ACT V

SCENE I.—A View of Conway Castle by Moon-Light.

Enter Percy and Motley.

MOTL.  In truth, my Lord, you venture too near the Castle.  Should you fall into Osmond's power a second time, your next jump may be into a better world.
PERCY.  Oh! there is no danger, Motley.  My followers are not far off, and will join me at a moment's warning; then fear not for me.
MOTL.  With all my heart, but permit me to fear for myself.  We are now within bow-shot of the Castle.  The archers may think proper to amuse us with a proof of their skill; and were I to feel an arrow quivering in my gizzard, probably I should be much more surprised than [81] pleased. Good my Lord, let us back to the fisherman's hut.
PERCY.  Your advice may be wise, Gilbert, but I cannot follow it.  Angela's escape may be discovered: she may be pursued, and in need of my assistance.  Then counsel not my retiring; my fears of losing Angela are too strong, the flame which burns in my bosom too ardent!
MOTL. I'm sure no flame burning in your bosom can give you so much pain as an arrow would give me sticking in mine; and as to your fears of losing the Lady, I’d bet mine of losing my life against any fears in Christendom!
PERCY.  How, Gilbert?  Have you not promised to stand by me to the last? Did you not say you could die in my service with pleasure?
MOTL.  Very true.—But, Lord! if a man was always taken at his word, the world would soon be turned upside down.  When a polite gentleman begs you to consider his house as your own, and assures you that all he has is at your disposal, he'd be in a terrible scrape if you began knocking down his walls, or requested the loan of his wife or daughters!—No, no, Sir! When I said that I should die in your service with pleasure, I intended to live in it many long years; since, to tell you the truth, from a child I had always a particular dislike to dying, and I think that with every hour the prejudice grows stronger.—Good my Lord, let us begone.  Ere long I doubt not—
PERCY. Hark!  Did I not hear—No!  She comes not!—Heavens, should the Friar's plot have failed!
MOTL.  Failed, and a Priest and a Petticoat concerned in it?—Oh! no; a plot composed of such good ingredients cannot but succeed.—Ugh! [82] Would I were again seated by the Fisher's hearth! The wind blows cruel sharp and bitter!
PERCY. For shame, Gilbert! Am I not equally exposed to its severity?
MOTL. Oh!  The flame in your bosom keeps you warm; and in a cold night love wraps one up better than a blanket.[9] But that not being my situation, the present object of my desires is a blazing wood-fire, and Venus would look to me less lovely than a smoking sack posset!—Oh! when I was in love, I managed matters much better: I always paid my addresses by the fire-side, and contrived to urge my soft suit just at dinner-time. Then how I filled my fair-one's ears with fine speeches, while she filled my trencher with roast-beef! Then what figures and tropes came out of my mouth, and what dainties and tid-bits went in! ‘Twould have done your heart good to hear me talk, and see me eat and you'd have found it no easy matter to decide, whether I had most wit or appetite.
PERCY. And who was the object of this voracious passion?
MOTL. A person well calculated to charm both my heart and my stomach: It was a Lady of great merit, who did your Father the honour to superintend his culinary concerns.  I was scarce fifteen, when she kindled a flame in my heart, while lighting the kitchen fire, and from that moment I thought on nothing but her.  My mornings were passed in composing poems on her beauty, my evenings in reciting them in her ear; for Nature had equally denied the fair creature and myself the faculty of reading and writing.
[83]
PERCY.  You were successful, I hope?
MOTL.  Why, at length, my Lord, a Pindaric Ode upon her grace in frying pancakes melted her heart.  She consented to be mine; when, oh! cruel Fortune! taking one night a drop too much—poor dear creature! she never got the better of it! I wept her loss, and composed an Elegy upon it, which has been thought, by many persons of great judgment, not totally destitute of taste and sublimity.  It began thus:

Baked be the pies to coals! Burn, roast-meat, burn!
Boil o'er, ye pots! Ye spits, forget to turn!
Cindrelia's death—

