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I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man,
That ibutcher, who, in my enraged spleen,
Slaughter'd the life of innocence and beauty.
Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds
Which I digg’d up, and reconcile the wrongs
My fury wrought; and my contrition mourns.
So chaste, so dear a wife was never man,
But I, enjoyed; yet in the bloom and pride
Of all her years, untimely took her life.—
Enough; set ope the tomb, that I may take
My last farewell, and bury griefs with her.

[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

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,
I had not buried living joys in death;
Go, revel in thy palace, and be proud
To boast thy famous murthers; let thy smooth,
Low-fawning parasites renown thy act;
Thou com'st not here.

Duke. Fernando, man of darkness,
Never till now, before these dreadful sights,

Did I abhor thy friendship; thou hast robb’d
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?


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,
Feast on, do!- duke, farewell. Thus Ihot

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!
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!
So, I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes
Of life unvessel life;—now, heavens, wipe out
The writing of my sin! Bianca, thus
I creep to thee-to thee—to thee, Bi-an-ca.

[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,
My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital
Of your

continued love, I here possess You of the dukedom; and with it, of me, In

presence of this holy abbot.

Abbot. Lady, then
From my hand take your husband; long enjoy

[Joins their hands, 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
Into this principality may give
Fair hopes of being worthy of our place,
Our first work shall be justice.-D'Avolos,
Stand forth.

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 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

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,
Henceforth I'll dress my bride-bed in my soul.

Ros. Please you to walk, lord Abbot?

Abbot. Yes, set on:
No age hath heard, no chronicle can say,
That ever here befel a sadder day.


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

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