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THE 
 
 PROPHET OP ST. PAUL S, 
 
 A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 BY 
 
 DAVID PAUL. BROWff. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CAREY & HART, 
 
 Corner of Fourth and Chesnut streets. 
 
 Printed by Seyfert & Phillips, 110 Walnut Street. 
 
 1836. 
 
THE 
 
 PROPHET OP ST. PAULAS, 
 
 A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 BY 
 
 DAVID PAUL. BROWX. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CAREY & HART, 
 
 Corner of Fourth and Chesnut streets. 
 
 Printed by Seyfert & Phillips, 110 Walnut Street. 
 
 1836. 
 
8*775- 
 
 
 THE FOLLOWING IMPERFECT 
 
 DRAMATIC SKETCH, 
 
 Hastily drawn in the scanty intervals afforded by an arduous profession. 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMBERS OF THE PHILADELPHIA BAR. 
 
 RS713356 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 ENGLISH. 
 
 HENRY VIII. OF ENGLAND. 
 
 DUKE or NORFOLK. 
 
 DUKE OF SUFFOLK, (CHARLES BRANDON.) 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 MARQUIS OF DORSET. 
 
 PERCY OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 MARY, PRINCESS OF ENGLAND, AFTERWARDS QUEEN OF FRANCE. 
 
 ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 Attendants, &c. 
 
 FRE N CH. 
 
 Louis XII. OF FRANCE. 
 DUKE OF VALOIS, (FRANCIS I.) 
 DUKE OF VENDOME. 
 CHEVALIER BAYARD. 
 
 DE LONGUEVILLE, AMBASSADOR TO ENGLAND. 
 
 AMAREL, (THE KING S JESTER.) 
 TWIST, (A TAILOR.) 
 
 STELLA OF MONTMORENCY. 
 
 CHARMEAN, HER ATTENDANT. 
 
 Knights, Attendants, &c. 
 
 The first Act is in England the remainder in France. 
 
PROLOGUE, 
 
 BY A FRIEND. 
 
 OUR drama treats of beauty and of love; 
 Scenes it exhibits for the brave and fair 
 Especial scenes to greet the indulgent sight 
 Of dazzling eyes that sparkle here to-night. 
 Scenes that through good and evil fortune prove 
 How worth can suffer, and how love can dare. 
 
 Nature, through all her ever varying round, 
 Still to herself is true. Tho rank disguise 
 Her honest features ; tho a radiant throne 
 Lend pomp and human grandeur not its own 
 To the pure spirit ; its essence still is found 
 Neath gilded roofs and gorgeous canopies. 
 
 Trace we the wand rings of a hero s heart 
 Beats it not high upon the tented field ? 
 Swells not his bosom, when the clarion s breath 
 Summons to victory, or glorious death? 
 These ecstacies that glory can impart, 
 For the pure joys of mutual love, he 11 yield. 
 
 Love stills the tumult in the sailor s breast 
 
 When tempest tost upon the surging wave : 
 
 Or nerves his arm, and fires his gallant soul 
 
 In the fierce war. Love sweetens sorrow s bowl 
 
 Gives to the purest bliss, its richest zest 
 
 Steels the faint heart, and subjugates the brave. 
 
 The prince and peasant statesman scholar all : 
 "Whether in robes and dignity they shine, 
 Or fill their destiny in lowlier state : 
 Whate er their fortune, and where er their fate ; 
 Before one sacred shrine they prostrate fall, 
 And all their gifts to beauty they resign. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 Man s stubborn soul, his nature thus obeys ; 
 Submits to love, and dares not thence to roam. 
 But there is yet a sphere, more fitting far, 
 A holier sanctuary ; where the shining star 
 At morn and eve alike, sheds its pure rays 
 A female heart is love s especial home. 
 
 See her, who, saintlike in her faith and charms, 
 
 Keeps the lone watches of the livelong night, 
 
 For the ungrateful one, whose hours he wastes 
 
 In revelry : or from the banquet hastes 
 
 To baser revels in pollution s arms 
 
 Still bleeds for him her heart still strains her aching sight. 
 
 But, ah ! what rapture fills that female breast, 
 Whose each fond thought an echoing thought repays ; 
 Scorning, without the man she loves, a throne ; 
 Seeking a dungeon, if condemned alone, 
 He suffer there : and blessing still and blessed, 
 Soothes his dark hours, and gilds his brighter days. 
 
 These are not yet, love s sharpest, bitterest woes ; 
 To share affliction for neglect to groan : 
 The slave who suffers from his galling chain 
 Sees on his limbs no self inflicted stain : 
 And he that dies beneath th oppressor s blows 
 Feels the death dealing hand is not his own. 
 
 But when two kindred fervent spirits join 
 In mutual loyalty affection all 
 (Save nuptial vows) that can true hearts unite : 
 And then in nature s and in love s despite 
 The violet breath of marriage must decline ; 
 Into what depths of wretchedness they fall ! 
 
 And if compelled by custom s stern decree, 
 Or nerveless, from a sterner despot s blow, 
 They to the sacrifice assistance lend ; 
 And, votaries at once and victims, bend 
 At th altar rear d by pride or tyranny ; 
 Deeper and deeper yet, they plunge in wo. 
 
 Thence to redeem them were the drama s part ; 
 If, haply, hist ry had not lent her hand, 
 First, with a crown, love s visions to destroy, 
 Then love to crown with unimagined joy ; 
 Teaching how faithfully the rules of art 
 With truth and nature may forever stand. 
 
THE 
 
 PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I w? Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY VIII. and CARDINAL WOLSEY, apparently engaged in con 
 ference. 
 
 King Henry. Speak plainly, Wolsey ! and forget the King, 
 It is the King commands. 
 
 Wolsty. Well, then, my Lord, obedient to that duty, 
 
 Which your behests impose upon your servant, 
 Howe er reluctant to divulge the secret ; 
 T is whispered that your foster brother, Suffolk, 
 Rear d at your side by your most gracious sire, 
 Unmindful of those high and proud degrees 
 That stand between his sphere and royalty, 
 Has dared to fix his eye 
 
 King Henry. What ! Traitor, on the Crown 1 
 
 Wolsey. Nay, not the crown, my liege ! and yet so near 
 
 That it might seem a jewel of that crown, 
 Whose loss would dim its lustre. 
 
 King Henry. God s death, Lord Cardinal ! thy priestly craft 
 Is so engrafted on thy loyal stock, 
 That, like the ivy, it o ershadows it 
 And eats the heart out. What dost thou mean ? 
 Equivocate no longer speak thy fears. 
 
 Wolsey. That jewel is thy sister, good my Lord ! 
 
 The peerless Princess Mary. 
 
 King Henry. Our sister ! What Suffolk would woo our sister ! 
 And they would wed ! Pride and Humility 
 Would be united ! Ay, the blood of Tudor, 
 Running to the lees, shall join in base commixture 
 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 With the pool, the stagnant pool, that warms 
 A vassal s veins ! 
 
 What think you, Cardinal, which merits most 
 The princess who resigns her royal sphere, 
 Or the proud subject, who o erleaps all duty 
 And matches with his sovereign ? 
 
 Wblsey. Pardon, my liege ! 
 
 My thoughts, being dedicate to things above, 
 Chastised by penance and austere reproof, 
 Consort not with the play of youthful blood, 
 And look, perchance, too sternly on those faults 
 Which nature unreformed shall justify. 
 
 King Henry. Curse on this cant! dost palter with a King? 
 Thou prate of penance? Costly arrogance ! 
 Speak next of poverty, while thy rich coffers 
 Groan with the wealth that drains the Exchequer 
 And beggars all the realm. No more of this ! 
 
 Wolsey. I am your Grace s steward; what is mine 
 
 Is wholly yours nay, I, myself, am yours ; 
 
 The only worldly treasure that I prize, 
 
 And which with life alone I will surrender, 
 
 Is the proud triumph of your royal favour, 
 
 Which made me, and which keeps me what I am. 
 
 Though Heaven knows I never sought preferment, 
 
 Your gracious bounty has exalted me 
 
 So near the throne, so far above desert, 
 
 That it becomes not one who stands so proudly, 
 
 Yet ever mindful of his low beginnings 
 
 To scorn the Duke s ambition. 
 
 King Henry. Nay, no evasion, my Lord Cardinal ! 
 
 If not a lover, thou art still a statesman, 
 
 Ready and ripe in Court diplomacy, 
 
 And jealous of the glory of thy sovereign. 
 
 Talk not of hearts leave those to brainsick boys 
 
 And wild romance. This is a State concern, 
 
 It smacks of policy. Where kingly honour 
 
 And royal faith frown on the base alliance, 
 
 T is treason to the realm. Speak, then, thy thinking. 
 
 Wblsey. My Lord, since you enforce my poor opinion, 
 
 I will no more withhold it ; you shall read 
 In my plain tongue a transcript of my thoughts. 
 But, it is said, the noble pair have had 
 A kingly warrant for their mutual love 
 That you, my liege ! have seen, have sanctioned it. 
 
 King Henry. We sanction it ! 
 
 Sanction the union of the Swan and Raven, 
 The Eagle and the Linnet. Sanction it? 
 We sanction, too, the reverence to the throne, 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S . 
 
 The attribute and awe of majesty ; 
 
 But shall the fool, that bows before that throne, 
 
 Upon this sanction straight usurp the chair, 
 
 As the reward of his knee reverence, 
 
 And plead the royal warrant 1 
 
 If every knave build on his own construction, 
 
 Death s decrees shall loose their bloody impress, 
 
 And become a passport to a regal entertainment. 
 
 Where is the aspiring Duke 1 ? 
 
 Wolscy. For days, my liege ! 
 
 His absence has been noted from the Court. 
 
 King Henry. Let him be absent. Brave De Longueville, 
 The courtly envoy from puissant France, 
 Proposes for the King, his royal master, 
 Alliance with the Princess. By the Rood ! 
 The treaty shall be closed, aye, on the instant; 
 She is no subject s mate. Thou hast been secret; 
 Be thou secret still ; for ere another day 
 Shall run its course, my sister is betroth a, 
 And Suffolk taught, that princes, like the stars, 
 Were made to gaze at, by vulgar eyes 
 With awe and reverence to worship not to wed. 
 Now to the Council. 
 
 Wolsey. I attend you, Sire! 
 
 Your Grace s policy confounds my weakness. 
 
 (Exit King Henry. J 
 Like the devout astronomer, who gazed 
 With naked eye on the effulgent sun 
 In close communion with these earthly planets, 
 I am struck blind with light. 
 Savoy s proud princess, the fair Margaret, 
 In lineage scarcely rivalled by the King, 
 Was not too high, so Henry thought, for Suffolk ; 
 And when, to captivate her haughty eye, 
 A dukedom was conferred on humble Brandon, 
 Fledged by that bounty, the ambitious youth, 
 Now, like the falcon, circling in the air, 
 Pursues another lure and foils his master. (Exit.J 
 
 SCENE II. Jl Bye-street in the neighbourhood of St. Pours. 
 Enter the PRINCESS MARY muffled, and in a loose disguise. 
 
 Princess Mary. T is but one effort! This must be the cell 
 
 Which I have thus long sought, and sought in vain, 
 Now found perhaps in vain, for what avails 
 Prediction s voice to such a wretch as I am, 
 Unless to antedate the grief to come 1 
 To come ! what grief can equal that I bear 1 
 
S THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 What change can prove unwelcome to the heart 
 
 That groans beneath the heaviest penalties 
 
 That disappointed and perverted love 
 
 Can heap upon it? I will know the worst, 
 
 If worse can still remain than what I suffer 
 
 Wedded to a king not with my love, 
 
 But gainst my plighted love. O hard condition ! 
 
 That makes the princely state, in wretchedness 
 
 Supreme, as well as pride. The humble hind, 
 
 Who toils and sweats from morn till eventide, 
 
 Still sits supreme upon his bosom s throne, 
 
 In native majesty, and sways the heart 
 
 To its own purpose, loves and is belov d, 
 
 And in the dear delights of mutual joy 
 
 Looks down upon the worldly pageantry, 
 
 The pride, the pomp, the tumult and parade 
 
 That hide the anguish d soul and drown its groans. 
 
 I 11 think no more thought thickens upon thought, 
 
 And, like a dark and ravenous bird of prey, 
 
 Gloats, while it gluts, upon the quivering heart 
 
 To die of surfeit. Doubts are worse than doom, 
 
 And thus I draw the curtain of my fate, 
 
 Betide what may ! (~ Knocks at the Door of the Hovel. J 
 
 Prophet, C voice from within. ) Daughter ! approach in dark disguise, 
 Impervious to vulgar eyes ; 
 To me thy hidden griefs are known, 
 To me thy future fate is shown ; 
 Approach, fair Dame ! and learn from me 
 The presage of thy destiny. 
 
 ("Scene changes, and exhibits the Prophet of St. PauPs, surrounded by all the 
 necromantic and cabalistic symbols of his art. JL large volume open before 
 him.J 
 
 Princess Mary. Thou hast divined my purpose, holy seer ! 
 
