Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/255

Rh

's Dressing-Room: Enter Page treading softly on tiptoe, and looking about the Room.

Page. Aye; the coast is clear, and the door of his chamber is a-jar; now is my time. (Pulling the torn letter from his pocket, and stamping on the floor as he raises his voice.) There, cursed letter, I'll make an and of thee! Give thee to my master, indeed! I'll give thee to the devil first. (pretending to tear the letter, and strew the pieces about, while Valdemere, looking from the door of his chamber, steals behind him, and seizes his hands with the remainder of the letter in them.) Mercy on me! is it you, my Lord?

Vald. What art thou doing? What scares thee so? What letter is this? Let me see it.

Page. O no, my Lord! I beseech you, for your own sake, don't read it.

Vald. Why should not I read it, boy?

Page. Lud, I don't know! you may not mind it, perhaps; but were any body to send such a letter to me, I should be mainly terrified. To be sure, death comes, as they say, at his own time, and we can't keep him away, though we should hang ourselves; but one don't like to be told before-hand the very year or day we are to die, neither.

Vald. The year and day! give me the letter: give it me immediately. (Snatching the