hate

This mighty globe's too small a theatre, One summer's morn my father chas'd the deer On Cheviot Hills, Northumbria's fair domain.   Bir. On that fam'd spot where first the feuds commenc'd Between the earls?   Elw. The same. During the chace, Some of my father's knights receiv'd an insult From the Lord Percy's herdsmen, churlish foresters, Unworthy of the gentle blood they serv'd. My father, proud and jealous of his honour, (Thou know'st the fiery temper of our barons,) Swore that Northumberland had been concern'd In this rude outrage, nor would hear of peace, Or reconcilement, which the Percy offer'd; But bade me hate, renounce, and banish him. O! 'twas a task too hard for all my duty: I strove, and wept; I strove—but still I lov'd.   Bir. Indeed 'twas most unjust; but say what follow'd?   Elw. Why should I dwell on the disastrous tale? Forbid to see me, Percy soon embark'd With our great king against the Saracen. Soon as the jarring kingdoms were at peace, Earl Douglas, whom till then I ne'er had seen, Came to this castle; 'twas my hapless fate To please him.—Birtha! thou can'st tell what follow'd: But who shall tell the agonies I felt? My barbarous father forc'd me to dissolve The tender vows himself had bid me form—— He dragg'd me trembling, dying, to the altar, I sigh'd, I struggled, fainted, and complied.   Bir. Did Douglas know, a marriage had been once Propos'd 'twixt you and Percy?   Elw. If he did, He thought, like you, it was a match of policy, Nor knew our love surpass'd our fathers' prudence.   Bir. Should he now find he was the instrument Of the Lord Raby's vengeance?   Elw. 'Twere most dreadful! My father lock'd this motive in his breast, And feign'd to have forgot the chace of Cheviot. Some moons have now completed their slow course Since my sad marriage.—Percy still is absent.   Bir. Nor will return before his sov'reign comes.   Elw. Talk not of his return! this coward heart Can know no thought of peace but in his absence. How, Douglas here again? some fresh alarm!   Enter Douglas, agitated, with letters in his hand.   Dou. Madam, your pardon—   Elw. What disturbs my lord?   Dou. Nothing.—Disturb! I ne'er was more at ease. These letters from your father give us notice He will be here to-night:—He further adds, The king's each hour expected.   Elw. How? the king? Said you, the king?   Dou. And 'tis Lord Raby's pleasure That you among the foremost bid him welcome. You must attend the court.   Elw. Must I, my lord?   Dou. Now to observe how she receives the news![aside.   Elw. I must not,—cannot.—By the tender love You have so oft profess'd for poor Elwina, Indulge this one request—O let me stay!   Dou. Enchanting sounds! she does not wish to go—[aside.   Elw. The bustling world, the pomp which waits on greatness, Ill suits my humble, unambitious soul;— Then leave me here, to tread the safer path Of private life; here, where my peaceful course Shall be as silent as the shades around me; Nor shall one vagrant wish be e'er allow'd To stray beyond the bounds of Raby Castle.   Dou. O music to my ears! [aside.] Can you resolve To hide those wond'rous beauties in the shade, Which rival kings would cheaply buy with empire? Can you renounce the pleasures of a court, Whose roofs resound with minstrelsy and mirth?   Elw. My lord, retirement is a wife's best duty, And virtue's safest station is retreat.   Dou. My soul's in transports! [aside] But can you forego What wins the soul of woman—admiration? A world, where charms inferior far to yours Only presume to shine when you are absent! Will you not long to meet the public gaze? Long to eclipse the fair, and charm the brave?   Elw. These are delights in which the mind partakes not.   Dou. I'll try her farther.[aside. [takes her hand, and looks stedfastly at her as he