_Lord H._ Here, then, exchange we mutual forgiveness: So may the guilt of all my broken vows, My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten, As here my soul acquits thee of my death, As here I part without one angry thought, As here I leave thee with the softest tenderness, Mourning the chance of our disastrous loves, And begging heav'n to bless and to support thee. _Sir R._ My lord, despatch; the duke has sent to chide me, For loitering in my duty---- _Lord H._ I obey. _Alic._ Insatiate, savage, monster! Is a moment So tedious to thy malice? Oh, repay him, Thou great avenger! Give him blood for blood: Guilt, haunt him! fiends, pursue him! lightnings, blast him! That he may know how terrible it is, To want that moment he denies thee now. _Lord H._ This rage is all in vain, that tears thy bosom: Retire, I beg thee; To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it wounds me; Thy agonies are added to my own, And make the burden more than I can bear. Farewell--Good angels visit thy afflictions, And bring thee peace and comfort from above. [_exit._ _Alic._ Oh! stab me to the heart, some pitying hand, Now strike me dead---- _Re-enter Lord Hastings._ _Lord H._ One thing I had forgot---- I charge thee, by our present common miseries; By our past loves, if they have yet a name; By all thy hopes of peace here and hereafter; Let not the rancour of thy hate pursue The innocence of thy unhappy friend; Thou know'st who 'tis I mean; Oh! shouldst thou wrong her, Just heav'n shall double all thy woes upon thee, And make 'em know no end--Remember this, As the last warning of a dying man. Farewell, for ever! [_the Guards carry Hastings off._ _Alic._ For ever! Oh, for ever! Oh, who can bear to be a wretch for ever! My rival, too! his last thoughts hung on her, And, as he parted, left a blessing for her: Shall she be blest, and I be curst, for ever? No; since her fatal beauty was the cause Of all my sufferings, let her share my pains; Let her, like me, of every joy forlorn, Devote the hour when such a wretch was born; Cast ev'ry good, and ev'ry hope, behind; Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind; Like me, with cries distracted fill the air, } Tear her poor bosom, rend her frantic hair, } And prove the torments of the last despair. [_exit._ } ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. A STREET. _Enter Belmour and Dumont._ _Dum._ You saw her, then?