Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/89

Rh

I dare not do it.(Listening again.) The dreadful sound is now upon the wind, Sullen and low, as if it wound its way Into the cavern'd earth that swallow'd it. I will abide in patient silence here; Tho' hateful and asleep, I feel me still Near something of my kind. O it returns! as tho' the yawning earth Had given it up again, near to the walls. The horribly mingled din! 'tis nearer still: 'Tis close at hand: 'tis at the very gate! (running up to the couch.) Were he a murd'rer, clenching in his hands The bloody knife, I must awake him.—No! That face of dark and subtile wickedness! I dare not do it. (listinglistening [sic] again.) Aye; 'tis at the gate— Within the gate.— What rushing blast is that Shaking the doors? Some awful visitation Dread entrance makes! O mighty God of Heaven! A sound ascends the stairs. Ho, Rudigere! Awake, awake! Ho! Wake thee, Rudigere!

Rud. (waking.) What cry is that so terribly strong?—Ha! Orra! What is the matter?