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RICHARD COEUR DE LION, AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE BY JOHN BURGOYNE

 

based on a work of the same name in French by Michel-Jean Sedaine

 

a semi-opera

 

Text by Burgoyne, set to music by Thomas Linley the Elder, first Staged Oct. 1786 at the Drury Lane Theatre. It was a major success.

 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

 

Richard ..... Mr. Kelly

 

Blondel .....  Mr. Barrymore

 

Florestan ..... Mr. Caulfield

 

Sir Owen ..... Mr. Dignum

 

The Seneschal ..... Mr. Cooke

 

Antonio ..... Mrs. Bland

 

Guillot ..... Mr. Suett

 

Old Mathew..... Mr. Maddocks

 

William ..... Mr. Fisher

 

A Pilgrim ,,,,, Mr. Webb

 

Peasant ..... Mr. Gibbon.

 

Soldiers, Peasants, Etc.

 

Matilda ..... Mrs. Mountain

 

Lauretta

 

Dorcas ..... Mrs. Maddocks

 

Julie ..... Miss Bristow

 

Collette ..... Miss Wentworth,

 

 

ACT I.

 

SCENE I. A View of a strong Castle, situated in a wild mountainous Country; on one Side a rustic Mansion-house, on the other a Stone Seat. — During the Overture, Old Mathew,  Dorcas, and several Peasants pass over the Stage, with their working Tools, as returning from their Labour,

 

Chorus of Peasants.

Come sing, come dance,

To-morrow's the day;

Come sing, come dance,

Old Mathew's wedding-day.

Yes, to-morrow, you know,

To his house we shall go,

To drink and be gay,

To dance, sing, and play;

Away with all sorrow.

For joy comes to-morrow.

 

Old Mathew.

I am happy, I swear,

My Dorcas, my dear.

To think that to-morrow is our wedding-day.

 

Duet — Dorcas and Old Mathew.

Though we're sixty yeas old,

Let the young ones behold.

Our age, like our youth, is contented and gay.

 

Chorus,

Come sing, come dance,

To-morrow's the day;

Come sing, come dance.

Old Mathew s wedding-day.

Yes, to-morrow, you know,

To his house we shall go.

To driuk and be gay.

To dance, sing, and play;

Away with all sorrow.

For joy comes to-morrow. [Exeunt. ]

 

[Matilda after the last Chorus enters, led in by Antonio.]

 

Matilda.

Antonio, what sounds were those? surely they were singing.

 

Antonio,

It is only the villagers, who are returnmg from the fields: the sun is settmg, and they have done their work.

 

Matilda.

Where are we now, my gentle guide?

 

Antonio.

You are not far from a great old castle, with towers and battlements. And there now, if you had your sight, you might see two

soldiers on the walls with their cross-bows.

 

Matilda.

I am sadly tired.

 

Antonio.

Stay — this way — Here is a stone, it is made into a seat. [Matilda sits.] What a pity you cannot see the prospect! though so wild, it is said to be as fine as any in all Germany. Now just opposite to us is a very well-looking house, 'tis a farm, but as good as any gentleman's.

 

Matilda.

Then go, my little friend, and find out whether we can lodge there to-night.

 

Antonio.

I will, and no doubt you may. The owner is a foreigner, from England, as they say; and though he is very passionate, all the village say he is very good-natured. [Going, returns.] But shall I find you here when I come back?

 

Matilda.

Yes, truly, you may he pretty sure of that; those that can't see are not over fond of wandering. But you will not fail to return.

 

Antonio.

No, that I won't. [Going, stops.] But, sir, there is something I have been wanting all day to tell you.

 

Matilda.

Well, Antonio — what is it?

 

Antonio.

Why it is — it is — oh! I am so sorry --

 

Matilda.

Speak, child! tell me, what is it?

 

Antonio.

Why it is — and it vexes me sadly, that it will not be in my power to be your guide tomorrow.

 

Matilda.

How so, my httle friend?

 

Antonio.

I must go to a wedding, — My grandfather and grandmother keep their wedding-day to-morrow, and my grandson, who is their brother.

 

Matilda.

Your grandson — Have you a grandson, Antonio?

 

Antonio.

No — their grandson, who is my brother, that's it — is to be married at the same time, to a sweet pretty little girl of the village.

 

Matilda.

But what will become of me without a guide?

 

Antonio.

Oh! I'll engage some one for you, I'll warrant; and you may contrive to come to the wedding and join in the music, while we dance. We'll manage, never fear.

 

Matilda.

You love dancing, Antonio?

 

Song, Antonio.

 

The merry dance I dearly love,

For then Collette thy hand I seize,

And press it too whene'er I please,

And none can see, and none reprove;

Then on thy cheek quick blushes glow,

And then we whisper soft and low,

Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.

 

She's sweet fifteen, I'm one year more,

Yet still we are too young, they say,

But we know better, sure, than they.

Youth should not listen to threescore;

And I'm resolv'd I'll tell her so,

When next we whisper soft and low,

Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.

[Exit.]

 

Matilda.

Antonio! — he is gone — now then I may safely use my sight. [Takes the bandage from her eyes.] A fortress indeed — there are towers, and moats, and battlements. They say it is strongly guarded, and almost inaccessible. Its appearance at least justifies the report that was made to me; for in this wild, and sequestered spot, such a pile

could only be employed to hide some mighty captive. — Oh, Richard! my hero! my beloved! what hardships may you not be enduring: nor have you even the sad consolation to know that your faithful Matilda, exiled for her love to you, has abandoned every hope and duty, and in this poor and base disguise pursues your name, and wanders through the world; but here my cares and search shall end. If my foreboding soul misleads me, and this spot affords no tidings of its lord, then, if my heart breaks not, in the near convent's cell I'll hide my woes and shame forever.

 

Oh, Richard! oh, my love!

By the faithless world forgot;

I alone in exile rove.

To lament thy hapless lot.

I alone of all remain

To unbind thy cruel chain.

By the faithless world forgot;

I, whose bosom sunk in grief,

Least have strength to yield relief.

Delusive glory! faithless pow'r!

Thus the valiant you repay,

In disaster's heavy hour,

Faithless friendship's far away.

Yet, royal youth.

One faithful heart,

From tenderest truth,

Though hopeless, never shall depart.

 

Oh, Richard! oh, my love!

By the faithless world forgot;

I alone in exile rove,

To lament thy hapless lot.

 

But I hear a noise; I must resume my disguise.

 

[Enter Sir Owen and Guillot.]

 

Sir Owen.

I'll teach you to bring letters to my daughter.

 

Guillot.

Sir, 'twas the Governor sent me.

 

Sir Owen.

The Governor! — what's the Governor to me?

 

Quartetto — Matilda, Guillot, Sir Owen, and Lauretta.

 

Sir Owen.

What care I for the Governor?

 

Matilda.

Oh! should it be this Governor? [Aside.]

 

Guillot.

He sent me, I knew no better,

— — with the letter.

 

Sir Owen.

My daughter listen to his art!

What, my Laurette

So far forget

The modest virgin's duteous part!

----And thou—I pray, [To Guillot.]

Good knave, shall I the postage pay?

 

Guillot.

No, sir, indeed, 

There is no need,!

I'm gone with speed.!

 

[Enter Lauretta.]

 

Sir Owen.

Pray tell your Governor,

His hopes are vain

Laurette to gain.

His Lordship is by far too good.

And I wou'd thank him if I cou'd.;

 

Matilda.

If of this castle he should be

The Governor — what joy for me.

[Aside.]

 

Gulllot.

Yet he's my Lord the Governor.

 

Sir Owen.

What's he to me, your Governor?

Begone, I say,

You'd best not stay;

And you, if ever I discover —

[To Lauretta, who comes forward.]

You lend an ear

To this designing lover,

Then, then, you shall have cause to fear.

 

Matilda.

Ah! should it be, what joy for me.

[Aside. ]

Come, come, my friends, no quarrel, pray,

[To them. ]

Your anger cease,

Keep, keep the peace.

 

Lauretta.

What can this be?

I never see

The Governor.

 

Matilda.

Ah! should it be this Governor,

Ah! should it be, what joy for me.

[Aside.]

Come, come, my friends, no quarrel, pray

Your anger cease.

Keep, keep the peace, etc.

[Exit Guillot. ]

 

Sir Owen.

Get into the house — in I say.

[Exit Lauretta.]

She tells me she never sees him — that she never speaks to him, and yet he writes to her. The Governor is a very civil gentleman, only he wants to run away with my daughter — and she is very obedient to her father — only she'll do nothing I bid her — I should like to know what all this is now. [Looking at the letter.] The Governor

writes a military hand — his letters edge out a chevaux-de-frise fashion — all zig-zag — like his own fortification — I can't make any way through it — I wish I had somebody to decipher it. — Oh! here's a sort of an outlandish lad — I may trust him. Youngster, can you read?

 

Matilda.

Oh! yes, sir.

 

Sir Oiven.

Well, then, read me this.

[Offers the letter.]

 

Matilda.

Oh, indeed, sir! I could once, but the cruel Saracens --

 

Sir Owen.

The Saracens — what did the Saracens do to you?

 

Matilda.

The cruel monsters put out my eyes, having taken me prisoner in a great battle, where I was page to a Captain in King Richard's army. But have you not seen a little boy?

 

Sir Owen,

Yes.

 

Matilda.

'Tis he who guides me — He can read, and will do whatever you bid hini.

 

Sir Owen.

Oh! here he comes, I beheve.

 

[Enter Antonio.]

 

Matilda.

Antonio, is that you?

 

Antonio.

Yes, 'tis I.

 

Matilda.

Take the letter which the gentleman here will give you, and read it aloud to him.

 

Antonio. [Reading.]

'Beautiful Lauretta.'

 

Sir Owen.

Pshaw!

 

Antonio.

Beautiful Lauretta, my heart overflows with ecstasy and gratitude, for the kind assurances you give me of eternal affection.

 

Sir Owen.

Eternal affection — and that puts him into an ecstasy — very well.

 

Antonio.

If my attendance on the prisoner, whom I must not quit.

 

Matilda.

The prisoner! [Aside.]

 

Antonio.

If my attendance on the prisoner, whom I must not quit, would suffer me to go out during the day — I would hasten to throw myself. --

 

Sir Owen.

Into the ditch of your castle, I hope.

 

Matilda.

Whom I must not quit. [Aside.] — Read on quickly. [To Antonio.]

 

Antonio.

I would hasten to throw myself at your feet. — But if this night' — Here are some words blotted out.

 

Matilda.

Well, what follows?

