[_1st Cut._] [_3rd Grooves._]

_Near the Tower. A Street in London._

_People are seen gazing from windows and balconies.

Slow military music is heard behind the scenes.

It gradually approaches U.E.L. Enter a procession of Soldiers, in the midst ARTHUR bare-headed.

He looks up to a balcony, where FLORENCE is standing--she waves a handkerchief and throws it to him. He kisses it, and placing it in his bosom, smiles, then slowly exeunt, U.E.R._

_Enter BASIL hurriedly, L. FLORENCE comes from the door of the house to meet him. She is dressed in a white robe._

_Bas._ Well, madam, how is it! To live or die?

_Flor._ Oh! hasten, hasten. They are gone; you may Fall down, be stopp'd, give me the pardon--quick!

_Basil._ No! I think not. I'll take it. Think you of Your promise--will you keep it?

_Flor._ Yes! yes! if I live A month, I will be thine.

_Basil._ Tis well! I go: I am a little lame, but shall be there, I do protest, in time. They give some moments To stale device of prayer; as if they car'd For him they slay--What! anxious? So am I, That have so great a stake in this event, To save a brother and to gain a wife--

[_Kisses the tips of his fingers._]

A rivederci, as the Italian saith. [_Goes out, U.E.R._]

_Flor._ The hands of yonder clock do pierce my heart Like daggers till he comes. O G.o.d! forgive me, Let me but know him safe, and die of joy, Ere I have time to think upon the rest.

_Enter ELIZABETH, L., as if just risen. At the same time, WILLIAM and the HOST, accompanied by a Guard, pa.s.s by, from L. to U.E.R._

_Will._ This way, this way!

_Eliz._ Do you not hear the hollow bell still tolling?

Hark!

_Flor._ There is no sound now--

_Eliz._ If my father said He should not die, it was to comfort me; Do not believe them, if they tell you so.

Give me your arm unto the scaffold, girl.

[_Florence hesitates._]

Jealous?--Is this a time?--What!--

[_Two or three Attendants come in._]

Then I'll go Alone-- [_She takes one of her Attendants by the arm._]

_Flor._ Nay, dear Elizabeth! his life Is sav'd--

_Eliz._ Believe them not; wilt thou not come?

Nay, then! [_Exit with Ladies, U.E.R._]

_Flor._ What means her pa.s.sion? He comes not!

My heart grows chill-- Would I might follow her.

I promis'd not. Did I not see the pardon.

O, this is dreadful!

_Re-enter BASIL, U.E.R._

_Distant shouting is heard._

_Basil._ Hear you there? He lives!

_Flor._ [_Falls on her knees._] O Heaven! I thank thy gracious mercy.

_Basil._ Now!

Remember thou art pledged to be my bride.

_Flor._ Have I then sav'd his life, to torture him With base destruction of the thing he loves?

_Basil._ Give me thine hand.

_Flor._ No! no! There is a portal By which the trembling victim may escape From thy fierce tiger gripe--There is a way Unto the weak, and though a giant grasp, He shall but seize with eager cruel hand The white reflection other fluttering robe, Leaving her pure and undefil'd to Heaven-- Angels have whisper'd it to me--

_Basil._ Forsworn?--

_Flor._ Nay! traitor to thy G.o.d and king! My hand I've pledg'd thee ere a short month have elaps'd, And thou shalt claim it then, if then thou wilt.

_Basil._ What mean'st thou, maiden? There is a strange light In the sweet l.u.s.tre of thy thrilling eye, There is a bright spot on thy velvet cheek; Thy throat of arched fall is now thrown back, As one had check'd a white Arabian steed; Thy nostril wide dilates, Sibylline, grand; Thy moist and crimson lip tempts wildly--come!

For thou art beautiful, and thy light step Shall on the hills be glorious, when thou'rt given A help-mate unto Israel--

_Flor._ Never!

_Basil._ How?-- Hast thou not sworn?

_Flor._ There is a point where all That binds the struggling wretch to aught on earth, Be it a bond of hate and grief like mine, Or sweet communion of young hearts that love, Be it a sacrifice to infamy, or pride Of mothers in their offspring, or the work Of master-spirits' high philosophy, Doth rank with things that were--

_Basil._ Thou speakest riddles.

_Flor._ A colder hand than thine is on my heart, I am another's bride! A month must pa.s.s Ere thou can'st claim me. Was not that the bond?

_Basil._ In these brisk times, a month goes quickly by.

_Flor._ Within a week I'll wed, but not with thee.

Pray, sir, go hence, you do distract my thoughts From my lov'd bridegroom.

_Basil._ Speak, whom mean'st thou?

_Flor._ Death.