is speechless agony.--She must not faint--
She shall not 'scape her portion of the pain.
No! she shall feel the fulness of distress,
And wake to keen perception of her loss.

_Bir._ Monster! Barbarian! leave her to her sorrows.

_Elw._ [_in a low broken voice._]
Douglas--think not I faint, because thou see'st
The pale and bloodless cheek of wan despair.
Fail me not yet, my spirits; thou cold heart,
Cherish thy freezing current one short moment,
And bear thy mighty load a little longer.

_Dou._ Percy, I must avow it, bravely fought,--
Died as a hero should;--but, as he fell,
(Hear it, fond wanton!) call'd upon thy name,
And his last guilty breath sigh'd out--Elwina!
Come--give a loose to rage, and feed thy soul
With wild complaints, and womanish upbraidings.

_Elw._ [_in a low solemn voice._] No.
The sorrow's weak that wastes itself in words,
Mine is substantial anguish--deep, not loud;
I do not rave.--Resentment's the return
Of common souls for common injuries.
Light grief is proud of state, and courts compassion;
But there's a dignity in cureless sorrow,
A sullen grandeur which disdains complaint;
Rage is for little wrongs--Despair is dumb.
[_exeunt Elwina and Birtha._

_Dou._ Why this is well! her sense of woe is strong!
The sharp, keen tooth of gnawing grief devours her,
Feeds on her heart, and pays me back my pangs.
Since I must perish 'twill be glorious ruin:
I fall not singly, but, like some proud tower,
I'll crush surrounding objects in the wreck,
And make the devastation wide and dreadful.

_Enter Raby._

_Raby._ O whither shall a wretched father turn?
Where fly for comfort? Douglas, art thou here?
I do not ask for comfort at thy hands.
I'd but one little casket where I lodged
My precious hoard of wealth, and, like an idiot,
I gave my treasure to another's keeping,
Who threw away the gem, nor knew its value,
But left the plunder'd owner quite a beggar.

_Dou._ What art thou come to see thy race dishonour'd?
And thy bright sun of glory set in blood?
I would have spar'd thy virtues, and thy age,
The knowledge of her infamy.

_Raby._ 'Tis false.
Had she been base, this sword had drank her blood.

_Dou._ Ha! dost thou vindicate the wanton?

_Raby._ Wanton?
Thou hast defam'd a noble lady's honour--
My spotless child--in me behold her champion:
The strength of Hercules will nerve this arm,
When lifted in defence of innocence.
The daughter's virtue for the father's