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Bar. Alas! brother, it is heart-aching to look upon her. This very time three years she got her maim; it was a piteous tempest !

Sam. Aye, 'twas rough weather.

Bar. I never pass the old oak that was shivered that night in the storm, but I am ready to weep; it remembers me of the time when all our poor family went to ruin.

Sam. Pish! no matter; the cottage was blown down, the barn fired, father undone. Well, landlords are flinty-hearted-no help; what then?— we live, don't we?

Bar. Troth, brother, very sadly. Father has grown desperate-all is fallen to decay; we live by pilfering on the forest, and our poor mother distracted, and unable to look to the house. The rafter which fell in the storm struck so heavy| upon her brain I fear me 'twill never again be settled. The little ones, too, scarce clothedhungry almost starving! Indeed, we are a very wretched family. [A knock at the cottage door, R. F. Sam. Hark! methought I heard a tread. [He opens the door, R. F. Enter RAWBOLD, L.

Raw. [c.] Bar the door; so-softly! Sam. [R. C.] What success, father? Raw. Good; my limbs ache for 't. stand! The chair, you gander!

How you

Sam. [to BARBARA.] Why, how you stand! the chair, you gander. [They bring forward a chair RAW BOLD sits, c.

scent on 't at a league's distance. He is a thorn to me; his scouts this night were after me, all on the watch. I'll be revenged-I'll- So, the brandy. Re-enter BARBARA, with the liquor, L. U. E. Raw. [after drinking.] 'Tis right, i'faith! Sam. [R.] That 'tis, I'll be sworn; for I smuggled it myself. We do not live so near the coast for nothing.

Raw. Sir Edward Mortimer, look to it!

Bar. [L.] Sir Edward Mortimer! Oh, dear father, what of him?

Raw. Aye, now thou art all agog! Thou wouldst hear somewhat of that smooth-tongued fellow, his secretary--his clerk, Wilford, whom thou so often I have news on't. Look meet'st in the forest. how you walk thither again! What, thou wouldst betray me to him, I warrant-conspire against your father!

Sam. Aye, conspire against your father, and your tender, loving brother, you viper, you!

Bar. Beshrew me, father, I meant no harm; and, indeed, Wilford is as handsome a-I mean as good a youth as ever breathed. If I thought he meant ill by you, I should hate him.

Raw. When didst see him last? Speak! Bar. You terrify me so, father, I am scarce able to read with him the book of sonnets he gave me. to speak. Yesternoon, by the copse; 'twas but

Sam. That's the way your sly, grave rogues work into the hearts of the females. I never knew any good come of a girl's reading sonnets with a learned clerk in a copse.

Raw. Here, take my gun-'tis unscrewed. The keepers are abroad; I had scarce time to get it in my pocket. [He pulls the gun from a pocket under his coat, in three pieces, which SAMSON ing screws together while they are talking.] Fie! 'tis sharp work! Barbara, you jade! come hither.

Sam. Barbara, you jade! come hither. Raw. Who bid thee chide her, lout? Kiss thy old father, wench-kiss me, I say! So. Why dost tremble? I am rough as a tempest; evil fortune has blown my lowering nature into turbulence; but thou art a blossom that dost bend thy head so sweetly under my gusts of passion, 'tis pity they should ever harm thee.

Bar. [L.] Indeed, father, I am glad to see you safe returned.

me.

Raw. I believe thee. Take the keys; go to the locker in the loft, and bring me a glass to recruit [Exit BARBARA, L. U. E. Sam. Well, father, and so— Raw. Peace! I ha' shot a buck. Sam. Oh, rare! Of all the sure aims on the borders of the New Forest here, give me old Gilbert Rawbold, though I, who am his son, say it, that should not say it. Where have you stowed him, father?

Raw. Under the furze, behind the hovel. Come night again, we will draw him in, boy. I have

been watched.

Sam. Watched! Oh, the pestilence! Our trade will be spoiled if the game-keepers be after us; the law will persecute us, father.

Raw. Dost know Mortimer?

Sam. What, Sir Edward Mortimer? Aye, sure; he is head keeper of the forest. 'Tis he who has shut himself up in melancholy; sees no rich, and does so much good to the poor.

Raw. He has done me naught but evil. A gun cannot be carried on the border here, but he has

Raw. Let me hear no more of your meeting. I

am content to think you would not plot my undoBar. I? Oh, father!

