«»V*''»¥' ^uv^U^WiJ^^^U^uUUi^^W^yWuyWWV y^W^W^l I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ! ^^^ ^-^ I ! UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f i w^'^vw^i '^Www>^vwwwg^^wwww^'^'«'^"^^W^gw9w^^'W^ .L^W^JW^VUWW^ '-''• v'wjuwvwW^W' ..a'vw vw www^gggwQwg^gW ^''¥V' V v'^'v ^ "^ - vwwvtfi^.y;. ^vv^^^dd VW^:^g OO^OO^W «w^'«^!!^- ,^du*^^W^^ THE ROYAL OAK \N HISTORICAL PLAY, ^ N THREE ACTS. £Y WILLIAM^MOND, ESQ. author of ADRIAN AND ORRIL A-- GUST A VUS VASA — FOUNP- LING OF THE FOREST DOUBTFUL SON- PEASANT BOY, ^C. ^C» \from the first London edition^ of 1811.1 U.S.A. NEVV-YOrvK: PUBLISHED BY THE LONGWORTHSj At the dramatic Repository, Shakipeare- Gallery, March— X^X'Z. In arranging certain adventures of our second Charles for a scenic representation, the strict historic, al fact hath occasionally been forsaken, and some in- cidents, altogether fanciful, have been introduced. In defence of this conduct, the author hath no better plea to advance than that of prccedenL In almost every age and every counUy, some writer of repute might be quoted as an a^ lority. , But it will be sufficient, probably, to ment'^n, as the most recent examples, the names of Mason and dr. Franklin, who in their lespec- tive tragedies of ' Elfrida' and the ' Jilarl of Warvvicky' have dramatized portions of national record with at least an equal freedom. ©RAMATIS PERSONiE. HAYMARKET. King Charles the Second - - Mr. EUiston Duke of Hamilton - - - - — Lezces Lord Wilmot - _ - - . — Smith Lord Derby -..--- — Hodson Col ;nel Wyndham - - - - — Eyre William Wyndham - - - - — Cooper Sir Edward Cavendish - - - — HilUngton Sir Thomas Fairfax - - - - — R Jones Colone'i Lambton - - - , — Martin Captain Reuben ----- — Finn Arthur Maythorn - - - - — Mallinson Corporal ------- — Grove 1st SoMier ------ — Shaw 2d Soldier ^ - — Minion Philip — Haughton Lady Matilda Wyndham - - Mrs. Glover Elinor - — Barnes Dame Maythorn ----- — Grove Claribel Miss fVheatle^ SCENE — in various parts of the west of England. TIME — the middle of the seventeenth century. 7%e tmisic by mr. kellv. THE ROYAL OAK. ACT I. SCENE t—a gotkzc library in fVyndhatri' s castle^ opening upon the battlements — col. wvndham dis- covered reading — lady wyNDHAM seated opposite . to him at an embroidery frame. Wynd (flinging down his book discontentedly) I cannot read — my eye wanders over many letters, but my mind cannot digest a single sentence. Lady IV. (turning from her xcork) Beloved Wynd- liain ! wherefore will you thus needlessly afflict your- self and me ? it is true, the hand of a chastising provi- dence falls heavily upon our native land But ran our murmuring griefs avert the wrathful dispensation ? a- \^s ! no. — Let us, then, my husband, rather bend with resignation to that scourge, whose cutting edge, impa- tience will but sharpen. Wynd Matilda ! you reason with a woman's tongue. Your bosoai feels but coldly in its country's cause. Lady W. That reproach is not worthy of my Wynd- ham ! it is illiberal and unfounded. Recollect, i beseech you, the past actions of my life, even from that period when first our destinies became united; and then answer me, whether I have not loved and served my country truly. Oh ! Wyndham, have I not with you, rejoiced at England's victories, and mourned over her defeats ? — have I not with you beheld two gallant sons, the props and promise of our ancient house, stretched on their death-beds with wounds, vet crimson from the A 2 6 ROYAL OAK [Diraond patriot strife ? have I not with you, while my aking eyes gazed on the pale features and gashed bosoms of my dear boys, and my quivering lips sealed with a last warm kiss, their cold and unrequiting mouths — oh ! have 1 not even then, with more than roman firmness, forbade one natural tear to flow, and cried, " my children ! ye have died the death of honor, venerable be your memory !'' fVynd {humbled and affected) Matilda ! I was passionate and did you wrong — forgive me ! Lady JV. Frankly, {stretches out her hand) fVynd. You possess a great and glorious soul. Lady ff. Yet a gentle and a loving one. Do I not? fVynd. True — most true, (kisses her hand most aff'eccionaiely) Is William risen yet ? Lady fV, But now I saw him in his study, he was engaged with the pencil — war supplied him with a sub- ject ; a sketch of Caesar at Ihe battle of the Nervii. fVynd. I feel uneasy on that boy's account ; he has of late lost all his natural gaiety, devotes his hours to solitude, and flies society, even that of his cousin Eli- nor, whom, from earliest childhood, he has loved and trusted ; have you noj; observed this change ? Lady fV. {sighs) Yes ! Wynd Can you guess its cause ? Lady IV. Too well — William now is of an age to fall in love, and he has chosen a fatal mistress — glory ! Wynd What mean you ? Lady fV Briefly, that the son of Wyndham, with the name inherits the spirit of his father You have heard, that our unfortunate Charles, again has raised the royal standard in the north — the report has also reached William's ear— and his youthful soul, flushed with the generous ardor of his race, now languishes to share the deadly strife. Wynd. \h ! pernicious, fatal valor. At once I condemn and applaud the spirit of my boy. Lady fV. Soft ! he is here — mark but his melan- choly air ! with what a slow and listless pace he moves ! Act I] ROYAL OAK 7 — bis arms enfolded — his lips quivering with many a muttered sound— and his eyes siill cast importunately down, as though his thoughts held converse with the incommunicative ground. enter william, he adcances with a dejected ah'^ ab- stracted in thought, and unregarding any person present. IVynd. William ! good day. Lady fV. My child ! your mother greets yon. TVi/L (starting) Good morrow, sir and madam! I pray you. pardon me, 1 saw you not. pFynd Your thoughts must be happy companions, you never seem to be weary of them. Have you fin- ished your sketch of Cas'^ar ? IViil. No, 1 have thrown aside my pencil in des- pair ; the faint touch of science may trace the mere earthly frame of heroes but only enthusiasm's glowing hand can depict the spirit shrined within. IVynd Ceesar, it should seem, is a favorite with you. Well, he was an illustrious warrior. TVill. {enthusiastically) Oh ! he was a god ! fVynd. [smiling) Not quite — Caesar had many mortal failings. Will. Spots upon the sun's disk — but his glory blazed around, and shrank them into nothing — oh ! how I whh~{hesitates, and stops short) Wynd. What, my son ? Will. That 1 had lived when Csssar did. Wynd. Would you have been more virtuous or happy ? Will. I should have been more glorious— i would have followed his banner, fought by his side — perished at his feet ! Wynd Then you would have assisted him to impose vassalage upon barbarous nations ? W^ill. Yes — oh ! triumphant thought ! Wynd And. lastly, have aided him to destroy the liberties of his native country ? Will, {si -7- a PC!) JVo! S ROYAL OAK [Dimond JVynd. How ! remember CaBaar did so. He filled with wo and bloodshed the land which had given him birth, he ovt^rthrew the government by which he had been protected, and built upon the ruin of its rights and laws, the dazzling throne of arbitrary power. Surely you wouM have aided him in these exploits? Will, {.With "cehemence) No, never— by heavens! never— \ would have fought for the liberties of my country till f had seen them beaten down, then des- perate and self devoted, I would have planted my dag- ger in the heart of the usurper ; or, failing in ray aim, hav»- sheathed it in my own ! i'y'ynd. My boy. ever preserve such sentiments— and reuiember, no character can be truly great, unless it be truly virtuous. {William bows, retires^ and jflings himself thovghtfuUy into a chair) enter philip. Phil. Sir Edward Cavendish is in the hall, sir. and wasts to speak with you, on matters, as he says, of ur- gency, {exit Wynd. Admit him instantly. What business so im- portant can bring our worthy neighbor to us at Ih^s early hour? , enter cavkkdisk. Wynd. Welcome, my friend ! Cav. Colonel, your hand ; dear lady, yours. I fear that 1 obtrude myself upon you at an unseasonable time, but the impatience 1 felt to see you, would not admit a punctilious observance of the hour. Lady W. Sir Edward, the society of friendship is always estimable, and visits from those we regard, can never be considered intrusions. Cav. Thanks, dear lady. I know that the senti- ments of this family sympathise with my own, and it is that knowledge only which has led me hither. Col- onel, have you received any intelligence from the north t^his morning ? ^^j Act I] ROYAL OAK 9 IVynd None; you are the first visitor I have seen since yesterday. Cav. You rejoice me ; for in that case, I become the first bearer of glad tidings — within this very hour, report has reached me, and on sure aulhority, that four daj-s since, the king defeated a large body of the par- liament forces on the borders of .Shropshire. fVynd. Blest hearing ! hope breathes again ! Cav. Immediately after the action, the royal army directed its march straight south, against the town of Worcester ; on their approach, the royal citizens flung wide the gates to receive their rightful prince, and now, even in the center of his kingdom, Charles plants his standard. Lady TV. Oh, god of battles ! wheresoe'er his ban- ner streams, endow its c«»urse with victory ! Cav. The army of the parliament, reinforced by mighty levies drawn from London, advances now to offer battle. Could numbers give success, the odds were theirs, but hope augurs every thing for the royal cause, fVynd. Heaven speed it — its welfare forms my daily prayer and nightly dream. {PVilliam, who has listened to this discourse with im- patient interest^ unable longer to cirb his feelings^ now starts up^ snafckes down a sword zchich hangs on the side scene, and casts himself impetuously at Wyndhanfi's feet ) Will. My father I kneel before you, and I crave a boon. fVynd Name it, my son. Will, Bestow upon me your blessing— this sword — and permission to leave your castle Wynd My son ! whither would you go ? Will. To the wars — to glory — to my king ! Wynd. William ! Lady W My child ♦ my only child ! Will. Father ! turn not from me — mother, look not thus in sorrow—what is it that 1 ask, which honor does 10 ROYAL OAK [Dimond not sanction ? hoavens ! now, when all the noble youths of England rise in arms, each vaulting on his steed, brandishing his lance, and jostling in the paths of fame, coutd you endure it to be said, the heir of Wyndham, like the base issue of a peasant's loins, nieanly hides vvitliin his father's haSIs, turns pale and trembles at the trampefs blast, and fears to answer when his sove- reign calls? oh ! my parents, let me live with honor,- or let me die ! Cav. There burst forth the genuine spirit of his race Oh ! my friends, how much I envy you the boast of such a son JVtjnd. {aside) Hush ! Cavendish, your praises are destructive. William^ I cannot comply with your wishes. ' {greatly agiiaied) IV '.II How ! am I then refused ? Lady iV. For the first time. Dearest boy, submit to the only restriction your parents ever have imposed upon yoa All else demand and take— save only this ; this, ihey cani)ot giant. WilL My mo' her ! would you then see me live a coward in men's esteem ? Lady W. No ! but it would break my heart to look upon your