Ever hung
[500] my fate, ’mongst things corruptible;
I ne’er
[501] could pluck it from him; my loathing
Was prophet to the rest, but ne’er believ’d:
Mine honour fell with him, and now my life.—
Alsemero, I'm a stranger to your bed;
Your bed was cozen’d on the nuptial night,
For which your false bride died.
Als. Diaphanta?
De F. Yes, and the while I coupled with your mate
At barley-break;
[502] now we are left in hell.
Ver. We are all there, it circumscribes [us] here.
De F. I lov’d this woman in spite of her heart:
Her love I earn’d out of Piracquo’s murder.
Tom. Ha! my brother’s murderer?
De F. Yes, and her honour’s prize
Was my reward; I thank life for nothing
But that pleasure; it was so sweet to me,
That I have drunk up all, left none behind
For any man to pledge me.
Ver. Horrid villain!
Keep life in him for further tortures.
De F. No!
I can prevent you; here’s my pen-knife still;
It is but one thread more [stabbing himself] and now ’tis cut.—
Make haste, Joanna, by that token to thee,
Canst not forget, so lately put in mind;
I would not go to leave thee far behind. [Dies.
Beat. Forgive me, Alsemero, all forgive!
’Tis time to die when ’tis a shame to live. Dies.
Ver. O, my name’s enter’d now in that record
Where till this fatal hour ’twas never read!
Als. Let it be blotted out; let your heart lose it,
And it can never look you in the face,
Nor tell a tale behind the back of life
To your dishonour; justice hath so right
The guilty hit, that innocence is quit
By proclamation, and may joy again.—
Sir, you are sensible of what truth hath done;
’Tis the best comfort that your grief can find.
Tom. Sir, I am satisfied; my injuries
Lie dead before me; I can exact no more,
Unless my soul were loose, and could o’ertake
Those black fugitives that are fled from hence,
[503]To take a second vengeance; but there are wraths
Deeper than mine, ’tis to be fear’d, about ’em.
Als. What an opacous body had that moon
That last chang’d on us! here is beauty chang’d
To ugly whoredom; here servant-obedience
To a master-sin, imperious murder;
I, a supposed husband, chang’d embraces
With wantonness,—but that was paid before.—
Your change is come too, from an ignorant wrath
To knowing friendship.—Are there any more on’s?
Ant. Yes, sir, I was changed too from a little
ass as I was to a great fool as I am; and had like
to ha' been changed to the gallows, but that you
know my innocence
[504] always excuses me.
Fran. I was chang’d from a little wit to be stark mad,
Almost for the same purpose.
Isa. Your change is still behind,
But deserve best your transformation:
You are a jealous coxcomb, keep schools of folly,
And teach your scholars how to break your own head.
Alib. I see all apparent, wife, and will change now
Into a better husband, and ne’er keep
Scholars that shall be wiser than myself.
Als. Sir, you have yet a son’s duty living,
Please you, accept it; let that your sorrow,
As it goes from your eye, go from your heart,
Man and his sorrow at the grave must part.—
All we can do
[505] to comfort one another,
To stay a brother’s sorrow for a brother,
To dry a child from the kind father’s eyes,
Is to no purpose, it rather multiplies:
Your only smiles have power to cause re-live
The dead again, or in their rooms to give
Brother a new brother, father a child;
If these appear, all griefs are reconcil’d.