Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whether they will or no? O, torture me no more! I will confess. Alive again? Then show me where he is: I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
King. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair!
War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin!
Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
King. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.
Exeunt. —King Henry VI, Part II, Act iii.
[5] Lablache (1794-1858), the celebrated French singer and actor, whose wonderful voice, embracing two full octaves, has been described as firmer and more expressive than that of any singer of his time or before it, attempted to sing upon his death-bed. He bade his son go to the piano and accompany him. The young man, struggling with emotion, obeyed. Lablache sang in English the first stanza of Home, Sweet Home. At the second stanza the muscles of the throat refused to move; not a note could he sound. In distress and great amazement he gazed around him for a moment, and then, closing his eyes, fell asleep in death.
It is recorded of Captain Hamilton, whose portrait was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, that he came to his death in this wise: "He imprudently ventured in a boat from his ship to land at Plymouth, on a tempestuous day, all in his impatience to rejoin his wife ashore. The boat turned keel upwards, and the captain, being a good swimmer, trusted to his skill, and would not accept of a place on the keel, but, that he might leave room there for others, clung merely to the edge of the boat. His great coat was a hindrance to him, and this he attempted to throw off; but, in the words of Lord Eliot, whose too are the italics, 'finding his strength fail, he told the men he must yield to his fate, and soon afterwards sank while singing a psalm.'"—Francis Jacox.