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A TRAGEDY
27

'Mid those who bless me not:—I shall not then—
But silent be my tongue. (Weeps.)

ROSA.

Dear madam, still in hope look forward cheerly.

(Morton comes from the bottom of the stage.)

And here is Morton, with some tidings for you:

God grant they comfort you!—I must withdraw:
His wary faithfulness mistrusts my love,
But I am not offended.(Offering to retire.)

HELEN.

Nay, remain.(Beckoning her back.)

Say what thou hast to say, my worthy Morton,
For Rosa is as faithful as thyself.

MORTON.

This morning, lady, 'mongst the farther cliffs,

Dress'd like a fisher peasant, did I see
The Lord of Lorne, your brother.

HELEN.

Ha! sayst thou,

The Lord of Lorne, my brother?—Thou'rt deceiv'd.

MORTON.

No, no: in vain his sordid garb concealed him:

His noble form and stately step I knew
Before he spoke.