_Cre._ Well have you done, to snatch me from the storm Of racking transport, where the little streams Of love, revenge, and all the under passions, As waters are by sucking whirlpools drawn, Were quite devoured in the vast gulph of empire. Therefore, Pyracmon, as you boldly urged, Eurydice shall die, or be my bride. Alcander, summon to their master's aid My menial servants, and all those whom change Of state, and hope of the new monarch's favour, Can win to take our part: Away.--What now? [_Exit_ ALCANDER. _Enter_ HAEMON. When Haemon weeps, without the help of ghosts I may foretel there is a fatal cause. _Haem._ Is't possible you should be ignorant Of what has happened to the desperate king? _Cre._ I know no more but that he was conducted Into his closet, where I saw him fling His trembling body on the royal bed; All left him there, at his desire, alone; But sure no ill, unless he died with grief, Could happen, for you bore his sword away. _Haem._ I did; and, having locked the door, I stood; And through a chink I found, not only heard, But saw him, when he thought no eye beheld him. At first, deep sighs heaved from his woful heart Murmurs, and groans that shook the outward rooms. And art thou still alive, O wretch! he cried; Then groaned again, as if his sorrowful soul Had cracked the strings of life, and burst away. _Cre._ I weep to hear; how then should I have grieved, Had I beheld this wondrous heap of sorrow! But, to the fatal period. _Haem._ Thrice he struck, With all his force, his hollow groaning breast, And thus, with outcries, to himself complained:-- But thou canst weep then, and thou think'st 'tis well, These bubbles of the shallowest emptiest sorrow, Which children vent for toys, and women rain For any trifle their fond hearts are set on; Yet these thou think'st are ample satisfaction For bloodiest murder, and for burning lust: No, parricide! if thou must weep, weep blood; Weep eyes, instead of tears:--O, by the gods! 'Tis greatly thought, he cried, and fits my woes. Which said, he smiled revengefully, and leapt Upon the floor; thence gazing at the skies, His eye-balls fiery red, and glowing vengeance,-- Gods I accuse you not, though I no more Will view your heaven, till, with more durable glasses, The mighty soul's immortal perspectives, I find your dazzling beings: Take, he cried, Take, eyes, your last, your fatal farewel-view. Then with a groan, that seemed the call of death, With horrid force lifting his impious hands, He snatched, he tore, from forth their bloody orbs, The balls of sight, and dashed them on the ground. _Cre._ A master-piece of horror; new and dreadful! _Haem._ I ran to succour him; but, oh! too late; For he had plucked the remnant strings away. What then remains, but that I find Tiresias, Who, with his wisdom, may allay those furies, That haunt his gloomy soul? [_Exit._