University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—Frankfort. Time, morning. The Doctor, brother of Alonzo, sheriff, guards and citizens meet at the tavern where Conrad slept.
Sheriff
to the Innkeeper.
Did you not hear Alonzo was dead?

Innkeeper.
Dead!

Sher.
Some savage person, murdered him, last night.

Inkeep.
Kill'd him! was he murdered! merciful heavens!
I never heard the like in all my life.

Sher.
He was stabbed about the seventh rib, and died!
And 'tis my duty to investigate
And find, with speed, who that vile villain was.

Inkeep.
Yes, certainly 'tis.

Sher.
We are requested to inquire of you,
Who tarried here last night?

Inkeep.
I do not know.
[Points to the bar.
There is the register—find out his name.

Sher.
Yes, here it is. Now, lead us to his room.

Innkeep.
He's gone!—gone long ago! he left by light!

Sher.
Then, let us search his room.

Innkeep.
Was he the man?

Sher.
'Tis said he was the very man!

Innkeep.
Who saw him?
'Tis best to weigh the thing—not be too sure.

Doctor.
He was the very man!

Innkeep.
How do you know?

Doct.
Alonzo's wife, sir, saw him do the deed.

Innkeep.
Where was he?

Doct.
In the room adjoining hers.
She said she heard his voice, and knew it well.
But there are other things, which made her know it.
Alonzo told his wife, a year ago,
He swore eternal vengeance to his face?

Innkeep.
Well, well! search his room—'tis all no use.

Sher.
Where is his room? we must search his room!

Innkeep.
Porter, take the sheriff to Conrad's room.

(Sheriff, Doctor, and citizens go in his room to search.
Innkeeper
to Edgar.
'Tis strange that Conrad should be such a man!
What circumstance has led them to suspect?
A milder face, than his, I never saw.
He drank my health before he left this morning,
And hoped the governor, who rules the state,
Might be elected—jovial as you please.
I do not understand, why they suspect,
That Conrad killed that man! do you know?

Edgar.
Why, I believe Alonzo's wife, sometime
Before his death, o'erheard him say, 'twas best
To leave the state—that, Conrad threatened death!
Now, I believe she neither saw nor heard him.
But, 'twas a thing long looked for, by them both.

Innkeep.
You don't say so!—I never heard a word!
What quarrel had they? they were always friends?

Edgar.
Yes, they were friends, as far as I have known.

Innkeep.
I want to know, then, why they say 'twas Conrad?
I never saw a countenance so mild!

Edgar.
I always liked him—he was always kind.

Innkeep.
They have no cause to search the room for him!

Edgar.
Perhaps they have some cause!

Innkeep.
What is that cause?

Edgar.
You know, about three years ago, Alonzo
Paid his first addresses to Eudora—

Innkeep.
Well!—now, what has that to do with this case?

Edgar.
That is the very thing to breed a murder!

Innkeep.
Then, you believe that Conrad killed Alonzo!

Edgar.
I should believe that, just as soon as not.

Innkeep.
'Tis strange, that you believe without some proof!
Did any enmity exist between 'em?

Edgar.
I do not know, but I expect there did—
Alonzo did not act the gentleman!

Innkeep.
How! did not act the gentleman!—with whom?

Edgar.
I hate to say, precise,—but, things are such,
That one might think, that, as he loves Eudora—
Knowing, that dead Alonzo did deceive her!—
One, I say, might think that Conrad killed him!
I know what I would do, in such a case.

Innkeep.
Did you say, Alonzo's self deceived her?

Edgar.
'Tis said, he did!—I did not see him do it.

Innkeep.
Ah! is that all?—would you believe such trash?
He, kill a man, because that man deceived
Eudora!—'twas her fault!—she was to blame!
Why did he not unite with some one else?

Edgar.
It may be so, and like enough, I guess.
Such things exist, that death 's the only means
Can give her satisfaction!—this, I know.

Innkeep.
There is some part I have not heard—speak out!

Edgar.
Alonzo promised marriage—did deceive her!
Stole her virtue; and left her on the world!

Innkeep.
What!—he did not ruin Elvira's child!

Edgar.
So says the world.—What every body says,
Of course, is true.

Innkeep.
Then, damn him!—let him die!

Edgar.
I say so, too! I would have done the same;
I say, what Conrad did, was manly—right!

Innkeep.
What! have my child abused? my child! my child!
I'd lose my life, and fifty lives beside,
To shield my daughter from a gaping world!—
He should have killed him in the open streets.

Edgar.
Be mute—the sheriff comes—we must be calm.

