 
 
 I wish I had a grave 
 
 Close by some rocky shore, 
 Tn madness there to rave, 
 
 Nor think of Henry more. 
 
 But when the sky is bright, 
 
 And all the stars are high, 
 My soul feels light, 
 
 As though 't would fly. 
 
 Queen. Ye wailing notes ! encompass earth — 
 then haste 
 To regions dark, and bid the gatf s wide stand 
 
48 The King. 
 
 For Rosamond the Fair. She comes to join, 
 With tenor light, and vain lascivious airs. 
 Pale Hecate's bands, and play coquetries there. 
 
 \Going towards the Maze. 
 
 How awful is this silence deep ! List ! list ! 
 Some little insect buzzing by in glee. 
 His love-tale to his listening fair he sings. 
 No wandering phantom or seraphic ghost 
 Shall turn me from my resolution firm. 
 Conscience ! thou busy, meddling monitor ! 
 Trust me awhile, and I will pay arrears ; 
 But stand aside just now, and let me lead. 
 We '11 meet again : if not on earth — ah, where ? 
 Don't doubt, thou Censor, I '11 keep faith with thee. 
 Ah ! must I — can I — shall I — dare I do it ? 
 Put out that spark, which then no human skill 
 Could to that form restore one ray ? — spoiling 
 Those heaving orbs that mock the mountain snow. 
 Tinged by Apollo's parting glance on earth. 
 Giving those dimples to the filthy worm. 
 E'en where the king has kissed? — But soft! — 
 
 what S this ? \Walking slowly and lookingaround. 
 Just here some ancient river calmly flows. 
 Sweet with the lavish vernal breeze, which oft 
 The flowing locks hath turned aside to kiss 
 The bronzed brow of my unfaithful prince. 
 Must I turn vulture in his Paradise ? 
 And with the vigour of my talons tear 
 From out their sockets deep those floating eyes 
 He doats upon } O Night ! thou kind ally. 
 Fold thickly over me thine ebon cloak ; 
 My angry purpose thus conceal and aid. 
 'T is now this love-lorn rival I must drive 
 To Death's unfathomed bed. — But stay! What 
 
 passed ? 
 
The King. 49 
 
 Tush ! tush I the wind sweeps roughly o'er the 
 
 stream \ 
 And the tall pine, as quivering marshy reed, 
 Makes fear a body animate with eyes, 
 And arms, and bony hands. — Conscience, be stiU ! 
 'T is better far that I in this affair 
 Should take the lead. I '11 make amends, I said, 
 And for my vengeance praise the god of hell. 
 Hark ! hark ! the voice says " Stay ! stay !-— list! " 
 
 But why- — why stay ? 
 Some angel looking o'er the battlements, 
 Just near that silvery cloud now passing o'er — 
 'T is passing — passing slow — a beauteous form 
 Is watching me, and cries, "In mercy hold ! " 
 I dare not stay, but onward, onward ! — Hark ! 
 I hear the watch-dog howling very low, 
 To urge, perhaps, some prowliiig gipsy's foot 
 To turn away from sin. 'Tis Night's low voice, 
 And begs with trembling cry to hold me back ! 
 Again ! — again I hear some morbid fiend. 
 With mission from his burning home, say " Stay." 
 'T is vain ! Hopeless, joyless, fearless, and cursed^ 
 Sick conscience low deposed — Revenge ! revenge ! 
 Hark ! list ! It is some trembling voice I hear. 
 Hark! hark! 
 
 Song heard. 
 
 When I 'm in heaven, I '11 tell thy love for me, 
 
 Most noble prince ! 
 And o'er the battlements I '11 try to see — 
 
 Ay, e'en from thence ! 
 And ask the arigels there to dry my tears. 
 And wake me when my precious prince appears. 
 
 Queen. It is that wicked Rosamond, 
 Now desecrating hills and vales once more. 
 But soon dull silence shall ensue. Awhile, 
 
 7 
 
50 The King. 
 
 Make merriment with dying moments now. 
 
 And gather scraps of life's fatuity, 
 
 And all thy miserable ends and ways, 
 
 To make a volume of hypocrisy, 
 
 As present to the company of ghosts 
 
 Who wait for thee, Fair Rosamond, 
 
 Ere they take voyage o'er the gloomy Styx ! 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 The Labyrinth. The Queen and Rosamond. 
 Queen. I come to be the messenger of peace — 
 Of .peace that never ends, my lady fair. 
 Say, shall I wile away these slow-paced hours. 
 Or hasten on, by magic wand of mine. 
 Thy bosom's lord to thine expectant arms ? 
 
 Ros. {looking up, and starting). If thou art human, 
 or whate'er thou art. 
 Oh ! break this awful spell, and tell me true : 
 Hast thou some mission terrible ? Ah ! ah ! 
 Thy pallid lip declares it. What art thou .■* 
 Whence comestthou ? Thou dreadful thing, declare ! 
 Queen (stamps and advances). The hated, hateful 
 Elenor, thy queen, 
 A vassal's victim, once a monarch's pride. 
 Seeks audience of the evil Rosamond ! 
 
 [Rosamond sinks back and swoons. 
 
 Queen {whispering). 'T is heaven, or hell, that 
 smiles upon me now, 
 And this most opportune occasion grants. 
 The warrant for thy death, this scroll. 
 Dissolves the sin, and then absolves my soul. 
 I purchased absolution for thy blood — 
 (The Rose of Ditchley Maze !) — to stay its course 
 By burning poison or by angry force. 
 
The King. 5 1 
 
 Rail on ! rail on ! ye spirits in the skies ! 
 
 I hold authority from Rome. Hell cries ! 
 
 \Taking a phial from her breast, approaches Rosamond, 
 and, affecting to support her, speaks in a feigned voice. 
 
 My lady fair, thy maid attends thee here. 
 This draught nectarean will quick revive 
 That light which, too far sinking, yields to death. 
 Thy lord will soon return to thine embrace. 
 
 \Holds herself back, and puts the 
 draught to Rosamond's mouth. 
 
 Great lady, take — and this — and this— [Begins to pour. 
 
 And this — 
 [Continues to pour. 
 How soon it takes effect ! She sleeps ! she sleeps ! 
 How ghastly pale she turns ! A heavy sweat 
 Her every dimple fills. Where 's beauty now ? 
 All fled ! all fled ! — in parts respective gone, 
 To clothe the lily and revive the rose. 
 And thus adorn its native settlements ; 
 Wearing its virgin blushes there, unstained 
 By false affections or by mortal lusts. 
 
 Res. (opening her eyes with wandering gaze). Where is 
 
 the cake to give this Cerberus ? 
 Queen. Has placid evening's mild restoring 
 balm 
 Quickened thy virtue, Mistress Rosamond ? 
 Ros. Ah, mistress, mistress ! whence proceeds 
 this sound ? 
 
 There, hold me !^ — -Aba — Aba Save me now ? 
 
 Queen. Sweet Rose, thy lord is near thee now — 
 Bends by thy knee, and wipes thy pallid face. 
 Ros. That voice is hoarse : I 've heard it in vc\.y 
 
 dreams. 
 Queen. Thy blood flows lazily ; thy lair is soft, 
 Good Mistress Rosamond. 
 
5 2 The King. 
 
 Ros. " Good mistress ! " Sooth ! I dreamt 
 A dreary dream, that, 'midst of sulph'rouS mists, 
 Some hideotis thing was crouching by my side : 
 It sucked my breath insatiate, that awful form ! 
 
 Queen (aside). Ha! ha! fastidious Mistress Rosa- 
 mond ! [Rosamond's head falls on her breast. 
 How now, my drooping posy flower, how now ? 
 Thy head is pendulous, as if 't were filled 
 With juice from Grenada, and rocks about 
 As stately vessel on a billow crest. 
 
 Ros. {opening her tyes and appearing eomfosed). What see 
 I now ? The queen ? Art thou the queen ? 
 
 Queen. Look not on me! I can forgive thee now, 
 But rather logk at eve's soft golden beam : 
 Take thy last look of her, Fair Rosamond ! 
 Thou see'st she blushes deeply as thgu look'st. 
 
 Ros. And do thou look on the high and azure 
 throne, 
 Whence Vengeance, winged with burning wrath, 
 
 shall come. 
 Barest thou— defying all the laws of earth. 
 And all the dread magnificence of Heaven-^ 
 A foul and dastard niurder perpetrate ? 
 
 Queen. I — -I — murder! Dare— I— murder ? I ? 
 
 Ros. Yes. Would'st thou kill a hapless penitent ? 
 