Raw. But he may plot yours. Mark me; fortune has thrust me forth to prowl, like the wolf; but the wolf is anxious for its young. I am an outcast whom hunger has hardened; I violate the law, but feeling is not dead within me, and callous villain as I am accounted, I would tear that greater villain piecemeal who would violate my child, and rob an old man of the little remains

of comfort wretchedness has left him.

[A knocking at the door, R. F. A voice. [without.] Hilliho! ho! Raw. How now?

Sam. There, an' they be not after us already! I'll-we have talked, too, till 'tis broad daylight. Wilford. [without, R. D. F.] Open, good master Rawbold; I would speak to you suddenly. Bar. Oh, heaven! 'tis the voice of Wilford himself!

Raw. Wilford! I'm glad on 't. Now he shallI'm glad on 't! Open the door-quickly, I say!

He shall smart for it!

Sam. Are you mad, father? 'Tis we shall smart The buck for it. Let in the keeper's head man? you have just shot, you know, is hard at hand. Raw. Open, I say!

to smell stolen venison now, the moment 'tis Sam. Oh, lord! I defy any secretary's nose not thrust near our hovel! [Opens the door, R. F. Enter WILFORD, R. d. f. Wil. Save you, good people. You are Gilbert Rawbold, as I take it.

Raw. [c.] I am. Your message here, young man, bodes me no good; but I am Gilbert Rawbold, and here's my daughter; dost know her?

Wil. Ah, Barbara! good wench, how fares it with you?

Raw. Look on her well, then consult your own conscience; 'tis difficult, haply, for a secretary to find one. You are a villain!

Wil. You lie! Hold, I crave pardon. You are her father; she is innocent, and you are unhappy. I respect virtue and misfortune too much to shock the one or insult the other.

Raw. 'Sdeath! why meet my daughter in the forest?

Wil. Because I love her.

Raw. And would ruin her.

Wil. That's a strange way of showing one's love, methinks. I have a simple notion, Gilbert, that the thought of having taken a base advantage of a poor girl's affection might go nigh to break a man's sleep, and give him unquiet dreams; now, I love my night's rest, and shall do nothing to disturb it.

Raw. Wouldst not poison her mind? Wil. "Tis not my method, friend, of dosing a patient. Look ye, Gilbert; her mind is a fair flower, stuck in the rude soil here of surrounding ignorance, and smiling in the chill of poverty. I would fain cheer it with the little sunshine I possess of comfort and information. My parents were poor, like her's; should occasion serve, I might, haply, were all parties agreed, make her my wife. To make her aught else would affect her, you and myself, and I have no talent at making three people uneasy at the same time.

Raw. Your hand; on your own account, we are friends.

Bar. [L. c.] Oh, dear father!

Raw. Be silent. Now to your errand; 'tis from Mortimer.

Wil. I come from Sir Edward.

Raw. I know his malice; he would oppress me with his power-he would starve me and my family. Search my house.

Sam. [L.] No, father, no! [Aside.] You forget the buck under the furze.

Raw. Let him do his worst, but let him beware -a tyrant! a villain!

[SAMSON gets round to R. corner. Wil. Hark ye, he is my master; I owe him my gratitude-everything; and had you been any but the father of my Barbara, and spoken so much against him, indignation had worked into my knuckles, and crammed the words down your rusty throat!

Sam. [aside, R. c.] I do begin to perceive how this will end; father will knock down the secretary as flat as a buck!

Raw. Why am I singled out? Is there no mark for the vengeance of office to shoot its shaft at but me? This morning as he dogged me in the forest

Wil. Hush, Rawbold, keep your counsel. Should you make it public, he must notice it.

Raw. Did he not notice it?

Wil. No matter; but he has sent me thus early, Gilbert, with this relief to your distresses, which he has heard of. Here are twenty marks for you and your family.

|

needy before their necessities drive them to
crimes which his public duty must punish.
Raw. Did Mortimer do this? did he? Heaven
bless him! Oh, young man, if you knew half the
misery-my wife-my children! Shame on 't! I
have stood many a tug, but the drops now fall in
spite of me! I am not ungrateful, but I cannot
stand it! We will talk of Barbara when I have
more man about me. [Exit up the staircase, L.

Wil. Farewell! I must home to the lodge
quickly; ere this, I warrant, I am looked for.
Bar. Farewell!

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SCENE II.-An old-fashioned Hall in SIR EDWARD
MORTIMER'S Lodge. A table and two chairs.
Enter PETER, and several other SERVANTS, R.,
and cross with flagons, tankards, cold meat, etc.