Sheriff and citizens return with a handkerchief, found on Conrad's bed.
Sheriff.
Look here! behold this handkerchief, and weep!
This handerchief was left upon his bed!
Look at this living stain, and read his guilt!
[Shows the blood on the handkerchief.
Now, who would ask for better proof than this?
Behold the very cordial of his heart!
See, where the savage wiped his dagger on it!
And, truth, to shame the devil, left it here!
This works materially to his disgrace.

Doctor.
Give it to me—it shall be evidence in court.
[He takes it and cuts it with his knife.
Behold! look here!—the villain's name's upon it!
See where the dagger pierced it, as 'twas wiped!
Oh! my brother! (weeps.)
—Let him travel cross the sea,
But I will find him—justice shall be dealt!
Now, Mr. Sheriff, you have seen this blood!
I do adjure you, by the sorrow which I feel,
To deputize to your men, and bring him back—
'Tis but an evening's ride to where he lives.
Then, by my oath, invested in this writ,
You bring him back, if he is in this world.—
Oh! my brother! my brother! dead and gone!

[Weeps, and goes out.
Sher.
Now, men! if you are men, be firm of heart.
We must, by law, by orders, which you've heard,—
Pursue the murderer—bring him back, in haste.
Therefore, I summon all around, to aid.

Innkeep.
I would not poison such good nature,—will
You bring a just man here, to judge him just?
He did what you, and I, and all had done!
I would have tracked him through white Zembla's snows,
And back, from thence, throughout Arabia's sands—
By heavens! I say, he acted like a man!
[Waves his hand.
A child 's a thing so near a father's self,
He would not see her harmed!—and think you, sir,
I'd have a wife, and know she had been harmed—
Live with her—love her—fold her in my arms—
And, like an easy coward, mope all day,
And sleep all night, and her seducer live?—
Thou art no man!—thou art a thoughtless fool!

Sher.
Come, men! 'tis time—we must obey the law.
We have no use for such a man as that!

[Pointing to the Innkeeper. Exeunt sheriff and his guard.
Edgar
to the Innkeeper.
We have done wisely, in a twofold sense.
But, mark me! did you not observe that skill?
That man who cut the 'kerchief!—mark his oath!
He does not know that Conrad killed his brother—
Any more than you or I—he only thinks!
We all may think—but thinking will not do!—
He knows one thing—he knows three things—
And these three things—all Frankfort knows!
That, dead Alonzo treated her unkind—
Deceived her, in the utmost of her hopes!
And, more than all, he takes it home to self;
And, though he feels, were he in Conrad's place.
He'd do the same—still, he must have revenge!
And more, to change presumption into truth,
He makes old circumstance look young—
Rubs up the tarnished brass of by-gone guilt
And holds it in the sun, as golden truth.
He's right, and still, he's wrong—I'll tell you why—
He should not steal from truth, to make truth rich.
Should he have pierced that which was never torn?
No, no! he may do worse—tear Conrad's heart!
Now, he will swear that handkerchief was cut,
And, that the rent was made by Conrad's dagger!
Therefore, condemned, or not condemned—he's wrong!

Inkeep.
How many ways to kill a dog beside hanging.

Edgar.
Perhaps, it was a party mob, at last!

Innkeep.
I wish it so—for Conrad is a man—
He is a man amongst a thousand men!

Edgar.
Good day! I wish you well.

Innkeep.
The same to you.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE II.

—A cottage in the country, where Eudora lives. She is standing at the gate, waiting for Conrad to return.
Eudora.
Long have I watched for him, but all in vain!
I saw the sun go down—then rise again;
And now, 'tis almost night,—he has not come!
Sure, if he does not come ere night returns,
My heart must quite misgive, 'tis now so weak!—

Conrad returns, rushes to Eudora, and she falls in his arms.
Con.
Eudora! thou art safe—be happy—smile!
Weep not, my love! my wife!—thou art my wife!
Then weep, with tears of joy, for he is gone!

Eud.
Oh! Conrad! Conrad!—have you let him go?
Where is the villain gone?—oh! tell me, quick!

Con.
He's gone to hell!—where all seducers go!

Eud.
The serpent's gone again!

Con.
He has, my love.

Eud.
Then, I am done for ever!

Con.
Weep not, my love! thou hast one friend on earth.
And he the strongest of all friends!

Eud.
Then go!
[Discontentedly.
The love of all thy friends? nay, all the world—
Is centered in this one—I am thine all!
Thou art no friend to me! oh, no! no! no!

[Weeps.
Con.
What! wilt thou, in the face of heaven, betray me?

Eud.
Betray thee, Conrad! oh! I love that look!

