No More Learning

MARMADUKE Weak! I am weak--there does my torment lie,
Feeding itself.


OSWALD Verily, when he said
How his old heart would leap to hear her steps,
You thought his voice the echo of Idonea's.


MARMADUKE And never heard a sound so terrible.


OSWALD Perchance you think so now?


MARMADUKE I cannot do it:
Twice did I spring to grasp his withered throat,
When such a sudden weakness fell upon me,
I could have dropped asleep upon his breast.


OSWALD Justice--is there not thunder in the word?
Shall it be law to stab the petty robber
Who aims but at our purse; and shall this Parricide--
Worse is he far, far worse (if foul dishonour
Be worse than death) to that confiding Creature
Whom he to more than filial love and duty
Hath falsely trained--shall he fulfil his purpose?
But you are fallen.


MARMADUKE Fallen should I be indeed--
Murder--perhaps asleep, blind, old, alone,
Betrayed, in darkness! Here to strike the blow--
Away! away! --

[Flings away his sword. ]


OSWALD Nay, I have done with you:
We'll lead him to the Convent. He shall live,
And she shall love him.
With unquestioned title
He shall be seated in his Barony,
And we too chant the praise of his good deeds.
I now perceive we do mistake our masters,
And most despise the men who best can teach us:
Henceforth it shall be said that bad men only
Are brave: Clifford is brave; and that old Man
Is brave.
[Taking MARMADUKE'S sword and giving it to him. ]
To Clifford's arms he would have led
His Victim--haply to this desolate house.


MARMADUKE (advancing to the dungeon)
It must be ended! --


OSWALD Softly; do not rouse him;
He will deny it to the last. He lies
Within the Vault, a spear's length to the left.
[MARMADUKE descends to the dungeon. ]
(Alone. ) The Villains rose in mutiny to destroy me;
I could have quelled the Cowards, but this Stripling
Must needs step in, and save my life. The look
With which he gave the boon--I see it now!
The same that tempted me to loathe the gift. --
For this old venerable Grey-beard--faith
'Tis his own fault if he hath got a face
Which doth play tricks with them that look on it:
'Twas this that put it in my thoughts--that countenance--
His staff--his figure--Murder! --what, of whom?
We kill a worn-out horse, and who but women
Sigh at the deed? Hew down a withered tree,
And none look grave but dotards.