--Where
is my son? My Eustace; condemned by thee in cold blood at Pembroke, for
being faithful to the King who ennobled thee, and was then betrayed by
thy treasons! Mark, traitor; at the time that thou unpitying sawest the
heir of the greatness thou hast long usurped walk to execution, this
innocent man, whom thou art now persecuting, preserved the life of thy
only child. And dost thou reproach me with the calamities thou hast
brought upon me? Remember what I was, before thy avarice and ambition
cancelled the ties of blood and gratitude, crushed me to the earth, and
plumed thy borrowed pomp with the wings of my lineal greatness. I am now
a lame, old, destitute Loyalist; yet, for ten thousand worlds, I would
not cease to be the thing I am, if the alternative must be to become
what thou art; a meteor, born in the concussion of the elements; a
timorous slave of power, scared into the commission of any action which
may prolong a life, miserable in its continuance, tremendous in its
close."
He now turned to the judges, who were gazing on him in silent
consternation.
Pages:
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695