Pris. Alas! Sir, and what have I to hope from such a meaness?—You do not come to ransom me.
Has. Perhaps I do.
Pris. Oh! do not say so—unless—unless—I am not to be deceived—pardon in your turn this suspicion—but when I have so much to hope for—when the sun, the air, fields, woods, and all that wonderous world, wherein I have been so happy, is in prospect; forgive me, if the vast hope makes me fear.
Has. Unless your ransom is fixed at something beyond my power to give, I will release you.
Pris. Release me! Benevolent!
Has. How shall I mark you down in my petition? [Takes out his book.] what name?
Pris. 'Tis almost blotted from my memory. [Weeping.
Keep. It is of little note—a female prisoner, taken with the rebel party, and in these cells confined for fifteen years.
Pris. During which time I have demeaned myself with all humility to my governors—neither have I distracted my fellow prisoners with a complaint that might recall to their memory their own unhappy fate—I have been obedient, patient; and cherished hope to chear me with vain dreams, while despair possess'd my reason.
Has. Retire—I will present the picture you have given.