corpse. Remember. William, you are now my only son : I had once two others, brave, blooming boys, and gracious as yourself to their doat- ing mother's eye i gave them up, I sent them forth to battle Ou Naseby's mournful field, fell both my darUngs, twin-born to eternity ! when their bleeding bodies were placed before me, I thought that I had paid m\ country all my debt ; you then became my only care, in you my dead boys seemed to live again —and ofteii, while I watched the promise of your lipr-ning manhood, 1 have lost the sense of former griefs, and cried, '"' providence ! I murmur not, since thou hast left me still a son !" and must I now resign you also ^ must I indeed become a childless woman ? oh ! no. the saeriiice is too great. William, 1 cannot pait ivilli you. i-VilL Madam ! yqu wring my heart — but— Act Ij ROYAL OAK li Lady ^V. Dearest boy, yield to your mother's soli- citalicn frynd If not, obey your father's command— 1 for- bid you to quit the castle. PVill. Harsh prohibition, severe injunction ! ELINOR jm^f without^ and then enters from the gar- den with a small basLet of flowers. His buckler sat tight, and his helmet was bright. His plume was the eagle's wing ; He thrided the wood, and he forded the flood. Yet merrily still would he sing. JBlin. Uncle! bless to me the day ! fVynd My fair niece ! may each succeeding morn, like the presents light you to haupiness and virtue. Lady fV. Elinor, you left your bed at sunrise: where have you wandered since ? ^ Elin. I have been ranging the garden, to gather for you those flowers which you love most. See, here, I have twisted for you the rose with white jessamine, and here are honey suckles for my uncle Cav. My pretty Elinor ! \ am an old friend; have you not a blooming gift wherewith to remember me? Elin. Ah ! I knew not of your visit, else my good sir Edward had not been forgotten. I have but one; nosegay left. Cav. For whom, then, is thnt nosegay destined ? Eliv. Oh, for William — for my own Wnijam ! {turns affeciionately to him) Here, coz — tahe it — tis hearCs-tase — keep it in your bosom, and may it never — ner)er wither. Will. My fair, kind cousin. Lady W. Elinor ! he has ever loved you. Now, then, my niece, use your soft influence with me- bend his stern temper to the hopes of his unhappy pa- rents, reconcile him to his home, and let him no lon- ger wish to leave us, Elin. Leave us ! he does not— he cannot mean it — whither would he go ? 12 ROYAL OAK [Dimond Lady W, To the wars— alas ! to his grave. Elin. No ! I am sure he cannot purpose it — speak, William, could you desert your Elinor ? she would not abandon you for worlds. Wi/l. Sweet Elinor ! Elin. Ah, me ! you do not answer — nay, then, tis true, and William no longer loves me. IVill, Heaven be my witness, Elinor, I do love you dearly — truly. Elin. Then wherefore would you leave me ? tVill. Duty is paramount to love. Elin. Cruel ! 1 have known no duty, but what my affection for you has inspired. fVill. The call of honor is imperative ; it must be obeyed. E^in. The oaths of love are sacred ; they must not be broken. fVill. Nor should they ; with my life I would pre- serve my faith. Elin. In the fatal battle they would both be lost. Oh ! William, by my terrors, by my anguish, 1 con- jure you, to promise that you will think no more of this. IViil. Elinor, I— I— [a trumpet is heard at some little distance) IVynd. Hark ! what trumpet is't that sounds so near ? Cav. Tis the lord Wilmot's. I heard of this but now. His power sets forth to day, to join by hasty march the king at Worcester. His road lies strait beneath your castle walls, IVill. {with quick emotion) Ah ! from the western turret 1 can see the warriors pass. [exit hastily up a winding stair Lady fV. Wyndham ! marked you his look when the trumpet sounded ? his chest grew big with mighty passion — and enthusiasm flashed from his eye — PVynd. Too well I noted it — and its expression fills me with alarm. Elin. I will follow him, and strive to sooth his Act I] ROYAL OAK 13> passions. Oh ! it is ever with him thus, when chafed ; his sudden spirit breaks all wholesome bounds — but brief its wanderings — So, the wild torrent rushing from the rock, Oe'rsweeps resistance with its headiong shock ; Soft ye, awhile, its clamoring springs subside, Self-stili'd, it settles to a sober tide ; In broken moans, its fury sinks to rest. And heaven reflected, glitlers on its breast. [exit up the turret Lady TV, Persuasion dwell upon thy tongue, sweet maid. {the march strikes more distinctly on the ear, and the tops of speais and banners are seen glittering and fluttering upon the hil/ side beyond the battlements) fVynd. The troops are passing now before my gales. Philip. enter philip. Phil. My lord. fVynd. Let the draw-bridge instantly be raised —no person of my family must be suffered to pass forth without my special order. Mark me. not even my son. Phil My lord, 1 shall obey. [eiit Cav. From your last injunction, should I infer, that you mistrust your son's obedience. Lady PV. O ! Cavendish, his impetuous nature bids me fear the worst. Yet, by my soul ! it pains me mueh, that I must seek to smother in his breast, that god like spark of valor, which it was orxe rny dearest pride to kindle and encourage. Cav. Wherefore would you quench the f^enerous flame ? now, by my life, had I a son. even with such temper, would I wish his heart to glow. Wynd. Recollect, my friend, that Witliam i^ the last of his race ; in his grave the name of Wynd- ham would be for ever buried. Yet. think not, that i '•oldly compromise my subject's fealty in a fallier'A U > ROYAL OAK [Dimond love. No ! couW 1 again, as once at Naseby's fight I did, lead lor ih my inariia! IraJn of followers, I would, myself, upon my warworn brows, once mor«- the hel- met braro, and venture with my son m fellowship of tirms. But, a'as ! no vassals now al.lend iny banner ; the heavy arm of the unjust has fai;en on my house and crnsiv^.d il. VViiiiam's we i;ghtca our dis^tress. Mow lift vvc up oar prayers to h aven for hiu!d be « autious, and — Arth. Wroof in arms, that 1 am rightfully my house's heir, then may I clasp my father's knees without a blush, and claim my birth-right ! C/iar. Brave youth ! howe'er renowned the stock from which you spring, my life upon't, your prowess never will disgrace their line. fVilL It shall be my study ever to deserve your ma- jesty s good thought. Oh ; give me but a sword, and place ray sovereign's foe against its point, then let my arm declare, whose blood is current in its veins ! trumpet sounds — enter Officer, Off. My liege ! an herald from the enemy demands a parley — an officer accompanies the flag, and waits for audience. Char. Conduct him straight before us ! [exit Offi- cer] now, my lords, what should this embassy por- tend ? courtesy or insult? Ham. Be it either, sire, my best advice is, that you spurn It from you. enter lambton. Lamb. Stand 1 within the presence of Charles Stuart ? Ham Audacious rebel! within the presence of thsj king of Scotland. Char. Peace ! good Hamilton. Lamb. Stand I within the presence of Charles Stuart? 1 repeat. Char. 1 bear the name of Stuart, graced in itself, 22 ROYAL OAK [Dimond beyond the aid of vain additions. Now, cert^mony past — to your matter, sir ! Lamb. Briefly ; from tbe Joid proto.ctor, and h^ng- land's high pailiatnenL now asseiiibied, 1 bear to you protrered terais of composition and advantage. Char. Propose your terms at iargii— my aiibwer shall be strict to each particular. Lamb. Thus then- by my mouLh, speaks ih*^ great protect'i/r. — — ^' Charles, against your saored mother England, you hate deeply sinned— more Ik'? soine reckless parricidi, than as a diiteous son ; you have scarred her fair bosom with unp<3tura! stabs, and mur- dered there the gent'.e dove of p-^ace, that else had built its everJas ing nest. Confedirate with sundry malecontents and ouliawed men ; you have raised re- bellion's flame within this quiet isle, and biovvn its suhiie sparks into the: farthest corners of our coast— r ofiending and de^i!oyillg in their coorst, hither, even to the center of the realm your impious arms have pierced but here llieir progress ends. Iieaven- di- recting arm hath placed its chosen servants round about, and given into their hands ;he fiiiminf^ «word of vengeance ; but mercy dwelleth ever w'th the righteous, and though of victory well assured, ling^and is loth to stain herself with engiish bl<>od ; 1 -t Sluart then to spare a mournful conque'^t make frunU sur- render of his else devoted force: ; and we, uj.on the faith of governments engage to hirn, safe conduct to our sf)ores, n'^.cessary shippmsj^. and open passage of the seas — with an uncondiiioned amnesty pronounced to all who quit his fortunes, and turn submissive to their homes again. Wl.at a jswer shall I bear to the protector ? — Char. With marvel I have heard, with indignation 1 reply. -First. I do pronounce as fa'sf, that i have stirred 'gainst Kngiamrs peace. False that I have leagued with any but just and loyal men ; and falser still, that, treading now upon mine own hereditary soil, I stand within the scope of any upstart foe, tp fcrammel m eject. A duteous and a loving son te Aci I] ROYAL OAK 25 England have I ever proved, nor come I now, to man- g'e Willi In sh wounds, hej hotioied breast, bal to pour bairn i'-!to those piieous hurts, which traitor hands al- ready/ have iniiicted there To ourself, and those abi- duig with us, all sovere gniy and sway do righUuUy attache and they who now would bar our title, are but a false unlicensed rabble ; whose only show to opposi- tion, is a wicked power b'oodtly usurped, fleetingly possessed ; the dregs of England and her worst dis- grace. Lamb My commission goes not further ; — but out of loving kindness towards my country, I am aioved to add iny own advice to the protector's oilers — be- think you, sir, upon the odds — our forces nearly dou- ble your account. Cha> . Let them — And to each thou.*;and that you count, reckon fresh thousands on, thi-n lens of thou- sands more ; til! heaven's wide arch shall scarcely seem to &pan the illimitable line ! smaJl are the num- bers of confederate hosts, if honor breathes no inspi- ration through their ranks. Weak ar^ the sinews of the mightiest arm, if conscience hang a guilty weight about it ; aiid vain the counsels of debaling senates, if god be absent from their close wrought sch mes ! — in heaven's high regard, my soldiers' valor, and my own good cause, I place my trust. — AM else were im. potent. Mence ! sir, back to the man who misem- ploys you, «nd inform him thus : — tell him besides, that Charles too dearly loves his english ground, to yield one jot of it without a blow. Lamb, I shall report you faithfully. — With heavy heart 1 take my leave. Char. Short leaves-taking, sir, we soon shall meet again, [exit Lambion\ Give him safe conduct through our lines. Now, Hamilton, how like you this our prompt resolve ? Ham Worthy a king, a hero, and a scot. Oh ! let the trumpet .