Caratach—­What ail’st thou?

Hengo—­Oh, my best uncle, I am slain!

Caratach [to Judas]—­I see you,
And Heaven direct my hand! destruction
Go with thy coward soul!

[Kills Judas with a stone, and then draws up Hengo.  Exit Macer.]

                            How dost thou, boy?—­
     O villain, pocky villain!

Hengo—­Oh, uncle, uncle,
Oh, how it pricks me!—­am I preserved for this?—­
Extremely pricks me!

Caratach—­Coward, rascal coward! 
Dogs eat thy flesh!

Hengo—­Oh, I bleed hard!  I faint too; out upon’t,
How sick I am!—­The lean rogue, uncle!

     Caratach—­Look, boy;
     I have laid him sure enough.

     Hengo—­Have you knocked his brains out?

     Caratach—­I warrant thee, for stirring more:  cheer up, child.

     Hengo—­Hold my sides hard; stop, stop; oh, wretched fortune,
     Must we part thus?  Still I grow sicker, uncle.

     Caratach—­Heaven look upon this noble child!

Hengo—­I once hoped I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans At my sword’s point, to have revenged my father, To have beaten ’em,—­oh, hold me hard!—­but, uncle—­

     Caratach—­Thou shalt live still, I hope, boy.  Shall I draw it?

Hengo—­You draw away my soul, then.  I would live A little longer—­spare me, Heavens!—­but only To thank you for your tender love:  good uncle, Good noble uncle, weep not.

     Caratach—­O my chicken,
     My dear boy, what shall I lose?

     Hengo—­Why, a child,
     That must have died however; had this ’scaped me,
     Fever or famine—­I was born to die, sir.

     Caratach—­But thus unblown, my boy?

     Hengo—­I go the straighter
     My journey to the gods.  Sure, I shall know you
     When you come, uncle.

     Caratach—­Yes, boy.

     Hengo—­And I hope
     We shall enjoy together that great blessedness
     You told me of.

     Caratach—­Most certain, child.

     Hengo—­I grow cold;
     Mine eyes are going.

     Caratach—­Lift ’em up.

     Hengo—­Pray for me;
     And, noble uncle, when my bones are ashes,
     Think of your little nephew!—­Mercy!

     Caratach—­Mercy! 
     You blessed angels, take him!

     Hengo—­Kiss me:  so. 
     Farewell, farewell! [Dies.]

Caratach—­Farewell, the hopes of Britain!  Thou royal graft, farewell for ever!—­Time and Death, Ye have done your worst.  Fortune, now see, now proudly Pluck off thy veil and view thy triumph; look, Look what thou hast brought this land to!—­O fair flower, How lovely yet thy ruins show, how sweetly Even death embraces thee! the peace of Heaven, The fellowship of all great souls, be with thee!

     FROM ‘THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN’