Ambo. The law is just.
Pol. Wretch that I am, is my dissembl'd grief
Turn'd to true sorrow? Were my acted tears
But prophecies of my ensuing woe,
And is he truly dead? O, pardon me,
Dear ghost of my Eugenio, 'twas my fault
That called this hasty vengeance from the gods,
And shorten'd thus thy life; for whilst with tricks
I sought to fasten wealth upon our house,
I brought a cannibal to be the grave
Of me and mine. Base, bloody, murderous count.
Vir. Vile cosener! cheating lord! dissembler!
1st Judge. Peace! stop the mouth of malediction, there!
This is no place to rail in.
Euph. Ye just powers,
That to the quality of man's offence
Shape your correcting rods, and punish there
Where he has sinn'd! did not my bleeding heart
Bear such a heavy share in this day's woe,
I could with a free soul applaud your justice.
Pol. Lord Euphues and Philocles, forgive me.
To make amends I know 's impossible,
For what my malice wrought; but I would fain
Do somewhat that might testify my grief
And true repentance.
Eug. That is that I look'd for.
[Aside.]
Euph. Y' are kind too late, my lord: had you been thus
When need requir'd, y' had say'd yourself and me
Our hapless sons; but if your grief be true,
I can forgive you heartily.
Phil. And I.