Cal. And dost thou bear me yet, thou patient earth? Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight? your Hide fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you; 240 For I am all contagion, death, and ruin, And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world, This parricide shall be thy plague no more; Hor. Oh, fatal rashness! [Stabs herself. Alt. Thou dost instruct me well. To lengthen life, Is but to trifle now. [Altamont offers to kill himself; Horatio prevents him, and wrests his sword from him. Hor. Ha! what means The frantic Altamont? Some foe to man Has breath'd on ev'ry breast contagious fury, And epidemic madness. Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported by servants, Cal. Oh, my heart! Well may'st thou fail; for see, the spring that fed My father! will you now, at last, forgive me, suff'rings, I call you once again by that dear name ? Will you forget my shame, and those wide wounds? Lift up your hand, and bless me, ere I go Down to my dark abode? Sci. Alas, my daughter! 260 Thou hast rashly ventur'd in a stormy sea, Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd and lost. But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the anguish, And smarted with the pain. Then, rest in peace: Let silence and oblivion hide thy name, And save thee from the malice of posterity; And may'st thou find with Heav'n the same forgive ness, As with thy father here.- -Die, and be happy. Cal. Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul, And ev'ry pain grows less-Oh, gentle Altamont! Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone; -Had I but early known But pity me chang'd, But lovely still. Hadst thou a thousand faults, 280 Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Alta mont, Come near, and let me bless thee, ere I die. For thou hast been my son-Oh, gracious Heav'n! Thou that hast endless blessings still in store Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away; Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him, in all his ways— And peace Alt. Take, take it all: To thee, Horatio, I resign the gift, While I pursue my father, and my love, [He dies. Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon his youth, Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide, [Exeunt omnes. EPILOGUE. Υου see the tripping dame could find no favour; There's dreadful dealings with eloping wives: Well may the cuckold-making tribe find grace, For carnivals in town to keep a tedious Lent; |