 As well thou mightst for what alas ! could bring 
 
 A hapless maiden to a cell like this, 
 
 But the desire to learn from destiny, 
 
 In whose dark volume, by report thou rt skilled, 
 
 How much remains to suffer or enjoy ! 
 
 Prophet. What wouldst thou that my science may unfold 
 
 The secret motive of the life that s past ? 
 
 The peril that o erhangs the present moment ? 
 
 Or the dark pages of Futurity? 
 
 Past, present, future all lie open here, 
 
 Inscribed in characters of living light ! Cperuses his Book.J 
 
 Mary of England! answer what wouldst thou? 
 Princess Mary. Canst tell my fate and yet not tell my will? 
 Prophet, A woman s will may change before I read it : 
 
 Uncertain to herself, who else shall know it? 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 The veering winds shall baffle prophecy. 
 
 Princess Mary. Thy science is a stranger to the Courts ; 
 It wears no royal livery, my good seer ! 
 
 Prophet. It wears the livery of Truth, fair Madam ! 
 
 The vesture of the starry court above, 
 Where virtue reigns supreme and the free soul 
 Owes fealty only to the KING OF KINGS. 
 
 Princess Mary, (letting fall her cloak.} Disguise is vain. Behold me as I am, 
 And as I would I were not, England s princess! 
 Thou knowst the present speak, then, of the future 
 What of the threatened marriage?- Shall it be? 
 
 Prophet. Stretch forth thy hand nay, shrink not, gentle dame ! 
 
 I 11 yield it thee again a moment past 
 Ah, couldst thou ever thus reclaim the truant 
 
 (~ Examines the hand.} 
 This is a chaste cold hand a virgin palm 
 Free from shame s impress; yet these crimson lines 
 Bespeak a mutual pledge of secret love, 
 Giv n at York Terrace on Midsummer Eve, 
 Neath the pale light of the attesting moon, 
 When first the vows of sacred faith were plighted 
 And sealed with courtly lips on this fair palm. 
 Nay, blush not, lady ! the pure eye of Heaven 
 Alone hath seen it. The o erruling fates 
 Frown not upon the virtuous bond of hearts, 
 But on the broken vow. 
 
 T is not yet broken, Father ! 
 
 Princess Mary. 
 Prophet. 
 
 Nay, but it shall be. 
 
 Thy doom is fixed and thus the record runs : 
 
 (" Reads the volume.} 
 Changeful, cross d and chequer d doom, 
 
 Varied, as an April day ! 
 Here are nuptials there a tomb 
 
 Here is health and there decay. 
 Youth and age unite together, 
 Youth may bloom but age must wither. 
 
 (Turns the page.} 
 
 On this mystic scroll are seen, 
 
 Shadow d by the hand of fate, 
 " Maiden mother throneless queen," 
 
 "Widow in her wedding state ! 
 Here is sunshine there a cloud, 
 Here is mirth and there a shroud ; 
 Ere the merry peal is rung 
 The sad requiem shall be sung. 
 
 (Turns the leaf again.} 
 
 Turn we to a brighter page 
 Youth no longer yields to age ; 
 
10 THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 
 
 Cherish d by love s balmy breath, 
 
 Life eludes the grasp of Death. 
 
 Broken vows once more are plighted, 
 
 Sunder d hearts again united. 
 
 Thus, fair maiden, you behold 
 
 Your destiny. The tale is told. ( Shuts the Book.} 
 
 Princess Mary. Father, adieu ! thou hast wak d thoughts within me 
 
 Which might have slumber d, and which should have died. 
 
 For the sad service thou hast rendered me, 
 
 Accept this poor requital, and should time 
 
 Restore me to the blessings I have lost 
 
 Present thou, then, this Ring, and name thy boon, 
 
 T is thine upon the promise of a princess. 
 
 C Gives him a ring, and exit.} 
 
 SCENE III. The Council Chamber of the Palace. 
 Enter KING HENRY and CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 King Henry. Well, my Lord Cardinal! What sayst thou now? 
 The Peers in Council have approv d the marriage, 
 And Longueville, impatient to convey 
 The welcome tidings to the ears of France, 
 Has taken his departure. 
 
 Thus do I crush the proud, presumptuous duke; 
 Is it not well, my Lord ? 
 
 Wokey. Your Royal Will is ever well, my liege ! 
 
 With your poor servant; yet what says the princess? 
 What will say the Duke 1 ? 
 
 King Henry. Thus has the King said, 
 
 And woe betide the princess or the duke 
 That mars our purpose ! Say no more, my Lord ! 
 Canst thou not see, when Kings are in the field, 
 A subject s proudest duty is submission? 
 
 Enter ATTENDANT. 
 
 Attendant. The Lord of Suffolk craves your Grace s ear. 
 
 King Henry. Let him approach. Now mark me, Cardinal ! 
 I 11 play the surgeon to the wily duke 
 And probe him to the quick. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK. 
 
 Well, my Lord Suffolk ! come at length to greet us, 
 Though somewhat tardy, still with no reluctance, 
 Upon this union with our Brother France ! 
 The bloody flag of war shall wave no longer ; 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULAS. 11 
 
 Our Sister bears the olive branch of Peace, 
 A dovelike herald twixt contending foes ; 
 And nations, who for centuries have struo-o-led 
 With mailed arms in death s convulsive grasp, 
 Shall now unite in the embrace of love. 
 The princess, who combines the rose and lily, 
 The emblems of opposing monarchies, 
 Shall blend them into one. Is it not well, fair Cousin? 
 Suffolk. It is not well, my Liege ! 
 
 Howe er the state determine, t is not well 
 
 To wed the princess to a sepulchre, 
 
 A whited sepulchre of dead men s bones ! 
 
 King Henry. How now, young Lord 1 do you dispute our will ? 
 
 Suffolk. 1 nor dispute, nor doubt your Highness will ; 
 
 That is omnipotent, and, as a subject, 
 A loyal and a true one, I submit. 
 Bat when your Grace holds parley with my thoughts, 
 My thoughts must speak, and say it is not well. 
 
 Xing Henry. Body o me ! Hear you this, Lord Cardinal ? 
 
 This smoothfaced traitor bandies words with Kings, 
 
 And champions France and England to the lists! 
 
 It shall not be, my Lord ! it shall not be ! 
 
 The purpos d nuptials do not meet thy favour! 
 
 The monarch is too old the dame coerced, 
 
 And Suffolk s is the age for love and law ! 
 
 Hark ye, my valiant Mars ! the die is cast, 
 
 Our Sister Queen of France ; and thou thyself, 
 
 Unworthy of the honour we intend thee, 
 
 That thou mayst burst in witness of her glory, 
 
 Shalt swell the escort to the Gallic shores, 
 
 With all the choicest chivalry and beauty 
 
 Of this fair Isle. By day and night! my Lord, 
 
 We will unlord you and unhead you too, 
 
 If you deny our pleasure. Look, then, to t! 
 
 Come, my Lord Cardinal, we would counsel with you 
 
 Upon some urgent matters of the realm. 
 
 Look to it, Suffolk ! ("Exeunt King and Cardinal. J 
 
 Suffolk. The die is cast; but Royal fate reprieves, 
 
 Against its will, the victim it condemns. 
 The princess escort ! by my holidam ! 
 The King s displeasure doth accord me more 
 Than supplication ever could obtain ; 
 Not sever d yet the heart still keeps its hold. 
 I 11 be her escort; and with winkless eye 
 I 11 play the Dragon to the Hesperian fruit, 
 And guard it, night and day. 
 
12 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 Enter PRINCESS MARY. 
 
 Princess Mary. Lord Suffolk here ! 
 
 Methought, I heard the King in loud discourse ; 
 And now I find thee pale and fraught with rage. 
 What has befallen, Charles ? 
 
 Suffolk. What should befal, fair princess, to a wretch 
 
 Whose sum of life is centered in one object, 
 When told that object s lost] 
 
 Princess Mary. My Lord, I know it all I grieve to know it. 
 
 I share thy sufferings more than share them, Suffolk ! 
 The withered heart that throbs in this lone breast, 
 And, like a captive bird, assails its bars, 
 In frail and fruitless hopes of liberty, 
 Attests the fervour of my love for thee. 
 
 Suffolk. Say but the word, I ll burst the golden bonds, 
 
 And set the captive free. 
 
 Princess Mary. No more, my Suffolk ! We must yield to fate. 
 All struggles are in vain ; and now we part 
 To meet no more or meet as strangers meet. 
 
 Suffolk. Not part, my princess ! by the King s commands 
 
 My duty and my service still attend you : 
 That hand, which thought to claim you as its own, 
 In sacrifice devotes you to another. 
 Oh, that the victim and the priest together 
 Might offer up their blood ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Thou art deputed thou, to be my escort ! 
 It must not be frail nature shudders at it. 
 I 11 to my brother straight, and on my knees 
 Revoke this base commission. 
 
 Suffolk. And yield my life up to that brother s fury. 
 
 Princess Mary. Thy life ! 
 
 Suffolk. What reasons canst thou urge against his will, 
 
 His angry will ? Thou canst not plead our love, 
 
 Or thou betrayst the weakness thou wouldst hide. 
 
 Hate will not be believed for we have grown 
 
 From childhood to maturity together, 
 
 In constant and endearing sympathy. 
 
 If thou wilt have it so, I 11 to the King 
 
 And brave the wasteful tempest of his passion, 
 
 Expose my heart, assume the double guilt 
 
 And pay the forfeit gladly with my blood. 
 
 I would do more for thee although thou shun st me. 
 
 Princess Mary. Forgive me, Suffolk ! I am wild with woe. 
 
 Duty and love distract me yet still hear me, 
 If thou must be companion of my voyage, 
 Remember thou art escort to a queen 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 13 
 
 That the blue waves, which sever adverse shores, 
 Art Lethe s waves oblivious of the past ! 
 
 Suffolk. I must, perforce, remember 
 
 Would they might swallow up the future too ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Before we part, my Lord, another word, 
 
 Which you will pardon, though it blurs your honour. 
 
 Midsummer Eve I blush not to remember 
 
 Ingenuous nature never was a crime, 
 
 And scorns this crimson mantle which it wears 
 
 When first I listened to thy plighted faith, 
 
 And gave mine in return ! Hast thou e er named it? 
 
 Suffolk. Named it, fair excellence ? A thousand times 
 
 T is the communion twixt my heart and me, 
 The vital principle by which I breathe 
 Each day o the year, each hour of the day ; 
 And every fleeting moment of each hour 
 Linger upon that soul absorbing theme 
 To prate of love and thee. 
 
 Princess Mary. I take thy answer, and I bless thee, Suffolk ! 
 Forgive the weak suspicion. Here we part. 
 To-morrow s sun shall light us on our journey; 
 And, until then, farewell ! 
 
 Suffolk. Farewell, my princess, evermore farewell ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Remember ! 
 
 We part to meet no more as we have met ! (~Exit.J 
 
 Suffolk. Thus die the last gleams of a glorious day ! 
 
 Thus fade hope s visions and the charms of love ! 
 And all is dimness, darkness and the grave. 
 What is the grave ? A pillow of repose, 
 Where all must rest, and never more awake 
 To the world s toil. Sinner and saint alike, 
 Emperor and slave, king, peasant, lord and vassal, 
 Pomp, poverty, humility and pride, 
 Ambition, that disdains to tread the earth, 
 And mounts among the stars lo ! here they lie ! 
 Empty distinction ! Honours, titles, power, 
 Unite with meanness, beggary and shame. 
 The grave alike receives them while it mocks 
 At the survivor s grief, who, in his turn, 
 Awaits the mandate which he now deplores ; 
 Others shall weep for him and in their fall 
 They shall be wept by others. Thus the world 
 Moves onward in its melancholy march, 
 One vast extended funeral, fraught with tears ; 
 None cease to mourn, but those who cease to feel 
 In the kind refuge of the grave s embrace. 
 And yet we shun it shudder at our friend, 
 3 
 
14 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 Cling to the flitting phantoms that delude us, 
 Build in the winds confide upon the waves, 
 Nor see the tempest that shall wreck our hopes, 
 Nor dream of changing tides or hidden shoals, 
 That lie beneath the smiling treachery 
 Of ocean s glassy surface ! others sink 
 We wonder yet we fear not, though the storm, 
 That blasts their hopes, increases in its rage, 
 And thunders against ours. Let it rage on ! 
 Each, self-secure, beholds its ravages 
 Now here now there on every side of him, 
 And rushes thoughtless heedless on his fate. 
 
 Enter DORSET. 
 
 Dorset. " And rushes thoughtless heedless on his fate !" 
 
 Suffolk. How now, Dorset? 
 
 Dorset. An apt conclusion to thy homily. 
 
 And fitting our condition. Hast heard the news ? 
 
 Suffolk. Heard all my heart is full on t. 
 
