Neigh. None.
Gray. Ha! ha! ha!
Music.—Enter Neighbours from the Court with Officers guarding Gwinett. L.
Gwin. Good people, there are I see many among you whose tears bespeak that you think me guiltless—may my soul never reach yon happy sphere, if by the remotest thought it ever yearned for blood:—circumstances—damning circumstances have betrayed me:—I condemn not my judges—farewell, for the few hours I dwell among men, let me have your prayers; and when no more, let me, I pray, live in your charitable thoughts. When time (for I feel it one day will) shall reveal my innocence—should ought remain of this poor frame, let it I beseech you, lie next my mother’s grave, and in my epitaph cleanse my memory from the festering stain of blood-farewell,—Lucy!
Lucy. (rushing on & falling into his arms.) Ambrose—
Offi. (aside to Grayling.) Grayling, you, as smith for the prison, must measure the culprit for his fetters.
Gray. Measure?
Offi. Aye! it is the sentence of the court that the prisoner be hung in chains.
Gray. Indeed!
Offi. The office is doubtless an ungrateful one; being a fellow townsman you needs must feel for him.