 QueeNj Thine infamy now bringg it on thine 
 head, 
 And I am but an humble instrument 
 In Heaven's avenging hand to punish thee. 
 This hour^ — triumphant hour ! — ^is all mine own : 
 My joy, my long-sought joy, is now possessed. 
 Ah, ah ! why beat so high, thou merry heart ! 
 Wait, flutt'rer, the consummation of our joys ! 
 
 Ros. Ah, this is Death's own chilling hand I 
 feel 
 
The King. 53 
 
 Welcome is death. — I yield — farewell to all ! 
 
 [Rosamond's bo^ sinks falls off the seat. 
 
 Queen. Unravelled mystery — she bows to 
 Death ! 
 That mystic crash ! The throne of intellect 
 Now falls ! What countless streams of thought 
 
 rush forth,. 
 As though their occupation gone ! Electric touch ! 
 Region mysterious 1 how prostrate now ! 
 Thy secret purposes are closed : that part — 
 That something of eternity is gone, 
 As some far-distant sail ; 't was but a speck — 
 An atom quivering on the horizon bright — - 
 Then sunk for ever on the viewless sea. 
 
 Ros. All o'er, all o'er ! I do confess my sins ! 
 Accept my prayer — forgive. I faint, I die ! 
 
 Queen. Bear up awhile 
 
 Ros. No more f 't is past, I die ! 
 
 Queen. Ha ! ha ! Fair Rosamond, thou Parian 
 fair. 
 Tell the cold grave that I thee forward sent, 
 A truant mistress for cold ugly Death ; 
 And when in joy he gapes convulsively. 
 Seeking to press thee to his chapless jaws, 
 And mumbles o'er thy lips as if in love, 
 Tell him that I thy sole brideswoman was. 
 And sent thee in the heyday of thy sins 
 To his encircling, gaunt, and scaled arms ! 
 
 [Rosamond sinks in death, YAMk'^OKP^ frantic rvithjoy. 
 She dies ! Regale thyself, thou gallant heart, 
 And watch awhile this waxen, wanton thing. 
 While every atom of mortality. 
 And all the careless matter, thus forlorn. 
 Decline and sink into eternal sleep. 
 All that the everlasting world awards— 
 
54 The King. 
 
 The mayte and vast mysteries to come 
 She may surmise at leisure, now, alone ; 
 The petty life of Time is over now, 
 All gone as passing cloud dispersed for aye. 
 Well, now, ye fairies, trip upon the green ; 
 Let Echo hasten hence to join the song ; 
 Let Hate and Murder wild, with angry eye, 
 Take part and join this merry midnight glee. 
 
 [RosAMOND'n body quivers. 
 Tut ! tut ! say, why this quivering, quailing, dear ? 
 Quibbling with death ? 'T is past ; but now I fear 
 — So — so — thy bridegroom's arms thou likest not ; 
 Thou shrink' St, and may'st distort thy comeliness ; 
 Thy lingering beauty may remain awhile. 
 And breed grave doubts in grave fools' heads ; 
 
 and then 
 Suspicion in her jaunting car may wake. 
 
 \A dead silence. 
 Come, spirits, brand her as your own, 
 And lead her blindfold to her kindred sprites — 
 The land of woe and toil. You '11 prove her cow- 
 ard. 
 And truant if she can ; but gripe her hard ; 
 Entwine your web-like forms, and if she trips. 
 Then dash into the grave : her hopeless hope 
 Thus blast, and lash the vile oftender home. 
 
 \_Pauses. 
 Dark midnight, leaning on his ebon wand. 
 Complaining, walks. with melancholy steps'. 
 Where's Henry now? false king! Where now, 
 
 pale " rose," 
 Where is thy lord ? What, moody and chagrined ? 
 Hast thou no answer ? Well, I thee will tell. 
 He dreams of gold and glittering scimitars, 
 And on thy Parian breast he vows again 
 
^^ But hark! ' t is Aba now returned ; 
 Or Wt the ^sty wind moaning so low ? " 
 
The King. 5 5 
 
 Soon to recline. Fond fool! deceitful, vile ! 
 Thy palling charms, wan nun, he '11 soon forsake. 
 
 [Approaching the body, she kicks the face. 
 Those heaving pangs have rent and marked her 
 
 face. 
 And there — ■ — [Leaves the Labyrinth. 
 
 But hark ! 't is Aba now returned ; 
 Or is 't the gusty wind moaning so low ? 
 Or some intrusive wandering serf ? Ye stars, 
 And placid moon, and thou, unslumbering sea, 
 Now bear me witness I am merciful. 
 And but performed the will of vengeful Heaven. 
 
 [Jieturns to the Labyrinth. 
 Now here, fair dame, we part, and I must beg 
 Thy silence on our meeting's cause. What, still 
 In moods ? Come, bounding, panting Fear, thy 
 
 nod 
 I now obey, and leave this company 
 Of solemn silent things. [A voice is heard. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest. 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 A Becket alone. 
 
 A Becket. And does a judgment day appear so 
 soon 
 Upon the heels of sin so rapidly ? 
 There is a whirlwind I must boldly meet, 
 And yet there is a haven, yea, for me^ 
 Encircled by that Everlasting One 
 Who bade the storm be dumb, and walked the sea ; 
 
56 The King. 
 
 And then my soul, from every trammel free, 
 
 By no such tedious grades as mark on earth 
 
 Its slow development, triumphantly 
 
 Shall range the ever-endless space 
 
 Through all the ethereal heights and baseless 
 
 depths 
 Of knowledge spiritual and grand. 
 Free from the puny power of ingrate kings. 
 Come, black conspiracy, I see thee now ; 
 My real self thou canst not reach. 
 
 Mary ! grant me patience to endure, 
 And as a soldier of the cross to die. 
 Angels of light, direct my trembling step, 
 While I approach the goal — the end of things. 
 
 1 do not ask delay, for well I know 
 The true interpretation of my dreams. 
 I do not bow before sick royalty, 
 And all its earthy meek vicissitudes. 
 
 But humbly bow before the King of kings ! 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Reginald Fitz-urse, William de Tracey, Hugh de Mor- 
 viLLE, and Richard Bretts, misunderstanding the King, 
 and thinking to please him, determine to assassinate the Arch- 
 bishop when entering Canterbury Cathedral. 
 
 A Becket. Gay knight, save fare thee well, no 
 more. 
 But warn thy master now that every lance 
 His vaunting hand shall dare to cast, recoils. 
 Turning its glittering point upon himself; 
 
The King. 57 
 
 And e'en his blazing mail and all his knights, 
 And all the prowess of his daring soul, 
 Shall fall before great Rome's omnipotence. 
 De Tracey. Let's follow quickly, or we miss 
 our end. 
 See, see ! he hastens to the altar steps : 
 All join, be firm, but hold no parley now. 
 Or some may wince under his rhapsody. 
 
 Arch. Why, goodly gentlemen, what summons 
 
 now ? 
 FiTZ-URSE. Proud priest, we come to teach thee 
 how to fall. 
 Instead of quarts of sack, thou shalt have gall. 
 A Becket. Ye stand on sacred ground, I warn 
 ye all. 
 What ! seek my blood ? e'en here must I now fall ? 
 De T. If thou hast any prayers to say, say 
 now. 
 We 've sworn to drive thy vicious soul below, 
 
 \Peals blow. All draw. 
 
 And thus obey thy injured sovereign's will. 
 'T will stay a base rebellious tongue awhile. 
 
 De Morville. Remember all ! he wears a puis- 
 sant sword, 
 And learnt his passes well in bloody France. 
 
 A Becket. Who willed this strange assault ? 
 Help ! help ! A vaunt. 
 Ye braggart knaves ! myself ye cannot kill- 
 That villain's axe hath wearied me, — I faint ! 
 
 De T. The noble king sent this to soothe thee, 
 
 saint ! {Strikes. 
 
 A Becket. Angels above, restore my strength 
 awhile. 
 And must I draw this rusty blade once more. 
 To punish lying lips of heretics ? 
 
58 The King. 
 
 De T, Strike, Morville, strike ! 
 
 \They close on the Archbishop. 
 
 A Becket, (draws). Ye pirates of life's-blood ! 
 hold ! hold, ye wolves ! 
 Ye base-born curs ! familiars of sin ! 
 What, steal anointed breath ! Heaven curses ye. 
 And ne'er will yield ye mercy when ye call, 
 
 \Struggles on steps, 
 
 FiTZ. All strike with me: release his haughty 
 soul 
 From its incumbrances. His eyes now roll. 
 
 [FiTZ-URSE strikes. 
 
