f my worthy love
Waid in the other: and be reconcil'd
With all forgivenesse to your matchlesse wife.

_Tam._ Forgive thou me, deare servant, and this hand
That lead thy life to this unworthy end; 125
Forgive it for the bloud with which 'tis stain'd,
In which I writ the summons of thy death--
The forced summons--by this bleeding wound,
By this here in my bosome, and by this
That makes me hold up both my hands embrew'd 130
For thy deare pardon.

_Buss._ O, my heart is broken.
Fate nor these murtherers, Monsieur nor the Guise,
Have any glory in my death, but this,
This killing spectacle, this prodigie.
My sunne is turn'd to blood, in whose red beams 135
Pindus and Ossa (hid in drifts of snow
Laid on my heart and liver), from their veines
Melt, like two hungry torrents eating rocks,
Into the ocean of all humane life,
And make it bitter, only with my bloud. 140
O fraile condition of strength, valour, vertue
In me (like warning fire upon the top
Of some steepe beacon, on a steeper hill)
Made to expresse it: like a falling starre
Silently glanc't, that like a thunderbolt 145
Look't to have struck, and shook the firmament! _Moritur._

_Umb. Fri._ Farewell! brave reliques of a compleat man,
Look up, and see thy spirit made a starre.
Joine flames with Hercules, and when thou set'st
Thy radiant forehead in the firmament, 150
Make the vast chrystall crack with thy receipt;
Spread to a world of fire, and the aged skie
Cheere with new sparks of old humanity.
[_To Montsurry._] Son of the earth, whom my unrested soule
Rues t'have begotten in the faith of heaven, 155
Assay to gratulate and pacifie
The soule fled from this worthy by performing
The Christian reconcilement he besought
Betwixt thee and thy lady; let her wounds,
Manlessly digg'd in her, be eas'd and cur'd 160
With balme of thine owne teares; or be assur'd
Never to rest free from my haunt and horror.

_Mont._ See how she merits this, still kneeling by,
And mourning his fall, more than her own fault!

_Umb. Fri._ Remove, deare daughter, and content thy husband: 165
So piety wills thee, and thy servants peace.

_Tam._ O wretched piety, that art so distrac