Duke. Good: "I'll slack no time while I am hot in blood. [Takes up his sword and exit, Fior. Here's royal vengeance! this becomes the state Of his disgrace, and my unbounded hate. SCENE II. An Apartment in the Palace. [Exit. FERNANDO: to him the DUKE, a sword in one hand and a bloody dagger in the other. Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner, Look here, 't is written on my poniard's point, Wherein thy conscience, and the wrathful rod I see thou art arm'd; prepare, I crave no odds Fern. Duke, I fear thee not: But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince, To add affliction to thy trembling ghost, Look on my dagger's crimson die, and judge. Duke. Not dead! yes, by my honour's truth: why Dost think I'll hug my injuries? no, traitor! Fern. Stay; I yield my weapon up. He drops his sword. Here, here's my bosom; as thou art a duke, Duke. Faint-hearted coward, Art thou so poor in spirit! rise and fight; Fern. Do but hear me first: Unfortunate Caraffa, thou hast butcher'd Duke. Pish, this is stale dissimulation; Fern. If ever I unshrined The altar of her purity, or tasted More of her love, than what, without control I have too much abused thee; did exceed Duke. 'Tis false: as much, in death, for thee she spake. Fern. By yonder starry roof, 't is true. O duke! Couldst thou rear up another world like this, Another like to that, and more, or more, Herein thou art most wretched; all the wealth Earth was unworthy of thee. Duke. Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my sword To justify thy words? Fern. I dare; look here. [Kisses the sword. "T is not the fear of death doth prompt my tongue, For I would wish to die; and thou shalt know, Poor miserable duke, since she is dead, I'll hold all life a hell. Duke. Bianca chaste! Fern. As virtue's self is good. Duke. Chaste, chaste, and kill'd by me! to her I offer up this remnant of my— [Offers to stab himself, and is stayed by FERN. Fern. Hold! Be gentler to thyself. Duke. Whither now Shall I run from the day, where never man, [Kneels, holds up his hands, and, after speaking "T is done; come, friend, now for her love, SCENE III. A solemn strain of soft Music. The Scene opens, and discovers a church, with a tomb in the background. Enter Attendants with torches, after them two Friars ; then the DUKE in mourning manner; after him FIORMONDA, ROSEILLI, and a Guard.—D'AvoLos following. When the procession approaches the tomb, they all kneel. The DUKE goes to the tomb, and lays his hand on it. The Music ceases. Duke. Peace and sweet rest sleep here! Let not the touch Of this my impious hand profane the shrine About these blessed bones inhearsed within. Bianca, thy disturbed ghost doth range, Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring; Fern. Forbear! what art thou that dost rudely press Into the confines of forsaken graves? Hath death no privilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa, Whats'ever thou intendedst, know this place Here lies the monument of all my hopes. To boast thy famous murthers; let thy smooth, Duke. Fernando, man of darkness, Never till now, before these dreadful sights, My resolution of a glorious name. Come out, or by the thunder of my rage, Thou diest a death more fearful than the scourge Of death can whip thee with. Fern. Of death? poor duke! Why that's the aim I shoot at; 't is not threats Shall rend that honour: let life-hugging slaves, Duke. Guard-lay hands, And drag him out. Fern. Yes, let 'em, here's my shield; Here's health to victory!— Now do thy worst. [He drinks off a phial of poison. Farewell, duke, once' I have outstripp'd thy plots; Can warrant me twelve minutes of my life : Feast on, do!-duke, farewell Thus I-hot flames! Conclude my love,—and seal it in my bosom !-oh! Friar. Most desperate end! Duke. None stir; Who steps a foot steps to his utter ruin. [Dies. And art thou gone, Fernando? art thou gone? 1 i.. once for all, finally, effectually. |