[Looks at him.
Con.
By heavens! my practice should be made an art!
And thou, betrayer, deceived! to fall like
[Loud.
Thy betrayer!

[Looks sternly at her.
Eud.
Speak,—Did'st thou say he fell?

Con.
I did—I say he fell!

Eud.
And is he dead?

Con.
I told thee, sweet Eudora! he was gone!

Eud.
Thou did'st—where is he gone?

Con.
Gone down to hell!

[Points down.
Eud.
Where is the dagger? let me see the blood upon it!

Con.
Here, by his friend, asleep!—there, let him rest,
Like wearied child upon its mother's breast!

Eud.
Did'st thou inter it in his faithless heart?

Con.
I did—but disinterred it o'er again—
I could not let it rot in such a grave!
'Tis best to let it sleep, as sleeps the sleeper!
Lest, showing it, thou long'st for other's blood!

Eud.
There is no one on earth, whom I would harm—
I would not hurt a hair in virtue's head!

Con.
Thou would'st not harm a hair, but break a heart!

Eud.
How, break a heart, my love?

Con.
'Tis best take care!

Eud.
Oh! what a cruel heart, to forge such words!
Oh! I would die for thee, ten thousand deaths!

Con.
Thou wilt betray me, just as sure as fate!

Eud.
Betray thee? never! never, in this world!
Give me thy hand, my love—look in my face!

Con.
I see thy face—thy soul—thy heart and life!
Thy soul, and eye, and heart will all betray me!

Eud.
If thou can'st prophesy, keep sorrows dark!

Con.
He's gone! I could not help it!—oh! he's gone!

Eud.
Then, farewell pride! then, farewell hope and love!
Farewell, sweet Conrad! oh! that I were dead!

Con.
Wake up, young sleeper! bring thy deeds to light!
And set thy prisoner free!

[Grasps his dagger.
Eud.
Forgive me, oh!

[Kneels.
Con.
Look at this dagger!—see it for the last!
[Holds it up]
See how that angel bright, points up to heaven!
Did I not tell thee thou wouldst soon betray me!
I heard thee swear thou wouldst be true and kind.
[Takes her hand.
Honest woman, 'tis thy nature, 'tis thy life;
Why dost thou not behold thy friend, and smile?
Rise, seest thou not upon that dagger, blood!
Look at it—crimson from the tide of life!
'Tis done!—then, I am thine, and thou art mine.

Eud.
My friend, oh! let me kiss thy life away!
[Embraces.
How did you meet? did he not hurt thee, love!

Con.
How could he, when I killed him at one blow!
And when he ope'd the door I caught his throat,
Then said, where is my wife? now, villain, die!
And, with one stroke, I brought him to the ground.

Eud.
Then, thou art safe,—and no one saw thy face?

Con.
No soul on earth; 'twas done in dead of night;
And ere he died, I took me back to bed,
And, in the morning, woke, and thought of thee.

Eud.
Then, thou art safe, and I am full of joy.

Con.
But stay,—by truth! I have forgot one thing,—
My name is on the handkerchief, I left!

Eud.
Left where, my love!

Con.
Upon the bed I slept in.

Eud.
Be not disturb'd,—that will avail them nought.

Con.
I am disturbed about that handkerchief:
What if his brother find it!—he will swear
He saw me have it there!

Eud.
I reckon not.

Con.
He has a thousand friends would swear the same!

Eud.
Ah! would they perjure truth and honesty?

Con.
They would perjure neither, but themselves.
No, sweet Eudora! if I am molested,
My only recompense is thee, thou dove!
Then let us go, we must, through life, be one.

They enter the cottage—are married. Enter officer and guards, to take him. Officer goes to the gate and calls.
Sheriff.
Halloo there, Conrad! come thee out this way!

[Eudora and Conrad come to the door.
Eud.
Do not go, my love! they are your enemies.

Sher.
Sweet lady! we are all his friends, as thine.

Eud.
Thou, friend! I would have thee for my friend.

Sher.
We wish to speak with Conrad—we're his friends.

Con.
What would'st thou have with me?

Officer.
But one kind word.

Con.
They have no proof, my love!—'tis best I go!
[Aside to Eudora.
For, if I stay, you know they may suspect me!
'Twill lend them argument to new suspicion.
They know, my love! he did thy virtue wrong.
That heaven should have chastised him long ago!
That it behoov'd me to defend thy shame!
They kill mistrust by heaping guilt on me—
Thereby, acknowledge, blindly, all his guilt.
Tis best, perhaps, I go—be calm, my love!
And I will come back free, and love thee still.

[He goes.
Off.
Conrad! here is a writ I wish you'd read.
[Hands him a paper.
You know my duty, as a man in office.—

Con.
This is a writ accusing me of murder!
[Reads.
Tis strange! I do declare!—who swore to this?

