Enter a Servant, L.
Ser. My Lord, good Master Milton waits without, Desiring presence of you.—
Crom. Pearson, go.
I would see him alone. Perchance his words
[Exit PEARSON, L. Servant follows.]
May ease my tortur'd breast.
[Rings a small bell. Enter a Servant, L.]
Ask quickly, how
My daughter fares, if she be better—
[Servant crosses behind and exit, R.]
Lo!
If I should lose her. Nay! it cannot be.
My thoughts seem driven like the wind-vex'd leaves
That eddy round in vain: fy, fy upon me!
Was not Saul doom'd? but David slew him not,
Yet Heaven led him through the winding cave,
Sealing the watchers' lids, and to his hand
Gave the bright two-edg'd blade, that in his eyes
Looked with cold meaning, bloodless it remain'd—
Would it were so now!
Servant re-enters, R.
Ser. She is worse, my Lord,
And raves incessantly; the doctors shook
Their heads when I did ask, and bade me tell you
There is no hope—
Crom. [Motions him to go.] Why comes not Master Milton?
[Servant crosses behind to L. sees Milton.]
Ser. My Lord, he waits without for aid to enter.
[Exit Servant, L. and re-enters leading MILTON.]
Crom. Good Milton, I am sick at heart. Think you the world Will judge me very harshly?—