They tried, they fail’d; and all they did t’ assuage
The tempest of his soul provoked his rage;
The uncle met the youth with angry look,
And cried, “Remember, sir, the oath you took;
You have my pity, Charles, but nothing more,
Death, and death only, shall her peace restore; 460
And am I dying?—I shall live to view
The harlot’s sorrow, and enjoy it too.
“How! Words offend you? I have borne for years
Unheeded anguish, shed derided tears,