Sanders' Union Fourth Reader Part 65

_Melchtal_. Help! (_in his sleep_.)

_Emma_. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming.

He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.

I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this That fills my heart with horrible alarm?

And yet it can not see.

_Melch_. (_waking_) Where am I?

_Emma_. Father!

_Melch_. My daughter, is it thou'! Thank Heaven, I'm here!

Is't day yet'?

_Emma_. No'.

_Melch_. Is't far on the night'?

_Emma_. Methinks, about the turn on't.

_Melch_. Is the boy Come back'?

_Emma_. No', father'.

_Melch_. Nor thy husband'?

_Emma_. No'.

_Melch_. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee!

Would thou hadst never seen me.

_Emma_. Father'!

_Melch_. Child'!

_Emma_. Methinks I hear a step !--I do! (_knocking_.) A knock!

_Melch_. 'Tis William!

_Emma_. No; it is not William's knock. (_Opens the door_.) I told you so. Your will?

_Enter_ STRANGER.

_Stran_. Seeing a light, I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter; For I have missed my way.

_Emma_. Whence come you' friend'?

_Stran_. From Altorf.

_Emma_. Altorf'! Any news from thence'?

_Stran_. Ay'! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make The barren bless themselves that they are childless!

_Emma_. May Heaven preserve my boy!

_Melch_. What say'st thy news?

_Stran_. Art thou not Melchtal--he whose eyes, 'tis said, The tyrant has torn out'?

_Melch_. Yes', friend', the same.

_Stran_. Is this thy cottage'?

_Melch_. No'; 'tis William Tell's.

_Stran_. 'Tis William Tell's--and that's his wife--Goodnight.

_Emma_. (_Rus.h.i.+ng between him and the door_.) Thou stirr'st not hence until thy news be told!

_Stran_. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou would'st heed.

_Emma_. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I!

_Stran_. I must be gone,

_Emma_. Thou seest a tigress, friend, Spoiled of her mate and young, and yearning for them.

Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man?

What more hath she to dread, who reads thy looks, And knows the most has come? Thy news! Is't bondage'?

_Stran_. It is.

_Emma_. Thank Heaven, it is not death! Of one--Or two?

_Stran_. Of two.

_Emma_. A father and a son, Is't not?

_Stran_. It is.

_Emma_. My husband and my son Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!

What's that is news to harrow parents' b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem, Drives back the blood to thine?--Thy news, I say!

Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!

Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim.

Wouldst thou not hare the fatal arrow speed, Rather than watch it hanging in the string?

Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!

_Melch_. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whatever it is!

_Stran_. To save himself and child from certain death, Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed Upon the stripling's head.