 This heavenly lamb prefers the meads of earth, 
 And hesitates to seize his golden crown. 
 
 MoR. His sins whirl round him like a fall of 
 snow, 
 He sniffs his brimstone throne a mile below. 
 His breath blows out apace : let's leave him now. 
 Another gift from this will speed his pace, {Strikes. 
 Or some dark sprite may snatch away his Grace. 
 
 De T. The king's own will is known to no one 
 now : 
 I doubt if royal Henry meant this scene. 
 
 MoR. I '11 budge for absolution now, and let him 
 pout, 
 'T is too late now to conjure up a doubt. 
 Farewell to England's lands — a long farewell. 
 Let each take bounding steps, and silently 
 Seek other homes and new fraternity. 
 
 Scene 5. 
 An Italian Priest's House. 
 Priest. Who knocks ? 
 Servant. A man without asks audience. 
 
The King. 59 
 
 Pr. Let him come in. That murderer, I guess, 
 I have a rumour in my soul 't is he : 
 My dreams were full of him, the king, and death. 
 How now ? 
 
 Enter Dk Tracey, disguised as a Yeoman.^ : \ 
 De T. (kneek and hides his face). If absolution^ blots 
 out darkest sins. 
 I would confess to thee, good father,, now. 
 Pr. What? now? I must go forth, -.i 
 De T. Oh, father, stay ! 
 
 I am borne down by sins which waste my heart. 
 Pr. What sins ? of what ? Hast thou been thief, 
 
 declare ? 
 Dp T. Good priest, 'tis true, I have been thief, 
 alas! 
 These hands have stolen a precious thing. 
 
 Pr. But what ? 
 
 Be thrifty, man, I want no more report. 
 The price of every sin is small ; attend^: .; 
 
 First pay the Church, and then restore that thing. 
 And then ask intercession of the saints. 
 
 De T. My scorched heart will burst, dear fa- 
 ther, now. \Throws down some gold. 
 'T is absolution must be granted me: 
 Here 's gold — the gold — ^the very gold which I — 
 
 \Trenibles very much and stammers. 
 
 Which I received for blood — an old man's blood. 
 
 Adored, beloved by many of the good ; 
 
 His age, his office should have stayed my hand ; 
 
 But I was one of a determined band. 
 
 O priest, there is a burning heat within, 
 
 Which nought about this earth can ever quench ; 
 
 There is a tumult here of brawling fiends ! 
 
 Would that the earth had gaped and swallowed me 
 
 Ere that foul sin had stained these weary hands. 
 
6p The King. 
 
 Pr. The holy Church hath power. Forget this 
 
 sin, 
 E'en on a king or any underlings 
 Whate'er his state or dignity has been. 
 Thou hast confessed ; thou art absolved, 't is o'er — 
 The price is paid, and Heaven can claim no 
 
 more. 
 The Church will bear e'en such a sin as this, 
 And hide it from the eye of mighty Heaven. 
 Be thy victim who he. may, thou art forgiven : 
 The Pope of Rome is Heaven's vicegerent here. 
 And from the treasury of good men's deeds 
 Will grant indulgence to thy cruel soul, 
 Ah, yes, for ever — through all changeless scenes, 
 And whilst eternity, exhaustless, heaves 
 Its mystic form and nature yet unknown. 
 But thou must pray to holy Mary's form, 
 And lift thine eyes to' saints who live in heav'n, 
 To mediate 'tween the Mighty One and man. 
 
 \Aside. 
 Now is the instant, for my darkest thoughts 
 To shape themselves in form of honest speech ; 
 But can I trust that dark tall murderer ? 
 Or shall I write to Rome that even yet 
 I have no arm I can direct ? — direct ? 
 Now I will try whilst hell attunes my tongue. 
 
 \Turntng his back on De Tracey. 
 From whohi or whence thou com'st concerns me 
 
 not; 
 But string thy nerves awhile, just while I speak. 
 And think of anything thou lov'st in life. 
 And know that thou shalt have e'en in thy palm 
 The power to satisfy thy blithest lusts, 
 Be what they may. There, tell them not to me, 
 For I have but an office to fulfil, 
 
The King. 6i 
 
 And am no chapman with these ingots here : 
 Weighed in the fairest balances they were. 
 
 \Throws down several bars of gold. 
 
 There, take them all ! they are all thine — all, all ! 
 
 I want thine aid to lead a truant king — ■ 
 
 A chambering valiant thing, Plantagenet — 
 
 To his last home in safety and alone. 
 
 Thus serve the Church, thus serve thy soul. Dost 
 
 hear ? 
 Dost hear ? {Aside). That tenfold gloom alarms mQ 
 
 now. — 
 Or else in purgatr'y thy soul will lie. 
 Whilst countless years will ever, ever roll. 
 
 De T. More blood ! more blood ! These hands 
 
 do writhe in blood ! 
 Pr. The holy Pope absolves thine evil soul. — 
 Dost hear ? Dost see ? 
 
 [Shows the gold and a written paper directing 
 the King's death from the Pope. 
 
 De T. Mine eyes are full of blood ! 
 
 I now see nought but blood ! My hands are blood ! 
 
 \Sinks down, face covered. 
 
 '• Pr. Man! fool! I see thou'rt mad. — Ho! ho! 
 Without ! Take this foul murderer away ! 
 
 De T. Good priest, good priest ! father, hear 
 
 me, hear me ! 
 Pr. Hear me ! I am confessor to that king. 
 'T is thine to see such royal sinners breathe in 
 
 heav'n. 
 Deported by the holy Church, quite safe. 
 Come, come ! — dost hear ? I would befriend thee, 
 
 man. 
 'Tis no new task for thee. The Church loves 
 
 thee ; 
 Now love the Church, and leave the end to me, 
 
6.2 The King. 
 
 De T. Anguish o'erflows my soul ! Good priest, 
 forbear ! 
 My brain will burst ! I will obey the Church. 
 Pr. Good man ! See there that shining gold — 
 see there ! 
 'T will buy thee absolution o'er and o'er ! 
 Yea, thou may'st murder father, mother, son. 
 The highest Churchman and the meekest nun. 
 And be unscathed as blood-bought sinners are. — 
 [Priest gives, the absolution warrant. 
 
 There, take thy warrant for the past now gone ; 
 
 But show it not — ay, not to any one. 
 
 Haste, turn those filmy eyes ! The gold is here. 
 
 Think of the mirthful hours 't will purchase thee, 
 
 The long carousings undelayed by want. 
 
 'T will buy thee mailed coat 'gainst every power 
 
 On earth, and lead thee up to heaven at last. 
 
 Where thou may'st bask on golden slopes, whilst 
 
 time 
 In those bright worlds is charmed in endless sleep 
 By cadence of the soft inspired notes 
 Which echo from the lips of seraphim, 
 Who lead the eternal choirs. Wake, man ! see, gold ! 
 
 De T. {aside). I see but hell, which now awaits 
 my soul ; 
 And Sin is 'tending there to dash with me 
 Deep down into the burning core within ! 
 
 I see the Primate's form now quivering. - 
 
 How to escape ? How to endure ? Ah^ how ? 
 There murderers, and filthy beings there. 
 And some I thought I ne'er should see again, 
 I see their angry frowns ; their shouts I hear ! 
 My fellow-murderers will sneer on me. 
 
 Pr. Wake up, wild man ! Now for thy faithful 
 love ; 
 
The King. 63 
 
 Or shall the Church provide thee tortures prompt, 
 To purge thy soul of cruel murder's stains ? 
 Awake ! Why dost thou dare to stare towards me ? 
 That was a glance of recognition fierce ; {Aside. 
 But still restrained : 't was fear, 't was gloom, 't was 
 
 threat. 
 'T is past endurance now. I '11 change mine end, 
 And cast him on the law's deep shoals and sands : 
 They '11 swallow up that wretch ; and I, intact, 
 Will whisper warnings to the king and lords. 
 That murderer's arms now yawn for royal blood. 
 And when they ask for evidence complete, 
 I '11 ask their praise to holy Mary's name, 
 That still they live and breathe above the grave. 
 
 De T. I '11 leave, and see thee in the falling eve, 
 For hours have sped too glib since I came here. 
 (I 've killed the Primate by mistake, I fear !) {Aside. 
 Oh, what a rage is in his gloating eye ! 
 He means to end my life. — I '11 fly ! 
 
 Pr. (Stamps— three men rush in). Drag this man down ! 
 Blindfold him as you go ! 
 His hours are few, or mine are full of woe. {Aside. 
 When he 's well bound in chains, bring me report. 
 
