The Count of Narbonne Part 6

_Jaq._ She faints; Her gentle spirits could endure no more.

Ha! paler still! Fabian, thy arm; support her.

She stirs not yet.

_Fab._ Soft, bear her gently in.

[_ADELAIDE is carried out._

SCENE II.

_Enter COUNT, followed by AUSTIN._

_Aust._ I do believe thee very barbarous; Nay, fear thy reason touch'd; for such wild thoughts, Such b.l.o.o.d.y purposes, could ne'er proceed From any sober judgment;--yet thy heart Will sure recoil at this.

_Count._ Why, think so still; Think me both ruffian-like, and lunatic; One proof at least I'll give of temperate reason,-- Not to be baited from my fix'd design By a monk's ban, or whining intercession.

_Aust._ Thou canst not mean to do it.

_Count._ Trust thine eyes.

Thybalt! bring forth the prisoner; bid my marshal Prepare an axe. The ceremony's short; One stroke, and all is past. Before he die, He shall have leave to thank your G.o.dliness, For speeding him so soon from this bad world.

_Aust._ Where is the right, the law, by which you doom him?

_Count._ My will's the law.

_Aust._ A venerable law!

The law by which the tiger tears the lamb, And kites devour the dove. A lord of France, Dress'd in a little delegated sway, Strikes at his sovereign's face, while he profanes His functions, trusted for the general good.

_Count._ I answer not to thee.

_Aust._ Answer to Heaven.

When call'd to audit in that sacred court, Will that supremacy accept thy plea, "I did commit foul murder, for I might?"

_Count._ Soar not too high; talk of the things of earth.

I'll give thee ear. Has not thy penitent, Young Isabel, disclos'd her pa.s.sion to thee?

_Aust._ Never.

_Count._ Just now, her coldness to my son, You said, bespoke her heart preoccupied.

The frail and fair make you their oracles; Pent in your close confessionals you sit, Bending your reverend ears to amorous secrets.

_Aust._ Scoffer, no more! stop thy licentious tongue; Turn inward to thy bosom, and reflect--

_Count._ That is, be fool'd. Yet will I grant his life, On one condition.

_Aust._ Name it.

_Count._ Join my hand To Isabel.

_Aust._ Not for the world.

_Count._ He dies.

_THEODORE brought in._

Come near, thou wretch! When call'd before me first, With most unwonted patience I endur'd Thy bold avowal of the wrong thou didst me; A wrong so great, that, but for foolish pity, Thy life that instant should have made atonement; But now, convicted of a greater crime, Mercy is quench'd: therefore prepare to die.

_Theod._ I was a captive long 'mongst infidels, Whom falsely I deem'd savage, since I find Even Tunis and Algiers, those nests of ruffians, Might teach civility to polish'd France, If life depends but on a tyrant's frown.

_Count._ Out with thy holy trumpery, priest! delay not, Or, if he trusts in Mahomet, and scorns thee, Away with him this instant.

_Aust._ Hold, I charge you!

_Theod._ The turban'd misbeliever makes some show Of justice, in his deadly processes; Nor drinks the sabre blood thus wantonly, Where men are valued less than n.o.bler beasts.-- Of what am I accused?

_Count._ Of insolence; Of bold, presumptuous love, that dares aspire To mix the vileness of thy sordid lees With the rich current of a baron's blood.

_Aust._ My heart is touch'd for him.--Much injur'd youth, Suppress awhile this swelling indignation; Plead for thy life.

_Theod._ I will not meanly plead; Nor, were my neck bow'd to his b.l.o.o.d.y block, If love's my crime, would I disown my love.

_Count._ Then, by my soul, thou diest!

_Theod._ And let me die: With my last breath I'll bless her. My spirit, free From earth's enc.u.mbering clogs, shall soar above thee.

Anxious, as once in life, I'll hover round her, Teach her new courage to sustain this blow, And guard her, tyrant! from thy cruelty.

_Count._ Ha! give me way!

_Aust._ Why, this is madness, youth: You but inflame the rage you should appease.

_Theod._ He thinks me vile. 'Tis true, indeed, I seem so: But, though these humble weeds obscure my outside, I have a soul, disdains his contumely; A guiltless spirit, that provokes no wrong, Nor from a monarch would endure it, offer'd: Uninjur'd, lamb like; but a lion, rous'd.

Know, too injurious lord, here stands before thee, The equal of thy birth.

_Count._ Away, base clod.-- Obey me, slaves.--What, all amaz'd with lies?

_Aust._ Yet, hear him, Narbonne: that ingenuous face Looks not a lie. Thou saidst thou wert a captive-- Turn not away; we are not all like him.

_Theod._ My story's brief. My mother, and myself, (I then an infant) in my father's absence, Were on our frontiers seiz'd by Saracens.

_Count._ A likely tale! a well-devis'd imposture!

Who will believe thee?

_Aust._ Go on, say all.

_Theod._ To the fierce bashaw, Hamet, That scourge and terror of the Christian coasts, Were we made slaves at Tunis.

_Aust._ Ha! at Tunis?

Seiz'd with thy mother? Lives she, gentle youth?