Theodosius, or, The force of love a tragedy, acted by Their Royal Highnesses servants, at the Duke's Theatre / written by Nat. Lee ; with the musick betwixt the acts.

SCENE II.

Theodosius lying on a Couch, with two Boys drest like Cupids singing to him as he sleeps.

SONG.

Happy day! ah happy day, That Caesar's Beams did first display, So peaceful was the happy day. The Gods themselves did all look down, The Royal Infant's Birth to Crown, So pleas'd, they searce did on the guilty frown.

Happy day! ah happy day! And oh thrice happy hour, That made such Goodness Master of such Pow'r. For thus the Gods declare to Men, No day like this shall ever come agen.

Enter Marcian with an Order.

Theo.

Ha! what rash thing art thou, who set'st so small A value on thy Life, thus to presume Against the fatal Orders I have given, Thus to entrench on Caesar's solitude, And urge me to thy ruine?

Marc.

Mighty Caesar, I have transgrest, and for my Pardon bow To thee, as to the Gods when I offend: Nor can I doubt your Mercy, when you know The nature of my Crime. I am Commission'd From all the Earth to give thee thanks and praises, Thou Darling of Mankind! whose Conqu'ring Arms Already drown the Glory of great Julius, Whose deeper reach in Laws and Policy, Makes wise Augustus envy thee in Heav'n? What mean the Fates by such prodigious Vertue? When scarce the manly Down yet shades thy Face, With Conquest thus to over-run the World, And make Barbarians tremble? O, ye Gods! Should Destiny now end thee in the Bloom, Methinks I see thee mourn'd above the loss Of lov'd Germanicus, thy Funerals Like his, are solemniz'd with Tears and Blood.

Theo.

How, Marcian!

Marc.

Yes, the raging Multitude, Like Torrents, set no bound to their mad grief; Shave their Wives Heads, and tear off their own Hair; With wild Despair they bring their Infants out, To brawl their Parents sorrow in the Streets; Trade is no more, all Courts of Justice stopt; With Stones they dash the Windows of their Temples, Pull down their Altars; break their Houshold Gods; And still the Universal Groan is this, Constantinople's lost, our Empire's ruin'd: Since he is gone, that Father of his Country; Since he is dead, O Life, where is thy Pleasure? O Rome! Oh conquer'd World, where is thy Glory?

Theo.

I know thee well, thy Custom and thy Manners;

Thou dost upbraid me; but no more of this, Not for thy Life╌

Marc.

What's Life without my Honour? Could you transform your self into a Gorgon, Or make that beardless Face like Jupiter's, I would be heard in spight of all your Thunder: O pow'r of Guilt, you fear to stand the Test Which Vertue brings; like Sores your Vices shake Before this Roman-healer. But, by the Gods, Before I go I'll rip the Malady, And let the Venom flow before your Eyes. This is a Debt to the great Theodosius, The Grand-father of your Illustrious Blood; And then farewell for ever.

Theo.

Presuming Marcian! What canst thou urge against my Innocence? Through the whole Course of all my harmless Youth, Ev'n to this hour, I cannot call to mind One wicked act which I have done to shame me.

Marc.

This may be true: yet if you give the sway To other Hands, and your poor Subjects suffer, Your negligence to them is as the Cause. O Theodosius credit me, who know The World, and hear how Soldiers censure Kings; In after-times, if thus you should go on, Your Memory by Warriers will be scorn'd, As much as Nero or Caligula loath'd; They will despise your sloth, and backward case, More than they hate the others Cruelty. And what a thing, ye Gods, is scorn or pity? Heap on me, Heav'n, the hate of all Mankind; Load me with Malice, Envy, Detestation: Let me be horrid to all apprehension, And the World shun me, so I escape but Scorn.

Theo.

Prithee, no more!

Marc.

Nay, when the Legions make Comparisons; And say, thus cruel Nero once resolv'd On Galba's Insurrection, for Revenge, To give all France as Plunder to the Arms, To poison the whole Senate at a Feast; To burn the City, turn the wild Beasts out; Bears, Lions, Tigers, on the Multitude; That so obstructing those that quench'd the Fire, He might at once destroy Rebellious Rome.

Theo.

O cruelty! why tell'st thou me of this? Am I of such a barbarous bloody temper?