(Enter Saib conducting Kenric.)
SAIB. Nay, yet hold up a while!—Now we are near the Fisher's cottage.
KENR. Good Saib, I needs must stop!—Enfeebled by Osmond's tortures, my limbs refuse to bear me further!—Here lay me down: Then fly to Percy, guide him to the dungeon, and, ere 'tis too late, bid him save the Father of Angela!
PERCY. (To Motley.)—Hark! Did you hear?
[84]
SAIB. Yet, to leave you thus alone!—
KENR. Oh! Heed not me! Think, that on these few moments depends our safety, Angela’s freedom, Reginald’s life!—You have the master-key! Fly then —oh! fly to Percy!
PERCY (Starting forward.)—Said he not Reginald?—Speak again, stranger! What of Reginald?
SAIB. Ha! Look up, Kenric!—‘Tis Percy’s-self!
PERCY AND MOTLEY. How!—Kenric?
KENR. (Sinking at Percy's feet.) Yes, the guilty, the penitent Kenric! Oh! surely 'twas Heaven sent you hither! Know, Earl Percy, that Reginald lives, that Angela is his daughter!
PERCY. Amazement!—And is this known to Osmond?
KENR.  Two hours have scarcely passed since he surprised the secret. Tortures compelled me to avow where Reginald was hidden, and he now is in his brother's power. Fly then to his aid! Alas! perhaps at this moment his destruction is completed! Perhaps even now Osmond's dagger—
PERCY.  Within there! Allan! Harold!—Quick, Gilbert, sound your horn!—(Motley sounds it.)

(Enter Allan, Edric, Harold, and Soldiers.)
PERCY. Friends, may I depend on your support?
HAR.  While we breathe, all will stand by you!
SOLDIERS. All!—All!
[85]
PERCY. Follow me then!—Away!
KENR. Yet stay one moment!—Percy, to this grateful friend have I confided a master-key, which will instantly admit you to the Castle, and have described to him the retreat of Reginald!—Be he your guide, and hasten—Oh! that pang!— (He faints; Allan and Edric support him.)
PERCY. Look to him! He sinks! Bear him to your hut, Edric, and there tend his hurts—(To Saib.) Now on, good fellow, and swiftly!—Osmond, despair, I come!
(Exit with Saib, Motley, Harold, and Soldiers on one side, while Allan and Edric convey away Kenric still fainting on the other.)

SCENE II.—A Vaulted Chamber.
Enter Father Philip, with a Basket on his Arm and a Torch, conducting Angela.

F. PHIL. Thanks to St. Francis, we have as yet passed unobserved!—Surely, of all travelling companions, Fear is the least agreeable: I couldn't be more fatigued, had I run twenty miles without stopping!
ANG.  Why this delay?—Good Father, let us proceed.
F. PHIL. Ere I can go further,  Lady, I must needs stop to take breath, and refresh my spirits with a taste of this cordial—(Taking a bottle from the basket.)
ANG. Oh! Not now! Think that Osmond may discover me, and mar your kind intentions. This room, you say, conceals the private door: Pr’ythee, unclose it! Let us from hence! Wait till we are safe under Percy’s protection, and then drink as you list. But not now, Father; in pity, not now!
[86]
F. PHIL. Well, well, be calm, Daughter!—Oh! these women! these women! They mind no one's comfort but their own!—Now, where is the door?
ANG.  How tedious seems every moment which I pass within these hated walls!—Ha! Yonder comes a light!
F. PHIL.  So, so—I've found it at last—(Touching a spring, a secret door flies open.)
ANG.  It moves this way!—By all my fears, 'tis Osmond!—In, Father, in!—Away, for Heaven's sake! (Exeunt, closing the door after them)

