Caf. This did I fear, but thought he had no Weapon; For he was great of Heart. Led. Oh Spartan Dog!

More fell than Anguish, Hunger, or the Sea,
Look on the Tragick Loading of this Bed;
This is thy work; the Object poifons fight,
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the Houfe,
And feize upon the Fortunes of the Moor,
For they fucceed to you. To you, Lord Governor,
Remains the Cenfure of this hellish Villain:
The time, the place, the torture, oh inforce it.
My felf will ftraight aboard, and to the State,
This heavy Act, with heavy Heart, relate.

The End of the Fifth Volume.

[Exeunt