Marc.

Yet some will say, this shew'd he had a spirit, However fierce, avenging, and pernicious, That savour'd of a Roman; but for you, What can your partial Sycophants invent, To make you room among the Emperours? Whose utmost is the smallest part of Nero; A pretty Player, one that can act a Heroe, And never be one. O ye immortal Gods, Is this the old Caesarian Majesty? Now, in the name of our great Romulus, Why sing you not, and siddle too as he did? Why have you not, like Nero, a Phenascus? One to take care of your Coelestial Voice? Lie on your Back, my Lord, and on your Stomach Lay a thin Plate of Lead, abstain from Fruits; And when the Business of the Stage is done, Retire with your loose Friends, to costly Banquets, While the lean Army groans upon the Ground.

Theo.

Leave me, I say, lest I chastise thee: Hence, be gone, I say╌

Marc.

Not till you have heard me out╌ Build too, like him, a Palace lin'd with Gold, As long and large as that to the Esquiline: Inclose a Pool too in it, like the Sea, And at the Empires cost let Navies meet: Adorn your starry Chambers too with Gems, Contrive the plated Ceilings to turn round, With Pipes to cast Ambrosian Oils upon you: Consume with his prodigious Vanity, In meer Perfumes and Odorous Distillations, Of Sisterces at once 400 Millions, Let naked Virgins wait you at your Table, And wanton Cupids dance and clap their Wings, No matter what becomes of the poor Soldier; So they perform the Drudgery they are sit for; Why let 'em starve for want of their Arrears, Drop as they go, and lie like Dogs in Ditches.

Theo.

Come, you are a Traytor!

Marc.

Go too, you are a Boy╌ Or by the Gods╌

Theo.

If Arrogance, like this, And to the Emperour's Face, should 'scape unpunish'd, I'll write my self a Coward; die then, Villain, A Death too glorious for so bad a Man, By Theodosius's hand.

[Marcian disarms him, but is wounded.

Marc.

Now, Sir, where are you?

What, in the name of all our Roman Spirits, Now charms my Hand from giving thee thy Fate? Has he not cut me off from all my Honours? Torn my Commissions, sham'd me to the Earth, Banisht the Court, a Vagabond for ever? Does not the Soldier hourly ask it from me? Sigh their own wrongs, and beg me to revenge 'em? What hinders now, but that I mount the Throne? And make to that this purple Youth my Footstool? The Armies court me, and my Countries Cause: The Injuries of Rome and Greece perswade me. Shew but this Roman Blood which he has drawn, They'll make me Emperour whether I will or no: Did not for less than this the latter Brutus, Because he thought Rome wrong'd, in Person, head, Against his Friend, a black Conspiracy? And stab the Majesty of all the World?

Theo.

Act as you please, I am within your Power.

Marc.

Did not the former Brutus, for the Crime Of Sextus, drive old Tarquin from his Kingdom? And shall this Prince too, by permitting others To act their wicked Wills and lawless Pleasures, Ravish from the Empire its dear Health, Well-being, Happiness, and ancient Glory, Go on in this dishonourable rest? Shall he, I say, dream on, while the starv'd Troops Lie cold and waking in the Winter Camp; And like pin'd Birds, for want of sustenance, Feed on the Haws and Berries of the Fields! O temper! temper me! ye gracious Gods! Give to my Hand forbearance, to my Heart Its constant Loyalty! I would but shake him, Rouze him a little from this death of Honour, And shew him what he should be.

Theo.

You accuse me, As if I were some Monster, most unheard of: First, as the Ruin of the Army, then Of taking your Commission: But, by Heav'n, I swear, O Marcian! this I never did, Nor ere intended it: Nor say I this To alter thy stern usage; for with what Thou hast said, and done, and brought to my remembrance, I grow already weary of my life,

Marc.

My Lord, I take your word: you do not know The wounds which rage within your Country's Bowels: The horrid usage of the suff'ring Soldier:

But why will not our Theodosius know, If you intrust the Government to others That act these Crimes; who but your selfs to blame? Be witness, ye Gods! of my plain dealing, Of Marcian's honesty, how-e'er degraded: I thank you for my banishment! but alas! My loss is little to what soon will follow; Reflect but on your self and your own Joys: Let not this Lethargy for ever hold you! 'Twas rumour'd through the City that you lov'd: That your Espousals should be solemniz'd; When on a sudden here you send your Orders That this bright Favourite, the lov'd Eudosia, Should lose her Head.

