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sociate him. Withal, his pleasure is, that you, D'Avolos, forbear to rank in this solemnity in the place of secretary; else to be there as a private Pleaseth you to go?

man.

[Exeunt all but D'Av. D'Av. As a private man! what remedy? This way they must come, and here I will stand to fall amongst 'em in the rear.

A solemn strain of soft Music. The Scene opens, and discovers the Church, with a Tomb in the back ground.

Enter Attendants with Torches, after them Two Friars; then the DUKE in mourning manner; after him the ABBOT, FIORMONDA, COLONA, JuLIA, ROSEILLI, PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, 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 inhears'd 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 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,
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; '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!-

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.—

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?
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.

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
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

[Aside.

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

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