the moral tale.
My friend, the fearful precipice is past,
And danger dare not meet us more. Fly swift,
Ye better angels, waft the welcome tidings
Of pardon to my friend--of life and joy!

_Enter LIEUTENANT._

_Lieut._ I grieve to be the messenger of woe,
But must, my lords, entreat you to prepare
For instant death. Here is the royal mandate,
That orders your immediate execution.

_Essex._ Immediate execution! what, so sudden?--
No message from the queen, or Nottingham!

_Lieut._ None, sir.

_Essex._ Deluded hopes! Oh, worse than death!
Perfidious queen! to make a mock of life!
My friend--my friend destroy'd! Why could not mine--
My life atone for both--my blood appease?
Can you, my friend, forgive me?

_South._ Yes, oh yes,
My bosom's better half, I can.--With thee,
I'll gladly seek the coast unknown, and leave
The lessening mark of irksome life behind.
With thee, my friend, 'tis joy to die!--'tis glory!
For who would wait the tardy stroke of time?
Or cling like reptiles to the verge of being,
When we can bravely leap from life at once,
And spring, triumphant, in a friend's embrace?

_Enter RALEIGH._

_Ral._ To you, my Lord Southampton, from the queen,
A pardon comes; your life her mercy spares.

_Essex._ For ever blest be that indulgent power
Which saves my friend! This weight ta'en off, my soul
Shall upward spring, and mingle with the bless'd.

_South._ All-ruling Heavens! can this--can this be just?
Support me! hold, ye straining heart-strings, hold,
And keep my sinking frame from dissolution!
Oh, 'tis too much for mortal strength to bear,
Or thought to suffer!--No, I'll die with thee!
They shall not part us, Essex!

_Essex._ Live, oh, live!
Thou noblest, bravest, best of men and friends!
Whilst life is worth thy wish--till time and thou
Agree to part, and nature send thee to me!
Thou generous soul, farewell!----Live, and be happy!
And, oh! may life make largely up to thee
Whatever blessing fate has thus cut off,
From thy departing friend!

_Lieut._ My lord, my warrant
Strictly forbids to grant a moment's time.

_South._ Oh, must we part for ever? Cruel fortune!
Wilt thou then tear him hence?--Severe divorce!
Let me cling round thy sacred person still,--
Still clasp thee to my bosom close, and keep
Stern Fate at distance.

_Essex._ Oh, my friend! we'll meet
Again, where virtue finds a just reward!
Where factious malice never more can reach us!
I need not bid thee guard my fam