Sir T. Not dead yet, Temple.
Who else is dead or dying? Is Gervase gone?
1st Doctor. The Bishop breathes again; but cannot live, Though consciousness returns.
Sir T. Lay me beside him:
We two should die together.—Let Temple speak
Before you move me.—Temple, what's the matter?
Temple. Your lady, sir; she's dead; and on the floor
I found this vial.
Sir T. She lies at peace?
Temple. She seemed
Asleep. I tiptoed to the dressing-room
Afraid to wake her. Then I felt a ghost
Or something near me. Peeping out, I saw
No motion on the couch; the lady dead,
Her face like paper and her lips all blue.
Groom. I saw her die as sweetly as she lived,
A sacrifice forlorn. She should have been
A worshipped wife, a mother guarded close
With children: what she was we made her—you
And I——
Sir T. Enough of that!
Groom. Enough; it serves
My purpose gallantly! I feel again
The murderer in my nerves, not to be purged
Until the rope swings taut: out of the earth,
Through the foundations of your theatre,
It mounts into my brain, a seething fire.
How good it was to kill you—you that stood
Between me and the world!
Sir T. You took your chance
With others.