foot w *© THE LAST 01 THE PLANTAGENETS: A TRA&I C D RAMA, In GL\)tez &ct0. BY CAROLINE M. KETELTAS. FOUNDED ON THE ROMANCE OF THAT NAME, BY WILLIAM HESELTINE, OF TURRET HOUSE, SOUTH LAMBETH, ENGLAND. THE DRAMA WAS WRITTEN IN 183-0. NEW YORK: PRINTED BY R. CRAIGHEAD, 112 FULTON STREET PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. MDCCCXLIV. r \ _ f > THE LAST OP THE PLAITAGENETE A TRAGIC D RAMA, Stt &i)m &rts. M. KETELTAS. FOUNDED ON THE ROMANCE OF THAT NAME, BY WILLIAM HESELTINE, OF TURRET HOUSE, SOUTH LAMBETH, ENGLAND. THE DRAMA WAS WRITTEN IN 1830. NEW YORK ; PRINTED BY R. CRAIGHEAD, 112 FULTON STREET. PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. S^X MDCCCXLIV^ j- Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by CAROLINE M. KETELTAS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. PREFACE TO THE DRAMA. The author of the following dramatic sketch has been induced (although the term may seem a strange one), to minds wedded to the popular opinions of Richard Third's character ; from a Christian motive, to endeavor to rescue it from some of the odium which now rests upon it : thus, somewhat aiding the research, and amiable idea of Mr. Heseltine in his very interesting romance, " The Last of the Plantagenets." The anathema of Shakspeare, on him who should touch his ashes, would seem, at the first view, to apply with equal force to his writings ; but Shakspeare, though the first of geniuses, was a mortal ; therefore, liable to error and prejudice. Historians differ in their estimate and catalogue of Richard's crimes ; and experience of the human heart, its strange mixture of good and evil ; its generous throb ; its cold or dark intent, moving it simultaneously, would preclude the possibility, that such a monster as Richard Third, ever existed, and why stands he in crime thus branded and alone ? Henry Eighth, for instance, what plea had he to urge for murders, cruel and unjust 1 None. With regard to the authenticity of the existence of such a person as Richard Plantagenet, son of Richard Third, Mr. Heseltine offers nothing, but that manuscripts were found in some old castle, setting forth that such a person lived, and sustained a life of obscurity, by manual labor. There is nothing impossible in the statement ; but as Mr. Heseltine clothes his hero with romance, your dramatist may be allowed the same privilege. New York, November, 1844. ( PROLOGUE. (SPOKEN BY RICHARD PLANTAGENET. ) A Statue, or Bust of Shakspeare, is seen, to which Richard kneels, saying : Pardon ! blest shade ! that step of mine should dare To tread — where imprints of thy footsteps are — I tremble — falter — yet a whisper hear — "Thought, is Heaven's gift, — and never should know fear"— Thanks ! noble shade ! so vast thy wond'rous mind — Could doubt, one moment so my judgment blind 1 As even to dream — thou Mst not extend thy hand, Warm with each impulse of thy nature bland, Unto Prince Richard — bid him the shame forget, His sire bequeathed — " The Last Plantagenet," And live he will, till Time shall cease to be — Inspired ! Shakspeare ! worshipping of Thee ! [Richard rises, and addresses the audience and stage. Ye ! who have opened Nature's teeming page, And given the readings of a long passed age, Blent with the notes of ages more refined — Though not with choicer visions of the mind — Here rest ! the memory of your touching " Lear," Your " Fair Ophelia" — " Juliet," ever dear ; Byron's frail " Werner" in Macready's vein, Kean ! Forrest ! Kemble ! Tree ! and Payne ! Sweet, sweet the tears, we gave your noble art ! "Which aims to touch, to soothe, to mend the heart. In Greece, the Muses' and bright Freedom's home, Arose the Drama's sky-roofed, star-lit Dome — And on its altars burned the Attic glow Her bards awoke — two thousand years ago : The incense claimed Susarion's mirthful name, And Thespis' tears, both fed the deathless flame ! Thus, not alone to Thee sublime in wo, Melpomene, must we the Wreath bestow — Thalia claims an equal title here — For joyous Laugh — as thy subduing Tear — And Memory lingers — in a fond review Of those who gave (the Comic Mask) so true; Or held alike, the Mirror to the mind ; With caustic wit, or sentiment refined — Here Placide stood — the monarch on his Throne, And Clara Fisher was herself alone. May here, the Mimic Art, to Nature true, Reflect the traits, her Bards have called to view — Awake their Harp, to lash the bold and vain, Soothe, with its pathos, poverty, and pain, Bring back the rose, to cheeks that Love has paled, And give to Glory, all its armor mailed. Severe their task, to satisfaction give, Who, on the changing tide of favor live — But if success should crown the Actor's days — How blest ! Life's Curtain falls — that falls, 'mid Praise. CHARACTERS OF THE DRAMA. Richard Third, (King of England.) Richard, (his Son, by a private marriage.) Duke of Norfolk. Earl of Surrey, (his Son.) Sir Gilbert De Mountford. v t I Pursuivant at Arms, (called Le Blanc ) Sanglier.) Roger Walkelyn, (Superior of St. Mary's Priory.) Jankin Stoup, (Master of the Hostel Le Blanc Sanglier.) Eugenio, (Page to King Richard.) Earl of Richmond, j ( ^rwards Henry Seventh of Earl of Pembroke, (his Uncle.) Earl of Oxford. Lord Stanley. Sir William Stanley. Sir William BrandonJ (Standard Bearer to Earl of ') Richmond.) Sir Reginald Brat, |(* h f o J, tk Crown on Abbot of Bermondsey. Monks, Nuns, Soldiers, Citizens, Attendants, &c. &c. Queen Elizabeth, (widow Edward Fourth of England.) Princess Elizabeth, (her Daughter.) Bridget, (the Lady Bride, (her Daughter.) Sibyl. ACT L— Scene r. MILFORD HAVEN. VIEW OF SHIPPING, ETC., ETC. Enter Earl of Richmond, Pembroke, Oxford, Brandon, Bray. Richmond. My faithful friends ! this Milford Haven's sure a haven blest ; which holds such hearts, as now come forth, to greet a wanderer like me. Brandon. Those hearts, too long oppressed, now seek in you, the one whom heaven has sent as their deliverer. Bray. In pious England, famed for faith and monks, a voice from heaven most surely must be heard ; and mine responds its tone. Oxford. And mine, though now I may not say how well the Earl of Richmond merits that we have to give — a Crown. Richmond. He has no words for so much trust, but should his Arms, uphold his gratitude, King Henry never will forget this hour. Pembroke. Nephew, time will show, how true, or false, our honeyed words, which now have breath — my hope is full ; meantime I lead to some refreshment, after perils dire, by sea, and perils yet to come, by land. My Lords ! my mansion opes its doors for you. 10 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Richmond. And there we'll drink to good king Richard's health ! and his fair niece, the Rose of York ! [Exeunt Richmond, &c, SCENE SECOND. Distant view of a Convent. Monks and Nuns cross the back part of the Stage, bearing a bier, and chanting. Rest thee ; rest thee ; sister kind ! Though we bear thy form to earth, Thou wilt soon the waking find — Promised to the second birth. Ave Maria ! Lovely flower ! of early blow — Free from stain, thou'st passed away — We, who yet, must sorrow know — Weep, we cannot trace thy way. Ave Maria \ [The Procession passes off. Walkelyn and Richard remain. Walkelyn. You are strangely moved, my son, tell your fond Walkelyn, whence the cause — Richard. Did you not see her, father ? Walkelyn. Aye ! and she was fair ; death is sad to view, when the young heart is full of life ! Richard. I do not mean our sister dead, but she — Walkelyn. Whom do you mean ? Richard. Bridget, in the white robes of a Novice. Walkelyn. Bridget ? THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 11 Richard. Yes, the sweet angel of my dreams ! with eyes, blue as yon chamber in the sky ; tresses, like to the fleece of the young lambs, and step of a young queen — she who calls to me each night, " Richard ! come to play I" Walkelyn. You have strong memories, Richard, tell me, my gentle son, how far they reach unto the past — tell your Walkelyn, all that joys or grieves your heart. Richard. I cannot tell — I count but seventeen years, and yet I seem quite old in memory — there are upon its tablet graved forms that are dear, and others that seem strange to me. One comes to me, like her we bury now — her voice is sweet, and says, farewell ! there is a war- rior, too, a dazzling robe he wore, and (shuddering) there is a dark, dark woman, that did frown upon me, and chide dear Bridget, for loving me so well — explain these memories to me, dear, dear Walkelyn ! Walkelyn. (Much moved and agitated.) I may not now, but come, the funeral train will miss our presence. Richard. Oh ! let us haste to join it ; Bridget, per- haps, will speak to me — ■haps [Walkelyn and Richard pass off. SCENE THIRD THE PALACE. King and De Mountford. King. And Harry Richmond, then, now dwells in British hearts ? De Mountford. So will the Fates. ]2 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. King. Fate is the coward's doom, how stands our force ? De Mountford. Why, strong, as yet, most names of weight are ours. King. Most names! the fickle knaves; they know me not ! and thinking that they do, give unto Richard's name, deeds, that he wots not of; they reason with their own bad natures, and scant want of sense, that as no reptile comes without its mate, so Richard, not yet ripe, 'tis true ; for heaven must count his murders, as he would his beads to-morrow, we will meet in council, go you among the people, good De Mountford, and tell men they are true, though knowing them all false ! — is 't not a pity, and a sin, Gilbert De Mountford, that these saints should change their creed at pleasure ? to-day, shout Richard ! and the next, Harry of Lancaster ! but, by Plantagenet ! our Harry Second, culled in the Holy Land, and made to blossom in the House of York, I, now its head ; I'll send this upstart sprig of royalty to find a Crown, within another w T orld. Be Mountford. My duty's always for my Sovereign King. King. I know it, good Sir Gilbert — then u{V! and still be doing for him — the spider, have you never mark- ed, thinks that she spins unseen, untouched, her beamless house, an adverse wind, a knife like this (King draws his sword) scatters it to nought ! Go, good Sir Gilbert, and information gather how madam worm proceeds in her fine web. [Exit De Mountford. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 13 King. Chary of words ! I fear me you are like the rest — " my duty's always for my Sovereign King," as such I trust it long will be King Richard's. I'll go to sound the widow queen, for though she hates this twig of Lancaster's reviving tree, her weeds hang cumbrous round her heart, where wasted power still prays upon its core ; there is a yesty quality within these Woodvilles, that fain would leaven the whole land, and she consume its loaf. Elizabeth remains unto the House of York — she is my niece — what would the Abbot good of Ber- mondsey declare if I should wed her Anathema ! But I would w T hisper in his ear, that my loved Clara, my angel wife ! most strangely died — her close attendants but him- self and lady queen. I'll woo Elizabeth, although a sin unto the holy ones, who kill for conscience sake, and fill their coffers, should all others starve — should I fail there, my son, blossom ! of her who scorned me not, that na- ture made me not fair in feature, and in form, as her sweet self; shall now come forth, and should I fall, within the coming strife — rise a young Phoenix ! from his Sire's ashes, Richard the Fourth. Ha ! ha ! These Woodvilles ! [Exit King. SCENE FOURTH A ROYAL APARTMENT. Princess Elizabeth on a Couch. A voice is heard, accom- panying a Guitar. Earth teems with flowers, fair to sight, And bloom, and breath of heaven ! 14 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. But England's Rose ! of peerless white, The queen of flowers ! hath Flora given, Lady love ! Knights of valor at thy feet Lay their lance, and reckless thought My faithful heart, I pray thou greet — Some laurels, from a far-land brought, Lady love ! Elizabeth. Some love-sick minstrel chants his lay, in these rough times, 'tis sweet to wander back to bright ro- mance, the Troubadour, and love, which since the time of him, " The Lion Heart," has been forgot with us — ah ! Berengaria, a happy fate was thine ! yet no ! too much of war, drowned the soft note of song. Enter Queen Elizabeth. Queen. What sound like minstrelsy, was that I heard ? I fear some foolish thought is in your heart, like unto Bridget's, who can ne'er forget the childish days she passed with that dead boy, some think the Crook-back's son. Elizabeth. I've read of such a thing as love, but, gentle mother, you have ta'en good care its accents sweet should never reach my ear — no, I am doomed to wed, and patch a crown, so worn and dimmed with blood, no gem is seen ; if my good Uncle will but take the shred, and eke it out with my poor thread of life — so runs your plan — but are you sure, Richard, the boy, is dead? THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 15 Queen. All say he is. Elizabeth. Hum ! Tout le monde ! et son femme ! Queen. (Confused.) I chided all too soon — but I am over-anxious for your fate, Elizabeth. Did not the minstrel speak of foreign lands'? perhaps he was the Earl of Richmond ? You know he is in England ? Enter Abbot of Bermondsey. Abbot. Within, your pardon, lady ! your ear upon the instant — much, much of import I have there to pour — Queen. Await me in my oratory ! [Exit Abbot. Queen. Be reasonable, Elizabeth — your father was a king ; the Tower still opens for the heart that will not bend — Elizabeth. Stained with the blood of my sweet brothers — would'st send me there 1 Queen. No, no, I did but jest — go to your chamber, while I seek our Holy Father. [Exeunt Queen and Elizabeth. SCENE FIFTH A STREET IN LONDON. Enter Lord Stanley, Sir William Stanley, and Citizens. Lord Stanley. My friends! the times call forth a voice that now should speak; too long has he, who feigning, boasts of truth, upheld this realm ; dark acts 2 16 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. of guilt appal our souls ! and bid us seek another hand to guide ; which, if it hold not that we wish, at least will for a time, suspend our shame. Sir Wm. Stanley. A shame that rests upon our- selves, and history will hand to ages down. First Citizen. Men differ widely in their view of this — what are the crimes that call for vengeance ; princes have died, 'tis true, but who can say that was the hand which sent them to their reckoning ? Second Citizen. Another cries usurper! while he they would should fill his place, claims no fair title to a vacant throne. Lord Stanley. The cause is heaven's and chill delay in showing that it is, shows hearts of fear ! Long live Henry Seventh ! Enter other Citizens. Citizens. Long live Henry Seventh ! First Citizens. Let's see this new pretender to a crown — Lord Stanley. He waits to meet his friends. Come friends and welcome Harry Richmond to Old England ! Second Citizens. Old England ! and its Harry Seventh ! [Exeunt the Stanleys and Citizens. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 17 SCENE SIXTH GARDEN OF A CONVENT MOONLIGHT. Richard and the Lady Bride. Richard. And could they be so cruel, dearest Bridget, as part us now, now that we've met again, now that our childish love has ripened into all love's beauty, by know- ledge and by reason — young birds we were, dwelling within one nest, fed from one bill, blest, blest ! we were — but now we've wings — shall we not fly ? fly, dearest Bridget, from these cruel ones ! Bridget. I am the Lady Bride; fly, we could not, from man ; and dearest ! would you have me fly from heaven ? Richard. Bridget ! thy eyes are the blue heaven to which I've knelt, and prayed, as the pure angel who should lead my sinful heart unto its Maker; though Walkelyn thought he shrived an almost sinless soul — and said, " not for thy sin, my son," who then has sinned more than myself ? know you, Bridget. Bridget. (Weeping.) I may not say. Richard. Thus, thus I'm ever answered — tell me ? dear Bridget, if you know — who am I ? Bridget. I'm taught to think, the son of one whose hand has doomed my house to death. Richard. Then I am not his son, for I would give my poor, poor life, to bring it once more into being. But you speak riddles to me, Bridget. I was an infant when we parted ; and ten years in a monastery's shade has given me nothing of the world's employments. Aye ! I 18 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. can have no place there, wrapped in the mystery that I am. Bridget. That world believes you dead. Richard. And why % Bridget. My answer, dearest, would betray my pro- mise to my mother, and, perhaps, bring wo, nay death upon our head. One ! only one can aid us, Richard, in our great despair — my every thought of love is thine ! be patient. Richard. Who is your Mother, Bridget ? Bridget. Elizabeth ! late Queen of England ! Richard. The wife of him whom Richard murdered. Bridget. (Covering her face with her veil.) Curse ! curse him not ! he is my uncle [Convent bell rings for Vespers, Richard remains in stupor and silence. Farewell ! dear Richard — much too long I've staid \ Richard ! hear you not steps 1 Away ! away ! [Exit the Lady Bride. Richard. Bridget ! ha ! gone, beloved ? where have my senses wandered ? but I will live no longer in this sad unknowingness of what I am — -Walkelyn shall tell — and yet Bridget a princess ! this knowledge gained, may show a wider, ruder sea, than yet has rolled between us (Richard extends his arms towards the convent.) Farewell ! dear Bridget ! if J have a name, its power shall tear you from yon iron walls. [Exit Richard, THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 19 SCENE SEVENTH PEMBROKE HALL. Earl of Richmond. Richmond. Fly ! fly. ye hours ! which bring me to the day, whose close, I trust will see the Rose of Lan- caster once more wreathed round the crown of England ; 'tis true, the Princess, if kind unto my suit, must blend the hated one of York. She yet denies me access to her favor, and courtesy but small she'll have from me, if I'm her husband ; she, so reluctantly, my wife ; these ton- sured monks, too short time they'll have to drain the purses of the land, when I am king [Enter Earl of Oxford. I greet your presence ! what omens hover for King Henry 1 Oxford. Many, many, nay, all bids fair for your suc- cess, my Lord, the Stanleys are your own, there's much revolt among the people ; whispers, that many of King Richard's friends, thus far, desire a change ; I, at the least, doubt not the Field of Bos worth holds a crown for you. Richmond. God speed and bless the issue ! And now unto a gentler theme, the fair Elizabeth; deigns she, at last, to see her minstrel knight ? ha ! ha ! we made but slight escape, the first time that we wooed in song ; fine theme it would have been for Richard's wit, if we'd been trapped a singing to our " Lady Love." Oxford. The Lady Queen is busy with the maiden's heart, and your desert ; the Princess is most sad, just now, at parting from the Lady Bride her sister destined 2* 20 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. for heaven (through the cloister), most sweetly says, Bermondsey's proud Abbot, some tongues say other- wise : that Richard, our dear king, once found a maiden who o'erlooked his want of charms, and gave to him a son, who in his infancy was cradled, happened how it did, ev'n with this Lady Bride, and that her mother thinking she saw a love between them, that in future years might trouble her rich brain, had Bridget trained within a Convent, and now its Abbot claims her as his own. Richmond. Does the boy live ? Oxford. Some say he does, some not, it would seem strange, if living, that his father thus keeps him out of view, but then he knows the hatred of the queen unto the boy ; why so strong none guess. • s Richmond. It had been as well, if this poor boy had ne'er been born. Oxford. Should you wish so, my lord, I'll seek what information I may get upon that head. Richmond. Ha ! ha ! ha ! not so bad ; but we will seek my uncle, his head is older and much wiser than my own \ Allons ! my lord. [Exeunt Richmond and Oxford, SCENE EIGHTH A CONVENT PARLOR. Princess Elizabeth and Lady Bride. Elizabeth. Both, both are doomed, you to a convent's gloom, and I, perhaps, a deeper gloom, that of wedded life, without affection ; peace will, at least, be yours. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 21 Lady Bride. No, no, my vow will be a mockery to heaven ! (She covers her face with her veil.) Sister ! I've met him once again, more beautiful he is tnan words could paint, and gifted as he's beautiful ; Richard ! my childhood's tender playmate, we love ! Elizabeth. Ha ! where did you meet 1 Lady Bride. Upon that journey for my health, we met ; he has been with the good Prior of St. Mary's Brotherhood since our young hearts were severed : he knows not of his birth. I have one hope remaining; rumor has reached me that the Earl of Richmond has small faith in monks and holy houses ; whispers have met my ear that this great haste in having me professed, moves to that issue. Richmond once king, and your fond husband, might set aside my mother's dark intent, to bury me while living. Elizabeth. Ah ! dearest one ! you reason with hope's argument ; no doubt the knowledge that poor Richard lives, your mutual love revealed, would only speed the thought of closing you within these walls for ever, and give him to death ; neither the Queen, nor Ber- mondsey would hesitate at either deed. One only hope remains, the king may conquer in the coming struggle; but could you, dearest, wed with Richard, son of him, they say, dyed his foul hands with our dear father's and our brother's blood 1 Lady Bride. He did it not ; or, if he did, Richard's no son of his ; so pure, so noble is he, he must be all his mother ; no trait of mind or person is King Richard's. Who ! who could have been that mother 1 22 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Enter Nun. JVun. {To Elizabeth.) Lady, your carriage waits. [Exit Lady Bride. Go my beloved, be happy if you may ; your noble brow and mind of power were formed to grace a throne ; yes, yes, the Sibyl's sight was true. " You are to blend the factious Roses," enough for me love's Bower ! — pray to our mother, that she yield me yet some time before I take my vows — tell her my soul is not pre- pared to meet its God ! — tell her to wander back to girl- ish years, when love was all her thought — how that the noble youth, Earl Grey, wooed and won her hand — tell her her future fate was on a Throne and given her by my father — tell her to pity me, she dooms to solitude and death. Elizabeth. You break my heart. Lady Bride. Farewell, farewell. [The Sisters embrace and exit at opposite sides. SCENE NINTH A STREET {night) SENTRY ON GUARD. Sentry. Tis sure a piteous night ! more dark and chill than w r ell becomes the season, and the harvest moon ; hold ! the Countersign ! THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 23 Enter second Sentry. Second Sentry. Richard ! First Sentry. Richard ! and welcome to the Post ! I'm weary of it, something is wrong within, or 'tis the cause without. I wish that Kings w T ould lie in quiet beds, or let the ones that like them, find repose. Second Sentry. Ah ! comrade ! as the sailors say, " lies the wind in that sweet quarter," but the Glory that the mighty kings and conquerors of earth, give unto us, its herd, you pass — they cannot sleep, we must not sleep, see you not there a balance true 1 First Sentry. Then let them wake ! one man inherits a bright crown — another steals it from him — and soon there comes another, saying give it me — he is a thief ! you call your King — yes I yes ! the knaves ! they all love crowns ! but slow they are to give a crown ! I've those at home who want my pence; and duty calls me there. [Exit suddenly. Second Sentry. Old Jack speaks sense — {looks around) — King Richard, take my Post — I too will seek a Crown ! and find if Harry Richmond holds the key to hearts. [Sentry passes out. Enter De Mountford. De Mountford. What ho ! Guard ! all silent ? Treachery's abroad— bad omen ! for King Richard. [Exit De Mountford. END OF THE FIRST ACT, 24 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENES. ACT II.