Enter ADAM WINTERTON, R.

Win. Softly, varlets, softly! See you crack none of the stone flagons. Nay, 'tis plain your own breakfasts be toward, by your scuttling thus. A goodly morning! Why, you giddy-pated knave! [to PETER] is it so you carry a dish of pottery? No heed of our good master, Sir Edward Mortimer's, ware? Fie, Peter Pickbone, fie!

Peter. I am in haste, master steward, to break my fast.

Win. To break thy fast! To break thy neck, it should seem. [Laughing.] Ha, ha! good, i'faith! Go thy ways, knave! [Exit PETER, L.] "Tis thus Raw. From Sir Edward Mortimer? the rogues ever have me; I would fain be angry Wil. 'Tis his way; but he would not have it with them, but straight a merry jest passeth mentioned. He is one of those judges who, in across me, and my choler is over. To break thy their office, will never warp the law to save offend- neck, it should seem! [Laughing.] Ha, ha! 'twas ers; but his private charity bids him assist the well conceited, by St. Thomas! My table-book,

for the business of the day. Ah! my memory merry old man, and shalt have a kiss of me, on holds not as it did-it needs the spur. [Looking one condition. over his book.] Nine-and-forty years have I been house-steward and butler. It is a long lease. Let me see my tablets.

[Looking over them and singing.

When birds do carol on the bush,
With a heigh no nonny "-Heigho!

I

Win. Shall I? Odsbud! name it, and 'tis mine.
Blanch. Then catch me.

[Runs off, R.

Win. Pestilence on 't! There was a time when my legs had served; I was a clean-limbed stripling, when I first stood behind Sir Marmaduke's arm-chair in the old oak eating-room. [Retires up, L.

Enter WILFORD, R.

These fatigues of office somewhat wear a man. have had a long lease on't; I ha' seen out Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth and King James. "Tis e'en Wil. Every new act of Sir Edward's charity almost time that I should retire, to begin to enjoy sets me a thinking; and the more I think, the myself. [Looking off, L.] Eh! by St. Thomas! hither trips the fair mistress Blanch. Of all the waiting-gentlewomen I ever looked on, during the two last reigns, none stirred my fancy like this little rosebud.

Enter BLANCH, L.

Blanch. A good day, good Adam Winterton. Win. What, wag! what, tulip! I never see thee, but I am a score of years the younger.

Blanch. Nay, then, let us not meet often, or you will soon be in your second childhood.

Win. What, you come from your mistress, the Lady Helen, in the forest here, and would speak with Sir Edward Mortimer, I warrant?

Blanch. I would. Is his melancholy worship stirring yet?

Win. Fie, you madcap! He is my master, and your lady's friend.

Blanch. Yes, truly, it seems, her only one, poor lady; he protects her, now she is left an orphan.

Win. A blessing on his heart! I would it were merrier. Well, should they happen to marry (and I have my fancies on't), I'll dance a galliard with thee in the hall, on the round oak table. 'Sbud! when I was a youth, I would ha' capered with St. Vitus, and beat him.

Blanch. You are as likely to dance now, as they to marry. What has hindered them, if the parties be agreed? Yet I have now been with my mistress these two years, since Sir Edward first came hither, and placed her in the cottage hard by his lodge.

Win. Tush! family reasons. Thou knowest nothing-thou art scarce catched. Two years back, when we came from Kent, and Sir Edward first entered on his office here of head keeper, thou wert a colt, running wild about New Forest. I hired you myself to attend on madame Helen.

Blanch. Nay, I shall never forget it. But you were as frolicsome then as I, methinks. Dost remember the box on the ear I gave thee, Adam?

Win. Peace, peace, you pie! An' you prate thus, I'll stop your mouth-I will, by St. Thomas! Blanch. An' I be inclined to the contrary-I do not think you are able to stop it.

Win. Tut, you baggage! thou hast more tricks than a kitten. Well, go thy ways. [BLANCH crosses to R.] Sir Edward is at his study, and there thou wilt find him. Ah, mistress Blanch! had you but seen me sixty years ago, in the early pars of Queen Elizabeth's reign!

Bunch. How old art thou now, Adam? Win. Four score, come Martlemas; and, by our lady! I can run with a lapwing.

