I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man, [The Tomb is opened, out of which rises FERNANDO in his winding-sheet, and, as CARAFFA is going in, puts him back. Fern. Forbear! what art thou that dost rudely press Into the confines of forsaken graves? Hath death no privilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa, To practise yet a rape upon the dead? Inhuman tyrant! Whats'ever thou intendest, know this place Is pointed out for my inheritance; Here lies the monument of all my hopes. Had eager lust intrunk'd my conquer'd soul, Go, revel in thy palace, and be proud To boast thy famous murthers; let thy smooth, Duke. Fernando, man of darkness, Never till now, before these dreadful sights, Did I abhor thy friendship; thou hast robb'd 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; 'tis not threats 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: 4 Once I have outstripp'd thy plots.] i. e. once for all, finally, effectually: a sense which the word frequently bears in our old writers. I come, Bianca-cruel torment, feast, Feast on, do!- duke, farewell. flames! Thus I-hot Conclude my love, and seal it in my bosom! oh! Abbot. Most desperate end! Duke. None stir; Who steps a foot, steps to his utter ruin. [Dies. And art thou gone, Fernando? art thou gone? Children unborn, and widows, whose lean cheeks Thus on her altar sacrificed his life. [Stabs himself. Fior. Save my brother, save him! Duke. Do, do; I was too willing to strike home To be prevented. Fools, why, could you dream I would outlive my outrage? sprightful flood, Run out in rivers! Oh, that these thick streams Could gather head, and make a standing pool, That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood! I creep to thee-to thee-to thee, Bi-an-ca. Ros. He's dead already, madam. [Dies. D'Av. Above hope? here's labour saved; I could bless the destinies. Abbot. 'Would I had never seen it! Fior. Since 'tis thus, My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital Abbot. Lady, then From my hand take [Aside. Each to each other's comfort and content! All. Long live Roseilli! Ros. First, thanks to heaven, next, lady, to your love; Lastly, my lords, to all: and that the entrance Fair hopes of being worthy of our place, D'Av. My gracious lord. Ros. No, graceless villain! I am no lord of thine. Guard, take him hence, Convey him to the prison's top; in chains Hang him alive; whoever lends a bit Of bread to feed him, dies: speak not against it, I will be deaf to mercy.-Bear him hence! D'Av. Mercy, new duke! here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the tragedy of princes. [He is led off. Ros. Madam, a second charge is to perform Your brother's testament; we'll rear a tomb To those unhappy lovers, which shall tell Their fatal loves to all posterity. Thus, then, for you; henceforth I here dismiss Ros. 'Tis your desert; Which no persuasion shall remove. Abbot. Tis fit; Purge frailty with repentance. Fior. I embrace it. Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul, No age hath heard, no chronicle can say, [Exeunt. The catastrophe of this drama does not shame its progress. Enough, indeed, are left to bury the dead, but the mortality is nearly as widely spread as in 'Tis Pity She's a Whore; and, to confess the |