 Dorset. What ! that thou rt proclaim d 
 
 Lord Marshal in King Cupid s expedition 1 
 I faith, I ll change my shield, my valiant Duke; 
 No more your couchant and your rampant Lions 
 A Heart transfixed that s the device for Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. I wear it ever here within this bosom. 
 
 Dorset. Nay, nay, thou wilt relapse into a sermon. 
 
 Wear it outside, for Gallic daws to peck at, 
 For Gallic dames to wonder at thy faith. 
 A rare commodity that needs eye-witness ! 
 Months have rolled round since first in bonny France 
 You played the gallant to the proud Savoy, 
 The merry Mag that coquetted with kings, 
 And changed the crown into a willow garland. 
 And now, the gay and dashing duke of Suffolk 
 Is sad and grave as a church elegy. 
 Is it remorse or love that moves you thus 1 
 If t be remorse I 11 take the guilt upon me 
 For half the rich enjoyment that incurred it. 
 If it be Love why Margaret s gentle hand 
 Shall soothe and heal her wounded cavalier. 
 
 Suffolk. Death is the great Physician. 
 
 Dorset. True, my good Lord ! We 11, therefore, call him last. 
 
 When every other hope is tried and fails, 
 Women, you must confess, are the best nurses. 
 But come, my Lord, I will not cross your temper, 
 We 11 talk of this anon. The fleet awaits 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S 
 
 15 
 
 To waft us to the sunny shores of France. 
 
 Yet one word Charles, 
 
 Pray, have you ever read the Rape of Helen 
 
 How youthful Paris bore away the Queen 
 
 And laid the basis of a ten years siege ? 
 
 How times are changed ! now Priam plays the lover 
 
 And England s Helen rushes to his arms, 
 
 While all the pride and pomp of chivalry 
 
 Smile on the triumph of threescore and ten 
 
 The Rose of Spring clasped in the arms of Winter ! 
 
 The Aloe would befit his highness better 
 
 It blooms but once in every sixty years. 
 
 Suffolk. Dorset, no more of this, if thou dost love me. 
 
 Dorset. What ! Mary, too Margaret will not suffice. 
 
 Egad, my Lord, you are a mighty hunter, 
 A second Nimrod among royal game. 
 Might I advise to furnish" out the trio, 
 You 11 take old Jane the offcast Queen of Louis. 
 
 Suffolk. Dorset, I say I ve borne these ribald jests 
 
 Beyond that point where patience is a virtue. 
 Provoke my rage no longer. T is not meet 
 That we should prattle of our inmost griefs : 
 But there are depths within this wounded heart, 
 Which, prob d unskilfully, result in death 
 To patient or physician. Pray you, cease ! 
 
 Dorset. What, art thou chafed ? Nay, then, my valiant friend ! 
 
 Give me thy hand. We 11 talk no more of women, 
 The winds and waves shall now our topics be ; 
 They re not more changeful, and less perilous 
 To Dover, then, my Lord ! 
 
 Suffolk. Nay, leave me, Dorset if thou lov st me, leave me ! 
 
 I will not fail you at the morning s dawn, 
 But now t is midnight, and my gloomy soul 
 Holds her dark vigils and would be alone. 
 
 Dorset. Ha ! I perceive some haughty English dame 
 
 Has snared brave Suffolk, binds him in her toils. 
 
 My Lord can t stay my lady must not go, 
 
 And like a starling struggling to be free, 
 
 Though still enamoured of his silken bonds, 
 
 He wounds the patient ear of silent night 
 
 By sad revilings against destiny ; 
 
 In fitful mood now speaks of wounded hearts 
 
 Of wedded love of absence, tears and groans. 
 
 Confess, my Lord I ve found your cloister d grief, 
 
 And know its penance. 
 
 Suffolk. Well, have it as thou wilt enjoy the fancy. 
 
16 THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 
 
 Dorset. Far better to enjoy the fancy, Suffolk, 
 
 Than fancy the enjoyment. Well then, adieu, 
 Farewell I should say but we re half in France, 
 And we must put our foreign manners on 
 Therefore adieu my loved and loving lord. 
 
 Suffolk. Good night, brave Dorset ! till the lark shall sing. 
 
 C Exit Dorset. } 
 
 She bade me leave her and in future deem her 
 But as a friend. So should she think of me, 
 As if the " charter d libertine," the mind 
 Could be subdued and taught forgetfulness, 
 While each repulsive lesson would revive 
 Love s dear remembrance and confirm it more. 
 T is all in vain the heart can never learn 
 To throb by rule or shun what it adores. 
 Friendship may swell to love and fill the soul, 
 But love ne er shrinks to friendship, till it dies. 
 Extremes beget extremes and sometimes hate 
 Usurps the throne of tenderness and joy, 
 And riots in their ruin. But true love 
 Shudders at diminution as at death. 
 Nay, it is death the glowing heart is cold, 
 Is cheerless, all its charms are lost, 
 And from its former height it sinks, at once, 
 To the low level of instinctive brutes. 
 Hearts that have ever loved, as we should love, 
 Will stoop to no abatement no restraint, 
 No change no barter but a soul for soul ! 
 Why cease to love or cease to be beloved ? 
 The Great Creator taught the breast to glow 
 With generous emotion, and to cling, 
 Close as to life, to sympathetic arms. 
 What is the world without it, what the glare 
 Of pride and pomp of wealth and pageantry 1 
 They cannot buy, vain-glorious as they are, 
 The least emotion that I feel for thee. 
 Who is the richer then ? The wretch that hugs 
 His golden store and nightly gloats upon t, 
 Or the warm spirit that shakes off its chains, 
 This clod of earth and limitless, and pure, 
 As Heaven s own ray, sheds light and transport round ? 
 
 (Exit.J 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 17 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I In France State Apartments Banquet. 
 
 Francis, Duke of Valois Duke of Vendome Chevalier Bayard Jlmarel, the, 
 Jester Lords and Attendants, etc. 
 
 Francis. Come, fill your sparkling goblets to the brim, 
 
 I 11 cast a pearl into each flowing cup, 
 Richer than Cleopatra s. Fill, I say; 
 I hold each laggard in this festive duty, 
 A traitor to his prince a foe to love. 
 
 Vendome. Fear not, my Lord for by my holidam, 
 
 This Burgundy will scarce require a bush. 
 The lady, though she wore an Ethiop s skin, 
 Were fair excuse for quaffing rosy wine. 
 
 Francis. Are you prepared bow then before the throne 
 
 Of Royal Beauty, and unite with me 
 In a proud pledge to Margaret of Savoy, 
 By nature and by fortune, too, a queen. 
 I 11 wear her colours on St. Deny s day, 
 High o er my plume and ill betide the Knight 
 Who shall dispute her proud supremacy. 
 
 Jester. How many days until the tournay, Lords 1 
 
 Lord. A fortnight, fool ! 
 
 Jester. Well then, my Prince, I 11 stake my reputation 
 
 Gainst your Highness you shall yourself dispute 
 The colours that you now so highly prize. 
 
 Francis. Out upon thee. Why 1 
 
 Jester. Forsooth, my Prince, 
 
 No Lady ever held you in her chains 
 For half a fortnight wear her colours, truly. 
 If thou wilt wear the colours of thy love, 
 Borrow some rainbow pattern, good my Lord, 
 That in thy changing purpose may afford 
 Some tint to swear by or let the ladies wear 
 Prismatic glasses, that all may claim you 
 With some hue of reason. 
 
 Francis. Would you have stars or liquid diamonds gaze 
 
 On her bright eyes which light the way to joy. 
 Pearl call to mind the treasure of that mouth ; 
 Coral behold her lip but, oh ! beware 
 You linger not amidst the sweet enchantment 
 This labyrinth of love ! No clue can save you. 
 
18 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 
 
 Bayard. 
 
 Vendome. 
 
 Francis. 
 Jester. 
 Frauds. 
 Bayard. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Vendome. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Your Highness shall not want for love or prowess ; 
 
 Hither as I came to share your banquet, 
 
 I met De Longueville in anxious haste. 
 
 The marriage t wixt our gracious sovereign 
 
 And courtly Mary has been ratified, 
 
 And all the flower of English Chivalry 
 
 Waits on the princess and her beauteous train. 
 
 Nay more, my Lord the rumour further goes 
 
 So rapidly heart travels towards heart 
 
 The expedition hourly is expected ; 
 
 Fame speaks most loudly of the princess charms. 
 
 Now, by immortal Charlemagne, I swear 
 This is worth half my hopes of kingly honour. 
 
 If it be worth but half?i is dearly purchased 
 For it may cost you all. 
 
 Peace, Raven 
 What names of note adorn this expedition ? 
 
 A thousand knights, my Lord, attend the queen, 
 And ladies numberless. The Duke of Suffolk, 
 Lord Marquis Dorset Howard, Duke of Norfolk, 
 Young Harry Percy, and my Lord of Surry. 
 
 Say no more, Bayard thou hast filled the measure 
 Of my ambition. Suffolk and brave Dorset, 
 Those youthful gallants, who astonished France, 
 And bore away the prize from every tournay. 
 Let me not prove a boaster, my good lords; 
 But, by my hopes of fame, I d share the throne 
 To clasp them rudely in a soldier s arms 
 They come to try our golden spurs again. 
 When does the King receive his blushing bride 
 And her fair train 1 
 
 Forthwith, my Lord, on her arrival here. 
 De Longueville is closeted with him 
 We may expect prompt orders. 
 
 Enter CHAMBERLAIN. 
 
 Look, they come ! 
 Well, to thy mission. 
 
 Chamberlain. My Lord Valois, his highness bade me greet you 
 With the fair tidings of the Queen s approach. 
 His further pleasure shall this mandate shew. 
 
 Francis, (perusing mandate J To horse, my friends ! the princess has arrived, 
 And the King s warrant delegates to us 
 The proud protection of her royal person. 
 By heaven ! I long to bask in those bright eyes 
 Terrestrial cynosures of hope and joy. 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 19 
 
 Jester. Look to the wager, Lord. Methinks your colours 
 
 Begin to change they ll scarcely stand the journey. 
 
 Francis. Oh, Alexander ! what a soul was thine ! 
 
 That in the prime of manhood and of love 
 Deck d with a thousand triumphs could resist 
 The matchless Persian beauty bright Statira. 
 
 Bayard. Why not Scipio, my good Lord 1 
 
 Francis. I could restore ten captives to their lovers, 
 
 Unless, forsooth, I were the captives captive ; 
 
 But never yet had power to shun the glance 
 
 Of two bright eyes, that fame had trumpeted, 
 
 Until I first had seen them, and compared 
 
 With brighter eyes, and cured my love with love. 
 
 The Greek resisting curiosity resisted two Statiras ; 
 
 The Roman saw was satisfied and just. 
 
 Let us improve this lesson in our saddle. 
 
 To horse, brave knights ! t is beauty points the way. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 SCENE II Boulogne. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK and DORSET. 
 
 Suffolk^ How far to Abbeville, my Lord 1 
 
 Dorset. Some twenty leagues. 
 
 Now answer me one question. 
 
 Suffolk. Aye, if my humble stock of knowledge, Dorset, 
 
 Will serve thy bidding. 
 
 Dorset. Well, then, my Lord Duke, I am like a traveller, who never 
 
 looks at his passport until his journey is arrested, or, perhaps, 
 until he is himself arrested. Or, rather, I am like an unskilful 
 
 navigator who runs upon a rock before he examines his chart 
 
 a nautical simile which I am sure you will appreciate, as we 
 have just now so narrowly escaped drowning. The fate of 
 some hanging rogue in the crew alone saved us. 
 
 Suffolk. But, to the question. 
 
 Dorset. Well, then, most potent sir, is this a wedding ceremony or a 
 
 death ceremony we are here upon 1 That it is of most grave im 
 port is manifest. In plain English, considering we are at last 
 in France, are you chief marshal or chief mourner here. 
 
 Suffolk. Both, my good Lord. 
 
 Dorset. In other words, then is the Princess to be married, or is she 
 
 to be buried. 
 
 Suffolk. Both, my Lord. 
 
 Dorset. Well, but which is to take place first, Suffolk for I am un 
 
 willing to be merry or sad out of time. 
 
 Suffolk. Neither, Dorset they 11 be cotemporary. 
 
20 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 Dorset. That s unlucky. I can be as sad as a tombstone at one mo 
 
 ment, and as gay as a fiddle at another. But by Thomas 
 Aquinas, I never could play at tragedy and comedy at one and 
 the same time. My muscles are so sympathetic, that when I 
 laugh on one side of the mouth I am certain to do it on the other 
 and 1 never drop a tear from one eye but that from the other 
 forthwith issues its companion. I am sure, therefore, with me 
 nature never intended any mutuality between mirth and melan 
 choly. Could you not contrive to give either death or marriage 
 precedency for the special accommodation of an old friend or 
 do you consider them the samel 
 
 Suffolk. How should it be 
 
 When Youth s consigned to the embrace of Time, 
 
 When life is fettered in the arms of Death 1 
 
 Canst read the human face, and not perceive 
 
 How fate lies lurking in the wreathed smile. 
 