 

Antonio.

Contrive some means to inform me, at what hour I may speak to you. Your tender, faithful, and eternally constant,

' FLORESTAN.'

 

Sir Owen.

Here's a d ----d Governor for you — Oh! if I had him in England on the top of Penmanmawr.

 

Matilda.

What! Are you a Briton then?

 

Sir Owen.

Yes, I am, sir, and an enemy to slaves of course; in love, or out.

 

Matilda.

Glorious nation! But how comes it, sir, that you are settled so far from your native country?

 

Sir Owen.

Oh! that's too long a story to tell you, but it would not have happen'd if I hadn't gone to the Crusades at Palestine.

 

Matilda.

What, under the brave Richard?

 

Sir Owen.

Brave! aye! I would follow him to the world's end — my ruin was no fault of his. Well, you must know, that when I returned from Palestine, I found my father was dead,

 

Matilda.

He was very old perhaps.

 

Sir Owen.

No; but he was slain by a neighbour of his in single combat; on my return, I revenged his death.

 

Matilda.

Of course — you fled -----

 

Sir Owen.

Yes, with my daughter and wife, who is since dead — my castle and my lands were forfeited — and after fighting her battles, I was sentenced by my ungrateful country --

 

Matilda.

A hard and ill return, indeed --

 

Sir Owen.

No such thing, sir. Twas justice, though severe; a Briton suffers no man to abuse his country, but himself.

 

Matilda.

Heaven forbid I should traduce it. — But, sir, one, request.

 

Sir Owen. [Looking out.]

It must be tliey stay, good youth — I see some friends whom I expect. If you wish refreshment — the poor and friendless are never driven from my door.

[Exeunt.]

 

SCENE II. A Gothic Chamher.

 

[Enter Lauretta, Matilda, and Antonio, from the House.]

 

Lauretta.

Pray, good youth, tell me what my father has been saying to you.

 

Matilda.

Are you the pretty Lauretta?

 

Lauretta.

Yes, sir.

 

Matilda.

Your father is very angry — he knows the contents of that letter from the Chevalier Florestan.

 

Lauretta.

Yes — Florestan is his name — and did you read the letter to my father?

 

Matilda.

No, not I — I am blind, alas! — it was my little guide.

 

Antonio.

Yes, but didn't you bid me read it?

[Retires.]

 

Lauretta.

Oh! I wish you had not done so.

 

Matilda.

Some other person would.

 

Lauretta.

That's true — and what did the letter say?

 

Matilda.

It says, that on account of the prisoner in that castle — and who is that prisoner?

 

Lauretta.

Oh! — no one knows who it is.

 

Matilda.

The Chevalier cannot come to throw himself at your feet.

 

Lauretta.

Poor Florestan!

 

Matilda.

But that this night --

 

Lauretta. This night!

 

Oh! would the night my blushes hide,

The truth to thee I would confide.

Yes, yes, I own 'tis true,

Whene'er his eyes I meet,

I feel my heart begins to beat,

It beats, and trembles too.

 

But when my hand he gently presses,

A strugghng sigh I fear confesses,

Ah! more than blushes could impart,

And more than words betrays my heart.

 

Oh I would the night my blushes hide,

The truth to thee I would confide.

Yes, yes, I own 'tis true,

Whene'er his eyes I meet,

I feel my heart begins to beat.

It beats, and trembles too.

 

Matilda.

You love him then, Lauretta?

 

Lauretta.

Oh most dearly, that I do, day and

night, truly and smcerely.

 

Matilda.

And do you not fear to own it?

 

Lauretta.

No, not to you. You seem kind and tender-hearted, and you speak gently to me; and then you cannot see me whether I blush or not, and so I am not afraid.

 

Matilda.

Pretty Lauretta!

 

Lauretta.

But who told you I was pretty?

 

Matilda.

Alas, being blind, I guess only by the voice; the softness and sweetness of that is beauty to me. But let me counsel you, my innocent. These knights, these men of high descent, beware of them; when they seem niost devoted to your beauty, they are least forgetful of their own rank, and the nobleness of your soul is overlooked by the pride of their own high birth.

 

Lauretta.

But my birth is not inferior to his, though my father is now in banishment.

 

Matilda.

No! — and does he know it?

 

Lauretta.

Yes; and never talks to me but in words of goodness and honour; and if it wasn't that my father is so passionate, 1 should have told him every thing long ago.

 

Matilda.

And would you, before you have informed your father, meet this man whom you love so, and converse with him, and in the night too? Listen to me.

 

Air — Matilda and Lauretta.

 

Matilda.

The God of Love a bandeau wears,

Would you know what it declares.

And why his eyes are clouded?

'Tis to shew us that his pow'r

Is ne'er so fatal, ne'er so sure.

As when in darkness shrowded.

 

Lauretta.

Good sir, repeat that pretty strain,

Pray again, again.

A lesson kind it does impart,

To guard against a lover's art.

 

Matilda

With all my heart.

 

The God of Love a bandeau wears,

Would you know what it declares.

And why his eyes are clouded?

'Tis to shew you that his pow'r

Is ne'er so fatal, ne'er so sure,

As when in darkness shrowded.

 

Lauretta.

Look, there are two pilgrims meeting my father see — he embraces one of them — sure, those cannot be the visitors he expected — I must go -----

 

Matilda.

A moment, Lauretta — I have something to say to you.