«-ound. that 1 may teach these empty braggarts of the south, how keen the vengeance of a northern arm. 9A ROYAL OAK [Dimond PVilm. O'er the green ridge of yonder hills that look towards Malvern, the banners of the foe begin to wave ' — belike they do but wait their messenger's return, to seek us here, and force us to the fight. Char. To seek us ! — no, brave Wilmot, to receive us rather. Be it ever ours to give the challenge, not coldly dally till it comes to find us. Now through our ranks let martial expedition stir. Some one haste to Worcester town, and bid lord Lesley lead his Scottish horse, forth at the northern gate, and scour the mead- ows up the Severn's side. Cavaliers, to arms ! — each leader to his separate power, and promptly muster front the camp. In heaven's great presence here I draw my sword, never to yield it, as I trust, but as a conqueror, or in death. — Methinks my martyred fa- ther's spirit sits upon my arm, and freshly nerves it with immortal force ! — forward ! — be the word of bat- tle — *' Britain ! — our parent's glory, and our children's hope." — Away ! [exeunt Charles and nobles (a loud flourish of battle instruments is sounded — a standard-bearer and several soldiers advance — the standard is planted in front of the stage^ and the soldiery form themselves around it) CHORUS OF SOLDIERS. Rise ! rise ! rise ! Voice of battle, deep and dread ! To the skies, Let the vast alarum spread ! Hear ! hear ! hear ! Living lord of strength and might;, Arm'd appear, Go thou with us to the fight ! Lord ! lord ! lord ! Roll loud thunders o'er our way—- Let thy sword Flash red lightnings through the fray ! ^ {trumpets without sound to the atiack) | Round ! round ! round ! 1 Act II] ROYAL OAK 25 Wide and wild, the war blast blows ! Hail ! mad sound ! Mingled knell of friends and foes ! Blood I blood ! blood ! Gush and drown the fieid of fight ! From the flood. Souls make wing, and crowd in flight ! {the curtains xch'ich compose the back cf the tent, art drawn tip, and discover the field of battle, extended to a perspective beyond — the soldiers from the front of the stage^ march through the opening, and mix with the confusion of the combat) END OF THE FIRST ACT, ACT II. scBUE I — a gateway at Worcester— flourish, enter Fairfax, lambton, and followers. Fair. Command a halt beyond the city gates. — Thus far success betides the righteous cause — our haughty foes are vanquished utterly, and VV^orcester yields re- pentant to our arms — See that all prisoners be safely lodged ; to those of note, give special tending as befits their rank, [exeunt followers} Now, Lambton ! said you that Cromwell had already left the camp ? Lamb. Scarcely was the armor from his limbs un- braced, before he mounted horse for London, to bear himself the news of his great victory to parliament Fair Know you whether Charles survives his par- ty's general wreck ? Lamb, When all was lost, and o'er red heaps of kindred slain, his routed soldiers faintly pressed their flight, I saw young Stuart singly stand, and keep the center of the field, unhorsed — his helmet gone — his buckler battered with innumerous blows— in his nght hand aloft he shook a glittering- sword, and with the «6 ROYAL OAK [Dimond other, grasped a standard newly wrested from some conqueror's arm— bleeding, panting, looking death and scorn he stood — as a despairing lion, o'ertaken by pur- suit, that fiercely turns, and keeps his hunters at tre- mendous bay^ — so terrible, and yet so glorious looked the youth, that even our roughest sons of war, either by fear, or sudden reverence touched, forbore to press the combat twriher. and turned their blood- dyed weap- ons from his breast averse I Fair. Escaped he then ? Lamb. At length, surrounded by an host of foes, deaih or captivity appeared his only choice, when by a su'^iden chance, lords Derby and Wilmot, returning to the charge, with headlong valor bore the royal pnxe a- way, and forced him ail unwilling, to partake their fliglit. FaW. Which course was taken by the fugitives ? Lamb. Towards the forest — there, as I have learn- ed, 'hey parted company, and ever since the eve of yesterday. Sluart has wandered through the woods a- lone, no man knows whither. — l>ut long he caano^ hope to esc.'pe, parlies of fieet horse already are sent out, by every roau in his pursuit. Fa'tr. L^theialds proclaim him strait through every neighboring town, and scrolls be posted by each chorch and public pass, ofi^-ring rewards to any that shall seize his person, and denouncing death to those who shelter or conceal him, — Accompany me, Lambton, to , th;^ city-hall, where now our gravest captains wait in ; council, and there devise what further raay be done, ; , .- . SCFNE II — the skirts of a forest— hi ihe center ff ths sfa^e. a large oak tree— on one sui.e the cottage of' Bla.ythorn — the scne is darkened as jnsf before tht dawn — thunders and fighiens vio/eniiy — CHAitLES, pvts aside soyne of ihe branches of the onk. and looks caidiously round— he then descends, and cotnes for- ward. Char. Nature, rave on ! — embattled elensei^ts T?sr- Act II] ROYAL OAK 27 sue your strife, and wreak your vengeance freely on a wretch's head— here spend your slufls, here p'a.it your bolted lires — strilie, and spare not — {/'tans for a moment against the tree) Yet, pardon, oh : hv^wrii! — pardon, that I ramumr al thy just decrees; -no— though «orely touched and tempv-ed by its giiei's, my spiiit bovvs in reverence to thy will ; and si ace it pleases thee that I should live, existence still ^ha^ be my care, {tempest contirmcs) Methinics the thunder rolls more distant, and through liie forest's shuddering vviiiks the storm less fiercely drives. — O'er the hoti- zon's dusky ed^e, a trembling light begins to sttal, and from the womb of dark reiactant c'ouds, impertect morning struggles into bir».h — Unwelcome view ! — all the long night, th'; calls of my pursuers have sounded on tha blast — and ot't my nam^!, wi'th threats and curs- es joined, has reached me in the tem^jest's iitful pause. — Wiih day, fresh danger comes — but whither shall I fly? where seek a refuge? ruined — imdone — proscrib- ed and dogged at every step — pity even in loyal bosoms scarcely dares to know itself, an I doors that once were hospitable, now are barred in terror against me, lest thay take destruction in :~yet somewhere i must find relief, or soon with very want expire ! — weighed down by long fatigue and watch, nature sinks, and my worn limbs refuse their office. — Yonder stands a cot- tage, half hid amidst t!»e trees, the casemt nts are all closed, and the inhabitants still rest : — what if I wake them, and beg some food for charity ? the appeal is hazardous ; but they are my countrymen, and if their hearts be truly english they will noc look upon misery without compassion. — (a loud whistle is heard) Ha! I am prevented — voices and footsteps sound through the forest. — Friendly oak ! take me to thy conceaimg shades again — in thee alone is safety. — Gant tne strength, oh heaven ! that I fall not down with weari- ness at my pursuer's feet ! {he re-ascends th'i oak, and conceals himself arpjdz'^ the boughs) J ROYAL OAK [Dirao enter two soldiers. 1st Sol. I tell you, comrade, 1 was right ; we are now in the high foot-path to the village. VVhen I was a boy, before \ gathered honors in the war, I gain- ed a fair credit hereabouts by snaring deer in this same forest, and I could lead you through al! its wind- ings blindfold ; but half a mile forward and we reach the inn 2d Sol. May be so— but here I halt — not a step further before day break. 1st Sol. Art an owl, and only sighted in the dark — lis day break now — the cocks are crowing from every roost about the forest — the sun will soon be rising — 2d Sol. No matter. I'll e'en seat myself under this tree, and rest till the corporal join us — he cannot now be far behind, (scats Inm self under the oak) I'fath, the wind and the rain b»?tween them have begotten a marvellous dryness in my throat, ydrinks) This is right cordia! — the thunder has not turned it — comrade, wilt drink ? 1^^ Sol. Not I — my thirst is of another kind, 2d Sol How a man may live and learn ! till now I never knew that dryness had a difference in its fashion. Pry'thee comrade, tell me the new mode, that I may correct my style ist Sol. My thirst is for gold — rewards — prefer- ment- — the cup of fortune stands within our reach, and we might share the draught — but you are too lazy to stretch out your arm and grasp it. 2d Sol That's a mistake — only let fortune's cup be- come visible, and I'll make a long arm with any man of indifferent stature in the army. \st Sol. Charles Stuart cannot be far off — if wo could seize him, we might line our doubMs with a thousand pounds, and write esquire after our names through life. 2d Sol. Ay I but where are we to seek for him. — We have been hunting him all night long, like a jack- Act III ROYAL 0\K 29 ©'lantern through the forest and taken nothing but ill weather, soaked jerkins, i»nd broken shins in fee. 1st Soi, t tell you he is nol far from us, and if we use industry, cannot long esca^je ; Til rouse the coitaj^e here, and make inquiry. {goej> up to the cottage) Hol- loa ! house ! 2d So/. Marry ! comrade you have lusty lungs— if this same cup that you talk of, were to be holioa'd for, you'd win it from the general himself \si So/. Why, house 1 say— house ! holloa! {JrlAur opens a casement above) Arth. HoIk>a! again. What are you that beat at a yeoman's door ? \sl Sol. Friend, I come in peace. Arth. Yet you break my rest, and that's a strange sign of peace methinks. Who are you ? \st Sol. A soldier, and one of the right cause. Arth. What do you want? \st Sol. Information. Arth. Then you may depart in peace as you came, for I have none of the commodity to spare, (closes the casement) 2d Sol. Comrade, you must thirst a little longer — remember many things fall out between the cup and the lip. l.y^ Sol. That knave is a royalist — I know him by his suUenness ; ay ! by my sword a rank royalist ! but let us forward, and we may gain some tidings at the village. Coip. {zoithout) Wliat ho ! my trojans ! my gal- lants of I lion ! 2d Sol Mass ! but that's our coporal's voice : I tnew he would overtake us. 1st Sol. Here's my cursed luck ! I never went up- on a good scent, but a pack of greedy hounds must open upon the game, and come in at the death before me. enter corporal and soldiers. Corp. Kovv now ! bellona's bridec^rooms ! are we C2 V 30 • ROYAL OAK [Dimond met ? have ye strayed ? have ye wandered ? nay, shame not to confess it — the world is full of errors, and we that are of science, have but kept Uie course in- differently strict ourselves. 2d Sol Marry ! master corpora!, had I your schol- arship, I should little fear to miss my way. Corp. Thou pre-judgest wrongfully. Fortune turns ■upon her wheel, and we blind mortals, follow her versations. 1, that was cnce a school master, am now a corporal ; from arts to arms, from Apollo unto Mars ; ergo, I have missed my way. 2d Sol. 1 should like to be a scholar, for all that. Corp Thy wish is granted ; 1 promise thee : die- turn est — it is pronounced ; factum est.^ it is perform- ed ; to us, the inaugurated few, nature unlocks the casket of her wonders ; by us, her very secret things, past, present, and to come, are freely known and utterly possessed Ut Sol. Since your learned men know every thing, corporal, ! would ask a question ; can you tell where Charles Stuart may be now hid ? Corp. Indubitably can 1 : if he be hid, he is, con- cealed ; that is, he may not be at present visible. \st Sol Well ! 