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My jewels, I'm come to speak in the behalfHoot, devil burn you all, you makes me laugh; Upon my soul now, I don't take it well in you ;Arra, be easy till I'm after telling you.

Smit with the love of glory and of pelf,
To-night a bard, from Dublin its own self,
Has brought a play here for your approbation;
A very pretty thing, by my salvation,—
If you'll trust Irish evidence, I mean.-
I can't the story very well explain :
But it's about a countess and an earl;
The countess is a mighty honest girl.

But there's a villain, with a damn'd cramp'd name,
Makes such proposals-'tis a burning shame-
Another too-a knight-bekeys as why-
But hould you now,-you'll see it by and bye;
And then 'tis time enough to tell the plot.-
Oh, but that's true,-I'd like to have forgot
The dresses :-'pon my conscience, in my days
I never saw their peer,-they're all a blaze.

Then there's a child, the sweetest little rogue !-
Only excuse a trifling spice of brogue ;-
He'll make you cry your eyes out, I'll be bound-
'Tis Ireland is the true poetic ground.
The muses-Phoebus-heathenish cant I loath!
What's mount Parnassus to the Hill of Howth?
Or all the scenes each foolish poet paints-
Oh, bub-bub boo! give me the isle of Saints.—
Turn up your noses-cavil now and carp,
Musha, I'm sure our emblem is the harp.
But stop!-the bell rings.-Fait they'll soon
begin;

'Tis time for me to be agoing in ;

I take my leave, then-but, dear craters, mind—
Pray, to our Irish poetry be kind :
'Tis a new manufacture in effect;

And yours, my souls,t'encourage and protect.
No critic custom then enacted be,
Pass it, like Irish linen, duty free.

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ACT I.

Ray. But now I cast me at the fair one's feets

SCENE I.—An Avenue leading to a Gothic Pleaded my passion with whatever arts

Castle.

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concerns

Us near. Our vigilance be doubly firm. [Exit Knt. [Reads.] The countess of Salisbury, to her illus

trious friend, the lord de Warren.

I have lost my husband-Me and my lands lord Raymond claims, as by royal grant assigned to him. He has banished my train, encompassed me with his creatures, and holds me a prisoner in my own castle. If the memory of thy noble friend be dear to thee, haste and rescue the afflicted ELA.

How near was Raymond's hope, the beauteous hope

He tended with unceasing care; how near
My rising fortunes marred-I like not this:
Her, and her rich domains, he would possess;
Yet in his breast there lives that kind of heart
Withholds him from the path that's nearest. He,
That would be great, must first be bold.
I hate those motleyed characters;
Something, I know not what, 'twixt good and ill,
Yet neither absolute; all good, all ill,
For me-That day, saith he, that happy day,
Which sees the countess mine, shall amply pay
Thy services-a doubtful balance this
Whereon my fortunes hang.--This way he moves;
And, by his gait and gesture, ill at ease-
We must be firm;

My hopes demand it, and the time admits
No weak, no scrupulous delay———

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Might best the gentle purpose aid; but she,
Instead of such return as I might hope,
Repaid me with an eye of cold contempt.
Of her late gallant lord she spoke; his meres
In opposition hateful placed to mine.
Urged then with recollection of her wrongs,
Like the loud torrent, with steep winter rains
O'ercharged, in all the loose, ungoverned sway
Of wrath and indignation, she assailed me.

Grey. And did my lord, in this unseemly fa-
shion,

Hear all with equal temper? Waked he not
With such a peal—

Ray. Thou know'st not what it is

To love like me-Long time (for passion now Had shed o'er all her charms a brighter glow, That like Jove's daughter most she looked, s

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In all the soft, the lovely languishment
Of woe; while at her knee, with countenance
Most piteous, stood her beauteous boy, and looked
As if each tear, which from his mother fell,
Would force a passage to his little heart-
I fled; else had I kneeled, and wept myself
As well as she.

Grey. O shame to manhood! suits
Such weakness with our hopes?

