Eth. Be not cast down, sweet maid; he'll soon return;
All are not lost who join in chanceful war.
Ber. I know right well, good Thane, all are not lost.
The native children of rude jarring war,
Full oft returning from the field, become
Beneath their shading helmets aged men:
But ah! the kind, the playful, and the gay;
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter fire, do they return?
(shaking her head sorrowfully.)
I grieve you all: I will no more complain.
Dear mother, lead me hence. (to Sig.)
(To Sel.) I thank you, gentle Selred, this suffices.
(Exeunt Bertha supported by Sigurtha.
Sel. (to Mollo, who has sat for some time with his face cover'd.) What, so o'ercome, my father?
Moll. I am o'ercome, my son; lend me thine arm.
(Exeunt.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
