In feverish vision some gigantic crime

Stalk round his restless couch, and scream aloud"Thou never can'st escape me; through existence "I am thy sworn attendant."

Shield us all,

Ye powers of mercy, from a doom like this.

Marmion [peevishly.] Fearful indeed! Who doubts it?

Must our converse

End like a grandame's tale, in prayers and blessings.
I'll say amen, and cross myself at leisure.—

Then turn to gayer themes. The bowl stands still.
Shall we have music to fill up the hour.

Thy minstrels, Surrey, are renown'd, and I
Have some of passing skill.

Surrey.

-

Well, let them enter. Tunstall [aside.] I fear the picture drawn to fit a king Has found its guilty model in a subject.

SCENE IX.

To them enter CONSTANCE, under the name of FIDELIO, drest as a Page, at the head of a Band of Minstrels.

Marmion [aside and starting.] Fidelio venture thus!The act is madness.

Constance. To thee, my noble master, and to all This great assembly, I with reverence bow,

And have prepar'd such lays as nicest ears

May hear with interest.

Surrey.

Gladly we attend.

[CONSTANCE Seats herself at the Harp, and she and the other Minstrels perform the Songs in the Third Canto of Marmion.]

"Where shall the lover rest,

"Whom the Fates sever

"From his true maiden's breast,

"Parted for ever?

"Where through groves deep and high, sound the far

"billow,

"Where early violets die under the willow, &c. &e. &c.

"Where shall the traitor rest,
"He, the deceiver,

"Who could win maiden's breast,
"Ruin, and leave her?

"In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,

"Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying," &c. &c. &c.

Marmion [rising in anger.] Fidelio, thou wert wrong.
Was this a strain

To sing at such an hour?-Thou should'st have rais❜d
Thy voice to England's triumphs.

Surrey.

Be not harsh.

Indeed the lay has pleas'd us. Both the words

And modulation speak a master's hand.

Constance [to Marmion.] This song, my lord, once sooth'd your partial ear,

And you have prais'd the sentiments it breath'd.

What cause has made it irksome?

Marmion.

Boy, beware.

Let not my favour teach thee to assume.

I tell thee it was ominous to sing

Of battles lost, of flight, despair, and death.-
Go to my chamber:-wait my orders there.

[CONSTANCE casts a reproachful look on MARMION,
and goes out.]

Tunstall [aside to Howard.] I ween some mystery lurks behind this anger.

Howard. Belike there may, but 'tis not our concern.

SCENE X.

To them, a Herald.

Herald. My lords, the long-expected train draws near. On yonder hill the sacred banner waves,

Whose gorgeous folds reflect the mid-day sun.*
Thousands attend its passage; thousands more
Rush from the town to meet it. On the ground
Old men and children, and the feebler sex

* See note the eighth.
C

Fall prostrate, and invoke our patron saint.
Each hardy yeoman snatches up his bow:
Our soldiers clash their arms, and shout amain
Victory! victory!

Surrey.

I joy to hear it.

A short delay

Come, let us to their head.

Marmion.

Let me entreat. Domestic cares detain me;
Soon will I join your pious rites.-Farewel!

[Exeunt severally.

END OF ACT I,

ACT II.

SCENE I. An Apartment in MARMION'S Lodgings.

Constance [alone.] O torture of remembrance and re

morse!

Despis'd, spurn'd, rated! like those menials vile
Whose image I have worn, to whose base level
Constance de Beverley has sunk her fame.-
Too well I see my fate! O Marmion, Marmion!
How can'st thou leave the woman who has lov'd
With fervour such as mine!-How dar'st thou leave
The woman who has plung'd in guilt to serve thee!-
Vers'd as thou art in all revengeful lore,

Revenge may burst unlook'd-for o'er thy head,
And she whose skill once sav'd thee, may destroy.-
Yet I adore him still.-I cannot hurt him.-
"Tis through my rival's heart, I'll reach his own.-
As late we journey'd here, a vagrant monk
Begg'd to join company with Marmion's train
As a safe passport to his convent-walls.
Scarce could the wretch put on religion's mask,
So plain his sordid sensual views look'd forth.
Worldly his hopes, and restless was his mind,
Loathing the station that he fill'd in life.—
Such souls are still the tempter's ready prey.
Alas! too well I know it!-Lur'd by gold,
This Hubert might assault the life.-O horror!
My tortur'd bosom even for Clara feels

Compassion wake.-Could Marmion love me still—
Long has he shunn'd my sight, but new-rais'd anger
Will quickly drive him here.-I'll probe his heart.-
Then is he deaf?-Give mercy to the winds!
I'll be as deaf and pitiless as he.

SCENE II.

MARMION, CONSTANCE.

Marmion. What evil genius led thee?

Constance.

Marmion, hold!

Think'st thou it is indeed the tame Fidelio,

The fawning crouching page, that patient waits
Thy angry mood,-"Tis Constance stands before thee,
Constance de Beverley, thine equal born,

Whose blood, if less renown'd, was pure as thine,
Till for thy sake she stain'd it with disgrace.-
Long did I hope despair to win thy aims
Had stifled thy perfidious love to Clara.-
That hope is past. I know the royal orders;
I know thy fix'd design to wed my rival,
And leave me to despair. Now, Marmion, say
Whose is the right to arm their brow with frowns,
Bid stern upbraiding sit upon their tongue,
And petrify the offender with their glance-
The harrowing glance of loyalty betray'd.

Marmion. I came not to reply to wild reproach,
Nor yet to urge it.-If I feign'd a wrath
Too unbeseeming for thy sex and rank-
'Twas my sole wish to save thee from thyself.
The watchful eyes of churchmen are abroad,
Thou must not venture to the court of James.-
Feign illness,-seek retirement, hide thy head.

Constance. Lo! I am ready!-Point my destin'd way.* I am inur'd to flight.-But oh! dire change

I fled with Marmion;-now,-he drives me from him.
Where shall I go when banish'd from thy sight?
Where could thy power, or even thy arts provide
A safe retreat?-All other injur'd maids,
Though virtue censures, may indulge fond hopes
That some kind-hearted friend will drop a tear
O'er their sad tale, and pity's common boon
Impart to common faults. Not such are mine!-
A perjur'd votarist!-An apostate nun!-
Spite of myself I shudder at the sound.
Shall I to that stern brother have recourse
Who drove me trembling to the hated shrine?
Shall I beg mercy at that cloister'd grate

Whose bars I forc'd? Ah! horrors worse than death
Rise at the thought!-Could I descend so low
(Though first this proud indignant heart shall break)

* See note the ninth.