University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter four Slaves as bearing the Bodies of Agusta and Gustava on a Bier cover'd—four Women in Chains follow weeping.
Cristina.
Whence are ye, say, you Daughters of Affliction?
Their Speech is in their Tears—Avert, ye Saints!
Avert that Thought! Soft! hold ye! I've a Tear
For ev'ry Mourner—Ah!

[Looks under the Covering.
Mar.
What mean you, Madam?

Cristina.
Reflection come not there! See it not Eyes!
How art thou spilt, thou Blood of Royalty!
Close at the Paleness of its Parent Breast
The Babe lies slaughter'd. Tell me, who did this?
No, hold ye! Say not that my Father did it;
For Duty then turns Rebel—Cruel Father!
O, that some Villager, whose early Toil
Lifts the penurious Morsel to his Mouth,
Had claim'd my Birth! Ambition had not then
Thus step'd 'twixt me and Heav'n.

Mar.
Go, bear it hence—
Turn, turn, my royal Mistress!

Cristina.
Ah, Agusta!
Among thy Foes thou'rt fal'n, thou'rt fal'n in Virtue!
Exalt thyself, O Guilt? For here the Good
Have none who may lament them. Sit we down;
For I grow weary of the World; let Death
Within his vaulty Durance, dark and still,
Receive me too; and where th' Afflicted rest,
There fold me in for ever.—