 

Lauretta.

About Florestan?

 

Matilda.

No.

 

Lauretta.

Oh! then I can't stay.

[Exit into the house.]

 

Matilda.

They are coming this way. I can't retire till my guide comes.

 

[Enter Sir Owen, Blondel, and Pilgrims.]

 

Sir Owen.

My brave friend, how rejoiced I am to see you — You are well disguised, indeed; I myself should never have guessed it was Blondel.

 

Matilda.

Blondel! what do I hear?

[Aside.]

 

Blondel.

Caution, my friend. My search would be fruitless indeed, should I be discovered. — And see [Pointing to Matilda.]

 

Sir Owen.

It is a poor blind youth, a wandering minstrel, who diverts the peasants.

 

Matilda.

Shall I play, worthy gentlemen? I have a ditty made by a royal lover, on the lady whom he loved. [Plays/]

 

Sir Owen.

Why are you so much astonished?

 

Blondel.

That was made by my gallant master — prithee go on. [She plays again.] Oh! how it reminds me of happy days! — Tell me, boy, where could you learn that tune?

 

Matilda.

I was taught it by a servant of King Richard's camp, who said he had heard the King himself sing to it.

 

Blondel.

Even so!— he made it for the lovely and unfortunate Matilda; unfortunate indeed! — for passing through Artois, I learned that she had left her father's court, and fled almost alone, upon the rumour that the royal Richard had been treacherously seized, as he returned from Palestine. — Oh! if her gallant monarch yet lives, sure heaven will guide some of those who seek him to the prison that immures him.

 

Sir Owen.

Perhaps the fair Matilda alone has had intelligence.

 

Blondel.

O! no — But yesterday I passed the Seneschal's, her father's trusty friend, who with a chosen band of troops was searching to reclaim her; and he had learned, that, stript of her companions by perfidy, or death — deprived she had sought the sadder prison of a monastery.

 

Matilda.

The Seneschal so near! [Aside.]

Gracious sir, if my music has pleased you, will you entreat your kind host to lodge this night a harmless minstrel, who has lost his precious sight in Palestine, and I will play all night to sooth you?

 

Blondel.

Poor youth! He will, no doubt.

[Makes signs to Antonio, who leads Matilda off.]

 

Sir Owen.

I had refused him only from the caution I thought due to you. — But come, you must forget the Pilgrim awhile, we'll in to supper soon; in the meantime, I'll sing you a song, and these, my rustic neighbours, shall join the chorus.

 

[Enter Peasants. ]

 

Song — Sir Owen.

 

Let the Sultan Saladin

Play the rake in Palestine,

While he claims his subjects' duty,

He's himself a slave to beauty,

 

Wearing baser chains than they.

Well! well!

 

Every man must have his way;

But to my poor way of thinking,

There's no joy like drinking.

 

Chorus.

But to my poor way of thinking,

There's no joy like drinking.

 

Coeur de Lion loves the wars,

Richard's joy is blows and scars;

Conquer'd Pagans fly before him.

Christian warriors all adore him.

 

Watching, marching night and day.

Well! well!

Every man must have his way;

But to my poor way of thinking.

There's no joy like drinking.

 

Chorus.

But to my poor way of thinking,

There's no joy like drinking.

 

You too, pilgrims, love your trade,

You recruit the bold crusade,

Making zealots cross the ocean.

In a fit of fierce devotion;

Pilgrims love to fast and pray.

Well! well!

Every man must have his way;

But to my poor way of thinking.

There's no joy like drinking.

 

Chorus,

But to my poor way of thinking,

There's no joy like drinking.

[Exeunt.]

 

SCENE III. A Chamber in the Castle,

 

[Enter Richard and Florestan.]

 

Richard.

Florestan!

 

Florestan.

Sire!

 

Richard.

Your fortune is in your power.

 

Florestan.

Sire! — my honour is.

 

Richard.

Honour! to a traitor! — a base, perfidious.

 

Florestan.

Did I believe him so, I would not serve him; and not believing, I must not listen where I dare not answer.

 

Richard.

But Florestan.

[Florestan bows, and exit.]

Oh God! oh misery! — Is this to be my lot for ever? — Am I doomed by a vile traitor's craft to wear my life away in ignominious bondage? But Richard is forgot — deserted by his people — by the world! — [He looks on a picture.] Image of her I love! — come — Oh! calm, console my heart — no— thou dost redouble all my griefs — thou art my despair — Oh death! I call on thee — thy dart alone can break my chains — my freedom is my grave!

 

Lost to the world, forgot, forlorn,

In vain to me returns the morn

That brings no more my glorious toils,

Yet bless the beams that give to sight

This image of my soul's delight,

This heaven of soothing smiles.

Vain is the thought of former power

To sooth the present mournful hour:

O Death! be thou my friend;

Hopeless I live, my sorrows end. [Exit.]

 

ACT II.

 

SCENE I.

Represents the inner Works of an old Fortification, Towards the Front is a Terrace inclosed hy Rails and a Fosse; and so situated that when Richard appears upon it, he cannot see Matilda, who is upon the outer Parapet. Soldiers lower a Drawbridge, and leave a Centinel on each side.

 

[Enter Richard and Florestan.]

 

Florestan.

The morning breaks the fresh air is h'ghtened by the dawn — profit of it, sir, for your health's sake. Within an hour your guards must do their duty, and you will be again secluded from the day.

