ould'st think it, Love!
They hoot and spit upon me as I pass
In the public streets: one shows me to his neighbour,
Who shakes his head and turns away with horror--
I was not always thus--

_Margaret_. Thou noble nature, etc.

The next scene--the last [page l95]--is much cut about. The long speech
of Margaret beginning,

To give you in your stead a better self,

and John's reply [both printed at pages 196-7], are struck out, and
"Nimis" written by Lamb's pen in large characters in the margin;
but after that all goes on in harmony with the print, to the end:--

It seem'd the guilt of blood was passing from me
Even in the act and agony of tears
And all my sins forgiven.
At this point in the MS. Simon arrives:--

[_A noise is heard as of one without, clamorous to come in_.]

_Margaret_. 'Tis your brother Simon, John.

_Enter Simon, with his sword in a menacing posture, John staggers
towards him and falls at his feet, Margaret standing over him._

_Simon_. Is this the man I came so far to see--
The perfect Cavalier, the finish'd courtier
Whom Ladies lov'd, the gallant curled Woodvil,
Whom brave men fear'd, the valiant, fighting Woodvil,
The haughty high-ambitioned Parricide--
The same that sold his father's secret in his cups,
And held it but an after-dinner's trick?--
So humble and in tears, a crestfallen penitent,
And crawling at a younger brother's feet!
The sinews of my [_stiff_] revenge grow slack.
My brother, speak to me, my brother John.
(_Aside_) Now this is better than the beastly deed
Which I did meditate.

_John (rising and resuming his old dignity)_. You come to take my life,
I know it well.
You come to fight with me--[_Laying his hand upon his sword_.]
This arm was busy on the day of Naseby:
'Tis paralytic now, and knows no use of weapons.
The luck is yours, Sir. [_Surrenders his sword_.]

_Simon_. My errand is of peace:
A dying father's blessing and lost prayers
For his misguided son.
Sir Walter sends it with his parting breath.
He bade me with my brother live in peace,
He bade me fall upon his neck and weep,
(As I now do) and love my brother John;
For we are only left in the wide world
The poor survivors of the Wood