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Title: The Sanctuary: A Dramatic Sketch
Author: William Lisle Bowles [
More Titles by Bowles]
In this wise the Duke of Gloucester took upon himself the order and governance of the young King, whom, with much honour and humble reverence, he conveyed towards London. But the tidings of this matter came hastily to the Queen, a little before the midnight following; and that, in secret wise, her son was taken, her brother and other friends arrested, and sent no man wist whither, to be done with God wot what. With which tidings the Queen, with great heaviness, bewailed her child's reign, her friend's mischance, and her own misfortune, damning the time that ever she dissuaded the gathering of powers about the King; got herself, in all haste possible, with her young son and her daughter, out of the palace of Westminster, in which they then lay, into the Sanctuary; lodging herself and company there in the Abbott's place.--Speed's "History of England," book ix.
SCENE I.
Elizabeth, widow of Edward IV., in the palace of Westminster, watching her youngest son, Richard, sleeping.
ELIZ. The minster-clock tolls midnight; I have watched
Night after night, and heard the same sad sound
Knolling; the same sad sound, night after night;
As if, amid the world's deep silence, Time,
Pausing a moment in his onward flight,
From yonder solitary, moonlit pile,
More awful spoke, as with a voice from heaven,
Of days and hours departed, and of those
That "are not;" till, like dreams of yesterday,
The very echo dies!
Oh, my poor child!
Thou hast been long asleep; by the pale lamp
I sit and watch thy slumbers; thy calm lids
Are closed; thy lips just parted; one hand lies
Upon thy breast, that scarce is seen to heave
Beneath it; and thy breath so still is drawn,
Save to a sleepless mother's listening ear,
It were inaudible; and, see! a smile
Seems even now lighting on thy lip, dear boy,
As thou wert dreaming of delightful things
In some celestial region of sweet sounds,
Or summer fields, and skies without a cloud;
(Ah! how unlike this dark and troubled world!)
Let not one kiss awaken thee, one kiss,
Mingled with tears and prayer to God in heaven.
So dream; and never, never may those eyes
Awake suffused with tears, as mine are now,
To think that life's best hopes are such a dream!
Now sleeps the city through its vast extent,
That, restless as the ocean-waves, at morn,
With its ten thousand voices shall awake,
Lifting the murmur of its multitude
To heaven's still gate! Now all is hushed as death;
None are awake, save those who wake to weep,
Like me; save those who meditate revenge,
Or beckon muttering Murder. God of heaven!
From the hyena panting for their blood,
Oh save my youthful Edward! and, poor child!
Preserve thy innocence to happier hours.
Hark! There is knocking at the western gate.
A messenger enters, and announces to her that
her brother had been arrested on the road, by
the Duke of Glo'ster.
ELIZ. O my poor child, thou sleepest now in peace!
Wilt thou sleep thus another year? shall I
Hang o'er thee with a mother's look of love,
Thus bend beside thy bed, thus part the hair
Upon thy forehead, and thus kiss thy cheek?
Richard, awake! the tiger is abroad.
We must to sanctuary instantly.
Richard awaking.
RICH. Oh! I have had the sweetest dreams, dear mother!
Methought my brother Edward and myself
And--
ELIZ. Come, these are no times to talk of dreams;
We must to sanctuary, my poor boy;
We'll talk of dreams hereafter. Kneel with me.
Takes him from his couch, and kisses him.
RICH. Mother, why do you weep and tremble so?
ELIZ. I have a pain at heart! Come, stir thee, boy!
Lift up thy innocent hands to Heaven; here kneel
And pray with me before this crucifix.
Her daughters enter, and they all kneel together.
SCENE II.
The Sanctuary at Westminster.
RICH. O my dear mother! why do we sit here,
Amid these dusky walls and arches dim,
When it is summer in the fields without,
And sunshine? Say, is not my brother king,
Why will he not come here to play with me;
Shall I not see my brother?
ELIZ. My own child,
Oh! let me hide these tears upon thy head!
Thy brother, shalt thou see him? Yes, I hope.
Come, I will tell a tale:--There was a boy
Who had a cruel uncle--
RICH. I have heard
My uncle Glo'ster was a cruel man;
But he was always kind to me, and said
That I should be a king, if Edward died;
I'd rather be a bird to fly away,
Or sing--
ELIZ. The serpent's eye of fire,
With slow and deadly glare, poor bird, I fear,
Is fixed on thee and Edward--God avert it!
RICH. And therefore must not I go out to play?
ELIZ. Go, play among the tombs--I will go too;
Go, play with skulls and bones; or see the train
Of sceptred kings come slowly through the gloom,
And widowed queens move in the shroud of death
Along the glimmering aisles and hollow vaults.
Would I were with them--I shall be so soon!
RICH. Mother, methought I saw him yesterday--
ELIZ. Saw whom?
RICH. My father; and he seemed to look--
I cannot say how sadly. Could it be
His spirit? He was armed, but very pale
And sorrowful his countenance. I heard
No sound of footsteps when he moved away
And disappeared among the distant tombs
In further darkness.
ELIZ. O my son, my son!
Thou hadst a king thy father--he is dead;
Thou hadst been happier as a peasant's child!