Off.
His name is signed below—there, you can see!

Con.
The liar's name's not worth my guiltless search!—
What would'st thou have me do?

Off.
Go back again!

Con.
That, I will never do, while I have breath!

Off.
That argues guilt!

Con.
I value not your thoughts.
They are but wind—they come—and then, they go!

Off.
You know my duty, Conrad!—do you not?

Con.
I do!—and know my duty as a husband!

Off.
We all are subject to the law.

Con.
I'm not!—
I am not subject—never will I be!

Off.
Do not persist—we must obey the law!

Con.
Obey just what you please—I care not what!

[Disdainfully.
Off.
This argues, man! not only fear, but guilt!
'Twas said, thou would'st refuse!—then, why not go?

Con.
Because I have a stronger tie to stay!

Off.
But, if the law requires your presence, go?
Why not give absence, sir, your ties to hold,
Until your brief return?—we all have wives
At home!—still, we are here!

Con.
My wife is ill!

Off.
There stands your wife—we see that she is kind!—
We love her kindness, and admire your love!
And she is willing you should yield to law?

Eud.
No; I am not! and he shall never go!

Off.
Sweet ladye! we are all his friends, as thine!
We wish to act as wisely as we can.

Con.
Then act, and act—I'll die before I'll go!

Off.
We wish the truth unfolded to the world.
'Tis that for which we came—for which we live;
And, if you still persist—thou art the man!
[Points at him.
And we are bound, by law, to take you back.

Con.
Then, take me back! I will not go—stand back!

[Draws his dagger.
Off.
Sieze on him, guards—now take him—take him back.

[He throws them off, and Eudora rushes between.
Eud.
Oh! Conrad! Conrad!—these are thine enemies!

Con.
Stand off!—approach me not—else thou shalt die!—
[Points to the officer.
As many more, as I have power to kill.
Thy mother bare thy father no such sons!
Thou hast no brother with so proud a heart!
Thy brother no such brother as I am.
I am a lion 'mongst a thousand men.
Encounter no such man—'twould be a shame!
When storms are raging, and the winds blow high,
The tallest trees bend lowest to the ground;
And I would spill thy blood on earth, like rain!

Off.
We would not harm thee—all we want is justice!
We must abide by what the law invokes!—
The writ demands thy body back to court.

Con.
What if thou could'st not find me? go back empty?
[Tauntingly.
Oh! what a vacuum!—thou hadst better fill!
Choke up existence with some useful thought;
And learn your motley calves obedience!

[Points at the guard.
Off.
Thou art no common man—then, use thy sense.

Eud.
Oh! Conrad! do not hear that half starved wolf.
He's murdered many a lamb in nature's fold;
And longs thy life, as doth a mink for blood.

Off.
Come, let me speak with thee alone—'tis best!

[Eudora holds Conrad.
Eud.
No; they will kill thee, by the way, my love!

[Weeps.
Off.
Nay, gentle ladye! we are not so savage.

[Officer whispers to Conrad.
Con.
Weep not, my love! 'tis best that I should go.
I am as safe as truth, as clear as heaven!
One sweet embrace!—now calm thy gentle heart!
[Embraces her.
Farewell, Eudora!

Eud.
When wilt thou return?

Con.
To morrow morn! to morrow morn, my love!

Off.
Tis best, a thousand times the best—'tis right.
[Exeunt Eudora.
Let me see that dagger which you hold?
I do not ask it, to educe more fears!

Con.
I have no fears! I do not know the term.
There is the dagger—look it black with gazing.
[Hands it.
See'st thou much blood upon that burnish'd blade?

Off.
We thank you for your kindness—give you thanks.

[Looks at it.
Guard.
That dagger made that wound, as sure as death!

Con.
Does that man's wound resemble daggers?

Off.
No.

Con.
They should, to bear your definition out!
You'd have the dagger and the wound born twins!
You have your logic all Corinthian brass,
And prick your ears at nothing, like an ass!

Off.
I say, this dagger looks much like that wound.
A charitable deed, I'll take it home.
[Puts it in his pocket, with the handkerchief wraped round it. Turns to the guard.
Now, if the prisoner is not guilty men;
Then, we have done our duty—and tis well;—
[Here Conrad steals the dagger and handkerchief out of his pocket.
But guilty, or not guilty, who can tell?
[Officer leads him out. Guards follow. Eudora returns.
Good heavens! I could have wept a thousand tears!—
Now, we commence another path of thorns!
I thought my utmost hope was quench'd in blood;
But now, I fear 'twill end us both in death!
[Weeps.
Elvira enters.
Oh! mother! he is gone—the guard is gone!
He is accused of murder—he is gone!

