O tyrant! but the task becomes thee well;
Thy savage temper joys to do death’s office,
To tear the sacred bonds of love asunder,
And part those hands which Heaven itself hath joined.
Duchess. To let us waste the little rest of life
Together, had been merciful.
Guilf. (to Lady J.) Thou standest unmoved;
Calm temper sits upon thy beauteous brow;
Thy eyes, that flowed so fast for Edward’s loss,
Gaze unconcerned upon the ruin round thee,