— Scene i. A Parlor. Walkelyn and RrcHARD. Walkelyn. My child, but no, you have outlived the child, and feel within your soul a man's full strength, if my fond wish and that of him who loves you well, should call it forth. Oft as you've asked the history of your life, my promise made unto your guardian ten years since, did not permit me to reveal it to you — nor can I yet — think not this cruelty — Richard ! thou art the only tie of earth between my soul and Heaven — and I will ever watch me o'er you — as fortune had it willed — had made him who gave you life — but we are near in blood, this hand bestowed your mother on your father — she was my sister full in love — though not in blood, we had two sires. Richard. I knew by my fond love — your more than father's love and care for me that this was so — oh ! my dear Walkelyn, will this mystery that hangs around my name ever permit your son to pay one fibre of the robe of gratitude, in which you've clothed his heart ? but tell me ! tell me who is he who thus holds these poor limbs in bondage — this heart in darkness ? — the soul is free- born J — it hath wings. THE LAST OF TIE PLANTAGENETS. 25 Walkelyn. It hath — and should misfortune ever overtake my son and Walkelyn not be near — then let those wings seek his true heart once more, and in the peaceful light of his poor dwelling forget it ever knew another home. Richard. Father ! what mean you ? what mystery new awaits me ? — none, none so sad, I trust, as that which parts us — parts us ! — all, all is parting, for the wretched youth without a name but Richard — Mother, Bridget, Sire, Walkelyn, all, ring in my ear that knell ! Walkelyn. My son, you have one friend who never will forsake you- — within whose bosom the ties and thoughts of earth are lost in the effulgence of his glory and his love ! Richard. Forgive me, father, and pity my sad state. Walkelyn. W 7 ithin these papers is contained your birth, your name, your fair estates — each duly stated and made firm in law ; I am to keep them until your guar- dian claims them, or delegates you to receive them — to- morrow's dawn must find you on your way to him, and I shall follow on your steps, dear son. Richard. My soul is all in tumult — fear, hope, joy, sorrow, fill it by turns, dear Walkelyn ! Walkelyn. God's will be done — but hope on still, my son ! the dove still sanctifies just hopes. Richard. Lead me as you will, dear father. Walkelyn. Let us unto the altar, and seek our Patron Mother's ear — pour forth our prayers and humble sense of our unworthiness of blessings past and those to come ! [Exit Walkelyn and Richard. 26 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. SCENE SECOND HOSTEL OF " LE BLANC SANGLIER." Soldiers without — [singing) — they knock at the door. Within, within the " White Boar's" head, Good host, come now appear, We're faint and worn, our comrade dead, Open ! and give us cheer. [Host singing within. What knaves are ye that come so bold To break a good man's rest ? My bread is stale, my bacon old, My ale, none of the best. [Soldiers singing without. We know it, good old Jankin Stoup, Have money to buy better — Come, help our dead man off the Crup ; Your dog may have him, let her — [Jankin singing within. Away ! away, ye foreign rogues — I guess you by your lingo — And by the White Boar's sharp nailed brogues, He, he shall mix your stingo. Soldiers break in the windows — Jankin Stoup comes forward with his household, peasants, <5$c. — a fight ensues — they heat off the intruders. Jankin. A pretty doing, truly ; these knaves are, no c'oubt, for this French Prince, come to rule old England — but never shall he put his saucy Rose upon the cheek of one that's true to England and King Richard — " Le Blanc Sanglier" Let's in and finish supper. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 27 Jankins enters with the others [singing.) My bread is fresh, my bacon prime, My ale is of the best. SCENE THIRD THE PALACE (NIGHT.) King Richard at a table sealing papers — {a sword on it.) King. These for my son — ah ! a tear ? I never wept but once — 'twas when his mother left me for her home in Heaven ! as say the priests — Eugenio ! Enter Page. Who called my name but now 1 Page. I nothing heard, or 'twas, perhaps, the Guard exchanging Countersigns, that named my Liege. King. True, true ; what is your age, Eugenio ? Eugenio. Near seventeen years, my Liege. King. That is a tender age to meet the world and all its wickedness ; here, take this purse, and go to rest again. [Exit Page. 'Tis strange that I who never bent to man, should now all trembling shrink within myself, and superstition chain me in her grasp. [King starts.'] Ha! Richard! again, Clara ! my only love ! and saint to whom I've prayed, whose accenls charmed my ear, and stayed my hand from crime, what would'st thou 1 [Noise is heard of steps approaching. 3 28 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. King. (Seizing his sword.) Richmond! hold! for your life ! Enter De Mountford. Ha ! De Mountford ; you've brought the boy ? De Mountford. He is without. King. Leave us, De Mountford, till I summon you. [De Mountford retires. Come hither, boy. [Richard advances — King takes \is hand and surveys him King. You're very tall for seventeen — I must no longer call you boy ; I reckon, gentle Friar, you wot far more of Beads than Swords ? Richard. I do, most noble sir. King. (Starts.) Her very voice, her soft blue eye, her noble brow, and form of symmetry, he is all hers— who is your father, youth ? Right proud he sure must be of such a son. Richard. "Walkelyn has promised oft to tell me of my father, but has not given as yet such joy to my poor heart. But do you, noble sir — ah, do you know ? King. How should I ? Know you who I am 1 [Richard /#£/,? at the King's feet. Richard. You are a King ! King. Sweet youth, why think you so ? THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 29 Richard. Oh ! such a majesty is yours — your eyes of fire, your words of power, your bearing ^all unlike to that which I have seen. King. Why, dearest youth, men do not view me w T ith your flattering eyes — they call me " Crook-Back." Richard. [Starts from his knees.) Are you then Richard 1 King. Richard ; and you were named from me. Richard. You are the warrior then — my memory gives with that bright angel in my fadeless dream — who, who was she ? King. [Passing his hand across his eyes.) An an- gel! " Richard. [Greatly confused and distressed.) Will you not deign, King Richard, to tell me of my father ? — you know not what deep grief it is to own no name — to never know a father's love. King, [Greatly moved and aside.) I must not yield compliance to this fond request — and yet my heart is on my tongue — but knowledge at this time of who he is, might peril the dear youth. Richard. My King, you do not answer me. King. I cannot