On the following _Friday_, as soon as it was light, all People of any Condition came to take their Leaves of him; and none departed with dry Eyes, or Hearts unconcern’d to the last Degree: For _Tarquin_, when he found his Fate inevitable bore it with a Fortitude that shewed no Signs of Regret; but address’d himself to all about him with the same chearful, modest, and great Air, he was wont to do in his most flourishing Fortune. His Valet was dressing him all the Morning, so many Interruptions they had by Visitors; and he was all in Mourning, and so were all his Followers; for even to the last he kept up his Grandeur, to the Amazement of all People. And indeed, he was so passionately belov’d by them, that those he had dismiss’d, serv’d him voluntarily, and would not be persuaded to abandon him while he liv’d. The Princess was also dress’d in Mourning, and her two Women; and notwithstanding the unheard-of Lewdness and Villanies she had confess’d of her self, the Prince still ador’d her; for she had still those Charms that made him first do so; nor, to his last Moment, could he be brought to wish, that he had never seen her; but on the contrary, as a Man yet vainly proud of his Fetters, he said, ‘All the Satisfaction this short Moment of Life could afford him, was, that he died in endeavouring to serve _Miranda_, his adorable Princess.’ After he had taken Leave of all, who thought it necessary to leave him to himself for some Time, he retir’d with his Confessor; where they were about an Hour in Prayer, all the Ceremonies of Devotion that were fit to be done, being already past. At last the Bell toll’d, and he was to take Leave of the Princess, as his last Work of Life, and the most hard he had to accomplish. He threw himself at her Feet, and gazing on her as she sat more dead than alive, overwhelm’d with silent Grief, they both remain’d some Moments speechless; and then, as if one rising Tide of Tears had supply’d both their Eyes, it burst out in Streams at the same Instant: and when his Sighs gave Way, he utter’d a thousand Farewels, so soft, so passionate, and moving, that all who were by were extremely touch’d with it, and said, _That nothing could be seen more deplorable and melancholy_. A thousand Times they bad Farewel, and still some tender Look, or Word, would prevent his going; then embrace, and bid Farewel again. A thousand Times she ask’d his Pardon for being the Occasion of that fatal Separation; a thousand Times assuring him, she would follow him, for she could not live without him. And Heaven knows when their soft and sad Caresses would have ended, had not the Officers assur’d him ’twas Time to mount the Scaffold. At which Words the Princess fell fainting in the Arms of her Woman, and they led _Tarquin_ out of Prison.