Then sought his sister, and beheld her grief, Her pain, her danger,—this was no relief. “Where is my daughter? bring her to my sight!”— “Brother, I’m rack’d and tortured day and night.”— “Talk not to me! What grief have you to tell, Is your soul rack’d, or is your bosom hell? Where is my daughter?”—“She would take her oath For their right doing, for she knew them both, And my young lord was honour.”—“Woman, cease! 410} And give your guilty conscience no such peace— } You’ve sold the wretched girl, you have betray’d your niece.”— } “The Lord be good! and O! the pains that come In limb and body—Brother, get you home! Your voice runs through me—every angry word, If he should hear it, would offend my lord.”— “Has he a daughter? let her run away With a poor dog, and hear what he will say! No matter what, I’ll ask him for his son”— “And so offend? Now, brother, pray be gone!” 420 My lord appear’d, perhaps by pity moved, And kindly said he no such things approved; Nay, he was angry with the foolish boy, Who might his pleasures at his ease enjoy; The thing was wrong—he hoped the farm did well— The angry father doom’d the farm to hell; He then desired to see the villain-son, Though my lord warn’d him such excess to shun; Told him he pardon’d, though he blamed such rage, And bade him think upon his state and age. 430 “Think! yes, my lord! but thinking drives me mad— Give me my child!—Where is she to be had? I’m old and poor, but I with both can feel, And so shall he that could a daughter steal! Think you, my lord, I can be so bereft And feel no vengeance for the villain’s theft? Old if I am, could I the robber meet I’d lay his breathless body at my feet— Was that a smile, my lord? think you your boy Will both the father and the child destroy?” 440 My lord replied—“I’m sorry, from my soul! But boys are boys, and there is no control.”— “So, for your great ones Justice slumbers, then! If men are poor they must not feel as men— Will your son marry?”—“Marry!” said my lord, “Your daughter?—marry—no, upon my word!” “What then, our stations differ!—but your son Thought not of that—his crime has made them one, In guilt united—She shall be his wife, Or I th’ avenger that will take his life!”— 450 “Old man, I pity and forgive you; rest } In hope and comfort—be not so distress’d; } Things that seem bad oft happen for the best. } The girl has done no more than thousands do, Nor has the boy—they laugh at me and you.”— “And this my vengeance—curse him!”—“Nay, forbear; I spare your frenzy, in compassion spare.”— “Spare me, my lord! and what have I to dread? O! spare not, heaven, the thunder o’er his head— The bolt he merits!”—— Such was his redress; 460 And he return’d to brood upon distress. And what of William?—William from the time