Page:Passions 2.pdf/206

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Ethw. Why does it look so fix'dly on me thus? What are its woes to me?

Arch Sist. They are thy own. Know'st thou no traces of that alter'd form, Nor see'st that crowned phantom is thyself?

''Ethw. shudders (then, after a pause.)'' I may be doom'd to meet a tyrant's end But not to be a tyrant. Did all the powers of hell attest the doom, I would belie it. Know I not my nature? By every dreaded power and hallow'd thing (Voice over the stage.) Swear not! (Voice under the stage.) Swear not! (Distant voice off the stage.) Swear not!

''Eth. (after a pause.)'' How art thou?

Ethw. Is it thy voice? O, let me feel thy grasp! Mine ears ring strangely, and my head, methinks, Feels as I were bereaved of my wits. Are they all gone? Where is thy hand, I pray? We've had a fearful bout!

Eth. Thy touch is cold as death: let us ascend And breathe the upper air.* (Exeunt.