Ray. She must, she must, Yes, Grey, she must be mine-and yet—yet fain Would I persuade the fair one, not compel.

Grey. Say to what purpose, then, was seized

her castle?

When she your suit rejected, then, perforce,
To claim her as the gift of royal favour!
To lord it here so long, and now to falter—
My lord, my lord, the mound is overleapt;.
What now forbids but, without further pause,
To crop the rich, the golden fruits within &

Ray. Ungracious is the love reluctance yields; And cold, cold even as marble, is the maid, Who comes unwilling to another's arms.

Grey. In brief, would you partake the lady's | Night after night, when some fleet courier, sent bed?

Ray. What means the question?

Grey. Look on that, my lord:
Better reluctant come, than not at all.
Ray. How came this to your hand?
Grey. By one whose cares

Of thee demand no trivial recompence.
His wakeful eye it was descried the bearer;
Else had the watch, with all their vigilance,
Proved insufficient.

Ray. My better angel interposed.
Grey. Had this its purposed scope attained—
my lord,

Were this but whispered in our Henry's ear-
He gave the royal nod, you say: true, he
Permitted, but thus far; that you should woo
The lady, and, her choice approving, wed;
No more. By us the public ear is told
She hath approved: our artifice hath spread
The rumour; and with some it is received,
That she is now your full espoused consort.
But truth, my lord, long cannot rest concealed;
It will abroad, of that be sure, in spite
Of all our studied wiles.

Ray. What's to be done?

Grey. 'Tis critical, and must be managed
nicely-

But see, with Eleanor the countess comes;
And in her hand the young lord William. Here
Her custom is to walk; retire we now;
And thou observe the counsels of a friend.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

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Can think even yet, that, once repulsed, he e'er Would thus presume?

Lady Sal. Is there no succour then? No generous hand to vindicate my wrongs? Oh Salisbury! Salisbury! Why, if yet thou liv'st

Fond hope! he lives not, else with speed of thought

Would he repair to bis afflicted Ela.

Ele. Why dearest lady, will you yield you up A prey to purposed sorrow? Time is fruitful; And the next hour, perhaps, may bring thee comfort.

Lady Sal. Day after day I have watched the joyless hours:

Before perchance, or letter, fraught with sweet Assurance of his safety, might appear;

Five tedious moons have passed since first were told

The dismal tidings; no fleet courier, sent Before, alas! nor letter, with such sweet Assurance, yet appears-he's gone! he's lost! And I shall never, never see him more.

Ele. Ah! suffer not the leaden hand of cold Despair thus weigh thee down; I yet have hope. Lady Sal. Away with hope, away! No, no; full loud,

As I remember, and outrageous blew
The storm, that even the solid fabric shook
Of yonder walls; deep-rooted oaks gave way;
Churches and spires were overturned; nor even
The peasant's humble roof escaped that hour.
The fleet, save only one, one luckless ship,
Have all returned; my lord nor hath been seen,
Alas! nor ever heard of since the storm.

Ele. Heaven visit her affliction, and bestow
That patience which she needs!

Lady Sal. No, Eleanor; no more shall he To these deserted walls return. No more Shall trophies, won by many a gallant deed, Through the long hall in proud procession move; No more fair Salisbury's battlements and towers Re-echo to the approaching trumpet's voice. Never, Oh! never more shall Ela run, With throbbing bosom, at the well-known sound, To unlock his helmet, conquest-plumed, to strip The cuishes from his manly thigh, or snatch Quick from his breast the plated armour, wont To oppose my fond embrace-Sweet times, farewell!

Lord Wil. Mother, why do you speak so? you make me sad.

Lady Sul. It is too soon, my child, for thee to know What sadness is.

Lord Wil. Will not my father come home

soon?

Eleanor told me he would: she would not tell a lie. Lady Sal. No, love.

Lord Wil. Then he will come.

Lady Sal. Sweet innocence! I fear he will not. Lord Wil. I hope he is not sick.

