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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
Duke. Fernando, man of darkness,
Did I abhor thy friendship; thou hast robb’d
duke! Why that's the aim I shoot at; 'tis not threats (Maugre thy power, or the spight of hell) Shall rend that honour: let life-hugging slaves, Whose hands imbrued in butcheries like thine, Shake terror to their souls, be loath to die! See, I am cloath'd in robes that fit the grave: I pity thy defiance.
Duke. Guard—lay hands, And drag him out.
Fern. Yes, let 'em, here's my shield; Here's health to victory!
[He drinks off a phial of poison. Now do thy worst. Farewell, duke, once I have outstripp'd thy plots;* Not all the cunning antidotes of art Can warrant me twelve minutes of
life: It works, it works already, bravely! bravely!Now, now I feel it tear each several joint. O royal poison! trusty friend! split, split Both heart and gall asunder, excellent bane!Roseilli, love my memory.- Well search'd out, Swift, nimble venom! torture every vein.
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,
flames ! Conclude my love,—and seal it in my bosom!oh!
[Dies. Abbot. Most desperate end!
Duke. None stir; Who steps a foot, steps to his utter ruin. And art thou gone, Fernando? art thou gone? Thou wert a friend unmatch'd; rest in thy fame. Sister, when I have finish'd my last days, Lodge me, my wife, and this unequall’d friend, All in one monument. Now to my vows. Never henceforth let any passionate tongue Mention Bianca's and Caraffa's name, But let each letter in that tragic sound Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear: Children unborn, and widows, whose lean cheeks Are furrow'd up by age, shall weep whole nights, Repeating but the story of our fates; Whilst in the period, closing up their tale, They must conclude, how for Bianca's love, Caraffa, in revenge of wrongs to her,
, Thus on her altar sacrificed his life. [Stabs himself.
Abbot. Oh, hold the duke's hand!
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!
[Dies. Ros. He's dead already, madam.
D'Av. Above hope? here's labour saved; I could bless the destinies.
[Aside. Abbot. 'Would I had never seen it!
Fior. Since 'tis thus,
continued love, I here possess You of the dukedom; and with it, of me, In
presence of this holy abbot.
Abbot. Lady, then
[Joins their hands, Each to each other's comfort and content!
All. Long live Roseilli !
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
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 The mutual comforts of our marriage bed: Learn to new-live, my vows uņmov'd shall stand; And since your life hath been so much uneven, Bethink, in time, to make your peace with heaven. Fior. Oh me! is this your
Abbot. 'Tis fit;
Fior. I embrace it.
Ros. Please you to walk, lord Abbot?
Abbot. Yes, set on:
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