ued bell, that speaks of death,
Falls on my ears as would a solid substance,
Pressing my heart down! Oh cruel speed!
Already they prepare their execution!
But they shall live, or I with them shall die!
THOU, who beholdest me, and lookest through
The darkness of Thy heavens upon Thy suppliant,
Let not a tyrant stain Thy earth with blood--
The blood of innocence! Thou, who art mercy,
Spare a father's tears! Thou, who art love,
Look on a mother's anguish! Thou, who art justice,
Save! oh, save their children! Thou, who art power,
Strengthen my hands to-night. _[Rises._
Now, may an angel's hand direct my skiff
Straight to their camp, till with one blow I strike
Their freedom and my country's!

_[He leaps into the boat and pushes off_.

SCENE IX.--_The English camp. A fire in the distance.
Enter_ HENRY _and_ RICHARD, _fettered and guarded_.

_Henry_.--Would it were morning, and the hour were come.
For still my heart misgives me, lest our parents
Do, in fond weakness, save us by dishonour!

_Richard_.--Rather than purchase life at such a price,
And have my father sell his faith for me,
And sell his country, I would rather thou,
My brother in my birth and in my death,
Should be my executioner! We know them better!

_Henry_.--Now I seem old and weary of this life,
So joy I in our death for Scotland's sake;
For this death will so wed us to our country,
We shall be old in years to all posterity!
And it will place a blot on Edward's name,
That time may blacken, but can ne'er efface.

_Richard_.--My heart, too, beats as light as if tomorrow
Had been, by young love, destined for my bridal;
Yet oft a tear comes stealing down my cheek,
When I do think me of our _mother_, Henry!

_Henry_.--Oh speak not of our parents! or my heart
Will burst ere morning, and from the tyrant rob
His well-earned infamy.

_Richard_.--Oh! I must speak of them:
They now will wander weeping in their chamber,
Or from their window through the darkness gaze,
And stretch their hands and sigh towards the camp;
Then, when the red east breaks the night away--
Ah! what a sight will meet their eyes, my brother!

_Henry_.--My brother! oh my brother!

_Enter_ FRIAR.

_Guard_.--Who would pass here?

_Friar_.--A friend! a friend!--a messenger of mercy!

_Guard_.--Nay, wert thou mercy's self, you cannot pass.

_Friar_.--Refuse ye, then, your prisoners their confessor?

_Guard_.--Approach not, or ye die!

_Friar_.--Would ye stretch