OSWALD The Crew
              Gave me a hearty welcome; they had laid
              The plot to rid themselves, at any cost,
              Of a tyrannic Master whom they loathed. 
              So we pursued our voyage:  when we landed,
              The tale was spread abroad; my power at once
              Shrunk from me; plans and schemes, and lofty hopes—­
              All vanished.  I gave way—­do you attend?

MARMADUKE The Crew deceived you?

OSWALD Nay, command yourself.

MARMADUKE It is a dismal night—­how the wind howls!

OSWALD I hid my head within a Convent, there
              Lay passive as a dormouse in mid winter. 
              That was no life for me—­I was o’erthrown
              But not destroyed.

MARMADUKE The proofs—­you ought to have seen
              The guilt—­have touched it—­felt it at your heart—­
              As I have done.

OSWALD A fresh tide of Crusaders
              Drove by the place of my retreat:  three nights
              Did constant meditation dry my blood;
              Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
              Through words and things, a dim and perilous way;
              And, wheresoe’er I turned me, I beheld
              A slavery compared to which the dungeon
              And clanking chains are perfect liberty. 
              You understand me—­I was comforted;
              I saw that every possible shape of action
              Might lead to good—­I saw it and burst forth
              Thirsting for some of those exploits that fill
              The earth for sure redemption of lost peace.
     [Marking MARMADUKE’S countenance.]
              Nay, you have had the worst.  Ferocity
              Subsided in a moment, like a wind
              That drops down dead out of a sky it vexed. 
              And yet I had within me evermore
              A salient spring of energy; I mounted
              From action up to action with a mind
              That never rested—­without meat or drink
              Have I lived many days—­my sleep was bound
              To purposes of reason—­not a dream
              But had a continuity and substance
              That waking life had never power to give.

MARMADUKE O wretched Human-kind!—­Until the mystery
              Of all this world is solved, well may we envy
              The worm, that, underneath a stone whose weight
              Would crush the lion’s paw with mortal anguish,
              Doth lodge, and feed, and coil, and sleep, in safety. 
              Fell not the wrath of Heaven upon those traitors?