POL. I am. Retard me not! I must attend
To my dark enterprise, blasted and foiled
Beforehand by my father’s angry curse.
But as for you, Heaven prosper all your way,
If ye will show this kindness in my death,
For nevermore in life shall ye befriend me!
Nay, cling to me no longer. Fare ye well.
Ye will behold my living form no more.
ANT. O misery!
POL. Bewail me not.
ANT. And who
That saw thee hurrying forth to certain death
Would not bewail thee, brother?
POL. If Fate wills,
Why, I must die.
ANT. Nay, but be ruled by me.
POL. Give me not craven counsel.
ANT. Woe is me,
To lose thee!
POL. Heaven hath power to guide the event
Or thus or otherwise. Howe’er it prove,
I pray that ye may ne’er encounter ill.
All men may know, ye merit nought but good.
[Exit. The sky is overcast—a storm is threatened
CHORUS.