Ethw. Why does it look so fix'dly on me thus?
What are its woes to me?
Arch Sist. They are thy own.
Know'st thou no traces of that alter'd form,
Nor see'st that crowned phantom is thyself?
Ethw. shudders (then, after a pause.)
I may be doom'd to meet a tyrant's end
But not to be a tyrant.
Did all the powers of hell attest the doom,
I would belie it. Know I not my nature?
By every dreaded power and hallow'd thing
(Voice over the stage.) Swear not!
(Voice under the stage.) Swear not!
(Distant voice off the stage.) Swear not!
A thundering noise is heard under ground. The stage becomes instantly quite dark, and Mystics and Spirits, &c. disappear, Ethw. and Eth, remaining alone)
Eth. (after a pause.) How art thou?
Ethw. Is it thy voice? O, let me feel thy grasp!
Mine ears ring strangely, and my head, methinks,
Feels as I were bereaved of my wits.
Are they all gone? Where is thy hand, I pray?
We've had a fearful bout!
Eth. Thy touch is cold as death: let us ascend
And breathe the upper air.*[1](Exeunt.
- ↑ * I will not take upon me to say that, if I had never read Shakespeare's Macbeth, I should have thought of bringing Ethwald into a cavern under ground to enquire his destiny, though I believe this desire to look into futurity (particularly in a superstitious age) is a very constant attendant on ambition; but I hope the reader will not find in the above scene any offensive use made of the works of that great master.
