Lav. Oh my affrighted soul!
Spir. There lies a black one;
Thy own best servant by thy own hand slain,
Thy drunkenness procur'd it: There's another:
Think of fair Gabriella, there she weeps;
And such tears are not lost.
Lav. Oh miserable!
Spir. Thy foul intention to the virtuous Casta.
Lav. No more, no more, thou wild-fire.
Spir. Last, thy last wife,
Think on the wrong she suffers.
Lav. O my miserie.
Oh! whither shall I flie?
Spir. Thou hast no faith, fool.
Heark to thy knell. [Sings, and vanishes.
Lav. Millions of sins muster about mine eyes now:
Murders, ambitions, lust, false faiths; O horror,
In what a stormie form of death thou rid'st now!
Me thinks I see all tortures, fires, and frosts,
Deep sinking caves, where nothing but despair dwels,
The balefull birds of night hovering about 'em;
A grave, me thinks, now opens, and a herse
Hung with my Arms tumbles into it: oh!
Oh! my afflicted soul: I cannot pray;
And the least child that has but goodness in him
May strike my head off; so stupid are my powers:
I'll lift mine eyes up though.
Mar. Cease these laments,
They are too poor for venge[a]nce: Lavall lives yet.