Blanch. Canst thou? Well said! Thou art a

more I am puzzled. 'Tis strange that a man should be so ill at ease, who is continually doing good! At times the wild glare of his eye is frightful. I would stake my life there's a secret; and I could almost give my life to unravel it. I must to him for my morning's employment. [Crosses to L. Win. Ah, boy! Wilford! secretary! whither away, lad?

Wil. Mr. Winterton! [Aside.] Aye, marry, this good old man has the clue, could I but coax him to give it to me. [Aloud.] A good morning to you, sir.

Win. Yea, and the like to thee, boy! Come, thou shalt have a cup of Canary from my corner cupboard yonder.

Wil. Not a drop!

Win. Troth, I bear thee a good will for thy honest old dead father's sake.

Wil. I do thankfully perceive it, sir. Your placing me in Sir Edward's family some nine months ago, when my poor father died, and left me friendless, will never out of my memory.

Win. Tut, boy, no merit of mine in assisting the friendless; 'tis our duty. I could never abide to see honest industry chop-fallen; I love to have folks merry about me, to my heart.

Wil. I would you could instill some mirth into our good master, Sir Edward. You are an old domestic, the only one he brought with him, two years back, from Kent, and might venture to give his spirits a jog. He seems devoured with spleen and melancholy.

Win. You are a prying boy-go to! I have told thee, a score of times, I would not have thee curious about our worthy master's humor.

Wil. I should cease to pry, sir, would you but once (as I think you have more than once seemed inclined) gratify my much-raised curiosity.

Win. What, greenhorn! dost think to trap the old man? Go thy ways, boy! I have a head! old Adam Winterton can sift a subtle speech to the bottom.

Wil. Ah! good sir, you need not tell me that. Young as I am, I can admire that experience in another which I want myself.

Win. [aside.] There is something marvelously engaging in this young man. Sixty years ago, in Queen Elizabeth's time, I was just such another. [Aloud.] Well, beware how you offend Sir Edward. Wil. I would not, willingly, for the world. He has been the kindest master to me; but whilst my fortunes ripen in the warmth of his goodness, the frozen gloom of his countenance chills me.

Win. Well, well, take heed how you prate on't. Out on these babbling boys! There is no keeping a secret with younkers in a family.

Wil. [very eagerly.] What, then, there is a

secret?

Win. Why, how now, hot-head? Mercy on me! an' this tinder-box boy do not make me shake with apprehension! Is it thus you take my frequent counsel ?

Wil. Dear sir, 'tis your counsel which most I covet; give me but that, admit me to your confidence, steer me with your advice (which I ever held excellent), and, with such a pilot, I may sail prosperously through a current which otherwise might wreck me.

Win. Well, well, I'll think on't, boy.

Wil. [aside.] The old answer; yet he softens apace. Could I but clench him now! [Aloud.] Faith, sir, 'tis a raw morning, and I care not if I taste the Canary your kindness offered.

Win. Aha! lad, say'st thou so? Here's the key of the corner cupboard yonder; see you do not crack the bottle, you heedless goose, you! [Exit WILFORD, L., and returns with bottle and glasses.] Ha! fill it up. Od! it sparkles curiously. Here's to I prithee, now, tell me, Wilford, didst ever in thy life see a waiting-gentlewoman with a more inviting eye than the little Mrs. Blanch?

Wil. [drinking.] Here's Mrs. Blanch! Win. Ah, wag! well, go thy ways! Well, when I was of thy age- 'Tis all over, now! But here's [Drinks.

little Mrs. Blanch!

Wil. "Tis thought here Sir Edward means to marry her lady, madame Helen.

Win. Nay, I know not; she has long been enamored of him, poor lady! when he was the gay, the gallant Sir Edward, in Kent. Ah, well! two years makes a wondrous change!

Wil. Yes, 'tis a good tough love nowadays that will hold out a couple of twelvemonths.

Win. Away! I mean not so, you giddy pate! he is all honor; yet I wonder sometimes he can bear to look upon her.

Wil. Eh! why so? Did he not bring her, under his protection, to the forest, since, 'tis said, she lost her relations?

Win. Hush, boy! On your life, do not name her uncle-I would say her relations!

Wil. Her uncle! Wherefore? Where's the harm in having an uncle, dead or alive?

Win. Peace, peace! In that uncle lies the secret!

Wil. Indeed! How, good Adam Winterton? I prithee, how? Let us drink Sir Edward's

health.

Win. That I would, though 'twere a mile to the bottom. [Drinking.] Ha, 'tis cheering, i'faith! Wil. And this uncle, you say—

Win. Of madame Helen? Ah, there lies the mischief!

