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ll thy favors never greater be? Wilt thou, I say, forever breed me pain, And wilt thou not restore my joys again? BUTLER (_shifting_ DRISCOLL'S _arm, none too tenderly_). More to the light! DRISCOLL (_catching breath with pain_). Ah! Softly, Myles! JOHN TALBOT (_leaning forward tensely_). Ah! FENTON. Jack! Jack Talbot! What is it that you see? JOHN TALBOT (_with the anger of a man whose nerves are strained almost beyond endurance_). What should I see but Cromwell's watch-fires along the boreen? What else should I see, and the night as black as the mouth of hell? What else should I see, and a pest choke your throat with your fool's questions, Dick Fenton! (_Resumes his watch._) FENTON (_as who should say: "I thank you!"_). God 'a' mercy--_Captain_ Talbot! (_Resumes his singing._) DRISCOLL. God's love! I bade ye have a care, Myles Butler. BUTLEK (_tying the last bandage_). It's a stout heart you have in you, Phelimy Driscoll--you to be crying out for a scratch. It's better you would have been, you and the like of you, to be stopping at home with your mother. (_Rises and takes up his musket from the corner by the fireplace._) DRISCOLL. You--you dare--you call me--coward? Ye black liar! I'll lesson ye! I'll-- (_Tries to rise, but in the effort sways weakly forward and rests with his head upon the stool which_ BUTLER _has quitted._) BUTLER. A'Heaven's name, ha' done with that hanging tune! Ha' done, Dick Fenton! We're not yet at the gallows' foot. (_Joins_ JOHN TALBOT _at the shot-windows._) FENTON. Nay, Myles, for us 'tis like to be nothing half so merry as the gallows. BUTLER. Hold your fool's tongue! NEWCOMBE (_crying out in his sleep_). Oh! Oh! JOHN TALBOT. What was that? FENTON. 'Twas naught but young Newcombe that cried out in the clutch of a nightmare. BUTLER. 'Tis time Kit Newcombe rose and stood his watch. JOHN TALBOT (_leaving the window_). Nay, 'tis only a boy. Let him sleep while he can! Let him sleep! BUTLER. Turn and turn at the watch, 'tis but fair. Stir yonder sluggard awake, Dick! FENTON. Aye. (_Starts to rise._) JOHN TALBOT. Who gives commands here? Sit you down, Fenton! To your place, Myles Butler! BUTLER. Captain of the Gate! D'ye mark the high tone of him, Dick? JOHN TALBOT (_tying a fresh bandage about his hand_). You're out there, Myles. There is but one Captain of the Gate of Connaught--he who set me here--my cousin, Hugh Talbot. BUT
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