1 am no scholar, thank heaven ; I can neither write nor read, but I think 1 should have been as wise without your answer. Corp Repine ye not, warriors of valorous arm ! what though I may not myself expound— I bear that with me, which shall this gordian knot of secresy un- tie. Behold ye here — the proclamation ! the reward ! (shews a scroll) gold can pierce stern gates of iron ! 1st Sol. That sight gives me fresh longings — pry'- thee good master corporal, let us on — Corp Have with ye, myrmidons! first I would leave a copy of the proclamation at yon cot obscure, Ist Sol. You will but lose labor— they that dwel| there, are royalist curs, and unless you break the door down, you get no admission. 2d Sol. 'Slife ! master corporal, post up the scroll Act 11} ROYAL OAK 31 against this oak — twill face the door, and when they open it, they needs must read. Co)p. Thy words give politic counsel ; the char- acters hereon inscribed, will grieve the eyes of naughty royalists, and therefore it is my pleasure they shall read ; post up the proclamation, {the scroll is posted against the oak) Lo ! ye, brethren in arms, phoebus ascends the sphere ! forth with our nectar flasks- drink salutation to the morn, sing of martial joys, then on ! CATCH OF SOLDIERS. The battle is fought and the battle is won. Cold on the plain — ten thousand remain, Who merrily march'd at the rise of the sun, Nights' heavy rain — was tears for the slain ! N ow lift the voice ! in shouts rejoice ! For roundheads keep revel where royalists bled — The eagle before ye — flies onward to glory — Let kite, and let raven go prey on the dead ! Lillibullero ! lillibullero ! Let kite, and let raven go prey on the dead ! (they pass under the oak in triumph, joining in cho- rus to the burden) [exeunt enter Arthur /row the cottage. Arth. A goodly day is toward ; the sun begins to rise, and the east looks clear ; faith ! the tempest clat- tered so roughly through the night, I thought the old roof would have fallen about our ears ; but save a few torn boughs strewn here and there, I see no damage done. Ha! what have we here upon the tree? a proclamation ! {reads) " a thousand pounds reward to him who seizes the person of Charles Stuart, death Jio those that shelter or conceal him." Greedy blood- hounds, are you so keen in your pursuit ? what, pro- , -claimed ! marked out for death ! a price set on his anointed head ! off! badge of infamy, otT! nor dis- grace the rough honesty of an english oak, by publish- 5^ ROYAL OAK [Dimond ing upon it the accursed plots of traitors and assassins. {tears down the proclamation with passionate vehe- mence^ then falls with sudden fervor on his knee) — Oh ! hear me, heaven ! hear your kneeling servant ! this day let every ill you please to send, betide both me and mine, drive us to beggary — to want — to death — but watch, preserve, and bless my king ! in grief or sickness cheer his drooping soul — turn all the treasons of his enemy to scorn, and lead him forth at last, to govern, comfort, and rejoice his faithful people ! (rises) a prayer is all the poor man has to offer, but let the rich and noble serve their sovereign better ! (Charges puts aside some boughs and lends forward) Char. Friend ! friend ! Arth. Ah ! whence comes that voice ? Char. Here ! here ! Arth. How ! from the oak ? who arc you, and what brings you there ? speak. CJiar. I am your countryman • pQr,§ecuted and in affliction. Have pity on me ! Arth. Come down. Now let mc learn, how I may serve you. {Charles descends by Arthur'^s help, and leans faintly against the tree) Char. Thanks ! thanks ! Arth. You seem weak and feeble— are you ill? Char. For many hours, I have lain concealed among the branches of this tree— and fatigue has well nigh sunk me. Arth. What are you ? Char. A cavalier ; one of the royal army who 'scaped from Worcester fight ; on the borders of this forefit, I was overtaken by a party of the foe : 1 plung- ed into its deepest shades— quitted my horse, and climbing this friendly oak, remained hidden through \ the night even as vou found me * Arth. how can I do you service? Char, {iirect me to a place of safety. Arth. Whither would you go ? Act [Ij ROYAL OAK 33 Char. Any where, that charity and goodness dwell ; whose mansion is there in the neighborhood ? Arth- My landlord's colonel Wyndham. Char Is he an honorable man ? Arth. It's a sign you never heard his name, you would not then have ask'd that question. Char Pardon my abruptness — will you conduct me to him ? Ar.th. Why, look'ye sir, I am not much given to pay compliments, but there is a something about your face that inclines me to think well of you. Therefore I will. Char. Again I thank yon ! but I — I — oh ! {he staggers with feebleness ^ Arthur catches him) Arth. Heavens ! you cannot support yourself — Char. I am weak indeed ; grant me a little food, or else I faint ? Arth. Holloa! mother! wife! holloa! enter dame maythor,n and claribel. Dame M. Lac a daisy ! boy, what's the matter that j'OU call thus Arth. Take this stranger into the cottage, and place every thing in your pantry before him. Clar. A stranger ! what's his name ? Arth. He is a fellow creature, and in distress ! that title, I trust, is sufficient to engage for him, the kind- ness of every feehng heart. Char. Worthy generous man ! If ever Charles re- covers his kingdom, he will reward you for this chari- ty to me. I>amc M. Come stranger, let me lead you to our cottage — nay, never doubt, but that I do it willingly — I am an old woman, it is true, but I have not lived so long, as to forget the first precept of a christian ; com- passion for the unhappy and distress ! \exeunt Arthur, dame M. and Charles into the cottage Clar, I shall not rest now, till I find out who this stranger may be — he told Arthur, the king would re ward him for his charity ; by that, he cannot be a com- 34 ROYAL OAft [Dimond mon guest — dear heart ! how provoking it is, to know a secret exists, yet not be able to discover it. re enter Arthur. Clar. Oh! ray dear Arthur! a word with you! Arth Let it be a short one then — for I am in haste. Clar. In haste, forsooth ! whither now ? Arth. The cavalier has left his horse in yonder ihicket, I must seek for it. Clar. Well ! but Arthur — this cavalier — I want— Arth. What ? Clar. To know every thing about him. Arth Umph ! that's a modest want : Claribel I dare not stay, for I am now in danger. Clar. Oh ! the father ! in danger — of what ? Arth. The most trotiblesome animal in creation, au inquisitive woman. {exit Clar. Tis ever so ; he always foils me thus when I seek to gain a httle useful knowledge. Well, tis vain to puzzle my poor wits longer. Sweet rest and kind- ly dreams betide thee, stranger j whatsoe'er thy rank, rest ! warrior, rest ! AIR— CLARIBEL. He comes from the wars— from the red field of fight ! i He comes through the storm and the darkness of night, | For rest and for refuge now fain to implore | The warrior bends law at the cottager's door. I Pale — pale is his cheek — there's a gash on his brow, ' His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow. And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye Like a languishing lamp— that just flashes— to die ! Rest — warrior, rest ! Sunk in silence and sleep on the cottager's bed, Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head — Perchance he may dream — but the vision shall tell Of his lady love's bov/er and her latest farewell ! Illusion and love chase the battle's alarms — He shall dream that his mistress lies lock'd in bis arms. Act IIJ ROYAL OAK 35 He shall feel on his lip the sweet warmth of her kiss — Nay ! warrior, wake not— such slumber is bliss! Rest — warrior, rest! [exit SCENE III — a chamber in Wyndham' s castle. WYKDHAM and cav.;ndish discovered seated. Cav. Rouse yourself, my noble friend ! 1 conjure you, Wyndham ; rouse from this dfsponding sorrow ; learn to regard the world with kinder eye. JVynd 1 cannot. Cavendish, 1 cannot ! my heart is breaking, and despises comfort. Hope sits weeping in the heavens, and washes out with falling tears the traces of her feet on earth ! Cav~ Wherefore will you thus obstinately dash away the good you might possess ? each evening of our lives the sun departs through western clouds, and leaves mankind awhile in darkness wrapt : but his sweet beams in secret travel on, and once their golden jour- ney made, remount the sphere, to animate our earth with fresh delight. fVymd. Cool sophist ! alas ! the sun of England hath for ever set. The battle, round whose fate our last pale frighted wishes clung is lost — the choicest fountains of our country's blood are broken up. and all their purple treasure spilt in waste. Our king, un- done, unfriended, and unsheltered wanders forth ; — his title scorned, his sacred life besieged. My son too — my only son! ah! Cavendish, on Worcester's bloody field my boy perchance lies slain. Well, be it so ; amidst the vast account of general wo, 1 ought to lose the cyph.er of a private grief. Cav. Wyndham ! listen to me — your son still lives. TVynd. Cavendish ! speak you from knovi^ledge or •supposition ? trifle not, I pray you, with my feelings ! Cav. I repeat, he still lives ; he is safe ; nay, he is beneath your roof. f-Vynd, Ah ! beneath my rooF, and not within my arms. 36 ROYAL OAK [Dimond Cav. He is row with lady Matilda in her closet : a mother claims the first embrace of filial love. But in truth, William feared to present himself before you, till assured the rashness of his flight would be forgiven. IVynd. Have I then seemed so harsh a parent ? — oh ! fly to him, Cavendish, bring him to me, and tell him, all is forgiven — all forgotten. [exit Cavendish TVynd. How finely, feelingly, moulded are the pas- sions of the human heart, and how fleeting are our most fierce resentments, when those we love are the offend- ers ! in the hour of injury we rage aloud, and threaten vast revenge ; but let the fancied wo o'ertake the dear transgressor. Oh ! in a breath, are all his faults ab- solved, and memory turns with trembling finger, to the page where his virtues only are recorded ; while nature falls in soft obliterating drops upon the angry register of errors pasti enter william and cavendish. Will, {bowing submissively) My father ! am I per- mitted to approach ? fVynd. Here ! in my arms — at my fond beating heart receive, and feel your answer ! William, this trembling pressure is the only rebuke your father uses. These tears which he drops upon your cheek, are all the punishment that he imposes. Will, {kneeling) Best and most beloved of men! accept my gratitude! fVynd. Nay, William, I require it not, you diso'^ey- ed your father, but it was to serve your king, the fa- ther of us all ; and in your very fault you tendered me your atonement. Will, Sir! I return into your hands this sword, it was your own : you conquered with it for our first Charles at Stratton — the trophy has not since been dishonored by my use, for it has guarded the bosom of a second Charles at Worcester. I was among those cavahers who rescued the prince when widely lluong- ing foes had snared him round, within the toils of death. Jnst as I reached my king's imgnarded side. Act IIJ ROVAL OAK 37 a brawny slave had raised his axe to strike. My fa- ther's sword glittered in my hand, and his spirit, with avenging justice, nerved its aim — at a blow 1 cleft the daring traitor to the ground ' TVynd. Receive again the weapon, which you have rendered honorable, by the first achievement of your youth ; a parent's blessing newly sanctifies the gift. enter philip. Phil. Sir, your tenant Maythorn has brought with him a stranger to the castle, one of the royal party, as 1 take it, for whom he requests a few hour's shelter un- derneath your roof. Wynd. Say, that I willingly comply, and lead them hither [exit Philip Cav. How, Wyndham ! remember that in times like these, tis dangerous to admit a stranger without precaution. Some spy of Cromwell may impose upon your charity to work your ruin Wynd. I' ven presume it so, the traitor will only find within my family, the unalterable love of patriot virtue, and an unshrinking scorn of those who mock its laws. These inmates I too much glory in, to hide from any eye. William ! prepare your mother and cousin to receive the stranger, whosoe'er he be, and give him courteous welcome, [exit fVilliam] No, Cavendish, no ! — charity is a portress that blesses the threshold where she sits, and when she would extend her glowing palm to grasp a supplicating wanderer, heaven forbid ! that cold suspicion should arrest the im- pulse, till all the honesty of nature lost its warmth ! crater MAYTHORN and charles. Wynd. Good morrow, Maythorn ! jlrth. My humble duty ! 