urns away, and hides his eyes with his hand._

_Enter SEWARD and an OFFICER._

GENERAL.

Seward, support her--my heart is torn in twain.

[_HONORA as if exhausted, suffers herself to be raised, and leans on
SEWARD._

OFFICER.

This moment, sir, a messenger arrived
With well confirm'd and mournful information,
That gallant Hastings, by the lawless scouts
Of Britain taken, after cruel mockery
With shew of trial and condemnation,
On the next tree was hung.

HONORA [_wildly_].

Oh, it is false!

GENERAL.

Why, why, my country, did I hesitate? [_Exit._

[_HONORA sinks, faints, and is borne off by SEWARD and OFFICER._

SCENE, _the Prison._

_ANDRE meeting BLAND._

ANDRE.

How speeds Honora? [_Pause._] Art thou silent, Bland?
Why, then I know my task. The mind of man,
If not by vice debas'd, debilitated,
Or by disease of body quite unton'd,
Hath o'er its thoughts a power--energy divine!
Of fortitude the source and every virtue--
A godlike power, which e'en o'er circumstance
Its sov'reignty exerts. Now, from my thoughts,
Honora! Yet she is left alone--expos'd--

BLAND.

O, Andre, spurn me, strike me to the earth;
For what a wretch am I, in Andre's mind,
That he can think he leaves his love alone,
And I retaining life!

ANDRE.

Forgive me, Bland,
My thoughts glanc'd not on thee. Imagination
Pictur'd only, then, her orphan state, helpless;
Her weak and grief-exhausted frame. Alas!
This blow will kill her!

BLAND [_kneeling_].

Here do I myself
Devote, my fortune consecrate, to thee,
To thy remembrance, and Honora's service!--

ANDRE.

Enough! Let me not see her more--nor think of her--
Farewell! farewell, sweet image! Now for death.

BLAND.

Yet that you shouldst the felon's fate fulfill--
Damnation! my blood boils. Indignation
Makes the current of my life course wildly
Through its round, and maddens each emotion.

ANDRE.

Come, come, it matters not.

BLAND.

I do remember,
When a boy, at school, in our allotted tasks,
We, by our puny acts, strove to portray
The giant thoughts of Otway. I was Pierre.--
O, thou art Pierre's reality! a soldier,
On whose manly brow sits fortitude enamour'd!
A Mars, abhorring vice, yet doom'd to die
A death of infamy; thy corse expos'd
To vulgar gaze--halter'd--distorted--Oh!!
[_Pau