Oh, greatly worthy of thy blood-stain'd sire!
A murderer he, and thou a parricide!
Why did thy barbarous hand refrain from me?
I was the hated bar to thy ambition;
A stab like this, had set thee free for ever;
Sav'd thee from shame, upbraiding, perjuries;—
But she—this innocent—what had she done?
Count. I thank thee. I was fool enough, or coward,
To think of life one moment, to atone
By deep repentance for the wrongs I did thee.