 

[Exit. — Richard walks to the farther end of the terrace, and remains in a posture of deep despair.]

 

[Enter Matilda and Antonio on the otherside of the Fosse and Parapet.]

 

Matilda.

Antonio, stay awhile; here on this rising ground we'll rest — I love to feel the pure fresh air — it is the balmy breath of morn, whispering the sun's approach. Where are we now?

 

Antonio.

Close to the parapet of the castle which you bid me bring you to. [Matilda offering to get upon the parapet.] Ah! don't attempt to get upon it you'll fall.

 

Matilda.

Indeed! Well, here, kind boy — take this money, and go buy something for us that we may breakfast.

 

Antonio.

You have given me a great deal

 

Matilda.

Keep for yourself what is too much.

 

Antonio.

Oh, thank you! And pray take care not to go too near the moat.

[Exit.]

 

Matilda.

When you return we will walk to some shade — shall we? — You don't answer me — he is gone — Now then. [Lifts up the bandeau, and raises herself on the parapet.] Ah! no one to be seen!

 

Richard.

A year — a year is passed! hope is exhausted!

 

Matilda.

How still! how silent! — Sure if these walls enclose him, my voice may reach their deepest recesses. O! if he is here, he will remember the strain — 'twas the offering of his earliest love in happy days — of love for her, who now, uncertain of his fate, yet shares his misery.

 

Richard.

No cheering thought! no glimmering ray of consolation. — O memory! O Matilda! [Matilda plays.] What sounds! — heavens! — the very strain I once — O let me hear

 

Matilda sings.

 

One night in sickness lying,

A prey to grief and pain -----

 

Richard.

Heavens, that voice!

 

Matilda sings.

 

When aid of man was vain,

And hope and life were flying,

Then came my mistress to my bed,

And death and pain and sorrow fled.

 

[She stops and raises herself to listen.-— Richard, while she sings, having expressed the extremes of surprise, hope, and joy, seems to endeavour to recall

to his memory the rest of the ditty, and recollecting it, answers.]

 

Richard sings.

 

The gentle tears soft falling

Of her whom I adore,

My tender hopes recalling,

Did life and love restore.

Could I but view Matilda's eyes.

Fortune, thy frowns I should despise.

 

Together.

 

Richard.

The gentle tears soft falling

Of her so long ador'd,

My tender hopes recalling,

Have love and life restor'd.

 

Matilda.

My gentle tears fast falling

For him so long ador'd.

His tender hopes recallmg.

Have love and life restor'd.

 

[After Matilda has repeated the strain, shewing great joy, Florestan and Soldiers appear. — Florestan requests the King to retire into the castle — he does

so; while another party seize Matilda, and passing a drawbridge, bring her into the front of the works.]

 

Duo and Chorus — Matilda, Guards, etc.

 

Chorus, Soldiers.

Speak quickly, quickly, who art thou?

Who sent thee here? whence come, and how?

 

Matilda.

Are you strangers passing near,

Pleas'd perhaps my song to hear?

 

Chorus of Soldiers,

To prison straight, to prison straight.

There he may sing early and late.

 

Matilda.

Ah, good sir, no anger, pray,

With pity hear what I've to say —

The Saracens, so fierce in fight.

Have deprived me of my sight.

 

Chorus of Soldiers,

'Tis well for thee.

For could'st thou see,

Thou should'st die by our decree.

 

Matilda.

I know not what this anger's for,

I've business with the Governor;

Tis of moment you will see,

And he should know it instantly.

 

Chorus of Soldiers.

You know not what our anger's for.

And would speak with the Governor?

 

Matilda.

Tis of moment, you will see,

And he should know it instantly.

 

Chorus of Soldiers.

Well, you shall see the Governor,

He'll tell you what our anger's fort

But since your business is of weight.

We'll suspend awhile your fate.

Hark! he comes, the Governor;

And now take heed, take heed, pert youth,

To tell the truth;

For if you lie,

If you lie to the Governor,

Your fate is fixed, you surely die.

 

[Enter Florestan.]

 

Matilda.

Where is the Governor?

 

Florestan.

Here!

 

Matilda.

On which side?

 

Florestan.

Here!

 

Matilda.

I have something of importance to communicate to him.

 

Florestan.

Attempt no trifling, or you perish that instant.

 

Matilda.

Ah, sir! those who have lost their sight, are half deprived of life already! — Is it for a poor blind minstrel like me to attempt to deceive you?

 

Florestan.

Speak then.

 

Matilda.

Are we alone? — Now I think my device can't fail.

[Aside.]

 

Florestan. [Signs to the Soldiers who retire.}

We are alone.

 

Matilda.

Then, sir, the lovely Lauretta.

 

Florestan.

Speak lower.

 

Matilda.

The beauteous Lauretta, sir, has read to me the letter you sent her yesterday; in which you express your joy at her confessing her love for you, and press so much for an opportunity to speak with her.

 

Florestan.

Well, my good friend, and what says she?

 

Matilda.

She says you may safely call at her father's house this evening, at any hour you please.

 

Florestan.

At her father's house!

 

Matilda.

Yes; she says her father has some friends with him, to whom he means to give a fete, and takes the opportunity of a wedding in the neighbourhood to invite all the village to his house, where there will be nothing but feasting, dancing, and merriment; during which, Lauretta says, she will find means to speak with you; and you may

easily make a pretence for the visit.