Theo:

O Heav'n, and Earth! What say'st thou, That I have seal'd the death of my Eudosia?

Marc.

'Tis your own Hand and Signet: Yet I swear, Tho' you have giv'n to Female hands your sway, And therefore I, as well as the whole Army, For ever ought to curse all Woman-kind; Yet when the Virgin came, as she was doom'd, And on the Scaffold, for that purpose rais'd, Without the walls appear'd before the Army!

Theo.

What, on a Scaffold! ha, before the Army!

Marc.

How quickly was the Tide of Fury turn'd! To soft Compassion and relenting Tears: But when the Axe Sever'd the brightest Beauty of the Earth From that fair Body, had you heard the groan, Which like a peal of distant Thunder, ran Through all the armed Host, you would have thought, By the immediate Darkness that fell round us, Whole Nature was concern'd at such a Suff'ring, And all the Gods were angry.

Theo.

O Pulcheria! Cruel ambitious Sister, this must be Thy doing. O support me, noble Marcian! Now, now's the time, if thou dar'st strike; behold I offer thee my Breast, with my last Breath, I'll thank thee too, if now thou draw'st my Blood. Were I to live, thy Councel shall direct me; But 'tis too late╌

[He swoons.

Marc.

He faints! what, hoa there, Lucius!

[Enter Lucius.

My Lord, the Emperour, Eudosia lives; She's here, or will be in a minute, moment, Quick as a thought she calls you to the Temple. O Lucius, help╌I have gone too far; but see,

He breaths again╌Eudosia has awak'd him.

Theo.

Did you not name Eudosia?

Marc.

Yes, she lives; I did but feign the story of her Death, To find how near you plac'd her to your Heart: And may the Gods rain all their Plagues upon me, If ever I rebuke you thus again: Yet 'tis most certain, that you sign'd her death, Not knowing what the wise Pulcberia offer'd, Who left it in my Hand to startle you: But by my Life and Fame, I did not think It would have toucht your Life. O pardon me, Dear Prince, my Lord, my Emp'rour! Royal Master! Droop not because I utter'd some rash words, And was a mad Man╌by th'immortal Gods! I love you as my Soul: what e'er I said, My thoughts were otherwise; believe these Tears Which do not use to flow; all shall be well: I swear that there are Seeds in that sweet Temper, To attone for all the Crimes in this bad Age.

Theo.

I thank thee first for my Eudosia's Life. What, but my Love, could have call'd back that Life Which thou hast made me hate? But oh, methought 'Twas hard, dear Marcian, very hard from thee, From him I ever reverenc'd as my Father, To hear so harsh a Message╌but no more: We are Friends: Thy hand; Nay, if thou wilt not rise, And let me told my Arms about thy Neck, I'll not believe thy Love! In this forgive me. First let me wed Eudosia, and we'll out; We will, my General, and make amends For all that's past: Glory and Arms ye call, And Marcian leads me on╌

Marc.

Let her not rest then, Espouse her straight; I'll strike you at a heat; May this great humour get large growth within you, And be encourag'd by the emboldning Gods, O what a sight will this be to the Soldier, To see me bring you drest in shining Armour, To head the shouting Squadrons╌O ye Gods! Methinks I hear the echoing Cries of Joy; The sound of Trumpets, and the beat of Drums. I see each starving Soldier bound from Earth, As is some God by Miracle had rais'd him, And with beholding you grow fat again. Nothing but gazing Eyes, and opening Mouths;

Cheeks red with Joy, and lifted Hands about you: Some wiping the glad Tears that trickle down With broken Io's, and with sobbing Raptures, Crying to Arms: He's come! our Emp'rour's come To win the World. Why is not this far better Than lolling in a Lady's lap, and sleeping, Fasting, or praying? Come, come, you shall be merry: And for Eudosia, she is yours already: Marcian has said it, Sir, she shall be yours.

Theo.

O Marcian! oh my Brother! Father! all: Thou best of Friends, most faithful Counsellor, I'll find a Match for thee too e'er I rest, To make thee love me. For when thou art with me I'm strong and well; but when thou art gone, I am nothing.