1 respectfully present to you. sir, a cavalier who is persecuted, and request your protection. I told him the generosity of your heart, and that his necessities would prove sufficient claims to engage its friendship. Wynd. Arthur! you are a warm panegyrist, (to D 38 ROYAL OAK [Dimond .Charles) Sir ! you are welcome, and what poor ser- vice this roof can render is very freely yours. My friend and neighbor, sir Edward Cavendi&h. {intro- duces Charles) Char. Accept, sir, all the return which an unfortu- nate but not ungrateful man can offer ; his thanks ; his blessing The benevolence which now encircles me, steals a fleeting pkasure over my anguished heart ; like rose leaves shedding sweetness round a canker. Wynd. Are you from Worcester, sir ? Char. Even from that disastrous field. 1 did not quit it till I had seen my bravest friends laid breath- less. Wynd. Is it yet known what fate has befallen the unhappy Char'es? Char. He has suffered many hardships, many per- ils ; but he has reached at length a place of shelter, and [ trust of safety Wynd God be praised ! may I, sir, inquire — for- give my questions, but curiosity in such a case seems venial. Upon whose information rests your report? Char. My own. I was with Charles when he left the field of battle, and ever since have been tke close companion of his sufferings and his dangers. Wynd. Happy, fortunate man ! cease to repine at a destiny which the proudest briton might regard with envy. You have remained at your monarch's side in his adversity, encountered for him half his wrongs, and soothed those sorrows you could not avert. Oh ! could I have bought of fate, one hour of such ex- alted blis!:^, I would have freely bartered the remains ©f life. enter lady wyndham and elinor. Lady W- Wyndham ! did you not send for us ? Wynd. Yps, and to assist me in offices you most delight in ; those o^ hospitality. I present to you, sir, my wife and niece ; these with one son complete my «iiorneslic circle. Char. Not entirely ; you forget to mention a thon- Act II] ROYAL OAK 39 sand social virtues, which move and operate within its hallowed round. Ladies! an ill starred man salutes you and with a beggar's prayer, commends his broken fortunes to your charity. Lady fV. To our friendship, sir ! you do much wrong, calling- our glad service by a poorer name. — • When noble minds vouchsafe to take a benefit, they confer an honor on the giver, worthier than his gift. enler william. H'ynd. My son ! be known to our guest. Will. Sir — ah ! great heaven ! it is the king ! {slaris — ihen Ufth involuntary fervor c»*ts himself forzcard at ChorWsfeet) fVynd. Eternal powers ! what said you ? Will, [zcit/i enthusiastic joy) Father ! it is the king ! it is our sovereign ! {all the characters advance, and fling themsdvcs in different attitudes of reverence- around Charles) Wynd. Dread sire : humbled to the earth, accept the homage of your subjects. Char, (agitated) Friends ! friends ! you forget — I am no more a king. Wynd, {with vehemence) Yes! you are our beloved and acknowledged king — your throne may have fallen in the palace, but in the hearts of your people it is fix- ed for ever ! — WUl While we live, we will be faithful ! Arth. On my death bed i will pronounce your name, and bless it ! (catches the robe of Charles, and presses it with fervor to h.-s lips) Char: Riae ! rise ! i pray you — I beseech you rise ! Wyndham your hand ! I weep — bal these are tears of ecstacy, not anguish. Cromwell ! come now, with all thy gorgeous mockery of greatness, blazing round thee, and h< re confesb the dili'trence which marks usurping tyrants from J'eir lawful prince I terror sup- ports thy throne, and blood is its cement. Love, with white and willing arms, embraces mine, while gooti men's prayers breathe incense round it. I'hoit, in the 40 ROYAL OAK [Dimon.l midst of guards and hirelings, sittest suspecting, fear- ing, and unblest. I defenceless and alone, through hosts of foes, proceed with even step, bulwarked by loyal hearts, and guided by my god ! fVynd. Oh ! my sovereign ! to behold you safe, was all my prayer to heaven ; but that your sacred presence e'er should grace my roof, surpassed e'en hope Teach me, sire, how I may deserve this wond- rous bounty of ray fate. f'FtlL Deliver your commands ! we will execute them, or perish. Lady TV. Yes, sire, the parents and their offspring, both would perish ; boldly, gladiy perish in their monarch's cause. C/iar. Excellent and honorable family ! you too, Arthur, my humbler, but not less worthy friend ! my heart expands itself in fondness, and enfolds you all ! fVynd. This moment is the happiest of my exist- ence ; yet even now, a strange alloy mingles with its bliss, and denies my bosom perfect peace. The scouts of parliament are every where abroad — and though I dare answer with my life, for the trusty honor of my household, still prudence bids me fear, that in Eng- land, your majesty cannot long remain with safety. Char. From early boyhood reared in foreign climes, my person, save by description, is but rarely known to english eyes — but ere I reached your mansion it was, my design to gain the coast, and seek some friendly chance to waft me over seas Cav. My liege ! upon the bay below, an ancient fish- er dwells, who for some few bounties ( have rendered to his age. I think, would venture much to serve me. I'll to his cabin now, and unless my hopes deceive, his ready bark, manned with a small, but skilful crew, at nightfall shall await your pleasure. Char Sir ! I am beholden to you ever. Cav. Ah ! sire, withhold your thanks. In the sum- mer of my days, I fought and bled for your royal father. Winter now has overtaken me, and scattered ^ow upon the scars of war. But let me live e'en yet. Act 11] ROYAL OAK 4-1 to save my prince, sunshine will settle on my closing eyes, and fresh flewers of spring blossom round my grave [exit Arth A company of the parliament troops is now quartered in the village — 1 will dissemble with their officer, and endeavor to remove them on a false pur- suit. Char. My friend, be cautious — let not your honest aeal bH.ray you into rashness — Artk. Sire ! Ihe cause in which I venture now, animates beyond the fear of danger, and ensures suc- cess [exit Char. Generous, devoted ardor I Lady IV. Your majesty's wan looks express too truly the sufferings you have passed. May 1 not be permitted to offer som*^ refr^hment ? Char. In failh ! my kind hostets, a little rest ;vould moie regale me now, than al; the costiv viands luxury could cater. Lady W. This interval of quiet happily invites.-— Elirwr ! see an apartment instantly prepared. [exil Elinor Char, {to William) My young soldier, your hand ! I have not yet bestowed the j.jaise your gallant port deserves. In the battie-s whirling hei£;ht, I marked you foremost over, saccormg my fnends, and striking- vengeance on the foe Will, (modi'sfly) I fought for you, sir — Char. Ay ! and bled- the cut which marks your forehead is the counterpart of on*- that scars my own. As our fates are similar, may our friendship be indis- soluble ! Wyndham, heaven inlendi^d a recompense for your virtues, when it bestowed on you such a son. Wynd. May he never forget the praises of his sove- reign, he cannot then become unworthy of them. re-enter elinor hastily. Wynd. Elinor what means this agitation I Elin. Alas ! [ fear some heavy ill impends ; front ing the window of mv chamber, a crowd of savage- D2 42 * ROYAL OAK [Dimondi looking people have assembled; they point towards our walls, then shake their heads distrustfully, and I seem to threaten vengeance. fVynd. Dismiss your terrors — tis but the licentious J spirit of the rabble — each day they congregate in herds i together, and bruit their strange distempered fancies — the mighty consultation o'er, the beasts will turn in ijuiet to their stalls again. enter arthur abruptly. Artk. Save yourself, my liege ! be sudden, or alJ is lost ! Char. How ! Arth. Your retreat is discovered — and I, unhappy wretch ! have been the cause. I had left your horse at a neighboring forge — the smith has discovered upon its shoes the royal arms— he has given the alarm, a furious mob have seized on every avenue — and offi- cers of parliament are hastening to search the house. PVynd. Bar all my gates — make fast the draw- bridge — arm my household. Arth. In vain — in vain — resistance comes too late, ere this the officers have reached your gates. Lady W. Hour of distraction ! fVynd. Arthur ! conduct the king to the upper chamber of the west tower — there, behind the tapestry he may lay concealed. Char. Oh ! Wyndham- Wynd. Away, sire ! rest assured, if human courage : can avail, you are still secure. [exeunt Charles and Arthur enter phi lip. PhiL Oh ! sir, the officers of parliament — Wynd. Well ! what mighty terror is in their name, to shake you thus ? lead them hither ! [exit Philip Will. Infamous murderers ! let them come ! Wynd. William — retire ! Will. How ! rov father ! Act II} ROYAL OAK 4>i Wynd. I know your temper too well to trust it here — therefore retire — 1 command you ! IVill. {bows zcit/i a mortified air) Sir, I obey. [exit JVilliam IVynd. Now, Matilda, for a noble rivalship of constancy, to prove us worthy of the cause we serve ! enter captain reubsn and soldiers. Capt, R. Save ye ! children of unrighteousness ! — repent ye of your wickedness, for the time is come. — Lo ! the brethren of the elect have entered the house of darkness, to lay hands upon the many-horned beast that abideth therein ; therefore I say unto thee, con- fess thy abominations, and deliver up the idol ! fVynd. Whom do you seek ? Capt. R. The man of sin. Yea! he that bruiseth the heels of the faithful. fVynd. You speak in riddles. I understand yoj not. Capt. R. Verily ! we seek the son of Stuart. In the name of the parliament, 1 command thee to discovci- the place where thou hast concealed him. fVynd. What reasons have you to presume him here? Capt. R. Vex not my spirit with vain questions — where hast thou concealed him ? answer me. JVynd. I will answer nothing. If the object of your quest be here, find him as you may — but bear with you this remembrance, VVyndham would perish, rather than betray an unfortunate, who had claimed the sanctuary of his hearth for shelter. Capt. R. Audacious traitor ! search the house I {to his soldiers) Sold. Captain, :!ig houses of these royalists are so full of hiding-places, that though Charles Stuart h^ here, we may search till doomsday, and not discover him ; besides, none of us are acquainted with his per- son. Capt. R. The secret shall be disclosed. Seize up- 44 ROYAL O^K [Dimond on him! (guards seize Wyndliam) Now, caitiff, tremble and obey ! IVynd. {contemptuously) TIa ! ha! Capt. R ( powts a swurd at his breast) Confess ! or this moment is your last. IVynd Strike, assassin, strilce ! with my dying breath, I will bequeath a b'«ssing to my king, and curse the traitors who usurp his rights Capt R. Nay. then thy b!ood be upon thy head — Lady W. Hoid ! barbanane^. monsbrs hold' lock- ed in each others' arms the husband and the wiff> will both expire t fc/rn^s hetsclf tipop fJ'>.,7i'-7iam-s breasf^ while Elinor kneels to Reuben) Now . rrffiivi. strike, our innocent b'onr! shall start in mutual streams, and we will Hie tos;etbe'. Capt. R Relrase your hold ! Lady IV. Never ! in life, in death, my Wyndham, I am thine ! Capt. R. Force them apart ! Lady fV. Av ay. inbumans! to the last of nature, I will ciasp his torrn fVynd. The blessing o<' god be with thee, my Ma- tilda ! (thi'y ore forced asunder) Capt. R Vain woman, mark ! 