University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

To them Castor.
Castor.
Nay, weep, weep on, nor stop the mournful Streams,
I come to aid your trickling Tides of Woe:
Heav'n has revers'd its wrathful Phial o'er us,
And Mischief crouds on Mischief! Edmund's Loss
Is follow'd by a greater!—Oh! Eliza,
Our Mother, Harroana,—is no more.

[Weeps.
Eliza.
Oh! Godrick!—

[Falls in his Arms.
Godr.
Forbid it, Heav'n!—but say—

Castor.
My beating Heart will scarce permit my Tongue
To give the sad Relation of her Death:
But thus it was.—Attending sadly home
Our breathless Brother, borne by weeping Servants,
She met us at the Door: Attentive long,
Without a Tear, she gaz'd upon the Corps,
And seem'd almost as void of Life as Sense!
Then fierce at length, Grief's Flood-gates giving way,
A Gust of Passion master'd all her Soul!
Her Eyes shot Fire; and her Voice, enlarg'd,
Like Thunder roar'd with dreadful Exclamations!
She rav'd at Heav'n, at Providence, at me,
At all the World!—as phrenzy'd People rave.
Thence to her own Apartment, wild, she fled,
Where soon the Storm gave way to melting Grief:
A mournful Scene succeeded: Heav'n can tell
How much my own sad Part dissolv'd my Soul,
And sunk me to the Softness of a Woman:
When, hoping to repair her broken Mind,
No lenient Art I left untry'd, to sink
The Swellings of Despair, or boiling Rage:
Nor seem'd my Labour vain; for o'er its Seat
Long hov'ring Reason hung, and well I hop'd
Would, settling, work her Cure.—(Forgive these Tears!
They fall for what I tremble to relate.)
Rage, on a sudden, then return'd so strong
As Words would fail to paint! It was too much
For Sound to utter, or the Soul support!
Groans only found their way, while, unperceiv'd
By me, she snatch'd a Poniard which by chance
Lay near, and plung'd it in her Bosom!—Lo,
With bubbling Streams, her Soul soon issu'd out,
And left her lifeless Body in my Arms.

Godr.
O miserable fall!

Eliza.
O wretched Mother!

Castor.
This Office to a Brother's Care was due;
Comfort, Eliza, is not mine to lend:
Let one, on whom the Ties are stronger far,
If Nature will permit, afford you that.
To Solitude, which which the sad of Heart,
Some Hours at least I go; 'till Reason brings
Her kind Assistance to asswage my Grief,
As yet no welcome Guest.