MORTON.
Something I have to say, regards her nearly.
And though I doubt not, madam, your attachment—
ROSA.
Is prudent; trust me not till thou hast prov'd me.
But oh! watch o'er thy lady with an eye
Of keen and guarded zeal! she is surrounded—
(Looking round the room.)
Does no one hear us?—O those baleful looks
That, from beneath dark surly brows, by stealth,
Are darted on her by those stern Macleans!
Ay; and the gestures of those fearful men,
As on the shore in savage groups they meet,
Sending their loosen'd tartans to the wind,
And tossing high their brawny arms where oft,
In vehement discourse, I have, of late,
At distance mark'd them.—Yes; thou shakest thy head:
Thou hast observed them too.
MORTON.
Calm as he is, the growing rancour fosters:
For, fail the offspring of their chief, his sons
Next in succession are. He hath his ends,