 [De Tracey draws upon officers, and escapes 
 with warrant and absolution. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene i. 
 
 King alone before seeing the Queen after murder of Rosamond. 
 
 King. My sad imaginings portray it all, — 
 The rugged murderous scene now passes me. 
 
64 The King. 
 
 With mournful step it stamps upon my soul ! 
 
 Those sunken eyes and that fair pallid brow ; 
 
 Those once bright lashes drooping and forlorn 
 
 The stillness heaving in night's lonely hour 
 
 'Midst hideous evidence. Death's work all done. 
 
 King Death ! thy many mysteries o'ermaster me, 
 
 Make my poor flesh in tremor agitate. 
 
 And she is thine ! — in thy great palace rests ! 
 
 Oh, take a weary man, an earthly king, 
 
 Who prays ten thousand prayers to be no more ! 
 
 Oh, this is agony to be alive 
 
 With spirits many and indefinite. 
 
 Making their gibes and gutt'ral challenges — ■ 
 
 Asking the fate of love's moralities. 
 
 All sorrow now — all dead ! Yes, all is o'er 
 
 On all — o'er all — those sweet idealties, 
 
 And that great company of unseen things. 
 
 In which my wild impassioned nature lived, 
 
 All gone, as faded leaves in autumn's grave ! 
 
 Farewell, once sweet tranquillity, farewell ! 
 
 And all the lovely preciousness of thoughts. 
 
 With all their grand magnificence, farewell ! 
 
 Go, go, adorn some noble soul which wears no stain 
 
 Of earthly passions' dye ! My brain is sick ! 
 
 I see no more — I hear no more ! No more 
 
 Life's choice desires — its bright imaginings. 
 
 Its sweet transitions charming every sense — 
 
 Inexplicable source ! inexplicable end ! 
 
 Its real and its phantom exercise 
 
 All o'er — all stayed ! a long farewell to all ! 
 
 Oh, Jealousy ! thou painted angel ! thou 
 
 Hast murdered happy love (p'raps unprepared)! 
 
 Why art thou so akin to gentle love ? 
 
 By what embranglement did nature act 
 
 To make thee twin to Heaven's chief excellence ? 
 
The King. 65 
 
 Scene 2. 
 The Queen comes forward. 
 
 King. Proud Ellen, kneel ! A word before we 
 part. 
 
 Queen. Ten thousand words of praise! — a 
 novelty. 
 
 King. My tongue cleaves to my mouth — alas ! 
 
 Queen. Hath State emergency distracted thee? 
 
 King. Beautiful light ! illume some better world, 
 And let no ray be desecrated here ! 
 Dare I forget that foul obtruding form 
 Is not an armed foe for my revenge ? 
 Dare I, with maniac rage, tare e'en in twain, 
 Into a thousand parts, that murderess' form ? 
 
 Queen. Are these the courteous phrases kings 
 now use, 
 Or have Arcadian scenes taught rank abuse ? 
 Poor fervid lover ! rest awhile e'en here : 
 Divest thyself of rude absurdities ! 
 
 King. And so you sucked the blood of inno- 
 cence ! — 
 Uncleanly apprehensions leading on 
 To glut the thirst of thy green jealousy ; 
 And with those very hands — -inhuman wretch ! — 
 The doors of youthful life were boldly closed. 
 And in thy guilty haste that light put out, 
 Which vied with brightest stars in brilliancy ! 
 
 Queen. There was a time I thought thy head 
 was sound, 
 I knew thy heart had many breaches there. 
 Last time we met in a sequestered bower 
 Near Ditchley Wood, just by the lofty tower. 
 
 King. Hear me, and stay thy wanton tongue. 
 
 9 
 
66 The King. 
 
 Queen. I hear 
 
 Such strange and reckless sounds, all heedless 
 
 now, 
 From one — bold passion's slave, enamoured slave ! 
 Who follows swift a lord, and knows not where, 
 Chiding in groans along a rueful way, 
 Laden with lustful rheums and blind dismay. 
 When next I do confess I '11 pray for kings : 
 I will not burden fading memory. 
 Or dare to count some virtues much awry. 
 And yet with humble voice dare I inquire, 
 Has no corrupt desire burnt in. thy soul ? 
 Has no besetting sin intruded there. 
 And lulled dull conscience in sad perjury ? 
 Has no black sin inhabited thy flesh. 
 Lodged there to incubate, and desecrate 
 The gifts of .generous Heaven ? Once-noble king ! 
 
 King. Hold ! hold thy vicious railing. Scream 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Queen. Much have I loved thee, king — all need- 
 less now — 
 All o'er — in dreariness now sunk forlorn ; 
 The comfort of thy love all past, all o'er ; 
 So too all thoughts of earth, or hell, or heaven. 
 But all my deadly wrongs are known to thee : 
 Long have I groaned — thou know'st all this, and 
 more. 
 
 King. Yet thou shalt prove thy misery is to come, 
 Ungracious ingrate ! hence ! away from me ! 
 
 Queen, I challenge thee before the Church 
 itself. 
 Whose absolution I long since received ! 
 Thy favoured priest was my confessor once. 
 Of course thou know'st thy Primate is at rest : 
 Some thought it strange, some thought it even best. 
 
The King. 67 
 
 Perhaps its suddfenness astonished .some ; 
 But if its consummation pleases one, 
 Perhaps 't is well, and cannot be undone. 
 This rescript gives me full authority to kill ; 
 But some are spared in evil ways awhile, 
 To torture queens and spoil the royal name. 
 Methinks old sinners should not be severe ; 
 You guess my meaning : let your conscience hear. 
 
 King (aside). The gallant knights in great Nou- 
 reddin's camp 
 Have vouched you would seduce a very fiend. 
 
 Queen. You never did — angels were your chief 
 sport. 
 Perhaps thy higher nature did debate ; 
 But loss of virtue was too reckless late : 
 The flesh is weak, and fought without that grace, 
 Which would impede the course of lust's wild 
 
 race. 
 It had its visions not supremely good, 
 And heated blood carhe rushing on the flood. 
 
 King. Thy vile impertinence shall not avail, 
 Or check the duty of severe revenge. 
 
 Queen. Fear not: I will not scold thy virtue 
 here, 
 For all such sins bring punishment, I 'm sure ; 
 And for thy share prepare ! thy day is near ! 
 Yet if thou hast no sin, I '11 not condemn ; 
 But if thou hast the greater share, what then ? 
 
 King. Thou cold and daring murderess, begone ! 
 I now remember what the French, oft said, 
 That I should rue sad profligacy's theft, 
 And turn aside, ay, loathe what then seemed sweet. 
 As from corruption and coarse mire, and worse. 
 They did not say thy feline hands sought blood, 
 Or that thy greed for blood was quite innate, 
 
68 The King. 
 
 And that thou wert a crafty murderess, 
 And hated every woman's loveliness. 
 
 Queen, Murders are various, some prompt, 
 some slow ; 
 Some queens have died, and no one now knows how, 
 Some, poisoned, some with brittle steel expired. 
 Doubtless a trance, or pain which made them tired. 
 Unless some gloomy murderer were hired, 
 (And loyal men that honour have desired). 
 Some harlots die, and in abundance sicken ; 
 We need not pray for them — they go to heaven : 
 At all events, they make a kind of leaven : 
 I am not sure their sins are all forgiven. 
 
 King. All princes foreign shall have early note 
 A toothless tigress leaped upon a lamb. 
 And mumbled o'er a form of beauteous mould, 
 Breeding deep anguish through the quivering form. 
 
 Queen. Enigmas and mad threats must be re- 
 served. 
 'T is my turn now. I '11 e'en begin to scold. 
 Be eloquent of sins not always told : 
 I would not charge each vice as some vast evil, 
 But peccadilloes only — very civil ! 
 Though stolen* wives may only suit a novel. 
 Not always fit to point out every evil ; 
 Yet loss of bloom precedes demise of .flowers. 
 And no perfection can be absolute, 
 When royal serpents will the air pollute. 
 
 King, Thou dreadful Amazon, away! from me 
 away ! 
 Go forth, thou fool, and meet thy destiny. 
 
 Queen. If thou wilt have my blood, take it 
 
 e'en now. {Opens her dress. 
 
 * Heniy induced Eleonora to leave her husband, Louis le 
 Gros. — Lyttelton. 
 
The King. 69 
 
 Aiid thou art skilled in tenderness, 't is known. 
 I bid wide welcome to all misery : 
 'T is pain to live — 't is peace and rest to die. 
 Strike deep as hate ! I '11 meet Love's destiny. 
 No woman's shriek shall wake the passer-by. 
 
