Re-enter Boy.
Boy. (falling at his feet.) O, my noble master!
If you should slay me I must come to you;
For in my chamber fearful things there be,
That sound i'the dark; O do not chide me back!
Ethw. Strange sound within thy chamber, foolish wight!
Boy. (starting) Good mercy, list!
Ethw. It is some night-bird screaming on the tower.
Boy. Ay, so belike it seemeth, but I know—
Ethw. What dost thou know?
Boy. It is no bird, my Lord.
Ethw. What would'st thou say?
Boy. (clasping his hands together and staring earnestly in Ethw.'s face.)
At dead of night, from the dark Druid's cave
Up rise unhallow'd sprites, and o'er the earth
Hold for the term their wicked rule. Aloft,
Some mounted on the heavy sailing cloud,
Oft pour down noisome streams or biting hail
On the benighted hind, and from his home
With wayward eddying blasts still beat him back.
Some on the waters shriek like drowning men,
And, when the pitying passenger springs forth
To lend his aid, the dark flood swallows him.
Some on lone marshes shine like moving lights;
And some on towers and castle turrets perch'd,
Do scream like nightly birds, to scare the good,
Or rouse the murd'rer to his bloody work.
