The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 1 (of 8)

by William Wordsworth

a Group of Pilgrims, and Idonea with them.

First Pilgrim	A grove of darker and more lofty shade I never saw.
Second Pilgrim	The music of the birds Drops deadened from a roof so thick with leaves.
Old Pilgrim	This news! It made my heart leap up with joy.
Idonea	I scarcely can believe it.
Old Pilgrim	Myself, I heard The Sheriff read, in open Court, a letter Which purported it was the royal pleasure The Baron Herbert, who, as was supposed, Had taken refuge in this neighbourhood, Should be forthwith restored. The hearing, Lady, Filled my dim eyes with tears.—When I returned From Palestine, and brought with me a heart, Though rich in heavenly, poor in earthly, comfort, I met your Father, then a wandering Outcast: He had a Guide, a Shepherd's boy; but grieved He was that One so young should pass his youth In such sad service; and he parted with him. We joined our tales of wretchedness together, And begged our daily bread from door to door. I talk familiarly to you, sweet Lady! For once you loved me.
Idonea	You shall back with me And see your Friend again. The good old Man Will be rejoiced to greet you.
Old Pilgrim	It seems but yesterday That a fierce storm o'ertook us, worn with travel, In a deep wood remote from any town. A cave that opened to the road presented A friendly shelter, and we entered in.
Idonea	And I was with you?
Old Pilgrim	If indeed 'twas you— But you were then a tottering Little-one— We sate us down. The sky grew dark and darker: I struck my flint, and built up a small fire With rotten boughs and leaves, such as the winds Of many autumns in the cave had piled. Meanwhile the storm fell heavy on the woods; Our little fire sent forth a cheering warmth And we were comforted, and talked of comfort; But 'twas an angry night, and o'er our heads The thunder rolled in peals that would have made A sleeping man uneasy in his bed. O Lady, you have need to love your Father. His voice—methinks I hear it now, his voice When, after a broad flash that filled the cave, He said to me, that he had seen his Child, A face (no cherub's face more beautiful) Revealed by lustre brought with it from heaven; And it was you, dear Lady!
Idonea	God be praised, That I have been his comforter till now! And will be so through every change of fortune And every sacrifice his peace requires.— Let us be gone with speed, that he may hear These joyful tidings from no lips but mine.
	[Exeunt Idonea and Pilgrims.]

Scene—The Area of a half-ruined Castle—on one side the entrance to a dungeon—
Oswald and Marmaduke pacing backwards and forwards.

Marmaduke	'Tis a wild night.
Oswald	I'd give my cloak and bonnet For sight of a warm fire.
Marmaduke	The wind blows keen; My hands are numb.
Oswald	Ha! ha! 'tis nipping cold. [Blowing his fingers.] I long for news of our brave Comrades; Lacy Would drive those Scottish Rovers to their dens If once they blew a horn this side the Tweed.
Marmaduke	I think I see a second range of Towers; This castle has another Area—come, Let us examine it.
Oswald	'Tis a bitter night; I hope Idonea is well housed. That horseman, Who at full speed swept by us where the wood Roared in the tempest, was within an ace Of sending to his grave our precious Charge: That would have been a vile mischance.
Marmaduke	It would.
Oswald	Justice had been most cruelly defrauded.
Marmaduke	Most cruelly.
Oswald	As up the steep we clomb, I saw a distant fire in the north-east; I took it for the blaze of Cheviot Beacon: With proper speed our quarters may be gained To-morrow evening.
	[He looks restlessly towards the mouth of the dungeon.]
Marmaduke	When, upon the plank, I had [led] him 'cross[4] the torrent, his voice blessed me: You could not hear, for the foam beat the rocks With deafening noise,—the benediction fell Back on himself; but changed into a curse.
Oswald	As well indeed it might.
Marmaduke	And this you deem The fittest place?
Oswald	(aside) He is growing pitiful.
Marmaduke	(listening) What an odd moaning that is!—
Oswald	Mighty odd The wind should pipe a little, while we stand Cooling our heels in this way!—I'll begin And count the stars.
