Arch Sist. The varied voice of woe, of Mercia's woe:
Of those who shall, beneath thine iron hand,
The cup of mis'ry drink. There dost thou hear
The dungeon'd captives sighs, the shrilly shrieks
Of childless mothers and distracted maids;
Mix'd with the heavy groans of dying men:
The widow's wailings, too; and infant's cries—
(Ethw. stops his ears in horrour.)
Ay, stop thine ears; it is a horrid sound.
Ethw. Forfend that e'er again I hear the like!
What didst thou say? O, thou didst foully say!
Do I not know my nature? heav'n and earth
As soon shall change
(A voice above.) Swear not!
(A voice beneath.) Swear not!
(A voice on the same level but distant.) Swear not!
Arch Sist. Now, once again and our commission ends.
Look yonder, and behold that shadowy form.
(pointing to an arched recess, across which bursts a strong light, and discovers a crowned phantom, covered with wounds, and representing by its gestures one in agony. Ethw. looks and shrinks back.)
Ethw. A miserable man: his breast is pierced
With many wounds, and yet his gestures seem
The agony of a distracted mind
More than of pain.
Arch Sist. But wears he not a crown?
