]
[SCENE--A desolate Moor]
[OSWALD (alone)]
OSWALD Carry him to the Camp!
[SCENE--A desolate Moor]
[OSWALD (alone)]
OSWALD Carry him to the Camp!
Wordsworth - 1
There,
His crime shall be proclaimed; and for the rest
It shall be done as Wisdom shall decide:
Meanwhile, do you two hasten back and see
That all is well prepared.
WALLACE We will obey you.
(Aside. ) But softly! we must look a little nearer.
MARMADUKE Tell where you found us. At some future time
I will explain the cause.
[Exeunt. ]
ACT III
SCENE--The door of the Hostel, a group of Pilgrims as before; IDONEA and
the Host among them
HOST Lady, you'll find your Father at the Convent
As I have told you: He left us yesterday
With two Companions; one of them, as seemed,
His most familiar Friend.
(Going. ) There was a letter
Of which I heard them speak, but that I fancy
Has been forgotten.
IDONEA (to Host)
Farewell!
HOST
Gentle pilgrims,
St. Cuthbert speed you on your holy errand.
[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims.
]
[SCENE--A desolate Moor]
[OSWALD (alone)]
OSWALD Carry him to the Camp! Yes, to the Camp.
Oh, Wisdom! a most wise resolve! and then,
That half a word should blow it to the winds!
This last device must end my work. --Methinks
It were a pleasant pastime to construct
A scale and table of belief--as thus--
Two columns, one for passion, one for proof;
Each rises as the other falls: and first,
Passion a unit and _against_ us--proof--
Nay, we must travel in another path,
Or we're stuck fast for ever;--passion, then,
Shall be a unit _for_ us; proof--no, passion!
We'll not insult thy majesty by time,
Person, and place--the where, the when, the how,
And all particulars that dull brains require
To constitute the spiritless shape of Fact,
They bow to, calling the idol, Demonstration.
A whipping to the Moralists who preach
That misery is a sacred thing: for me,
I know no cheaper engine to degrade a man,
Nor any half so sure. This Stripling's mind
Is shaken till the dregs float on the surface;
And, in the storm and anguish of the heart,
He talks of a transition in his Soul,
And dreams that he is happy. We dissect
The senseless body, and why not the mind? --
These are strange sights--the mind of man, upturned,
Is in all natures a strange spectacle;
In some a hideous one--hem! shall I stop?
No. --Thoughts and feelings will sink deep, but then
They have no substance. Pass but a few minutes,
And something shall be done which Memory
May touch, whene'er her Vassals are at work.
His crime shall be proclaimed; and for the rest
It shall be done as Wisdom shall decide:
Meanwhile, do you two hasten back and see
That all is well prepared.
WALLACE We will obey you.
(Aside. ) But softly! we must look a little nearer.
MARMADUKE Tell where you found us. At some future time
I will explain the cause.
[Exeunt. ]
ACT III
SCENE--The door of the Hostel, a group of Pilgrims as before; IDONEA and
the Host among them
HOST Lady, you'll find your Father at the Convent
As I have told you: He left us yesterday
With two Companions; one of them, as seemed,
His most familiar Friend.
(Going. ) There was a letter
Of which I heard them speak, but that I fancy
Has been forgotten.
IDONEA (to Host)
Farewell!
HOST
Gentle pilgrims,
St. Cuthbert speed you on your holy errand.
[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims.
]
[SCENE--A desolate Moor]
[OSWALD (alone)]
OSWALD Carry him to the Camp! Yes, to the Camp.
Oh, Wisdom! a most wise resolve! and then,
That half a word should blow it to the winds!
This last device must end my work. --Methinks
It were a pleasant pastime to construct
A scale and table of belief--as thus--
Two columns, one for passion, one for proof;
Each rises as the other falls: and first,
Passion a unit and _against_ us--proof--
Nay, we must travel in another path,
Or we're stuck fast for ever;--passion, then,
Shall be a unit _for_ us; proof--no, passion!
We'll not insult thy majesty by time,
Person, and place--the where, the when, the how,
And all particulars that dull brains require
To constitute the spiritless shape of Fact,
They bow to, calling the idol, Demonstration.
A whipping to the Moralists who preach
That misery is a sacred thing: for me,
I know no cheaper engine to degrade a man,
Nor any half so sure. This Stripling's mind
Is shaken till the dregs float on the surface;
And, in the storm and anguish of the heart,
He talks of a transition in his Soul,
And dreams that he is happy. We dissect
The senseless body, and why not the mind? --
These are strange sights--the mind of man, upturned,
Is in all natures a strange spectacle;
In some a hideous one--hem! shall I stop?
No. --Thoughts and feelings will sink deep, but then
They have no substance. Pass but a few minutes,
And something shall be done which Memory
May touch, whene'er her Vassals are at work.
