SCENE III.
Enter Ethelgede, and Woman.
Ethelgede.
Provok'd by this outrageous Insolence,
I come: —but 'tis to punish your Offence.
Alfr.
Necessity, and the Occasion known,
You will not on my humble Duty frown.
Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.
About this Item
- Title
- Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties.
- Author
- Rymer, Thomas, 1641-1713.
- Publication
- London :: printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Pauls-Church-yard,
- 1693.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Subject terms
- Edgar, -- King of England, 943 or 4-975 -- Drama -- Early works to 1800.
- Drama -- Early works to 1800.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A58017.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Edgar, or the English monarch an heroick tragedy. By Mr. Thomas Rymer, servant to Their Majesties." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A58017.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 6, 2024.
Pages
Page 54
To a few Words vouchsafe a patient Ear,
And after let me your Displeasure bear.
Ethelg.
Then speak—
Alfr.
—Knowing what Grief your Mind do's sting,
Suspicious of my Conduct with the King—
Ethelg.
Say, I suspect your Villany, I see't,
I know it all—
Alf.
—Behold me at your Feet.
Kneels.
Ethelg.
What feign'd Remorse, what Strategem is here?
Alfr.
By all in Heav'n we Sacred call, I swear,
I am to You and to my Honour Just,
And here presume to vanquish your Distrust.
This Night your Grief and painfull Doubts shall clear:
In these dark Paths your Wishes shall not erre,
Permitting my Advice to be your Guide.
Ethelg.
Rise—and no longer this strange Secret hide.
Alfr.
This day I in a Labyrinth have worn,
Where still I met the King at every turn.
Within, some stubborn Conflict shakes his Breast,
(For this his Words and every Look confest.)
But whither his distracted Motions lead,
You better guess, who have in Courts bin bred.
Yet lest to me he might some Favour aim,
Which you alone by Marriage-right may claim—
Ethelg.
What now remains? be short.—
Alfr.
—Within this Hour,
He in the Dark will trace me to that Bowr.
There We together may his Coming wait.
And lest your Silence any Doubt create;
My Voice shall him, as he approaches, guide,
Whilst silently into his Arms you glide.
And having once asswag'd his Amorous Heat,
He will applaud the innocent Deceit:
And your Embraces such Success may find,
As to your Love may him for ever bind.
Ethelg.
The Secret's out: —yet will not this atone
For all the Ill by your Inchantments done.
An Injur'd Love can never be repair'd.
For this Night my Revenge shall be deferr'd,
And you shall take the Respite for Reward.
Page 55
The King has all the day in Darkness been;
Else you had not been courted for the Queen.
Alfr.
You cannot yet your Jealousies digest:
Something yet swells, and boils within your Breast.
But I can better your Reproaches bear,
Then from the glorious Paths of Vertue erre.
Despise, abhorre, affront, abuse me still;
I shall not be, for your Requitall, Ill.
Forbear, and let us to the Place be gone,
Lest his Impatience slower Time outrun.
Exeunt.