 Decrepid age, corruption and decay 
 
 Prey on the vernal cheek, and blight its bloom. 
 
 I tell thee, Dorset for my grief will speak 
 
 The temple, where this union is confirmed, 
 
 Should be a sepulchre a charnal house 
 
 And bridal robes and jewels and parade 
 
 Give place to sackcloth, shrouds and tears of blood. 
 
 Dorset. Tut, man think not so deeply of this revelry ; 
 
 Kings will be kings and maids have fickle fancies. 
 
 A hundred thousand crowns will be the dowry, 
 
 An annual stipend of an equal sum, 
 
 From France to England, keeps the balance even. 
 
 Gold is an equipoise to youth and beauty 
 
 In Harry s eyes Midas is always young. 
 
 Suffolk. The feeblest impulse that affection prompts, 
 
 Is worth a kingdom. Kingdoms cannot buy it; 
 It springs spontaneous in the human heart, 
 Unbrib d unfetter d precious as the blood 
 That thrills in circling eddies through the vein 
 Offspring and guardian of life s citadel 
 Millions of tribute which the unwilling hand 
 Pays, while the soul withholds its sympathy 
 Or shrinks from the exaction ; what are they 
 But dull and slavish homage from a slave, 
 Giving what fear forbids him to refuse, 
 Or power resistless ever may enforce 1 
 What mutuality can this bespeak 
 Beyond external seeming 1 ? the base traffic 
 Of sordid worldlings wedded to themselves 
 Giving to take or yielding to receive ! 
 
 Dorset. Suffolk, forbear nor preach me into love. 
 
 What shall be done ? I 11 marry her myself 
 My fair proportions shall her dowry be; 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 21 
 
 Young arid well favour d, such is my repute, 
 I 11 match me gainst King Louis at the worst, 
 And laugh his crown to scorn. But, my Lord Charles, 
 I cannot match the hundred thousand crowns : 
 There I cry craven and renounce the fight 
 Nay, if the gold were mine, this stately figure 
 Would scarcely answer rendered a head shorter. 
 To stake my coin my heart my head together, 
 Were downright madness in this game of love. 
 
 Suffolk. Dorset, forbear. The princess moves this way. 
 
 Dorset. Then would I rather move some other way. 
 
 For by St. Paul I m chilled with my own fancy 
 And like poor Damocles, methinks I see 
 A sword suspended by a single hair 
 Over my prostrate neck. 
 
 Enter PRINCESS MARY, attended by NORFOLK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Maids of 
 
 Honour. 
 
 Princess Mary. Fate, my Lords, 
 
 Thus far upon our journey, looks propitious. 
 
 C Aside. _) A cloudless morning to a darksome day. 
 
 Have you despatched a Courier to the King 
 
 To note our progress 1 
 
 Suffolk. We have, most gracious Madam. 
 
 Princess Mary. My Lord of Norfolk, t is to your discretion 
 Your science in the forms of Foreign Courts, 
 These matters are confided. Though a princess, 
 I boast nor art nor skill in State concerns. 
 
 Enter MESSENGER. 
 Princess Mary. Well, gentle Sir what bodes this anxious haste? 
 
 Messenger. Most gracious Lady, 
 
 Commission d by the King the pride of France, 
 Led by the Duke Valois, have come to greet you, 
 And crave an audience. 
 
 Dorset. The Pride of France must rival Xerxes hosts. 
 
 C Aside to Suffolk. J 
 
 Princess Mary. Tis somewhat sudden but admit the Knights. 
 
 Dorset. So courtly Francis leads the van in love 
 
 The greater pride commands the pride of France 
 
 The King would wed by proxy. The rival Knight 
 
 That tilts for love with Francis of Valois, 
 
 Must grow into his saddle, and prove centaur 
 
 Or, by the Rood, the Frenchman will unhorse him 
 
 Dost know this Madcap ? (Aside to Suffolk. _} 
 
 Suffolk. Aye but shall know him better. See, he comes ! 
 
 4 
 
22 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 
 
 Enter FRANCIS, BAYARD, VENDOME, and others. 
 
 Francis. Your Highness pardon, 
 
 But that the freshness of our loyal duty 
 O erleaps the weak restraints of courtesy 
 We were obtrusive in this eager haste ; 
 Our love must be our warrant. 
 
 Princess Mary. My good kinsman, we are bounden to you 
 And those brave lords, in grateful memory, 
 For this prompt service please you to make known 
 To my Lord Norfolk, whom we here present, 
 The Royal will. 
 
 Francis. Your Highness knows it, Madam tis your will; 
 
 You are the Sovereign s Sovereign we your slaves. 
 
 Princess Mary. Nay, my good Lord or, an you ll have it so, 
 It is my will that these our trusty friends 
 Adjust this expedition. 
 
 Francis. A Child of France ne er parleys with his queen 
 
 .^We bow to your decree. 
 
 Prinr . ^ary. Again accept my homage, my good Knights, 
 For your kind service Suffolk and Dorset, 
 We commit our friends, during our sojourn, 
 To your special care ; 
 
 Bestow them as their merit shall deserve 
 They need no prouder welcome. How fares the King? 
 
 "" 
 
 Francis. As one must fare, on whom your Highness smiles. 
 
 Princess Mary. When left you Abbeville? 
 
 Francis. Some few hours since, good Madam. 
 
 Princess Mary. By that token, you have had a weary ride. 
 
 Francis. Not so, your Highness ; 
 
 In France we measure journeys by the object. 
 
 The globe, outstretched between the soul and its desires, 
 
 Were shorter than the tiresome tedious league 
 
 That turns the back on joy. 
 
 Princess Mary. Gentle Cousin, 
 
 Though maiden modesty would shun this praise, 
 We will not feign to misconceive your favour, 
 And thereby strain your courtesy still further. 
 You do us too much honour. Come, my lords, 
 Let me present you to our British dames, 
 And thus reward, if not repay your toil. 
 
 Exeunt Princess, Francis, Norfolk and Attendants. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 By Cupid, my good lord, this potent Prince, 
 Bears himself proudly. T is a dangerous envoy 
 lu love s concerns. There are no Alexanders 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L 
 
 But there may be Campaspes in our train. 
 Ffaith, I long d, while boasting of his riding, 
 To say he learnt it at the field of spurs. 
 Will you to the banquet 1 ? or shall he sway 
 An undivided sceptre. 
 
 Suffolk. He is a noble and right valiant prince. 
 
 Dorset. Didst mark with what a grace he seiz d her hand, 
 
 While his hawk eye traversed her b3auty o er] 
 
 Suffolk. Who can behold her, and forbear to love ] 
 
 Dorset. Who dares to love, yet dares not show his love 
 
 To the dear object that inspires it, 
 Says she s a queen in love she is a subject 
 The crown begirts her head, but not her heart 
 The heart s a woman s throne tis there she reigns 
 T is there she rules is ruled, and must be won 
 Despair not then, brave Duke bestir yourself: 
 Here is a rival worthy of your arm 
 Will you stand tamely by, and yield the prize 
 At the first onset? Shake your sorrows off / 
 I ve known you foil a dozen lords like this 
 With their own weapons, and on their own soil ; 
 Courage, then to the rescue ! en avant! 
 
 Suffolk. Fear nothing, Dorset, I 11 maintain my post. 
 
 Dorset. Yes, like a post maintain it like Lord Suffolk 
 
 The gay the gallant, and victorious Suffolk : 
 Not as a monk with cowl and cross and beads 
 Why man, you are as pale as Mistress Boleyn. 
 When we were stranded on the Gallic shores, 
 And your lack lustre eyes prey on the earth, 
 As though they sought the refuge of a grave. 
 This foolish passion is the bane of honour. 
 
 Suffolk. My Lord I thank you you have struck a chord 
 
 Within this tortur d breast, that wakes the soul 
 I 11 be myself, although my life-strings crack. 
 
 Dorset. Well said, my friend France trembled in that look. 
 
 Stand to your arms, and be as you were wont 
 I 11 wage my title to an infant s rattle, 
 We 11 foil those Mounseers yet. Now to the Banquet 
 I 11 play Patroclus you shall be Achilles. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III Banqueting RoomA Dance. 
 
 PRINCESS MARY DUKE OF VALOIS VENDOME BAYARD PERCY ANNE BO 
 LEYN Maids of Honour, and Attendants. 
 
 Francis. Who is yon fair Titania ? 
 
 Princess Mary. Young Mistress Boleyn. 
 
24 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS. 
 
 Francis. And the noble youth, who hangs upon her speech 
 
 Pymalion like in love with his own work ? 
 
 Princess Mary. Lord Harry Percy, of Northumberland. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK and DORSET. 
 
 Princess Mary. My Lord of Suffolk, you forget your charge 
 We must remind you. 
 
 Suffolk. Which charge, my princess ? 
 
 The King, your brother, placed you in my care 
 That charge I well remember if forgot 
 All other duties this must be my plea. 
 
 Bayard. Well answered, Madam 
 
 You must be merciful, when you yourself 
 Stand the excuse for error. The brave duke 
 Were much to blame, if, in regard to us, 
 He overlook the fealty that he owes 
 To fairer claims. What says my Lord Valoisl 
 
 Francis. I say acquitted. He who sins for woman, 
 
 Builds upon Adam and prescriptive right. 
 
 Suffolk. Your pardon, noble Lords your Highness pardon 
 
 I nor admit the crime nor the excuse ; 
 My first of duties, as a faithful subject, 
 Is reverence to the Princess ; this embraces 
 Submission to her will and t is her will, 
 Nay, too, it is my pride, my gallant Lords, 
 Not in obsequious service to your titles, 
 But as the guerdon of your proud exploits, 
 To greet you with the homage of my love. 
 
 Francis. Thanks, gentle sir. We only crave the boon 
 
 To supersede you in the guardianship 
 Of your fair ward. You are absolved from ours. 
 Fair lady shall it be ] 
 
 Princess Mary. We yield to your disposal, noble Cousin 
 The laws of France must govern. 
 
 Francis. Your pleasure is my law, most gracious Madam 
 
 When, and wherever known. 
 
 Princess Mary. Affairs thus settled. When shall we depart] 
 
 Francis. Might I advise the dawning of to-morrow 
 
 Shall see us on our journey th expectant King, 
 If of my mind, will scarcely brook delay. 
 
 Princess Mary. To-morrow, let it be. Meantime, my Lord, 
 We now commend you to a good repose. 
 
 (~Exit, with her train. 
 
 Bayard. What now, my Lord? You seem to stand amaz d. 
 
THE PROPHET OF SJ. PAUL 
 
 25 
 
 Francis. Amazed confounded blinded with the blaze 
 
 Of concentrated beauty. Tis gone, and all is darkness. 
 
 Bayard. Your thoughts still doat upon the proud Savoy. 
 
 Francis. As trav lers doat upon the gloomy night, 
 
 When the last ray of the descending sun 
 Tinges the West to dawn in other worlds ; 
 Didst mark her, Bayard, midst the beauteous throng 
 How she shone forth in bright pre-eminence, 
 Eclipsing all their charms? 
 
 Bayard. Mark whom, my prince 1 
 
 Francis. Mark whom ! Whom should you mark 
 
 In the whole world s wide circle but the Queen ? 
 Par excellence the Queen ! 
 
 Bayard. My Lord the King ! 
 
 Francis. Aye, Bayard well remembered ; 
 
 Mistake me not I would not play the traitor 
 
 To my great benefactor, for the worth 
 
 Of woman-kind. But, Bayard, she s an angel. 
 
 Bayard. So let her e er remain for you, my Lord 
 
 She is the King s betrothed. Her youth her charms 
 
 Enough to warm an anchorite to love, 
 
 Opposed to knightly honour and renown, 
 
 Fade like the phantoms of distempered minds 
 
 At the return of reason. Valiant Sir 
 
 Pause not to weigh your princely dignity 
 
 Against a woman s smile or both are lost. 
 
 Francis. Sam peur et sans reproche How just a tribute 
 
 To thy exalted fame. My gallant friend, 
 If royalty derived its stamp from nature, 
 Or worth inherent challenged for itself 
 The rev rence and submission which we pay 
 To worth presumptive or if regal power, 
 The right to sway the destiny of others, 
 Sprung only from a conquest o er ourselves, 
 Thou wert a native monarch. Come, my Lord, 
 You must forgive the recklessness of youth 
 Which time and your example shall reform. 
 
 Bayard. Faults self reproved are more than half atoned, 
 
 And prompt repentance does the work of mercy. 
 We 11 spaeak of it no more. Adieu, my Lord, 
 At the grey dawn, you ll find me in the saddle. (~Exit.J 
 
 Francis. Meantime, sweet rest attend you. 
 
 Now guardian saints encompass me about, 
 
 Quell my rebellious blood subdue my thoughts, 
 
 And teach the wayward spirit to avoid 
 
 The lures of love and tread the path of honour. (Exit.J 
 
26 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I State Apartments at Abbeville. 
 Enter Louis XII. and DE LONGUEVILLE. 
 
 King Louis. Most true, my faithful counsellor and friend, 
 Her beauty is as royal as her birth. 
 But still, my Lord, although the glowing charms 
 Of gay sixteen attract the roving eye, 
 The deep devotion of this widow d heart 
 Is due to worth alone. Oh, sainted Ann ! 
 
 De Dongueville. Most gracious sire ! dwell not upon your griefs, 
 But bury them, in joy. This smiling realm, 
 Emerging from the scenes of blood and strife, 
 Shall bless the royal sacrifice that gives 
 Peaceful content to all. 
 
 King Louis. Were there no other sacrifice, my Lord, 
 
 Than that to which I m doom d, by th blest shade 
 
 Of th departed, it were freely rendered. 
 
 Can you behold the queen, and not perceive 
 
 This is a bond of hands and not of hearts. 
 
 Is it then generous nay, is it just, 
 
 That doting age, forgetful of the tomb, 
 
 Should thus stretch forth its sickly, palsied hand, 
 
 To crop the bloom of youth and blight her joys 
 
 Beyond all hope of a reviving spring. 
 
 De Longueville. Her royal brother gave her to your arms. 
 
 King Louis. But, should we plead the royal brother s gift 
 To the destruction of the sister s hope ? 
 Can I receive from policy s constraint, 
 To soothe the jarring feuds of hostile realms 
 An uncomplaining but reluctant bride. 
 We say reluctant Can it be denied, 
 I place a crown of thorns upon her head, 
 And like a flower upon the blasted heath, 
 She withers, pines and dies. 
 
 De Longueville. Ambition shall supply the place of love. 
 
 What prouder title than a queen of France ? 
 
 King Louis. She shall be queen, my Lord she shall be queen, 
 For honour and our plighted word demand it : 
 But no perdition that my sinful life 
 Could doom me to hereafter, could appal me 
 Like the deep curse, that springs from blasted youth. 
 Mark then, my Lord ! let ev ry charm attend her, 
 That grateful France can lavish on her sov reign ; 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUI/S. 27 
 
 She is my daughter and a maiden queen 
 I ll guard her as a father. Still, my Lord, 
 How little fitted are lascivious courts 
 For such a charge how imminent the peril ! 
 See that some choice attendants wait upon, 
 Of her selection we confide in thee. 
 
 De Longueville. Your will shall be obeyed, most gracious sir. ("Exeunt. ) 
 SCENE II Palace Garden. 
 Enter PRINCESS MARY. 
 
 Princess Mary. The glare of day the grosser glare of pomp 
 Are past, and now the noon of night prevails. 
 Distracted and excursive thoughts return, 
 Freighted with good or ill, and cast their load 
 Of joy or grief on the expectant heart; 
 And still how sweet how beautiful is night ! 
 How mild yet how luxuriant are the rays 
 Which beam from yon cerulean monarchy 
 Pale Cynthia and all her starry train, 
 O er a tempestuous world, lull d to repose 
 Transient, short-liv d repose ! To-morrow s dawn 
 Shall wake the slumberers and renew their toil. 
 What foot obtrusive breaks upon my thoughts ? 
 Ha ! Valois here. 
 
 Enter FRANCIS. 
 
 Francis^ Alone, fair Madam wrapt in contemplation 
 
 Of the bright hosts above. Should they look down 
 And see those beauteous orbs upturn d to heav n, 
 They will desert their spheres to be outvied. 
 
 Princess Mary. In the wide circle of your qualities 
 Do you embrace astronomy, my Lord ? 
 
 Francis. The only stars I ever studied, Lady, 
 
 Are those bright eyes. Nay, do not turn them from me. 
 
 Princess Mary. My Lord my Lord, 
 
 Duly respective of your royal birth 
 
 And your proud promise, I have patient borne 
 
 With the wild raptures of a wanton tongue, 
 
 Nor check d its license. But thrice valiant prince, 
 
 It nor becomes my station as a queen 
 
 Nor matron modesty no, nor my duty, 
 
 To listen to the voice of adulation. 
 
 Francis. Bid me be dumb : but let me gaze upon thee, 
 
 Till the fraught soul shall surfeit on thy charms. 
 
 Princess Mary. Beware ! Beware, young Lord ! this reckless freedom 
 Comports not with the honour of thy name. 
 
28 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 Shall brave Valois, the pride and stay of France, 
 Waste all his glory on a fruitless passion, 
 And turn a rebel to the best of Kings ? 
 
 Francis. O, frown not thus ! say I should sacrifice 
 
 Hope s fairest visions, and abjure my fame; 
 Thy love were rich equivalent for all. 
 Proud as I am, behold me at thy feet, 
 An humble suppliant. Grant but one smile ! 
 
 Princess Mary. No more, my Lord ! Is this the gallant prince 
 Who steals on an unguarded, helpless woman, 
 To wound her ear, and stain the modest cheek 
 With base professions of unholy love ? 
 My Lord my Lord am I the Queen of France "? 
 
 Francis. The queen of Queens the sov reign of all hearts; 
 
 Forgive me, Madam, I 11 no more offend. 
 
 Princess Mary. I do forgive, upon that sole condition. 
 Francis. Then let me seal the compact on this hand. 
 
 Princess Mary. O, shame to knighthood ! Sir, release your hold, 
 Lest I alarm the guard. Where and who am II 
 Are these the sacred precincts of the palace ; 
 Or has my fancy, straying from the truth, 
 Led me into some desert drear and wild 
 Some lawless haunt, where ruffian robbers lurk 
 To prey on the defenceless 1 Leave me, sir. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK. 
 
 Suffolk. My Lord Valois. 
 
 Francis. Aye, my right valiant Duke you are the guard. 
 
 I see, fair Madam, you are well attended, 
 As suits your royal state. The Queen of France, 
 Distrustful of the valour of her subjects, 
 Rests on the prowess of an English Knight. 
 To-morrow s tournay shall requite your zeal. 
 
 Suffolk. Where er my loyal duty shall direct me, 
 
 I shall be found. I neither seek nor shun 
 The mark d distinction that your threat implies ; 
 Unworthy as I am, methinks, my Lord, 
 T were fitter that your grace should cope with me 
 In open war, than steal your laurels thus. 
 
 Francis. I 11 waste no words upon thee prove thy valour. (Draws. 
 
 Suffolk. Put up your weapon till the time shall serve. 
 
 This is no scene for blood. Valour that needs 
 The tongue s loud flourish, and a lady s eye, 
 May well be doubted, though I doubt not yours ; 
 Your courage, sir, will keep. So let us part. 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A V L S . 29 
 
 How we again shall meet how part when met, 
 Let time and fate determine. 
 
 Francis. So let it be ; 
 
 Till then, we re friends remember but till then. (~Exit.J 
 
 Princess Mary. O, Suffolk, what a wretched lot is mine ! 
 All who cling to me wither and decay ! 
 
 Suffolk. Fear nothing, Madam, I am ever near, 
 
 And while this sword can guard this throbbing breast, 
 No harm shall come to thee. Will you not trust me ? 
 
 Princess Mary. Aye, with my life ; nay more, my Lord, my honour 
 The honour of a Queen but valiant Suffolk 
 Avoid the list to-morrow the vengeful threats 
 Of the young prince denote a fatal purpose. 
 
 Suffolk. What then, fair Madam, but a forfeit life 
 
 Which none will take more freely than I give 
 What is it, but a burthen to be borne, 
 From day to day, till death removes the load ? 
 I would not wound thy ear with my fell thoughts, 
 But still, that hand, were dearest next thine own, 
 That cuts the tenure of my weary hours, 
 And soothes me to a long and last repose, 
 Who would mourn Suffolk ? 
 
 Princess Mary. Let these tears answer these reluctant tears, 
 
 Wrung from a Queen s, yet still a woman s heart: 
 Would st thou desert me in my utmost need, 
 While the storm rages, and conspiring fates 
 Pour their whole quiver on me? 
 
 Suffolk. What ! shall I prove a recreant to my King 1 
 
 A recreant too, to thee, for hated life ! 
 Shrink from the list, and see the vaunting Prince 
 Mount on my fallen crest to the vast height 
 Of his ambition, while exulting France, 
 Hails the proud victor with her thousand hands, 
 And brands me as a coward ! No, my Princess, 
 The honours that I wear were dearly won, 
 By nights of toil by days of peril past; 
 And he that tears the garland from my brow, 
 To deck his own, shall leave these temples cold, 
 And rend his trophies from the grasp of death. 
 
 Princess Mary. Pardon this anxious heart, that in thy danger 
 Saw nought beside o erlook d all sacrifice : 
 If it must be, remember in the hour 
 Of doubtful conflict shall I breathe it, Suffolk, 
 Two lives rest on thy sword ! (Exit.J 
 
 Suffolk. Am I awake? 
 
 Was the Queen here, e en now ? Was it her voice 
 5 
 
30 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS 
 
 That bade me guard my life her life in mine ! 
 Or do I dream of those delusive joys 
 That reason shall dispel ? It is no dream 
 She loves me still ; in that one precious thought, 
 A tide of transport rushes o er the soul. 
 
 SCENE TIL The Same. 
 
 Enter DORSET to SUFFOLK. 
 
 Dorset. 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 How! Is this Suffolk! 
 Certes, my brave Sir. 
 
 What ! musing on th cold inconstant moon, 
 The pale coquette that sails through wond ring stars* 
 Like earth-born planets in the giddy dance, 
 Smiling on all, and changing while she smiles ! 
 The midnight bell has toll d an hour ago. 
 
 Ha, reveller! and dost thou scoff at me? 
 Pray, by what bell, my Lord, have you kept time, 
 That thus unheeded hours should wing their flight, 
 And morning should surprise yon! 
 
 By what belle? the sweetest belle in France, 
 
 That chim d in endless pleasure. Two such eyes ! 
 
 Nay, pause there, Dorset, were there surely two ? 
 
 Two, as I live ; two dark and beaming eyes, 
 
 Two rosy lips, and, what is still more rare, 
 
 Two tongues, my Lord, one English and one French! 
 
 I cry you mercy ! you have solved the riddle : 
 
 The ladies tongues out-tongued the tongue of time, 
 
 And drown d the Abbey clock. A fair excuse ! 
 
 Divinely fair ! so soft so languishing ! 
 When met you with this paragon of charms ! 
 
 This blessed morning, at the Coronation. 
 While you stood drooping mid the gorgeous crowd, 
 And gay Valois bedeck d the kneeling Queen 
 With the resplendent crown, peering from a group 
 Of dazzling beauty, those two self-same eyes, 
 Despite of buckler guard and coat of mail, 
 Transfix d my heart. 
 
 What is the lady s title ? 
 
 Woman ! No other title could bespeal 
 
 Her worth. 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 
 
 31 
 
 But of what family 7 
 
 Celestial beings have no family. 
 
 She is herself alone. 
 Still, of what lineage 1 ? 
 
 What lineage has yon fair and radiant star, 
 That bears the stamp of an immortal hand 1 
 What orbit does it move in but its own"? 
 It shines in its own pure and pristine light : 
 Not like your fav rite moon in borrow d beams ! 
 
 Well, Dorset! but her name"? 
 
 What matters that ? 
 I never took a name for a fair lady, 
 Nor will I take a lady for her name ; 
 I was not at the christening, and, in short, 
 I know not care not ; and might I prevail, 
 By her sweet leave, I d change her name to-morrow. 
 What do you call that star? 
 
 Venus, my Lord. 
 
 Well, call her Venus, if you will have names ; 
 Though, call that star by any name you may, 
 It beams with equal splendour ; so with her, 
 With, or without a name, she is 
 
 Suffolk. What! 
 
 Dorset. A woman ! 
 
 Light of my eyes, and treasure of my soul ! 
 
 Suffolk. Pray, leave these raptures listen to a friend. 
 
 Dorset. Not I, you will convert my joy to sadness ; 
 
 Your love and mine can never sympathize ; 
 Mine is as buoyant as the breath of morn, 
 And yours as moping as a cheerless night. 
 
 Suffolk. But still, in friendship, we can sympathize ; 
 
 There we are sure responsive. Come, reveal ; 
 
 What! how now, Dorset! blood upon thy brow! 
 
 Dorset. Scratched by a lap-dog. Why do you gaze thus? 
 
 Is not the blood-stained Mars a meet companion 
 For the soft, fresh, bewitching queen of love ? 
 
 Suffolk. Nay, sport no more. You wrong our sacred friendship 
 
 By this distrust : for weary anxious years, 
 In camps in courts in grief and merriment, 
 We have been more than brothers: tell me, then, 
 What good or evil has befallen thee, 
 That I may share the one redress the other ! 
 
 Dorset. Redress my wounds, if thou art surgical, 
 
32 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 
 
 Suffolk. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Suffolk. 
 
 But do not talk of shares, or I am mute; 
 
 I 11 share with thee e en to the dregs of hope 
 
 Share title, fortune, honour all with thee: 
 
 But to the tithe part of her finger nail, 
 
 I claim her undivided as mine own. 
 
