 | The Virgin Martir |  |
Actus 4.
Scena 1.
A bed thrust out, Antoninus vpon it sicke, with Physitions about him, Sapritius and Macrinus.Sap.
O you that are false gods, lengthen that life
Their diaries lend vs, turne ore all the volumes
Of your mysterious Æsculapian science
T'encrease the number of this yong mans dayes,
And for each minute of his time prolong'd,
Your fee shall be a peece of Romane gold
With Cæsars stampe, such as he sends his Captaines
When in the warres they earne well: do but saue him,
And as he is halfe my-selfe, be you all mine.
Doct.
What art can do, we promise: phisickes hand
As apt is to destroy, as to preserue,
If heauen make not the medicine; all this while
Our skill hath combat held with his disease,
But tis so armd, and a deepe melancholy
To be such in part with death, we arein feare
Mac.
I haue beene
His keeper in this sicknesse, with such eyes
As I haue seene my mother watch ore me,
And from that obseruation sure I finde,
It is a Midwife must deliuer him.
Sap.
Is he with child, a Midwife!
Mac.
Yes, With child,
And will I feare lose life if by a woman
He is not brought to bed: stand by his Pillow
Some little while, and in his broken slumbers
Him shall you heare cry out on Dorothea,
And when his armes flye open to catch her,
Closing together, he falls fast asleepe,
Pleas'd with embracings of her airy forme;
Physicians but torment him, his disease
Laughs at their gibrish language, let him heare
The voyce of Dorothea, nay but the name,
He starts vp with high colour in his face,
Shee or none cures him, and how that can be,
(The Princesse strick't command, barring that happines)
To me impossible seemes.
Sap.
To me it shall not.
Ile be no subiect to the greatest Cæsar
Was euer crown'd with Lawrell, rather then cease
To be a father.
exit.
Mac.
Silence sit, he wakes.
Ant.
Thou kilst me Dorothea, oh Dorothea.
Mac.
Shees heere; I enioy her.
Ant.
Where, Why doe you mocke me,
Age on my head hath stuck no white haires yet,
Yet I'me an old man, a fond doting foole
Vpon a woman, I to buy her beauty,
(Truth I am bewitched) offer my life,
And she for my acquaintance hazards here,
Yet for our equall suffrings, none holds out
A hand of pitty.
Doct.
Let him haue some Musicke.
Hell on your fidling.
Doct.
Take againe your bed Sir,
Sleepe is a soueraigne Physicke.
Ant.
Take an Asses head Sir,
Confusion on your fooleries, your charmes,
Thou stinking Glister-pipe, where's the god of rest,
Thy Pills, and base Apothecary drugges
Threatned to bring vnto me, out you Impostors,
Quack saluing, cheating Mountbankes, your skill
Is to make sound men sicke, and sicke men kill.
Mac.
O be your selfe deare friend.
An.
My selfe Macrinus,
How can I be my selfe, when I am mangled
Into a thousand peeces, heere moues my head,
But wheres my heart? where euer, that lies dead.
Enter Sapritius dragging in Dorothea by the Haire, Angelo attending.
Sap.
Follow me thou damn'd Sorceres, call vp thy spirits,
And if they can, now let 'em from my hand
Vntwine these witching haires.
Ant.
I am that spirit,
Or if I be not (were you not my father)
One made of Iron should hew that hand in peeces
That so defaces this sweete Monument
Of my loues beauty?
Sap.
Art thou sicke?
Ant.
To death.
Sap.
Wouldst thou recouer?
Ant.
Would I liue in blisse?
Sap.
And doe thine eyes shoote daggers at that man
That brings thee health?
Ant.
It is not in the world?
Sap.
Ist heere?
Ant.
Oh Treasure, by enchantment lock'd
In Caues as deepe as hell, am I as neere.
Sap.
Breake that enchanted Caue, enter, and rifle
To a base office, and become thy Pandar
In bringing thee this proud Thing, make her thy Whore,
Thy health lies heere if she deny to giue it,
Force it, imagine thou assaultst a towne,
Weake wall, too't, tis thine owne, beat but this downe,
Come, and vnseene, be witnesse to this battry,
How the coy strumpet yeelds.
