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I see his signet glow, a blood-red brand,
The brand that Cain bore, and his followers bear!
Madam Pomeroy.(Mutters to herself):
Nay, nay, not that, I am no murderer,
First, 'tis not poison, but an opiate.
Poured I too much? It was my hand that shook,
He has not drunk the posset, if he drink,
'Tis Heaven, not I that wills itI shall be
Only the instrument of an outraged Heaven.
(Follows Candace out right.)
Sylvester.(Coming to himself):
There, I am betterwella dizzy fit
From too much bending over the furnace fire,
From too deep breathing the alembick's fumes.
There, so, 'tis welldo thou thy worst, Old Age!
Perchance this night may find thy empire cease,
Fire in the brain, fire in the heart, fire in the eye,
