_Bel._ I met her, as returning In solemn penance from the public cross. Before her, certain rascal officers, Slaves in authority, the knaves of justice, Proclaim'd the tyrant Gloster's cruel orders. Around her, numberless, the rabble flow'd, Should'ring each other, crowding for a view, Gaping and gazing, taunting and reviling; Some pitying--but those, alas! how few! The most, such iron hearts we are, and such The base barbarity of human-kind, With insolence and lewd reproach pursu'd her, Hooting and railing, and with villanous hands Gath'ring the filth from out the common ways, To hurl upon her head. _Dum._ Inhuman dogs! How did she bear it? _Bel._ With the gentlest patience; Submissive, sad, and lowly, was her look; A burning taper in her hand she bore, And on her shoulders carelessly confus'd, With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung; Upon her cheek a faintish blush was spread; Feeble she seem'd, and sorely smit with pain. While, barefoot as she trod the flinty pavement, Her footsteps all along were mark'd with blood; Yet, silent still she pass'd, and unrepining: Her streaming eyes bent ever on the earth, Except when, in some bitter pang of sorrow, To heav'n she seem'd in fervent zeal to raise, And beg that mercy man deny'd her here. _Dum._ When was this piteous sight? _Bel._ These last two days. You know my care was wholly bent on you, To find the happy means of your deliverance, Which but for Hastings' death I had not gain'd. During that time, although I have not seen her, Yet divers trusty messengers I've sent, To wait about, and watch a fit convenience To give her some relief, but all in vain; A churlish guard attends upon her steps, Who menace those with death, that bring her comfort, And drive all succour from her. _Dum._ Let 'em threaten; Let proud oppression prove its fiercest malice; So heav'n befriend my soul, as here I vow To give her help, and share one fortune with her. _Bel._ Mean you to see her thus in your own form? _Dum._ I do. _Bel._ And have you thought upon the consequence? _Dum._ What is there I should fear? _Bel._ Have you examin'd Into your inmost heart, and try'd at leisure The sev'ral secret springs that move the passions? Has mercy fix'd her empire there so sure, That wrath and vengeance never may return? Can you resume a husband's name, and bid That wakeful dragon, fierce resentment, sleep? _Dum._ O thou hast set my busy brain at work, And now she musters up a train of images, Which, to preserve my peace, I had cast aside, And sunk in deep oblivion--Oh, that form! That angel face on which my dotage hung! How I have gaz'd upon her, till my soul With very eagerness went forth towards her, And issu'd at my eyes.--Was there a gem Which the sun ripens in the Indian mine, Or the rich bosom of the ocean yields? What was there art could make, or wealth could buy, Which I have left unsought to deck her beauty? What could her king do more?--And yet she fled. _Bel._ Away with that sad fancy----