 King. I will not ease thy miserable soul, 
 Nor stay the rights of conscience buried there. 
 Thou base undaunted foe, live on and groan, 
 Until thy blood-stained soul goes forth alone, 
 And stumbles, drunk with gore, in Hades deep. 
 ,Creep close — ay, near — thy priest's phylactery 
 (I know thy vow is taken — I shall die), 
 But ever far from me go hence away. 
 
 Queen. I thought 'twas blood you sought — 
 not infamy. 
 
 King. Thy very presence poisons all around. 
 
 Queen. Thy senses now are exquisitely grown, 
 Just as the lily of the vale you frown. 
 Confess your fault ; it was the fair one's treason, — 
 She did invite. I hope you 've learnt a lesson. 
 Confess to me. Be not disconsolate : 
 Some penitence is wise, though very late. 
 I think I heard some sighs — you look demure : 
 Now, sin no more, and venture to be pure. 
 
 King. Ho, ho ! without ! take this mad woman 
 hence ! 
 
 \Stands aside, as though awdy. King 
 sees Queen yet remaining. 
 
 Not gone, vile form ! Stay — stay now : look to 
 
 heaven. 
 And say the record of the dying words 
 Thy victim in her agony betrayed. 
 The privilege was thine to see and hear 
 Mortality's last shrift in Death's cold arms, 
 Her heaving moans, her sacred love's last prayer. 
 
70 The King. 
 
 Queen. Be merciful, and with that glitteringf 
 blade 
 Let forth my restless blood — release my soul : 
 It longs to be released, poor quailing thing. 
 My body long since dead — it died forlorn ; 
 But that great mystery within its walls. 
 Which the Supernal hand hath hidden there, 
 Now lives in scorn, penned up to madden slow ; 
 And in its raving fits it has done harm. 
 Has spoiled the musings of its perjured lord. 
 
 King. Insulting wretch! — sad ruin! — hence, 
 away ! 
 
 Queen. Great king, now watch a woman's pro- 
 phecy : 
 False love must live a life of fearfulness ; 
 Meet days of dreariness and much distrust ; 
 Mistake the faithful and misjudge the just ; 
 And, when deceiving others, be deceived ; 
 Bear heavy burdens, and be ne'er relieved. 
 It has caused murder, and oft theft — 
 A constant scourge : of nature's joys bereft ; 
 It may go raving mad, or imbecile : 
 'T is renegade to love — the very devil. 
 
 King. Thou sorceress, away ! Confess thy soul ! 
 
 Queen. But kings' great hearts should never 
 be untrue ; 
 They do not' like their sins in full review, 
 They love in hiding-places oft. You know 
 They cause at times the very loss of life — 
 Ay, when not even meant ; and not in strife, 
 By hands intending but impediment 
 I saw a fair white rose in meekness die : 
 Some one had poisoned it — ay, purposely. 
 
 King. Base hypocrite, go ! talk with raving 
 winds ! 
 
The King. 7 1 
 
 Queen. Neglect has made some beauty pros- 
 trate lie, 
 
 Just as the weary flower will change and die, 
 
 Old toads infect the air and stir the mud, 
 
 And spoil true beauty in the very bud ; 
 
 And poisonous snakes 'midst weeds seek lovely 
 flowers . 
 
 (As gallant kings steal into lonely bowers) ; 
 
 E'en angry winds destroy the promised spring. 
 
 And furtive hawks oft lurk where sweet birds 
 sing. 
 King. Thou beldame, leave ! and from my pre- 
 sence haste 
 
 To other lands ! \_Exit. 
 
 Queen {ahne). Alas ! foul love — foul love — foiil 
 
 jealousy ! \Falls down — suddenly rises. 
 
 Ye ministers of sin, forsake me not ! 
 
 Alas ! I know dire scenes are waiting me ! 
 
 \Starts hack. Points to an open door. Thinks 
 she sees Rosamond. 
 
 See ! see ! the pallid Rosamond stands there, 
 
 As fair and beautiful as on that eve 
 
 I cast the dire narcotic in her blood. 
 
 Oh, come again on earth ! Revive once more ! 
 
 Why dost thou look so geqtle on thy murderer ? 
 
 I do confess. See, see ! she fears me yet. 
 
 Ah, see those coral lips again respire ; 
 
 She pleads, is nauseate with Death's cold draught. 
 
 How weird and altered is that marble face ! 
 
 Its roseate hue, all fled o'er heaven's great walls, 
 
 Awaits its consecration up on high. 
 
 She hastes away, and leaves her murd'ress here— ^ 
 
 In blood, in darkness, and in anguish steeped ! 
 
 I must go hence. Some fiend, now seize my soul ! 
 
 And haste e'en down into some burning lake. 
 
72 The King. 
 
 And let me hide from that pale victim there ! 
 
 \Two Officers stop her on leaving, and take her to prison. 
 Ye ministers of law, my thanks. I go : 
 I ask no mercy from an unjust foe. 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 Music — A Cavalcade — A figure of rural beauty leading twelve 
 Maidens dancing before the King. Nobles Arundel, 
 Breuse, Soully, Fitz-bernard, Vaux, and others 
 assemble. The King talks with them whilst music plays, 
 but looks pale and dejected. Music ceases. 
 
 King. I sorrow much, my lords, that I am sad 
 In midst of so much faithful joy ; and yet 
 Move you much for this day's toil. I owe 
 Far more than I can pay — but take my thanks. 
 
 Arundel. We give thee love for love, and thanks 
 for thanks, 
 Dear liege. We sorrow much our king is sad ; 
 Yet in these angry wars, dire scenes for woe 
 Cannot escape thy tender love. Here comes 
 Wallenge : yes, from the field of blood. 
 
 King. Wallenge, what news to add to sorrow's 
 list? 
 
 Wallenge. Oh, sire, thy noblest children now 
 are gone ! 
 
 King. 'T is dire distrust awaits my living soul ! 
 But tell me all, and let my proud heart bleed. 
 
 Wall. The multitude of dead no tongue can tell. 
 There, limbs inured to manly toil. 
 To brace the bow, to rule the angry steed, 
 To turn aside the javelin's reckless ire. 
 Lie lulled, and sunk forlorn — no more to move ! 
 There, strongest bows of largest size are seen ; 
 Impenetrable massive shields of gold,- 
 
The King. 73 
 
 And osier- woven targets, lying there, 
 
 Enough to quell a world of angry fiends : 
 
 The wealth of Ormuz and of Ind was there. 
 
 'T was woe, indeed, to watch the trickling blood 
 
 Saunter o'er features once in gallant life ! 
 
 Dukes, earls, and lords, with broilsome boors, were 
 
 there ; 
 Where many a glistening chest has ceased to heave, 
 And sumptuous trappings deck those frozen forms, 
 And varied gems which India's land supplied, 
 And glittering topaz with its orient beam. 
 The pallid pearl, the amethyst so rare. 
 Bright jasper's fire and ruby's burning blush, 
 Coerulean beryls and gay emerald green, 
 Still shine with lustre as in tournament ; 
 There gorgeous banners yet are gay and bright, 
 Helmets engraved relief, alto, and base, 
 And all was carrion for hungry birds. 
 It was the saddest scene" these eyes have seen ! 
 'T was drear to stand amidst these awful things — ■ 
 But words may never dare describe such scenes. 
 
 [Soldiers bearing the bodies of Montgomkry, Mowbray, 
 Vesey, and Duke de Bretagne. Funeral march 
 playing. 
 
