Britain ... - Blue-Lite

j? THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V.
Roderick, give me thy hand.
Right faithfully hast thou performed thy word.
Thou art an honourable man thy virtues
RODERICK.
Oh, my lord. What further service needs the hypocrite?
GONDABERT.
My gratitude my favours, worthy Roderick,
[Leaning on his shoulder.
Shall speak ay, deep
Deep to thy heart-core let my dagger speak
them !
[Stabs Roderick, who falls dead at his feet ; then ea-
gerly searches his bosom and finds the parchment.
'Tis here ! 'tis here ! and I am lord once more
Of Lydford Castle and its wide domains !
Enter Othmar.
OTHMAR.
The sturdy robbers to a man are fallen.
My triumph is complete.
GONDABERT.
No, there is one
As yet beyond my reach. Pshaw ! what care I ?
No friend has he to back his cause, or proof
To make me fear him. Has any news
Yet of my son arrived ?
OTHMAR.
No, good my lord.
GONDABERT.
Thou wayward boy ! now leisure serves to think,
Thy disobedient absence sorely pains me.
Send out fresh scouts, and search the country round ;
I have no peace until my Edgar's found.