 

Florestan.

Tell her I will not fail — but how came she to employ you in this business? you are bhnd.

 

Matilda.

The less likely to be suspected — she loves to hear me play and sing — and she has been so generous to me, I would risk anything to serve her — besides, 1 brought a little guide with me.

 

Florestan.

You have managed extremely well — and the noise you made, I suppose, was on purpose to be brought before me.

 

Matilda.

For what could it be else? — But with your guards, forsooth, I was a spy, a lurking emissary, trying to discover who was imprisoned here ~ha! ha!

 

Florestan.

Ha! ha! ha! ridiculous enough! — But you have really done it very well — Here is a purse for --

[Offers money.]

 

Matiida.

Pardon, good Governor — should any one be near, and observe that you reward me, they will suspect something.

 

Florestan.

Tis very true.

[He crosses hy her.]

 

Matilda.

But, Mr. Governor, lest they should —

 

Florestan.

Well!

 

Matilda.

O, you are on that side — I say, lest they should guess at my errand, hadn't you better seem angry, and so reprimand me, and send me back?

 

Florestan. [Signs to the Soldiers to come down.]

You are right — upon my life this is a very clever lad, though he is blind.

 

Dialogue and Chorus.

 

Matilda.

Sir, to blame me is most hard;

For the noise, pray blame the guard.

 

Florestan.

They should not send such foolish boys.

For such a message — such a noise.

 

Chorus of Soldiers,

Silence, fellow, and begone,

'Twas you alarm'd the garrison.

 

[Enter ANTONIO, frightened and crying.]

 

Antonio.

Ah! good sir, forgive him, pray,

Ah! hear with pity what I say;

The Saracens, so fierce in fight,

Have deprived him of his sight,

And shut him from the blessed light.

 

Chorus of Soldiers. [To Matilda.]

Tis well for thee,

For could'st thou see,

Thou badst died by our decree.

So haste away,

Begone! I say.

And if again we catch you here^

Be assured 'twill cost you dear.

 

Matilda.

Sirs, I believe ye.

Nor will deceive ye,

Never more will I appear,

Never more offend you here.

 

Antonio.

In truth, if here

He does appear.

It shall be

Without me.

[Exeunt.]

 

ACT III.

 

SCENE I.

A great Hall in Sir Owen's House.

 

[Blondel and Friend with Sir Owen.]

 

Blondel.

My friend, I would without profession trespass on your hospitality, but, in truth, we must away —our search I do perceive is fruitless here — and till I learn some tidings of my royal master's state, I cannot tarry for mirth's sake — therefore we leave you to your rural guests, and may gay content be with you.

 

Sir Owen.

I cannot blame your haste, though I lament it — yet one night methinks — you will see gay pastimes, and simple jollity, but such as will divert you, believe me; and see, here is my little prattler Julie will join in my request.

 

[Enter Julie]

[She is going to speak, but seeing the Strangers, she runs to Sir Owen, and whispers him.]

 

Sir Owen.

Surely, my child — She tells me she is to dance to-night, if I approve it.

 

Julie.

Oh, sir — but it was to be a secret — you

were not to have said a word about it yet.

 

Sir Owen.

No! — well, they will not betray you

—they are going to leave us, Juhe— can't you

persuade them to stay?

 

Julie.

They look so grave, I am afraid of them.

 

Sir Owen.

Oh! go, try.

 

Julie. [Goes to Blondel, and takes his hand.]

Pray, sir, don't leave us; how can you think of going away when we are all going to be so merry?

 

Blondel.

We are very sorry, my pretty hostess, that it must be so.

 

Julie.

But iudeed you shall not go — for if you go away, my father will have no one to talk to while we are all dancing and running about.

 

Sir Owen.

You little rogue, how do you know but I intend to dance myself?

 

Julie.

Lord, sir, that would be pleasant — ha! ha! I should like to see you dance!

 

Sir Owen.

Well, you are very good however, Julie, to wish me to be someway amused — it is very considerate in you.

 

Julie.

Yes, sir, because then you would have something else to do than to mind us

 

Sir Owen.

So! — very well, innocent!

 

Julie.

Then pray, gentlemen, don't go — let me intreat you to stay for our festival.

 

[Enter Servant.]

 

Servant.

Sir, the Seneschal is come, leaving his troops above the wood; v/ith a few followers, he waits impatiently to speak to you

 

Sir Owen.

I come. [Exit Servant.] My friends, it shall not be farewell yet; I will return.

 

[Exit, leaving Julie, who looks back, and makes signs to Blondel not to leave them.]

 

Friend.

You still avoid being known to the Seneschal.

 

Blondel.

Perhaps I may safely disclose myself; but wherefore, if Richard --

 

[Enter Servant.]

 

Servant.

There is a youth without, who says he must be admitted to you.

 

Blondel.

To me!

 

Servant.

He that you heard play and sing yesterday.

 

Blondel.

Pray let him come — [Exit Servant.] And after we will pursue our journey.

 

[Enter Matilda.]

 

Matilda.

How, sir! Did you doubt to see me? —I have spent the day requesting it. You should not have paused upon it, but hear me, and alone.

 

[Exit Pilgrim.]

 

Blondel.

I knew not your desire sooner — but how is this, good youth — you were blind yesterday?

 

Matilda.