Doct.
Shall the boy stay sir.
Sap.
No matter for the boy,
Pages are vs'd to these odde bawdy
Snufflings, and indeede are those
Little yong snakes in a Furies head
Will sting worse then the great ones,
Let the Pimpe stay.
exeunt aside.
Dor.
Oh guard me Angels,
What Tragedy must begin now?
Ant.
When a Tyger
Leapes into a tymerous heard, with rauenous Iawes
Being hunger-staru'd, what Tragedy then begins?
Dor.
Death I am happy so, you hitherto
Haue still had goodnes spard within your eyes,
Let not that Orbe be broken.
Ang.
Feare not Mistresse,
If he dare offer violence, we two
Are strong enough for such a sickly man.
Dor.
What is your horrid purpose sir, your eye
Beares danger in it?
Ant.
I must.
Dor.
What.
Sap.
Speake it out.
Ant.
Climbe that sweete Virgin tree.
Sap.
Plague a your trees.
Ant.
And pluck that fruit which none I think euer taste
Sap.
A souldier, and stand fumbling so.
Dor.
O Kill me,
Kneeles.
And heauen will take it as a sacrifice,
But if you play the Rauisher, there is
Sap.
Let her swallow thee.
Ant.
Rise for the Romane Empire (Dorothea)
I would not wound thine honour, pleasure forc'd
Are vnripe Apples, sowre, not worth the plucking,
Yet let me tell you, tis my fathers will,
That I should seize vpon you as my prey.
Which I abhorre as much as the blackest sinne
The villany of man did euer act.
Sapritius breakes in and Macrinus.
Ang.
Dye happy for this language.
Sap.
Dye a slaue,
A blockish Ideot.
Mac.
Deare sir, vexe him not.
Sap.
Yes, and vexe thee too, both I thinke are geldings,
Cold, Phlegmatike Bastard, th'art no brat of mine,
One sparke of me, when I had heate like thine
By this had made a Bonefire: a tempting whore
(For whom th'art mad) thrust euen into thine armes,
And standst thou puling? had a Taylor seene her
Her at this aduantage, he with his crosse-capers
Had rufled her by this, but thou shalt curse
Thy dalliance, and heere before her eyes
Teare thy flesh in peeces, when a slaue
In hot lust bathes himselfe, and gluts those pleasures
Thy nicenesse durst not touch, call out a slaue,
You Captaine of our guard, fetch a slaue hither.
exit.
Ant.
What will you do deere Sir.
Sap.
Teach her a trade, which many would learne
In lesse then halfe an houre, to play the Whore.
Enter a Slaue.
Mac.
A Slaue is to me, what now.
Sap.
Thou hast bones and flesh
Enough to ply thy labour, from what country
Wert thou tane Prisoner, heere to be our slaue.
Slaue.
From Brittaine.
Sap.
In the west Ocean.
Yes.
Sap.
An Iland.
Sla.
Yes.
Sap.
I am fitted, of all Nations
Our Romane swords euer conquer'd, none comes neere
The Brittaine for true whooring: sirrah fellow,
What wouldst thou doe to gaine thy liberty?
Sla.
Doe! liberty! fight naked with a Lyon,
Venture to plucke a Standard from the heart
Of an arm'd Legion: liberty! I de thus
Bestride a Rampire, and defiance spit
I'th face of death; then, when the battring Ram
Were fetching his careere backward to pash
Me with his horues in peeces: to shake my chaines off,
And that I could not doo't but by thy death,
Stoodst thou on this dry shore, I on a rock
Ten Piramids high, downe would I leape to kill thee,
Or dye my selfe: what is for man to doe
Ile venture on, to be no more a slaue.
Sap.
Thou shalt then be no slaue, for I wil set thee
Vpon a peece of worke is fit for man,
Braue for a Brittaine, drag that Thing aside
And rauish her.
Sla.