(Enter Osmond and Hassan with a Torch.)
OSM. (After a pause of gloomy meditation.) Is all still within the Castle?
HASS.  As the silence of the grave.
OSM.  Where are your fellows?
HASS.  Saib guards the traitor Kenric: Muley and Alaric are buried in sleep.
OSM.  Their hands have been stained in blood, and yet can they sleep?—Call your companions hither.—(Hassan offers to leave the torch.)—Away with the light!  Its beams are hateful!
(Exit Hassan)
OSM. (Alone.) Yes! this is the place.  If Kenric said true, for sixteen years have the vaults beneath me rang with my brother's groans. I dread to unclose the door! How shall I sustain the beams of his eye when they rest on Evelina's murderer? How will his proud heart swell with rage at meeting his usurping brother!—Ah! the beams of his eye must long since have been quenched in tears!—The pride of his heart must by this be subdued by suffering!—Great have been those sufferings—in truth so great, that even [87] my hatred bends before them.—Yet for that hatred had I not cause? At Tournaments, 'twas to Reginald that each noble proffered friendship. Evelina too!—Ha! at that name my expiring hate revives! Reginald! Reginald! For thee was I sacrificed! Oh! When it strikes a second blow, my poniard shall stab surer!
Enter Hassan, Muley, and Alaric, with Torches
THE  AFRICANS. (Together.) My Lord! My Lord!
OSM.  Now, why this haste?
HASS.  I tremble to inform you, that Saib has fled the Castle. A master-key, which he found upon Kenric, and of which he kept possession, has enabled him to escape.
OSM.  Saib too gone?—All are false! All forsake me!
HASS. Yet more, my Lord; he has made his prisoner the companion of his flight.
OSM. (Starting.) How? Kenric escaped?
ALARIC.  ‘Tis but too certain; doubtless he has fled to Percy.
OSM. To Percy!—Ha! Then I must be speedy: my fate hangs on a thread! Friends, I have ever found ye faithful; mark me now!—(Opening the private door.) Of these two passages, the left conducts to a long chain of dungeons: In one of these my brother still languishes.  Once already have you seen him bleeding beneath my sword—but he yet exists. My fortune, my love, nay my life, are at stake! Need I say more? (Each half-unsheathes his sword.)—That gesture speaks me understood.  On then before, I follow you. (The Africans pass through the private door: Osmond is advancing toward it, when [88] he suddenly starts back.) —Ha!  Why roll these seas of blood before me?  Whose mangled corse do they bear to my feet?—Fratricide?—Oh!  'tis a dreadful name!—Yet how preserve myself and Reginald?—It cannot be!  We must not breathe the same atmosphere.—Fate, thy hand urges me!—Fate, thy voice prompts me! Thou hast spoken; I obey.—(He follows the Africans; the door is closed after them.)
 

SCENE III.—A gloomy subterraneous Dungeon, wide and lofty: The upper part of it has in several places fallen in, and left large chasms.  On one side are various passages leading to other Caverns: On the other is an Iron Door with steps leading to it, and a Wicket in the middle.  Reginald, pale and emaciated, in coarse garments, his hair hanging wildly about his face, and a chain bound round his body, lies sleeping upon a bed of straw.  A lamp, a small basket, and a pitcher, are placed near him.  After a few moments he awakes, and extends his arms.