True; and ought I not to bless heaven, that the first object which presents itself to my restored sight is — Blondel!

 

Blondel.

Ha! — you know me then?

 

Matilda.

Yes; — and can it be that you prepare to fly from hence? O! has no powerful impulse worked upon your heart? has no instinctive warning checked the ill-guided purpose, stirred in your alarmed bosom, and chid the rash desertion of your valour's duty? Then perish, royal Richard! waste on, proud soul, in base captivity — thy careless friends pass by thy prison gates, and man and heaven desert thee!

 

Blondel.

What can this mean? — my royal master.

 

Matilda.

Blondel — your king — your leader — your friend — pass but these gates, and you behold his prison — but hold.

 

[Enter Sir Owen, speaking to the Seneschal and two Knights.]

 

Sir Owen.

Nay, but the youth you speak of is -----

 

Seneschal.

Matilda, my uoble mistress! [Kneels.] thus let me excuse the abrupt intrusion of my duty.

 

Blondel.

Matilda!

 

Matilda.

Rise, Seneschal! — Yes, Matilda — a fugitive from all she owed, her station and a father's love— but tell them peerless Richard was the cause — and tell them too, that heaven at length has sanctioned what resistless love resolved. — Seneschal, I know your zeal, and firm attachment to your master's friend — Sir Owen, your monarch is

in chains — and you are a Briton -----

 

Sir Owen.

We will deliver him, or die!

 

[While the symphony plays, some of the Seneschal's party go out and return with more of their friends, to whom they seem to relate what has passed, as they range themselves behind Matilda.]

 

Dialogue and Chorus.

 

Matilda.

Ye Cavaliers, yon castle drear,

Great Richard is a pris'ner there.

 

Cavaliers.

Strange the tidings that you bring,

Great Richard — England's mighty King!

 

Matilda.

Ye Cavaliers, yon castle drear,

Great Richard is a pris'ner there.

 

Cavaliers.

Can it be what you relate?

Who explored the monarch's fate?

 

Matilda.

'Twas I, with song and veiled eyes,

Approach'd the walls in safe disguise.

His voice I heard — Ah! doubt ye yet?

And could my heart that voice forget?

No, Cavaliers, yon castle drear.

King Richard is a pris'ner there.

But long a pris'ner shall he be,

Whom love and valour join to free?

 

Cavaliers.

Not long a pris'ner shall he be.

Let us arm!

Here we swear to set him free.

Give th' alarm!

 

Blondel.

Haste is vain,

'Tis prudence must his freedom gain;

Prudence must your rage restrain.

 

Cavaliers.

Let us arm!

 

Matilda.

Blondel, check the rash alarm.

What should be done, oh, quickly tell;

Cavaliers, oh listen to Blondel.

 

Cavaliers.

Blondel! Blondel! is it Blondel?

 

Matilda.

Yes, Cavaliers, it is Blondel,

The friend of Richard — mark him well.

 

Blondel.

Let our deeds our friendship tell

In the battle — mark Blondel.

 

Cavaliers.

Let us arm, etc., etc.

 

Matilda.

And you, my gallant friends — But thanks would wrong you — the cause is your's.  You, Sir Owen, know this Governor. Is he a man whom gold

 

Sir Owen.

I must be just. He's one whom neither fear nor interest will sway.

 

Blondel.

Then force alone's our hope.

 

Matilda.

Attend a moment -- Sir Owen, Florestan is apprized, that you intend this night a rural feast; he means to be partaker of your mirth, in hopes of speaking with Lauretta.

 

Sir Owen.

How!

 

Matilda.

I cannot now explain this; but be assured he will be here. Some chosen guards may then surround him, and demand the king's deliverance. If he refuses --

 

Blondel.

Then to arms! — Here indeed is hope. Seneschal direct your men to pass the wood, and near the morass attend our signal. Let us prepare and arm.

 

[Exeunt Blondel, Seneschal, and Cavaliers. ]

 

[Enter Lauretta and Servants.]

 

Lauretta.

My father, your village friends will be here straight, and the music is not yet come — then how shall we dance?

 

Sir Owen.

They will be here, my child — fear not, my dear Lauretta.

 

[Sir Owen seems to give directions to the servants.]

 

Lauretta.

My dear Lauretta, so! — he's not angry with me now — my dear father [to Sir Owen] now I am happy! only I wish Florestan could be here to-night.

 

Matilda. [Aside.]

Charming Lauretta! but I dare not trust her yet — 'tis happy, however, that the course we have determined on is free from any peril to Florestan — in the midst of my own anxieties I am interested for lier happiness.

 

[Matilda goes to Lauretta and talks to her. Lauretta expresses surprise at seeing her no longer blind.]

 

Sir Owen.

And mark me, you William, set my old buckler and great sword in my closet.

 

William.

Sir, they'll be cumbersome to dance in.

 

Sir Owen.

Fellow, do as I bid you. [Pushes him out.] Oh, more lights here in the hall — and, d'ye hear — be ready to welcome all comers — so —

[Exit Servants.] I must not, however, appear in their secrets yet.

 

[Observing Lauretta and Matilda.]

 

Trio. — Matilda, Lauretta, and Sir Owen.

 

Matilda. — [Aside to Lauretta.]

Yes, yes, Florestau will be here,

After the dance he will appear.

 

Lauretta.

Oh! what delight, what joy 'twill be!

