of hell remains for me!
Where is the purpose now with which I came
To stifle my heart's voice in callous scorn?
To see her head descend upon the block
With unaverted and indifferent eyes?
How doth her presence wake my slumbering shame?
Must she in death surround me with love's toils?
Lost, wretched man! No more it suits thee now
To melt away in womanly compassion:
Love's golden bliss lies not upon thy path,
Then arm thy breast in panoply of steel,
And henceforth be thy brows of adamant!
Wouldst thou not lose the guerdon of thy guilt,
Thou must uphold, complete it daringly!
Pity be dumb; mine eyes be petrified!
I'll see--I will be witness of her fall.

[He advances with resolute steps towards the door
through which MARY passed; but stops suddenly half way.

No! No! The terrors of all hell possess me.
I cannot look upon the dreadful deed;
I cannot see her die! Hark! What was that?
They are already there. Beneath my feet
The bloody business is preparing. Hark!
I hear their voices. Hence! Away, away
From this abode of misery and death!

[He attempts to escape by another door;
finds it locked, and returns.

How! Does some demon chain me to this spot?
To hear what I would shudder to behold?
That voice--it is the dean's, exhorting her;
She interrupts him. Hark--she prays aloud;
Her voice is firm--now all is still, quite still!
And sobs and women's moans are all I hear.
Now, they undress her; they remove the stool;
She kneels upon the cushion; lays her head----

[Having spoken these last words, and paused awhile,
he is seen with a convulsive motion suddenly to shrink
and faint away; a confused hum of voices is heard at
the same moment from below, and continues for some time.

SCENE XI.

The Second Chamber in the Fourth Act.

ELIZABETH (entering from a side door; her gait and action expressive
of the most violent uneasiness).
No message yet arrived! What! no one here!
Will evening never come! Stands the sun still
In its ethereal course? I can no more
Remain upon the rack of expectation!
Is it accomplished? Is it not? I shudder
At both events, and do not dare to ask.
My Lord of Leicester comes not,--Burleigh too,
Whom I appointed to fulfil the sentence.
If they have quitted London then 'tis done,
The bolt has left its rest--it cuts the air--
It strikes; has struck already: were my realm
At stake I could not now arrest its course.
Who's there?

SCENE XII.

E