and drive the stab
Down deeper to his heart, to rid his soul.
Now stand aside, stir not a foot, lest thou
Make up the fourth to fill this tragedy.
These eyes that first beheld my daughter's shame;
These eyes that longed for the ruthful sight
Of her Earl's heart; these eyes that now have seen
His death, her woe, and her avenging teen;
Upon these eyes we must be first aveng'd.
Unworthy lamps of this accursed lump,
Out of your dwellings! [_Puts out his eyes_] So; it fits us thus
In blood and blindness to go seek the path
That leadeth down to everlasting night.
Why fright'st thou, dastard? be thou desperate;
One mischief brings another on his neck,
As mighty billows tumble in the seas,
Now, daughter, seest thou not how I amerce
My wrath, that thus bereft thee of thy love,
Upon my head? Now, fathers, learn by me,
Be wise, be warn'd to use more tenderly
The jewels of your joys. Daughter, I come.

[_Kills himself_.

FINIS.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY JULIO.

Lo here the sweets of grisly pale despair!
These are the blossoms of this cursed tree,
Such are the fruits of too much love and care,
O'erwhelmed in the sense of misery.
With violent hands he that his life doth end,
His damned soul to endless night doth wend.
Now resteth it that I discharge mine oath,
To see th'unhappy lovers and the king
Laid in one tomb. I would be very loth
You should wait here to see this mournful thing:
For I am sure, and do ye all to wit,
Through grief wherein the lords of Salerne be,
These funerals are not prepared yet:
Nor do they think on that solemnity.
As for the fury, ye must understand,
Now she hath seen th'effect of her desire,
She is departed, and hath left our land.
Granting this end unto her hellish ire.
Now humbly pray we, that our English dames
May never lead their loves into mistrust;
But that their honours may avoid the shames,
That follow such as live in wanton lust.
We know they bear them on their virtues bold,
With blissful chastity so well content
That, when their lives and loves abroad are told,
All men admire their virtuous government;
Worthy to live where fury never came,
Worthy to live where love doth always see,
Worthy to live in golden trump of fame,
Worthy to live and honoured still to be.
Thus end our sorrows with the setting sun:
Now draw the curtains, for our scene is done.

R.W.

THE WOUNDS OF CIVIL WAR.

_EDITION