Sure he'll find means to speak to me.

 

Matilda. [To Sir Owen, seeing him approach.

We no secrets have, good Knight,

I am saying that my sight

Is again restor'd to light.

 

Lauretta. [Very demurely.]

Yes, my father, very true.

We no secrets have from you,

The youth's well bred and honest too.

 

Sir Owen.

I'm sure you have no mystery,

Pray talk on, and don't mind me.

 

Lauretta. [To Matilda, aside.]

But does he know how well I love,

And does he swear he'll constant prove?

 

Matilda.

Had you but seen the gen'rous youth,

He knelt and vow'd eternal truth.

 

Lauretta.

Kneel and vow,

Ah! he'll be true, I'm happy now!

 

Sir Owen.

What, he tells thee that his sight

Is again restor'd to light?

 

Lauretta.

Yes, my father, very true,

We no secrets have from you;

He is saying that his sight

Is again restor'd to light.

 

Matilda.

We no secrets have, good Knight,

I am saying that my sight

Is again restor'd to light.

 

Sir Owen.

What he tells thee, etc., etc., etc.

 

Lauretta.

Yes, my father, etc., etc.

[Tabors and pipes heard behind the scenes.]

 

Sir Owen.

So, our guests are at hand. My Lauretta, give them welcome.

 

[Enter Julie, running.]

 

Julie.

They are all coming, and all so gay, and so neatly dressed — indeed, sir, they are — and I saw the little bride myself, blushing and looking so pretty. — Dear, it must be a charming thing to be married!

 

Lauretta.

Yes, they are coming indeed, sir.

 

Sir Given.

And are you ready, my little Julie, with the dance you.

 

Julie.

Yes, that I am. But pray what are all those fine knights gathering about the house for? They don't look as if they came to be merry. Indeed, sister, they look so fierce, you'd be frightened.

 

Sir Owen.

Oh no, my child, they will not hurt us.

 

Julie.

No! — then I vow they shall dance, swords, and helmets and all.

 

[She runs to meet the Peasants, who appear.]

 

Chorus of Peasants.

Join hearts — join hands.

In loving bands,

None are happy till they're pair'd,

Nothing's joy that is not shar'd.

 

Peasant.

When alone the maid sits pining,

Nature's beauties seem dechning,

Nothing can afford delight;

But the favour'd youth appearing,

With his presence all things cheering.

Flowers how sweet — the sun how bright.

 

Chorus.

Join hearts — join hands.

In loving bands,

None are happy till they're pair'd,

Nothing's joy that is not shar'.

 

Antonio.

O'er the sultry mountain ranging,

Shade and pasture ever changing,

Soon I tire my flock to tend;

But if chance Collette address me.

Toil and heat no more oppress me,

Soon, too soon my labours end.

 

Chorus.

Join hearts — join hands,

In loving bands,

None are happy, etc., etc.

 

[Dance of Peasants.]

 

[Florestan having entered, and requested Lauretta to he his partner, is preparing to dance. — Drums heat to arms.]

 

Florestan.

Ha! what do I hear?

 

[Sir Owen and Matilda's Knights approach him.]

 

Sir Owen.

Sir — you are my prisoner.

 

Florestan.

Sir!

 

Sir Owen.

You.

 

Florestan.

What treason is this?

 

Chorus of Cavaliers.

Vain defiance, strive no more,

Yield our King — our chief restore;

Vain resistance — fate's decree

Sets imprison'd Richard free.

 

Florestan.

Threats he fears not, who is just

To his honour, to his trust.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

SCENE II.

[The Castle, assaulted by Matilda's troops — Blondel puts himself at the head of the Pioneers, and the assault continues — Richard appears on the fortress uithout

arms, endeavouring to free himself from three armed Soldiers -BLONDEL mounts the breach — runs to the King, wounds one of the Guards, and snatches his sword — the King seizes it — they put the rest of the Soldiers to flight -Blondel then throws himself at Richard's feet, who embraces him — at this moment is heard the grand Chorus of "Long hve the King! — The besiegers then display the colours of Matilda, who appears — She sees Richard at liberty—flies towards him, and sinks in his arms — Florestan is then conducted to the King by the Seneschal and Sir Owen — Richard returns him his sword. ]

 

Richard.

Oh love! oh gratitude! oh Matilda! — what can I say to thee, my soul's beloved! my deliverance! ray reward! [Embraces her. — To Sir Owen, etc.] I have more thanks to pay. — My heart feels all it owes; and when to my native England I return, so may Iprosjierin my subjects' love, as I cherish in the memory of my sufferings

here — a lesson to improve my reign. Compassion should be a monarch's nature; I have learned what 'tis to need it; the poorest peasant in my land, when misery presses, in his King shall find a friend.

 

FINALE.

 

Oh! blest event!— oh I glorious hour!

Liberty and love we sing;

Oh! may they with resistless power,

Protect the blessings which they bring.

 

Chorus.

Faithful lovers, banish fear,

Our delight, our triumph share.

 

Trio — Matilda, Lauretta, and Blondel.

No more shall doubt or sorrow

Disturb my anxious breast.

The sun that gilds to-morrow,

. At length beholds me blest.

 

Chorus.

Oh! blest event — oh! glorious hour!

Liberty and love we sing;

Oh! may they with resistless power,

Protect the blessings which they bring!

 

[Exeunt omnes.]


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