RICH. Oh! how I wish I were a shepherd's boy,
For then, dear mother! I would run and play
With Edward; and we two, in primrose-time,
Would wander out among the villages,
Or go a-Maying by some river's side,
And mark the minnow-shoals, when morning shone
Upon the yellow gravel, shoot away
Beneath the old gray arch, or bring home cowslips
For all my sisters, for Elizabeth,
And you, dear mother, if you would not weep so.
ELIZ. Richard, break not my heart; give me your hand,
And kneel with me by this cold monument.
Spirit of my loved husband, now in heaven,
If, at this moment, thou dost see thy son,
And me, thus broken-hearted,--oh! if aught
Yet human touches thee, assist these prayers,
That him, and me, and my poor family,
God, in the hour of peril, may protect!
Let not my heart yet break.
Come, my poor boy!
SCENE III.
The Cardinal of York[196]--Queen--Richard.
ELIZ. Now, my Lord Cardinal, what is the will
Of our great lords with me? Your Grace well knows
I am a helpless woman, have no power;
My only wish, for what of life remains,
Prayer and repose, and for my poor child here
Safety.
CAR. The Council, madam, wish no less;
But, for your son, they deem his durance here
Breeds ill report. This separation, too,
Of those in blood allied, almost of years
The same, who have been cradled in one lap,
What can it say, but that one brother stands
In peril of the other? And, besides,
Were it not for the comfort of them both
That they should be together? Sport, not care,
Becomes their early years.
ELIZ. I say not nay;
It is most fitting that my youngest son
Were with the king, his brother; in good faith,
I know it would be comfort to them both:
But, when I think upon the tender years,
Even of the eldest, I must also think
A mother's custody were best for either.
You have no children, else I would not ask,
Is there a guardian like a mother's love?
Richard, look up! This good man here intends
No harm to me or you. Look up, my boy!
No power on earth, nothing but death itself
Shall sever us.
What would you more, my Lord?
CAR. Madam, no man contendeth that your Grace
Is not the fittest guardian of your child,
And tenderest; but, if so it pleases you
Here to lie hid, shut out from all the world,
Be it for humour or for jealousy,
We hold it meetest, that no power on earth
Should so detain a brother of the King.
And let me add, when reasons of the state
Required the absence of your eldest son,
Yourself were well content.
ELIZ. Not very well;
Nor is the case the same; one was in health,
The other here declines; and let me marvel
That he, the Lord Protector of this realm,
Should wish him out; for, should aught ill betide,
Suspicion, in some tempers, might arise
Against the keeping of his Grace. My Lord,
Do they complain that my child Richard here
Is with his desolate and widowed mother,
Who has no other comfort? Do they claim
His presence, for that here his residence
Consorts not with his fortunes? I am fixed
Not to come forth and jeopardy his life.
CAR. Jeopardy! Where, and how;--why should, indeed,
Your friends have any fears? Can you say why?
ELIZ. Truly; nor why in prison they should be,
As now they are, I know no reason why.
But this I know, that they who, without colour,
Have cast them into prison, if they will,
Their deaths may compass with as little cause.
My Lord, no more of this.
CAR. My gracious queen,
This only let me say; if, by arrest,
Your Grace's high and honourable kin
Be now confined, when trial has been had,
They shall do well; and for your Grace's self,
There never was, nor can be, jeopardy.
ELIZ. Why should I trust? That I am innocent!
And were they guilty? That I am more loved,
Even by those enemies, who only hate
Them for my sake!
Therefore I will not forth,
Nor shall my son,--here will we both abide.
These shrines shall be the world to him and me;
These monuments our sad companions;
Or when, as now, the morning sunshine streams
Slant from the rich-hued window's height, and rests
On yonder tomb, it shall discourse to me
Of the brief sunshine in the gloom of life.
No, of heaven's light upon the silent grave;
Of the tired traveller's eternal home;
Of hope and joy beyond this vale of tears.
CAR. Then pardon me. We will not bandy words
Further. If it shall please you, generous queen,
To yield your son, I pledge my life and soul,
Not only for a surety, but estate.
If resolutely still you answer no,
We shall forthwith depart, for nevermore
Will I be suitor in this business
Unto your Majesty, who thus accuse,
Either of want of knowledge or of truth,
Those who would stake their lives on the event.
Madam, farewell!
ELIZ. [after a pause]. Stay, let me think again.
If you say sooth--and I have found you ever,
My Lord, a faithful friend and counsellor--
Into your hands I here resign, in trust,
My dearest treasure upon earth, my son.
Of you I will require him, before Heaven;
Yet, for the love which his dead father bore you,
For kindnesses of old, and for that trust
The king, my husband, ever placed in you,
Think, if a wretched mother fear too much,
Oh think, and be you wary, lest you fear
Too little!
My poor child, here then we part!
Richard! Almighty God shower on your head
His blessings, when your mother is no more.
Farewell, my own sweet son! Yet, ere we part,
Kiss me again, God only knows, poor babe,
Whether in this world we shall meet again!
Nay, my boy Richard, let me dry thy tears,
Or hide them in my bosom; dearest child,
God's blessing rest with thee!--farewell, farewell!
My heart is almost broken--oh, farewell!
[The end]
William Lisle Bowles's poem: Sanctuary: A Dramatic Sketch
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