Oh world! oh world! How do thy passions steal
On the most guarded bosom! What means this?
I have no triumph here; and this man's fall

Is not for my advancement. Let me now,

This perturbation to subdue, retreat

Awhile to solitude and peace.-Peace! peace!

As if my solitude were always peace!

As if celestial visitants alone,

And none but thoughts that Heaven and man should see,
Intruded on my painful hermitage.

I rule o'er other minds, and oftentimes,

Even as I stretch the sceptre forth, I feel
That throne of faith whereon I proudly sit,

Rock to its very centre.-Woe is me!

Wolfric, who is described as a fool and desperado, a hanger-on of the court, has overheard the conversation between the King, Dunstan, and Athelwold, and now threatens Athelwold with discovery of the fatal secret, unless he bribes him to silence. This scene is written with great spirit and natural truth. It ends in a duel, and Wolfric's death. In a scene that soon follows, the court jester in a song insinuates the same truth of Elfrida's beauty and Athelwold's falsehood. The King, though still doubting whether this does not arise from the envy of the courtiers, says,

EDGAR. Now as I live, ere many days are pass'd,

EDITH.

EDGAR.

I'll see this wife of Athelwold's. Dunstan
Threw shrewd suspicions on the man, but I
Was resolute to disbelieve the priest.

If he has played me false-made me his jest-
His jest has dug his grave. He wins the woman,
But he shall lie alone for this-aha!

Long while shall lie alone!

Have thus disturbed you?

What can, my lord,

And thou, perhaps,

Wert in the secret. Pray did Athelwold

Concert with thee ?-but who betrays himself?
All men are liars-what are women then?

And who speaks truth, or holds his honour bound
In stratagems of love? I was a fool

To trust in him.-What if she were indeed
All that my fancy had divined-had loved-
And he have clasped her?-To thy chamber, girl.
-If he has tricked me thus, why then his blood
Be on his own head.- Get thee to thy chamber,
EDITH.-I go I go !-Words have escaped to-night
A woman's ear could hardly fail to catch.
I will not stay, my liege, to hold this post
Till the first face that's fairer than my own
Crosses your path. I leave for my successor
An open way. For ever fare you well.
EDGAR.-Go, if thou wilt,-go for eternity!
And rid me of this puling sentiment
Of a green girl.-Yes, yes, I'll steal some day
Upon him suddenly.-I'll be his jest!
Am I a king, and shall they play upon me?
Now what 'twixt man and man the guilt of this,
What sort of crime, or what its punishment,
I cannot say-but practised on a king,
By a sworn thane upon his sovereign,
I'll call it treason, and pronounce it death!
EDITH.-Without a word or look, he lets me fall
Unheeded, irrecoverably sink,

As water sinks in water.

Dunstan comes in, beards the monarch to the face, carries off Edith, and thanks God

I am that Dunstan thou hast given in charge
To subdue monarchs and to rule a people, &c.

In the fourth Act Athelwold and Elfrida are seen in his mansion in Devonshire in familiar and affectionate converse, when a servant or officer of Athelwold's arrives in haste to say that the King comes here this night. Then commences a conversation between Elfrida and her husband, in which, beginning in absence, confusion, and perplexity, the truth is gradually unfolded to her, and her character is strongly disclosed in the manner in which she receives it. Having drawn Athelwold to a full disclosure of the truth, she coldly and sternly says

ELF. From all which story now first told me, thane,

ATH.

ELF.

I gather this-I was marked out to be

The queen of England, and the messenger
Wooed for himself instead.

And won thee, dear,

Won thee for ever-is't not so?

And further
That this ambassador to gain his ends
Slandered my beauty to his royal master.
АTH.-Which love will amply justify to thee,

Though in my memory it should rankle still.
ELF. I have been told that true and valiant hearts
Would just as soon recant their Christian faith,
As slander thus the lady of their love.
Surely it was a cold considerate love
That could consent to such an artifice.

ATH.-Cold and considerate! Oh, what words are these?
A change, Elfrida, has come over thee,
An altered manner, and a tone which I
Have fought against, refusing to receive
Into my mind their due significance.

Considerate love! By Heaven! I purchased thee
With loss of all men value upon earth.

