Away; I pr'ythee, leave me!

_Alic._ Stop a minute----
Till my full griefs find passage. O, the tyrant!
Perdition fall on Gloster's head and mine.

_Lord H._ What means thy frantic grief?

_Alic._ I cannot speak----
But I have murder'd thee.--Oh, I could tell thee!

_Lord H._ Speak, and give ease to thy conflicting passion!
Be quick, nor keep me longer in suspense,
Time presses, and a thousand crowding thoughts
Break in at once! this way and that they snatch,
They tear, my hurry'd soul.--All claim attention,
And yet not one is heard. Oh! speak, and leave me,
For I have business would employ an age,
And but a minute's time to get it done in.

_Alic._ That, that's my grief--'tis I that urge thee on,
Thus hunt thee to the toil, sweep thee from earth,
And drive thee down this precipice of fate.

_Lord H._ Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy weak hand
Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could,
What have I done so grievous to thy soul,
So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon,
That nothing but my life can make atonement?

_Alic._ Thy cruel scorn hath stung me to the heart,
And set my burning bosom all in flames:
Raving and mad I flew to my revenge,
And writ I know not what--told the protector,
That Shore's detested wife, by wiles, had won thee
To plot against his greatness.--He believ'd it,
(Oh, dire event of my pernicious counsel!)
And, while I meant destruction on her head,
H' has turn'd it all on thine.

_Lord H._ O, thou inhuman! Turn thy eyes away,
And blast me not with their destructive beams:
Why should I curse thee with my dying breath?
Be gone! and let me die in peace.

_Alic._ Canst thou--O, cruel Hastings, leave me thus?
Hear me, I beg thee--I conjure thee, hear me!
While, with an agonizing heart, I swear,
By all the pangs I feel, by all the sorrows,
The terrors and despair, thy loss shall give me,
My hate was on my rival bent alone.
Oh! had I once divin'd, false as thou art,
A danger to thy life, I would have died,
I would have met it for thee.

_Lord H._ Now mark! and tremble at heaven's just award:
While thy insatiate wrath and fell revenge
Pursu'd the innocence which never wrong'd thee,
Behold, the mischief falls on thee and me:
Remorse and heaviness of heart shall wait thee,
And everlasting anguish be thy portion.
For me, the snares of death are wound about me,
And now, in one poor moment, I am gone.
Oh! if thou hast one tender thought remaining,
Fly to thy closet, fall upon thy knees,