_Lord H._ Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy weak hand Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could, What have I done so grievous to thy soul, So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon, That nothing but my life can make atonement? _Alic._ Thy cruel scorn hath stung me to the heart, And set my burning bosom all in flames: Raving and mad I flew to my revenge, And writ I know not what--told the protector, That Shore's detested wife, by wiles, had won thee To plot against his greatness.--He believ'd it, (Oh, dire event of my pernicious counsel!) And, while I meant destruction on her head, H' has turn'd it all on thine. _Lord H._ O, thou inhuman! Turn thy eyes away, And blast me not with their destructive beams: Why should I curse thee with my dying breath? Be gone! and let me die in peace. _Alic._ Canst thou--O, cruel Hastings, leave me thus? Hear me, I beg thee--I conjure thee, hear me! While, with an agonizing heart, I swear, By all the pangs I feel, by all the sorrows, The terrors and despair, thy loss shall give me, My hate was on my rival bent alone. Oh! had I once divin'd, false as thou art, A danger to thy life, I would have died, I would have met it for thee. _Lord H._ Now mark! and tremble at heaven's just award: While thy insatiate wrath and fell revenge Pursu'd the innocence which never wrong'd thee, Behold, the mischief falls on thee and me: Remorse and heaviness of heart shall wait thee, And everlasting anguish be thy portion. For me, the snares of death are wound about me, And now, in one poor moment, I am gone. Oh! if thou hast one tender thought remaining, Fly to thy closet, fall upon thy knees, And recommend my parting soul to mercy. _Alic._ Oh! yet, before I go for ever from thee, Turn thee in gentleness and pity to me, [_kneeling._ And, in compassion of my strong affliction, Say, is it possible you can forgive The fatal rashness of ungovern'd love? For, oh! 'tis certain, if I had not lov'd thee Beyond my peace, my reason, fame, and life, This day of horror never would have known us. _Lord H._ Oh, rise, and let me hush thy stormy sorrows, [_raising her._ Assuage thy tears, for I will chide no more, No more upbraid thee, thou unhappy fair one. I see the hand of heav'n is arm'd against me; And, in mysterious providence, decrees To punish me by thy mistaken hand. Most righteous doom! for, oh, while I behold thee, Thy wrongs rise up in terrible array, And charge thy ruin on me; thy fair fame, Thy spotless beauty, innocence, and youth, Dishonour'd, blasted, and betray'd, by me. _Alic._ And does thy heart relent for my undoing? Oh, that inhuman Gloster could be mov'd, But half so easily as I can pardon!