Turnbull

I did but sport with thee, thou baby knight! And thus I dash your maggot soul to atoms. [After a fierce combat, BENHALE is nearly worsted, when, by a dexterous pass, he stabs his opponent, who falls. H! hast thou master’d me? I scorn thee still; Oh! that my voice might rouse my murder’d mastiff T’ avenge my death!—I but regret to perish By such a puny hand. Revenge me, Scots! [Dies.