ch way of mercy shut.
Now deeds must speak, now boldness must decide,
To compass all must all be hazarded;
You must be free before the morning break.

MARY.
What say you, sir--to-night?--impossible!

MORTIMER.
Hear what has been resolved:--I led my friends
Into a private chapel, where a priest
Heard our confession, and, for every sin
We had committed, gave us absolution;
He gave us absolution too, beforehand,
For every crime we might commit in future;
He gave us too the final sacrament,
And we are ready for the final journey.

MARY.
Oh, what an awful, dreadful preparation!

MORTIMER.
We scale, this very night, the castle's walls;
The keys are in my power; the guards we murder!
Then from thy chamber bear thee forcibly.
Each living soul must die beneath our hands,
That none remain who might disclose the deed.

MARY.
And Drury, Paulet, my two keepers, they
Would sooner spill their dearest drop of blood.

MORTIMER.
They fall the very first beneath my steel.

MARY.
What, sir! Your uncle? How! Your second father!

MORTIMER.
Must perish by my hand--I murder him!

MARY.
Oh, bloody outrage!

MORTIMER.
We have been absolved
Beforehand; I may perpetrate the worst;
I can, I will do so!

MARY.
Oh, dreadful, dreadful!

MORTIMER.
And should I be obliged to kill the queen,
I've sworn upon the host, it must be done!

MARY.
No, Mortimer; ere so much blood for me----

MORTIMER.
What is the life of all compared to thee,
And to my love? The bond which holds the world
Together may be loosed, a second deluge
Come rolling on, and swallow all creation!
Henceforth I value nothing; ere I quit
My hold on thee, may earth and time be ended!

MARY (retiring)
Heavens! Sir, what language, and what looks! They scare,
They frighten me!

MORTIMER (with unsteady looks, expressive of great madness).
Life's but a moment--death
Is but a moment too. Why! let them drag me
To Tyburn, let them tear me limb from limb,
With red-hot pincers----
[Violently approaching her with extended arms.
If I clasp but thee
Within my arms, thou fervently beloved!

MARY.
Madman, avaunt!

MORTIMER.
To rest upon this bosom,
To press upon this passion-breathing mouth----

MARY.
Leave me, for God's sake, sir; let me go in----

MORTIMER.
He is a madman who neglects to clasp
His bliss in folds that never may be loosed,
When Heaven has kindly given it to his arms.
I will deliv