Page:The Family Legend.pdf/85

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Next rising tide will bring a sure relief To all the ills we leave thee.

I understand ye. (Raising her clasped hands to heaven.) Lord of heaven and earth; Of storms and tempests, and th' unfathom'd deep; Is this thy righteous will? (Grasping the hands of the men imploringly.) Ye cannot mean it. Ye cannot leave a human creature thus To perish by a slow approaching end, So awful and so terrible! Instant death Were merciful to this.

If thou prefer it, we can shorten well Thy term of pain and terror: from this cragg, Full fourteen fathom deep thou may'st be plung'd. In shorter time than three strokes of an oar Thy pains will cease.

Come, that were better for thee.