 So let her ever be ; I would not stint 
 
 The measure of thy love to sway a sceptre, 
 
 But do not thus withhold the story from me. 
 
 Thus, then, it runs ; the gorgeous pageant past, 
 I sought the beauteous dame; I sought and found her 
 Radiant in youth, encircled round by knights, 
 Mounted upon a milk-white Arab steed, 
 That curvetted with pride. Forcing my way 
 Through the adoring throng 1 , to catch her accents, 
 Which dropped like manna on the famish d soul, 
 E en then, the shrill notes of the royal trumpet 
 Alarm d the steed he plung d he rear d he fell ! 
 And, as he fell, I seiz d the trembling maid, 
 While all around stood paralyzed with horror, 
 And bore her, fainting, to a place of safety. 
 
 Perform d like Dorset but the sequel, haste. 
 
 A neighbouring castle open d to receive her; 
 Where terror soon subsided. All unknown, 
 There I remained, attendant on her couch, 
 Midst weeping dames and sympathetic lords, 
 Till, opening those mild, languid, lovely eyes, 
 She ask d for her preserver ; at her side, 
 Kneeling, I kiss d her pallid, passive hand, 
 And vow d myself her slave; e en at the word, 
 She placed this glittering chain around my neck, 
 And with her own soft fingers, bandaged thus 
 My bleeding brows, with a transparent veil, 
 Torn from her raven tresses. 
 
 How came the wound, my friend ? 
 
 In truth, I know not: 
 
 T is scarce a scar, that any eyes but love s 
 
 Could readily discover a slight blow 
 
 Struck by the horse s hoof. Here is the wound, 
 
 The cureless wound, that seals the fate of Dorset. 
 
 What! art thou melancholy? 
 
 But for a moment: a passing cloud of melancholy brightens 
 our joys; sadness is but the resting place of our winged plea 
 sure, while preparing or repairing for a renewed flight. To 
 morrow, at the tournament, I 11 wear this trophy in my 
 burgonet. 
 
 Thou dost not know the lady! knows she thee"? 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S 
 
 33 
 
 Dorset. Why, in my person, yes : and, as a knight, 
 
 Tho plainly thus attired, she needs must know me : 
 The soul s above disguise. But, as Lord Dorset, no ! 
 
 Suffolk. Thy noble nature cannot be concealed : 
 
 It breathes in every word speaks in each thought. 
 
 Dorset. Nay, pause there, Charles, nor thus deceive yourself 
 
 Tinsel and trappings still have virtue in them, 
 A cloak of frieze would cover twenty lords ; 
 But come, brave Sir, the day begins to break ; 
 Let us consult our pillows, and be wise. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
34 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I Castle Sail. 
 
 Enter STELLA, (Duchess of Montmorenci,) CHARMEAN her Attendant. 
 
 Duchess. Subdued at last, ensnar d in one short hour : 
 
 Won, though unsought so often sought unwon. 
 
 0, love, mysterious and capricious love, 
 
 Though scorn d so long, at length thou art reveng d 
 
 On my poor heart ! ("Rings the bell.J 
 
 Enter CHARMEAN. 
 
 Duchess. Hast thou yet learnt the gallant stranger s name? 
 
 Charmean. Madam, obedient to my Lady s will, 
 
 I sought him through the Court, but still in vain: 
 But, from my hasty and imperfect glance, 
 As he departed, I could e en be sworn 
 He is a gentleman. 
 
 Duchess. Whate er he be, 
 
 So near akin is gratitude to love, 
 That with my life I d pay him for my life. 
 
 Charmean. A grateful heart is always bountiful; 
 
 It must be, when it gives away itself! 
 What if the stranger prove a low born peasant, 
 Devoid alike of title, fame, and fortune 
 Shall the proud mistress of a coronet 
 Ally herself to beggary and shame ? 
 
 Duchess. Shame never dared to sit upon that brow ; 
 
 T is honour s throne Didst mark amid the throng 
 Of Lords and Nobles, how supreme he stood 
 Blanchless and dauntless, while his eagle eye 
 Surveyed, undazzled, all the glare of pomp, 
 As matters most familiar. What to him 
 Who wears great nature s patent in his breast, 
 Are all the tinsell d trappings of a Court? 
 
 Charmean. But why conceal his name or his degree ? 
 
 Duchess. Think st thou I love the name or the degree ! 
 
 Nay, tis himself. Were he ten times a lord- 
 Could his redoubled titles more than vouch 
 His innate worth, th consciousness of virtue 
 Shrinks from external proofs, and rests alone 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS. 
 
 And rests secure upon approving Heaven, 
 Without whose smile a diadem is dross, 
 And priceless jewels glitter to betray. 
 
 Charmean. Still, should he prove plebeian in his birth? 
 
 Duchess. Pray Heav n he may ; the lower his descent, 
 
 The higher his desert. Thus to emerge 
 From the dark, struggling, adverse clouds of fate, 
 Like the bright sun from a tempestuous sky, 
 Or the dark bosom of the stormy main, 
 All radiant and majestic in his glory, 
 How much more godlike, than when rosy hours 
 And gentle fanning zephyrs cling around 
 His golden chariot, and enamour d shed 
 Their fragrant incense o er its burnish d track ! 
 I tell thee, Charmean, forty thousand lords, 
 Fair weather lords, in their united worth, 
 Were not the tithe of nature s nobleman ! 
 If thou wouldst bind thy mistress ever to thee, 
 Devise some means consistent with my fame, 
 To win this truant back. 
 
 Charmean. To-morrow is the tournament, my Lady, 
 
 When, if the stranger be of noble blood, 
 Or knightly bearing, nay, whate er he be, 
 You shall discover him. 
 
 Duchess. True, my good Charmean, at the parting moment, 
 
 I threw a golden chain around his neck, 
 Which, if he owe me half the love I bear, 
 Will mark him as the object of my search; 
 Still, should this fail, there is a sympathy 
 Stronger than chains, that draws and binds me to him. 
 Prepare thou then, forthwith we will begone ; 
 If he be there, whatever his disguise, 
 This faithful heart shall find him. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II Room in the Palace. 
 Enter DORSET. 
 
 Dorset. By Cupid, I m undone! Dorset s no more ! 
 
 I ve run the gauntlet of a thousand eyes 
 Unscathed unhurt ; and now, to perish thus 
 By one fair sorc ress, and a single glance : 
 T is the contagion of vile company! 
 Here Suffolk breathes his soul away in sighs 
 For the reversion of the beauteous Queen ; 
 There Percy wails and pines the livelong night, 
 In pensive sonnets to fair Mistress Anne : 
 
 35 
 
36 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S 
 
 While gay Valois, with troops of troubadours, 
 
 Infects the realm with all-pervading love, 
 
 As with a foul, unsparing pestilence. 
 
 The Devil, too, must add his pranks to theirs, 
 
 And, in the shape of that white Arab steed, 
 
 Transfer a lovely burthen to my arms, 
 
 To mar my peace forever. 
 
 Enter FRANCIS. 
 
 Francis. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Dorset. 
 Francis. 
 
 Dorset. 
 Francis. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 How now, brave Marquis ! a philosopher ! 
 Wrapt and absorb d in thought ! 
 
 Most true, your Grace, 
 I am engaged in solving of a riddle, 
 Would puzzle Solon and his wise compeers; 
 Pray, what is love ? 
 
 What all men feel what no man understands ; 
 Folly of the wise, and wisdom of the fool ; 
 The coward s solace ; the brave man s reward ; 
 Wealth of the poor, and poverty of wealth. 
 
 Canst thou prescribe its remedy, my Lord I 
 
 Poison is cured by poison love by love ; 
 If thou wilt teach me to retain the passion, 
 I 11 teach thee to subdue it. 
 
 Well, proceed. 
 
 Nay, to thy lesson first. 
 
 Thus, then, it runs : 
 Wouldst thou faithful be in love, 
 And its rich enjoyment prove, 
 Scorn the treach rous lures of art, 
 Seek for beauty in the heart; 
 Outward charms shall early fade, 
 Time the fairest brow invade : 
 Virtue only can supply 
 Beauty that shall never die. 
 
 Nay, my Lord, he must be a redoubtable knight that will 
 enter the lists against love, poetry and virtue A poetical lover 
 
 is beyond all human relief. Thy case is hopeless Thy love 
 
 is like the Lernaean hydra : it has a hundred heads. I engaged 
 merely to encounter the rosy cheek Cupid, with his bow and 
 quiver. If you are for monsters, my Lord, I decline the combat. 
 Who is the saint of your idolatry Her name ? 
 
 That is another branch of the problem that I have yet to 
 learn; perhaps your Highness can assist me there, for, in 
 truth, my Lord, if she be not found, I am lost. 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS 
 
 37 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 And if she be found you are not the less lost. 
 
 But, my Lord Duke, you have not redeemed your pledge ; 
 whether your remedy be infallible or not, I am still entitled to 
 the benefit of the instruction: a touch of royalty is said to be 
 a medicament in cases of King s Evil; it is a sovereign cure 
 at least. Now, my Lord, to your muse. 
 
 I am much more at home with the graces, good Dorset- 
 Nevertheless, as fits of sudden love, like other suddeu dis 
 asters, are the frequent result of the mercurial temperament 
 of the times, like a prudent Leech, I am generally prepared 
 with an abundant stock of recipes, and will supply you 
 with one at random from my budget. If there should be more 
 physic than poetry in it, though it may be less palatable, it will 
 still be better adapted to your condition, than if it contained 
 more poetry than physic. It was a dose prepared for myself, 
 but the occasion having gone by, it is heartily at your service; it 
 may not prove wholly inefficacious, though hastily compounded^ 
 
 Love, thou fickle, fond deceiver, 
 All thy shafts are sped in vain : 
 
 I defy thy empty quiver, 
 And triumph in thy pain ! 
 
 Hope not then to conquer me : 
 
 Wings alone are left to thee; 
 
 Hie thee to the Paphian grove : 
 
 I disdain thy malice, Love ! 
 
 All thy wiles are known to me : 
 
 I despise thy witchery ! 
 
 Bravely done, my Lord, if you can but maintain it! Pray 
 proceed. 
 
 Whosoe er would vanquish Love, 
 
 First must bow beneath his sway : 
 All his wayward arts must prove : 
 
 All his stern decrees obey; 
 Till, in some auspicious hour, 
 Vainly dreaming of his power, 
 While he self-secure reposes, 
 Listless on his bed of roses : 
 Seize the faithless, false deceiver, 
 Strip him of his bow and quiver: 
 Bind him in his silken toils, 
 Crush him with his wanton spoils; 
 With relentless fury fraught, 
 Practise all the ills he taught. 
 
 But suppose he should never sleep, my Lord, but should be 
 eontiuually sighing and weeping, and billing and cooling 
 What then ? 
 
 List not to his melting sighs, 
 Pause not on his ruby lip, 
 
38 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULS. 
 
 Glance hot on his streaming eyes, 
 
 Nor Hyblaean accents sip. 
 Toy not with his sunny hair : 
 Ev ry ringlet is a snare. 
 Pierce him with his fatal dart, 
 Reckless, thoughtless of the smart; 
 Blind, unarm d, without a pinion 
 Banish the delusive minion; 
 Thus thus only shalt thou rest, 
 Blessing, and forever blest ! 
 
 Dm-set. Admirable theory, my Lord ! It was my theory yesterday. 
 
 There is but one objection to it. 
 
 Francis. Pray? what is that 1 
 
 Dorset. It is not practicable : I can t swallow the prescription ; I 
 
 have full confidence in the experience of the Doctor, yet the 
 nostrum is more odious than the disease. I cannot find it in my 
 stomach alias my heart to adopt your course of regimen! 
 
 Francis. Then you may dismiss the physician : for your case is incu 
 
 rable. But come, to be serious, I 11 prove your friend ; I ve 
 learnt the story of your late exploit, and will go far to serve 
 you. I know the lady. 
 
 Dorset. Her name ! 
 
 Francis. Let it suffice : the proudest name in France, and that she 
 
 herself is equal to her birth. -But, what assurance hast thou 
 of her love 1 
 
 Dorset. None but mine own ! 
 
 Francis. Upon that principle, my Lord, she was at one time devoted 
 
 to me, as I was entirely devoted to her ; the illusion lasted for 
 nine days, the full limit of love s wonders, when she dispelled 
 it, and satisfied me that your principle is an unsafe one. If that 
 were surety, scores of youthful lords might well dispute your 
 title. But the tournay waits : the lady shall decide. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Twist. 
 
 Jester. 
 
 SCENE III Street in front of the Palace. 
 Enter AMAREL and TWIST, (~a tailor. J 
 
 The tournament! the tournament! O, there will be rare 
 sport, rare jousting and tilting! since the time of Amadis, there 
 has been nothing like it. O that I were a knight ! 
 
 Why, so thou art ! a threefold knight, a knight of the shears, 
 a knight of tape and buckram, and a knight of the lists. The 
 thimble shall be thy shield, the goose thy buckler, and the 
 needle thy sword. What better appointments couldst thou de- 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A U L S . 39 
 
 sire ? Besides, thou shalt live by thy knight service, which is 
 more than can be predicted of this day s champions. 
 
