_Bir._ Monster! Barbarian! leave her to her sorrows. _Elw._ [_in a low broken voice._] Douglas--think not I faint, because thou see'st The pale and bloodless cheek of wan despair. Fail me not yet, my spirits; thou cold heart, Cherish thy freezing current one short moment, And bear thy mighty load a little longer. _Dou._ Percy, I must avow it, bravely fought,-- Died as a hero should;--but, as he fell, (Hear it, fond wanton!) call'd upon thy name, And his last guilty breath sigh'd out--Elwina! Come--give a loose to rage, and feed thy soul With wild complaints, and womanish upbraidings. _Elw._ [_in a low solemn voice._] No. The sorrow's weak that wastes itself in words, Mine is substantial anguish--deep, not loud; I do not rave.--Resentment's the return Of common souls for common injuries. Light grief is proud of state, and courts compassion; But there's a dignity in cureless sorrow, A sullen grandeur which disdains complaint; Rage is for little wrongs--Despair is dumb. [_exeunt Elwina and Birtha._ _Dou._ Why this is well! her sense of woe is strong! The sharp, keen tooth of gnawing grief devours her, Feeds on her heart, and pays me back my pangs. Since I must perish 'twill be glorious ruin: I fall not singly, but, like some proud tower, I'll crush surrounding objects in the wreck, And make the devastation wide and dreadful. _Enter Raby._ _Raby._ O whither shall a wretched father turn? Where fly for comfort? Douglas, art thou here? I do not ask for comfort at thy hands. I'd but one little casket where I lodged My precious hoard of wealth, and, like an idiot, I gave my treasure to another's keeping, Who threw away the gem, nor knew its value, But left the plunder'd owner quite a beggar. _Dou._ What art thou come to see thy race dishonour'd? And thy bright sun of glory set in blood? I would have spar'd thy virtues, and thy age, The knowledge of her infamy. _Raby._ 'Tis false. Had she been base, this sword had drank her blood. _Dou._ Ha! dost thou vindicate the wanton? _Raby._ Wanton? Thou hast defam'd a noble lady's honour-- My spotless child--in me behold her champion: The strength of Hercules will nerve this arm, When lifted in defence of innocence. The daughter's virtue for the father's shield, Will make old Raby still invincible. [_offers to draw._ _Dou._ Forbear. _Raby._ Thou dost disdain my feeble arm, And scorn my age. _Dou._ There will be blood enough; Nor need thy wither'd veins, old lord, be drain'd, To swell the copious stream. _Raby._ Thou wilt not kill her? _Dou._ Oh, 'tis a day of horror! _Enter Edric and Birtha._ _Edr._ Where is Douglas? I come to save him from the deadliest crime Revenge did ever meditate. _Dou._ What meanest thou? _Edr._ This instant fly, and save thy guiltless wife. _Dou._ Save that perfidious-- _Edr._ That much-injur'd woman. _Bir._ Unfortunate indeed, but O most innocent!