Classic Poem

SCENE VII. — The Camp of the Besiegers, before Bristol .

Lord W OLD and H ASTINGS

W OLD . We've Dunley penned!
H AST . Now then for the assault!
W OLD . My bride's in the city. Back her troth I gave her,
When I became a rebel, and I prayed her
To weigh my fortunes well in their great change
Nor mix her life with mine; but her true heart
More than renewed the trust: For one so dear,
So precious dear, well may my soul misgive me,
And many fears be mine: Dunley, at bay,
May in his vengeance hurt her, me to thwart:
How think you, dare he do't?
H AST . Let's strike at once,
Nor give him time for't.
W OLD . Lancaster comes on.
He can't be far from Bristol now. The more
Let's strike at once: ourselves must take the town,
Forestalling him.

Enter P HILIP DE V ALMA .

P HIL . Yonder he goes, my Wold!
What a tumultuous liking I have for him,
Almost to trembling; for I feel him mine,
Hedged round for me, sealed, set apart for me,
For none but me! — How shall I go about it?
To come upon his sleep, and do the deed
Upon the dark undialled hour of midnight;
Or fell his haughty forehead to the ground,
In the broad eye of day — either were good.
I'll think o't to a hair.
God rest thee, my poor boy! Well, I must thank him,
That he did hide thee in the gracious earth
From horny ravens and death-smelling vultures,
And creatures crying in the stony desert
To tear and eat: No hungry cruel thing
Mangled thy comely body. But thou'rt gone
From this dead heart of mine with all thy love!