REG.  My child!  My Evelina!—Oh! fly me not, lovely forms!—They are gone, and once more I live to misery.—Thou wert kind to me, Sleep! Even now, methought, I sat in my Castle-hall: A maid, lovely as the Queen of Fairies, hung on my knee, and hailed me by that sweet name, ‘Father!’ Yes, I was happy!—Yet frown not on me therefore, Darkness! I am thine again, my gloomy bride!—Be not incensed, Despair, that I left thee for a moment; I have passed with thee sixteen years! Ah! how many have I still to pass?—Yet fly not my bosom quite, sweet Hope! Still speak to me of liberty, of light! Whisper, that once more I shall see the [89] morn break, that again shall my fevered lips drink the pure gale of evening!—God, thou know'st that I have borne my sufferings meekly; I have wept for myself, but never cursed my foes; I have sorrowed for thy anger, but never murmured at thy will. Patient have I been; oh! then reward me! let me once again press my daughter in my arms; let me, for one instant, feel again that I clasp to my heart a being who loves me! Speed thou to heaven, prayer of a captive!—(He sinks upon a stone, with his hands clasped, and his eyes bent stedfastly upon the flame of the lamp.)
(Angela and Father Philip are seen through the chasms above, passing along slowly.)
ANG.  Be cautious, Father!—Feel you not how the ground trembles beneath us?
F. PHIL. Perfectly well; and would give my best breviary to find myself once more on terra-firma. But the outlet cannot be far off: Let us proceed.
ANG. Look down upon us, blessed Angels! Aid us! protect us!
F. PHIL. Amen, fair daughter!—And now away.                             (Exeunt.)
REG. (After a pause.) ’Tis that door which divides me from happiness. How often against that door have I knelt and prayed, and ever knelt and prayed in vain! Fearful, lest my complaints should move him from his purpose, my gaoler listens not, replies not: Hasty through yon wicket he gives my food, then flies as if this dungeon held a serpent. Oh! then how my heart swells with bitterness, when the sound of his retiring steps is heard no more, when through yon lofty chasm I catch no longer the gleam of his departing torch!—How wastes my lamp? [90] The hour of Kenric's visit must long be past, and still he comes not. How, if death's hand hath struck him suddenly? My existence unknown—Away from my fancy, dreadful idea! (Rising, and taking the lamp.) The breaking of my chain permits me to wander at large through the wide precincts of my prison. Haply the late storm, whose pealing thunders were heard e'en in this abyss, may have rent some friendly chasm: Haply some nook yet unexplored—Ah! no, no, no! My hopes are vain, my search will be fruitless.  Despair in these dungeons reigns despotic; she mocks my complaints, rejects my prayers, and, when I sue for freedom, bids me seek it in my grave!—Death!  Oh!  Death! how welcome wilt thou be to me!
(Exit)

(The noise is heard of an heavy bar falling; the door opens.)

