FRANCESCA. Here, rest thy head Upon my bosom. Fie upon my blood! It stains thy ringlets. Ha! he dies! Kind saints, I was first struck, why cannot I die first? Paolo, wake!--God's mercy! wilt thou go Alone--without me? Prithee, strike again! Nay, I am better--love--now--O! [_Dies._

LANCIOTTO. [_Sinks upon his knees._] Great heaven!

Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini — Part 75

MALATESTA. [_Without._] This way, I heard the cries.

Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini — Part 75

MALATESTA. O! bloody spectacle! Where is thy brother?

Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini — Part 75

LANCIOTTO. So Cain was asked. Come here, old men! You shrink From two dead bodies and a pool of blood-- You soldiers, too! Come here! [_Drags_ MALATESTA _and_ GUIDO _forward._

LANCIOTTO. You groan! What must I do, then? Father, here it is,-- The blood of Guido mingled with our own, As my old nurse predicted. And the spot Of her infernal baptism burns my brain Till reason shudders! Down, upon your knees! Ay, shake them harder, and perchance they'll wake. Keep still! Kneel, kneel! You fear them? I shall prowl About these bodies till the day of doom.

LANCIOTTO. Can howling make this sight more terrible? Peace! You disturb the angels up in heaven, While they are hiding from this ugly earth. Be satisfied with what you see. You two Began this tragedy, I finished it. Here, by these bodies, let us reckon up Our crimes together. Why, how still they lie! A moment since, they walked, and talked, and kissed! Defied me to my face, dishonoured me! They had the power to do it then; but now, Poor souls, who'll shield them in eternity? Father, the honour of our house is safe: I have the secret. I will to the wars, And do more murders, to eclipse this one. Back to the battles; there I breathe in peace; And I will take a soldier's honour back.-- Honour! what's that to me now? Ha! ha! ha! [_Laughing._] A great thing, father! I am very ill. I killed thy son for honour: thou mayst chide. O God! I cannot cheat myself with words! I loved him more than honour--more than life-- This man, Paolo--this stark, bleeding corpse! Here let me rest, till God awake us all! [_Falls on PAOLO'S body._

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Francesca da Rimini, by George Henry Boker