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_ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. THE HALL.
[Enter Douglas, his sword drawn and bloody in one hand,
in the other a letter. Harcourt, wounded.]
Dou.
Traitor, no more! this letter shews thy office;
Twice hast thou robb'd me of my dear revenge.
I took thee for thy leader.--Thy base blood
Would stain the noble temper of my sword;
But as the pander to thy master's lust,
Thou justly fall'st by a wrong'd husband's hand.
Har.
Thy wife is innocent.
Dou.
Take him away.
Har.
Percy, revenge my fall!
[guards bear Harcourt in.]
Dou.
Now for the letter!
He begs once more to see her.--So 'tis plain
They have already met!--but to the rest----
[Reads.]
"In vain you wish me to restore the scarf;
Dear pledge of love, while I have life I'll wear it,
'Tis next my heart; no power shall force it thence;
Whene'er you see it in another's hand,
Conclude me dead."--My curses on them both!
How tamely I peruse my shame! but thus,
Thus let me tear the guilty characters
Which register my infamy; and thus,
Thus would I scatter to the winds of heaven
The vile complotters of my foul dishonour.
[tears the letter in the utmost agitation.]
[Enter Edric.]
Edr.
My lord----
Dou.
[in the utmost fury, not seeing Edric.]
The scarf!
Edr.
Lord Douglas.
Dou.
[still not hearing him.]
Yes, the scarf!
Percy, I thank thee for the glorious thought!
I'll cherish it; 'twill sweeten all my pangs,
And add a higher relish to revenge!
Edr.
My lord!
Dou.
How! Edric here?
Edr.
What new distress?
Dou.
Dost thou expect I should recount my shame,
Dwell on each circumstance of my disgrace,
And swell my infamy into a tale?
Rage will not let me--But--my wife is false.
Edr.
Art thou convinc'd?
Dou.
The chronicles of hell
Cannot produce a falser.--But what news
Of her cursed paramour?
Edr.
He has escap'd.
Dou.
Hast thou examin'd every avenue?
Each spot? the grove? the bower, her favourite haunt?
Edr.
I've search'd them all.
Dou.
He shall be yet pursued.
Set guards at every gate.--Let none depart
Or gain admittance here, without my knowledge.
Edr.
What can their purpose be?
Dou.
Is it not clear?
Harcourt has raised his arm against my life;
He fail'd; the blow is now reserv'd for Percy;
Then, with his sword fresh reeking from my heart,
He'll revel with that wanton o'er my tomb;
Nor will he bring her aught she'll hold so dear,
As the curs'd hand with which he slew her husband.
But he shall die! I'll drown my rage in blood,
Which I will offer as a rich libation
On thy infernal altar, black revenge!
[exeunt.] _
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