Wil. What mischief can be in him? [WILFORD invites ADAM to drink again—they do so.] Why, he is dead.

Win. Come nearer; see you prate not now, on your life! Our good master, Sir Edward, was arraigned on his account in open court.

Wil. Arraigned! How mean you? Win. Alas, boy, tried-tried for-nearer his murder!

Wil. Mu-mur-murder!

Wil. I-I am his secretary; often alone with him at dead midnight in his library; the candles in the sockets; and a man glaring upon me who has committed mur-ugh! [Crosses to R.

Win. Committed! Thou art a base, lying knave to say it! Well, well; hear me, pettish boy, hear me. Why, look now, thou dost not attend.

Wil. I-I mark-I mark.

Win. I tell thee, then, our good Sir Edward was beloved in Kent, where he had returned a year before from his travels. Madame Helen's uncle was hated by all the neighborhood, rich and poor -a mere brute. Dost mark me?

Wil. Like enough; but when brutes walk upon two legs, the law of the land, thank heaven! will not suffer us to butcher them.

Win. Go to, you firebrand! Our good master labored all he could for many a month to soothe his turbulence, but in vain. He picked a quarrel with Sir Edward in the public county assembly; nay, the strong ruffian struck him down and trampled on him. Think on that, Wilford; on our good master, Sir Edward, whose great soul was nigh to burst with the indignity!

Wil. Well, but the end on 't?

Win. Why, our young master took horse for his own house, determined, as it appeared, to send a challenge to this white-livered giant in the morning.

Wil. I see; he killed him in a duel.

Win. See now, how you fly off! Sir Edward's revenge, boy, was baffled; for his antagonist was found dead in the street that night, killed by some unknown assassins on his return from the assembly.

Wil. Indeed! Unknown assassins?

Win. Nay, 'tis plain our good Sir Edward had no hand in the wicked act; for he was tried as I told you, at the next assize. Heaven be thanked! he was cleared beyond a shadow of doubt.

Wil. He was? [Crossing to L.] I breathe again! 'Twas a happy thing-'twas the only way left of cleansing him from a foul suspicion.

Win. But alas! lad, 'tis his principal grief; he was once the life of all company, but nowSir Edward. [without, R.] Winterton!

Win. Hark! some one calls. Out on thee! thou hast sunk my spirits into my heels. [Looking off, R.] Who calls merry old Adam Winterton?

Sir E. [without, R.] Adam Winterton, come hither to me!

Win. Nay, by our lady, 'tis Sir Edward himself! Pestilence on 't! if I seem sad now, 'twill be noted. I come, good Sir Edward! Now I charge thee, Wilford, do not speak of it for thy life. [Singing.] "When birds "[to WILFORD, speaking.] Not a word, on thy life! [Singing]-"do carol on the bush, with a heigh no nonny." Mercy on me!

{Exit R.

Wil. This accounts, then, for all. Poor unhappy gentleman! This unravels all from the first day yet-of my service, when a deep groan made me run into the library, and I found him locking up his papers in the iron chest, as pale as ashes. Eh! what can be in that chest? Perhaps some proof of no, I shudder at the suggestion! "Tis not possible one so good can be guilty of-I know not what to think nor what to resolve; but curiosity Win. What, varlet! thou darest not think ill of is roused, and come what may, I'll have an eye our worthy master?

Win. Why, what! why, Wilford! Out, alas! the boy's passion will betray all! What, Wilford, I say!

Wil. You have curdled my blood!

upon him.

[Exit L.

SCENE III.-A library; a door, R. F.; a book-case, R. C.; an iron chest with a key in it, L. C.; a table, L., with writing materials, a pistol, etc. SİR EDWARD MORTIMER discovered at the writingtable, L., ADAM WINTERTON attending, R.

Sir E. 'Tis his first trespass, so we'll quit him, Adam ;

But caution him how he offend again.

As keeper of the forest I should fine him. Win. Nay, that your worship should; he'll prove ere long,

Mark but my words- -a sturdy poacher. Well, 'Tis you know best.

Sir E. Well, well, no matter, Adam;

He has a wife and child.

Win. Aye, bless your honor!

Sir E. They killed his dog?
Win. Aye, marry, sir, a lurcher;

Black Martin Wincot, the keeper, shot him—
A perilous good aim. I warrant me

The rogue has lived this year upon that lurcher.
Sir E. Poor wretch! Oh, well bethought; send
Walter to me;

I would employ him-he must ride for me
On business of much import.