ELF. Of that you best may judge. It seems that I
Am here the person wronged, yet through thy tale,
Which well expounds thy falsehood to the king,
And thine own peril, I have heard no word
Which speaks of my irreparable wrong.
ATH.-Thy wrong! I made thee wife of Athelwold.
ELF. I have been libelled, cheated of a crown,

ATH.

Kept here in secrecy, your guilty prize,
Told to begrime my cheek to the foul hue
You doubtless gave it in your narrative;
And, last of all, am promised-as reward
Of spousal tame obedience-fair exchange
For royal honours pilfered from my brow-
A banishment to Rome. What's Rome to me?
Be sure you give it out to all your friends
That you have hid me in this privacy,
And now exile me, out of very shame
Of my deformities.

Bear witness, Heaven!

I doubted not Elfrida would have deemed it
A nobler destiny to wed with one
Who honourably loved, than to be queen
Of a lascivious monarch, faithless, vain,
And fickle as the wind. But low indeed
Must Athelwold have fallen to play the part
Of his own advocate.

ELF.

Oh! give me back
My maiden state, and let me play the game
Of life out fairly! What hadst thou to come
'Twixt me and England's monarch?

It was mine

To choose or to reject. But justice now,
Redress and restoration of my rights,
You cannot give-'tis folly to demand.

Even the poor show of sorrow-which were here
So safe! you deign not to put on, nor speak

As one who has his peace to make with me.

ATH.-Let the King come!-throw wide the doors for him!
I have no wife-she whom I took for mine

ELF.

She is already Edgar's. Vanity

Has seized at once each passage of thy heart.
Oh God! and did I give my very soul

To this mere mask?

What insulting gaze
Is this you fix upon my face, my lord?
АTH.-Insulting! oh no, no,-I do admire,

Thou supernatural mischief!—do adore,
Thou sweetest incarnation of the power
That tempts but to destroy. Oh, thou fiend,
Incomparably armed to clutch men's souls,
All hell does worship thee. Nay, let me look,-
Give me leave still! Now all ye heavenly powers,
What horrid cheat is this ye put on man,
When ye make woman beautiful? For this-
This hollow thing,-this picture which I leave
Here for who will to come and gaze upon,
I gave-oh, more than life-I stained my soul
With falsehood as with leprosy, and bore
About me the foul, secret, loathsome shame
Of a dishonourable lie. I gave-

But in thy hearing why do I lament?

Let me be calm. Thy wrong-thy wrong, Elfrida,
Is not irreparable-thou shalt have

Ample redress-thou shalt be Edgar's queen.
Go meet this King, go forth in all thy beauty;
To grace of manner, add the pomp of dress,
Add all the blandishments of gentle speech,
Go, captivate his senses till they reel

With foretaste of delight-then let him know
Thou dost resent my twofold treachery,

Thou dost renounce, disclaim, the wretched thane,
Who filched thee from a sovereign.--Oh, thy wrong

Shall earn a speedy vengeance, and my death
Shall clear quick passage to a monarch's arms, &c.

Edgar arrives, sees Elfrida; then, having ordered all to quit the place, turns round to Athelwold and says,

Athelwold refuses to fight, and, after some interesting dialogue has passed, he is sent to prison. In the meantime, Elfrida is aroused to better feelings by the remonstrance of Gilbertha, and her behaviour to the King at the next interview is contemptuous and cold. She obtains the key to Athelwold's dungeon.

ELF.-Merciful man! You'd have him live I think,-
You better like the mistress than the wife.

With what a ravenous haste he grasps the lands
That were my father's, were indeed my own!
My fortunes must depend upon his will,
And how he 'll use that power is manifest.
If Athelwold live on, why what am I?
Pauper or strumpet. What a horrid maze
Has one false step involved me in! Oh Heaven!
That I had chosen at the first for him!

He loved me-loved! I had, and knew it not,
A priceless treasure. Can I win it back?
Love, hate, ambition, rage, and penitence,
Make of my breast a chaos.-Edgar! Edgar!
Is there no other life, were it a King's,
Whose quick removal from the scene might solve
The problem we have here. Oh! now how fast
The world of crime, this hell of human thought,
Breaks on my vision! Aha! I see it all-
'Tis not the iron arm, 'tis the strong will,
Wins in that game wherein we mortals play
Life against life, and send the soul to wreck.
A woman's hand-men kiss and fondle it,
So slight it is, soft and incapable-
And the sword-hilt and pondrous battle-axe
Laugh at its puny seizure ;-let them laugh ;-
The stealthy dagger, and the sweeten'd bowl
We medicate for some too fevered lip,

;

Give the same death-and these are instruments

A slender hand may deftly minister.

