Gray. No—not Grayling the robber—but, there, Gwinett the convicted murderer.
Omnes. Gwinett?
Gil. Gwinett!—Ambrose Gwinett!—it can’t be.
Gwin. It is even so, good Gilbert—though wonderful ’tis true.
Gil. He’s innocent—I knew he was innocent—good friends—kind neighbours—let not this be spoken of—heaven has by a miracle preserved a guiltless man—you will all be secret—no one here will tell the tale.
Gray. Yes—here is one.
Gil. You will not be that wretch.
Lucy. (falling at Grayling’s feet.) Mercy! mercy!
Gray. Are you there, Lucy Gwinett—think of my agonies—my hopes all blighted—my affections spurned—think of my sufferings for eighteen years—look at me—can you kneel before the ruin which your scorn has made—but now, new I triumph—seize upon the murderer. (all indicate unwillingness.) Nay then, I will proclaim the tale throughout the town. (Is rushing up stage, when Gilbert seizes him by the throat.)
Gil. You stir not a foot—if a murderer must be hanged, it shall be for strangling such a serpent.