Lady Sal. Go, lovely prattler, seek thy toys:

go, go.

Lord Wil. I will, good mother; but don't be sad, or I shall be so too. [Exit.

Lady Sal. Sweet state of childhood! unallay

ed with cares; Serene as spring-tide morn, new welcomed up With bleat of lamb, with note of woodlark wild. With riper years come passions turbulent And rude, a baleful crew, unnumbered as The forest leaves, that strew the earth in autumn. When happiness is round thee, when thou art on The lap of downy ease, when thou art cherished In the fair bosom of unruffled joy, Comes a fell hand, dashes thee rudely down, And leaves thee to despair.

Ele. Cease,

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sweet

Returns, is sure the worst of ills.

Lady Sal. And what of that?

Grey. Though love denied, yet pity may do much

To sooth the wound that pity gives. In brief, Thou much-revered! my suit is in behalf of Raymond.

Lady Sal. Then I will spare us both some cost Of words: In brief, I love him not, nor pity; So tell thy lord--I would be private-hence. Grey. Your words are brief indeed; but of that kind

I dare not, must not bear my lord.

Lady Sal. Must not!

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me;

Were he of all the wealth possessed from where The East Indian bids the sun good-morrow, to where

The Atlantic, in her wide-extended lap,
Receives him setting; could he in each hand
A thousand sceptres place, not all should bribe
Me to his bed. No, Salisbury! thou hast been
The husband of my early love; with thee,
That love was all interred; and when I pluck
It forth again, gape wide that earth wherein
Thou liest, quick snatch me from the light of
Heaven,

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And swallow me within her lowest prison! Grey. For pity's sake yet soften; for, Oh! sure

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No former love could ever equal his;
No bosom boast the generous flame wherewith
Lord Raymond glows for thee, admired fair!
Lady Sul. Hear this, ye Heavens! and grant
me patience Where's

My people? where the freedom that I late
Was blest with? Wherefore is my palace thronged
With strangers? Why, why are my gates shut up
And fortified against their rightful mistress?
Grey. Madam-

Lady Sal. Is this the love he boasts? Is this the fair accomplished, this the gentle youth!

Must I recall to mind-Came he not then, Even while the memory of my dear loved lord Was green, while sorrow yet was in my eyes? Tears! ye will choke me-Came he not even then,

And broke in on my sorrows? Like a spoiler He came, heaped up the measure of my woes, Added new anguishi to the afflicted heart, And swelled the current of the widow's tears! Grey. Madam, were he that spoiler thou proclaim'st,

He need not now thus humbly sue for that, His power, long since, unasked, might have extorted.

Lady Sal. Ha! what art thou, that thus presum'st to threaten?

Extorted!—Hence, thou rude one, bolder even Than him who calls thee slave.

Grey. Madam, you speak As though you knew me not.

Lady Sal. I know thee wellTo what concerns lord Raymond I have spoke, My final purpose fixed:

For thee, I charge thee shun my presence; hence! And learn the distance that befits thy calling.

Grey. Not ere I speak more fully to the

cause

Nay, lady, look not on me with so stern
An eye, but give me patient hearing-

Lady Sal. No more; I'll hear no more.
Grey. Not hear me !-When next we meet-
I will be heard.

[Exit.

Lady Sal, What meant he, Eleanor?—I will be heard!

Ele. Alas! I know not: but a soul he hath, Prompt and alert to acts of desperate thinking. Hardly thou art beset; O lady, lend

An ear to what thy Eleanor would counsel.
When next he comes, (for that he hath obtained
Of Raymond leave to woo thee to his will,
I know) assume a gentler carriage. Seem
As though you may hercafter to his suit
Incline. Be ruled: necessity oft lends
A sanction to deceit. Demand a pause:
My lord of Salisbury's fate, yet unconfirmed,
Shall add thereto a seeming colour. Chance,
Meantime, that comes, or soon or late, to all,
To thee may come with unexpected succour.
Lady Sal. Sincerity,

Thou, spotless as the snowy-vested hill!
Forgive me, if, by lawless power constrained,
I turn this once from thy long-trodden path;

It must be so

Oh, Salisbury! Salisbury! thou lamented shade! Descend from those pure mansions, where thou sit'st

Exalted! hover o'er me: and, as thou
Wert wont, support me in this hour of trial!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Within the Castle.