Enter Athenais, meeting Theodosius.

Theo.

Alas! Eudosia, tell me what to say; For my full Heart can scarce bring forth a word Of that which I have sworn to see perform'd.

Athen.

I am perfectly obedient to your pleasure.

Theo.

Well, then I come to tell thee, that Varanes Of all mankind is nearest to my Heart; I love him, dear Eudosia; and to prove That Love on trial, all my Blood's too little; Ev'n thee, if I were sure to die this moment, (As Heav'n alone can tell how far my Fate Is off!) O thou my Soul's most tender Joy, With my last Breath I would bequeath him thee.

Athen.

Then you are pleas'd, my Lord, to yield me to him.

Theo.

No, my Eudosia; no, I will not yield thee, While I have Life; for Worlds I will not yield thee: Yet, thus far I am engag'd to let thee know, He loves thee, Athenais, more than ever. He languishes, despairs, and dies like me; And I have past my word that he shall see thee.

Athen.

Ah, Sir, what have you done against your self, And me? Why have you past your fatal word? Why will you trust me, who am now afraid To trust my self? Why do you leave me naked To an assault, who had made proof my Vertue, With this sure Guard, never to see him more. For, oh with trembling Agonies I speak it, I cannot see a Prince, whom once I lov'd, Bath'd in his Grief, and gasping at my Feet, In all the violent Trances of Despair, Without a sorrow, that perhaps may end me.

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉

Theo.

O ye severer Pow'rs! too cruel Fate! Did ever Love tread such a maze before? Yet, Athenais, still I trust thy Vertue; But if thy bleeding Heart cannot refrain, Give, give thy self away; yet still remember, That moment Theodosius is no more.╌

[Ex. Theo. with Attic. Pulc. Leon.

Athen.

Now glory! now, if ever thou didst work In Woman's Mind, assist me╌Oh my Heart, Why dost thou throb, as if thou wer't a breaking? Down, down, I say, think on thy Injuries, Thy wrongs! thy wrongs. 'Tis well my Eyes are dry, And all within my Bosom now is still.

Enter Varanes, leaning on Aranthes.

Ha! is this he! or is't Varanes Ghost? He looks as if he had bespoke his Grave, Trembling and pale; I must not dare to view him; For oh I feel his melancholy here, And fear I shall too soon partake his sickness!

Vara.

Thus to the angry Gods offending Mortals, Made sensible by some severe Affliction, How all their Crimes are registred in Heav'n, In that nice Court, how no rash word escapes, But ev'n extravagant Thoughts are all set down: Thus the poor penitents with Fear approach The Reverend Shrines, and thus for Mercy bow;

[Kneels.

Thus melting too, they wash the hallowed Earth, And groan to be forgiven╌ O Empress! O Eudosia! such you are now, These are your Titles, and I must not dare Ever to call you Athenais more.

Athen.

Rise, rise, my Lord, let me intreat you rise, I will not hear you in that humble Posture: Rise, or I must withdraw╌The World will blush For you and me, should it behold a Prince, Sprung from Immortal Cyrus, on his Knees Before the Daughter of a poor Philosopher.

Vara.

'Tis just, you righteous Gods! my Doom is just; Nor will I strive to deprecate her Anger. If possible, I'll aggravate my Crimes, That she may rage till she has broke my heart: For all I now desire, and let the Gods, Those cruel Gods that joyn to my undoing, Be Witnesses to this unnatural Wish,

Is to fall dead without a Wound before her.

Athen.

O ye known sounds! But I must steel my Soul. Methinks these Robes, my Delia, are too heavy.

Vara.

Not worth a word, a look, nor one regard! Is then the Nature of my Fault so hainous, That when I come to take my eternal leave, You'll not vouchsafe to view me? This is scorn, Which the fair Soul of gentle Athenais, Wou'd ne'er have harbour'd╌ O, for the sake of him, whom you ere-long Shall hold as fast as now your Wishes form him, Give me a patient hearing; for however I talk of Death, and seem to loath my Life, I would deliberate with my Fate a while, With snatching Glances eye thee to the last; Pause o'er a loss like that of Athenais, And parley with my ruine.

Athen.

