Andre monologue (Act 2) — André

Kind heaven be thank'd for that I stand alone In this sad hour of life's brief pilgrimage! Single in misery; no one else involving, In grief, in shame, and ruin. 'T is my comfort. Thou, my thrice honour'd sire, in peace went'st down Unto the tomb, nor knew to blush, nor knew A pang for me! And thou, revered matron, Couldst bless thy child, and yield thy breath in peace! No wife shall weep, no child lament, my loss. Thus may I consolation find in what Was once my woe. I little thought to joy In not possessing, as I erst possest, Thy love, Honora! Andre's death, perhaps, May cause a cloud pass o'er thy lovely face; The pearly tear may steal from either eye; For thou mayest feel a transient pang, nor wrong A husband's rights: more than a transient pang O mayest thou never feel! The morn draws nigh To light me to my shame. Frail nature shrinks.-- And _is_ death then so fearful? I have brav'd Him, fearless, in the field, and steel'd my breast Against his thousand horrors; but his cool, His sure approach, requires a fortitude Which nought but conscious rectitude can give.