Marmaduke	(still listening) That dog of his, you are sure, Could not come after us—he must have perished; The torrent would have dashed an oak to splinters. You said you did not like his looks—that he Would trouble us; if he were here again, I swear the sight of him would quail me more Than twenty armies.
Oswald	How?
Marmaduke	The old blind Man, When you had told him the mischance, was troubled Even to the shedding of some natural tears Into the torrent over which he hung, Listening in vain.
Oswald	He has a tender heart!
	[Oswald offers to go down into the dungeon.]
Marmaduke	How now, what mean you?
Oswald	Truly, I was going To waken our stray Baron. Were there not A farm or dwelling-house within five leagues, We should deserve to wear a cap and bells, Three good round years, for playing the fool here In such a night as this.
Marmaduke	Stop, stop.
Oswald	Perhaps, You'd better like we should descend together, And lie down by his side—what say you to it? Three of us—we should keep each other warm: I'll answer for it that our four-legged friend Shall not disturb us; further I'll not engage; Come, come, for manhood's sake!
Marmaduke	These drowsy shiverings, This mortal stupor which is creeping over me, What do they mean? were this my single body Opposed to armies, not a nerve would tremble: Why do I tremble now?—Is not the depth Of this Man's crimes beyond the reach of thought? And yet, in plumbing the abyss for judgment, Something I strike upon which turns my mind Back on herself, I think, again—my breast Concentres all the terrors of the Universe: I look at him and tremble like a child.
Oswald	Is it possible?
Marmaduke	One thing you noticed not: Just as we left the glen a clap of thunder Burst on the mountains with hell-rousing force. This is a time, said he, when guilt may shudder; But there's a Providence for them who walk In helplessness, when innocence is with them. At this audacious blasphemy, I thought The spirit of vengeance seemed to ride the air.
Oswald	Why are you not the man you were that moment?
	[He draws Marmaduke to the dungeon.]
Marmaduke	You say he was asleep,—look at this arm, And tell me if 'tis fit for such a work. Oswald, Oswald! [Leans upon Oswald.]
Oswald	This is some sudden seizure!
Marmaduke	A most strange faintness,—will you hunt me out A draught of water?
Oswald	Nay, to see you thus Moves me beyond my bearing.—I will try To gain the torrent's brink.
	[Exit Oswald.]
Marmaduke	(after a pause) It seems an age Since that Man left me.—No, I am not lost.
Herbert	(at the mouth of the dungeon) Give me your hand; where are you, Friends? and tell me How goes the night.
Marmaduke	'Tis hard to measure time, In such a weary night, and such a place.
Herbert	I do not hear the voice of my friend Oswald.
Marmaduke	A minute past, he went to fetch a draught Of water from the torrent. 'Tis, you'll say, A cheerless beverage.
Herbert	How good it was in you To stay behind!—Hearing at first no answer, I was alarmed.
Marmaduke	No wonder; this is a place That well may put some fears into your heart.
Herbert	Why so? a roofless rock had been a comfort, Storm-beaten and bewildered as we were; And in a night like this, to lend your cloaks To make a bed for me!—My Girl will weep When she is told of it.
Marmaduke	This Daughter of yours Is very dear to you.
Herbert	Oh! but you are young; Over your head twice twenty years must roll, With all their natural weight of sorrow and pain, Ere can be known to you how much a Father May love his Child.
Marmaduke	Thank you, old Man, for this! [Aside.]
Herbert	Fallen am I, and worn out, a useless Man; Kindly have you protected me to-night, And no return have I to make but prayers; May you in age be blest with such a daughter!— When from the Holy Land I had returned Sightless, and from my heritage was driven, A wretched Outcast—but this strain of thought Would lead me to talk fondly.
Marmaduke	Do not fear; Your words are precious to my ears; go on.
Herbert	You will forgive me, but my heart runs over. When my old Leader slipped into the flood And perished, what a piercing outcry you Sent after him. I have loved you ever since. You start—where are we?
Marmaduke	Oh, there is no danger; The cold blast struck me.