Speak, my Lord; To hear you is the Emperor's Command; And for that Cause I readily obey.

Vara.

The Emperour, the Emperour's Command And for that Cause she readily obeys. I thank you, Madam, that on any terms You condescend to hear me╌ Know then, Eudosia. Ah, rather let me call thee: By the lov'd Name of Athenais still; That Name that I so often have invok'd! And which was once auspicious to my Vows; So oft at Midnight sigh'd amongst the Groves, The Rivers murmur and the Echo's burden, Which every Bird could sing, and Wind did bear! By that dear Name, I make this Protestation, By all that's good on Earth, or blest in Heav'n, I swear I love thee more, far more than ever, With conscious Blushes too! Here, help me, Gods! Help me to tell her, tho' to my Confusion, And everlasting Shame; yet I must tell her, I lay the Persian Crown before her Feet.

Athen.

My Lord, I thank you, and to express those thanks, As nobly as you offer 'em, I return The gift you make; nor will I now upbraid you With the Example of the Emp'rour; Not but I know 'tis that that draws you on, Thus to descend beneath your Majesty; And swell the Daughter of a poor Philosopher With hopes of being great.

Vara.

Ah, Madam! ah, you wrong me; by the Gods I had repented e'er I knew the Emp'rour╌

Athen.

You find perhaps, too late, that Athenais, However slighted for her Birth and Fortune, Has something in her Person, and her Vertue, Worth the Regard of Emperours themselves; And, to return the Complement you gave My Father, Leontine, that poor Philosopher, Whose utmost Glory is to have been your Tutor: I here protest, by Vertue, and by Glory, I swear by Heav'n and all the Pow'rs Divine, The abandon'd Daughter of that poor old Man Shall ne'er be seated on the Throne of Cyrus:

Vara.

O Death to all my Hopes! what hast thou sworn? To turn me wild! Ah cursed Throne of Cyrus, Would thou hadst been o'erturn'd and laid in Dust, His Crown too Thunder-struck. My Father, all The Persian Race, like poor Darius, ruin'd, Blotted, and swept for ever from the World; When first Ambition blasted thy Remembrance╌

Athen.

O Heav'n! I had forgot the base Affront Offer'd by this proud Man! a Wrong so great, It is remov'd beyond all hope of Mercy: He had design'd to bribe my Father's Vertue, And by unlawful means╌ Fly from my sight, left I become a Fury╌ And break those Rules of Temperance I propos'd; Fly, fly, Varanes! fly this sacred place Where Vertue and Religion are profess'd: This City will not harbour Insidels, Traytors to Chastity, licentious Princes; Be gone, I say, thou canst not here be safe, Fly to Imperial Libertines abroad; In foreign Courts thou'lt find a thousand Beauties That will comply for Gold, for Gold they'll weep, For Gold be fond as Athenais was; And charm thee still as if they lov'd indeed. Thou'lt find enough Companions too for Riot: Luxuriant all, and Royal as thy self, Tho' thy loud Vices should resound to Heav'n. Art thou not gone yet?

Vara.

No, I am charm'd to hear you: O from my Soul I do confess my self The very blot of Honour; I am more black Than thou, in all thy Heat of just Revenge, With all thy glorious Eloquence, canst make me.

Athen.

Away, Varanes.

Vara.

Yes, Madam, I am going╌ Nay, by the Gods, I do not ask thee pardon: Nor while I live will I implore thy mercy: But when I am dead, if as thou dost return, With happy Theodosius from the Temple, If as thou go'st in Triumph through the streets, Thou chance to meet the cold Varanes there, Born by his Friends to his Eternal home; Stop then, O Athenais! and behold me; Say as thou hang'st about the Emp'rour's Neck, Alas! my Lord, this sight is worth our pity; If to those pitying words, thou add a Tear, Or give one parting groan╌If possible, If the good Gods will grant my Soul the freedom, I'll leave my Shrowd, and wake from Death to thank thee.

Athen.

He shakes my resolution from the Bottom: My bleeding Heart too speaks in his behalf, And says my Vertue has been too severe.

Vara.

