Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/82

50

Longer I'll not endure a galling wrong Which makes each word of tenderness that bursts From a full heart, bold and presumptuous seem, And severs us so far.

Or.No, subtile snake! It is the baseness of thy selfish mind, Full of all guile, and cunning, and deceit, That severs us so far, and shall do ever.

Rud. Thou prov'st how far my passion will endure Unjust reproaches from a mouth so dear.

Or. Out on hypocrisy! who but thyself Did Hughobert advise to send me hither? And who the jailor's hateful office holds To make my thraldom sure?

Rud. Upbraid me not for this: had I refused, One less thy friend had ta'en th' ungracious task. And, gentle Orra! dost thou know a man, Who might in ward all that his soul holds dear From danger keep, yet would the charge refuse, For that strict right such wardship doth condemn? O! still to be with thee; to look upon thee; To hear thy voice, makes ev'n this place of horrours,— Where, as 'tis said, the spectre of a chief, Slain by our common grandsire, haunts the night, A paradise—a place where I could live In penury and gloom, and be most bless'd. Ah! Orra! if there's misery in thraldom, Pity a wretch who breathes but in thy favour: