Glan. She has been always, from her tend'rest years,
Enchanted by the spells of mystic lore,
And goblin tales of boding apparitions;
Which in the grief of this unhallow'd day
Have rous'd her fears to dread expectancies
Of ghostly evidence and spectral proof.

Jud. And if such awful things should be-
Glan.

My Lord
Jud. All times have heard, and piety believes,
That there are agents in the world unseen,
Who by some sympathetic power extract
The deepest secrets of the closest breast.
The fiery visage and the burning heart
Of guilt conceal'd, are kindled by their touch;
And we have heard how strangers from afar,
Inform'd by spirits at the dead of night,

Have told the names of secret'st men of blood.

It is a fearful, strange coincidence,

That your fair daughter should so wildly dread,

In this terrific and mysterious cause,

The hideous proof of visionary forms.

Glan. Give you, my Lord, too, credit to the thought?—

Think you that Isbel's phantasy is true?

And must I cavil with a mad conceit,

Bred in the chaos of a maniac's brain,

Like a most strange creation?

Jud.

How?

Glan.

To fix on me this ignominious charge,

Hath sprung engender'd as by miracle.

The thought

Jud. Have you, at any time, unbeeding heard

Her pray'r for alms, slighted her helplessness,

Or chided at her importunity?

Glan. Never, never! This gentleman can witness,

That more than all the general town beside,

Has been my constant and unwearied kindness.
Mag. Nature, my Lord, in this has gone awry,
And by a wonderful and dire perversion,

Turn'd all the wonted sweet of gratitude,

Into most bitter and injurious wrong.

Glan. As stated as the dismal day return'd
It still has been my custom to bestow,
How ill-requited! on the poor insane
Some gift of pity and of charity.

Jud. Why kept you the remembrance of that day?
Glan. My Lord! I had no cause, but my compassion.
Jud. Doubtless you knew the widow's husband well.
Glan. I did my Lord, a man of honest worth,
But somewhat churlish in his speech, and prone
To swell to insolence in argument.

Jud. A man like many that we all have met, Whom one might fall in sudden quarrel with? Glan. He was indeed, my Lord.

Jud.

Do you

remember

His figure, and the manner of his garb?

Glan. To every point of the last suit he wore.

[The Judge motions Glanville to retire ]

Jud. Has the accuser come?

Mag.

Not yet, my Lord.

Jud. [upart] It is a case that doth perplex me much.

Why should he hold this faithful memory?

All others, save the miserable widow,
Have almost lost remembrance of the fact,
But he retains the image of the man

Fresh and unfaded!

Mag.

[Enter ISBEL.]

Isbel comes, my Lord.

Isb. Justice, my Lord! I will not be seduc'd:

Tremendous and almighty Providence

Makes me in this an honor'd instrument

And dare I falter in my awful function?
Methinks I see God's bright and lidless eye
Beaming intensely on us where we stand.
Justice, my Lord, I dare but ask for Justice.

Jud. Patience, good Isbel, moderate thy thoughts:
I do entreat thee but one word apart.

Do you, distinctly, in all points of dress,
Retain remembrance of your murder'd husband?
1sb. Alas! my Lord, he ever stands before me.
I see him now as he went forth to walk
On that dire morning when his life was ta'en,
-His plumed cap is gayly worn askance,
His coal-black hair, in affluent descent,
Flows o'er his purple cloak.-A primer man,
With frank and ruddy honesty of face,

Treads not the carpets of the regal dome.

Jud.

Isb.

His hair was black?

Yes, like the winter's cloud

That rests upon a mountain, white with snow.

Jud. His cap, you say, he gaily wore askance?

Isb. With a free boldness, not in vanity.

Jud. His cloke was purple?

Isb.

Why is it, my Lord,

That thus with trifles so impertinent,

You sting my heart to the full sense of suffering?

Ascend your seat and call me to accuse.

Jud. "Tis well. Come, gentlemen, let's to the hall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A room in Glanville's house.

REGINALD and ARIETTE.

Reg. Refrain, dear sister, from this eager suit;
A few short minutes, and all will be done.
Rest where you are, and when the trial ends,
I will a speedy messenger dispatch,
To bless you with the tidings of acquittal.

Ariet. I will not stay,-I cannot rest behind.
I burn impatient to behold the scene;
And if I see it not, my fearful heart
Will surely flutter from its mansion here.

Reg. Alas! dear Ariette, so wildly wan
You will but there the gazing crowd surprise.
O try your native meekness to renew,
Be in our father's virtue confident,
Nor fear of prodigy will then alarm.

Ariet. I can but only think of what may come,
And the pent spirit in my heart dilating,
Feels clung by agony, while we stay here.
Haste, brother, haste.-Let us together go.
Why thus detain me by the wrist so firm?
O Reginald, thou false unfilial son,

Wilt thou stay here while thy dear father stands,
Upon the edge, the pinnacle of shame ?
All eyes that see him, look expecting thee.
I am his daughter, and I will go there.
The laws of man may other ties divide,
But cannot part the chain of destiny,
Which links the parent and the child for ever.
I tell thee, Reginald, that I will go.

Take off thy hands. Release me. Why is this?

You think me mad, your eyes betray you do.
Injurious thought, when I can be so calm.
Nay, I will promise not to think of it.-
No witness apparitional will come,

They that expect such sights amaze themselves,
With conjurations of their own conceit.

Come, brother, come. Ah me, why do you weep?
Believ'st thou, that our father did the deed,
And that some hideous evidence will come?
O Reginald! But let me dry these tears,
Which so unseemly stand upon thy cheek?
Sweet brother, do ?—Hence !—

Reg.

Stay, unhappy, stay.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Hall of Justice.

The JUDGE, MAGISTRATE, ADVOCATE, GLANVILLE, ISBEL, and SPECTATORS.

Jud. With calmness now set forth the accusation.
Isb. Nineteen long years ago and on this day,
The very birth and change-day of the moon,
A day on which as you came here to-day,
The King Justiciary open'd the assize;
That hollow man of undiscover'd crimes,
Did with an impious, destructive hand,
Make me a widow-ruin'd all my life,
Pluck'd every pleasure of the Earth away,
And left me withering, shelterless, and wild,
Rej. Th.

VOL. 1.

No. I.

C