And rauish her! is this your manly seruice,
A Diuell scornes to doo't, tis for a beast,
A villaine, not a man, I am as yet
But halfe a slaue, but when that worke is past,
A damned whole one, a blacke vgly slaue,
The slaue of all base slaues, doo't thy selfe Roman,
Tis drudgery fit for thee.
Sap.
Hees bewitch'd too,
Binde him, and with a Bastinado giue him
Vpon his naked belly 200. blowes.
Sla.
Thou art more slaue then I.
exit carried in.
Dor.
That power supernall on whom waites my soule,
Is Captaine ore my chastity.
Ant.
Good sir giue ore,
The more you wrong her, your selfes vex'd the more,
Sap.
Plagues light on her and thee: thus downe I throw
Call in ten slaues, let euery one discouer
What lust desires, and surfet heere his fill,
Call in ten slaues.
Ang.
They are come sir at your call.
Sap.
O oh.
Falls downe.
Enter Theophilus.
The.
Where is the Gouernour?
Ant.
There's my wretched father.
The.
My Lord, Sapritius, hee's not dead, my Lord,
That Witch there.
Ant.
Tis no Romane gods can strike
These fearefull terrors, O thou happy maid,
Forgiue this wicked purpose of my father.
Dor.
I doe.
The.
Gone, gone, he's peppered: tis thou
Hast done this act infernall.
Dor.
Heauen pardon you,
And if my wrongs from thence pull vengeance downe
(I can no myracles worke) yet from my soule
Pray to those powers I serue, he may recouer.
The.
He stirres, helpe, raise him vp, my Lord.
Sap.
Where am I?
The.
One cheeke is blasted.
Sap.
Blasted! Wheres the Lamia
That teares my entrailes? I'me be witch'd, seize on her?
Dor.
I'me heere, do what you please.
The.
Spurne her too'th barre.
Dor.
Come boy, being there, more neere to heauen we are
Sap.
Kicke harder, goe out witch.
exeunt.
Ant.
O bloudy hangmen, thine own gods giue thee breth,
Each of thy tortors is my seuerall death.
exit.
Enter Harpax Hircius, and Spungius.
Har.
Doe you like my seruice now, say am not I
A Master worth attendance.
Spun.
Attendance, I had rather licke cleane the soles of
Lord, whose rotten life hangs betweene the 2 Poles.
Hir.
A Lords sute! I wud not giue vp the cloake of your
seruice to meet the splay-foot estate of any leftey'd knight
aboue the Antipodes, because they are vnlukcy to meete.
Har.
This day ile try your loues to me, tis onely.
But well to vse the agility of your armes,
Spun.
Or legs, I am lusty at them.
Hir.
Or any other member that has no legges.
Spun.
Thou't runne into some hole.
Hir.
If I meet one that's more thē my match, & that I cannot
stand in their hands, I must & will creep on my knees.
Har.
Heere me my little teeme of villaines, heare me,
I cannot teach you Fencing with these Cudgels,
Yet you must vse them, lay them on but soundly,
Thats all.
Hir.
Nay if we come to malling once, puh,
Spun.
But what Wall-nut tree is it we must beate.
Har.
Your Mistresse.
Hir.
How! my Mistresse! I begin to haue a Christians
heart, made of sweet butter, I melt, I cannot strike a womā.
Hir.
Nor I, vnlesse she scratch, bum my mistresse!
Har.
Y'are Coxecombes, silly Animals,
Hir.
Whats that?
Har.
Drones, Asses, blinded Moles, that dare not thrust
Your armes out to catch Fortune, say you fall off,
It must be done you are conuerted Rascalls,
And that once spred abroad, why euery slaue
Will kicke you, call you motley Christians,
And halfe fac'd Christians.
Spun.
The guts of my conscience beginne to be of whit-leather,
Hir.
I doubt me I shall haue no sweet buttet in me.
Har.
Deny this, and each Pagan whom you meete
Shall forked fingers thrust into your eyes.
Hir.
If we be Cuckolds.
Har.
Doe this, and euery god the Gentiles bow to,
Shall adde a fadome to your line of yeeres.
Spun.
A hundred fadome, I desire no more.
I desire but one inch longer,
Har.
