Sus. I’ll not turn from it,
If you be earnest, sir; yet you may tell me
Wherefore you’ll kill me.
Frank. Because you are a whore.
Sus. There’s one deep wound already; a whore!
’Twas ever further from me than the thought
Of this black hour; a whore?
Frank. Yes, I’ll prove it,
And you shall confess it. You are my whore.
No wife of mine; the word admits no second.
I was before wedded to another; have her still.
I do not lay the sin unto your charge,
’Tis all mine own: your marriage was my theft,
For I espoused your dowry, and I have it.
I did not purpose to have added murder;
The devil did not prompt me till this minute:
You might have safe returned; now you cannot.
You have dogged your own death. [Stabs her.
Sus. And I deserve it;
I’m glad my fate was so intelligent:
’Twas some good spirit’s motion. Die? O, ’twas time!
How many years might I have slept in sin,
The sin of my most hatred, too, adultery!
Frank. Nay, sure, ’twas likely that the most was past;
For I meant never to return to you
After this parting.
Sus. Why, then, I thank you more;
You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,
That you would thus bestow me on another.
Thou art my husband, Death, and I embrace thee
With all the love I have. Forget the stain
Of my unwitting sin; and then I come
A crystal virgin to thee: my soul’s purity
Shall with bold wings ascend the doors of Mercy;
For Innocence is ever her companion.
Frank. Not yet mortal? I would not linger you,
Or leave you a tongue to blab. [Stabs her again.
Sus. Now Heaven reward you ne’er the worse for me!
I did not think that Death had been so sweet,
Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne’er die better,
Had I stayed forty years for preparation;
For I’m in charity with all the world.
Let me for once be thine example, Heaven;
Do to this man as I him free forgive,
And may he better die and better live. [Dies.
Frank. ’Tis done; and I am in! Once past our height,
We scorn the deep’st abyss. This follows now,
To heal her wounds by dressing of the weapon.[442]
Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail [Wounds himself.
Light scratches, giving such deep ones: the best I can
To bind myself to this tree. Now’s the storm,
Which if blown o’er, many fair days may follow.