(Enter Father Philip and Angela.)
F. PHIL. How's this?  A door?
ANG.  It was barred on the outside.
F. PHIL.  That we'll forgive, as it wasn't bolted on the in.  But I don't recollect—Surely I've not—
ANG.  What's the matter?
F. PHIL.  By my faith, daughter, I suspect that I've missed my way.
ANG.  Heaven forbid!
F. PHIL.  Nay, if 'tis so, I sha'n't be the first man who of two ways has preferred the wrong.
ANG. Provoking! And did I not tell you to chuse the right-hand passage?
F. PHIL.  Truly, did you; and that was the very thing which made me chuse the left.  Whenever I'm in doubt myself, I generally ask a woman's advice.  When she's of one way of thinking, [91] I've always found that reason's on the other.  In this instance, perhaps, I have been mistaken: But wait here for one moment, and the fact shall be ascertained. But, perhaps, you fear being alone in the dark?
ANG.  I fear nothing, except Osmond.
F. PHIL.  Nay, I've no more inclination to fall into his clutches again, than yourself.  What would be the consequence?  You would be married, I should be hung!  Now, daughter, you may think that I've a very bad taste; but as, I'm a Christian, I'd rather be married fifty years, than hung for one little half-hour.                             (Exit)
ANG. How thick and infectious is the air of this cavern!  Yet perhaps for sixteen years has my poor father breathed none purer.  Hark!  Steps are quick advancing!  The Friar comes, but why in such confusion?
(Re-enter Father Philip running.)
F. PHIL.  Help!  Help!  It follows me!
ANG. (Detaining him.) What alarms you?  Speak!
F. PHIL. His ghost! his ghost!— Let me go!—let me go!—let me go! (Struggling to escape from Angela, he falls, and extinguishes the torch; then hastily rises, and rushes up the stair-case, throwing the door after him.)
ANG. (Alone.) Father!  Father!  Stay, for heaven's sake!—He's gone, I cannot find the door! Hark!—‘Twas the clank of chains!—A light too! It comes yet nearer!—Save me, ye powers!—What dreadful form! ‘Tis here! I faint with terror!—(Sinks almost lifeless against the dungeon’s side.)
Re-enter Reginald with a lamp.
REG.  He is gone!—Emaciated and stiff from [92] long disuse, scarce can I draw my limbs along, and I strive in vain to overtake the fugitive.
ANG. (Recovering herself.) Still is it there, that fearful vision!
REG. (Placing his lamp upon a pile of stones.) Why did Kenric enter my prison?  Haply, when he heard not my groans at the dungeon door, he thought that my woes were relieved by death. Oh! when will that thought be verified?
ANG.  How sunk his eye!—How wildly hangs his matted hair on his pale and furrowed brow!—Oh! those are the furrows of anguish, not of age.
REG. I have oft wiped away tears, but never caused them to flow; oft have I lightened the prisoner's chains, but never increased their burthen: Yet I am doomed to chains and tears!
ANG. Each sound of his hollow plaintive voice strikes to my heart. Dared I accost him—Yet perhaps a maniac—No matter; he suffers, and the accents of pity will flow sweetly in his ears!
REG. Thou art dead, and at rest, my wife! Safe in yon skies, no thought of me molests thy quiet. Yet sure I wrong thee! At the hour of death thy spirit shall stand beside me, shall close mine eyes gently, and murmur, ‘Die, Reginald, and be at peace!'
ANG. Hark!  Heard I not—Pardon, good stranger—
REG. (Starting wildly from his seat.) ‘Tis she!  She comes for me!  Is the hour at hand, fair vision?  Spirit of Evelina, lead on, I follow thee! (He extends his arms toward her, staggers a few paces forwards, then sinks exhausted on the ground.)
ANG. He faints! perhaps expires!—Still, still! See, he revives!
[93]
REG. 'Tis gone!  Once more the sport of my bewildered brain—(Starting up.) Powers of bliss! Look, where it moves again!—Oh! say, what art thou?  If Evelina, speak, oh! speak!
ANG. Ha! Named he not Evelina?  That look!—This dungeon too!—The emotions which his voice—It is, it must be!—Father!  Oh!  Father!  Father!—(Falling upon his bosom.)
REG. Said you?—Meant you?—My daughter—my infant, whom I left—Oh! yes, it must be true!  My heart, which springs towards you, acknowledges my child!—(Embracing her.)
ANG.  And is it thus I find you? Burthened with chains, no warmth, no air, no comfort!
REG. Think of it no more, my dearest! But say, how gained you entrance?  Has Osmond—
ANG. Oh! that name recalls my terrors!—Alas! you see in me a fugitive from his violence!  Guided by a friendly Monk, whom your approach has frightened from me, I was endeavouring to escape: We missed our way, and chance guided us to this dungeon. But this is not a time for explanation.  Answer me!  Know you the subterraneous passages belonging to this Castle?
REG. Whose entrance is without the walls?  I do.
ANG. Then we may yet be saved!  Father, we must fly this moment.  Percy, the pride of our English youth, waits for me at the Conway's side. Come then, oh! come! Stay not one moment longer. (As she approaches the door,  lights appear above.)
REG. Look! look, my child! The beams of distant torches flash through the gloom!
ANG.  Ha!—Yet, perhaps, ashamed of his desertion, 'tis but the Monk, who returns to seek me.
[94]
REG.  Grant, Heaven, that it may prove so!
OSM. (Above.) Hassan, guard you the door.—Follow me, friends.—
The lights disappear.
ANG.  Osmond's voice?  Undone!  Undone!  Oh! my father! he comes to seek you, perhaps to—Oh!  'tis a word too dreadful for a daughter's lips!
REG.  If he seeks none but me, I am happy: But should your steps have been traced, my child—Hark! they come!  The gloom of yonder cavern may awhile conceal you: Fly to it: Hide yourself: Stir not, I charge you.
ANG.  What, leave you?  Oh! no, no!
REG.  Dearest, I entreat, I conjure you, fly! Fear not for me!—Hark! they are at the door!  Speed to the cavern!  Speak not, move not; if possible, breathe not!
ANG.  Father!  Oh!  Father!
REG. Farewel! perhaps for ever!— (He forces Angela into the cavern, then returns hastily, and throws himself on the bed of straw.)—Now then to hear my doom!