Tush! 'tis the heart that kills our enemy.

Dunstan enters the dungeon to admonish, advise, and console, and leaves "To seek the king and tame his passions down." Then Elfrida comes― a long and painful interview takes place, of repentance on her part, of disbelief and aversion on his. She confesses her weakness and guilt in the language of the deepest contrition, but he refuses to hear or believe.

ELF.

[Kneels.] Oh, Heaven assist me !-Hear me, Athelwold!
With patience hear! This moment is, I feel,

The turning point of all my life to come.
Receive me now-behold I kneel to thee-
Forgive, be reconciled-take me to Rome-
Do what thou wilt-only be mine again--
And never fable or romance has feigned
More faithful wife than I will be to thee.
If Edgar's rage pursue us, if our wealth
Be all confiscate, if we two should roam
About the world in danger and in want,
Sleep under hedges, and go clothed in rags,
I will not flinch, not I-I will bear all
In silence patiently; and, for I know
That thou art very proud. I'll beg for both,
And hold my hand for alms. Oh! we will live
As do the gipsies in the woods and fields,
And I will cook the meal, and bear the pack,
And sing to cheer the way. I'll smear my face
As dark as ebony, and none shall think
'Tis an earl's daughter; no, I will not spare
This time my foolish beauty. Do but take
Thy own Elfrida, thou shalt find her true,
Constant, and loving as thy heart could wish.
But [Rising.] if thou art obdurate, Athelwold,
If for a frailty that but lived in thought,
A passion for the crown (a prize which makes
So many proud and boastful criminals),

Not for the man who wears the crown-Oh, God!
I cannot tell thee how I hate and loathe
This treacherous King!-if for a wish alone
That with its suddenness surprised my mind,
That hath retained its hold so brief a space,
That now hath been ejected, and with tears
Repented of-thou art inexorable-
Then am I lost!

I feel despair of any goodness more.
I cannot live to be a slighted, scorned,
Contemned, discarded woman-thrown aside-
And for a moment's bootless vanity
Pursued with an eternal gibe; if love
Must go, then virtue, conscience, purity,
May all along with it; if thou wilt hate me,

There is no bended brow in all this world

Shall awe me to its precepts. I will dare

All men-all things; I'll pledge this woman's heart
To one proud passion, which shall bear me on
Though every step be agony or crime-

Speak, Athelwold! speak-sentence-save-Oh, save!

As a last effort of despair she offers to assassinate Edgar; and, on his expressing his abhorrence of such an act of guilt, she opens the prison doors, calls the guards, and Athelwold is slain. Edgar enters, salutes her as queen, while Dunstan reproaches her, and lays before her the enormity of her guilt. Passion, repentance, pride, all mixed in a wild storm of madness, then seem to prevail, till the mind almost loses its balance of reason; but the hardness of the cruel heart prevails, and she departs giving her hand, and saying,

Now, Edgar, I am thine!

GUIDONE.

Of the last play, Guidone, the author says it was written without the most remote reference to the stage. It aims at exhibiting rather states of mind than individual character, and pretends to no interest of plot or story. It is formed upon an event connected with Neapolitan history, and related by Robertson; but, with one exception, the characters are imaginary. It opens with Camillo, who is described as a studious character suddenly involved in the passions and perplexities of life, confessing to his friend Vitelli his love for Fiorinda in such ideal language as a young poet and philosopher might be expected to use on such an occasion. Unfortunately, as soon as his poetical confession is concluded, his father Antonio arrives, and informs him that it has long been his design that his son should marry Bianca, the only daughter of Guidone, a banished nobleman, a condottiere.

I pledged my honour I would marry her

To my own son.-Nay, further-hear me on-
Just at this juncture, what from heavy debts,
And unjust forfeitures this king laid on me,
I was a bankrupt man. Therefore, Camillo,
When you shall wed the maid-as soon you will—
This mansion, and these lands, and all the wealth
That holds us up in Naples, is your own, &c.

Camillo, however, tells his father that he will marry no one
But gentle Fiorinda, poor Rinaldi's daughter.