Fry. His last words were
After confession, live long, dear Lidian,
Possess'd of all thy wishes; and of me
He did desire, bathing my hand with tears,
That with my best care, I should seek, and find you,
And from his dying mouth prevail so with you,
That you a while should leave your Hermits strictness,
And on his Monument pay a tear or two,
To witness how you lov'd him.
Lid. O my heart! to witness how I lov'd him? would he had not
Led me into his Grave, but sacrific'd
His sorrows upon mine, he was my friend,
My noble friend, I will bewail his ashes;
His fortunes, and poor mine were born together,
And I will weep 'em both; I will kneel by him,
And on his hallow'd Earth do my last duties.
I'll gather all the pride of Spring to deck him,
Wood-bines shall grow upon his honour'd Grave;
And as they prosper, clasp to shew our friendship,
And when they wither, I'll dye too.
Clar. Who would not
Desire to dye, to be bewail'd thus nobly?
Fry. There is a Legacy he hath bequeath'd you;
But of what value I must not discover,
Until those Rites and pious Ceremonies
Are duly tender'd.
Lid. I am too full of sorrow to be inquisitive.
Lis. To think of his,
I do forget mine own woes.
Enter Alcidon.
Alc. Graze thy fill, now
Thou hast done thy business; ha! who have we here?
Lisander, Lidian, and two Reverend Fryars?
What a strange scene of sorrow is express'd
In different postures, in their looks and station!
A common Painter eying these to help
His dull invention, might draw to the life
The living Sons of Priam, as they stood
On the pale Walls of Troy, when Hector fell
Under Achilles's Spear; I come too late,
My Horse, though good and strong, mov'd like a Tortoise;
Ill News had wings, and hath got here before me.
All Pythagoreans? not a word?
Lid. O Alcidon—
Deep Rivers with soft murmurs glide along
The shallow roar; Clarange!
Lis. Cloridon, Chrysanthes, spare my grief, and apprehend
What I should speak.