Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/106

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Cath. Yes.

Or. Go on; what saw he?

Cath. An upright form, wound in a clotted shroud— Clotted and stiff, like one swaith'd up in haste After a bloody death.

Or. O horrible!

Cath: He started from his bed, and gaz'd upon it.

Or. And did he speak to it?

Cath.He could not speak. Its visage was uncover'd, and at first Seem'd fix'd and shrunk, like one in coffin'd sleep; But, as he gaz'd, there came, he wist not how, Into its beamless eyes a horrid glare, And turning towards him, for it did move— Why dost thou grasp me thus?

Or. Go on, go on!

Cath. Nay, heaven forfend! Thy shrunk and sharpen'd features Are of the corse's colour, and thine eyes Are full of tears. How's this?

Or. I know not how. A horrid sympathy jarr'd on my heart, And forc'd into mine eyes these icy tears. A fearful kindredship there is between The living and the dead—an awful bond! Wo's me ! that we do shudder at ourselves— At that which we must be!A dismal thought! Where dost thou run? thy story is not told.