'is thou that must de- cide thy husban'} s fate ; at thy wo:d, he lives or dies. Lady f^V Oh ! horror ! horror ! Cap^ R. Co fess — and he is safe. Deny me, and he falls a corpse. Lady TV Drive me not mad! Capt R Determine this moment, or I strike ! Lady fV (aside) Tisfull of horror, but it must be so. Man ! swear to me, that my husband shall be safe, and I will deliver up your victim, IVy-'d. Matilda' Capf R I give the oath ; lead us to the spot, Lar?y IV. I Will bring him before you. IVynd Mati'da ! h^'ar me : Lady fV. S.^a- not; I am wild, I am desperate; hut I will save mv husband Capt. R. Be sudden — our revenge is hungry. Act III ROYAL OAK 46. Lady fV. But a moment— and I return ! {exH IVynd. {distractedly) Matilda ! wife ! partner of my. bosom ! turn, I charge you ; I command you, turn ! oh ! infamy and guilt ! dishonor and eternal shame ! triumph, ye fiends— ay! triumph, for now indeed the soul of Wyndham sinks — let me not live till she re- turns, nor till the hateful light discovers to my blasted ey<^s, a traitress in the woman whom I loved. Nay- kill me now, for death is mercy ! Capt R Thou forgettest ; I have sworn an oath to let thee live ; but be of heart, Cromwell may reward thee. Wynd. Reward! reward! wretch! I tell thee — oh! bitterness of scorn ! just heaven ! smite the bloated vil- lain dead, who, lost to thee, and false to nature's plan, would store his coffers with the price of blood, climb up to greatness on his sovereign's fall, or seek for hon ors midst his country's shama. retnUr lady wyndham. Wynd. Woman ! what hast thou done ? Lady IV. A cruel deed — yet one my soul approves. Capt. R Where is Iha sinful one ? Lady W I have fulfilled my promisp. The sacri- fice is prepared ; but oh ! in making it, as I have a soul, I swear, I part with every hope of happiness on earth. Capt. R. Produce him ! bring him forth ! Lady IV. He comes — behold your victim here ! enter william. mufjied in a cloak — he advances witk a firm commanding step., and fixes his eye disdain- fully upon Reuben. IVill, Who is he that dares demand my presence 1* Elin Heavens ! that voice — surely you would not — Lady JV. {catches her hand, and motions xcith au- thority) Silence! Elm. Oh ! god ! he is lost for ever ! {she sinks senseless into Wyndham" s arms) Capt. R. Who art thou ? . 46 • ROYAL OAK [Dimond Will. One not born to stand within the dread of slaves like Lh<^e. Capl R An thou not Chailes Stuart ? IVUL 1 do not acknowledge any power, that should bid ine ai?wer. So^d. Observe that scar upon his forehead ! even such a on- we are told, J>iuait received in the battle. Capt. R Obdurate rebel! if thou wilt not answer us. our gi^neiai shall iind a wuy to make thee speak. Sir Thoavas Fairfax's quaiLers are but six miles dis- tant- -drag hioi along ! Wiil. i^oft —one moment — and 1 follow. — (he takes Elinor's lifeless hand, and press's it betwee^i his own) — Lltnor ! swiet Eimor !— a short forgetfulness hail' stolen away thy senv'i of misery. — Ah ! that such d-^a- a cons, i.iusne's m-ght be thine for ever; but no, thou will watie. wilt thine, and then — Oh god ! sir — mci.->am ! — when 1 am gone, by aJ your love for me, I. pray you, cherish this innocent drooping flower — and It'L ;< ur kml pity, as the dew from heaven, fall upon anpairing pressure — [kisses her hand wich fer- vor)— ^ow — god be wi li yon — farewcil — farewell ! — {he wraps his face within the cfot'k, and hurries from the ap'jr(7nt7it — the soldiers follow) EUn {recovering ) Where have ! been? — my sen- ses suie have wandered — or was it but a dream ? Larly fV. My ;Jinor! — my poor child ! — Elin. Ah ! you arc here— and you ; {to ^Vyndham) but 1 see not William — where is he ? {/ooks zviidly round) Wynd Unhappy maid ! El>n. You will not answer me — you turn your faces from me. and vou weep '— ah ! then it was r^al ! — and cow ihe honid truih flashes upon tity brain : — which way have they borjie him ? whither is he gone ? ActH] ROYAL OAK 47 Lady TV. To glon' — to eternal fame. • Eltn. Say rather to destruction — to a scaffold.— {shouts artt heard in the court y ird)—\VAvk ! the fu- rious rabble seize upon my love, and rude'y rend his genllo fram'.^ — now an hundred dagijceis ^!or(•e his breast, his biood flows, he falls, he dies. Oh ! save him ! sa-'e liim ' Lady fV. Dearest Eiinor ! Elm Away ! unnatiira parents ; you have sacrificed your son ; but I am fiithful to him stili ; and even in death will share his fate — Lady IV. S'rusfg'e ihus n^t vamly — El'in Hence! h'^nc*.' ! my despairing cries shall call both man and god to aid me ; unhand me ; !et ine loose: nay then, pierce me to the heat— and lei me die at owc^, —{dasher herself upon the floor — lady Wyndham kneels beside her) enttr Charles. Char. Speak — my friends — what mean these fearful shrieks and this diead aiiony of sorrow ? — on every side, I hear strange voices shout •' the !.ing is taken l-' — and even now, I saw my furious foes d'ag bevond your gates some wretched prisoner. — Explain these mysteries— speai: ! Elin. (feebly raising her head) O ! king, he is gone, he is lost for cer. and for you. is he sacrificed ; — Char. For me ? just heavens !— who ? Elin. My love, my life, my vvoi Id. my William ! Char. Immortal powers !-— can this be real — speak ! IVynd IVly sovereign is preserv d ! ' Lady TV We have ios^ our child, — but we have saved our country ! Char. Oh ! glorious yet dreadful virtu;^ ! — he was your ion, your only son ; yet for me you have devoted him : but think not I will accept the bloody sacrifice — no ! never ! never ! Wynd. Gracio!is sire — Char. Peace, Wyndham — peace ! — T value life bu^ prize my honor — dearer far. — Whither have thev bor him ? 48 ROYAL OAK [Dimond Lady W. To the tent ef Fairfax— Char. Fairfax ! — Fairfax I — ha ! the ring !— the ring ! {impetuously presses a jewel upon his Jinger to his lips) — Yea! now indeed this gem is precious ' — afflicted parents ! your offspring shall return to claim our blessing— Elinor ! the beloved of thy heart shall gain enfold thee in his arms — Elin. {with transport) Bless thee ! — O ! bless thee, king ! Char. I fly to save my friend, or perish by his side. - [rushes out Wynd. {frardickly) Hold, my prince! my sove- teign ! hold ! {exit after Charles — Elinor starts from the ground^ and flings herself into the arms of lady fVynd- ham — the curtain falls rapidly upon the scene END OF THE SECOND ACT. ACT III. SCENE I — a tent, lights burning, enter taikfax and guards with william. Fair, {as he enters) Bring him along ! — insolent and presumptuous ! what madness could have promptr ed you to mock our just revenge? jrai. The inborn love of virtue, and an hereditary scorn of tyrants. Fair. Miserable youth ! for whose sake have you vGnfured thus ? nill. For England 2ind my king. Fair. You are lost. fVill. True— but they are saved. Fair. You will suffer. fl'lll. No — I shall triumph. Fair. Whal can you expect? fVill. Death ! haply a death of torture ; but certainly a death of glory. Act III] ROYAL OAK 49 Fair. Wretched visionary ! — confine him within the next tent. Look that he be strictly guarded — 1 charge you, on your lives, to keep him safe. fVill. O ! sir, tear them not — I have no gold to bribe their avarice ; and they who serve a cause like yours, disdain to feel the weakness of compassion. Fair, Bear him away. Will. I leave you, sir — yet from my green despised youth, perchance your riper age, might glean a les- ion to improve its judgment. — 1 go, bereft of every earthly hope— still doth content sit smiling at my heart To him, who perishes in honor's arms, chains become trophies. Racks seem but as the martyr's throne of bliss, and death itself, is the simple passport to eternal life ! — \exit Fair. Surprizing, awful lovely virtue !— which I am doomed at once to punish and revere. How now ! — whence this intrusion ? enter reuben. Capt. R. General, a stranger, who refuses to dis- close his name or person, presents himself before the tent, and demands to speak with you in private ; he sends this ring, to prove the importance of his errand. Fair. A rich and costly gem ! ah ! — let me view it closer — it is — it is — yea! that very ring, which late on Worcester field — instant conduct the stranger hither ! \^dxit Reuben enter charles disguised^ he wears a helmet zcith the visor dozen, an officer conducts him, and then retires. Char, {agitated) Am I in the presence of sir Thom- as Fairfax ? Fair. You are ; what would you with me ? Char. First, does Fairfax recognise that ring ? Fair. Assuredly, it was my own. In the late bat- lie's raging height, divided from my friends, a sturdy peasant struck me to the ground ; sudden a passing voice was heard, ' Forbear / forbear ! Irt Fairfax E 50. • ROYAL OAK [Dimond live /'—the conquering peasant liateined and obeyed ; stunned and confused. I saw not my protector, but my heart felt all his charity ; to the soldier's hand I ga\e this ling, and bade him to his generous captain bear the token, that should uncertain fortune e'er re- verse our state — Char. Fairfax ! that hour of change already hath arrived ; my voice but late preserved thy life, it claims anoth»^r's safety now of thee. Say, will Fairfax re- deem his pledge ? Fair. Frankly, joyfully; but remove your visor, let me view your face. Char. Excuse me ; I have a reliance upon your honor, and request to remain concealed. Fair. Well, your confidence in me shall not be dis- appointed, 1 press no further. Now, to your claim Char. I come, an humble suitor to you ; from a despairing father, who sits and groans in speechless agony ; from a heart broken mother, whose scalding tears, fall fast as rains from heaven ; from a distracted bride, who menaces with frantic hands her own exist- ence. « Fair. How say you ? instruct me further. Char. You have a prisoner, William Wyndham ; ; for him these groans, these tears, this agony of pas- sion sue. Fair. Indeed ; then I am concerned to answer, they must sue in vain. Char. How ! Fair. I feel my obhgation to you, and on your owni account, whatever boon you might demand were; granted ; but this prisoner has committed an offence,, I dare not pardon. Char. Can no prayers move your heart to pity? Fair. Not when justice bars my bosom. My duty^ to the cause I serve, forbids consent. Char. Is he then devoted past recall ? will no sacri- fice be accepted for him ? Fair. None ; unless you could offer in his place,] the victim of whom his insolent fraud has deprived us. Act III] ROYAL OAK il Char. Ha ! then if Charles Stuart even yet were yielded to your power, you would release your pris- oner. Fair. Yes, upon that condition alone, I would ex- tend my pardon. Char. Fairfax ! promise me this, upon a soldier's honor? Fair. Willingly, I pledge my word ; let Charles Stuart become my prisoner, and Wyndham shall be free. Char. The CO npact be sacred! behold your hostage here! {removes the visor) Fair Ha! Stuart himself .