Synopsis

Arthur. Give me your arm, my feet tread heavily; The sameness of this scene doth pierce my heart With thronging recollections of the past. There is nought chang'd—and what a world of care, Of sorrow, ion, pleasure have I known, Since but a natural part of this was I, Whose voice is now a discord to the sounds Once daily mellow'd in my youthful being. Methinks I feel like one that long hath read A strange and chequer'd story, and doth rise, With a deep sigh to be himself again. Will. One would not think, Sir, how much blood had stain'd Old England, since we left her, finding thus All things so peaceful; but one thing I mark'd