[Weeps.
Elvira.
Eudora! why art all these tears, my child?

Eud.
The guard hath borne him off to prison!

Elvira.
Oh! calm thy fears—be reconciled—they're friends!
No doubt but he will come, when all is right.
Thou hast shed tears enough!—come, let us home!

[Exeunt Elvira and Eudora.

SCENE III.

—A court house in Frankfort. Judge, Lawyers, Jury, Witnesses and Citizens waiting his trial.
Judge.
Conrad accused of murdering Alonzo!
Jury and witnesses are sworn—proceed!

Darby
speaks for plaintiff. With the writ in his hand.
May it please your honour!—I would speak in vain,
Did I not know this man achiev'd that death!
This man has killed a statesman, whom we loved;
And no one here can help but feel his loss.
Alonzo was that man!—you knew him well!
We once were boys—he had a noble heart.
He would not brook a wrong, to clothe disgrace.
I never knew that man achieve one wrong.
But he was prudent—honored—loved by all,—
And none said ought, to stain his sacred name!—
That he was killed by some unfriendly blow—
The weapon and the wound doth testify!
That he was murdered in the dead of night,
When none but God's all seeing eye could see!—
That he was killed by Conrad's iron hands,
Done on that very night he lodg'd in town—
Which moulds suspicion into modeled truth—
Is, also, sworn to, in this sacred writ!
There was, upon his bed, a kerchief found,
Impierced with such like blade, as made the wound!—
And more than all, there stands Alonzo's wife,
Clothed in dark widowhood, and weeds, that mourn!
She saw him with her eyes, and heard his curse—
Now, these are truths, when known, must make us feel!—
Yes, stir the recess'd fountains of our souls—
But mark! before I let one witness speak,
Should not this grand tribunal weep?
Should not our hearts gush out respective tears?—
Not only for that murderer's cruel fate,
But that, by your resolve, through conscience sworn,
His soul shall stand at that tribunal—heaven!—
By all that is humane and dear to man—
By all that justice and religion teach!—
By all on earth, and all in heaven above,
(With all the evidence I may adduce—)
This man should suffer unto lawful death!

Judge.
Then, call the witnesses and let them speak.

Angeline, wife of Alonzo, sworn.
Darby.
Then, Angeline! before this court and jury,
Relate the most you know of this man's guilt.

Ang.
I saw Alonzo fall, and heard his voice!

Con.
Is that the first bad thing you saw, that night?

Ang.
My husband!—then, I fell upon his breast!

[Weeps.
Darby.
Relate the most you know—whether or not,
You saw Alonzo fall by Conrad's hand?

Ang.
I saw that bloody rebel! heard his voice!

[Weeps.
Con.
At first, she said, the first thing that she saw,
Was poor Alonzo!—ah! where did he fall?

Ang.
He died in the adjoining room from mine.

Con.
You was not in the room then, where he fell?
How could you see him fall by Conrad's hand?

Ang.
I heard him, when he stabbed him to the heart!

Con.
May please your honour!—innocence can plead,
Without disguise, her own truth telling cause.
There is no truth in what this woman swears.
She saw me not—this needs no argument.
The handkerchief, which they suggest, as proof;
They, no doubt, found upon my bed—but mark!
As true as you are judge, they made the rent!
That handkerchief was sound, when I return'd;
And, as to blood, there may have been some blood;
But, from no mortal's heart on earth, but mine.
That, poor Alonzo fell by Conrad's hand,
That, all of us do mourn his sudden loss,—
That he was brave, and kind, and good to man!—
That, he was once a schoolboy, full of fun;
And, all such petty argument as this,
The phantom visions of a moon-struck brain!—
The sky born fancies of a traitor's soul!
Choked full of yellow dust, call'd money—gold!—
That I rose early—left my kerchief, 's true;
But not more true, than, that I always do it.
That, in the dead of night, Alonzo fell!
When some life-taking hand drove off his soul!
And left him mortal, in the shades of death!—
May all be true!—which I will not dispute;
But that these things were done by Conrad's hands,
I do deny—because they are not proven!—
There is no evidence beneath yon sun,
Whereby they can convict me of this crime—
No; they are dark in this, as, was that night,
On which, they say, this savage deed was done!
Tis but a breath of air, borne on the winds,
An echo,—lost among resistless clouds.

