Imágenes de páginas

Come, I will sing to you; let us go try 500
These airs from Italy; and, as we pass
The gallery, we'll decide where that Correggio
Shall hang--the Virgin Mother
With her child, born the King of heaven and

earth, . Whose reign is men's salvation. And you shall

see A cradled miniature of yourself asleep, Stamped on the heart by never-erring love; Liker than any Vandyke ever made, A pattern to the unborn age of thee, 509 Over whose sweet beauty I have wept for joy A thousand times, and now should weep for

sorrow, Did I not think that after we were dead Our fortunes would spring high in him, and that The cares we waste upon our heavy crown Would make it light and glorious as a wreath Of heaven's beams for his dear innocent brow.


Dear Henrietta !

SCENE III. The Star Chamber. LAUD, JUXON,

STRAFFORD, and others, as Judges. PRYNNE as a Prisoner and then BASTWICK.

LAUD. Bring forth the prisoner Bastwick : let the clerk Recite his sentence.


“ That he pay five thousand Pounds to the king, lose both his ears, be


With red-hot iron on the cheek and forehead, And be imprisoned within Lancaster Castle During the pleasure of the Court."


Prisoner, If you have aught to say wherefore this sentence Should not be put into effect, now speak.

If you have aught to plead in mitigation,

Thus, my lords. If, like the prelates, I 10
Were an invader of the royal power,
A public scorner of the word of God,
Profane, idolatrous, popish, superstitious,
Impious in heart and in tyrannic act,
Void of wit, honesty, and temperance;
If Satan were my lord, as theirs,—our God
Pattern of all I should avoid to do;
Were I an enemy of my God and King
And of good men, as ye are; I should merit
Your fearful state and gilt prosperity,
Which, when ye wake from the last sleep, shall

turn To cowls and robes of everlasting fire. But, as I am, I bid ye grudge me not The only earthly favour ye can yield, Or I think worth acceptance at your hands,Scorn, mutilation, and imprisonment.

Even as my Master did, Until Heaven's kingdom shall descend on earth, Or earth be like a shadow in the light Of heaven absorbed—some few tumultuous



[ocr errors]

Will pass, and leave no wreck of what opposes His will whose will is power.

Officer, take the prisoner from the bar,
And be his tongue slit for his insolence.

BASTWICK. While this hand holds a pen ...


Be his hands ...


Stop! Forbear, my lord! The tongue, which now can

speak No terror, would interpret, being dumb, Heaven's thunder to our harm ; ... And hands, which now write only their own

shame, With bleeding stumps might sign our blood



Much more such “mercy” among men would

Did all the ministers of Heaven's revenge
Flinch thus from earthly retribution. I
Could suffer what I would inflict.

[Exit BASTWICK guarded.

Bring up The Lord Bishop of Lincoln.

(TO STRAFFORD) Know you not That, in distraining for ten thousand pounds Upon his books and furniture at Lincoln,

Were found these scandalous and seditious

letters Sent from one Osbaldistone, who is fled ? I speak it not as touching this poor person; 50 But of the office which should make it holy, Were it as vile as it was ever spotless. Mark too, my lord, that this expression strikes His Majesty, if I misinterpret not.

Enter Bishop WILLIAMS guarded.

STRAFFORD. 'Twere politic and just that Williams taste The bitter fruit of his connexion with The schismatics. But you, my Lord Arch

bishop, Who owed your first promotion to his favour, Who grew beneath his smile


Would therefore beg The office of his judge from this High Court,That it shall seem, even as it is, that I, 61 In my assumption of this sacred robe, Have put aside all worldly preference, All sense of all distinction of all persons, All thoughts but of the service of the Church.Bishop of Lincoln !


Peace, proud hierarch! I know my sentence, and I own it just. Thou wilt repay me less than I deserve, In stretching to the utmost

SCENE IV.-HAMPDEN, Pym, CROMWELL, his Daughter, and young Sir HARRY VANE.

HAMPDEN. England, farewell! thou who hast been my

cradle, Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave! I held what I inherited in thee, As pawn for that inheritance of freedom Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler's smile: How can I call thee England, or my country ? Does the wind hold ?


The vanes sit steady Upon the Abbey towers. The silver lightnings Of the evening star, spite of the city's smoke, Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper

air. Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged clouds Sailing athwart St. Margaret's.



Hail, fleet herald Of tempest! that rude pilot who shall guide Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee, Beyond the shot of tyranny, Beyond the webs of that swoln spider ... Beyond the curses, calumnies, and lies Of atheist priests!

And thou Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic, Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, 20 Bright as the path to a beloved home, Oh light us to the isles of the evening land ! Like floating Edens cradled in the glimmer Of sunset, through the distant mist of years

« AnteriorContinuar »