 Twist. My good Amarel, what part take you in the pageant? 
 
 Jester. The fool s part, truly, namely, the best part : the looking-on 
 
 part; he who takes more, may chance to take a cracked crown. 
 
 Twist. Couldst thou not get me a place ? Thou hast favour at court. 
 
 Jester. Thy best place is the shop-board. This day should be kept 
 
 by thyself, the armourer, and the surgeon, as a jubilee, in all 
 time to come. 
 
 Twist. Why, sweet Amarel 1 
 
 Jester. Because your joint skill shall be put into liberal requisition 
 
 upon such occasions; thou shalt repair the doublet and the hose : 
 the armourer the breast-plates, casques and glaives : and the 
 surgeon the fractured bones ; of all which, either there will be 
 no lack, or I am no prophet. 
 
 Twist. Does his Grace, the King, attend the sports 1 
 
 Jester. Aye, what is left of him : though, by the mass, death tilts 
 
 with him so closely, it is supposed this effort will prove fatal. 
 
 Twist. Heaven guard his royal life. 
 
 Jester. Come now, Twist, change vestments with me : I doff the 
 
 motley in thy favour. 
 
 Twist. Wherefore, sweet Jester 1 
 
 Jester. Because thou art the greater fool ; thou prayest unwisely : 
 
 think of the realm in mourning ! The King s death will be 
 more to thee than his life ! Pray not then against a full pocket : 
 t is the nobility of thy craft, thy very sovereignty, the only dif 
 ference between thee and the King, rightly considered, is but 
 the difference between hat and breeches ; he wears his crown 
 on his head, and thou carriest them in thy poche. Be chary 
 then of thy chances, and forget not thou hast a friend at Court: 
 a firm friend, one who has no changeable habits, except those 
 which he wears outside, and for which he is indebted to thee. 
 
 Twist. Most true, Master Amarel. 
 
 Jester. Haste then to thy mystery, while I betake myself to mine. 
 
 Hark! the clarion sounds! vanish thou, remnant? 
 
 Twist. Adieu adieu, Master Amarel ! but wilt thou report to me 
 
 the order of the list ? 
 
 Jester. 1 will report to thee to the last stitch to the last basting, 
 
 and thou shalt exult amidst the carnage of lace, silk, em 
 broidery and broadcloth. Adieu Adieu. 
 
 C Exeunt in opposite directions. J 
 
40 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 5. 
 
 SCENE IV Tournament Court Procession King and Queen take their seats 
 in the centre of the Balcony, while the Ladies arrange themselves in the order of 
 their rank, on either side, with their Attendants Lastly, Enter STELLA OF MONT- 
 MORENCI, with CHARMEAN, who take their seats near to the Queen. 
 
 King Louis. My Lord Valois. 
 
 Francis. Most gracious Sir. 
 
 King Louis. This pageant which, in honour of the Queen, 
 (A poor requital for so rich a gift,) 
 We have appointed, must exact from thee 
 Those duties which disease and age withhold 
 In our own person. 
 
 Francis. Your Majesty 
 
 Confides to an unworthy deputy 
 Those powers which royalty alone should sway ; 
 May Heav n the grievous malady remove, 
 That thus transfers to my reluctant hand 
 An office that so well becomes the King. 
 
 King Louis. Heaven will remove it: there alone we trust ! 
 Think of me as a pageant in this pageant ; 
 Life s show will soon be over ! I have lived 
 Surrounded by my loving, faithful subjects : 
 So would I die. Pray let the tilt proceed. 
 
 C Trumpet Enter Herald, Knights, and Pages, wearing their respective colours: 
 and, after kneeling to the King and Queen, bow before their Mistresses, and pass 
 off the Stage into the Lists. J 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK, magnificently attired, and DORSET in black armour, engaged in 
 conversation visors down. 
 
 King Louis. My Lord Valois, what stranger knights are those, 
 Who pause and parley gravely with each other, 
 
 Regardless of the jousts ? Inquire their names! 
 
 (To the Herald.} 
 
 Stella. T is he, my Charmean ! O, I should expire, 
 
 To see him bow before some haughty dame : 
 While all neglected, this poor, fluttering heart, 
 Pants for a passing smile, and pants in vain ! 
 
 Charmean. Fear nothing, Lady ! he surveys unmoved, 
 
 This host of charms, as one whose soul is fixed ! 
 See st thou that chain entwin d around his crest? 
 
 Stella. T is mine ! t is mine ! Could we attract his eye ! 
 
 Methinks the very tumult of my heart 
 Might lure him to me ! 
 
 (FRANCIS, SUFFOLK, and DORSET advance towards the King, 
 visors raised. ) 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUI/S. 41 
 
 Francis. My Liege, 
 
 The Duke of Suffolk, and Lord Marquis Dorset. 
 
 King Louis. England s Grand Marshal, and his gallant friend : 
 Pylades, and Orestes ! Let them approach. 
 (To Suffolk.} Most noble Duke, it grieves us to perceive, 
 Holding ourselves a debtor for your service, 
 That our fair realm, in its assembled charms, 
 Finds you unmov d, and leaves the debt unpaid ! 
 Thou art the foster brother of the Queen : 
 So shalt thou wear her colours for our sake. 
 
 Suffolk. Unworthy as I am, most Royal Sir, 
 
 Still more unworthy should I stand approv d, 
 By shrinking from this guerdon. 
 
 (Kneels, and the Queen throws a rich scarf over his neck.} 
 
 King Louis. My valiant Marquis, from your restless eye, 
 
 We might do violence to some choice foregone, 
 Should we select for you. 
 
 Dorset. Thanks to your Highness: being somewhat dazzled, 
 
 The doubt is rather where I should not choose, 
 Than where I should. 
 
 Stella. Now, Charmean : now, while he approaches us. 
 
 ( "CHARMEAN drops her Lady^s Glove DORSET raises, and turns to present it 
 to STELLA. J 
 
 Dorset. Fair Lady : 
 
 By the Dragon and St. George! tis my Divinity! 
 Fair Lady, chance has so far favoured me. 
 With this dear token, may I dare to hope, 
 You will vouchsafe to bless that happy chance, 
 And seal it mine forever ! 
 
 Stella. Who wins by chance by chance may lose his gains. 
 
 Dorset. Therefore I crave your warrant for my spoils. 
 
 Stella. My Lord, you are a traitor to your faith : 
 
 I grant no largess to a knight in chains. 
 
 Dorset. Let me be ever thus, when bound by thee. 
 
 Princess Mary. Sweet Montmorenci, be not obdurate : 
 Let me be mediator. Noble Dorset, 
 She must relent: be earnest in thy suit; 
 Thou were not born to shame in love or war ! 
 Come, yield ! bright Stella, yield ! 
 
 Your Highness wills it ! 
 The field is won, when majesty and beauty 
 Espouse the cause of valour: but, remember, 
 If thou should st prove victorious in the fight, 
 I scorn divided glory! all, or nothing! 
 
42 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Herald. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Jester. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Jester. 
 
 King Louis. 
 Attendant, 
 
 All were too worthless for so rich a prize. 
 ( Trumpets sound FRANCIS, SUFFOLK, and DORSET enter Lists. _) 
 
 Now, sound the charge, and Heaven defend the right ! 
 
 and French and English Attendants in the fore-ground. J 
 
 Valois ! Valois ! St. Denis and Valois ! 
 
 See, where victorious Francis spurs his steed, 
 
 Full in the centre of the English knights. 
 
 O, gallant Prince! Now, he assails proud Suffolk! 
 
 Nay, t is the young Lord Percy ! By St. 
 His casque was forg d in Vulcan s armory, 
 Or, it were cleft in twain ! Percy s unhors d ! 
 Requiescat in pace, valiant youth ! 
 
 C Shouts within Valois ! Valois ! 
 
 See ! see ! behold the knight in sable armour, 
 How gallantly he dashes on the foe ! 
 Observe the well pois d spear, the lofty bearing ! 
 Now now, defend thee knight ! t is all in vain ! 
 He hurls him to the earth ! 
 
 (Shouts Dorset! Dorset!} 
 
 Now, Francis charges again ! He is a very comet in the 
 field! 
 
 True ! true ! but, mark ye, he has encountered a fixed star ; 
 he is unhorsed by noble Brandon ! unhors d and wounded! Ha! 
 Suffolk is now attacked by a huge knight! tis the Bavarian 
 Hercules Hold thy own, brave Suffolk ! Ah ! the blow from the 
 battle-axe of the German has brought the Duke to embrace his 
 saddle-bow ! Good night, brave Suffolk ! 
 
 (~Shouts Bavaria! Bavaria! J 
 
 (Queen shrieks and faints. J 
 Help ! help ! the Queen swoons ! Sound the retreat ! 
 
 Now, behold Suffolk regains his seat : his falchion gleams 
 in the air ; it descends like a thunderbolt ! Peace to Bavaria ! 
 
 (Retreat sounded Shouts Suffolk! Suffolk! Suffolk! J 
 
 (Re-enter the Knights receive their rewards and tokens -Jlourish 
 of Trumpets, and curtain falls, while the Queen is in the act 
 of placing a garland on the brow of Suffolk, and Stella upon 
 that of Dorset. J 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL**. 43 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I Street in front of the Palace. 
 Enter AMAREL and TWIST. 
 
 Jester. Well, Twist, I have thus kept faith with thee. Thou know st 
 
 now from helm to hauberk, nay, from head to heel, the day s 
 adventure. 
 
 Twist. Were none of the wounds mortal, good Master Amarel ? 
 
 Jester. None, but those inflicted by the ladies glances. Ha ! Buck 
 
 ram, thou hast an eye to business thou would st not loose 
 customers. The Bavarian must have had a glimpse at the 
 great secret, for his eye gleamed like a firebrand when he re 
 ceived the blow upon the sconce. 
 
 Twist. How did his highness endure his toil ? Did not his strength 
 
 desert him ? 
 
 Jester. No but his weakness did not sustain him ; for, as I predict 
 
 ed, he swooned at the close, and his royal life is despaired of. 
 I saw the physician after he left the good King, e en now. 
 
 Twist. What said he > 
 
 Jester. He said nothing looked mysteriously mystery and mischief 
 
 go together. He shook his head and after that comes shak 
 ing hands and taking leave. I fear it is all over with the poor 
 King. But he will have a gallant successor. Yet would I 
 have given more for the King s possession than the Duke s re 
 version, while in the hands of that dare-devil Englishman. 
 Why he treated the heir presumptive with no more deference 
 than he would his grandmother s farthingale. 
 
 Twist. Most marvellous! 
 
 Jester. I tell thee, Twist, he cut and slashed him, as thou would st 
 
 a small pattern I thought it was all over with France. Never 
 theless, the brave Valois, by the rapidity of his blows, made 
 the fire fly, like sunbeams, about the helmet of his adversary, 
 until, at length, the Bavarian, by a blow from his battle-axe, 
 changed the complexion of the fight. 
 
 Twist. Valiantly done. What did Suffolk then 1 
 
 Jester. Wherefore, in return, Suffolk changed the Bavarian s com 
 
 plexion. The Queen s shriek operated like magic upon him 
 for, raising himself in his seat, after scarcely recovering from 
 7 
 
44 THE PROPHET OF S T . . P A U L S . 
 
 the blow, he dealt his antagonist such a stroke over the casque 
 as to place him hors du combat. A moiety of such blows upon 
 the paunch^ would have knocked the giant s brains out but, 
 thanks to dulness, his pate was invulnerable, and only slightly 
 suffered from the concussion between steel and lead. But delay 
 me no longer, good knight of the shears cut short the thread 
 of thy discourse. 
 
 Twist. One more word, Master Amarel. Thou goest now to the 
 
 Palace! 
 
 Jester. Aye, forsooth I thou hast measured my purpose rightly : 
 Where else should a fool go ? Tis his only abiding place! 
 " Birds of a feather," you know 
 
 Twist. Well, then, wilt thou make interest for me there with the 
 
 great ones ! There will be a change of fashion with the change 
 of times ! 
 
 Jester. Verily I will! Nay, thy own merit shall plead for thee! 
 
 They can do less without thee, than thou canst without them J 
 Go thy way, Twist, and balance my account upon thy ledger 
 with a friend at Court! 
 
 ("Exeunt different ways.J 
 
 SCENE II Room in the Palace. 
 Enter SUFFOLK and DORSET, from opposite sides of the stage. 
 
 Dorset. The game s your own, my Lord. The King is dead. 
 
 Suffolk. Dead ! Dorset 1 Nay, prithee, do not mock me ! 
 
 Dorset. E en now, I met the posting messenger 
 
 Full fraught with the sad tidings Bent to know 
 All that pertained to thee, I wrung them from him, 
 And sooth d compunctious conscience with a bribe. 
 
 Suffolk. Thou art the truest and the best of friends. 
 