(Enter Osmond, followed by Muley and Alaric with torches.)

OSM.  The door unbarred?—Softly, my fears were false!—Lo! where stretched on the ground, straw his couch, a stone his pillow, he tastes that repose which flies from my bed of down!— Wake, Reginald, and arise!
REG.  You here, Osmond? What brings you to this scene of sorrow? Alas! hope flies while I gaze upon your frowning eye! Have I read its language aright, Osmond?
OSM.  Aright, if you have read my hatred.  Reginald, I bring you death!—What other present [95] could you expect from me? Have you not been ever a thorn in my path, a speck in my sight? Was not 'Submit to your elder brother,' the galling lesson for ever sounded in my ears?  And when I praised some favourite spot of these domains, some high-browed hill, or blooming valley, was not my father's answer still, ‘That will be your elder brother's?' Yes, the first thought which struck my brain was, ‘I am a younger son!' The first passion which tortured my heart was hate to him that made me one!
REG.  Have I deserved that hate?  You often injured me, but as often I forgave.  You were ever my foe, but I never forgot you were my brother.
OSM.  Hypocrite!
REG.  Was I one when my weapon struck the fierce Scot to the ground, whose sword already glittered above your head?  Was I one when, as embarrassed by your armour you sank beneath the Severn’s waves, I sprang into the flood, I seized, I saved you? Twice have I preserved your life! Oh! let it not be for my own destruction! See, my brother, the once proud Reginald lies at your feet, for his pride has been humbled by suffering! Hear him adjure you by her ashes, within whose bosom we both have lain, not to stain your hands with the blood of your brother!
OSM. (Aside.) He melts me in my own despite!
REG.  The fountains of my eyes have been long dried up: I have no tears that can soften, no eloquence that can persuade; but Heaven has lightnings that can blast! Then, spare me, Osmond! Kenric has told me that my daughter lives! Restore me to her arms; permit us in obscurity to pass our days together! Then shall my last sigh implore upon your head Heaven's forgiveness, and Evelina's.
[96]
OSM.  It shall be so.—Rise, Reginald, and hear me! You mentioned even now your daughter: Know, she is in my power; know also, that I love her!
REG.  How?
OSM.  She rejects my offers. Your authority can oblige her to accept them. Swear to use it, and this instant will I lead you to her arms.
REG.  Osmond, she is your niece!
OSM.  I have influence at Rome—That obstacle will be none to me.— What is your answer! You hesitate! Say, will you give the demanded oath?
REG.  I cannot dissemble; Osmond, I never will.[10]
OSM.  How?—Reflect that your life—
REG. Would be valueless, if purchased by my daughter's tears; would be loathsome, if embittered by my daughter's misery.  Osmond I will not take the oath.
OSM. (Almost choked with passion.)—‘Tis enough!—(To the Africans.)—You know your duty! Drag him to yonder cavern! Let me not see him die!
REG. (Holding by a fragment of the wall, from which the Africans strive to force him.)—Brother, for pity's sake! for your soul's happiness!
OSM.  Obey me, slaves!—Away!
Angela rushes in wildly.
ANG. Hold off!—Hurt him not! He is my father!
OSM. Angela here?
REG. Daughter, what means—
[97]
ANG. (Embracing him.)—You shall live, Father! I will sacrifice all to preserve you!—Here is my hand, Osmond! ‘Tis yours; but spare my father!
OSM. (Transported.)—Lovely Angela!—
REG.  How, rash girl! What would you do?
OSM. Reginald, reflect—
REG.  Your uncle! Your mother's murderer!—Remember—
ANG.  Your life is in danger; I must forget all else.—Osmond, release my father, and solemnly I swear—