Herbert	'Twas a foolish question.
Marmaduke	But when you were an Outcast?—Heaven is just; Your piety would not miss its due reward; The little Orphan then would be your succour, And do good service, though she knew it not.
Herbert	I turned me from the dwellings of my Fathers, Where none but those who trampled on my rights Seemed to remember me. To the wide world I bore her, in my arms; her looks won pity; She was my Raven in the wilderness, And brought me food. Have I not cause to love her?
Marmaduke	Yes.
Herbert	More than ever Parent loved a Child?
Marmaduke	Yes, yes.
Herbert	I will not murmur, merciful God! I will not murmur; blasted as I have been, Thou hast left me ears to hear my Daughter's voice, And arms to fold her to my heart. Submissively Thee I adore, and find my rest in faith.
	[Enter Oswald.]
Oswald	Herbert!—confusion! (aside). Here it is, my Friend, [Presents the Horn.] A charming beverage for you to carouse, This bitter night.
Herbert	Ha! Oswald! ten bright crosses I would have given, not many minutes gone, To have heard your voice.
Oswald	Your couch, I fear, good Baron, Has been but comfortless; and yet that place, When the tempestuous wind first drove us hither, Felt warm as a wren's nest. You'd better turn And under covert rest till break of day, Or till the storm abate. (To Marmaduke aside.) He has restored you. No doubt you have been nobly entertained? But soft!—how came he forth? The Night-mare Conscience Has driven him out of harbour?
Marmaduke	I believe You have guessed right.
Herbert	The trees renew their murmur: Come, let us house together.
	[Oswald conducts him to the dungeon.]
Oswald	(returns) Had I not Esteemed you worthy to conduct the affair To its most fit conclusion, do you think I would so long have struggled with my Nature, And smothered all that's man in me?—away!— [Looking towards the dungeon.] This man's the property of him who best Can feel his crimes. I have resigned a privilege; It now becomes my duty to resume it.
Marmaduke	Touch not a finger—
Oswald	What then must be done?
Marmaduke	Which way soe'er I turn, I am perplexed.
Oswald	Now, on my life, I grieve for you. The misery Of doubt is insupportable. Pity, the facts Did not admit of stronger evidence; Twelve honest men, plain men, would set us right; Their verdict would abolish these weak scruples.
Marmaduke	Weak! I am weak—there does my torment lie, Feeding itself.
Oswald	Verily, when he said How his old heart would leap to hear her steps, You thought his voice the echo of Idonea's.
Marmaduke	And never heard a sound so terrible.
Oswald	Perchance you think so now?
Marmaduke	I cannot do it: Twice did I spring to grasp his withered throat, When such a sudden weakness fell upon me, I could have dropped asleep upon his breast.
Oswald	Justice—is there not thunder in the word? Shall it be law to stab the petty robber Who aims but at our purse; and shall this Parricide— Worse is he far, far worse (if foul dishonour Be worse than death) to that confiding Creature Whom he to more than filial love and duty Hath falsely trained—shall he fulfil his purpose? But you are fallen.
Marmaduke	Fallen should I be indeed— Murder—perhaps asleep, blind, old, alone, Betrayed, in darkness! Here to strike the blow— Away! away!— [Flings away his sword.]
Oswald	Nay, I have done with you: We'll lead him to the Convent. He shall live, And she shall love him. With unquestioned title He shall be seated in his Barony, And we too chant the praise of his good deeds. I now perceive we do mistake our masters, And most despise the men who best can teach us: Henceforth it shall be said that bad men only Are brave: Clifford is brave; and that old Man Is brave. [Taking Marmaduke's sword and giving it to him.] To Clifford's arms he would have led His Victim—haply to this desolate house.
