e from wrongs:
And, oh! a dearer treasure to thy care
I trust, than either life or fame--my wife!
Oh, she will want a friend!
Then take her to thy care--do thou pour balm
On her deep-wounded spirit, and let her find
My tender helps in thee!--I must be gone,
My ever faithful, and my gallant friend!
I pr'ythee, leave this woman's work.--Farewell!
Take this last, dear embrace--Farewell for ever!

_South._ My bursting breast! I fain would speak, but words
Are poor--Farewell!--
But we shall meet again--embrace in one
Eternal band, which never shall be loosed. [_Exit._

_Essex._ To death's concluding stroke, lead on, Lieutenant.--
My wife!--Now reason, fortitude, support me!
For now, indeed, comes on my sorest trial.

_Enter COUNTESS of RUTLAND._

Oh, thou last, dear reserve of fortune's malice!
For fate can add no more,--
Oh, com'st thou now to arrest my parting soul,
And force it back to life?

_Rut._ Thou sole delight--
Thou only joy which life could ever give,
Or death deprive me of--my wedded lord!
I come, with thee, determined to endure
The utmost rigour of our angry stars!
To join thee, fearless, in the grasp of death,
And seek some dwelling in a world beyond it!

_Essex._ Too much, thou partner of this dismal hour,
Thy gen'rous soul would prompt thee to endure!
Nor can thy tender, trembling, heart sustain it.
Long years of bliss remain in store for thee;
And smiling time his treasures shall unfold
To bribe thy stay!

_Rut._ Thou cruel comforter!
Alas! what's life--what's hated life to me?
Alas, this universe, this goodly frame,
Shall all as one continued curse appear,
And every object blast, when thou art gone.

_Essex._ Oh, strain not thus the little strength I've left,
The weak support that holds up life! to bear
A few short moments more, its weight of woe,
Its loss of thee! Oh, turn away those eyes!
Nor with that look melt down my fix'd resolve!
And yet a little longer let me gaze
On that loved form! Alas! I feel my sight
Grows dim, and reason from her throne retires:
For pity's sake, let go my breaking heart,
And leave me to my fate!

_Rut._ Why wilt thou still
Of parting talk?
Oh, that the friendly hand of Heaven would snatch
Us both at once, above the distant stars,
Where fortune's venom'd shafts can never pierce,
Nor cruel queens destroy!

_Essex._ The awful Searcher, whose impartial eye
Explores the secrets of each human heart,
And every thought surveys,