Classic Poem

Atheist's Tragedie, The - Act 4, Scene 2

Enter D' AMVILLE , C HARLEMONT , and Borachio D'am .

Your sadnesse and the sicknesse of my Sonne
Haue made our company and conference
Lesse free and pleasing then I purpos'd it. Char .

Sir, for the present I am much unfit
For conuersation or societie.
With pardon I will rudely take my leaue. D'am .

Good night, deere Nephew.
Seest thou that same man? Bora .

Your meaning, Sir? D'am .

That fellowe's life, Borachio,
Like a superfluous Letter in the Law,
Endangers our assurance. Bora .

Scrape him out D'am .

Wilt doe 't? Bora .

Giue me your purpose — I will doe 't. D'am .

Sad melancholy has drawne Charlemont
With meditation on his Father's death
Into the solitarie walke behind the Church. Bora .

The Churchyard? 'Tis the fittest place for death.
Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to die.
We'll send him charitably to his graue. D'am .

No matter how thou tak'st him. First take this. —
Thou knowest the place. Obserue his passages
And with the most aduantage make a stand,
That, fauour'd by the darknesse of the night,
His brest may fall upon thee at so neare
A distance that he sha' not shunne the blow.
The deede once done, thou mai'st retire with safety.
The place is unfrequented, and his death.
Will be imputed to th' attempt of theeues. Bor .

Be carelesse. Let your mind be free and cleare.
This Pistoll shall discharge you of your feare. D'am .

But let me call my projects to accompt
For what effect and end have I engag'd
My selfe in all this bloud? To leaue a state
To the succession of my proper bloud.
But how shall that succession be continued?
Not in my elder Sonne, I feare. Disease
And weaknesse haue disabled him for issue.
For th' other, — his loose humour will endure
No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life,
His spirit is so boldly dangerous.
O pittie that the profitable end
Of such a prosp'rous murder should be lost!
Nature forbid! I hope I haue a body
That will not suffer me to loose my labour
For want of issue yet. But then 't must be
A Bastard. — Tush! they onely father bastards
That father other men's begettings. Daughter!
Be it mine oune. Let it come whence it will
I am resolu'd. Daughter!

Enter Servant. Seru .

My Lord. D'am .

I prithee call my Daughter. Casta .

Your pleasure, Sir. D'am .

Is thy Husband i' bed? Casta .

Yes, my Lord. D'am .

The euening's faire. I prithee walke a turne or two. Casta .

Come, Jaspar. D'am .

No.
Wee'l walke but to the corner o' the Church;
And I haue something to speake priuately. Casta .
No matter; stay. D'am .

This falles out happily.English