Marmaduke	(advancing to the dungeon) It must be ended!—
Oswald	Softly; do not rouse him; He will deny it to the last. He lies Within the Vault, a spear's length to the left. [Marmaduke descends to the dungeon.] (Alone.) The Villains rose in mutiny to destroy me; I could have quelled the Cowards, but this Stripling Must needs step in, and save my life. The look With which he gave the boon—I see it now! The same that tempted me to loathe the gift.— For this old venerable Grey-beard—faith 'Tis his own fault if he hath got a face Which doth play tricks with them that look on it: 'Twas this that put it in my thoughts—that countenance— His staff—his figure—Murder!—what, of whom? We kill a worn-out horse, and who but women Sigh at the deed? Hew down a withered tree, And none look grave but dotards. He may live To thank me for this service. Rainbow arches, Highways of dreaming passion, have too long, Young as he is, diverted wish and hope From the unpretending ground we mortals tread;— Then shatter the delusion, break it up And set him free. What follows? I have learned That things will work to ends the slaves o' the world Do never dream of. I have been what he— This Boy—when he comes forth with bloody hands— Might envy, and am now,—but he shall know What I am now— [Goes and listens at the dungeon.] Praying or parleying?—tut! Is he not eyeless? He has been half-dead These fifteen years— [Enter female Beggar with two or three of her Companions.] (Turning abruptly.) Ha! speak—what Thing art thou? (Recognises her.) Heavens! my good friend! [To her.]
Beggar	Forgive me, gracious Sir!—
Oswald	(to her companions) Begone, ye Slaves, or I will raise a whirlwind And send ye dancing to the clouds, like leaves. [They retire affrighted.]
Beggar	Indeed we meant no harm; we lodge sometimes In this deserted Castle—I repent me. [Oswald goes to the dungeon—listens—returns to the Beggar.]
Oswald	Woman, thou hast a helpless Infant—keep Thy secret for its sake, or verily That wretched life of thine shall be the forfeit.
Beggar	I do repent me, Sir; I fear the curse Of that blind Man. 'Twas not your money, Sir,—
Oswald	Begone!
Beggar	(going) There is some wicked deed in hand: [Aside.] Would I could find the old Man and his Daughter. [Exit Beggar.] [Marmaduke re-enters from the dungeon]
Oswald	It is all over then;—your foolish fears Are hushed to sleep, by your own act and deed, Made quiet as he is.
Marmaduke	Why came you down? And when I felt your hand upon my arm And spake to you, why did you give no answer? Feared you to waken him? he must have been In a deep sleep. I whispered to him thrice. There are the strangest echoes in that place!
Oswald	Tut! let them gabble till the day of doom.
Marmaduke	Scarcely, by groping, had I reached the Spot, When round my wrist I felt a cord drawn tight, As if the blind Man's dog were pulling at it.
Oswald	But after that?
Marmaduke	The features of Idonea Lurked in his face—
Oswald	Psha! Never to these eyes Will retribution show itself again With aspect so inviting. Why forbid me To share your triumph?
Marmaduke	Yes, her very look, Smiling in sleep—
Oswald	A pretty feat of Fancy!
Marmaduke	Though but a glimpse, it sent me to my prayers.
Oswald	Is he alive?
Marmaduke	What mean you? who alive?
Oswald	Herbert! since you will have it, Baron Herbert; He who will gain his Seignory when Idonea Hath become Clifford's harlot—is he living?
Marmaduke	The old Man in that dungeon is alive.
Oswald	Henceforth, then, will I never in camp or field Obey you more. Your weakness, to the Band, Shall be proclaimed: brave Men, they all shall hear it. You a protector of humanity! Avenger you of outraged innocence!
Marmaduke	'Twas dark—dark as the grave; yet did I see, Saw him—his face turned toward me; and I tell thee Idonea's filial countenance was there To baffle me—it put me to my prayers. Upwards I cast my eyes, and, through a crevice, Beheld a star twinkling above my head, And, by the living God, I could not do it. [Sinks exhausted.]
Oswald	(to himself) Now may I perish if this turn do more Than make me change my course. (To Marmaduke.) Dear Marmaduke, My words were rashly spoken; I recal them: I feel my error; shedding human blood Is a most serious thing.
Marmaduke	Not I alone, Thou too art deep in guilt.
