Think of the curse which waits on broken oaths;
A knight is bound by more than vulgar ties,
And perjury in thee were doubly damn'd.
Well, then, our gallant king.

When next we meet, thou shalt know all. Farewell.

[Exit EDRIC. Now, to conceal with care my bosom's anguish, And let her beauty chase away my sorrows! Yes, I would meet her with a face of smilesBut 'twill not be.

El.

Enter ELWINA.

Alas, 'tis ever thus !

Thus ever clouded is his gloomy brow.

[Aside. Doug. I were too blest, Elwina, could I hope You met me here by choice, or that your bosom Shar'd the warm transports mine must ever feel At your approach.

El.

My lord, if I intrude, The cause which brings me claims your gentle

pardon.

I fear you are not well, and come, unbidden,
Except by faithful duty, to inquire,

If haply in my power, my little power,

I have the means to minister relief

To your affliction?

Doug.
O, I were blest above the lot of man,
If tenderness, not duty, brought Elwina;
Cold, ceremonious, hard, unfeeling duty,
That wretched substitute for love: but know,

What unwonted goodness!

The heart demands a heart; nor will be paid
With less than what it gives. E'en now, Elwina,
The glistening tear stands trembling in your eyes,
Which cast their mournful sweetness on the ground,
As if they fear'd to raise their beams to mine,
And read the language of reproachful love.

El. My lord, I hoped the thousand daily proofs Of my obedience

Doug.

Death to all my hopes! Heart-rending word! obedience! what's obedience? 'Tis fear, 'tis hate, 'tis terror, 'tis aversion; 'Tis the cold debt of ostentatious duty,

Paid with insulting caution; paid to tell me.
How much you tremble to offend a tyrant
So terrible as Douglas.-O, Elwina-
While duty portions out the debt it owes,
With scrupulous precision and nice justice,
Love never measures, but profusely gives,
Gives, like a thoughtless prodigal, its all,
And trembles then, lest it has done too little.
El. I'm most unhappy that my cares offend.
Doug. True tenderness is less solicitous,
Less prudent and more fond; th' enamour'd heart,
Conscious it loves, and blest in being lov'd,
Reposes on the object it adores,

And trusts the passion it inspires and feels.-
Thou hast not learnt how terrible it is

To feed a hopeless flame.-But hear, Elwina,
Thou most obdurate, hear me.-

El.

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

As open to the eye of observation,

As fearless innocence should ever live?
I call attesting angels to be witness,
If in my open deed, or secret thought,

My conduct, or my heart, they've ought discern'd Which did not emulate their purity.

Doug. This vindication ere you were accus'd, This warm defence, this warding off attacks Ere they are made, and construing casual words To formal accusations, trust me, madam, Shews rather an alarm'd and vigilant spirit, For ever on the watch to guard its secret, Than the sweet calm of fearless innocence. Who talk'd of guilt? Who testified suspicion? El. Learn, sir, that virtue, while 'tis free from

blame,

Is modest, lowly, meek, and unassuming;

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

Doug. I did not mean to chide!

think,

But think, O

What pangs must rend this fearful, doting heart,
To see you sink as if in love with death,
To fear, distracting thought, to feel you hate me !
El. What if the slender thread by which I hold
This poor precarious being soon must break;
Is it Elwina's crime, or heaven's decree ?
Yet I shall meet, I trust, the king of terrors,
Submissive and resign'd, without one pang,
One fond regret at leaving this gay world.

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

For whom this hated world will still be dear,

For whom you still would live

El.

What may this mean?

Hold, hold, my lord,

Doug.

Ah! I have gone too far.

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

One tender sigh.

El.

Alas, my lord, I thought The harmless incense of a daughter's sighs

Might rise to heav'n, and not offend its ruler.

Doug. 'Tis true; yet Raby's self is less belov'd Since he bestow'd his daughter's hand on Douglas : That was a crime the dutiful Elwina

Can never pardon; and believe me, madam,
My love's so nice, so delicate my honour,

I am asham'd to owe my happiness

To ties which make you wretched.

[Exit DOUGLAS.

Ah! how's this?

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

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

Enter BIRTHA.

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

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

Which threatens speedily to burst in ruin

On this devoted head.

Bir.

I ne'er beheld

Your gentle soul so ruffled, yet: I've mark'd you,
While others thought you happiest of the happy,

Blest with whate'er the world calls great or good,
With all that nature, all that fortune gives,
I've mark'd you bending with a weight of sorrow.
El. O, I will tell thee all! thou couldst not
find

An hour, a moment in Elwina's life,

When her full heart so long'd to ease its load,
And pour its sorrows in thy friendly bosom :
Hear then, with pity hear my tale of woe.
And, O let filial piety forgive,

If my presumptuous lips arraign a father!
Yes, Birtha, that belov'd, that cruel father
Has doom'd me to a life of hopeless anguish,

Doom'd me to die e'er half my days are number'd,
Doom'd me to give my trembling hand to Douglas,
'Twas all I had to give, my heart was-Percy's.
Bir. What do I hear?

El.
My mis'ry, not my crime.
Long since the battle 'twixt the rival houses
Of Douglas and of Percy, for whose hate
The world itself's too small a theatre;

One summer's morn my father chas'd the deer
On Cheviot hills, Northumbria's fair domain-

Bir. On that fam'd spot where first the feuds
commenced

Between the Earls?

El.

The same. During the chase,
Some of my father's knights receiv'd an insult
From the Lord Percy's herdsmen, churlish foresters,
Unworthy of the gentle blood they serv'd.

My father, proud and jealous of his honour,
(Thou know'st the fiery temper of our barons,)
Swore that Northumberland had been concern'd
In this rude outrage, nor would hear of peace
Or reconcilement, which the Percy offer'd;
But bade me hate, renounce, and banish him.
Oh! 'twas a task too hard for all my duty;
I strove, and wept; I strove--but still I lov'd.

!