now. Richard. That now 's the demon that has ever crossed my path to hope and joy. King. The future — then we well may hope will bring an angel to exorcise the bad one — shall it be, Bridget 1 Richard. Bridget ! oh ! where is she ? King. I cannot answer now — but well I know that love she you as well as woman e'er loved man, she loves not half as w T ell as she who gave you birth loved your fond sire, 30 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Richard. Thus, will I love him too ! King. You will, by her pure soul in Heaven ? Richard. I will — King. Well ! well ! the oath 's in Heaven ! — here, take this ring, a secret spring touched thus, will tell the names of both your parents, — but on the penalty of his displeasure ope it not, until King Richard is no more — or opes it for you — these papers, Walkelyn is to keep for you — this purse is yours to use at will — my time is not my own — we now must part — to meet, I trust, with him who calls you son— he who would die for you. De Mountford ! [Enter De Mountford. See that my strict commands about this youth are all obeyed. Farewell, sw T eet youth. [Richard falls at the King's feet. Richard. You are so kind in words, my King, and move my heart so strangely, I would pray you let me stay, and live and die for you. King. It may not be — farewell, farewell ! [Exeunt Richar > and De Mountford. King. For love, for hate, a kingdom, life, I'll fight, And all their trumpet-tongues proclaim my right. [Exit King. SCENE FOURTH. Queen Elizabeth and Abbot of Bermundsey. Queen. The boy must be disposed of; that saucy message from the Lady Bride, conveyed to me by our fair Queen to be, has sealed his fate, braved by my children i THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 31 they taunt me that their father gave a throne to me ; can I do less in fond return than make Elizabeth a Queen on earth, and Bridget a sweet Queen of Heaven 1 Abbot. Surely not, daughter. Queen. Besides, good father, 'tis a work of con- science with these children that so love it seems ; my beautiful but faithless Edward praised too often and too much the charms of Clara, the mother of this Richard ; she was my maid of Honor, in honor wished I that she should remain — thus I caused that poppies sweet should breathe around her couch. Richard, I deem, is Edward's son — the Crook Back was deceived. Abbot. Believing thus, 'twas strange you suffered Richard such long time to dwell within the palace. Queen. I knew not when she died, Clara was Gloster's wife. I kept the boy with show of kindness until such time as memory of her sudden death had pass- ed — I feared the Duke's quick eye should fall on me — and Walkelyn ever watched me. Abbot. This story 's very old to me— Queen. And so is this boy Richard unto me : put him to sleep with his sweet mother. Father, how could you be so careless as to let these children meet again ? Abbot. I was not with her, and gave strict charge the Lady Bride should go not from her convent ; Walkelyn contrived it all, no doubt. Queen. Let the boy sleep. Abbot. The Lady Bride is mine; Richmond's sure pledge, my house shall stand, if every other falls, your diamond cross shall hang upon the blessed Mary's bo- som : the thousand pieces of good gold are mine ? 3* 32 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Queen. All, all are yours when the boy sleeps. Mbot. Farewell, dear daughter, [speaking very loud) your pious offering will blessings win for you from many, grateful hearts. Benedicite ! Queen. Richard, farewell ! [Exit. [Exit. SCENE FIFTH. A Street — Enter Sybil, chanting. Who'll give the Sybil ear 1 The spell is on her eye, Hearts of hope draw near, She reads your destiny. Soon the rose with blushing cheek, [Enter Soldiers of Richmond. Soldiers. Red as any beet, Sibyl Shall our gentle Princess greet. [Enter Soldiers of Richard. Soldiers. See it beneath our feet — out, out upon thee, Hag! [Richard's Soldiers heat off the Sibyl — Richmond's Sol- diers pursue them. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 33 SCENE SIXTH A HALL OF STATE. Duke of Norfolk, Earl Surrey, St. Leger, Pursuivant at Arms. Norfolk. So short a time in England, yet his follow- ers increased from paltry hundreds to thousands, who now give heart and hand for Harry Richmond as its King to be: he without the shadow of aright ! What is the heart of man that it seeks ever something new, although not knowing if the novelty bring not more wo than the old garment cast aside 1 — because, forsooth, 'tis old ! I fear me greatly in the coming struggle the King" will fail ; for I have marked the spirit sinks e'en with the strongest; if an undaunted face bearing an impress on it of success in future, looks on its opponent, though proud and bold from its successes past ; but I, will never fail, King Richard — what say you, Surrey ? Surrey. I fear and hope, yet pant for that dear field of Bosworth, where our good King should crush this bold Lancastrian, that comes not only for a crown, but the most fair and sweet of England's flowers — Elizabeth. Could I but have the boon to break my virgin lance within his vain ambitious heart — what say you, Herald at Arms ? St. Leger. I trust to herald victory ; but as your no- ble sire has said, appearances are much against the chance of winning. Norfolk. Let us arouse the people once again. Surrey, go you among the fairer portion of our race, for often woman's sweet and persuasive eloquence leads with silken chain her sterner father, husband, brother, lover. 34 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Surrey. Dear father, you forget that Richmond is both young, and form and feature favored ; he has great skill in music j plays the Troubadour, not only to the Princess, but also 'twixt the acts, no doubt, to other maidens too ; Richard, not young, nor over -laden with the gifts of beauty, will hardly bear comparison in their sweet eyes — now filled with bridal favors, stars, what not, among the idle gossip that I hear, is, that red Roses now are all the vogue. And every damsel has been heard to say, Richmond is hid within my sweet bouquet. Norfolk. Go to, madcap — what- says " Geraldine ?" but poesy must bend awhile to steel ; let us away, and strive against this Tudor race that comes upon us with the artifice, not of old Owen, but studied long in foreign, wily courts. Surrey. Long live King Richard ! St. Leger. Long live King Richard ! [Exeunt. SCENE SEVENTH PRINCESS ELIZABETH READING. Enter Queen and a Gentleman. Queen. Elizabeth, this artist craves your ear unto some music. [Exit. Elizabeth. I pray, good sir, it be a mournful theme, for I am very sad. Artist. Love's theme should not be sad, and she whose worth and beauty waken it at will, may give my harp its tone. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 35 Elizabeth. Sir, I'm the Princess of this realm, whose ear cannot receive such bold address. [Artist throws off a cloak and other disguise and shews a royal dress and order — he falls at the Princess' feel.] Elizabeth. Who are you, sir ? I pray you rise. Artist. Henry. Elizabeth. Of Lancaster 1 Richmond. I am — and minstrel knight ; he who now comes with heart and hand to merry England ! once, but now sunk deep in wo by Richard's bloody hand, to aid its worthy citizens to once more claim the rights of men — he who would lay his heart at its fair Princess' feet. Elizabeth. Why, she is of the house of him your hand would crush — how ! shall I prove you love, and hate its Rose ? Richmond. Oh ! fair Elizabeth, name not yourself in one breath with the monster who now fills the throne. Elizabeth. He is my uncle. Richmond. Who murdered those most near to you ? Elizabeth. He has been ever kind to me, and murder is a crime this history sets forth that Princes never can commit, or holy monks soon shrive them fi om. Richmond. Then let me as a holy monk now shrive your soul, for there is murder in your eyes. Elizabeth. I think my uncle is unstained with much of that imputed to him ; he is ambitious, and well may he beware, who takes the key ambition to his heart. Richmond. Your uncle seeks your hand. Elizabeth. He never told me so — but, Henry Rich- mond, we but prate — should you be King of England — 36 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Richmond. {Quickly.) Your Henry Seventh 1 Elizabeth. Make me staid promise on this hand, which then is yours — to set the Lady Bride, my sister, free from convent thrall — with liberty to wed both when and whom she would. Richmond. I swear ! how sweet a bond is here, love ! twining love ! [He kisses the Princess' hand.] Enter Queen . Queen. Henry, you must away ; time quite enough you've had to sail to Cyprus, and steal the Boy Love. Richmond. But gracious Lady ! how short — how very short the time appeared upon my journey back — thought not your Edward so 1 Queen. Tut, tut, I have forgot ! away ! Richmond. Fair Princess ! Richmond's heart is in your hands. [Kisses her hand.] Lady Queen ! my duty to you is my pleasure. [Kisses Queen's hand and Exit. Queen. 'Twas very hard, no doubt, for you to say a yes, unto such gallant, handsome gentleman as Henry Richmond — Elizabeth. {Sighing.) Yes, has been said too often — permit me seek the Lady Bride. Queen. Pll seek her, too, and hear what now she thinks of me, from her own sweet, duteous lips. {Ironi- cally.) [Exeunt. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 37 SCENE EIGHTH— MONASTERY OF BERMONDSEY. Abbot in his cell at prayer. Abbot (Rising.) I once was innocent— these hands now dyed in guilt, white, white in purity as is the snow drift, ere the step of man leaves its dark foot-print on it -yes, I was innocent— till man unfolded his vile heart unto my view-then dupe or villain I was forced to be- I would not be the first, and (groaning) I chose the vil- lain's part. [Enter Walkelyn. Walkelyn. Yes, wretched man-and tried to make all others like yourself— where is my child ? Abbot. Ha ! Roger, welcome to my poor house ! Walkelyn. Where is my child ? Abbot. Richard, the boy you mean ? Walkelyn. My Clara's son. Mot. The Clara that I loved-she whose sweet smile had made me all the saint I fain would seem- whose loss made me the fiend I am-and you did this- — your pride gave her to Richard— me to despair » Walkelyn- Ambrose ! well you know she loved Prince Richard— ere you made pretension to her hand- well you know King Edward wooed her with unholv thought. J Abbot. Yet he was father to this boy you call your son — J Walkelyn. What wretch has conjured up this lie 1 Abbot. The Lady Queen. 38 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Walkelyn. Ambrose, beware ! my sister's death was by your hand. Abbot. No ! by the hell that opens for my crimes — no ! by the mercy of my God ! I could not kill ; what I had loved so much ! Walkelyn. And yet you would her son 1 Abbot. (Evasively.) I thought you were all in your books, good Roger Walkelyn, and meddled not with worldly things— why kept you not this sprig of royalty close at them too — why did you suffer him to meet the Lady Bride, and whisper love unto her ear? she the bride of Heaven. Walkelyn. They met by accident— I nothing know more than this, and why did you, washing them not to meet, suffer the Lady Bride to bend her steps unto the Isle of Ely ? Abbot. This, too, was accident — her feeble health re- quired long pauses and much rest upon the tour — a sud- den, fearful change in it alarmed her escort — and though all against my order strict, they chose St. Mary's neigh- borhood for harbor sweet and sure. {Ironically.) Walkelyn. And she has it now — far, far from this. Abbot. How ? Walkelyn. Where is Prince Richard ? Abbot. I know not ! Walkelyn. Ambrose, you cannot deceive me; the King and I know well that, by the Queen's command, you've taken him from where we thought he was bestowed in sa f e ty — the Lady Bride has fled — and she shall never be within these walls again until you give his son unto his arms, both says King Richard and his uncle Walkelyn. Ah ! my dear child, perhaps ev'n now you sleep in death. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 39 Abbot. I know not of him — the Lady Bride fled ! Wretch ! you have ruined me ! [Exit. Walkelyn. As you have countless ones — wicked, wicked man. [Exit. 40 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. ACT III— Scene i. Pembroke Hall — Richard confined as in a prison. Richard. Ah ! wo is me ! debarred the light of day, almost the face of man, who am I ? what the conse- quence attached to my poor lot in life, that thus I'm hunt- ed like a stricken deer? (Richard takes a white rose from his bosom.) All that Do Mountford would reveal to me in answer to my pressing questions after that w T ond'rous interview I had with my dear King, was— " Take this flower — it holds thy destiny — and if it rear its head upon the field of battle near at hand — King Richard will tell better than I may all you wish to know. Farewell ! small chance there is we ever meet again — De Mountford fights with heart and hand, and always for his King." Dear Walkelyn, where is thy bosom to whose gentle pulse you bade me ever fly — should wo or pain cross future palhs of life — I am a prisoner — the purse remains my Sovereign gave — but how or where to use it I know not — the Ring might tell that he forbade that I should open. (Richard takes up a lamp and exa- mines the ring.) Could I be justified now in my great distress — to disobey my King — nay, more, to break my honor's promise ? no ! — dear Bridget ! could I but see thee once again, all would be light within my heart, at least — but thou a prisoner, too ! no hope is left for me ! THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 41 Enter Pembroke. Pembroke. Be comforted, poor youth ! your thoughts are -all too sad ; I trust the remedies applied have sooth- ed your wounds ; the awkward knaves who brought you here were told to use no violence. Richard. Why, am I here? Pembroke. (Evasively.) Sweet youth, had you but been content to rest with good old Jankin Stoup — told all your beads and gone to sleep instead of peeping through the window, you had not been here. Richard. I pray you suffer me to do the same once more, I'm fond of air. Pembroke. (Raises the window-sash.) Now you have air — I pray you take some food — long hours you've fasted — and taste this wine ; 'twill cheer your heart. Richard. My lip 's a virgin all as yet to wine — but I've a thirst upon it — its name is liberty — see you this gold — I never saw so much the ten years that I dwelt within St. Mary's — take it and make me free. Pembroke. I'm rich enough to give to you, but can- not give you freedom. Richard. The laws of England still protect her sons ; Her King is anxious for my welfare. Pembroke. King Richard knows no law — thus you are in this prison, and will not leave it till his head is low. Richard. You are an aged man — fear you not then the King of kings and retribution ? Pembroke. I do, and for his sake I punish ; and^ poor child, I pity you. 42 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Richard. My God ! hive mercy on me ! (Richard wrings his hands in agony, and in doing so his ring opens, and reveals the names of Richard Planta genet and Clara Howard — he remains gazing on the ring in astonishment.) Pembroke. Your mind seems quite unsettled, youth, pray try to rest ; 'tis long past midnight. (Pembroke goes to the window to close it, and receives a discharge of powder in his face.) [Scene closes and re-opens to a wood — Soldiers around. SCENE SECOND RICHARD AND JANKIN STOUP. Richard. My good, good Jankin, how shall I thank you for my freedom 1 Jankin. I only did my duty ; hut now I have you, my young master, you'll not escape me soon again ; I swore to set you free by my good crest, Le Blanc Sang- lier ; and if you visit my poor Hostel once again, I hope you'll wear that crest upon your brow. But come, we are too near old Pembroke and his prison. Richard. Where do you lead me, Jankin 1 Jankin. Ha ! ha ! ha ! where 1 you will soon see. Richard. You are my guardian an^el ! I follow w r heresoe'er you lead. [Exeunt Richard, Jankin, Soldiers. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 43 SCENE THIRD QUEEN AND ABBOT OF BERMONDSEY. Queen. Liar and villain ! think you your plea of ignor- ance, how Bridget was conveyed from out the convent, Richard escaped his Prison, can avail with me? (The Queen goes to the Abbot and shakes him furiously.) No ! no ! your head shall answer this, when Richmond's King, your Monastery and its Abbot ; then will be a tale forgot as soon as told. Abbot. I swear I know not how these evils came upon us ; I neither rest, nor eat, waiting upon your pleasure as I ever w T aited ; and still do wait. Queen. You swear ! by what, I pray ? Abbot. By murdered Clara's soul, and Richard's vengeance ! Walkelyn has charged me with the murder, and if you threaten, I will reveal. Queen. You dare not ; remember Ambrose ! — a truce with this child's talk — why did you leave this Richard to his father's spies, when Richmond had so nicely caged him 1 — why were not you as ready as they were, with purpose, and with means 1 Abbot. Murder is not as readily achieved as bondage — and relief from bondage — when chains or freedom 's in the hands of Kings. Queen. The boy must die — Bridget be soon within her convent — or, brother, for the love and service that I owe you, your skull shall grace my oratory. Abbot. And it shall whisper in your ear through time, and through eternity, Ambrose — " Dip your finger into water, and cool my tongue, for I'm tormented in this flame !" Queen. Out! out upon thee! bring me the boy's 44 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. corse, then, dear Ambrose, and you shall live in peace — - what peace you may — I would not seek his life hut that I deem him Edward's son. Jlbbot. That lie, you forged, you never yet believed. Queen. I think him Edward's son ; and I'm not vile enough to let him wed his sister. Abbot. Hug this last virtue to your heart ; mercy, perhaps, will let it plead in Heaven ! Queen. The boy shall die ? Abbot. He shall if I may cause his death ; Bridget is mine, if once more in her convent 1 Queen. She is. Abbot. Now we are ripe for hell ! Queen. The devil and his daughter joined ! [Exeunt. SCENE FOURTH THE PALACE. Richard and the Lady Bride. Lady Bride. Beloved ! do not hope ; my life is weaning fast ! too much of trial have I had ; and it has pressed upon a frame, by nature all too frail : when they first took }Ou from me, I pined, as dove pines for its mate ; and then I hoped ! and watched each day its sky to see that mate return : that sky was clouded with a loveless mother's will, that doomed me to a convent's grave — its Abbot's whispers, dark and drear, both brought despair. Richard. All that is passed, dear Bridget ! King Richard sanctions our fond love : within the coming THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 45 strife he will prevail, and we be free to love, as ever we have loved — life is yet strong within you — not life alone, but love, not love alone, but hope — let this sweet Rose of York twin to my Bridget — revive each sinking nerve — oft when imprisoned by bad Richmond, its breath hath spoken hope to me — I called it Bridget — its breath sustained good Jankin Stoup to peril all to give me freedom — its breath sustained dear Walkelyn ten long- years in rearing me through fear and toil — its breath sustains proud, worthy hearts within the land — > and will dear Bridget forget of all its breath is hers ? Bridget. I feel that I too soon for love must die. Richard, beloved, 'tis well, for living without thy love is death — and we can never wed ! Richard. Not wed, Bridget ? Bridget. Your father — is — King Richard ! Richard. Bridget ! Bridget. He made me fatherless. (Bridget falls, fainting^ in Richard's arms.) Enter Walkelyn. Walkelyn. My children ! Richard. Father, you've taught me there's a God of mercy, and of vengeance — which does it speak for me, the murderer's son ? Walkelyn. Mercy for him! and you ! [Curtain falls on the scene. 46 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. SCENE FIFTH STREET IN LONDON. Enter Pembroke, Oxford, the Stanleys, Brandon, Bray, Citizens, Soldiers. Pembroke. Are ye men, and still uphold the tyrant, Richard ? — his crimes long passed — somewhat forgot — were not enough — listen, my friends, he now proclaims his son as his successor, Richard Fourth— will ye bear this 1 (Murmur of voices is heard.) Citizens. No, no ! Pembroke. Raise then your voices for King Henry. Citizens. Long live Henry Seventh ! Soldiers. Down with the tyrant, Richard ! Pembroke. Long live King Henry Seventh ! [Exeunt Pembroke, Sfc, tyc. SCENE SIXTH " BOW BRIDGE" AND " DICKON'S NOOK." ii Where King Richard addressed his army the eve before the battle of Bosworth Field." Citizens — soldiers. King. My friends ! brave soldiers ! who am I ? [All shout, long live King Richard! King. Give me the crown. [ The crown is handed him — King puts it on. King. " Dieu ! et mon Droit !" who holds the trait- or's name within this proud array 1 [All shout, long live King Richard. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 47 King. {Holding up a branch of white roses.) Rich- ard, my son ; and Fourth of England ! [Voices are heard faintly crying, long live Richard Fourth! King. To victory or death ! down with the Rose of Lancaster. [King, Soldiers, Citizens, and Rabble pass off, and the Sibyl appears on the bridge, chanting. Sibyl. " A golden angel now to bless thy march." Pass on, pass on with thy gallant train, Thy coin is naught to me — To-morrow will this " Stone" remain Alone that train to see. That train will be an uncrowned King, A corse that spurned but now — The Sibyl's curse ! ye spirits bring, To lay the Scorner low. Away, away with thy pageantry ! " The Rose of York" now dies with thee. [Exit Sibyl. Enter Richard. Richard. Alas ! my sire! the Sibyl's eye, I fear, sees truth ; few were the voices raised for thy poor son. Enter Abbot of Bermondsey. Abbot. Aye ! few indeed ! and fewer still thou'lt have in future. {Attempts to stab Richard.) 48 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. Richard. Ha ! vile impostor of the Cross you wear — thou who hast brought my Bridget near to death — thou who it is supposed wrought my dear mother's sleep — her sleep eternal. (Richard obtains the Abbot's dag- ger.) Abbot. You're very strong for one so young. Richard. Virtue gives strength unto the feeble — make thy peace with Heaven, bad man, — Walkelyn has told me all — thy moments now of life are few — may God have mercy on thy soul, and mine ! (Richard stabs the Abbot.) Abbot. I did not kill your mother. Richard. Was it the Queen, then 1 Abbot. {Faintly.) The Queen ! — Clara— plead — for — me — my God— have — mercy ! {Dies.) Richard. " Thou shalt not kill" — where am I — am I a murderer, too 1 Walkelyn ! Bridget ! [Richard rushes out. SCENE SEVENTH PRINCESS ELIZABETH. Trumpets sound without. Elizabeth. (Shuddering.) Ah ! crowned heads, and hearts that woo those crowns — w T ould ye but pause be- fore ye give the trumpet breath — how much of wo were spared to countless ones, who echo not its tone — nor win its gifts — dear Bridget ! what will be thy fate within to-morrow's hour ? and thou art ill and I forbid to see thee. But I'm the daughter of a King ! a line of Kings ! THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 49 Shame ! on my coward heart, that thrills not to the peal of victory ! it does ! when victory is on the shield of right — the rights of man ! My uncle, if not the murder- er of my House, has set those rights at naught. God's hand is in his fall, and I should say, Amen ! [Noise is heard without — voices cry, To the Tower with the Lady Queen.] Enter Queen Elizabeth. Queen. Save me, Elizabeth ! [Enter Officers o/Mustice, Soldiers and Attendants.] Officer. " Elizabeth ! late Queen of England, and wife of Edward Fourth, we arrest you in the name of Richard Third of England, for murder of his wife, Clara Howard, with order that you be confined within the Tow- er, until such time as England's laws shall give you trial." [Queen Elizabeth faints.] Princess Elizabeth. This charge, good sirs, is sudden and most strange. Officers. But not less true, most noble lady. {They raise the Queen.) Princess. 