Gaol. No, no, we'll leave you to yourselves. [Exeunt.
O. Book. I have too much upon me, child, to speak—and, indeed, have nothing to say, but to feed my eyes upon thee e'er we part for ever, if tears would let me. When you have slept in your cradle, I have waked for you—and was it to this end! Oh, child, you've broke your father's heart. [Swoons.
Y. Book. Good Heav'n forbid it—guard him and protect him.
He faints, he's cold, he's gone; [Running to him.
He's gone, and with his last breath called me parricide.
"You've broke your father's heart!" Oh, killing sound!
I'm all contagion; to pity me is death:
My griefs to all are mortal but myself.
"You've broke your father's heart!" If I did so,
Why thus serene in death, thou smiling clay?
Why that calm aspect to thy murderer?
Oh, big unutterable grief——merciful Heaven!
I don't deserve this ease of tears to melt
With penitence—Oh, sweet, sweet remorse;
Now all my powers give way
To my just sorrow, for the best of fathers. [Aloud.
Thou venerable fountain of my life,
Why don't I also die, derived from thee?
Sure you are not gone—Is the way out of life
Thus easy, which you so much feared in me?
[Takes him by the hand.
Why stay I after? But I deserve to stay,
To feel the quick remembrance of my follies.
Yet if my sighs, my tears, my anguish can atone——
Re-enter Frederick, Lovemore, Latine, Gaoler, Victoria, and Penelope.
Fred. What is the matter? What——
Y. Book. Behold this sight! I am the guilty wretch—
Fred. Keep aside a little, sir, he only swoons, I hope. I think he breathes—yes, he returns. You must compose yourself.
Lat. Poor Bookwit! how utterly he seems distressed!
O. Book. I will be calm—resign to Heaven—and hear you patiently.