_Eust._ Peace!--I must a word with him. I have a few short thanks I would deliver, Touching his care of thee: it is the last Of all my worldly packages; that done, I may set forward on my journey. _La Gloire._ Oh, father! I shall never go to bed again in peace as long as I live. Sorrow will keep my eyes open half the night; and when I drop into a doze at day-break, I shall be hanged with you, father, a score of times every morning. _Eust._ I could have spared this meeting.--Boy, I will not-- Nor would I, had I time for't, ring a chime Of drowsy document, at this, our parting. Nor will I stuff the simple plan of life, That I would have thee follow, with trim angles, And petty intersections of nice conduct; Which dotards, rotten in their wisdom, oft Will mark, in mathematical precision, Upon a stripling's mind, until they blur The modest hand of nature. Thou'rt a soldier; 'Tis said a good one;--and I ne'er yet knew A rough, true soldier, lack humanity:-- If, then, thou canst, with one hand, push aside The buffets of the world, and, with the other, Stretch'd forth, in warm and manly charity, Assist the weak,----be thankful for the ground-work, And e'en let impulse build upon't;--thou needst No line, nor level, formal age can give thee, To raise a noble superstructure. Come; Embrace me;--when thy father sleeps in honour, Think that--[_Embracing him, he bursts into Tears._]--my son, my boy!--Psha! pish! this nature-- Conduct me to---- _La Gloire._ [_Catching hold of him._] Hold! hold!--We shall leap here, from bad to worse. I--I am bidden, father, to deliver a message to you. _Eust._ Be quick, then; the time wears. _La Gloire._ No, truly, 'twill not come quick. I must force it out in driblets. My captain bids me say, that--that brave men are scarce. Find six in the town, and you find all;--so he will join you at the market-cross, and--go with you--to---- _Eust._ The scaffold! _La Gloire._ Yes, the sca--that word sticks so in my throat, I can't squeeze it out, for the life of me. _Eust._ Why, this shows nobly now! our honest cause Is graced in the addition. Lead me--[_Observing LA GLOIRE, weeping_]--how now? Out on thee, knave! thoul't bring disgrace upon me. By Heaven! I feel as proud in this, my death;---- And thou, the nearest to my blood, to sully My house's name with womanhood--Shame! shame! Where is the noble Ribaumont? [_Going._ _La Gloire._ Stay, father, stay! I can hold it no longer. I love Madelon too well to keep her waking o'nights, with blubbering over her for the loss of my father, and my captain:--another neck is wanting to make up the half dozen; so I'll e'en along, father, as the sixth.