Oswald	We have indeed Been most presumptuous. There is guilt in this, Else could so strong a mind have ever known These trepidations? Plain it is that Heaven Has marked out this foul Wretch as one whose crimes Must never come before a mortal judgment-seat, Or be chastised by mortal instruments.
Marmaduke	A thought that's worth a thousand worlds! [Goes towards the dungeon.]
Oswald	I grieve That, in my zeal, I have caused you so much pain.
Marmaduke	Think not of that! 'tis over—we are safe.
Oswald	(as if to himself, yet speaking aloud) The truth is hideous, but how stifle it? [Turning to Marmaduke.] Give me your sword—nay, here are stones and fragments, The least of which would beat out a man's brains; Or you might drive your head against that wall. No! this is not the place to hear the tale: It should be told you pinioned in your bed, Or on some vast and solitary plain Blown to you from a trumpet.
Marmaduke	Why talk thus? Whate'er the monster brooding in your breast I care not: fear I have none, and cannot fear— [The sound of a horn is heard.] That horn again—'Tis some one of our Troop; What do they here? Listen!
Oswald	What! dogged like thieves!
	[Enter Wallace and Lacy, etc.]
Lacy	You are found at last, thanks to the vagrant Troop For not misleading us.
Oswald	(looking at Wallace) That subtle Greybeard— I'd rather see my father's ghost.
Lacy	(to Marmaduke) My Captain, We come by order of the Band. Belike You have not heard that Henry has at last Dissolved the Barons' League, and sent abroad His Sheriffs with fit force to reinstate The genuine owners of such Lands and Baronies As, in these long commotions, have been seized. His Power is this way tending. It befits us To stand upon our guard, and with our swords Defend the innocent.
Marmaduke	Lacy! we look But at the surfaces of things; we hear Of towns in flames, fields ravaged, young and old Driven out in troops to want and nakedness; Then grasp our swords and rush upon a cure That flatters us, because it asks not thought: The deeper malady is better hid; The world is poisoned at the heart.
Lacy	What mean you?
Wallace	(whose eye has been fixed suspiciously upon Oswald) Ay, what is it you mean?
Marmaduke	Hark'ee, my Friends;— [Appearing gay.] Were there a Man who, being weak and helpless And most forlorn, should bribe a Mother, pressed By penury, to yield him up her Daughter, A little Infant, and instruct the Babe, Prattling upon his knee, to call him Father—
Lacy	Why, if his heart be tender, that offence I could forgive him.
Marmaduke	(going on) And should he make the Child An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light Of infant playfulness with piteous looks Of misery that was not—
Lacy	Troth, 'tis hard— But in a world like ours—
Marmaduke	(changing his tone) This self-same Man— Even while he printed kisses on the cheek Of this poor Babe, and taught its innocent tongue To lisp the name of Father—could he look To the unnatural harvest of that time When he should give her up, a Woman grown, To him who bid the highest in the market Of foul pollution—
Lacy	The whole visible world Contains not such a Monster!
Marmaduke	For this purpose Should he resolve to taint her Soul by means Which bathe the limbs in sweat to think of them; Should he, by tales which would draw tears from iron, Work on her nature, and so turn compassion And gratitude to ministers of vice, And make the spotless spirit of filial love Prime mover in a plot to damn his Victim Both soul and body—
Wallace	'Tis too horrible; Oswald, what say you to it?
Lacy	Hew him down, And fling him to the ravens.
Marmaduke	But his aspect It is so meek, his countenance so venerable.
Wallace	(with an appearance of mistrust) But how, what say you, Oswald?
Lacy	(at the same moment) Stab him, were it Before the Altar.
Marmaduke	What, if he were sick, Tottering upon the very verge of life, And old, and blind—
Lacy	Blind, say you?