Farewell! O Empress: No, Athenais, now I will not call thee by that tender Name, Since cold despair begins to freeze my Bosom, And all my Pow'rs are now resolv'd on Death. 'Tis said, that from my Youth I have been rash, Cholerick, and hot, but let the Gods now judge By my last wish, if ever patient Man Did calmly bear so great a loss as mine; Since 'tis so doom'd, by Fate you must be wedded, For your own Peace, when I am laid in Earth, Forget that e're Varanes had a Being; Turn all your Soul to Theodosius Bosom: Continue Gods their Days, and make 'em long: Lucina wait upon their fruitful Hymen, And many Children, beauteous as the Mother, And pious as the Father, make 'em smile.

Athen.

O Heav'ns!

Vara.

Farewell╌I'll trouble you no more: The malady that's lodg'd within grows stronger; I feel the shock of my approaching Fate: My heart too trembles at his distant march; Nor can I utter more, if you shoul'd ask me. Thy arm, Aranthes! O farewell for ever╌╌

Athen.

Varanes, stay, and ere you go for ever, Let me unfold my heart.

Vara.

O Athenais! What further cruelty hast thou in store

To add to what I suffer?

Athen.

Since it is doom'd That we must part, let's part as Lovers shou'd, As those that have lov'd long, and lov'd well.

Vara.

Art thou so good! O Athenais, oh!

Athen.

First from my Soul I pity and forgive you; I pardon you that hasty little Errour, Which yet has been the cause of both our Ruins. And let this sorrow witness for my Heart, How eagerly I wish it had not been, And since I cannot keep it, take it all. Take all the Love, O Prince, I ever bore you: Or, if 'tis possible, I'll give you more; Your noble Carriage forces this confession: I rage! I burn! I bleed! I die for Love: I am distracted with this World of Passion.

Vara.

Gods! cruel Gods! take notice I forgive you.

Athen.

Alas! my Lord! my weaker tender Sex Has not your manly Patience; cannot curb This Fury in; therefore I let it loose; Spite of my rigid Duty, I will speak With all the dearness of a dying Lover, Farewell most lovely, and most lov'd of Men; Why comes this dying paleness o'er thy Face? Why wander thus thy Eyes? Why dost thou bend As if the fatal weight of Death were on thee?

Vara.

Speak yet a little more; For, by the Gods! And as I prize those blessed happy moments, I swear, O Athenais! all is well! O never better!

Athen.

I doubt thee, dear Varanes; Yet, if thou dy'st, I shall not long be from thee. Once more farewell, and take these last Embraces, Oh! I could crush him to my Heart! Farewel; And as a dying pledge of my last Love, Take this, which all thy Pray'rs could never Charm; What have I done? oh lead me, lead me, Delia! Ah, Prince farewell! Angels protect and guard thee.

Vara.

Turn back! O Athenais! and behold me! Hear my last words, and then farewell for ever: Thou hast undone me more by this confession: You say, you swear, you love me more than ever; Yet, I must see you marry'd to another: Can there be any Plague or Hell like this? O Athenais! Whither shall I turn me? You have brought me back to life; but, oh, what life?

SONG after the Fourth ACT.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 Ah Cru╌el Bloo╌dy Fate, what canst thou now do more? A╌las 〈♫〉〈♫〉 〈♫〉〈♫〉 'tis now too late Philander to re-store. Why should the Heav'nly 〈♫〉〈♫〉 〈♫〉〈♫〉 Powers perswade poor Mortals to believe that they guard us here, or re╌ward us there, yet all our Joys deceive. 〈♫〉〈♫〉

2.

Her Ponyard then she took, And held it in her Hand, And with a dying look, Cry'd, thus I Fate command. Philander! Ah my Love, I come To meet thy Shade below! Ah! I come, she cry'd, With a Wound so wide, There needs no second blow.

3.

In Purple Waves her Blood, Ran streaming down the Floor, Unmov'd she saw the Flood, And blest the Dying Hour Philander! Ah Philander! still The bleeding Phillis cry'd; She wept a while, And she forc'd a smile, Then clos'd her Eyes, and dy'd.

FINIS.

To a life more terrible than a thousand deaths; Like one that had been buried in a Trance, With racking starts, he wakes and gazes round, Forc'd by despair his whirling Limbs to wound, And bellow like a Spirit under ground. Still urg'd by Fate, to turn, to toss, and rave, Tormented, dash'd, and broken in the Grave.

[Exeunt.