 King. Ah ! ah ! it must be so. Bring forth our 
 dead ! 
 Their spirits watch us now and share our joy. 
 Give them their rightful place near to our court. 
 The loyal noble soldier never dies ! 
 The crystal gates of heaven will open wide, 
 When these true martial spirits enter there, 
 
 \Pointing to Montgomery, Mowbray, and Vesey. 
 E'en now they stand arrayed in glory bright. 
 Ye gallant souls ! this day from battle rest. 
 Faithful have been your lives : before your shades 
 
 10 
 
74 The King. 
 
 I kneel. Invincibles I thought you once; 
 But ye have bled, in mercy to our foes. 
 Poor Mowbray's faded fashion beckoned me, 
 Whilst burning steel was flashing in our midst. 
 Though death hath dimmed the fire, 't is even now 
 Not quite extinct : the noble spirit fondly lurks, 
 As if reluctant yet to leave these eyes. 
 Whence it was wont to break in lightning's flash. 
 Such from their honour death cannot divide. 
 Pale shade ! accept thy sovereign's sacred tears : 
 Would that my crown, and all the laurels won 
 In tented field and gallant tournament 
 Could purchase back that valiant breath of thine ! 
 I saw that ghastly form, Montgomery, 
 The light of glory circling his young brow, 
 E'en as a halo round Night's favourite star. 
 Oh ! I would give the rest of this dull life 
 To meet the cursed arm that rent that breast. 
 Oh, what a monstrous plunge broke in that mail 
 (A present to his sire at Wallingford) ! 
 Thus savage valour taints the soul of man. 
 Thy native land will ne'er forget thy worth : 
 'T is public sorrow when a hero dies. 
 Illustrious youth, accept thy sovereign's woe. 
 I dared to glance on Vesey's noble form ; 
 Ah ! ah ! he glared ; I thought him by my side. 
 My best, my earliest friend ! What reckless arm 
 Hath murdered thee ? Why didst thou trust thy 
 
 age 
 Among thy sovereign's foes ? That hoary brow 
 Tempted some coward traitor vile to strike. 
 And make those gaping holes, and thus let forth 
 The noble spirit from that gallant breast. 
 His hand, now scarcely cold, dear, good old friend ! 
 We now can only sigh, and say farewell ! 
 
The King, 75 
 
 'Midst seas of blood appeared Duke de Bretagne, 
 Sad scene of reckless tumult ! all now calm ! 
 That haughty breast that lately heaved so high ! 
 Ah !.who can mourn thee now ? The rebel prince 
 Will spare no sigh for one who bled for him ; 
 Thy countrymen ? ah ! what to them avails 
 That noble thoughts which might exalt the soul, 
 And render life illustrious and loved, 
 Were once the portion of that bleeding corse ? 
 In spite of all its daring chivalry, 
 That arm has found a traitor's grave at last. 
 That soul was once a favoured spot, on which 
 Delighted Heaven would shed its brightest beams. 
 But dark Rebellion's planet came between, 
 And all his glorious loyalty eclipsed ; 
 Then left him in foul darkness base to sink. 
 
 Randolph. Ye ghosts ! thy dumb appearance 
 now in death 
 Yields sorrow to thy king, who loved thee much. 
 But may not mourn the dead who rest for aye ! 
 Now here, Bretagne ? Farewell ! 
 
 King, . Inglorious fate ! 
 
 I would forgive thee now, if thou couldst hear ! 
 But we shall meet in some promiscuous crowd, 
 When years of purgat'ry have passed away. 
 There are within the soul harmonious strings. 
 Which, howsoe'er the finger of rough Time 
 May rudely snap, yet holy seraphs' hands 
 Shall gather in again, and bid them chaunt 
 To choral symphonies of heavenly harps ; 
 So, until then, we part. Pale ghost, farewell ! 
 Once bravest of the brave, Bretagne, farewell ! 
 
'^6 The King. 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Suddenly shrieks are heard: a female with dishevelled hair rushes 
 in before the King, viz.. Duchess de Bretagne. 
 
 Duchess. 'Tis here! 'tis here! Then rumour 
 has been just : 
 
 \Looking at the King sa>erely. ' 
 
 Some one has stolen the body of my lord ; 
 His corslet and his brilliant mail of chain 
 Have won the favour that their lord had lost. 
 Whose share is this ? At any price I '11 buy — 
 
 [Fainting at Duke de Bretagne's corpse, 
 her eyes darting at the King. 
 
 Yes, king, a royal price I '11 freely give. 
 I know the lust for gold, with other lusts. 
 Have rendered royal honour much abused — 
 Made many wars, and spilt much honest blood. 
 
 King. What means this fair intruder in our 
 camp ? [Looking at Sir R. Glanville. 
 
 Duchess. Perhaps it is the portion of Sir Ralph. 
 If so, I '11 litigate his right — 'tis. mine ; 
 
 And [Looking at the Yii'SQ. 
 
 Heaven forbids the mightiest here to touch 
 The favoured body of my murdered lord. 
 Before the King of king's eternal throne, 
 High in the arched heavens, I '11 plead my cause. 
 
 Wall. It is the duchess of the brave Bretagne. 
 
 Chichester. Our liege, dear lady, feels thy 
 sorrow much, 
 And freely grants, in this sad troubled hour. 
 Thy dearest, amplest wish ; for he thy lord 
 The king has deeply loved. 
 
 Duchess. I have no lord — 
 
 My lord is drowned in that oblivious sleep 
 Which nought but the archangel's voice can break. 
 
The King. ']'] 
 
 When Death shall find his sceptre broke in twain. 
 Oh, reverend father, resignation teach ! 
 Dear mangled corse, give me thy icy hand ! 
 
 [Takes the hand. 
 The lustre of those orbs is ever veiled ; 
 The fount of thy enchanting eloquence 
 Shall ne'er respire again until that day 
 When Heaven shall send its radiant messenger 
 To roll away the stone which wakeful guards 
 Shall want the power to stay. Oh, bitter loss ! 
 Ambitious Death ! thou greedy, cruel thing ! — 
 The beautiful, the valiant, thou seizest first — 
 All that the heart holds dear, the mind respects, 
 Leaving these pallid forms our woe to soothe. 
 Oh, breathless clay ! once more delight mine ear 
 With the known accents of thy tender love ! 
 
 \Becomes frantic. 
 What passed, so awful, through my hollow ear ? 
 
 \Shouts and stamps. 
 Who kills the lord Bretagne — now murders me ? 
 It is — it is his well-known voice I hear! 
 
 \A heavy bell is heard. Moves round the camp, stopping 
 her ear with idiot vacant stare. Stares at the body. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I '11 haste before the Legate's court. 
 And claim the sacred body of my lord, 
 
 [The Duchess de Bretagne rushes in. Court sitting. 
 
 I come ! I come ! Where — where is he ? Whence 
 
 comes that voice .'' 
 Oh, pardon me, ye gentle lords ! Ye priests, 
 Whate'er ye are, yield up my lord ! 
 
 \Ferceives the Duke's corse. 
 
 I am the wife of that poor murdered duke ! 
 Fie ! fie upon ye, priests ! Oh, angels come, 
 And hide me with your wings ! protect me now ! 
 
78 The King. 
 
 And if your gentle forms fly in the air, 
 Hover about tliis charnel-house awhile, 
 And be my witness to the powers above. 
 
 Pr. Thou shalt make ransom for thy viperous 
 tongue. 
 
 Duchess. But why, alas ! should I disturb that 
 peace 
 With earthly sighs, that have no power to save ? 
 Thine is a state too pure for my poor love. 
 Ah, cruel Death ! thou 'st ta'en away my all. 
 And left me joyless, hopeless, and alone. 
 Will no one help the wretched Christabel ? 
 
 [Becomes again frantic. 
 Where is the king ? I seek his mighty throne ; 
 To him I '11 plead, and ask my murdered lord. 
 
 [ Walks up and down, and then stops before 
 the Bishop of Chichester. 
 Father, I want to see my lord again 
 Before he goes into the battle-field ; 
 I want to warn him of the rebel prince. 
 And those false priests who at our castle supped : 
 They urged my lord to turn against his king ; 
 They said they were the Pope's commissioners. 
 Oh, I would fondly whisper many things 
 To soothe his racking brain — dost hear, pale priest ? 
 Is this a time convenient for my lord 
 To list the tale of faithful messenger 
 Come from his castle straight ? No, no ! 
 This stormy night detains his faithful step. 
 So my poor jaded soul must wait awhile. 
 
 Pr. Thou art too bold, proud lady, much too bold ; 
 And thy short life may find a sudden stay. 
 
 Duchess. No time I ask of thee. Life's pur- 
 poses are closed : 
 Too wretched and too low to fear to die, 
 
" Where art thou, now ? Oh, whisper me as wont." 
 
The King. 79 
 
 Chich. Lady, your lord has left this weary world, 
 Is now in heaven above : (aside) yes, he is dead. 
 
 Duchess. My home is now in heaven : the duke 
 is there. 
 
 Chich. How can we now assuage this lady's 
 woe? 
 
 Duchess. Dead ! dead ! dead ! who ? The duke, 
 my lord ? What, dead ? 
 He left his couch, while visions strange did flit 
 And play their antics in my sleeping mind, 
 Ere e'en the lid of morn had 'gan to ope. 
 Yes — no ! E'en now his pillow is yet warm ; 
 His precious breath there lies, like fragrant myrrh. 
 Thou art not dead : from me so rudely torn ; 
 Thou wouldst not die, and leave thy Christabel ! 
 
