SCENE III.
A grand Hall, prepared for the Execution; Soldiers are discovered drawn up on each side of the Scaffold, with Benedict and several of the Monks on the front of the Stage. A bell tolls at measured Intervals, with a deep pause between; after which enter Morand, hanging his Head sorrowfully.)
Ben. (to Mor.) Is he come forth?
1st Monk. Hast thou seen him ?
Mor. They are leading him hither, but they move slowly.
1st Monk. Thou hast seen him then; how does he look now?
Mor. I cannot tell thee. These few hours have done on him the work of many years: he seems broken and haggarded with age, and his quenched eyes are fixed in their sockets, like one who walks in sleep.
Ben. Alas, alas! how changed in little time the bold and gallant Osterloo!
1st Monk. Have I not told thee, Morand, that fear will sometimes couch under the brazen helmet as well as the woollen cowl?
Mor. Fear, dost thou call it! Set him this moment in the field of battle, with death threatening him from a hundred points at once, and he would brave it most valiantly.
Ben. (preventing 1st Monk from answering.) Hush, Brother! Be not so warm, good Lieu-
