Page:Miscellaneous Plays 1.pdf/99

Rh

Alas, my love! these are thy words of woe, And have no meaning but to speak thy woe: Dark fate hangs o'er us, and we needs must part. The strong affection that o'ercometh all things, Shall fight for us indeed, and shall o'ercome: But in a better world the vantage lies Which it shall gain for us; here, from this earth We must take different roads and climb to it, As in some pitiless storm two 'nighted travellers Lose on a wild'ring heath their 'tangled way, And meet again,

Ay, but thy way, thy way, my gentle Rayner— It is a terrible one. Oh flesh and blood shrinks from the horrid pass! Death comes to thee, not as he visiteth The sick man's bed, pillow'd with weeping friends: O no! nor yet as on the battle's field He meets the blood-warm'd soldier in his mail, Greeting him proudly.—Thou must bend thy neck, This neck round which mine arms now circled close Do feel the loving warmth of youthful life: Thou must beneath the stroke.—O horrid! horrid!

My dear Elizabeth, my most belov'd! Thou art affrighted with a horrid picture