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,
Nor eye, nor eye of heaven may see a dog
So hateful as I am? Bianca chaste!

Had not the fury of some hellish rage

Blinded all reason's sight, I must have seen
Her clearness in her confidence to die.
Your leave-

[Kneels, holds up his hands, and, after speaking
to himself a little, rises.

'Tis done; come, friend, now for her love,
Her love that praised thee in the pangs of death,
I'll hold thee dear; lords, do not care for me,
I am too wise to die yet. Oh, Bianca!

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
Of fairest purity, which hovers yet

About these blessed bones inhearsed within.
If in the bosom of this sacred tomb,

Bianca, thy disturbed ghost doth range,
Behold, I offer up the sacrifice

Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring;
Pouring oblations of a mourning heart
To thee, offended spirit! I confess
I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man,
That butcher, 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 windingsheet, 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 intendedst, know this place
Is pointed out for my inheritance;

Here lies the monument of all my hopes.
Had eager lust entrunk'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? poor duke!

Why that's the aim I shoot at; 't is not threats
(Maugre thy power, or the spite 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 cloth'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!

Now do thy worst.

[He drinks off a phial of poison.

Farewell, duke, once' I have outstripp'd thy plots;
Not all the cunning antidotes of art

Can warrant me twelve minutes of my 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.-
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!

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?
Thou wert a friend unmatch'd; rest in thy fame.

i. e. once for all, finally, effectually.

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;
While 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. Friar. 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

"The catastrophe of this drama," as Mr. Gifford observes, with a severity which extracts less cautious than our own would have sufficiently justified, "does not shame its progress. The dutchess dying in odour of chastity, after confessing and triumphing in her lascivious passion; the poor duke, in defiance of it, affirming that "no man was ever blest with so good and loving a wife," and falling upon his sword, that he may the sooner share her tomb, together with "his unequalled friend," who so zealously had laboured to dishonour him; with other anomalies of a similar kind, render this one of the least attractive of Ford's pieces: it is not, however, without its beauties; many scenes are charmingly written for the greater part, and few of our author's works contain more striking examples of his characteristic merits and defects."