Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 8?
GONDABERT.
Oh, torture
Unutterable ! There is there is a cause,
A dreadful, nameless cause ! I dare not give
That captive freedom.
ELFILIA.
Nay, thou must, thou shalt.
My tears will melt thy stubborn heart to pity.
The hour is
nearly past. O, yet preserve him.
He is, Earl Gondabert, thine only son,
Thy gallant boy, whom thou so dearly lov'st.
By me he supplicates thee for his life :
Then save him from a horrid, horrid death.
Mercy, O mercy to thine own brave son !
And wilt thou drive me mad ? Hear, hear me, Earl ;
Hear me while I have strength or reason left
To urge thee to compassion. Nay, I will
Have mercy, or for ever hang upon thee,
And shriek with frantic fury in thine ears,
Cursed be the murderer of an only child !
GONDABERT.
Oh, Edgar, Edgar ! all a father's feelings
Rush on my soul, and bear my honour down.
Thou shalt be saved, and / for ever lost !
ELFILIA.
Hide, night, in thy dim cave the sun's young beams,
Where morning may not find them. 'Tis too late
Too late to save him now ! for see the dawn
O'er yonder mist-clad mountain redly breaks.
Evil betide thee to thy last dark hour,
Thou unrelenting man !
GONDABERT.
Ho, within there !