 Dorset. Why, I am happy Montmorency s mine! 
 
 And, if you are the man 1 hold my friend, 
 Scarce shall the sun set on the obsequies 
 Of the departed King, ere you assert 
 A lover s right, and wed the widowed Queen. 
 
 Suffolk. What, art thou mad ? Will the despotic Prince, 
 
 Himself devoted to the lovely Queen, 
 Approve this union, and defeat his hopes ? 
 
 Dorset. Approve it ? No! But I approve it, Suffolk, 
 
 And crave no royal signet. Some league hence 
 Stands a Carthusian Convent, where a priest, 
 Won by my gold, this very night shall wait, 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. P A t L S . 
 
 To crown triumphant friendship with his blessing, 
 
 And register the vows of wedded faith. 
 
 What should he fear whom Heaven smiles upon ? 
 
 Suffolk. Ah, Dorset! for myself, I have no fears; 
 
 But can I sacrifice the peace the life 
 Of one who, in confiding, generous love, 
 Builds all her happiness and joy on me 1 ? 
 
 Dorset. Resign her, then : Bestow her on your rival. 
 
 Your boasted love is like the cataract 
 Which foams and rages, while impediments 
 Obstruct its swelling surge : Give it full sway, 
 And, lo! its silvery stream glides gently on, 
 And lulls itself to sleep, with its own music : 
 Or, like an o erspent Gladiator, who, 
 Triumphant in the ring, when vict ry s spoils 
 Plash on his eye, is powerless to grasp them; 
 And dies, deploring, all his struggles past ! 
 
 Suffolk. Give me thy hand : T is but one effort more ! 
 
 Despair and Hope distract my tortured heart 
 By a divided reign neither will yield ; 
 And thus I give pre-eminence to one, 
 Or shun them both, in death. 
 
 Dorset. Bravely resolved ! Talk of despair and death ! 
 
 Who lives to love, must ever love to live 
 Who dies to love, might almost love to die : 
 In life or death, my motto still shall be, 
 Firm hands, warm hearts, and love s supremacy ! 
 
 (Exeunt. J 
 
 SCENE III Room in the Palace hung with mourning 
 clining upon a Divan. 
 
 MARY re 
 
 Princess Mary. u Maiden mother throneless queen 
 
 Widow in her wedding state !" - 
 Thus far my doom s accomplished ; what remains, 
 If the prophetic spell, be good for good, 
 As well as evil, shall repair the past. 
 Lie still, my throbbing heart, and do not mock 
 These melancholy trappings. How awful is the scene, 
 When weeping sorrow clings around the tomb 
 Of the departed ! but more awful still 
 The artificial, empty, cold disguise 
 Of outward grief, when all within is joy ! 
 
 Enter Attendant. 
 Attendant. Madam, a holy father craves admittance. 
 
4C THE PROPHET OF ST. PAULAS. 
 
 Princess Mary. Let him approach. Heaven s ghostly messenger 
 Becomes the house of death. 
 
 (Exit Attendant, and enter Prophet. J 
 
 Prophet, Benedicite, fair daughter ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Thanks ! reverend friar ! to your holy purpose. 
 
 Prophet. Dost thou not know me "? 
 
 Princess Mary. Ah ! that voice that look but still it cannot be ! 
 
 The waves divide us. Speak, quickly ! who art thou ? 
 Why art thou here ? 
 
 Prophet. Madam, at your bidding Know st thou this pledge, 
 
 (Presenting a RingJ 
 And the assurance that attended it : 
 " Should time restore me to the blessings I have lost, 
 Present thou then this ring, and name thy boon ; 
 T is thine, upon the promise of a princess !" 
 
 Princess Mary. Those blessings unrestored, yet name thy boon. 
 Prophet. The hand that wore that ring, and gave it value ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Audacious slave ! Am I then sunk so low, 
 The sister and the relict of a king, 
 That base-born vassals, wandering mendicants 
 Should dare ! 
 
 Prophet. Rely upon your royal word. 
 
 Princess Mary. Name your reward, and take it. 
 Prophet. Still thy hand. 
 
 Princess Mary. Unworthy as thou art, if I must speak, 
 
 And tell thee what thy science should divine, 
 That hand is not mine own. 
 
 Prophet. I know it all, and therefore t is I claim it : 
 
 T was plighted to young Suifolk. 
 
 Princess Mary. Was, is, and shall be, dark Inquisitor ! 
 
 le pledge : 
 
 J 
 
 Prophet. Those blessed words redeem the double pledge : 
 
 Behold him at thy feet ! (Throwing off his disguise. _ 
 
 Princess Mary. Amazement! Suifolk! 
 
 Suffolk. Aye, lady ! and the Prophet of Saint Paul s ! 
 
 Princess Mary. Take thy reward this free and willing hand 
 Was thine, is thine, and shall be thine forever ! 
 
 Suffolk. Oh, matchless love ! thy triumph is complete ! 
 
 The prophecy s fulfilled! 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 1 S. 47 
 
 " Broken vows again are plighted. 
 Sundered hearts once more united." 
 
 Princess Mary. Not yet, my Lord ; I tremble, while I think 
 How far voluptuous Francis may exert 
 The sovereign power to crush these budding hopes. 
 
 Suffolk. England is open to us. 
 
 Princess Mary. Ttiere, my ambitious, arbitrary brother, 
 Moved by new schemes of secret policy, 
 Again shall sway my fortunes to his will. 
 Alas, my Lord ! the light that gleams upon us, 
 Serves but to gild the sky s impending horrors, 
 And render fate more fearful ! 
 
 Suffolk. Nay, droop not, Love Hope still shall dawn upon us ; 
 
 And, like the breaking of a glorious day, 
 Scatter the gathering clouds, that mar our peace. 
 Trust to my guidance ; and, in one short hour, 
 I II clasp thee in that longing, lov d embrace, 
 Which kings may envy, but dare not dissolve. 
 Nay, do not shrink ! this moment seals our doom ! 
 Hard by, a lone sequestered convent stands, 
 Where a Carthusian priest, won to our cause, 
 With Dorset and fair Montmorency, waits 
 To bless our union, and confirm thee mine 
 Forever mine beyond the reach of chance ! 
 
 Queen. Oh, Suffolk! I should ill requite thy love, 
 
 Thy all-enduring and unchanging love, 
 Could I deny thee aught ! Receive my hand ; 
 My heart was ever thine. 
 
 Suffolk. Precious precious gift 
 
 The rich reward of pains and perils past 
 The glorious harbinger of future bliss ! 
 Let us away evil surrounds us here ; 
 The very walls of palaces are spies, 
 And note our inmost thoughts ! Away ! then love. 
 
 Queen. Lead on, my Lord ! When arm d in pure affection, 
 
 The heart forgets its fears, and covets danger ; 
 Sever d from thee, life loses all its charms, 
 And death were welcome, in thy constant arms ! 
 
 CExeunt.J 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Enter AMAREL and TWIST. 
 
 Jester. Yes, yes ; it is all over, Twist. Good cause forsooth for the 
 
 Queen s swooning and the King s dying. Dux fugit, et Dux 
 
48 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL S. 
 
 fcemina facti which means, when correctly rendered, that the 
 Queen and the Duke have run off together. 
 
 Twist. What Queen -what Duke 1 
 
 Jester. Why, dolt, our Queen, and the English Duke. The whole 
 
 court is scandalized thereby. The new King, in person, attend 
 ed by his guards, has already set off in pursuit. I offered my 
 service, too, but folly was unnecessary. And why, dost sup 
 pose ? 
 
 Twist. Because wisdom was better suited to the occasion. 
 
 Jester. Thou hast it not. It was because there were fools enough en 
 
 gaged in the fools errand, without me. I regret not the loss of 
 the employment. Whether the case be of king or subject, 
 prince or peasant, lord or vassal, I m for the sovereignty of 
 love. Success to the fugitives say I. 
 
 Twist. Yet, I like not these private ceremonies, good master Amarel % 
 
 Births, funerals, and marriages, should be well attended, for 
 example sake. 
 
 Jester. Ay, and for the sake of thy vocation, for it comes to this. 
 
 The loss of a royal wedding is some thousands of francs out of 
 thy coffers. But console thyself, Twist, thy loss has, no doubt 
 been the gain of some deserving priest, and thus shalt thou, even 
 against thy will, lay up treasures for thyself in Heaven. But, 
 by St. Snip, thou must alter much, ever to enjoy them. 
 
 Twist. Alter ! am I not mending my habits every day ? 
 
 Jester. Thou mendest the habits of thy customers, but thine own ? 
 
 instead of being out at the knees, which would imply a pious 
 and becoming propensity, are woefully out at the pockets and 
 the elbows. Cast off these rags of iniquity, and put on the 
 raiment of righteousness, or rest assured thou wilt hereafter 
 undergo the fate of thy own goose, with this difference, that 
 thou shalt be heated but once, and that shall be forever. Re 
 flect on this and repent. Pray more and cabbage less. 
 
 (Exeunt.J 
 
 SCENE V Carthusian Convent. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK PRINCESS DORSET STELLA PERCY ANNA BOLEY*N FRIAR 
 
 and Attendant. 
 
 Dorset. Now, reverend friar ! to your sacred office 
 
 The temporal symbols of eternal love ; 
 Haste ! join our hands by holy mother church ! 
 The times forbid delay! 
 
 Friar. The Heavens forbid a rash irreverent haste : 
 
 All forms must be observed. 
 
THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUL 
 
 49 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Friar. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Francis. 
 Friar. 
 
 Dorset. 
 
 Why, ghostly father, tis an easy service, 
 United in affection as we are, 
 And waiting but thy blessing on the union, 
 Thou may st dispense with tedious ceremony. 
 When votaries reluctant kneel before thee, 
 Omit no form that binds them to each other, 
 Lest struggling, they escape and shame thy work : 
 That is a work of form, and must be formal, 
 Or it is naught : but here our willing hearts 
 Are coupled to thy hand and, though unbound, 
 They cleave together, and require no tie 
 But thy frail outward tenure. 
 
 Approach, my children, and receive from me, 
 
 The humble instrument of Heaven s high will, 
 
 Those sacred sanctions of devoted love, 
 
 Which last beyond the tomb ! ( Knocking from without. J 
 
 What noise is this 1 What sacrilegious foot 
 
 Breaks on this cloistered silence ? 
 
 Proceed, good Abbot! Be not thus dismayed : 
 
 He who intrudes upon this ceremony, 
 
 Digs his own grave : this sword s his epitaph ! 
 
 C Francis , from without. J 
 
 A royal wedding, and the king no guest! 
 
 T is the king s voice ! we are undone, my Lord ! 
 
 Thy office is undone, thou prosing priest, 
 
 Fit only for some slow funereal rite, 
 
 Hymen s bright torch grows dim within thy grasp, 
 
 As a sepulchral lamp ! Your pleasure, sir ! 
 
 Enter FRANCIS. 
 
 My Lord, I know your purpose. Listen then to me : 
 
 I claim this lady as my wedded wife, 
 
 By her own free consent ; and he who severs 
 
 Our united hearts, first carves his way through mine. 
 
 Put up your swords. I profit by thy counsel, 
 Noble Duke: "This is no scene for blood." 
 
 Nay, but it shall be, e er I yield my right 
 To any prince or king in Christendom. 
 
 Have we no rights, my Lord 1 Shall it be said 
 By after-ages, in reproach of France, 
 That her fair queen, distrustful of our faith, 
 Pronounced her marriage-vow at the lone shrine 
 
50 
 
 Suffolk. 
 Dorset. 
 
 Stella. 
 Francis. 
 
 Stella. 
 Francis. 
 
 THE PROPHET OF ST. PAUI/S. 
 
 Of a sequestered abbey 1 
 
 No, valiant sir! this must not, shall not be ! 
 
 I claim the royal warrant to dispose, 
 
 Not gainst her love, but with her plighted love, 
 
 Of that fair hand. Fair madam, by your leave ! 
 
 {places her hand in that of Suffolk. J 
 
 Pardon the wrong we ve done you, gracious Sire, 
 By our unjust suspicions. Kneeling, thus, 
 We pray forgiveness, and invoke upon you 
 A life of glory and a death of peace. 
 
 Your highness is a most efficient priest. 
 Despairing of your medicine, you perceive 
 I yield me, like a martyr, to my fate, 
 And thus embrace my chains. 
 
 May they be ever light but never fragile. 
 
 What, fair Cousin, a most loyal subject, 
 Obsequious to thy queen and her example, 
 Thou woulds t wed too transfer thy beauty 
 To a foreign clime, and leave my realms a waste. 
 
 My gratitude, my liege, shall still remain, 
 And breathe a holier incense round thy throne 
 Than beauty can impart. 
 
 We thus secure it Dorset, she is thine ! 
 A monarch s gift, and worthy of a monarch. 
 
 Fearing that the publication of an Errata in the preceding work, might be al 
 most as long as the work itself, we trust to the judgment of the readers for the 
 correction of errors. 
 
( OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CAI 
 
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THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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