Darby.
May please the jury, and this sapient court!
That justice may be given to whom 'tis due—
That life may forfeit for the loss of life!
That human passion may rich lessons learn—
That life-blood, taken from so good a man,
And sprinkled on the thirsty earth, like rain!
That morals and religion, set at nought—
That night's dark widowhood be clothed in morn—
[Points to Angeline.
That sacred love, now trampled under foot—
And, more than all, that heaven may be appeased!
I rise, this moment, to unfold the truth.

Con.
If there be light thrown on this simple case,
Thy traitorship will make each credence dark!
The world has borne your insults long enough;
Thou hast been privy into more foul deeds,
Than half the locusts on the ancient Nile!
I know you—all within this crowded court—
And each, and all have known, of you, no good!
I tell this jury and this sapient court!—
And all, who hear me, in my self-defence!
That you have robbed your clients of their fees!—
That you have yearned to filch the widow's mite!—
That you have brought poor orphans into want!—
(As did that man, for whom you lie this day.)—
[Points at him.
Yes, thou hast been a traitor to thyself!
As every man, who steals another's goods!—
That, for a little glittering stuff, called gold!
Which bargains many a man his shameful death!
Thou hast been known to bear false witness oft!
And now, I say, a stranger unto love,—
(And when a man's a foe to female virtue,
That man's a foe to self, to God, and heaven!—
Whose words are headaches, which distract the brain!
Whose voice is mania, and whose smiles are clouds!)
Will, then, this grand tribunal hear such noise?—

Judge.
As he is not arraigned for any crime,
But counsel for the plaintiff, in this cause,
I know no reason why he should not speak;—
If, what he say, be false, the court can judge.

Darby.
Then, sir, the nature of this case demands
My voice!—Look at that widow's tears, and weep!
[Points to Angeline.
Look on that agony!—that rooted strife!
Which lifts up, into heaven, exalted wo!
Look at her cheek, bedewed with tender tears!—
I say, Alonzo was a noble man—

Con.
Not if you judge him by the fruits he bore!

Darby.
I say, Alonzo was a man of loftiest mind!
A statesman, sir!—of whom we should be proud—
A gentleman, acknowledged from his youth—

Con.
No man's a gentleman until he's twenty-one!

Darby.
I say, Alonzo died! was killed at night!
When all was silent, not a star did shine—

Con.
The absence of the stars can throw no light
Upon this case,—but tends to darken night.

Darby.
He told me that Eudora's wish was sealed;
And through the chambers of his heart, incensed,
Could have no vent, save, with Alonzo's blood!—
Now, these are things which touch our inmost souls.
We wish revenge, for loss of life!—no more!
The handkerchief and dagger shall be shown,
And, if the rent in both, in shape and size,
Do not accord with facts, as with the wound,
With, also, all the threats exposed to me—
Then, all I've said, is vain,—untrue and false!
[Darby speaks to the Sheriff.
Then bring the dagger and the 'kerchief here!
They shall confirm the truths which I have spoken!

[Sheriff searches, but cannot find them.
Sheriff.
I had them—but I cannot find them now!

[Darby amazed.
Con.
Now, I could say, he never had such things,
But, I will state, distinct, he had them both;
And, I sincerely wish he had them here.
For, by my soul! there is no blood upon 'em!—
Who swears that blood came from Alonzo's heart?
I never spoke about Alonzo's guilt.
When Alfred told me of Eudora's shame!
I told him, I believed her pure as truth;
And so I did!—you all have proof of this!
By knowing this, I hated him the more!—
But never did I say this thing to man!
Alfred will testify to what I've said—
[Points to Alfred.
But this is not the point.—I hope this court
Will not sit prejudic'd against my wife!
Nor, will the jury balance what has been,
With things that are,—in such immortal scales!
I tell you, 'tis untrue, as God is just!—
May every hair, upon this head, turn fiends.
And witness, to denounce me, white as snow!
May every heartstring take ten years to break!
May each kind member of my body writhe!
May palsy, like Elymas's, strike me blind,
And both my eye-balls glare out worlds of guilt!—
May all the winds, and every freshening breeze,
In which my life luxuriates—turn storms!
And every good turn evil!—sweet turn sour!
If ever such an utter once escap'd my lips!—

Darby.
May please the court!—I have one witness more—
[Points to the Doctor.
There is a tendril of the same dear vine,
From which, so many buds, doth yearly spring!—
[Walks near.
Here is the last surviving name on earth—
The rest are gone to an untimely grave!—

Con.
Where all such traitors ought to go!
Ah! I have rid thee of a world of shame?

[To Angeline.
Angeline.
Oh! thou hard hearted wretch! how vile!—how vile!

[Weeps.
Con.
I wish I had some tears to quench your fire!
You have no proof that I have done this deed!

Darby.
Did you, or did you not, behold that deed?

