Classic Poem

ACT II.

Scene I. — A Field.

Enter E DRICK and A LLWYN .

EDRICK.

Allwyn, the Danish trumpet thrice hath sounded,
And the tired army halts. The King intends
Here to encamp. Be thine th' intrusted care
T' intrench the British forces on the left,
At ample distance. When the weary Danes
Repair with sleep the waste of labour, then,
Close by the covert of that shadowy wood,
Conduct thy troops to the extremest bound
Of yonder castle. There await my orders.

ALLWYN.

Mean you, with these, t'achieve the final ruin
Of your unhappy brother?

EDRICK.

No! my views
Lie deeper far. Thou know'st the prize that fires me:
Thy regal honours, England! These to gain,
I hazard future bliss and present comfort.
Had Edmund driven out Denmark, e'er he died,
His infant Son had reign'd: This I prevented.
Now (having gain'd his pardon first by tears)
My power must be employ'd t'o'erthrow Canutus.
Meantime some happy stratagem may reach
The life of Edmund. Then must Britain, girt
With war, reject an Infant's feeble rule,
And crave a martial Lord: And who than Edrick
More fit to wield the sceptre and the sword?
The Danes approach. We must not seem consulting:
Away — be wise, secret, and vigilant.