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Now curses on the worthless hand that fail'd With life and honour trusted to its strength!

Honour! that is no word for lip of thine— A coward murderer in the silent night. Does not thy noble name cry shame upon thee?

It cries for vengeance!

What cause hast thou to be my enemy?

An hundred years our houses have been foes; To that I add my individual hate. There is no path of fortune where thy step Has not cross'd mine; in war, ambition, love, Still hast thou been my rival! call thy guards, Tyrant! but, ere they come, I'll try my sword.

I'll call no other guard than my right hand.

Bear hence the traitor! you are just in time.

He bleeds to death.

But yet with strength enough For hatred and defiance; 'tis in vain— Fate is against me—curse the hand and sword