 \Then rises suddenly. 
 My love — my duke — too urgently I cry ! 
 I call for love, as in love's transient hours, 
 When first love loved, and failed in utterance. 
 Art thou in Death's chill world, or ta'en to heaven ? 
 Where art thou now ? Oh, whisper me as wont 
 In the dear tones gone by ; or dost thou fear 
 To unfold the knowledge jealous spirits own ? 
 Another time — and thou wilt answer me : 
 'T is Christabel, thy wife — another time ; 
 And thou wilt show thy bright regalia. 
 Which angels have in everlasting light. 
 And all the grand domain in which thou art, 
 And how good spirits dwell and meekly muse, 
 In silence pass their immortality. [Pauses. 
 
 Last night I saw my duke in tides of blood. 
 Beating proud surges from his noble mouth. 
 Oh, what a dreadful thing it is to dream ! — 
 See toppling crags of ice in avalanche. 
 Like rolling flames, enveloping around. {Pauses. 
 
8o The King. 
 
 Forgive me, Death ! I would be courteous, too. 
 Thy dire decrees and all thy rights I know. 
 
 \Grasps one of the Priests. 
 
 I see thou hast the treasures of all time : 
 I come to seek what once so late was mine. 
 Permit me here in thy untraversed world 
 I '11 gently step, nor once disturb the dreams 
 Of thy unnumbered host. Grant me this boon : 
 I seek the body of my murdered lord, 
 And am but suppliant at thy great throne. 
 
 mighty king ! just in thy vast domain 
 
 Let love's all-searching eye but peer, peer in : 
 
 1 '11 haste away and tell no secrets, — no, 
 
 stately majesty ! — Forgive ! forgive ! 
 
 But hark ! I feel the trembling winds of earth 
 Rush o'er my brow, my burning, withering brain — 
 
 1 am the Lady Christabel — Forgive ! 
 
 \The Duchess, wandering, approaches 
 the Bishop of Chichester. 
 
 Oh, father — priest, good priest, proud priest — oh, 
 
 say. 
 Where is the duke ? I want to warn my lord 
 Of those dark priests who at our castle supped. 
 They said they came direct from holy Rome, 
 To hear confession of some certain sins 
 Ere he went forth to sink in battle's fray. 
 They made him promise to desert his king — 
 Oh, sad ! — my loyal lord betrayed his king ! 
 
 \Then looking at Priests. 
 Ye mystic hypocrites, release my lord ! 
 
 Bishop. Move this wild woman hence. The 
 bigot raves — 
 One of the hirelings of base heresy. 
 She has been taught to whine, vociferate, 
 And bay the servants of the holy cross. 
 
The King. 8 1 
 
 Duchess. The duke loves flowers — bring in the 
 eglantine, 
 Raise high the drawbridge — quick ! — the priests ! 
 
 the priests ! 
 There, there ! hark, hark ! the stormy winds re- 
 sound ; 
 But soon my love will come — I hear his voice 
 Of silver note : o'er hill and vale it comes. 
 No ! no ! 't is nought but hollow wandering winds : 
 
 \Pause. 
 The golden vision of my life is gone. 
 And I am wronged by thee, thou 'vengeful Death. 
 Alas, this dreadful dream ! — he sinks in blood ! 
 No! no! — Forgive ! forgive ! thou sovereign Death, 
 
 forgive ! 
 I seek my lord — I ask your royal aid 
 To wage a woman's war with angry priests. 
 
 \Looking towards Bishops. 
 Ye sycophants, stand forth ! Beware ! beware ! 
 Ye rob the patient world of loveliness. 
 All worlds, all ages gone, all coming time 
 Pronounce your doom^your everlasting doom : 
 Ye grin in joyfulness at woman's woe. 
 
 Chief Priest. Remove this raving heretic from 
 hence, \Sen)ants remove Duchess. 
 
 And lull her wilfulness in ways you know : 
 The business of the court has suffered much. 
 
 [Duchess is hurried, away. 
 Chich. This sight has deeply rent the royal 
 breast 
 With painful sympathy. Here comes the king. 
 How weird and haggard is that noble mien ! 
 King. Sad withered garlands Triumph now 
 
 must wear. 
 Pr. But where is the good Duchess de Bretagne ? 
 
 11 
 
82 The King. 
 
 Bishop. O'er-worn and wearied, she now rests 
 
 awhile. 
 King. Ye priests, some solemn duties yet remain: 
 Let Love, in Sorrow's garb, attend the dead 
 To their last silent home. Let all we loved 
 Have honour, love, and ceremonies too. 
 May we die deaths as honourably bright ! 
 I sorrow, friends, to leave you in such plight. 
 But I must leave ye all — no more to be. 
 
 [Henry is led away. Trumpets sound. 
 
 Old Time has borne me long enough, he says ; 
 And he is censor for all worldly ways : 
 Permits no reasoning, or fear's delays. 
 
 \Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Scene 5. 
 
 Interior of a Cathedral. Enter Henry borne on a litter. Walter 
 Mapes, Randolph, Ostard, Glanville, Gryme, Geoffery 
 (King's Son). 
 
 King. The latter part of every journey tires ; 
 And on this road no sun to rally me, 
 No rosy tapster to incite a smile. 
 Whose pleasant welcome echoes in mine ear. 
 As oft in merry times no more to be. 
 Stop, bearers ! stop ! Ah, Randolph ! faithful 
 
 friend ! 
 Here comes the weary husk to seek a home — 
 A safe receptacle for royal dust. 
 As some worn weary galley homeward bound 
 F"rom Tyre's proud land has lost all precious things, 
 With all the purple robes and richest spoils 
 Of blood and bold adventure o'er and o'er — 
 1 come, a merchant whose adventure 's closed. 
 All wrecked and sunk down to the golden sands. 
 
The King. 83 
 
 Is there no pandect, Randolph, for the dead, 
 Which strictly will prevent thy king's dry bones 
 To clank with mischievous abuttals rank ? 
 
 Mapes. Learned justiciary, our liege to thee 
 Does speak. 
 
 King. A wholesome heart thou hast, and true : 
 Too full for utterance. Well, I forgive my foes. 
 Another time will be when stammering tongues. 
 Released from bondage — ah ! another time — 
 Another— ah, ah, ah ! {Slightly faints. 
 
 Mapes. Most mighty king. 
 
 We hear thee say, another time. 
 
 King. Yes, yes. 
 
 Where was I ? I did say another time ; 
 But yet it boots not. — Where 's my chaplain now ? 
 That draught — ^give me to drink that freezing 
 draught. 
 
 OsTARD. 'Tis here, 'tis. here, my liege; it will 
 revive. [King drinks in frantic haste. 
 
 Mapes. My liege. 
 
 We hope, finds comfort now. 
 
 King. As much, my friend^ 
 
 As this cold world can grant to one who falls 
 So suddenly. If Heaven me more intends, 
 Then Heaven that more will grant, yea, e'en to me. 
 And rectify the past. God pardon those 
 That murder kings ! And I do execute 
 That wish, and pardon all who murder me. {Pauses. 
 Hark ! hark ! strange sounds are whirring round 
 
 me now : 
 Perhaps it is dark Chaos' progeny. 
 Revelling with joy to see the approach 
 Of Henry — warrior king ! who e'en on death 
 Will look undauntedly^ I cannot blench 
 At what I see not. 
 
84 The King. 
 
 Glan. {aside). Ah, poor king ! much wrong 
 
 He hath received, which thus distracts his mind ; 
 Or else a better Christian never lived. 
 
 King. Before the altar place me : slowly step. 
 Here my last journey ends on earth ; and now 
 Another awaits me, where attendance gross 
 I may not bear : spirits alone my courtiers — 
 My courtiers there ; where king and baron bold. 
 And priests, by paths respective and alone, enter — 
 Enter. — Sigh not for me, Randolph. 
 His ebon majesty shall find 
 In me a loyal subject ; and I pray. 
 At meeting, to prove graceful and subdued 
 To meekest confidence, that in the world 
 To which I go, there consolations are 
 Unknown on earth. This world is but a prison 
 Of niggard bounds ; but the chill land of Death 
 Has regions vast and limitless and grand. 
 O'er which man's spirit takes a grade, a step. 
 Towards the ethereal eternal life. 
 As when inclement Winter chills the air, 
 And eastern showers have swollen Eurota's tide. 
 Poor nature, tired then of all its shifts. 
 Rolls oriward to and fro, yet all is o'er. 
 Death is but vassal, and his ghastly troops 
 He leads but to the confines of a land 
 He may not, cannot enter. Yes, 't is there 
 The important change is made ; there mortals shift. 
 And awful immortality put on. 
 Yet we may riddles in that state resolve — 
 Perhaps a sleep of countless years may pass ; 
 Perhaps the mortal parts there undergo 
 Transmissions mystic, and arrangements dread ! 
 (I see old leprous Sin haggling with Death 
 For fainting, bleeding knights from Ascalon.) 
 