^ {starts back in aslon- ishment) Char Here gaze and glut your satisfied revenge ? behold the persecuted, the devoted, but still the royal Stuart stands before you! Fair. Amazement ! Chur. \y ! even in that hated foe, thy vengeance now pursues to death, beho'd the very man whose mercy rescued thee from fate VVhat force or fraud essayed in vam. the feelings of his own heart have effected for thee ; here, self betrayed, self sacrificed, he stands a ready victim, panting to peris'i at the shrine of friendship ; gratitude and godlike honor. (Fairfax pauses for a moment, irresolute and refect- ing, then goes to the side of the stage, and speaks aloud) Guards ! conduct hither the prisoner from the next tent! Char. Oh! let me but fold my friend once more within these arms, and senJ him to rejoice his mourn- ful home, then fortune 1 defy thy hate ! {a guard conducts willi am to the entrance of the tent) Will. For what frcish trials am I yet reserved ? Char. William ! my friend ! Will. Ah! my sovereign {rushes into Charleses arms J then starts from them again with sudden hot- 62 ROYAL OAK [Dimond ror) alas ! what baleful star has led you to this place ? wherefore are you come ? Char. VVillian, away! your ransom is accepted, and your anxious family invoke your speed. Fair. Hold I he does not pass. Ckar. How ! have you not pledged a sacred prom- ise ? Fair. I recall that promise ; the same fate shall now attend you both, CAar. Oh ! execrable perfidy ! IFill. Ah ! my prince, you have undone uS both ; my death will now be bitterness, and my blood will flow in vain. Char. Fairfax ! you cannot mean it, you are not such a villain. Fair. I am fixed, beyond the power of man to sway me. I repeat, the same fate shall attend you both ! what ho ! officer ! enter Officer. Fair. Give instant orders, that the two strangers, who presently will quit my tent, may pass in safety and unquestioned through the camp. leril Officer Will. How! Char. What said he ! Fair, {with impressive dignity) Stuart ! I am an enemy to your person ; but I am also a friend to honor, and scorn to conquer by the virtues of my foe. Char. Fairfax! Fair. Hold ! the secret of our discourse must never be divulged. Remember, six hours hence, i become again your enemy ; at present, you both are free to pass. Char. Oh! generous — Fair. No answer ! there lies your way ! {he waves his hand vo'ilh authority^ then exit — Charles and JVil- Ham depart on the opposite side Act HI] ROYAL OAK 53 SCENE 1 1 — IVyndhaTrC s castle. enter lady wyndham, wtth a slow and languid step. Lady IV. Moments rolJ on — hours pass away — My William ! son of my bosom : art thou still living ! or has the tatai axe already lalien upon that necl. where I ha> c kissed a thousand times ? oh thou who wert so late my joy, my pride, aiy blooming boast ; how can 1 bear to see thy noble torm jstrciched cold in death, a bloody and distigured corpse ? let me not think, upon-t, twill drive me mad ! {she sinks upon h&r knee) fountain of mercy ! to thee, a sorrow stricken wretch, 1 spread my empty arms, o ! restore my child to their eaibrace, or grant my death, and bid me clasp him in the grave ! a door o^ ens be/iind, and wyndham appears support- ing KLiNOR s/ie observes the attitude of lady Wyndham, tottering fetbiy forwards, kneels by her Side) Elm. Mother of my William ! join my hands with yours, and teach me how to pray ! Lady W. Unhappy innocent ! the anguish of a breaking heart writes in its tears a prayer, and heaven interprets every sigh. JV. {raising i/iem) Matilda ! my best love — where- fore are you from your chamber — the night is almost spent-- will you not seek repose ? Lady fV. Repose ! ah ! Wyndham, teach me where to find repose ? fVynd. In your husband's arms. Lady fF, Ay, 1 could rest ihere once : sweetly, calmly rest; but now : no, Wyndham, no — I cannot rest now ; 1 feci that within, which tells me, I shall i^ever rest again ! fVynd. Beloved partner of my past joys and pres- ent sorrows, it Airings my heart to view thee thus. Lady f'V Oh ! my son, how did I rejoice when thou wert born— how did 1 gaze upon thy little laughing E 2 54 ROYAL OAK [Dimond looks, and fondly prophesy a long futurity of bliss — Thy unfolding youth ne'er showed one vicious speck — thou wert loving, kind, and duteous ever ; all that a child could prove, or parent hope. Thou never gavest thy moilier cause to hate thee — yet she cast thee off — she betrayed thee to the slaughter, and her hands rang thy knell ! but think ye that 1 loved him not ? — tis false— -I did — I did— he was my world— the blood which warmed my heart — the breath by which J lived ; and in the forgetful shades of death, his image and ray soul must sink together ! JVynd. Thou dear unhappy one ! heaven sees my heart, and reads how much J pity thee. Lady W. {zciih gloomy triumph) Oh ! I am p»st pity — I despair ! Wynd. (takes her hand^ and speaks with solemn emphasis) Not so, Matilda ! place we our trust with him who is above, and though v;e grieve we never must despair. Lady IV. True — most just rebuke, Bui heaven will pardon a weak wretched woman, whose miseries have well nigh crazed her brain. 1 cannot but re- member, I had once a treasure, and now feel that I have lost it. Every thing around me, preserves the cruel sense of my calamity. Each apartment I enter, all the objects 1 look upon, remind me of my poor lost boy. In yonder chamber, till this night, Wil- liam has slept for sixteen years. Unconscious of my actions, 1 run to seek him there — all is dark and soli- tary — I listen for the sound of his breath as he sleeps -—tis silence ! I call upon his name — he answers not, he hears not : then sudden as the lightning's flash the fatal truth shoots upon remembrance, and strews my brain with madding fires I shriek aloud — stretch forth my arms in agony, and strive to clasp ideal substance in the vacant air ! ( falls back exhausted) Wynd. Visit her with soothing aids, just heaven ! — (a clamor is heard without; Elin. Hark ! what sounds were those ? Act IIIJ ROYAL OAK 65 f-Vynd. The shouts of men — and at an hour like this Elin. Perchance, the ministers of vengeance have returned, to claim iresh victims for their savage hate. Welcome, ye murderous crew ! my bosom pants to rush upon jour swords, and meet my love in the abodes of death ! ha ! {she springs towards the door — CHARLES enters, and catches her hand) CJiar. (exultingly) Elinor ! have 1 not performed my promise ? {points to william, who enters at the moment — she shrieks^ and falls into his arms) IVill. My love— my parents — I am yours again. Lady JV. Then my prayers are heard, and heaven ^ards the virtuous still ! fVynd. My son — my sovereign, both restored ! — ecstacy strikes upon the sense too keen, ^nd scarcely can I bear my bliss. Char. To an enemy — a generous one, we owe our happiness. William will recount the tale hereafter — moments are precious to me now. The morning star already lifts her lamp, and ere another hour be told, I must afar, or else am lost again. Wynd. My liege, at midnight, Cavendish informed me by a messenger, a vessel rode at anchor in the bay, ready to catch the breeze, and waft you from this fatal shore. Char. Blest hearing — let us be sudden, dearest friends, else day-light will o'ertake our steps. Wynd. Fear not, prince ! the danger of discovery is past— our path lies through my own domain — one sin- gle cabin stands upon the beach, and save the soHtary fisher, as he spreads his nets, scarcely an human form at busiest hour frequents the spot. Char. Has the good Cavendish prepared . IVyjid. Every thing — and fortune prospers his de- sign. The wind blows fresh for France, where your majesty may safely dwell, and gain fresh armies to as- sert your cause. Char. ]No, Wyndham ! never may such shame be mine ! if e'er in happier hour, I sit on England's 56 ROVAL OAK [Diraond throne, the willing impu'se of my countrymen shall raise me to that envied seat ; no aids from vaunting France shall help to place me there. By heaven ! I would not for my soul's price, see an insulting foreign- er, stamp his proud foot upon my sacred native soil ! beloved Albion ! though I be exiled from thy pleasant shore, may heaven rain its graces on thy lap, and freedom, through thy wild wood bowers, a never sli^ep- ing genius rove ! advance yet new armadas 'gainst thy sea clasped bounds, the sword of god be girded on thy warriors' side^ to strike invaders back into the surge ! [exeunt SCENE III — a bay encircled by rocks— a vessel rides at anchor in the distance^ a small fishing h'lt upon one side, beside which lies a quantity of tattered sail cloth — the twilight immediaiely precedent to the dawn, rests grayly upon the differen objects of the scene — 1st soldier appears upon the rocks, and after looking cautiously round, whistles softly. 1st Sol. Hist 1 Martin ! hist ! art wakeful ? 2d Sol. {lifting aside the sail-cloth) Ay, as a fam- ished night-bird hovering o'er its prey. Come down upon the beach — none can overhear. The gossipers all left the hut but now, and ramble at some distance along the castle road. 1st Sol. What is their number ? 2d Sol. As yet only three — a man with two fe- males. They have prattled kindly — under the sail- cloth yonder, in the darkness I listened to their whole discourse. 1st Sol, What hast gleaned from it ? 2d Sol. All 1 could wish — the prize will certainly be ours — they seem to wait anxiously, but for some fresh arrival, a flag will then be hoisted at the cliff's point — at that signal a boat puts off from the vessel and rows to shore. 1st SoL Our ambush commands the landing-place. Act III] ROYAL OAK 57 2d Sol. Ay, lad! then one bold effort, and our purpose stands secqre. {a whistle) Kaik ! they wlijstle from the sWiff— day breaks apace — they grow impatient. ist Sol. Comrade, 1 can hear voices from the right. 