The Senators will as you passe along
Clap you vpon your shoulders with this hand,
And with this hand giue you gold, when you are dead,
Happy that man shall be can get a nayle,
The paring—,nay the durt vnder the nayle
Of any of you both, to say this durt
Belong'd to Spungius or Hercius.
Spun.
They shall not want durt vnder my nayles, ile
keepe 'em long of purpose, for now my fingers itch to bee
at her.
Hir.
The first thing I doe Ile take her ore the lips.
Spun.
And I the hips, we may strike any where.
Har.
Yes, any where.
Hir.
Then I know where ile hit her.
Har.
Prosper and be mine owne; stand by, I must not
To see this done, great businesse calls me hence,
Hee's made can make her curse his violence.
exit.
Spun.
Feare it not sir, her ribs shall be busted.
Hir.
Ile come vpon her with rounce, robble-hobble,
and thwicke thwacke thirlery bouncing.
Enter Dorothea lead Prisoner, a Guard attending, a Hangman with Cords in some vgly shape, sets vp a Pillar in the middle of the stage, Sapritius and Theoplatus sit, Angelo by her.
Sap.
According to our Romane customes, binde
That Christian to a Pillar.
Theo.
Infernall Furies,
Could they into my hand thrust all their whips
To teare thy flesh thy soule, tis not a torture
Fit to the Vengeance, I should heape on thee,
For wrongs done me: me! for flagitious facts
By thee done to our gods, yet (so it stand
To great Cesaraes Gouernors high pleasure)
Bow but thy Knee to Iupiter and offer
Any slight sacrifice, or doe but sweare
Sap.
Thou shalt.
Dor.
Not for all Cæsars fortune, were it chaind
To more worlds, then are kingdomes in the world,
And all those worlds drawne after him: I defie
Your hangmen; you now shew me whither to flie.
Sap.
Are her tormentors ready?
Ang.
Shrinke not deere mistresse.
Both.
My Lord, we are ready for the businesse.
Dor.
You two! whom I like fosterd children fed,
And lengthen'd out your starued life with bread:
You be my hangman! whom when vp the ladder
Death hold you to be strangled, I fetcht downe
Clothd you, and warmd you, you two my tormentors.
Both.
Yes, we.
Dor.
Diuine powers pardon you.
Sap.
Strike.
strikes at her: Angelo kneeling holds her fast.
Theo.
Beate out her braines.
Dor.
Receiue me you bright Angels.
Sap.
Faster slaues.
Spun.
Faster: I am out of breath I'am sure: if I were to
beate a bucke, I can strike no harder.
Hir.
O mine armes, I cannot lift 'em to my head.
Dor.
Ioy aboue ioys, are my tormentors wearie
In torturing me, and in my suffrings
I fainting in no limbe: tyrants strike home
And feast your fury full.
Theo.
These dogs are ours.
come from his seats.
Which snarle, yet bite not: see my Lord, her face
Has more bewitching beauty then before,
Prowd whore: it smiles, cannot an eye start out
With these.
Hir.
No sir, nor the brigde of her nose fall, tis full of Iron
worke.
Sap.
Lets view the cudgels, are they not counterfeit.
Ang.
There fixe thine eye still, thy glorious crown must come
Not from soft pleasure, but by martyrdome,
There fixe thine eye still, when we next do meet,
There fixe thine eye still.
exit.
Enter Harpax sneaking.
Dor.
Euer, euer, euer.
Theo.
Wee are mock'd, these bats haue power downe
to fell gyants, yet her skin is not scar'd.
Sap.
What rogues are these.
Theo.
Cannot these force a shreeke.
beats them.
Spun.
Oh! a woman has one of my ribs, and now fiue
more are broken.
Theo.
Cannot this make her roare.
beates tother he roares
Sa.
Who hir'd these slaues? what are they?
Spun.
We serue that noble Gentleman there, he entisde vs
to this dry-beating, oh for one halfe pot.
Har.
My seruants! two base rogues, & sometimes seruants
To her, and for that cause forbeare to hurt her.
Sap.
Vnbinde her, hang vp these.