Doct.
I did!

Con.
Where was he, when you saw him last?

Doct.
He left—passed out the room, as I went in!

Con.
How could you see him in the dead of night?

Doct.
I heard him run, and also heard him speak!

Con.
This is the no plus ultra of extremes!
This prima facie looks extremely fair.
[Disdainfully.
You may have heard a horse—or some huge beast?
A clap of thunder?—will this hang a man?
If this lame evidence can hang a man,
Good bye to legislation, and her laws!
America's no more the light of heaven!—

Darby.
We have one evidence, may please the court!
Which is not here!—to-morrow, he shall come—
The handkerchief and dagger shall be found;
And then, all disputation will be vain.

Judge.
From these suggestions he may go to jail.

Con.
“Then you'll be deep in mud, as your in mire.”

Judge.
Sheriff! take the prisoner back to jail!

Darby.
Go—

[Pointing after him. Sheriff guards him out to jail.
Judge.
I've heard no evidence can hang that man.

[Court adjourns. Exeunt omnes.

SCENE IV.

—The suburbs of Frankfort.—Darby meets the Doctor.
Darby.
We have but one more evidence on earth;
And, if we fail in this—tis o'er—the thing is done!
And, if I should succeed, my life's at stake!
My fee must be proportioned to my pains?

Doct.
I care not what's the fee—so Conrad dies!

Darby.
I know a man—a poor man—and, a fool!
He'd cut his throat for money—that's the man!
But mark! that man is Conrad's warmest friend!
His name is Arnold—he may take a bribe?—
I'll promise him two hundred pounds—he'll swear!

Doct.
'Tis best do what you can—he killed Alonzo!

[Shakes hands.
Darby.
Now, if he take it, 'twill be well and good,
And if he chance refuse—'tis all the same
I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll make him swear—
'Tis best you be not seen—I'll work it right.

Doct.
A thousand pounds shall be your pay—

Darby.
He hangs.

[Shakes hands. Exeunt Doctor.
Enter Arnold, with a letter in his hand.
Darby.
Good day, to thee, old friend!—what's all the news?
[Shakes hands.
I have not seen you for these many days!
When you and I were boys, we were good friends.
Although, you were not rich—I did not care—
I always like a friend, and ne'er forget him.
I like the poor, much better than the rich—
The rich can get along, you know—the poor,
The best way that they can—what's all the news?

Arnold.
We have no news!
[Looks at the letter.
Poor Conrad's wife is sick!

Darby.
You knew that Conrad was your vilest foe?—

Arn.
No; never, in this world!—that cannot be?
That man has helped me in distress!

Darby.
That may be so;
But not of late?

Arn.
Oh, yes he has, of late—

Darby.
Well, well—that, too, is well enough—he's changed!—
You do not know what use are made of friends;
He feeds you on his money—mind your eye!
He knows what use to put his money to—
He buys his own salvation, at your loss!

Arn.
Why! how's that?

Darby.
He killed Alonzo, did he?

Arn.
I don't believe he did—too good a man!

Darby.
Ah, ha—that proves what I have said—now mark!
He means to prove you killed that man yourself.

Arn.
Why! how?—good heavens! I killed Alonzo?

Darby.
The blame's on you—he'll have you hung stone dead!

Arn.
Good heavens! I never killed the man, on earth!

Darby.
That may be true—but such wont do in court.
You are a poor man—you have no rich friends—
You cannot fee a lawyer—tend your suit—
When dangers come, the poor man's quite forsaken!—
And, without money, man's a scare-crow, here.

Arn.
That is a fact!—what will a poor man do?

Darby.
Well—I can't tell,—do the best he can.

Arn.
Are you concerned that way?

Darby.
Perhaps I may be.
First come, first served—that is the way with me.

Arn.
I have no friends!—thought Conrad was the best—

Darby.
Well; as you seem to be an honest man,
And, I expect, quite innocent of murder,—
I'll undertake your case.

Arn.
Then here's my thanks—
[Bows.
He bade me give this letter to his wife—
How sorry did I feel, to see him weep!
And, when he wrote this letter—see his tears!
[Looks at it.

Darby.
These very tears, my friend, are drops of guilt!
He did not like to die, and leave his wife;
Nor, did he like, though best, to have you hung!
This meeting of two sorrows in his soul,
Broke up his conscience—which, stood forth in tears!