2d Sol. Ha ! they whom we watch return — let's mount the rock, and join our comrades in the cave — swift — swift — nay swifter — they are close at hand ! lexcunt enter ari hvr, dame maythorn, and claribel. Dame M. Well a day ! Arthur, my mind misgives me sorely ; I am sure gome woful disaster must have befallen the king. ^rth. Plague on't, mother, I believe you take de- light in terrifying people. Dame M. Way, boy, look if the sun be not rising above the ocean ! it was midnight when the messen- ger went to the castle, and ever since we have been waiting yonder, in the fisher's hut, for his return. Clar. Ay ! our plot has cerlamly been discovered. Arih. Confound your croaking tongues ! had I guessed what lively companions you were like to prove, you should e'en have tarried behind me at the farm. Dame Bl. JSot so either, boy ; old as I am, I would have hobbled hither barefoot, for the chance of once more looking on my king — bless his sweet face! wha could have thought it, when he sat so meek and gracious, in our poor cot, praising my cookery, and drinking to my health, that it was a prince for whom I spread the board. enter cavp^ndish hastily, xolih two attendants. Cav. Arthur I give the signal to the boatsmen in- stantly—the king is on his way. Arth, Ah ! sir, is it certain ? Cav. These frowi the castle, breathless with speed, 58 ROYAL OAK [Dimond e'en now precede his steps. What women are those ? Arth Creatures of my own, i§\v — somewhat given to torment upon occasion, but ^ood subjects in the main. They come to steal a farewell look. Cav. Tis well. Look that his majesty meet no de- lay when he arrives — I go to meet him ! [exit Arth, There you miserable brace of croakers' what say you now ? huzza ! our sovereign will be preserved, and we shall gain immortal credit in his service. (Arthur runs towards the hut,, snatches up a tattered Jiag which lays btside the door,, then ascends a pro- jection of the roc/cSf and waves it as a signal to- zcards the vessel) Clar. Happy moment ! OLD BALLAD — CLARIBEL. Skies are all clear And the blue wave is near, To waft thee from danger, sweet Charley ! Tis over the water and over the lea And over the water goes Charley ! A day and a night Shall scarce take their flight, Ere England again calls for Charley — Then over the water and over the lea, And over the water comes Charley ! Charley must roam Yet a while from his home, A stranger beyond the salt billow — But the hour soon shall come When the beat of his drum. False roundheads shall scare from their pillow. Huzza ! for the crown When the rebel is down — And huzza ! for our own royal Charley ! Sail home with thy peers And spruce cavaliers. Old England shall welcome her Charley .' Act III] ROYAL OAK 59 {all the characters join enthusiastically in the bur- den of the ballad at the close of each verse — and during the period a boat puts off from the ship ^ xchich rows out of sight behind the rocks, as if coasting round the bay— the sun gradually rises at the same time) Dame M. Hist ! Claribel —they come — I see the enter charles, wyndham, lady matilda, Wil- liam, a7id ELitiOR, preceded by cavendish. Cav. No further ! here, sire, we have reached the appointed spot. Char. Thanks to heaven and my friends ! ha ! Ar- thur, Hes the boat at hand ? Arth. (from the rock) Sire! it has put off— but yonder rock hides it from my view. I will run down the beach, and bid the rowers hasten. [exit Char. Here then, dear friends, we part— (^i^Aj) — perchance, for ever ! Wynd. Sire ! I hold a better hope. Char. God speed it ! o! Wyndham, a pang of bit- terness is laboring at my heart, which chains the mounting spirit down, and tempts me half to hide my face and weep. Banishment from the dear land which gave us birth, is something, and might ask a sigh ; but when the long divorce of time and space, parts friends from friendship's source, and sunders kindred souls, whose thoughts and senses marry with each otherj grief becomes proud, and claims a nobler triumph. Wynd My sovereign, hence with these diseased thoughts ! vye shall meet again — a glad prophetic spirit warms within my breast, and cries, " the un- born day full soon shall dawn in golden pride, des- tined to shine on Charles as England's king." Char. If ere that day indeed arrive ; my friend, wait not till cold ceremonies may announce my love — but come thou boldly to my throne, and speak the 60 ROYAL OAK [Dimond name of Wyndham — oh ! at that sound, my heart will teach me, how to answer. Lady ^F". Arthur i:eturns— he hastens o'er the beach ! Char. Then the precious moments are completed — and now, friends, we must teach our h'ps to shape " farewell!" enter arthur, wildly. Arlk. My king! turn from this fatal spot—advance no further, or you pass to your destruction ! All How! Arth. Just as the rowers made to land, a band of armed men, who had lain concealed among the hoi lows of the rock, sprang from their ambush, and seized upon the boat. Lady JV, Disastrous chance! fly, sire! while yet you have power to regain the castle. fVynd. (looking out) Ha! above the rocks, I per- ceive the gleaming habits of soldiers Lady W. They point this way — they see us ah ! they draw their swords, and now they rush toward us ! Char. Then I am discovered, and must fall their sacrifice. IVill. Not while these veins can bleed in your de- fence ! Char. William, forbear. Friends, I charge you, I commaftd you, offer no resistance. One is enough to perish, and the dark lot is cast for me ! Lady W. (frantickly) They come ! they come ! Char. Let them advance — here will 1 stand, and brave my fate ! ( Charles draws his sword — several armed men appear upon the rock — their leader rushes furiously upon Charles— yist at the instant their swords encounter he recognizes the king, and starting back exclaims) The king ! it is the king ! {(he stranger flings back his helmet ^ and discovers ih^ person of lord Wilmot) Act III] ROYAL OAK 61 fViim. Ah! has your majesty forgotten me? Char. My friend! VViimot! speak, what miracle restores you to me ? fVtlm. Sire ! after I parted from you last, \ rode towards the coast, and lay concealed among the rocks, which skirt this bay, watching to surprise some heed- less bark, and venture o'er the wave for happier shore, e'en now with such intent, I seized a boat, but recked not that my sovereign might dispute the prize. Char Yon band of warriors then Wilm. Humble, but loyal followers, who gallantly refused to quit my fortunes, till they had seen me hap- pily embarked. Char. Have w ith thee friend ! brother in exile, com* rade of my foreign course ; one same star will beam its influence on our common fate, {the bont appears in front) Now, then aboard ' nay, stand not upon ceremonies — 1 will follow ! ( fVi/mot enters the boat) Wvndham! Cavendish, beloved ones! whilst I retain a heart, or hold one human sense within my bosom, gratitude must survive and bless you for the life you have preserved. fVynd. My prince I in weal or wo — radiant with triumph, or darkened by defeat, the faithful subject's prayer waits on a virtuous monarch still. Lady f'V' Oft will our thoughts, like pilgrims, turn from home ! and rove, devoutly bent, o'er foreign realms, to reach their worshipp'd shrine in thee ! Char. Ye dearest, truest friends ! {dame Mayihorn has crept toxcards Charles., and attempts to take his yo5e — Charles perceives her) ah! my old kind host- ess ! Dame M. Sire ! grant that I may kneel, and kiss the hem of your garment! Char. No. The knees of age bend only unto god ! {extends his hand) Dame M. Your hand ! {kisses it fervently) ah ! forgive me, a tear has fallen upon it. Char. Precious, drop of love ! woman I the tear, which nature sheds in honest fondness, blesses where F 62 ROYAL OAK [Dimond it falls; and dearer do 1 prize this little trembling crystal, than the imflawed paragon of India's mine? my heart is full — the sweet assurance of my people's love, swells it wi^h a pure unmixed sensation. I can- not utter as I would, " farewell !" but, be the wing of the all- high, stretched over you, my friends, to prove your shadow and your shield for ever ! think of me when I am gone — sometimes repeat my name — and — nay, bless you ! bless you — and farewell ! [he enters the boat, Arthur kneels and holds the plank by which he passes) AIL Farewell ! Char, (from the boat) A long — a last adieu ! {he jlings himself overcome by his feelings, into the arms of fVilmot — the boat goes off) FINALE. Sweet prince, farewell ! and o'er thy way On unseen wing , good spirits stray ! Be theirs, the kind delightful care From blast or storm to purge the air. To show the rock's insidious head, Disclose the quicksand's fatal bed. To set blest spells on ocean's breast, And charm the tempest fiend to rest. {the boat reaches the ship — Charles, 8,-c. ascend the deck — the sails are spread, and the vessel gets under weigh) The anchor weighs ! the white sails swell ! She clears the bay ! sweet prince, farewell ! {the vessel sails gradually out of sight — the characters which remain dispose themselves in various atti- tudes of pensive pleasure, or pious exu'tation — the last cadence of their voices trills upon the ear, and the curtain drops upon the scene precisely as the ves- sel disappears) [exeunt omnes. THE END OF THE ROYAL OAK. TO THE COMET *' O spkndissima cometa .'" *' jnu bella assal che'l sole." PETRARCA CANZONE, I2mA: Splendid stranger! of the sky, Thou unlook'd for didst appear ; Rapid round the pole dost Hy ; Welcome art thou to our sphere. Along the lofty vaulted way, As thy majestic course 1 view, Thy tresses with delight survey, Where, faint, a star oft glimmers through. Bright hair'd stranger ! in what skies, What unknown system, distant far. Does thy outstretch'd orbit rise ? And whither tend, thou lovely star ? From where creation first begun, Didst thou take thy distant flight ? To pay your homage to our sun. And bathe your tresses in his light ? Or to count each sparkling star That glitters in our hemisphere ? Or view the moon with silvery car, Her phases change in her career ? Or comest thou to behold our globe ? Each difF'rent clime, and changing scene,. View her in winter's snowy robe ? In summer's flowery mantle green ? -Or dost thou floods and earthquakes bring ? Or comest to wrap in flames the world ? As round thy lustrous hair doth fling, In tby eccentric orbit burl'd. 64 TO THE COMET. Splendid stranger ! not for this Thou sought'st our planetary bound ; Not for mortal's wo or bliss. Thou wavest thy beamy locks around. Not to bathe thy hair of gold, In the effulgent flood of light ; ^Nor on her car the moon behold ! Or count the stars that deck the night Not to view our little earth, And see successive seasons change, See nature die, renew her brth, Dost thou here remotely range- For HE, whose gilding hand restrains, And to one sun or globe confined. Each COMET in its orbit reins, By diff 'rent laws to them assign'd. No void : — creation all doth fill ; Systems, round systems endless roll Harmonious to the sov'reign will Of HIM, who form'd, who rules the whole,, Scatter, ye winds, yon dun-robed cloud, Gathering in many a misty fold. That would the splendid stranger shroud, With his radiant locks of gold. Thou moon, full-orb'd, withdraw thy rays ; Conceal them with a sombre veil ; For thy fixt and ardent gaze Makes the beauteous stranger pale. Stately ! stranger, is thy march ! Turn'd from the sun thy long hair streams O'er night's blue bespangled arch, And gilt with his resplendent beams. IConneciicui Mirror IMaAAi ..AmmAAM m^m'^^'^^^ A^^M^AAAAi^^^AA^kAA^^S^^CCA^^.r ^^.^^bMmk^TmwmM ^^^:mi^^^^^m^ l^^'A^ ^Mmn^m Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 Preservationlechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 k.^,m^?mmhm^ ftrlftAA/^A-; ■AS^i(%. jji«fili»^»j«p» wmmm