Sel. Patience, good Thane! I meant to speak

thy praise.

Eth. My praise, say'st thou?

Sel.

Thy praise. I would have said, "That he who in the field so oft hath fought,

So bravely fought, and still in the honour'd cause,
Should hold unhallow'd league with damned sprites,
I never will believe." Yet much I grieve
That thou, with bold intrusive forwardness,
Hast enter'd into that which holy men
Hold sacred for themselves;

And that thou hast, with little prudence too,
Entrapp'd my brother with this wicked lore,
Altho' methinks thou did'st not mean him harm.
Eth. I thank thee, Selred; listen now to me,
And thou shalt hear a plain and simple tale,
As true as it is artless.

These cunning priests full loudly blast my fame,
Because that I, with diligence and cost,
Have got myself instructed how to read

Our sacred scriptures, which, they would maintain,
No eye profane may dare to violate.

If I am wrong they have themselves to blame.

It was their hard extortions first impell'd me

To search that precious book, from which they

draw

Their right, as they pretend, to lord it thus.

But what think'st thou, my Selred, read I there? Of one sent down from heav'n in sov'reign pomp, To give into the hands of leagued priests

All power to hold th' immortal soul of man
In everlasting thraldom? O far otherwise!

(taking Selred's hand with great earnestness.}
Of one who health restored unto the sick,
Who made the lame to walk, the blind to see,
Who fed the hungry, and who rais'd the dead,
Yet had no place wherein to lay his head.
Of one from ev'ry spot of tainting sin
Holy and
pure; and yet so lenient,

That he with soft and unupbraiding love
Did woo the wand'ring sinner from his ways,
As doth the elder brother of a house
The erring stripling guide. Of one, my friend,
Wiser by far than all the sons of men,

Yet teaching ignorance in simple speech,
As thou would'st take an infant on thy lap
And lesson him with his own artless tale.
Of one so mighty

That he did say unto the raging sea

"Be thou at peace" and it obey'd his voice,
Yet bow'd himself unto the painful death
That we might live.-They say that I am proud-
O! had they like their gentle master been!

I would, with suppliant knee bent to the ground,
Have kiss'd their very feet.

But, had they been like him, they would have pardon'd me

Ere yet my bending knee had touch'd the earth,

Sel. Forbear, nor tempt me with thy moving words!

I'm a plain soldier, and unfit to judge

Of mysteries which but concern the learn'd.

Eth. I know thou art, nor do I mean to tempt thee.

But in thy younger brother I had mark'd

A searching mind of freer exercise,

Untrammell'd with the thoughts of other men;
And like to one, who, in a gloomy night,
Watching alone amidst a sleeping host,
Sees suddenly along the darken'd sky
Some beauteous meteor play, and with his hand
Wakens a kindred sleeper by his side
To see the glorious sight, e'en so did I.
With pains and cost I divers books procured,
Telling of wars, and arms, and famous men;
Thinking it would his young attention rouse;
Would combat best a learner's difficulty,

And pave the way at length for better things;
But here his seized soul has wrapp'd itself, 1
And from the means is heedless of the end.
If I've done wrong, I do repent me of it.
And now, good Selred, as thou'st seen me fight
Like a brave chief, and still in th' honour'd cause,
By that good token kindly think of me,
As of a man who long has suffer'd wrong
Rather than one deserving so to suffer.

Sel. I do, brave Ethelbert.

Eth.

I thank thee, friend.

And now we'll go and wash us from this dust;
We are not fit at goodly boards to sit.

Is not your feast hour near?

Sel.

I think it is.

(Exeunt.

SCENE II. A small apartment in Mollo's castle. Enter Ethwald very thoughtful, who leans against a pillar for some time without speaking.

Ethw. (coming forward.) Is it delusion this? Or wears the mind of man within itself A conscious feeling of its destination ? What say these suddenly imposed thoughts, Which mark such deepen'd traces on the brain Of vivid real persuasion, as do make My nerved foot tread firmer on the earth, And my dilating form tower on its way? That I am born, within these narrow walls, The younger brother of a petty chief, To live my term in dark obscurity, Until some foul disease or bloody gash, In low marauding strife, shall lay me low? My spirit sickens at the hateful thought! It hangs upon it with such thick oppression, As doth the heavy, dense, sulphureous air Upon the breath it stifles. (pulling up the sleeve of his garment, and baring his right arm from the

shoulder.)

A firmer strung, a stronger arm than this
Own'd ever valiant chief of ancient story?
And lacks my soul within, what should impel it?
Ah! but occasion, like th' unveiling moon
Which calls the advent'rer forth, did shine on
them!

I sit i'the shade! no star-beam falls on me!

(Bursts into tears and throws himself back
against the pillar. A pause: he then starts
forward full of animation, and tosses his arms
high as he speaks.)

No; storms are hush'd within their silent cave,
And unflesh'd lions slumber in the den.
But there doth come a time!

(Enter Bertha, stealing softly upon him before
he is aware.)

What, Bertha, is it thee who steal'st upon me?
Ber. I heard thee loud:

Conversest thou with spirits in the air?

Ethw. With those whose answ'ring voice thou can'st not hear.

Ber. Thou hast of late the friend of such be

come,

And only they. Thou art indeed so strange
Thy very dogs have ceas'd to follow thee,

For thou no more their fawning court receiv'st,
Nor callest to them with a master's voice.

What art thou grown, since thou hast lov'd to pore
Upon those magic books?

Ethw. No matter what! a hermit an' thou wilt.
Ber. Nay, rather, by thy high assumed gait

And lofty mien, which I have mark'd of late,

Oft times thou art, within thy own mind's world,

Some king or mighty chief..

If so it be, tell me thine honour's pitch,

And I will tuck my regal mantle on

And mate thy dignity. (assuming much state.)

Ethw. Out on thy foolery!