De F. Must! What saw you in me did promise
So tame a thing, as to feed on your high scraps?
Glorious mischief!
Des. My lord, I beg your mercy; and to deserve it
Will weep the remnant of this unworthy life
Unto Cleara's name.
De F. All mankind has my peaceful wish, but this
Black speckled serpent, whose load doth make
The earth to groan and sweat.
Duke. My fair Claudilla, methinks I see thee
Lovely in that ghastly trim of death, while
Yet thy soul was struggling through thy cruel
Wounds.
De F. The day begins to frown and creep into
Eternal night: we'll bed together in one grave, Cleara.
Castile shall hide us in a golden heap, and name me
With her patriots for taking this foul monster
From her bosom.
Duke. I'll find thee in the myrtle groves below,
And leave a story that shall tell the world,
How much I lov'd thee. [They stab each other.
King. Desperate atheists!
Duke. You were beforehand, sir.
De F. You've overtaken me: the world is hid in a
Cloud, and shrinks to chaos. O, whither
Must I wander in this mist? So, so—
I feel thee glide away, and leave me sunk
Upon a quicksand. [Expirat.
King. What a thirst of blood burnt up their hearts,
That they must quench it in their own?