1 pray you, force not the Queen away ! to-morrow I may be your Queen ; you owe my wish some duty. Soldiers. None ! we are for Richard and his son. {They seize the Queen and force her out. Rabble shout," To the Tower, to the Tower." Elizabeth sinks into the arms of her Attendants.) [Scene closes. 50 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. SCENE EIGHTH A CAMP IN THE DISTANCE. Enter Prince Richard. Richard. King Richard has forbidden me to hazard these poor limbs within the coming struggle ; but it shall see me at his side ; deemed he Plantagenet was not within my veins ? he, the proud Tree that gave those veins and limbs! (Trumpet sounds.) Bridget! thou nearest not that sound — beloved ! the Bride of Heaven ! — what has thy Richard now to lose 1 Welcome ! sweet Death ! {Exit. [Voices shout, " Down with the Rose of York." Enter De Mountford and Soldiers. Be Mountford. A reinforcement ! — the King's o'er- powered — he's fought as if the fiends and angels tracked his way. [They pass off. Enter King and Brandon — [they fight.) King. Go ! bear thy standard to the King of kings ! [Brandon falls. Enter Prince Richard. King. My son ! away ! away ! [Shout without — " Up with the Rose of Lancaster" — King rushes out — Richard follows — Shouts heard with- out, " Long live Henry Seventh — Band play a Tri- umphal March.] THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 5 X Enter Richmond. Richmond. The day is ours! thanks, my faithful friends ! the Tyrant is no more— give his foul corse unto the dogs. Enter Bray, with the Crown — he places it on Richmond All shout, " Long live Henry Seventh." Enter De Mountford and Soldiers with the corse of Prince Richard on a bier. King Henry. Ah ! the poor youth is gone, then ! De Mountford. Aye, aye ; a ball has done its work. Enter Duke ^/Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, St. Leger— they surround the bier of Richard. Duke of Norfolk. Farewell ! the last of the Planta- genets ! De Mountford. Farewell ! Long live Henry Sev- enth ! [Scene closes. 52 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. SCENE NINTH A CONVENT. The Corse of Bridget on a Bier — A Wreath of White Roses is suspended over, and a Crown upon it — Ta- pers are burning around it — Princess Elizabeth and Prior Walkelyn are kneeling on either side the Bier — Soft Music is heard, and a Choir of Nuns chant the fol- lowing Requiem: REQUIEM. Lady Bride ! thy course is run — White Rose ! of thy House farewell ! Thou art with the Virgin's Son — We, her maidens, chant thy knell. Life is but a step to Heaven — If the heart its portal make — Jesu ! to thy arms is given Virtue's Pearl — the offering take. Lady Bride ! thy course is run — White Rose ! of thy House farewell ! Thou art with the Virgin's Son — We, her maidens, chant thy knell. [ Curtain falls. THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. 53 EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH. Our Drama 's o'er, and I must now appear, To ask its hearers for their sigh and tear. A Princess late — a wond'rous Queen to be — I wonder if one ear will list to me. Plain who has tried to say The many words [her part] within this Play ? Grace for its Author ! she is nervous quite About your Verdict this her Trial night. Nonsense ! what is one Play in this prolific Land, That steams Books from the Head unto the Hand, In quicker time than took our Sires to go From" Flattenbarrack Hill"* to "Chatham Row."f And yet these Writers think their wretched brains, Diamonds, and Pearls, and golden scattered grains. Think ye so too % then show your generosity — And say " Plantagenet is worth some Pence to see." Our Author loves old England for its lore — Its Knight [with Lance in rest] its Troubadour — Its ivied Towers — " that one" Tradition says, In which the " British VirgiP'J sang his Lays — * " Flattenbarrack Hill," (Dutch) now Exchange street. f " Chatham Row," the location of the Park Theatre. J "The Biitish Virgil/' a genealogical tree in the author's family — traces a descent from the Poet Dryden, who married Lady Eliza- beth Howard, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire. 54 THE LAST OF THE PLANTAGENETS. " And that dark Pile,"* where Pride and Memory keep Their Vigil round the urns of those who sleep — Poor dust with dust, (yet 'tis Ambition fair, For Mind to wish to hang its Garland there.) She loves old England — but she loves far better Her native land ! would sing about it — let her ! There, all are Queens Victoria ! each Baby — A President to be ! peut-etre — or may-be. Crowns are fine things ! they are of various kind — Within your hands shall one our Author find 1 * " And that dark pile," (Westminster Abbey.) John Plinderhath, a relative of the author, has a monument in Westminster Abbey* He served in the Peninsular War, under the Duke of Wellington — was killed and buried at "Coimbra," Spain. 55 JOURNAL, Of the celebrated Elizabeth Woodville, who first married John Earl Grey, and afterwards Edward Fourth of England. It was found in Drummond Castle. Monday morning. Rose at four o'clock, and helped Cathe- rine to milk the cows. Rachel, the other dairy maid, having scalded her hand, made a poultice for Rachel, and gave Robin a farthing to get her something comfortable from the apothecary. Six o'clock. The beef too much boiled, and the ale a little of the sourest. Memorandum. Talk to the cook about the first, and mend the other myself, by tapping a new barrel. Seven o'clock. Went to walk with my lady mother in the Park. Fed twenty-five men and women — chid Roger for ex- pressing ill-will at attending me with broken meat. Eight o'clock. Went into the paddock behind the house with my maid Dorothy — caught Thump, the little pony, myself, and rode a matter of six miles, without saddle or bridle. Ten o'clock. Went to dinner — John Grey, a most comely youth — but what is that to me ? — a virtuous maiden should be entirely under the direction of her parents. John Grey eat but little, and stole a great many under glances at me — said a woman could not be handsome who was not good-tempered. I hope my temper is not intolerable — no one finds fault with it but Roger, and he is the most disorderly serving man in the house. John Grey likes white teeth — my teeth are a pretty good color — and my hair as black as jet. John Grey, if I mistake not, is of the same opinion. 56 Eleven o'clock. The company desirous of walking in the fields after dinner. John Grey would lift me over all the stiles, and twice squeezed my hand. I have no affection for John Grey, but he plays as well at Prison Bars as any of the country gentry. Four o'clock. Went to prayers. Six o'clock. Fed pigs and poultry. Supper delayed till seven o'clock. Nine o'clock. Company sleepy — these late hours disagreea- ble. Went to bed, and dreamed of John Grey. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 017 400 731 7 #