Enter C ANUTUS and T URKILL .
CANUTUS.
Oh! Turkill, urge no more.
Can I, as King, endure the harsh condition?
Resign my conquest? — my indignant blood
Mounts at the thought. Implore the love of Edmund?
O meanness! — never — Emma, I resign thee;
And, loathing further life, now seek to die
At least with honour.
TURKILL.
Who can blame thy love,
That looks on Merit with approving eye?
So sweet her manner — so refin'd her sense —
Such native dignity of soul, adorns her,
As might well recompence an Empire lost.
CANUTUS.
Proceed. — How sweet this subject to a lover?
Yes; she's perfection all: yet must I still
Resuse her, — shun her as my dangerous foe.
Emma, thy charms would dignify a cottage.
Ah! Heavens, that I might take thy harsh condition,
And knit thy sate with mine!
TURKILL.
What can prevent?
CANUTUS.
My country. — 'Tis a name, grav'd on my heart
By mighty Nature, when she gave me being,
And all its int'rests shall to me be sacred.
My honour too sorbids, — that steady honour,
Which bids me now restore to Ironside,
The chance in war, which Ashdown meanly stole.
Yet so restore it, that the deadly hazard
Light on myself alone.
TURKILL.
Heroic purpose!
CANUTUS ( coming forward .)
Well met, my countrymen! my stedfast soul
Hath vanquish'd fear, why lives it in your looks?
Edmund and I no more, like jarring clouds
That mutter thunder, shall disturb your joys.
A Crown the happy victor takes, the vanquish'd
A bed of earth and marble covering.
Ye shall have peace, my Friends, whoe'er succeeds!
I wonder much that Edmund thus delays.
HAROLD.
Your ready zeal, my Liege, outstrips his caution:
Yet, if the distant trumpeter speaks true,
He now approaches.
CANUTUS.
Wherefore do I tremble?
Treach'ry can not again obscure my conquest.
The dread habiliments of sable war
Have cast new lustre round my mighty rival:
He moves sublime in conscious excellence.
How light, how trifling, is the pomp of Courts,
To this irradiance of superior worth!
His hardy followers range around the plain:
He smites his breast. Oh! 'tis a gallant breast!
Why smite it. Edmund? What awakes thy woe?
Is it to see thy troops, the scanty gleaning
Of many a well-fought field?
TURKILL.
Praise, from a foe,
Reflects a merit on the generous giver.
CANUTUS.
See, how the British Nobles crowd around!
They kneel — they grasp his hand, they wring it hard,
They bathe it with their tears. To me does Denmark,
Seem thus attach'd? No! I deserve it not.
TURKILL.
Blame not thy self, my Liege; the souls of Britons
Are tun'd to tenderness and gratitude.
CANUTUS.
See, he approaches.
CANUTUS.
Oh! Turkill, urge no more.
Can I, as King, endure the harsh condition?
Resign my conquest? — my indignant blood
Mounts at the thought. Implore the love of Edmund?
O meanness! — never — Emma, I resign thee;
And, loathing further life, now seek to die
At least with honour.
TURKILL.
Who can blame thy love,
That looks on Merit with approving eye?
So sweet her manner — so refin'd her sense —
Such native dignity of soul, adorns her,
As might well recompence an Empire lost.
CANUTUS.
Proceed. — How sweet this subject to a lover?
Yes; she's perfection all: yet must I still
Resuse her, — shun her as my dangerous foe.
Emma, thy charms would dignify a cottage.
Ah! Heavens, that I might take thy harsh condition,
And knit thy sate with mine!
TURKILL.
What can prevent?
CANUTUS.
My country. — 'Tis a name, grav'd on my heart
By mighty Nature, when she gave me being,
And all its int'rests shall to me be sacred.
My honour too sorbids, — that steady honour,
Which bids me now restore to Ironside,
The chance in war, which Ashdown meanly stole.
Yet so restore it, that the deadly hazard
Light on myself alone.
TURKILL.
Heroic purpose!
CANUTUS ( coming forward .)
Well met, my countrymen! my stedfast soul
Hath vanquish'd fear, why lives it in your looks?
Edmund and I no more, like jarring clouds
That mutter thunder, shall disturb your joys.
A Crown the happy victor takes, the vanquish'd
A bed of earth and marble covering.
Ye shall have peace, my Friends, whoe'er succeeds!
I wonder much that Edmund thus delays.
HAROLD.
Your ready zeal, my Liege, outstrips his caution:
Yet, if the distant trumpeter speaks true,
He now approaches.
CANUTUS.
Wherefore do I tremble?
Treach'ry can not again obscure my conquest.
The dread habiliments of sable war
Have cast new lustre round my mighty rival:
He moves sublime in conscious excellence.
How light, how trifling, is the pomp of Courts,
To this irradiance of superior worth!
His hardy followers range around the plain:
He smites his breast. Oh! 'tis a gallant breast!
Why smite it. Edmund? What awakes thy woe?
Is it to see thy troops, the scanty gleaning
Of many a well-fought field?
TURKILL.
Praise, from a foe,
Reflects a merit on the generous giver.
CANUTUS.
See, how the British Nobles crowd around!
They kneel — they grasp his hand, they wring it hard,
They bathe it with their tears. To me does Denmark,
Seem thus attach'd? No! I deserve it not.
TURKILL.
Blame not thy self, my Liege; the souls of Britons
Are tun'd to tenderness and gratitude.
CANUTUS.
See, he approaches.