A Third Voice. Deserts! Amen to what? Whose deserts? Yours? You have a gold ring on your finger, and soft raiment about your body; and is not the woman up yonder sleeping after all she has done, in peace and quietness, on a soft bed, in a closed room, with light, fire, physic, tendance; and I have seen the true men of Christ lying famine-dead by scores, and under no ceiling but the cloud that wept on them, not for them. First. Friend, tho' so late, it is not safe to preach. You had best go home. What are you? Third. What am I? One who cries continually with sweat and tears to the Lord God that it would please Him out of His infinite love to break down all kingship and queenship, all priesthood and prelacy; to cancel and abolish all bonds of human allegiance, all the magis- | tracy, all the nobles, and all the wealthy; and to send us again, according to His promise, the one King, the Christ, and all things in common, as in the day of the first church, when Christ Jesus was King. First. If ever I heard a madman,— let's away! Why, you long-winded beyond me. Sir, you go I pride myself on being moderate. Good night! Go home. Besides, you curse so loud, The watch will hear you. at once. SCENE V.-LONDON. THE PALACE. Get you home [Exeunt. A ROOM IN A Gallery on one side. The moonlight streaming through a range of windows on the wall opposite. MARY, LADY CLARENCE, LADY MAGDALEN DAcres, ALICE. QUEEN pacing the Gallery. A writing-table in front. QUEEN comes to the table and writes and goes again, pacing the Gallery. Lady Clarence. Mine eyes are dim: what hath she written? read. Lady Magdalen. There-up and down, The moonlight casements pattern'd on the wall, Following her like her sorrow. She turns again. [Queen sits and writes, and goes again. Lady Clarence. What hath she written now? Alice. Nothing; but come, come, come,' and all awry, last. And blotted by her tears. This cannot [Queen returns. Mary. I whistle to the bird has broker cage, And all in vain. [Sitting down. Calais gone-Guisnes gone, too—and Philip gone! Lady Clarence. Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars ; I cannot doubt but that he comes again : [Pointing to the portrait of Philip on And Charles, the lord of this low world, Nobles we dared not touch. We have is gone; And all his wars and wisdoms past away; And in a moment I shall follow him. see your good physician. but burnt The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children. Lady Clarence. Nay, dearest Lady, Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath, Mary. Drugs-but he knows they We have so play'd the coward; but by cannot help me-says That rest is all-tells me I must not think That I must rest—I shall rest by and by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs And maims himself against the bars, say 'rest': Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest got Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. Lady Clarence. Your Majesty has lived so pure a life, S: And done such mighty things by Holy 'Tis out-mine flames. Holy Father Women, the Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin Pole Was that well done? and poor Pole pines of it, As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, I have no power.-Ah, weak and meek old man, Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight Of thine own sectaries-No, no. No pardon !— And doth so bound and babble all the way Why that was false: there is the right Lady Clarence. O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet wor Among thy patient wrinkles-Help me The PRIEST passes. Enter ELIZABETH Elizabeth. Good counsel yours— No one in waiting? still, No, that way there are voices. way. Am I Cecil... God guide me lest I lose the [Exit Elizabeth. Cecil. Many points weather'd, many perilous ones, At last a harbour opens; but therein Sunk rocks-they need fine steeringmuch it is To be nor mad, nor bigot—have a mind— Nor let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be, Miscolour things about her — sudden touches For him, or him-sunk rocks; no pas But-if let be-balance and compromise; School'd by the shadow of death—a Glancing across the Tudor-not so well. How is the good Queen now? Away from Philip. Back in her childhood-prattling to her mother Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles, once book Madam, your royal She thank'd her father sweetly for his sister comes to see you. Mary. I will not see her. Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister? I will see none except the priest. Your [To Lady Clarence. arm. Against that godless German. Ah, those days Were happy. It was never merry world us. HAROLD: A DRAMA. TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON, Viceroy and Governor-General of India. MY DEAR LORD LYTTON,-After old-world records-such as the Bayeux tapestry and the Roman de Rou,-Edward Freeman's History of the Norman Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your father dedicated his 'Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself. A. TENNYSON. SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876. A GARDEN here-May breath and bloom of spring- Crying with my false egg I overwhelm The native nest:' and fancy hears the ring We stroll and stare Where might made right eight hundred years ago; Each stands full face with all he did below. DRAMATIS PERSONE. KING EDWARD THE CONfessor. STIGAND, created Archbishop of Canterbury by the Antipope Benedict. THE QUEEN, Edward the Confessor's Wife, Daughter of Godwin. ALDWYTH, Daughter of Alfgar and Widow of Griffyth, King of Wales. EDITH, Ward of King Edward. Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham, Fishermen, etc. 1 . . . quidam partim Normannus et Anglus Compater Heraldi. (Guy of Amiens, 587.) |