The hour approaches, when, as is her custom,
She seeks the hallowed shrine, and pious wakes
The voice of pure devotion to high Heaven:
I'll thither, and expect her-but she wakes-
How fares the mistress of my best regards?
Proved her slumbers sweet as were my wishes?
Lady Sal Sweet, sweet, my Eleanor; so sweet, oh!
would

I ne'er had wak'd. I dreamt, as wont on him
To dream, that I beheld his gracious form,

My bosom's lord: a while he stood, and seem'd
On me to smile; then flew to my embraces-
Ah fleeting ecstacy I-'twas but a dream.

Enter a Knight.

Knt. Thy favour, lady; I am charg'd with news, That much imports thy hearing; summon up Thy powers; two strangers late have come, of whom One brings assured tidings of thy lord.

Lady Sal.

-My lord-what-speak――

Knt. He saith he knew my Lord

Of Salisbury well; that he was of his crew;

And with that peer embark'd from France.

Lady Sal.

But-well-from France.

Knt. Lady, all must have

Their sorrows. Strait uprose a mighty tempest,

Dispers'd the fleet o'er all the seas

The storm-the fatal wreck

of all

The stranger gives most circumstantial proof,
Ele. Alas the tidings I-Dearest lady, give

Thy sorrows vent; thy bosom's overfraught,

And will find ease by letting loose its woes.

Then he is lost, and all, all is despair.

Tho' languid, yet was hope not quite extinct

Where, where's the stranger? Seek him, haste, that I
May hear him fully speak of all. Methinks [Exit Knt.
'Twill be a desperate sort of soothing; to hang
Upon each sound, catch every circumstance
Of the sad story; and wring my aching heart
Till I am even surfeited with sorrow.

Ele. Behold, the stranger comes

Enter ALWIN.

Lady Sal. Bear, bear me up, good Heaven! That I may give full measure to my sorrow. Alw. -Thy angel hover o'er thee, and support thee.

Lady Sal.

[In an under voice.

The dead ere now

Have burst the prisons of the close pent grave,
And apparitions strange of faith appear'd;
Perhaps thou too art but a shadow; let
Me grasp thee, for, as I have life, I think-
It is, it is my Salisbury! O my lord!

Lord Sal. My bosom's joy! Lady Sal. Amazing Providence! He does! he does! Look! look! behold him, Eleanor! behold The gracious form! The vision was not vain. [Ele. goes aside.

And dost thou live indeed?

Lord Sal. And art thou, art thou then

Lady Sal. O my full bosom!

Lord Sal. The same, by time or circumstance un

chang'd?

Lady Sal. Unhoped reverse!-Hence, hence all former woes

My lord! my life! hence, hence, be swallow'd up All griefs, and lost in this most blissful hour.

Lord Sal. Thou art, I see, thou art the same, thou

must

Thou hast not yielded to another lord?

Lady Sal. Another lord !-and could you,

think

'Twas so?

did you

Lord Sal. Thus spoke loud rumour on my way : Indeed, I scarce could think it.

Lady Sal. Oh! 'twas foul!

Indeed thou should'st not think it

Lord Sal. Ever dear!

No more; my soul is satisfied, and thinks
Of nothing now but happiness and thee.

Lady Sal. Say then, thou wanderer-Oh! I have
much

Of thee to ask, thou much to hear: how is't
I see thee, see thee thus? Where hast thou been?
What secret region hath so long detain'd thee?

Lord Sal. O thou! whose image, ever in my view,
Sustain'd me angel like, against the rough
And rapid current of adversity;

Should I recount the story of my fortunes,

Each circumstance, beginning from that day
We parted, to this hour, thine ear would be
Fatigued; the stars, ere I had ended, cease
To twinkle; and the morning's sun break in
Upon th' unfinish'd tale; suffice it thee
To know the sum :

For England we embark'd, when, black and foul,
A tempest rising, quick upturnd the seas,
And cast me forth upon a hostile shore.
Why need I tell thee, love, how, in disguise,
On foot, alone, I've toil'd my weary way,
Thro' dreary vale, o'er mountain wild; my bed
Oft of the blasted heath, whilst o'er my limbs
Damp night hath shaken her cold, dewy wings,
And the chill northern gale hath spent his breath
On my defenceless head?

Thro' what variety of strange events

I've come, Heav'n-guided, to behold, once more, My wife-But, ah! my son! our only hope! My boy what, what of him?

Lady Sal. Dear to these eyes

As is the new-born light of Heav'n! he lives;
Is well-But say, my lord, what would thy coming,
Thus unattended, thus disguis'd?

Lord Sal. How I escap'd from hard captivity,
And Gallia's coast, more leisure shall inform you.
My friend, Sir Ardolph, had but just embrac'd me.
(The first glad transports of our meeting o'er)
When, with an honest tear, the good old man

In brief disclos'd what fame had now reported; That thou wert soon, or had'st, ere this, espous'd Earl Hubert's nephew, and sole purpos'd heir.

Lady Sal. Oh, most unhallow'd, thus t' abuse My unattainted love! And could my lordLord Sal. Yet hear me.-Strait I grasp'd my sword; And, single as I was, had sallied forth, Had not my friend's sage counsels interpos'd. By Ardolf sway'd, I veil'd me as thou seest; And, with a sharer in the dark intent, Set forward on my way for Salisbury castle : A simple hind's low cottage, not far hence, Receiv'd us. Here, fast by the green wood side, We lodg'd; resolv'd, ourselves unknown, to prove What doubtful rumour only had proclaim'd. With this intent, at dusk of evening we

Forsook the cot..

-Heaven saw

Lady Sal. There needs no more :

Me, and was touch'd with pity.What a change
This hour!-Sequester'd as I was, even like
The votarist; perhaps the destin'd prey

Of rude desire.

Lord Sal. O for to-morrow's slow returning night!
Lady Sal. Say, what of that, my lord ?

Lord Sal. Revenge, revenge

I'll tell thee:-Soon as dark usurping night,
Shall chace to-morrow's sun adown the skies,
Know, Ardolph, with a chosen troop of friends,
To that same cottage, arm'd, shall come-