SCENE I.--APARTMENT IN VORTIGERN’S PALACE.

EDMUNDA _on a couch_.

FLAVIA _and_ PASCENTIUS.

_Soft Music._

_Edm._ Indeed, my gentle maid, indeed, thou’rt kind, And by those tears that glaze thy lovely eyes, ’Twould seem, that truly, thou didst pity me.

_Fla._ Pity thee, O, gods!

_Edm._ Nay, wherefore, weep ye both; ’Tis long, long since I was thus kindly treated: Your pardon, but I fear you scoff me.

_Pas._ Doth she yet know you?

_Fla._ Would to heaven, she did!

_Edm._ And yet there was a maid that once did love me: Heigho! she went alack! I know not whither: Thou ne’er didst see her; else what I shall say, Methinks, would make thee vain; but yet, indeed, Thou seem’st right well to ape her pretty manners.

_Fla._ O! ’tis too much; I cannot bear all this.

_Edm._ Nay, nay; why shouldst thou wail and tremble so? Till this, I thought that grief was only mine; It is not fair to rob me of all comfort. I thought thee honest; but, indeed, the world Doth flatter, fawn, and stroke upon the face, And sadly censure when the back is turn’d.

_Pas._ O! dearest mother, say, dost thou not know me?

_Edm._ Ay, ay, right well; thou’rt one by name, a man: Thy form is well enough, and thou may’st pass; But, hast thou a heart for melting pity? For better be a brute, Than lack it under that most godlike form: And yet I do thee wrong; for even now, Thou didst add graces to that manly cheek, With scalding tears: and for whom do you this? For one that neither asks, nor merits it.

_Enter_ WORTIMERUS _and_ CATAGRINUS.

_Wort._ How doth she now?

_Pas._ Alas! she wanders yet: her mind’s diseas’d.

_Fla._ I am that maiden lost, your loving daughter.

_Edm._ Bring here my glasses, stand before me here! Now, now, I’ll judge thee well; I’ll see this straight: And first her look was mild--in this thou’lt do; Then she was kind, most excellent, and good; Well, and so seemest thou. Now for the last: O! her heart was--but thine I cannot see; There thou deceivest me: I know thee not. Yet, if thou be my daughter, On thy forehead is a mark-- Away, then, with those locks from off thy front-- Now, let me look! O, gods! ’tis she, tis she!

_Pas._ She faints, she faints! this shock is too afflicting For such a shatter’d and disabled frame.

_Fla._ O! dearest, kindest, most beloved mother!

_Edm._ Indeed, my brain is something cooler now: I should know you, sir, and you too; nay, all! I’m very faint--alas! this joy o’ercomes me!

_Fla._ Sweet mother, you need rest; we’ll lead you in.

_Edm._ Then be it so; and wilt thou sit and watch me?

_Fla._ Ay; and I’ll kneel and pray, and sometimes weep.

_Edm._ Lead, then; I’ll in to rest: come, follow me.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ AURELIUS _and_ UTER.

_Aur._ The breach is made; the southern gate is forc’d; Yet still doth he hold out; and hath ta’en flight, E’en to the Tower, and there he’ll wait the siege.

_Uter._ Aurelius, your fair prisoner, is no more.

_Aur._ How, say’st thou?

_Uter._ Rowena swallow’d poison, and is dead.

_Aur._ Then hath a wicked spirit ta’en its flight From the most lovely frame that e’er was form’d, To charm or to deceive.

[_Exeunt._