About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled,

By mingling natural matter of her own With all the daring fictions I have taught her, To win belief, such as my plot requires. [Exit OSWALD. Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them.

Host (to them). Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself

Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids, Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts,

Are here, to send the sun into the west
More speedily than you belike would wish.

SCENE changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel-MARMADUKE and OSWALD entering. Mar. I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves:

When first I saw him sitting there, alone,
It struck upon my heart I know not how.
Osw. To-day will clear up all. You marked
a Cottage.

That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock
By the brook-side: it is the abode of one,
A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford,
Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas!
What she had seen and suffered turned her
brain.

Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone,
Nor moves her hands to any needful work:
She eats her food which every day the peasants
Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived
Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice;
But every night at the first stroke of twelve
She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring
Churchyard

Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm,

She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one--
She paces round and round an Infant's grave.
And in the churchyard sod her feet have worn
A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep-
Ah! what is here?

A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as
if in sleep a Child in her arms.
Beg.
Oh! Gentlemen, I thank you;
I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled
The heart of living creature.--My poor Babe
Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread
When I had none to give him; whereupon,
I put a slip of foxglove in his hand,
Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at

away;

And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,
Came to my child as by my side he slept
Trotting alone along the beaten road,
And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden
Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head:
But here he is, [kissing the Child ]it must have
been a dream.

Osw. When next inclined to sleep, take my advice,

And put your head, good Woman, under cover. Beg. Oh, sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew

What life is this of ours, how sleep will master
The weary-worn.-You gentlefolk have got
Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be
A stone than what I am.--But two nights gone,
The darkness overtook me-wind and rain
Beat hard upon my head-and yet I saw
A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze,
Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky:
At which I half accused the God in Heaven.-
You must forgive me.

Osw.
Ay, and if you think
The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide
Your favourite saint-no matter-this good day
Has made amends.
Beg. Thanks to you both; but, O sir!
How would you like to travel on whole hours
As I have done, my eyes upon the ground,
Expecting still, I knew not how, to find
A piece of money glittering through the dust.
Mar. This woman is a prater. Pray, good
Lady!

Do you tell fortunes?
Beg
Oh Sir, you are like the rest.
This Little-one-it cuts me to the heart-
Well! they might turn a beggar from their
doors,

But there are Mothers who can see the Babe Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it:

This they can do, and look upon my face--
But you, Sir, should be kinder.
Mar.
Come hither, Fathers,
And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!

Beg. Ay, Sir, there's nobody that feels for us. Why now-but yesterday I overtook A blind old Greybeard and accosted him, I' th' name of all the Saints, and by the Mass He should have used me better!-Charity! If you can melt a rock, he is your man; But I'll be even with him- here again Have I been waiting for him. Osw.

Well, but softly, Who is it that hath wronged you? Beg Mark you me; I'll point him out-a Maiden is his guide, Lovely as Spring's first rose; a little dog, Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur, I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth He does his Master credit.

Mar.

'Tis Herbert and no other' Beg.

As I live,

"Tis a feast to see him, Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent, And long beard white with age-yet evermore, As if he were the only Saint on earth, He turns his face to heaven. Osw. But why so violent Against this venerable Man? Beg.

I'll tell you: He has the very hardest heart on earth; I had as lief turn to the Friar's school And knock for entrance, in mid holiday. Mar. But to your story. Beg. I was saying. SirWell!-he has often spurned me like a toad, But yesterday was worse than all ;-at last I overtook him, Sirs, my Babe and I, And begged a little aid for charity : But he was snappish as a cottage cur. Well then, says I-I'll out with it; at which I cast a look upon the Girl, and felt

As if my heart would burst; and so I left him. Osw. I think, good Woman, you are the very

At Herbert's door. Beg.

Ay; and if truth were known I have good business there. Osw.

I met you at the threshold, And he seemed angry. Beg. Angry! well he might; And long as I can stir I'll dog him.-Yesterday, To serve me so, and knowing that he owes The best of all he has to me and mine. But 'tis all over now. That good old Lady Has left a power of riches; and I say it, If there's a lawyer in the land, the knave Shall give me half.

Osw What's this? -I fear, good Woman, You have been insolent, Beg

And there's the Baron, I spied him skulking in his peasant's dress. Osw. How say you? in disguise?Mar. But what's your business With Herbert or his Daughter? Beg. Daughter! trulyBut how's the day?-I fear, my little Boy, We've overslept ourselves.-Sirs, have you seen him? [Offers to go. Mar. I must have more of this;-you shall not stir

An inch, till I am answered. Know you aught

I'll be his Godfather. Beg.

