Page:The robbers - a tragedy (IA robberstragedy00schiiala).pdf/32
O. Moor.
Pardon me, my child.—Reproach not thy miserable father, whose fondest hopes are blasted for ever.—That God, who has ordained these tears to flow for the crimes of thy brother, has mercifully appointed that thou shouldst wipe them away.
Francis.
Yes, my Father,—thy Francis will wipe those tears away;—thy Francis will sacrifice his own life to prolong the days of his father;—thy life shall be the rule of all my actions—the spring of every thought:—nor shall there be in nature a tie so strong, a bond so sacred, as not to yield to that first of duties, the preservation, the comfort, of that precious life!—Do you not believe me, Sir?
O. Moor.
Thou hast many and great duties to fulfil, my son.—May Heaven bless you for what you have done, and what you shall yet do for me.
Francis.
Say then at once, that you were happy if you could not call that wretch your son.
O. Moor.