Enter RAYMOND and GREY.

Grey. AWAY, my lord, away with every care! The conflict's past, and fortune is our ownDefeated once, again I sought the fair;

I sought her, and prevailed.

Ray. Whence have you come?

Alw. From France, not many days.

Ray. Say, what occasion may have called you hither?

Alw. To aid (Heaven prosper long) my country's weal.

Ray. You are a soldier then?

Alto. I have been such ;

Ray. By all the joys, the nameless joys, that on And to be such was my most dear inclining:

The precious hour of soft compliance wait,
I will requite thee nobly. Say-for much
My wonder's moved-how hast thou found
Such grace? How wrought this change, thus sud-
den-thus

Unhoped, from her late bearing?

Grey. Uncertain is the sex-but that imports

not.

It now remains, that proof, such proof be sought
Of Salisbury's fate, as, by minute detail
Of circumstances, shall with the lady gain
Prompt credence. Hear what I have devised, if

you

Approve

Enter a Knight.

Knt. My lord, two strangers I have brought, Within the precincts of the castle found. Ray. Say'st thou two strangers? of what quality?

Knt. With me they were of speech not overprompt;

But, by their outward guise, they would seem men
As with some pious purpose charged. Severe
The younger seems, but of excelling form;
And wishes to recruit his wearied limbs
Beneath the friendly covert of this roof.
Ray. Conduct them to our presence.
Knight. I were loth

The weary traveller to dismiss my gates,
Inhospitably rude; yet none I wish,
While we are yet suspended at the nod
Of peevish and uncertain chance, approach
These walls.

Re-enter Knight, with Strangers.

Whence, and what are you?

1st Stran. What we are,

[Exit.

These weeds, though we were silent, might un

fold.

Alwin I am called, my fellow-traveller
Leroches. Our way was bent for Canterbury,
With purpose of a pious vow: o'ertaken
By weariness from travel, and desire

Of food, we journeyed hitherward, in hope
The lord of these fair turrets, first descried
At close of evening, might befriend our toils.

Smit with the love, even from my greenest youth,
Of honest arms. Some share of fame I too
Achieved-But ill the soldier it beseems
To trumpet his own praises.

Ray. Cease not so.

Though in the school of war untutored, much
It pleaseth me to hear the brave man's labours.
Alw. None but have heard how some time
since was sent,

To claim of Lewis certain lands usurped,
A puissant force▬▬▬▬

Ray. Were you therein employed?
Alw. Beneath the royal banner I enrolled,
As was my bent, in quest of fame.
Ray. Indeed!

Lord Salisbury then, perchance, of thee was known?

Alw. I knew him well; our liege's near ally,
And second to duke Richard in command.
Fast by his side was my allotted post
Upon the marshalled field: by him I fought,
For him had died.

Ray. Of him fame loudly speaks,
That in those wars he was a gallant man.

Alw. He was not wont, while others bravely fought,

To look inactive on.

Ler. A foe like him

France never knew, of all that warrior host, Which, like an inundation, England poured On her affrighted shores

Ray. But what

Have proved his latter fortumes I should wish
To learn-Say, courteous stranger, if thou can'st,
Of this renowned lord: a rumour hath
Long since prevailed, that he on Gallia's coast
Was wrecked with all his crew.

Alw. What cause there was

Of such report, alas! these eyes have seen;
How true in part it is, too sure this tongue
Can testify.

Ray. I pray you, let us hear.

Alw. O'ercharged with human prey, fell war had ceased

To walk his wasteful round; well pleased we

turn

Us from the blood-stained field; exulting each

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