Oh Sir, you are merry with me. In grange or farm this Hundred scarcely owns A dog that does not know me. - These good

Folks,

For love of God, I must not pass their doors; But I'll be back with my best speed: for you God bless and thank you both, my gentle Masters. [Exit Beggar. Mar. (to himself). The cruel Viper!-Poor devoted Maid,

Mar. Where is she-holla!

[Calling to the Beggar, who returns; he looks at her stedfastly.

You are Idonea's Mother?

Nay, be not terrified-it does me good
To look upon you.

Osw. (interrupting.) In a peasant's dress
You saw, who was it?

Beg. Nay, I dare not speak ; He is a man, if it should come to his ears I never shall be heard of more. Osw. Lord Clifford? Beg. What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs, I love her, though I dare not call her daughter. Osw. Lord Clifford-did you see him talk

with Herbert?

Beg. Yes, to my sorrow-under the great oak At Herbert's door-and when he stood beside

ture.

[Gives the letter he had written. iler. Thanks for your care.

[Sits down and writes. Exit Host. Osw. (aside to MARMADUKE). Perhaps it

would be useful That you too should subscribe your name. [MARMADUKEOverlooks HERBERT-then writes examines the letter eagerly. Mar. I cannot leave this paper.

[He puts it up, agitated. Osw. (aside). Dastard! Come. [MARMADUKE goes towards HERBERT and supports him-MARMADUKE tremblingly beckons OSWALD to take his place. Mar. (as he quits HERBERT). There is a palsy

in his limbs-he shakes. [Exeunt OSWALD and HERBERT-MARMADUKE following.

SCENE changes to a Wood-a Group of Pilgrims, and IDONEA with them. First Pil. A grove of darker and more lofty shade

A sleeping man uneasy in his bed.

Lady, you have need to love your Father.
His voice-methinks I hear it now, his voice
When, after a broad flash that filled the cave,
He said to me, that he had seen his Child,
A face (no cherub's face more beautiful)
Revealed by lustre brought with it from
Heaven:

And it was you, dear Lady!
Idon.

God be praised,
That I have been his comforter till now!
And will be so through every change of fortune
And every sacrifice his peace requires.-
Let us be gone with speed, that he may hear
These joyful tidings from no lips but mine.

[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims.

SCENE, the Area of a half-ruined Castle-on one side the entrance to a dungeon—Oswald and MARMADUKE pacing backwards and forwards.

My hands are numb.

The wind blows keen;

I hope Idonea is well housed. That horseman,
Who at full speed swept by us where the wood
Roared in the tempest, was within an ace
Of sending to his grave our precious Charge:
That would have been a vile mischance.
Mar.
It would.
Osw. Justice had been most cruelly defrauded.
Mar. Most cruelly.
Osto.
As up the steep we clomb,
I saw a distant fire in the north-east;
I took it for the blaze of Cheviot Beacon:
With proper speed our quarters may be gained
To-morrow evening.

[Looks restlessly towards the mouth of the dungeon.

Mar.

When, upon the plank,

I had led him 'cross the torrent, his voice blessed me:

You could not hear, for the foam beat the rocks
With deafening noise,-the benediction fell
Back on himself; but changed into a curse.
Osw. As well indeed it might.
Mar.

The fittest place?

Osw. (aside).

And this you deem

He is growing pitiful.

Mar. (listening). What an odd moaning that

Mar.

I'll answer for it that our four-legged friend
Shall not disturb us; further I'll not engage;
Come, come, for manhood's sake!
These drowsy shiverings,
This mortal stupor which is creeping over me,
What do they mean? were this my single body
Opposed to armies, not a nerve would tremble:
Why do I tremble now?--Is not the depth
Of this Man's crimes beyond the reach of
thought?

And yet, in plumbing the abyss for judgment,
Something I strike upon which turns my mind
Back on herself, I think, again-my breast
Concentres all the terrors of the Universe:
I look at him and tremble like a child.
Osw. Is it possible?

Mar.

One thing you noticed not: Just as we left the glen a clap of thunder Burst on the mountains with hell-rousing force. This is a time, said he, when guilt may shudder; But there's a Providence for them who walk In helplessness, when innocence is with them. At this audacious blasphemy, I thought The spirit of vengeance seemed to ride the air. Ost. Why are you not the man you were that moment?

He draws MARMADUKE to the dungeon. Mar. You say he was asleep,-look at this

Osw.

Nay, to see you thus Moves me beyond my bearing.-1 will try To gain the torrent's brink. [Exit OSWALD. Mar. (after a pause). It seems an age Since that Man left me.--No, I am not lost. Her. (at the mouth of the dungeon). Give me your hand; where are you, Friends! and tell me How goes the night.

Mar. "Tis hard to measure time, In such a weary night, and such a place. Her. I do not hear the voice of my friend Os

wald.