at title. As a son of that accursed
race he was no husband for an honest girl, so, madly as I loved
him, I left him then and there. He died but ten years since, but
I never saw him again.
ZOR. But why should you not marry a bad Baronet of
Ruddigore?
RUTH. All baronets are bad; but was he worse than other
baronets?
HAN. My child, he was accursed.
ZOR. But who cursed him? Not you, I trust!
HAN. The curse is on all his line and has been, ever since
the time of Sir Rupert, the first Baronet. Listen, and you shall
hear the legend:

LEGEND--HANNAH.

Sir Rupert Murgatroyd
His leisure and his riches
He ruthlessly employed
In persecuting witches.
With fear he'd make them quake--
He'd duck them in his lake--
He'd break their bones
With sticks and stones,
And burn them at the stake!

CHORUS. This sport he much enjoyed,
Did Rupert Murgatroyd--
No sense of shame
Or pity came
To Rupert Murgatroyd!

Once, on the village green,
A palsied hag he roasted,
And what took place, I ween,
Shook his composure boasted;
For, as the torture grim
Seized on each withered limb,
The writhing dame
`Mid fire and flame
Yelled forth this curse on him:

"Each lord of Ruddigore,
Despite his best endeavour,
Shall do one crime, or more,
Once, every day, for ever!
This doom he can't defy,
However he may try,
For should he stay
His hand, that day
In torture he shall die!"

The prophecy came true:
Each heir who held the title
Had, every day, to do
Some crime of import vital;
Until, with guilt o'erplied,
"I'll Sin no more!" he cried,
And on the day
He said that say,
In