Enter Oswald.

 

OSW.

Ha! as I live,

The Baron Herbert.

HOST.

Mercy, the Baron Herbert!

OSW.

So far into your journey! on my life,

You are a lusty Traveller. But how fare you?

HER.

Well as the wreck I am permits. And you, Sir?

OSW.

I do not see Idonea.

HER.

Dutiful Girl,

She is gone before, to spare my weariness.

But what has brought you hither?

OSW.

A slight affair,

That will be soon despatched.

HER.

Did Marmaduke

Receive that letter?

OSW.

Be at peace. – The tie

Is broken, you will hear no more of him.

HER.

This is true comfort, thanks a thousand times! –

That noise! – would I had gone with her as far

As the Lord Clifford's Castle: I have heard

That, in his milder moods, he has expressed

Compassion for me. His influence is great

With Henry, our good King; – the Baron might

Have heard my suit, and urged my plea at Court.

No matter – he's a dangerous Man. – That noise! –

'Tis too disorderly for sleep or rest.

Idonea would have fears for me, – the Convent

Will give me quiet lodging. You have a boy, good Host,

And he must lead me back.

OSW.

You are most lucky;

I have been waiting in the wood hard by

For a companion – here he comes; our journey

 

Enter Marmaduke.

 

Lies on your way; accept us as your Guides.

HER.

Alas! I creep so slowly.

OSW.

Never fear;

We'll not complain of that.

HER.

My limbs are stiff

And need repose. Could you but wait an hour?

OSW.

Most willingly! – Come, let me lead you in,

And, while you take your rest, think not of us;

We'll stroll into the wood; lean on my arm.

 

Conducts Herbert into the house. Exit Marmaduke.

 

Enter Villagers.

 

OSW to himself coming out of the Hostel.

I have prepared a most apt Instrument –

The Vagrant must, no doubt, be loitering somewhere

About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled,

By mingling natural matter of her own

With all the daring fictions I have taught her,

To win belief, such as my plot requires.

 

Exit Oswald.

 

Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them.

 

HOST to them.

Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself

Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids,

Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts,

Are here, to send the sun into the west

More speedily than you belike would wish.

 

Scene changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel – Marmaduke and Oswald entering.

 

MAR.

I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves:

When first I saw him sitting there, alone,

It struck upon my heart I know not how.

OSW.

To-day will clear up all. – You marked a Cottage,

That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock

By the brook-side: it is the abode of One,

A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford,

Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas!

What she had seen and suffered turned her brain.

Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone,

Nor moves her hands to any needful work:

She eats her food which every day the peasants

Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived

Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice;

But every night at the first stroke of twelve

She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring Churchyard

Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm,

She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one –

She paces round and round an Infant's grave,

And in the Churchyard sod her feet have worn

A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep –

Ah! what is here?

 

A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep – a Child in her arms.

 

BEG.

Oh! Gentlemen, I thank you;

I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled

The heart of living creature. – My poor Babe

Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread

When I had none to give him; whereupon

I put a slip of foxglove in his hand,

Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once:

When, into one of those same spotted bells

A bee came darting, which the Child with joy

Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear,

And suddenly grew black, as he would die.

MAR.

We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip;

Here's what will comfort you.

 

Gives her money.

 

BEG.

The Saints reward you

For this good deed! – Well, Sirs, this passed away;

And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,

Trotting alone along the beaten road,

Came to my child as by my side he slept,

And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden

Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head:

But here he is,

 

kissing the child

it must have been a dream.

OSW.

When next inclined to sleep, take my advice

And put your head, good Woman, under cover.

BEG.

Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew

What life is this of ours, how sleep will master

The weary-worn. – You gentlefolk have got

Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be

A stone than what I am. – But two nights gone,

The darkness overtook me – wind and rain

Beat hard upon my head – and yet I saw

A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze,

Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky:

At which I half accused the God in Heaven. –

You must forgive me.

OSW.

Ay, and if you think

The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide

Your favourite saint – no matter – this good day

Has made amends.

BEG.

Thanks to you both; but, Oh Sir!

How would you like to travel on whole hours

As I have done, my eyes upon the ground,

Expecting still, I knew not how, to find

A piece of money glittering through the dust?

MAR.

This woman is a prater. Pray, good Lady!

Do you tell fortunes?

BEG.

Oh Sir, you are like the rest.

This Little-one – it cuts me to the heart –

Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors,

But there are Mothers who can see the Babe

Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it:

This they can do, and look upon my face –

But you, Sir, should be kinder.

MAR.

Come hither, Fathers,

And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!

BEG.

Ay, Sir, there's nobody that feels for us.

Why now – but yesterday I overtook

A blind old Greybeard and accosted him,

I' th' name of all the Saints, and by the Mass

He should have used me better! – Charity!

If you can melt a rock, he is your man;

But I'll be even with him – here again

Have I been waiting for him.

OSW.

Well, but softly,

Who is it that hath wronged you?

BEG.

Mark you me;

I'll point him out; – a Maiden is his guide,

Lovely as Spring's first rose; a little dog,

Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before

With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur,

I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth

He does his Master credit.

MAR.

As I live,

'Tis Herbert and no other!

BEG.

'Tis a feast to see him,

Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent,

And long beard white with age – yet evermore,

As if he were the only Saint on earth,

He turns his face to heaven.

OSW.

But why so violent

Against this venerable Man?

BEG.

I'll tell you:

He has the very hardest heart on earth;

I had as lief turn to the Friar's school

And knock for entrance, in mid holiday.

MAR.

But to your story.