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Had been the scutcheon'd portal of a tomb, Set open to receive them.

Ay, on the pavement fall their heavy steps Measured and slow, as if her palled coffin They follow'd still.

Hush, man! Here comes the Earl, With face composed and stern; but look behind him How John of Lorne doth gnaw his nether lip, And beat his clenched hand against his thigh, Like one who tampers with half-bridled ire!

Has any one offended him?

Be silent, For they will overhear thee.Yonder too (Pointing to the opposite side of the stage.) Come the Macleans: let us our stations keep, And see them meet.