Arn.
Is it possible, so good a man as he—

Darby.
So good!—no odds how good a man may be,
'Tis not his nature not to save his life!—
Perhaps that letter holds some scheme,
Whereby he means to have you hung—let's see—

Arn.
He told me, at the peril of my life,
[Refuses.
To give it to Eudora!—no one else—

Darby.
Are you a fool?—what! die by your hands?
[Takes it and reads.
“Eudora! my dear wife! I would be with thee,
But I am bound in chains!—yes, iron chains!
There is but one resolve can save my life—
Our only hope now rests on Arnold's oath—
If he will swear that Darby kill'd Alonzo!
Then, I am safe—if not, I must be hung!
If you are not too sick, come, stay with me—
Give Darby money, and he'd sell his soul!

Darby.
Give Conrad woman, and he'd sell his life.
There, take it to his wife—come back to court.
Be thou, her friend—in act, but not in need.

[Exeunt Arnold.
Enter Doctor.
Darby.
Well, I've seen our friend—good news—good news—
Without one single cent, he comes to court!—

Doctor.
But, what if he turn traitor—what comes next?

Darby.
By heavens! I made the fool believe he'd hang!
That Conrad had thrown all the guilt on him!
And no alternative was left, but this.
But, mark! he brought a letter—which I read—
Directed to Eudora—'twas a plot—
Now, mind!—if he will swear, 'twill hang them both.

Doct.
Then, all is safe—then, come—go with me home

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE V.

—Court house in Frankfort, as before. Judge, lawyers, &c.
Darby
speaks.
May please this court—we, now, have evidence—
Enter Conrad and Eudora, guarded.
Now, they are here, the same in guilt and mind.
The unjust, for our just and buried friend!
His virtues live, although his heart is dead!
May all good angels guard him home to heaven.
Here is one witness, which the court shall hear.
Arnold! did you not bear a letter, sealed,
Some time ago, to Conrad's wife?

Arnold.
I did.

Darby.
Then tell the court and jury what was in it.

Arnold.
A bold acknowledgment he killed Alonzo!
His only effort was, to bribe me to an oath,
And, by such oath, forsworn, have Darby hung!

Darby.
Then, may please this court! the truth is told.
It needs no glitter—ornament is dross.
Then, render unto virtue what is due.
By all the ties of gratitude and care,
I dedicate him to your charge—the rope.

Con.
That, now, my fate is sealed, I could not think,
Were I not crushed beneath such sinful men!
And this, the last, of such olympic oaths,
The greatest—worst of all—oh, man! frail man!
When thou art base—thou art, of all, most vile!—
There stands my wife, whom I have made my heaven!
Which no man can pollute, however false!
A woman lovely,—loving in the extreme—
Until, insult is on her honour thrown!
From that bright bush, he pluck'd the sweetest rose
That ever bloom'd!—whose virtuous sweets he stole,
Then spurn'd!—because she had no more to steal!
They knew, her virtue was a heaven of love!
A sanctuary, holy,—perfect,—pure!
And, if I die, I die by hands, most foul!
And, not from proof—for they have none—not one!
Then, swear!—as I have liv'd, so let me die!
That, in my death! my soul shall love but one—
That only one, for whom I'd live or die!
You have been auditors to deeds most foul!
They knew Eudora's joy was mine—'twas life!
They knew the prize was worth ten thousand deaths!
And if I die,—my death shall be for love!

Darby.
The jury will retire—here is the writ.
[Hands it.
You know what facts are stated!—then, 'tis death!
Judge to the Jury.
You all have consciences enswayed by hate—
Weigh not the truth in scales of prejudice;
Nor cloud it, when it would, convincing, shine.
If what you've heard possess your minds with guilt,
Then he must die, as surely as he lives.
And now, I charge you, by the worth of souls,
When you retire, be reconcil'd as one.

[The jury retire, and bring in the verdict death.
Judge.
Then Conrad! it behooves me, as thy judge,
To say, thou art condemned, and have to die!—
May heavenly angels guard thee to thy home!

Eudora.
Hast thou no voice to speak the same to me?
Shall Conrad die! and I, his being, live?
I once had tears,—I have no sorrows now!—
This lord of my soul's heritage must die?
Why! if my heart be his, both die in one!
The body ye may kill, but not the soul!—
How has this man become the slave of men?
Because he could not brook that sore disgrace!
Why was this valley maid the scorn of maids?
Because that buried villain stole her virtue!
He smiled amidst the cold disdain of men—
Opened his bosom,—laid me down his heart,
And caged my soul there,—where I lov'd to live;
Then, let us die united—death is sweet!—
[Embraces him.
Then go—farewell! thy wrath on me is done!
[Weeps.
Oh! let me go—without him life is death!

[To the Judge.
Judge.
Yes, ladye! you can go, if 'tis your wish.

Eud.
I swear this heart shall not survive his death!

[Officer guards him out to prison.