These twenty years and more, not to proceed
In this high matter on surmise, or charge
Of doubtful circumstance; the crime alledg'd
Being so heinous, the appeal so bloody,
And he whom you attaint so brave and noble.
Mat. I know, my lord, in property the law
Can plead prescription and the time's delay;
But justice, in an inquisition made for blood,
With retrospective eye thro' ages past
Moves her own pace, nor hears the law's demur.-
Why I have let this murder sleep thus long,
Necessity, and not my will, must answer.
The conqueror William, and his furious son,
With iron hand upheld th' oppressor's power,
And stopt their ears against the widow's cries.
In painful silence brooding o'er my grief,
On this lone rock, upon the ocean's brink,
Year after year I languish'd, in my dreams
Conversing oft with shadowy shapes and horrors,
That scar'd me into madness.—Oh, my lord!
Bear with my weakness: pray regard me not;
I have a remedy at hand-my tears.
[Weeps.
De Cour. Sad relict of the bravest, best of men,
Tell not thy griefs to me, nor let my words
(Which by commission, not of choice, I speak)
Shake thy firm purpose; for on England's throne
No tyrant sits, deaf to the widow's cause,
But Heav'n's vicegerent, merciful and just.
If stedfast thou art fix'd in thy appeal,
Stedfast in justice is thy sovereign too,
Bring forth thy knight appellant, for the lists
Expect him, and may Heav'n defend the right!
Mat. Thanks to thy royal sender! on my knee
I offer prayers to Heaven for length of days,
And blessings shower'd on his anointed head.-
Now, gallant lord, you shall behold my champion,
My shepherd boy, who, like the son of Jesse,
Unskill'd in arms, must combat this Philistine.-
Montgomeri, come forth!
Enter MONTGOMERI.
De Cour. Is this your knight?
Mat. This is my knight. I trust not in the strength Of mortal man; Heav'n will uphold my cause,
And to a murderer's heart will guide the blow,
Tho' from an infant's hand.
De Cour. Of what degree
Must I report him? In the royal lists
Against so proud a name as Hildebrand,
The warlike forms of knighthood will demand
That noble shall to noble be oppos'd.
Mat. Not unprepar'd I shall attend the lists,
And at my sovereign's feet prefer the proofs
Which honour's forms demand.
De Cour. You know the peril,
If you fall short.
Mat. I take it on my head.
De Cour. Where have you serv'd? What battles
Mont. Few and unfortunate have been the fields
Where I have fought.--I serv'd a sinking cause;
Robert of Normandy was my liege lord,
For I am Norman born.
De Cour. Have you been train'd
In tournaments?
Mont. I never broke a lance,
Nor shall I, as I hope, but in his heart
Who stabb'd Saint Valori.
De Cour. Noble lady,
I wou'd impart something of nearest import
To your more private ear.
Leave us.—And now, my lord and honour'd guest,
Impart your noble thoughts; for sure I am
None others can be native of a soul,
Where courtesy and valour are enshrin'd,
As in a holy altar, under guard
Of consecrated keepers-therefore speak.
De Cour. Let infamy fix on me, when I wrong
A confidence so generous!-Heav'n bestow'd
One friend, the pride and blessing of my life;
Heav'n, when you lost a husband, from me also
Took that one friend away, and in his grave
Buried my heart beside him.
We both have cause to mourn him: I remember
The day he parted for the Holy Wars,
His manly bosom struggling to repress
Its bursting passion, in those racking moments,
When stern religion rent him from my arms,
Then, even then, in his capacious soul
Friendship had part-you shar'd it with Matilda.
Need I proceed? ah, no! for you was present,
You took him from me, on your neck he fell;
I parted, sunk, and never saw him more.
De Cour. 'Twas in those parting moments he com
mitted
A sacred charge, the very test of friendship,
Your soft unshelter'd beauty to my care.
I serv'd, consol'd you, lov'd you as a brother;
But soon Saint Valori call'd me from my charge,
For war and sickness had consum'd our host,
And Palestine was drench'd with Christian blood.-d
We fought, we conquer'd, and from Pagan hands
Rescu'd the captive Cross and now command
My zealous heart, you are its mistress still.
Mat. There needs not this, my lord; for I can read
Your zeal without a preface: freely then,
As a friend shou'd, and plainly speak your thoughts. De Cour. When rumour of this combat reach'd my ears,
Without delay I sent a trusty page,
Offering myself as your devoted knight :
He brought for answer, that you had a champion;
You thank'd me for my offer;-cold repulse
Temper'd in courteous phrase! still I submitted
In silence, as became me, to your pleasure,
Musing who this might be-
Mat. And now you find him
A stripling youth unknown, in arms a novice,
And you condemn my choice; these are your thoughts.
De Cour. I do confess it.—Oh, reflect in time!
Think not because nature hath cast a form
In fair proportion, strung his youthful joints
With nerves that bear him bounding to the chase,
Or hurl the wrestler in the shouting ring,
That you have train'd a champion to encounter
A combatant so practis'd in the lists,
So valorous in fight as Hildebrand.
Mat. What I have done, I've done: your zeal, my lord,
May start new terrors for my hero's danger,
Shake me with new alarms, but change it cannot.
De Cour. Turn not away, but still with patience
hear me.
Think what you are, great in yourself, yet greater
As brave Saint Valori's widow: oh, preserve
That name untainted; hear what honour counsels;
Truth makes me bold, your danger is my warrant.
Mat. You was my husband's friend; I own your
plea.
Lo! I am turn'd to hear: proceed.
De Cour. I was his friend,
I am yours also; and as such I warn you
Against a deed so fatal, that the steel
Of Hildebrand gave not a stab more mortal
To life than this to fame.
Mat. My lord, my lord!
You rise too fast upon me, and advance
|