Osw.

We have indeed There is guilt in this, Else could so strong a mind have ever known These trepidations? Plain it is that Heaven Has marked out this foul Wretch as one whose crimes

Been most presumptuous.

Must never come before a mortal judgment-seat, Or be chastised by mortal instruments.

Mar. A thought that's worth a thousand worlds! [Goes towards the dungeon.

Osw. I grieve That, in my zeal, I have caused you so much pain. Mar. Think not of that! 'tis over-we are safe. Osw. (as if to himself, yet speaking aloud). The truth is hideous, but how stifle it?

Were there a Man who, being weak and helpless
And most forlorn, should bribe a Mother, pressed
By penury, to yield him up her Daughter,
A little Infant, and instruct the Babe,
Prattling upon his knee, to call him Father-

Lacy. Why, if his heart be tender, that offence I could forgive him.

Mar. (going on). And should he make the Child An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light Of infant playfulness with piteous looks Of misery that was not

Or own we baby Spirits? Genuine courage

Is not an accidental quality,

A thing dependent for its casual birth

On opposition and impediment.

Wisdom, if Justice speak the word, beats down

The giant's strength; and, at the voice of Justice,
Spares not the worm. The giant and the worm---

She weighs them in one scale. The wiles of woman,
And craft of age, seducing reason, first
Made weakness a protection, and obscured
The moral shapes of things. His tender cries
And helpless innocence-do they protect
The infant lamb? and shall the infirmities,
Which have enabled this enormous Culprit
To perpetrate his crimes, serve as a Sanctuary
To cover him from punishment? Shame!-Justice,
Admitting no resistance, bends alike

The feeble and the strong. She needs not here

[Exeunt.

SCENE, the door of the Hostel, a group of Pilgrims as
before; IDONEA and the Host among them.
Host. Lady, you'll find your Father at the Convent
As I have told you: He left us yesterday
With two Companions; one of them, as seemed,
His most familiar Friend. (Going.) There was a
letter

Of which I heard them speak, but that I fancy
Has been forgotten.

Idon. (to Host). Host.

Farewell!

Gentle pilgrims,

St. Cuthbert speed you on your holy errand.

[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims

SCENE, a desolate Moor.

OSWALD (alone).

Osw. Carry him to the Camp! Yes, to the Camp. Oh, Wisdom! a most wise resolve ! and then, That half a word should blow it to the winds! This last device must end my work.--Methinks It were a pleasant pastime to construct A scale and table of belief-as thus

Two columns, one for passion, one for proof;

And send it with a fillip to its grave.

Osw. Nay, you leave me behind.
Mar.

So pious in demeanour ! in his look

So saintly and so pure !Hark'ee, my Friend,
I'll plant myself before Lord Clifford's Castle,
A surly mastiff kennels at the gate,

And he shall howl and I will laugh, a medley
Most tunable.

'tis the feeble and earth-loving wind That creeps along the bells of the crisp heather. Alas! 'tis cold-I shiver in the sunshine

So, you bethought you of the many ways
In which a man may come to his end, whose crimes
Have roused all Nature up against him-pshaw !—
Her. For mercy's sake, is nobody in sight?
No traveller, peasant, herdsman ?
Mar.

Not a soul:
Here is a tree, raggèd, and bent, and bare,
That turns its goat's-beard flakes of pea-green moss
From the stern breathing of the rough sea-wind;
This have we, but no other company :
Commend me to the place. If a man should die
And leave his body here, it were all one
As he were twenty fathoms underground.
Her. Where is our common Friend?
Mar.
A ghost, methinks—
The Spirit of a murdered man, for instance-
Might have fine room to ramble about here,
A grand domain to squeak and gibber in.
Her. Lost Man! if thou have any close-pent
guilt

Pressing upon thy heart, and this the hour
Of visitation-

Of God's parental mercies-with Idonea
I used to sing it.-Listen!-what foot is there?

Enter MARMADUKE.

Mar. (aside-looking at HERBEBT). And I have loved this Man! and she hath loved him! And I loved her, and she loves the Lord Clifford ! And there it ends;-if this be not enough To make mankind merry for evermore, Then plain it is as day, that eyes were made For a wise purpose-verily to weep with ! [Looking round.

