_Jos._ (_coming forward_). I fain would shun these scenes, too oft repeated, Of feudal tyranny o'er petty victims; I cannot aid, and will not witness such. Even here, in this remote, unnamed, dull spot, 700 The dimmest in the district's map, exist The insolence of wealth in poverty O'er something poorer still--the pride of rank In servitude, o'er something still more servile; And vice in misery affecting still A tattered splendour. What a state of being! In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land, Our nobles were but citizens and merchants,[170] Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such As these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleys 710 Made poverty more cheerful, where each herb Was in itself a meal, and every vine Rained, as it were, the beverage which makes glad The heart of man; and the ne'er unfelt sun (But rarely clouded, and when clouded, leaving His warmth behind in memory of his beams) Makes the worn mantle, and the thin robe, less Oppressive than an emperor's jewelled purple. But, here! the despots of the north appear To imitate the ice-wind of their clime, 720 Searching the shivering vassal through his rags, To wring his soul--as the bleak elements His form. And 'tis to be amongst these sovereigns My husband pants! and such his pride of birth-- That twenty years of usage, such as no Father born in a humble state could nerve His soul to persecute a son withal, Hath changed no atom of his early nature; But I, born nobly also, from my father's Kindness was taught a different lesson. Father! 730 May thy long-tried and now rewarded spirit Look down on us and our so long desired Ulric! I love my son, as thou didst me! What's that? Thou, Werner! can it be? and thus? _Enter_ WERNER _hastily, with the knife in his hand, by the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him_. _Wer._ (_not at first recognising her_). Discovered! then I'll stab--(_recognising her_). Ah! Josephine Why art thou not at rest? _Jos._ What rest? My God! What doth this mean? _Wer._ (_showing a rouleau_). Here's _gold_--_gold_, Josephine, Will rescue us from this detested dungeon. _Jos._ And how obtained?--that knife! _Wer._ 'Tis bloodless--_yet_. Away--we must to our chamber. _Jos._ But whence comest thou? 740 _Wer._ Ask not! but let us think where we shall go-- This--this will make us way--(_showing the gold_)--I'll fit them now. _Jos._ I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour. _Wer._ Dishonour! _Jos._ I have said it. _Wer._ Let us hence: 'Tis the last night, I trust, that we need pass here.