Foaming with rage and fury to the last,

Cursing his conqueror the felon died.

Enter ANNA.

Anna. My lord! my lord!

Lord Rand. Speak: I can hear of horror.
Anna. Horror indeed!

Lord Rand. Matilda?

Anna. Is no more.

She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill,
Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd,
Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls,
Ingulph'd in rifted rocks: thither she came,
As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
And headlong down-

Lord Rand. 'Twas I! alas! 'twas I

That fill'd her breast with fury; drove her down The precipice of death! Wretch that I am!

Anna. O had you seen her last despairing look! Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes Down on the deep: then lifting up her head And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say, Why am I forced to this? she plunged herself Into the empty air.

Lord Rand. I will not vent,

In vain complaints, the passion of my soul.
Peace in this world I never can enjoy.

These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave.
They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate
Denounce my doom. I am resolved. I'll go
Straight to the battle, where the man that makes
Me turn aside, must threaten worse than death.—
Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring,
Full warrant of my power. Let every rite
With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait:
For Randolph hopes he never shall return.

VOL. I.

2 B

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

AN epilogue I ask'd; but not one word

Our bard will write. He vows 'tis most absurd
With comic wit to contradict the strain

Of tragedy, and make your sorrows vain.
Sadly he says, that pity is the best,
The noblest passion of the human breast:
For when its sacred streams the heart o'erflow,
In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe;
And when its waves retire, like those of Nile,
They leave behind them such a golden soil,
That there the virtues without culture grow,
There the sweet blossoms of affection blow.
These were his words :-void of delusive art
I felt them; for he spoke them from his heart.
Nor will I now attempt, with witty folly,
To chase away celestial melancholy.

END OF VOLUME FIRST.