Win. Lackaday,

That it should chance so! I have sent him forth
To Winchester to buy me flannel hose,
For winter's coming on.

Should fall so crossly!

Sir E. Surprise me?

Wil. I mean disturb you, sir; yes, at your studies

Disturb you at your studies.

Sir E. Very strange!

You were not used to be so cautious.
Wil. No,

I never used; but I-hum-I have learned-
Sir E. Learned?

Wil. Better manners, sir. I was quite raw
When in your bounty you first sheltered me;
But thanks to your great goodness, and the lessons
Of Mr. Winterton, I still improve,

And pick up something daily.

Sir E. Aye, indeed!

Winterton! [Aside.] No, he dare not! [Stepping up to WILFORD.] Hark you, sir!

Wil. Sir!

Sir E. [retreating from him, L.] What am I about?

Oh, honor! honor!

Thy pile should be so uniform; displace
One atom of thee, and the slightest breath
Of a rude peasant makes thy owner tremble
For his whole building! Reach me from the shelf
The volume I was busied in last night.
Wil. Last night, sir?

Sir E. Aye; it treats of Alexander.
Wil. Oh! I remember, sir—of Macedon.

Good lack! that things I made some extracts by your order.

Sir E. Nay, nay, do not fret ;

'Tis better that my business cool, good Adam,

Than thy old limbs.

Win. Ah, you've a kindly heart!

Sir E. Is Wilford waiting?

Win. [aside.] Wilford! Mercy on me!

Sir E. Books

[Goes to the book-case, R. C.

(My only commerce now) will sometimes rouse me Beyond my nature. I have been so warmed,

So heated by a well-turned rhapsody,
That I have seemed the hero of the tale
So glowingly described. Draw me a man

I tremble now to hear his name. [Aloud.] He is Struggling for fame, attaining, keeping it
Here in the hall, sir.

Sir E. Send him in, I prithee.

Win. I shall, sir. Heaven bless you! Heaven bless you! [Exit R. Sir E. Good morning, good old heart! [Rising.] This honest soul

Would fain look cheery in my house's gloom,
And like a gay and sturdy evergreen
Smiles in the midst of blast and desolation,
Where all around him withers. Well, well, wither!
Perish this frail and fickle frame! this clay,
That in its dross-like compound doth contain
The mind's pure ore and essence! Oh, that mind,
That mind of man! that godlike spring of action!
That source whence learning, virtue, honor flow!
Which lifts us to the stars-which carries us
O'er the swoll'n waters of the angry deep,
As swallows skim the air! that fame's sole foun-
tain,

That doth transmit a fair and spotless name,
When the vile trunk is rotten! Give me that!
Oh, give me but to live in after age,
Remembered and unsullied! Heaven and earth!
Let my pure flame of honor shine in story
When I am cold in death, and the slow fire
That wears my vitals now will no more move me
Than 'twould a corpse within a monument!
[A knock at the door, R. F.
How now? Who's there? Come in.

Enter WILFORD, r. d. f.
Wilford, is 't you? You were not wont to knock.
Wil. I feared I might surprise you, sir.

Dead ages since, and the historian
Decking his memory in polished phrase,
And I can follow him through every turn,
Grow wild in his exploits, myself himself,
Until the thick pulsation of my heart
Wakes me to ponder on the thing I am!

[Crosses to R.
Wil. [coming down L., and giving him the book.]
To my poor thinking, sir, this Alexander
Would scarcely rouse a man to follow him.

Sir E. Indeed! Why so, lad? He is reckoned brave,

Wise, generous, learned, by older heads than thine. Wil. I cannot tell, sir; I have but a gleaning. He conquered all the world, but left unconquered A world of his own passions; and they led him (It seems so there), on petty provocation, Even to murder! [MORTIMER starts-WILFORD and he exchange looks-both confused. [Aside.] I have touched the string! "Twas unawares-I cannot help it.

Sir E. [attempting to recover himself.] Wilford, Wilford, I You mistake the character. I-mark you-he- Death and eternal tortures! [Dashes the book on the floor and seizes WILFORD. Slave! I will crush thee! pulverize thy frame, That no vile particle of prying nature May- [Laughing hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha! I will not harm thee, boy!

Oh, agony! [Exit R. D. F. Wil. Is this the high-flown honor and delicate feeling old Winterton talked of, that cannot bear a glance at the trial? This may be guilt. If so

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