re there a Man who, being weak and helpless
And most forlorn, should bribe a Mother, pressed
By penury, to yield him up her Daughter,
A little Infant, and instruct the Babe,
Prattling upon his knee, to call him Father--

LACY Why, if his heart be tender, that offence
I could forgive him.

MARMADUKE (going on)
And should he make the Child
An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her
To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light
Of infant playfulness with piteous looks
Of misery that was not--

LACY
Troth, 'tis hard--
But in a world like ours--

MARMADUKE (changing his tone)
This self-same Man--
Even while he printed kisses on the cheek
Of this poor Babe, and taught its innocent tongue
To lisp the name of Father--could he look
To the unnatural harvest of that time
When he should give her up, a Woman grown,
To him who bid the highest in the market
Of foul pollution--

LACY The whole visible world
Contains not such a Monster!

MARMADUKE For this purpose
Should he resolve to taint her Soul by means
Which bathe the limbs in sweat to think of them;
Should he, by tales which would draw tears from iron,
Work on her nature, and so turn compassion
And gratitude to ministers of vice,
And make the spotless spirit of filial love
Prime mover in a plot to damn his Victim
Both soul and body--

WALLACE 'Tis too horrible;
Oswald, what say you to it?

LACY Hew him down,
And fling him to the ravens.

MARMADUKE But his aspect
It is so meek, his countenance so venerable.

WALLACE (with an appearance of mistrust)
But how, what say you, Oswald?

LACY (at the same moment)
Stab him, were it
Before the Altar.

MARMADUKE What, if