_1st Judge._ His lordship did but paint a rotten post, Or cover foulness fairly. Monsieur Snuffe, Back to your candle-making! You may give The world more light with that, than either with Instruction or the example of your life. _Lang._ Thus the Snuffe is put out. [_Exit._ _Enter_ D'AMVILLE _distractedly with the hearses of his two_ Sons _borne after him._ _D'Am._ Judgment! Judgment! _2nd Judge._ Judgment, my lord, in what? _D'Am._ Your judgment must resolve me in a case. Bring in the bodies. Nay, I'll ha' it tried. This is the case, my lord. By providence, Even in a moment, by the only hurt Of one, or two, or three at most, and those Put quickly out o' pain, too, mark me, I Had wisely raised a competent estate To my posterity. And is there not More wisdom and more charity in that Than for your lordship, or your father, or Your grandsire to prolong the torment and The rack of rent from age to age upon Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps Without a penny profit to your heir? Is't not more wise? more charitable? Speak. _1st Judge._ He is distracted. _D'Am._ How? distracted? Then You ha' no judgment. I can give you sense And solid reason for the very least Distinguishable syllable I speak. Since my thrift Was more judicious than your grandsires', why I would fain know why your lordship lives to make A second generation from your father, And the whole fry of my posterity Extinguished in a moment. Not a brat Left to succeed me.--I would fain know that. _2nd Judge._ Grief for his children's death distempers him. _1st Judge._ My lord, we will resolve you of your question.[176] In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us. _D'Am._ I am contented, so you will resolve me. [_Ascends._ _Enter_ CHARLEMONT _and_ CASTABELLA. _2nd Judge._ Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are accused Of having murdered one Borachio, that Was servant to my Lord D'Amville. How can You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty? _Charl._ Guilty of killing him, but not of murder. My lords, I have no purpose to desire Remission for myself.-- [D'AMVILLE _descends to_ CHARLEMONT. _D'Am._ Uncivil boy! Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief. Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon The object of my sorrow--my dead sons? _1st Judge._ O good my lord, let charity forbear To vex the spirit of a dying man. A cheerful eye upon the face of death Is the true countenance of a noble mind. For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not. _D'Am._ Y'are all uncivil. O! is't not enough That he unjustly hath conspired with Fate To cut off my posterity, for him To be the heir to my possessions, but He must pursue me with his presence. And, in the ostentation of his joy, Laugh in my face and glory in my grief?