The Count of Narbonne Part 10

_Aust._ Does it shake thee?----Come, my Theodore, Let not a gust of love-sick inclination Root, like a sweeping whirlwind, from thy soul All the fair growth of n.o.ble thoughts and virtue, Thy mother planted in thy early youth; Oh, rashly tread not down the promis'd harvest, They toil'd to rear to the full height of honour!

_Theod._ Would I had liv'd obscure in penury, Rather than thus!--Distraction!--Adelaide!

_Enter ADELAIDE._

_Adel._ Oh, whither shall I fly!

_Theod._ What means my love?

Why thus disturb'd?

_Adel._ The castle is beset; The superst.i.tious, fierce, inconstant people, Madder than storms, with weapons caught in haste, Menace my father's life; rage, and revile him; Call him the heir of murderous usurpation; And swear they'll own no rightful lord but G.o.dfrey.

_Aust._ Blind wretches! I will hence, and try my power To allay the tumult. Follow me, my son!

[_Exit AUSTIN._

_Adel._ Go not defenceless thus; think on thy safety, See, yonder porch opes to the armoury; There coats of mailed proof, falchions, and casques, And all the glittering implements of war, Stand terribly arrang'd.

_Theod._ Heavens! 'twas what I wish'd.

Yes, Adelaide, I go to fight for him: Thy father, shall not fall ingloriously; But, when he sees this arm strike at his foes, Shall own, thy Theodore deserv'd his daughter.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

_A Hall._

_Enter COUNT, FABIAN, AUSTIN, ATTENDANTS with PRISONERS._

_Count._ Hence to a dungeon with those mutinous slaves; There let them prate of prophecies and visions; And when coa.r.s.e fare and stripes bring back their senses, Perhaps I may relent, and turn them loose To new offences, and fresh chastis.e.m.e.nt.

[_Exeunt OFFICERS, &c._

_Fab._ You bleed, my lord!

_Count._ A scratch--death! to be bay'd By mungrels! curs! They yelp'd, and show'd their fangs, Growl'd too, as they would bite. But was't not poor, Unlike the generous strain of G.o.dfrey's lineage, To stir the rabble up in n.o.bles' quarrels, And bribe my hinds and va.s.sals to a.s.sault me.

_Aust._ They were not stirr'd by G.o.dfrey.

_Count._ Who then stirr'd them?

Thyself, perhaps. Was't thou? And yet I wrong thee; Thou didst preach peace; and straight they crouch'd and shrunk, More tam'd by the persuasion of thy tongue, Than losing the hot drops my steel drew from them.

_Aust._ I might, perhaps, have look'd for better thanks, Than taunts to pay my service.--But no matter.-- My son, too, serv'd thee n.o.bly; he bestrode thee, And drove those peasants back, whose staves and clubs, But for his aid, had s.h.i.+ver'd that stout frame: But both, too well accustom'd to thy transports, Nor ask, nor hope thy courtesy.

_Count._ Your pardon!

I knew my life was sav'd, but not by whom; I wish'd it not, yet thank him. I was down, Stunn'd in the inglorious broil; and nought remember, More than the shame of such a paltry danger.

Where is he?

_Aust._ Here.

[_THEODORE advances from the Back of the Stage._

_Count._ [_Starting._] Ha! angels shelter me!

_Theod._ Why starts he thus?

_Count._ Are miracles renew'd?

Art thou not ris'n from the mould'ring grave?

And in the awful majesty of death, 'Gainst nature, and the course of mortal thought, a.s.sum'st the likeness of a living form, To blast my soul with horror?

_Theod._ Does he rave?

Or means he thus to mock me?

_Count._ Answer me!

Speak, some of you, who have the power to speak; Is it not he?

_Fab._ Who, good my lord?

_Count._ Alphonso.

His form, his arms, his air, his very frown.

Lord of these confines, speak--declare thy pleasure;

_Theod._ Dost thou not know me then?

_Count._ Ha! Theodore?

This sameness, not resemblance, is past faith.

All statues, pictures, or the likeness kept By memory, of the good Alphonso living, Are faint and shadowy traces, to this image!

_Fab._ Hear me, my lord, so shall the wonder cease.-- The very arms he wears, were once Alphonso's.

He found them in the stores, and brac'd them on, To a.s.sist you in your danger.

_Count._ 'Tis most strange.

I strive, but cannot conquer this amazement: I try to take them off; yet still my eyes Again are drawn, as if by magic on him.

_Aust._ [_Aside to THEODORE._] Hear you, my son?

_Theod._ Yes, and it wakes within me, Sensations new till now.

_Aust._ To-morrow's light Will show him wonders greater.--Sir, it pleas'd you, (Wherefore you best can tell) to make us here Your prisoners; but the alarm of your danger Threw wide your gates, and freed us. We return'd To give you safeguard.--May we now depart?

_Count._ Ay, to the confines of the farthest earth; For here thy sight unhinges Raymond's soul.

Be hid, where air or light may never find thee; And bury too that phantom.