SCENE II. A royal apartment, and a Servant discovered busily employed in lighting it up. Enter to him another Servant.
Sec. Serv. Wilt thou ne'er finish lighting these grim walls?
Will not those lamps suffice?
First Serv. No, by my faith, we want as many more;
For still, thou see'st, that pillar'd corner's dark,
(pointing to a gloomy recess on the other side of the stage.)
Might fearful things espy. I am commanded
To lighten each apartment of this tower
To noon-day pitch.
Sec. Serv. Ay, Uthbert, these are fearful bloody times!
Ethwald, God knows, has on his conscience laid
A weight of cruel deeds: the executioner
Works for him now in the grim holds of death,
Instead of armed warriours in the field;
And now men steal abroad in twilight's gloom,
To talk of fearful things, not by the blaze
Of cheerful fires, in peaceful cottage, heap'd
With sparkling faggots from the winter store.
First Serv. Ay, thou say'st well; it is a fearful time;
No marvel Ethwald should not love the dark,
In which his fancy shapes out fearful things.
