OLD MOOR. It is death—darkness—is waving—before my eyes—I pray thee—send for the minister—that he may—give me—the Holy Communion. Where is—my son Francis?
AMELIA. He is fled. God have mercy upon us!
OLD MOOR. Fled—fled from his father's deathbed? And is that all—all —of two children full of promise—thou hast given—thou hast—taken away—thy name be—
AMELIA (with a sudden cry). Dead! both dead!
[Exit in despair.]
Enter FRANCIS, dancing with joy.
FRANCIS. Dead, they cry, dead! Now am I master. Through the whole
castle it rings, dead! but stay, perchance he only sleeps? To be sure,
yes, to be sure! that certainly is a sleep after which no "good-morrow"
is ever said. Sleep and death are but twin-brothers. We will for once
change their names! Excellent, welcome sleep! We will call thee death!
(He closes the eyes of OLD MOOR.) Who now will come forward and dare to
accuse me at the bar of justice, or tell me to my face, thou art a
villain? Away, then, with this troublesome mask of humility and virtue!
Now you shall see Francis as he is, and tremble! My father was
overgentle in his demands, turned his domain into a family-circle, sat
blandly smiling at the gate, and saluted his peasants as brethren and
children. My brows shall lower upon you like thunderclouds; my lordly
name shall hover over you like a threatening comet over the mountains;
my forehead shall be your weather-glass! He would caress and fondle
the child that lifted its stubborn head against him. But fondling and
caressing is not my mode. I will drive the rowels of the spur into
their flesh, and give the scourge a trial. Under my rule it shall be
brought to pass that potatoes and small-beer shall be considered a
holiday treat; and woe to him who meets my eye with the audacious front
of health. Haggard want and crouching fear are my insignia; and in this
livery I will clothe ye.
[Exit.]
SCENE III.—THE BOHEMIAN WOODS.
SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, A Troop Of ROBBERS.
RAZ. Are you come? Is it really you? Oh, let me squeeze thee into a jelly, my dear heart's brother! Welcome to the Bohemian forests! Why, you are grown quite stout and jolly! You have brought us recruits in right earnest, a little army of them; you are the very prince of crimps.