REG.  Hold, girl, and first hear me!—(Kneeling.)—God of Nature, to Thee I call!—If e'er on Osmond's bosom a child of mine rests; if e'er she calls him husband who pierced her hapless mother's heart, that moment shall a wound, by my own hand inflicted—
ANG.  Hold!—Oh! hold!—End not your oath!
OSM.  I burn with rage!
REG.  Swear never to be Osmond's!
ANG.  I swear!—
REG.  Be repaid by this embrace!
OSM.  Be it your last!—Tear them asunder!
ANG. Away! Away! I will not leave him.
OSM.  Part them, I say!—Ha! what noise?
Enter Hassan, hastily.
HASS.  My Lord, all is lost!—Percy has stormed the Castle, and speeds this way!
OSM.  Confusion!—Then I must be sudden. Aid me, Hassan! (Hassan and Osmond force Angela from her Father, who suddenly disengages himself from Muley and Alaric.)
REG. Friends so near?—Villains! at least [98] you shall buy my life dearly!—(Suddenly seizing Hassan’s sword.)
OSM. (Employed with Hassan in retaining Angela, while Reginald defends himself against Muley and Alaric.)—Down with him!—Wrest the sword from him!—(Alaric is wounded, and falls; Muley gives back; at the same time, Osmond's party appears above, pursued by Percy's.) —Hark! They come!—Dastardly villains!—Nay, then, my own hand must— (Drawing his sword, he rushes upon Reginald, who is disarmed, and beaten upon his knees; when at the moment that Osmond lifts his arm to stab him, Evelina's Ghost throws herself between them: Osmond starts back, and drops his sword.)
OSM. Horror!—What form is this?
ANG. Die! (Disengaging herself from Hassan, she springs suddenly forwards, and plunges her dagger into Osmond's bosom, who falls with a loud groan, and faints. The Ghost vanishes; Angela and Reginald rush into each other's arms.)
ANG. Father, thou art mine again!
(Enter Percy, Motley, Saib, Harold, &c. pursuing Osmond's party.  All stop on seeing him bleeding upon the ground.)
PERCY.  Hold, my brave friends!—See where lies the object of our search!
ANG.  Percy!—Dear Percy!
PERCY. (Flying to her.)—Dearest Angela!
ANG.  My friend, my guardian angel! Come, Percy, come! embrace my father!—Father, embrace the protector of your child!
PERCY. Do I then behold Earl Reginald?
REG. (Embracing him.)—The same, brave Percy! Welcome to my heart! Live ever next it!
ANG. Oh, moment that o'erpays my suffer/ings![99]—And yet—Percy, that wretched man—He perished by my hand!
SAIB.  Hark, he sighs!—There is life still in him!
ANG.  Life?—Then save him, save him! Bear him to his chamber! Look to his wound! Heal it, if possible! At least gain him time to repent his crime and errors!—(Osmond is conveyed away:—Servants enter with torches, and the Stage becomes light.)
PERCY. Though ill-deserved by his guilt, your generous pity still is amiable. But say, fair Angela, what have I to hope? Is my love approved by your noble father? Will he—
REG. Percy, this is no time to talk of love. Let me hasten to my expiring brother, and soften with forgiveness the pangs of death!
PERCY.  And can you forget your sufferings?
REG. Ah! youth, has he had none? Oh! in his stately chambers, far greater must have been his pangs than mine in this gloomy dungeon; for what gave me comfort was his terror, what gave me hope was his despair. I knew that I was guiltless; knew that, though I suffered in this world, my lot would be happy in that to come!

And, Oh thou wretch! whom hopeless woes oppress,
Whose day no joys, whose night no slumbers bless!
When pale Despair alarms thy phrensied eye,
Screams in thine ear, and bids thee Heaven deny,
Court thou Religion!  Strive thy faith to save;
Bend thy fixed glance on bliss beyond the grave;
Hush guilty murmurs; banish dark mistrust;
Think there's a Power above, nor doubt that Power is just!

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