Oswald	(coming forward) Are we Men, Or own we baby Spirits? Genuine courage Is not an accidental quality, A thing dependent for its casual birth On opposition and impediment. Wisdom, if Justice speak the word, beats down The giant's strength; and, at the voice of Justice, Spares not the worm. The giant and the worm— She weighs them in one scale. The wiles of woman, And craft of age, seducing reason, first Made weakness a protection, and obscured The moral shapes of things. His tender cries And helpless innocence—do they protect The infant lamb? and shall the infirmities, Which have enabled this enormous Culprit To perpetrate his crimes, serve as a Sanctuary To cover him from punishment? Shame!—Justice, Admitting no resistance, bends alike The feeble and the strong. She needs not here Her bonds and chains, which make the mighty feeble. —We recognise in this old Man a victim Prepared already for the sacrifice.
Lacy	By heaven, his words are reason!
Oswald	Yes, my Friends, His countenance is meek and venerable; And, by the Mass, to see him at his prayers!— I am of flesh and blood, and may I perish When my heart does not ache to think of it!— Poor Victim! not a virtue under heaven But what was made an engine to ensnare thee; But yet I trust, Idonea, thou art safe.
Lacy	Idonea!
Wallace	How! What? your Idonea? [To Marmaduke.]
Marmaduke	Mine; But now no longer mine. You know Lord Clifford; He is the Man to whom the Maiden—pure As beautiful, and gentle and benign, And in her ample heart loving even me— Was to be yielded up.
Lacy	Now, by the head Of my own child, this Man must die; my hand, A worthier wanting, shall itself entwine In his grey hairs!—
Marmaduke	(to Lacy) I love the Father in thee. You know me, Friends; I have a heart to feel, And I have felt, more than perhaps becomes me Or duty sanctions.
Lacy	We will have ample justice. Who are we, Friends? Do we not live on ground Where Souls are self-defended, free to grow Like mountain oaks rocked by the stormy wind? Mark the Almighty Wisdom, which decreed This monstrous crime to be laid open— _here,_ Where Reason has an eye that she can use, And Men alone are Umpires. To the Camp He shall be led, and there, the Country round All gathered to the spot, in open day Shall Nature be avenged.
Oswald	'Tis nobly thought; His death will be a monument for ages.
Marmaduke	(to Lacy) I thank you for that hint. He shall be brought Before the Camp, and would that best and wisest Of every country might be present. There, His crime shall be proclaimed; and for the rest It shall be done as Wisdom shall decide: Meanwhile, do you two hasten back and see That all is well prepared.
Wallace	We will obey you. (Aside.) But softly! we must look a little nearer.
Marmaduke	Tell where you found us. At some future time I will explain the cause.
	[Exeunt.]

Act III

Scene—The door of the Hostel,
a group of Pilgrims as before; Idonea and the Host among them

Host	Lady, you'll find your Father at the Convent As I have told you: He left us yesterday With two Companions; one of them, as seemed, His most familiar Friend. (Going.) There was a letter Of which I heard them speak, but that I fancy Has been forgotten.
Idonea	(to Host) Farewell!
Host	Gentle pilgrims, St. Cuthbert speed you on your holy errand.
	[Exeunt Idonea and Pilgrims.]

Scene—A desolate Moor.
Oswald alone.

Oswald	Carry him to the Camp! Yes, to the Camp. Oh, Wisdom! a most wise resolve! and then, That half a word should blow it to the winds! This last device must end my work.—Methinks It were a pleasant pastime to construct A scale and table of belief—as thus— Two columns, one for passion, one for proof; Each rises as the other falls: and first, Passion a unit and against us—proof— Nay, we must travel in another path, Or we're stuck fast for ever;—passion, then, Shall be a unit for us; proof—no, passion! We'll not insult thy majesty by time, Person, and place—the where, the when, the how, And all particulars that dull brains require To constitute the spiritless shape of Fact, They bow to, calling the idol, Demonstration. A whipping to the Moralists who preach That misery is a sacred thing: for me, I know no cheaper engine to degrade a man, Nor any half so sure. This Stripling's mind Is shaken till the dregs float on the surface; And, in the storm and anguish of the heart, He talks of a transition in his Soul, And dreams that he is happy. We dissect The senseless body, and why not the mind?— These are strange sights—the mind of man, upturned, Is in all natures a strange spectacle; In some a hideous one—hem! shall I stop? No.—Thoughts and feelings will sink deep, but then They have no substance. Pass but a few minutes, And something shall be done which Memory May touch, whene'er her Vassals are at work.
