The Count of Narbonne Part 5

I call the saints to witness, were I master, To wive the perfect model of my wish, For virtue, and all female loveliness, I would not rove to an ideal form, But beg of Heaven another like Hortensia.---- Yet we must part.

_Aust._ And think you to excuse A meditated wrong to excellence, By giving it acknowledgment and praise?

Rather pretend insensibility; Feign that thou dost not see like other men; So may abhorrence be exchang'd for wonder, Or men from cursing fall to pity thee.

_Count._ You strive in vain; no power on earth can shake me.

I grant my present purpose seems severe, Yet are there means to smooth severity, Which you, and only you, can best apply.

_Aust._ Oh no! the means hang there, there by your side: Enwring your fingers in her flowing hair, And with that weapon drink her heart's best blood; So shall you kill her, but not cruelly, Compar'd to this deliberate, lingering murder.

_Count._ Away with this perverseness! Get thee to her; Tell her my heart is hers; here deep engrav'd In characters indelible, shall rest The sense of her perfections. Why I leave her, Is not from cloy'd or fickle appet.i.te (For infinite is still her power to charm;)---- But Heaven will have it so.

_Aust._ Oh, name not Heaven!

'Tis too profane abuse.

_Count._ Win her consent.

(I know thy sway is boundless o'er her will,) Then join my hand to blooming Isabel.

Thus, will you do to all most worthy service; The curse, averted thus, shall pa.s.s from Narbonne; My house again may flourish; and proud G.o.dfrey, Who now disputes, will ratify my t.i.tle, Pleas'd with the rich succession to his heirs.

_Aust._ Has pa.s.sion drown'd all sense, all memory?

She was affianc'd to your son, young Edmund.

_Count._ She never lov'd my son. Our importunity Won her consent, but not her heart, to Edmund.

_Aust._ Did not that speak her soul pre-occupied?

Some undivulg'd and deep-felt preference?

_Count._ Ha! thou hast rous'd a thought: This Theodore!

(Dull that I was, not to perceive it sooner!) He is her paramour! by Heaven, she loves him!

Her coldness to my son; her few tears for him; Her flight; this peasant's aiding her; all, all, Make it unquestionable;--but he dies.

_Aust._ Astonishment! What does thy phrensy mean?

_Count._ I thank thee, priest! thou serv'st me 'gainst thy will.

That slave is in my power. Come, follow me.

Thou shalt behold the minion's heart torn out; Then to his mistress bear the trembling present.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

_A Hall._

_Enter ADELAIDE, JAQUELINE following._

_Jaq._ Where do you fly? Heavens! have you lost all sense?

_Adel._ Oh, 'would I had! for then I should not feel; But I have sense enough to know I am wretched, To see the full extent of misery, Yet not enough to teach me how to bear it.

_Jaq._ I did not think your gentleness of nature Could rise to such extremes.

_Adel._ Am I not tame?

What are these tears, this wild, dishevel'd hair?

Are these fit signs for such despair as mine?

Women will weep for trifles, bawbles, nothing.

For very frowardness will weep as I do: A spirit rightly touch'd would pierce the air, Call down invisible legions to his aid, Kindle the elements.--But all is calm; No thunder rolls, no warning voice is heard, To tell my frantic father, this black deed Will sink him down to infinite perdition.

_Jaq._ Rest satisfied he cannot be so cruel (Rash as he is) to shed the innocent blood Of a defenceless, unoffending youth.

_Adel._ He cannot be so cruel? Earth and heaven!

Did I not see the dreadful preparations?

The slaves, who tremble at my father's nod, Pale, and confounded, dress the fatal block?

But I will fly; fall prostrate at his feet; If nature is not quite extinguish'd in him, My prayers, my tears, my anguish, sure will move him.

_Jaq._ Move him indeed! but to redoubled fury: He dooms him dead, for loving Isabel; Think, will it quench the fever of his rage, To find he durst aspire to charm his daughter.

_Adel._ Did I hear right? for loving Isabel?

I knew not that before. Does he then love her?

_Jaq._ Nothing I heard distinctly; wild confusion Runs through the castle: every busy fool, All ignorant alike, tells different tales.

_Adel._ Away, it cannot be. I know his truth.

Oh! I despise myself, that for a moment (Pardon me, love!) could suffer mean suspicion Usurp the seat of generous confidence.

Think all alike unjust, my Theodore, When even thy Adelaide could join to wrong thee!

_Jaq._ Yet be advis'd----

_Adel._ Oh, leave me to my grief.-- To whom shall I complain? He but preserv'd My life a little s.p.a.ce, to make me feel The extremes of joy and sorrow. Ere we met, My heart was calm as the unconscious babe.

_Enter FABIAN._

_Fab._ Madam, my lord comes this way, and commands To clear these chambers; what he meditates, 'Tis fit indeed were private. My old age Has liv'd too long, to see my master's shame.

_Adel._ His shame, eternal shame! Oh, more than cruel!

How shall I smother it! Fabian, what means he?

My father--him I speak of--this young stranger--

_Fab._ My heart is rent in pieces: deaf to reason, He hears no counsel but from cruelty.

Good Austin intercedes, and weeps in vain.

_Jaq._ There's comfort yet, if he is by his side.

Look up, dear lady! Ha! that dying paleness----

_Adel._ It is too much--Oh, Jaqueline!