Theo.
Hang the two hounds on the next tree.
Hir.
Hang vs! master Harpax, what a diuell shall we be
thus vsde.
Har.
What bandogs but you two wud worry a woman!
Your mistesse! I but clapt you, you flew on:
Say I should get your liues, each rascall begger
Would when he met you, cry, out helhounds, traitors
Spit at you, fling dust at you, and no woman
Euer endure your fight: tis your best course
(Now had you secret kniues) to stab your selues,
But since you haue not, goe and be hang'd.
Hir.
I thanke you.
Har.
Tis your best course.
Theo.
Why stay they trifling here?
To gallowes drag 'em by the heeles: away.
Spun.
By the heeles! no sir, wee haue legges to doe vs
that seruice.
Hir.
I, I, if no woman can endure my sight, away with
me.
exeunt.
Har.
Dispatch 'em.
Spun.
The diuell dispatch thee.
exit.
Death this day ride in triumph, Theophilus.
See this witch made a way to.
Theo.
My soule thirst for it,
Come, I my selfe, thy hangmans part could play.
Dor.
Oh hasten me to my coronation day.
exeunt.
Enter Antoninus, Macrinus, seruants.
Anton.
Is this the place where vertue is to suffer,
And heauenly beauty leauing this base earth,
To make a glad returne from whence it came,
Is it Macrinus?
a scaffold thrust forth
Mac.
By this preparation
You well may rest assurd that Dorothea
This houre is to die here.
Anton.
Then with her dies
The abstract of all sweetnesse that's in woman.
Set me downe friend, that ere the iron hand
Of death close vp mine eyes, they may at once
Take my last leaue both of this light, and her:
For she being gone, the glorious Sun himselfe
To me's Cymerian darkenesse.
Macr.
Strange affection!
Cupid once more hath chang'd his shafts with death,
And kills in stead of giuing life.
Anton.
Nay weepe not,
Though teares of friendship be a soueraigne balme,
On me they are cast away: it is decreed
That I must die with her, our clew of life
Was spun together.
Macr.
Yet sir tis my wonder
That you who hearing onely what she suffers,
Pertake of all her tortures, yet will be
To adde to your calamitie, an eye witnesse
Of her last Tragicke scene, which must pierce deeper
And make the wound more desperate.
Anton.
O Macrinus,
Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,
What instrument more glorious can I wish for,
Then what is made sharpe by my constant loue
And true affection. It may be the duty
And loyall seruice with which I pursude her,
And seald it with my death, will be remembred
Among her blessed actions, and what honor
Can I desire beyond it?
Enter a guard bringing in Dorothea, a headsman before her, followed by Theophilus, Sapritius, Harpax.
See she comes,
How sweet her innocence appeares, more like
To heauen it selfe then any sacrifice
That can be offerd to it. By my hopes
Of ioyes hereafter, the sight makes me doubtfull
In my beleefe, nor can I thinke our gods
Are good, or to be seru'd, that take delight
In offrings of this kinde, that to maintaine
Their power, deface the masterpeece of nature,
Which they themselues come short of she ascends,
An euery step raises her neerer heauen.
What god so erethought that must enioy her,
Receiue in her a boundlesse happinesse
Sap.
You are too blame
To let him come abrode.
Macr.
It was his will,
And we were left to serue him, not command him,
Anton.
Good sir be not offended, nor deny
My last of pleasures in this happy obiect
That I shall ere be blest with.
Theo.
Now prowd contenmer
Of vs and of our gods, tremble to thinke
It is not in the power thou seru'st, to saue thee.
Not all the riches of the sea increasd
By violent shipwrackes, nor the vnsearched mines
Mammons vnknowne exchequer shall redeeme thee.
What tis to die, and to die yong, to part with
All pleasures, and delights: lastly, to goe
Where all Antipathies to comfort dwell
Furies behind, about thee, and before thee,
And to adde to affliction the remembrance
Of the Elizian ioyes thou might'st haue tasted,
Hadst thou not turnd Apostata to those gods
That so reward their seruants, let despayre
Preuent the hangmans sword, and on this scaffold
Make thy first entrance into hell.