	[Enter Marmaduke, from behind]
Oswald	(turning to meet him) But listen, for my peace—
Marmaduke	Why, I believe you.
Oswald	But hear the proofs—
Marmaduke	Ay, prove that when two peas Lie snugly in a pod, the pod must then Be larger than the peas—prove this—'twere matter Worthy the hearing. Fool was I to dream It ever could be otherwise!
Oswald	Last night When I returned with water from the brook, I overheard the Villains—every word Like red-hot iron burnt into my heart. Said one, "It is agreed on. The blind Man Shall feign a sudden illness, and the Girl, Who on her journey must proceed alone, Under pretence of violence, be seized. She is," continued the detested Slave, "She is right willing—strange if she were not!— They say, Lord Clifford is a savage man; But, faith, to see him in his silken tunic, Fitting his low voice to the minstrel's harp, There's witchery in't. I never knew a maid That could withstand it. True," continued he, "When we arranged the affair, she wept a little (Not the less welcome to my Lord for that) And said, 'My Father he will have it so.'"
Marmaduke	I am your hearer.
Oswald	This I caught, and more That may not be retold to any ear. The obstinate bolt of a small iron door Detained them near the gateway of the Castle. By a dim lantern's light I saw that wreaths Of flowers were in their hands, as if designed For festive decoration; and they said, With brutal laughter and most foul allusion, That they should share the banquet with their Lord And his new Favorite.
Marmaduke	Misery!—
Oswald	I knew How you would be disturbed by this dire news, And therefore chose this solitary Moor, Here to impart the tale, of which, last night, I strove to ease my mind, when our two Comrades, Commissioned by the Band, burst in upon us.
Marmaduke	Last night, when moved to lift the avenging steel, I did believe all things were shadows—yea, Living or dead all things were bodiless, Or but the mutual mockeries of body, Till that same star summoned me back again. Now I could laugh till my ribs ached. Fool! To let a creed, built in the heart of things, Dissolve before a twinkling atom!—Oswald, I could fetch lessons out of wiser schools Than you have entered, were it worth the pains. Young as I am, I might go forth a teacher, And you should see how deeply I could reason Of love in all its shapes, beginnings, ends; Of moral qualities in their diverse aspects; Of actions, and their laws and tendencies.
Oswald	You take it as it merits—
Marmaduke	One a King, General or Cham, Sultan or Emperor, Strews twenty acres of good meadow-ground With carcases, in lineament and shape And substance, nothing differing from his own, But that they cannot stand up of themselves; Another sits i' th' sun, and by the hour Floats kingcups in the brook—a Hero one We call, and scorn the other as Time's spendthrift; But have they not a world of common ground To occupy—both fools, or wise alike, Each in his way?
Oswald	Troth, I begin to think so.
Marmaduke	Now for the corner-stone of my philosophy: I would not give a denier for the man Who, on such provocation as this earth Yields, could not chuck his babe beneath the chin, And send it with a fillip to its grave.
Oswald	Nay, you leave me behind.
Marmaduke	That such a One, So pious in demeanour! in his look So saintly and so pure!—Hark'ee, my Friend, I'll plant myself before Lord Clifford's Castle, A surly mastiff kennels at the gate, And he shall howl and I will laugh, a medley Most tunable.
Oswald	In faith, a pleasant scheme; But take your sword along with you, for that Might in such neighbourhood find seemly use.— But first, how wash our hands of this old Man?
Marmaduke	Oh yes, that mole, that viper in the path; Plague on my memory, him I had forgotten.
Oswald	You know we left him sitting—see him yonder.
Marmaduke	Ha! ha!—
Oswald	As 'twill be but a moment's work, I will stroll on; you follow when 'tis done.
	[Exeunt.]

Scene changes to another part of the Moor at a short distance—
Herbert is discovered seated on a stone.