the outlaw.
45
Out, knaves, and see what turbulent uproar
Thus breaks upon my quiet.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Thus breaks upon my quiet.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Enter Page.
Page. [sadly.] Your highness, be prepared;
There are evil tidings; grief is at your door.
My noble master be prepared to hear them.
Duke. Boy, grief is my inmate!
Years have rolled on, and yet she loiters.
Think ye a greater evil can befal a wretched father,
Who for years hath mourned an absent child,—
A lov'd but outlaw'd son?
Speak on, nor fear, though death were in thy tidings.
Page. The lady Isabella is sick to death:
She sends you tidings of her hopeless illness.
Duke. Dying! haste—haste!
My horses—bring them quickly hither!
I'll on to thee, my poor deserted child!
Why stand ye loit'ring? death may meet mine eyes!—
There are evil tidings; grief is at your door.
My noble master be prepared to hear them.
Duke. Boy, grief is my inmate!
Years have rolled on, and yet she loiters.
Think ye a greater evil can befal a wretched father,
Who for years hath mourned an absent child,—
A lov'd but outlaw'd son?
Speak on, nor fear, though death were in thy tidings.
Page. The lady Isabella is sick to death:
She sends you tidings of her hopeless illness.
Duke. Dying! haste—haste!
My horses—bring them quickly hither!
I'll on to thee, my poor deserted child!
Why stand ye loit'ring? death may meet mine eyes!—