A pretty prospect this, a masterpiece
Of Nature, finished with most curious skill!
(To HERBERT). Good Baron, have you ever
practised tillage?

Pray tell me what this land is worth by the acre?
Her. How glad I am to hear your voice! I know not
Wherein I have offended you ;-last night
I found in you the kindest of Protectors;

They have snapped her from the stem-Poh ! let

I did not think that aught was left in me

Of what I have been-yes, I thank thee, Heaven!
One happy thought has passed across my mind.
-It may not be--I am cut off from man;
No more shall I be man-no more shall I
Have human feelings !-(TO HERBERT)-Now, for
a little more

About your Daughter!

Her. Troops of armed men, Met in the roads, would bless us ; little children, Rushing along in the full tide of play, Stood silent as we passed them! I have heard The boisterous carman, in the miry road, Check his loud whip and hail us with mild voice, And speak with milder voice to his poor beasts. Mar. And whither were you going? Her. Learn, young Man, To fear the virtuous, and reverence misery, Whether too much for patience, or, like mine, Softened till it becomes a gift of mercy. Mar. Now, this is as it should be! Her.

I am weak!My Daughter does not know how weak I am; And, as thou see'st, under the arch of heaven Here do I stand, alone, to helplessness,

By the good God, our common Father, doomed !-But I had once a spirit and an arm———

Mar. Now, for a word about your Barony: I fancy when you left the Holy Land,

And came to what's your title-eh? your claims Were undisputed !

Like a mendicant,

Her.
Whom no one comes to meet, I stood alone ;-
I murmured-but, remembering Him who feeds
The pelican and ostrich of the desert,
From my own threshold I looked up to Heaven
And did not want glimmerings of quiet hope.
So, from the court I passed, and down the brook,
Led by its murmur, to the ancient oak

I came; and when I felt its cooling shade,
I sate me down, and cannot but believe-
While in my lap I held my little Babe

And clasped her to my heart, my heart that ached
More with delight than grief-I heard a voice
Such as by Cherith on Elijah called;
It said, "I will be with thee." A little boy,
A shepherd-lad, ere yet my trance was gone,
Hailed us as if he had been sent from heaven,
And said, with tears, that he would be our guide:
I had a better guide-that innocent Babe-
Her, who hath saved me, to this hour, from harm,
From cold, from hunger, penury, and death;
To whom I owe the best of all the good

I have, or wish for, upon earth--and more

And higher far than lies within earth's bounds:
Therefore I bless her: when I think of Man,

I bless her with sad spirit,-when of God,
I bless her in the fulness of my joy!

Mar. The name of daughter in his mouth, he

prays!

With nerves so steady, that the very flies
Sit unmolested on his staff.-Innocent !—
If he were innocent-then he would tremble
And be disturbed, as I am. (Turning aside). I
have read

In Story, what men now alive have witnessed, How, when the People's mind was racked with doubt,

Appeal was made to the great Judge: the
Accused

With naked feet walked over burning ploughshares.
Here is a Man by Nature's hand prepared
For a like trial, but more merciful.

Why else have I been led to this bleak Waste!
Bare is it, without house or track, and destitute
Of obvious shelter, as a shipless sea.
Here will I leave him-here-All-seeing God!
Such as he is, and sore perplexed as I am,
I will commit him to this final Ordeal!-
He heard a voice-a shepherd-lad came to him
And was his guide; if once, why not again,
And in this desert? If never-then the whole
Of what he says, and looks, and does, and is,
Makes up one damning falsehood. Leave him here
To cold and hunger!-Pain is of the heart,
And what are a few throes of bodily suffering
If they can waken one pang of remorse ?

Mar.
No more of that;
Thou wilt have many guides if thou art innocent;
Yea, from the utmost corners of the earth,
That Woman will come o'er this Waste to save thee.
[He pauses and looks at HERBERT's staff.
Ha! what is here? and carved by her own hand!
[Reads upon the staff.

"I am eyes to the blind, saith the Lord.
He that puts his trust in me shall not fail !"
Yes, be it so ;-repent and be forgiven—
God and that staff are now thy only guides.

[He leaves HERBERT on the Moor.