trument. So shall our laws; though not
with death. But death were mercy. Shame, beggary, and imprisonment,
unpitied misery, the stings of conscience, and the curses of mankind
shall make life hateful to him--till at last, his own hand end him.
How does my friend?
[_To Beverley_.

_Bev._ Why, well. Who's he that asks me?

_Mrs. Bev._ Tis Lewson, love. Why do you look so at him?

_Bev._ They told me he was murdered.
[_Wildly._

_Mrs. Bev._ Ay; but he lives to save us.

_Bev._ Lend me your hand--The room turns round.

_Mrs. Bev._ O heaven!

_Lew._ This villain here, disturbs him. Remove him from his sight:
and for your lives, see that you guard him. (_Stukely is taken off
by Dawson and Bates_) How is it, Sir?

_Bev._ 'Tis here--and here--(_Pointing to his head and heart._) And
now it tears me!

_Mrs. Bev._ You feel convulsed too--What is't disturbs you?

_Lew._ This sudden turn of joy perhaps. He wants rest too. Last
night was dreadful to him. His brain is giddy.

_Char._ Ay, never to be cured. Why, brother!--O! I fear!
I fear!

_Mrs. Bev._ Preserve him, heaven!--My love! my life! look at
me!--How his eyes flame!

_Bev._ A furnace rages in this heart--I have been too hasty.

_Mrs. Bev._ Indeed!--O me! O me!--Help, Jarvis! Fly, fly for help!
Your master dies else--Weep not, but fly! (_Exit Jarvis_) What is
this hasty deed?--Yet do not answer me--My fears have guessed
it.

_Bev._ Call back the messenger. 'Tis not in medicine's power to help
me.

_Mrs. Bev._ Is it then so?

_Bev._ Down, restless flames!--(_Laying his hand on his heart_) down
to your native hell!-- there you shall rack me--O! for a pause from
pain!

_Mrs. Bev._ Help, Charlotte! Support him, Sir! (_To Lewson_)

_Bev._ What river's this? I'll plunge, and cool me! (_Flings himself
upon the ground._) O! 'tis a sea of fire!--Lift me! lift me!
[_They raise him to his chair._

_Mrs. Bev._ This is a killing fight!

_Bev._ (_Starting_) That pang was well. It has numbed my senses.
Where's my wife? Can you forgive me, love?

_Mrs. Bev._ Alas! for what?

_Bev._ (_Starting again_) And there's another pang--Now all is
quiet. Will you forgive me?

_Mrs. Bev._ I will. Tell me for what?

_Bev._ For meanly dying.

_Mrs. Bev._ No--do not say it.

_Bev._ As truly as my soul must answer it. Had Jarvis staid this
morning, all had been well. But pressed by shame; pent in a prison;
tormented with my pangs for You; driven to despair