The King. 85 
 
 These things will make tlie heart-strings creak, 
 
 Geoffery : 
 They say thou art not mine ; I say thou art 
 My son — the best beloved of all — Geoffery. 
 Give me thine hand. There, in thy favoured palm, 
 I place this envied ring. Precious it was ! 
 It sparkles now as bright as it was wont 
 In court and tournament, thou faithful gem ! 
 There, Geoffery, take the gem — wear it for me 
 Who loved thee much, but now must leave. 
 
 Geoffery, 
 I may not stay to tell thee all I would. 
 Upon thy filial arm I '11 muse awhile. 
 As on a summer's eve the lazy serf 
 
 Sinks into wholesome rest. Yet — yet — I wish 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear those soft melodious sounds ; 
 Their lulling replication fills the soul 
 And solves the frozen air to sWeet accord. 
 Which yields the pleasing balm to Death's great 
 
 world. \Sinking in the arms of Geoffery. 
 
 Randolph (bowing over the King). Thou valiant king 
 
 — farewell, farewell, -farewell ! 
 What can amend this loss ? 't is woe for love. 
 Dear king, awake once more. 
 
 King (starts up). It may be so. 
 
 Yes, yes ! Rebellion stood in his dark path — 
 The Primate, too — how cruel 't was of him ! 
 And so he sought my blood ? Now Death is here — 
 Importunate — all 's well. But now I go 
 Where Death's power ends, to reach that pinnacle 
 To which the timid, fluttering, anxious thing. 
 This little veering gossamer, ascends. 
 O Death, come forth ! e'en thou, thy part 
 Shall take : the vultures' share. 'T will soon corrupt 
 And fade. — Farewell ! farewell to all this woi'ld ! 
 
86 The King. 
 
 Sense is receding now : of sight and speech 
 The ways are clogged ; to hear is needless now : 
 E'en the twelfth hour is spent. I will not filch 
 A moment, while this clay obedient wears 
 The pallid hue of death. — I die e'en as 
 The panting heron dies — succumbing low, 
 His feathers clotted o'er in streaming blood. 
 Once more he casts his filmy eye above 
 Into the heavens, amidst the fleecy clouds. 
 Where oft and oft he scaled the yielding air. — 
 I sink no more to rise ! I faint, I die ! 
 
 Mapes. It is the dew 
 
 Of the first morn in the eternal world. 
 
 King. See ! see ! through every passage now 
 he creeps ; 
 He scents the last, high fortress. Look, he 's in ! 
 He 's in the breach ! The ramparts all are scaled. 
 It is the priest — the black revengeful priest ! — 
 See where he goes ! He bears the cross before ; 
 He stamps upon my heart ! 'T is he ! 't is he ! 
 Relentless ! No, 't is Death ! — triumphant Death ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 GOOD AND BAD ANGELS. 
 
 OUR readers will perceive that we believe in dreams and visions, 
 and that good and bad angels attend on the devious path of 
 mortality, waiting around the bed whilst sleeping hours are roll- 
 ing on. Perhaps we gained this faith from Scripture ; though, we 
 confess, we have always felt that we could leave some anxieties to 
 some shadow of ourselves, or some protector or herald, whom we 
 could not see,, but with whom we were ever ready to make bargain 
 and contract, as to sins and fallings-off from vows. The world may 
 be learned in many tlxings, and know our stature, and make nice 
 calculations and comparisons concerning our virtue and character, 
 talents and physical constitution ; but who can follow the fairy step, 
 or hear the mystic voice, or see the golden halo of our good angel — 
 or collect the Circean whisperings of our bad angel, or hear the 
 awful, yet majestic, thundering of his trident, when he fails to win 
 our spirits, or we refuse to drink from the intoxicating bowl he bears, 
 in which Death lies lurking ? 
 
 We know that some will smile whilst we talk thus : but we may 
 remind our readers, that many of the ancient heathens (probably from 
 tradition) entertained some such notion, that beings of a superior 
 order were ever ministering between men and God. The Greeks 
 termed them "demons" (knowing ones), and the Romans, "genii." 
 
 Socrates said, on the day of his death, " My demon gives me notice 
 every morning of an evil which will befall me that (£iy, but did not 
 give me notice of any evil this day, therefore I cannot regard as any 
 evil my being condemned to die." Some have said this demon was 
 his reason ; but those who are acquainted with his sayings know 
 that he never spoke in such obscure and ambiguous terms ; if he 
 had meant his reason, his integrity and exactness of character would 
 have indicated this precisely. 
 
 An ancient poet, who lived several ages before Socrates, speaks 
 more determinately. Hesiod says — 
 
 " Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth unseen.'' 
 
 Hence, it is probable, arose the tales about the exploits of their 
 demi-gods {minorum gentium), their satyrs, fauns, and nymphs of 
 every kind, wherewith they supposed both sea and land to be filled; 
 these are, like the age, dark and unsatisfactory evidences, standing 
 alone, and producing no faith or conclusions. 
 
 We have preferred ,to talk of good angels ; yet truth requires that 
 we should remember those words : " We wrestle not against flesh 
 and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the 
 rulers of the darkness of this world, against wicked spirits." The 
 great poet (Milton) seems to have fully beheved that each man and 
 woman had good and bad angels. 
 
 The word angel appears in many parts of Scripture. The Greek 
 word angelos, and the Hebrew, melach, are both words denoting 
 messenger. The term is used very indefinitely in Scripture ; some- 
 
88 Notes. 
 
 times the Deity Himself, his providence, and the impersonal agents 
 of His will — sometimes the prophets and holy men : it is also ex- 
 tended to the ministers and agents of the devil. The Rabbins and 
 Fathers have written elaborately on this head ; but enough appears 
 in the Scriptures for true knowledge. 
 
 The Jews, as well as the early Christians, seemed to have believed 
 that good and bad angels attended every one. Rhoda says (when 
 hearing the voice of Peter), " It is his angel." 
 
 On the term dai-pav, Schrevelius, by Major, gives the following 
 significations : " A god, spirit, genius, demon ; good or bad fortune, 
 chance ; among the sacred writers, an unclean spirit, a devil." 
 
 Ou5' ETTio/jio/o-w irpos dai/iouos [3y a god] — Horn. II. xix. 1 88. 
 
 Bert 5* avhpi tpafiep 
 BoiKos a/t0i Sa.iiM>vuv KoKa. — Pindar, Ofymp. stroph. ii. 9. 
 It is becoming to a man to speak 
 Honourable things of the gods. 
 
 Hederic gives the following : " A god, a hero, a genius ; fortune, 
 both good and bad ; in the New Testament, a devil." 
 
 irpos a-q SvcSaijiovi iioipa. — Soph. CEdip. Rex. 1300. 
 What demon (is it) that has sprung, with a violence 
 Greater than the greatest, to thy wretched fate ? 
 m Sai/ior, hi i^tflCKov.—Soph. OEdip. Rex. 131 1. 
 
 O Fortune, to what hast thou tended ! 
 Tis a eiTTipe Saip,ovav. — Soph. CEdip. Rex. 1325. 
 What god [demon] instigated thee? 
 (TTvyepos Saiiiav [an evil deity]. — Od. v. 369. 
 Kami Saiiiuv [an evil 6s\ty\^0d. x. 64. 
 Trpos Scufiova [against the divine power]. — //. xvii. 98. 
 <7m Sai/iovi [with the favour of God]. — //. xi. 792. 
 
 ^schylus, in the tragedy of the " Persai " (620), calls the deified 
 Dairus daifiwy. 
 
 ^ev5(ijvvp.ojs (re Satp,oyes UpOfiTjBea 
 KaXovinv. — jEschyli Prome. 85. 
 
 Prometheus, 
 The gods falsely call you the Provident, 
 ei TL lit) SaipMV ToKaios vvv /ie0e<rTijK€ trrpaTW. — ^schy. PerscB, 1 54. 
 Unless our ancient tutelary genius has now passed over to the 
 army [sometimes a good or malevolent spirit, causing the good or 
 ill fortune of men]. 
 
 \v(Tcravn S' avru Sai/iovav Semvvffi ns. — Soph. CEdip. Rex. 1158. 
 
 Some demon shows (her) to him raving. 
 Our readers remember innumerable authorities ; and we had 
 intended to extend this note, having collected many and various, 
 but we fear being tedious.