Part 21 (1/2)

I claim it now.

WAR. Name ought I can concede, But spare, oh, spare what honour must forbid Du Nois to ask, or Warwick grant.

[_Going,_

DU N. Stay! hear me!

Give but the word, the countersign agreed, And by the holy fount of truth I swear No blood of thine shall flow this day through me.

Nay, more, if ought of blame attach to thee, I swear to place myself in Bedford's power.

Let me not plead in vain. By all that justice, By all that mercy, all that pity wakes, By all that thou hast sworn of love to woman, Grant my request!

WAR. Cease! cease! a cruel strife Thou raisest in my breast.

[_Countess kneels to WARWICK._

DU N. Ah! see who pleads!

Canst thou resist that look? By this joint act--

WAR. Du Nois, my Alice, rise--spare me this trial.

DU N. End this suspense.

WAR. It must not, cannot be.

Witness, O Heaven! what this denial costs.

But honour's laws forbid what feeling prompts-- The friend would grant--the soldier must deny.

[_Going, he returns._ Wouldst see her once again--here is my signet-- Thou needst not pity less than I. Farewell.

[_Exeunt._

DU N. Cut off from ev'ry hope!--friend, foe alike-- Has Heaven itself forgotten to be just?

Oh, curse of courage, impotence of strength, Panting to dare the worst, denied the means.

But I shall see her once again--Oh, joy!

Oh, agony! can ye indeed thus meet?

SCENE VI.--_Prison._

JOAN.

JOAN. How in its terrors hath the tempest raged!

'Tis misery's privilege alone to hear The crash of warring elements unmoved, And coldly tranquil press the iron couch.

These drops are but the remnant of the storm, Cast by the pitying spirit as he fled, His work of vengeance done, his fury quenched.

So fall the tears of fond regret, that bathe The mourner's cheek, when time hath partly soothed her; Large but not frequent, sad but not acute, Sure proof of anguish past, not sorrow nigh.

And see, the young dawn from the sable couch Of her more ancient spouse, now softly steals, All bright and lovely, though in tears bedewed, Silent to watch the rising beams of him Beneath whose glance she melts, but must not wed.

Her love is set too high, and night, all foul, As he appears in her averted eyes, Again shall clasp her in his chilly arms, And loathing claim her his. Her fate is mine, And death, cold death, the bridegroom by whose side I soon shall rest.

_Enter DU NOIS._

DU N. This then is thy abode!

This iron bed thy couch, this straw thy pillow!

JOAN. Whose voice----