Explore "The Buccaneer a Tale" by Ann Maria Hall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Nought is there under heaven's wide hollownesse / / That moves more dear compassion of mind, / / Than beautie brought t'unworthie wretchednesse / / Through envious snares or fortune's freaks unkinde. / / To think how causeless of her own accord / / This gentle damzell, whom I write upon, / / Should plonged be in such affliction, / / Without all hope of comfort or reliefe. / / SPENSER.
"I am driven to it, I am driven to it!" repeated Sir Willmott Burrell, as he attired himself in his gayest robes, while his eyes wandered restlessly over the dial of a small clock that stood upon the dressing-table. "No one has seen her -- and I have forced Constantia to wed at six, instead of seven. Once wed -- why, there's an end of it; and if the worst should come, and Zillah persecutes me still, I can but swear her mad, and this will terminate her fitful fever." He placed a small pistol within his embroidered dress, and girded his jewelled sword more tightly than before. "The minutes linger more tardily than ever," he continued: "full fifteen to the time. -- Would it were over! I am certain Cromwell would not interfere, if once she was my wife; he loves her honour better than the Jew's."