Anton.
She smiles,
Vnmou'd by Mars, as if she were assur'd
Death looking on her constancy would forget
The vse of his in euitable hand.
Theo.
Derided to? dispatch I say.
Dor.
Thou foole
That gloriest in hauing power to rauish
A trifle from me I am weary of:
What is this life? to me not worth a thought
Or if to bee esteemd, 'tis that I loose it
To win a better, eu'n thy malice serues
To me but as a ladder to mount vp
To such a height of happinesse where I shall
Looke downe with scorne on thee, and on the world,
Where circl'd with true pleasures, plac'd aboue
The reach of death or time, twill be my glory
To thinke at what an easie price I bought it.
There's a perpetuall spring, perpetuall youth,
No ioynt benumming cold, nor scorching heate,
Famine nor age haue any being there:
Forget for shame your Tempe, burie in
Obliuion, your fainde your Hesperian Orchards
The Golden fruite kept by the watchfull Dragon
Which did require Hercules to get it
Compar'd with what growes in all plenty there,
Deserues not to be nam'd. The power I serue
Laughs at your happy Arabic, or the
Better indeed then you can fancy yours.
Anton.
O take me thither with you.
Doro.
Trace my steps
And be assurd you shall.
Sap.
With mine owne hands
Ile rather stop that little breath is left thee,
And rob thy killing feauer.
Theo.
By no means,
Let him go with her, do seduc'd yong man,
And waite vpon thy saint in death, do, do,
And when you come to that imagind place,
That place of all delights, pray you obserue me,
And meete those cursed things I once call'd daughters,
Whom I haue sent as harbingers before you,
If there be any truth in your religion,
In thankfulnesse to me that with care hasten
Your iourney thither, pray send me some
Small pittance of that curious fruit you bost of.
Ant.
Grant that I may goe with her, and I will.
Sap.
Wilt thou in thy last minute dam thy selfe?
Theo.
The gates to hell are open.
Dor.
Know thou tyrant
Thou agent for the diuell thy great master
Though thou art most vnworthy to tast of it,
I can and will.
Enter Angelo in the Angels habit.
Har.
Oh! mountaines fall vpon me,
Or hide me in the bottome of the deepe,
Where light may neuer find me.
Theo.
Whats the matter?
Sap.
This is prodigious, and confirms her witchcraft.
Theo.
Harpax my Harpax speake.
Har.
I dare not stay,
Should I but heare her once more I were lost,
Some whirlewinde snatch me from this cursed place,
To which compar'd (and with what now I suffer)
Hels totments are sweet slumbers.
exit Harpax
Follow him.
Theo.
He is distracted, and I must not loose him,
Thy charms vpon my seruant cursed witch,
Giues thee a short reprieue, let her not die
Till my returne.
exeunt Sap. and Theo
Anton.
She minds him not, what obiect
Is her eye fixd on?
Macr.
I see nothing.
Anton.
Marke her.
Doro.
Thou glorious minister of the power I serue,
For thou art more then mortall, ist for me
Poore sinner, thou art pleasd awhile to leaue
Thy heauenly habitation? and vouchsafest
Though glorified, to take my seruants habit,
For put off thy diuinitie, so lookd
My louely Angelo.
Ange.
Know I am the same,
And still the seruant to your pietie,
Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first wonne me
(But 'twas by his command to whom you sent 'em)
To guide your steps. I tride your charitie,
When in a beggers shape you tooke me vp
And clothd my naked limbes, and after fed
(As you beleeu'd) my famishd mouth. Learne all
By your example to looke on the poore
With gentle eyes, for in such habits often
Angels desire an Almes. I neuer left you,
Nor will I now, for I am sent to carry
Your pure and innocent soule to ioyes eternall,
Your martyrdome once sufferd, and before it
Aske any thing from me, and rest assur'd
You shall obtaine it.
Doro.
I am largely payd
For all my torments, since I find such grace
Grant that the loue of this yong man to me,
In which he languisheth to death, may be
Chang'd to the loue of heauen,
Ange.
I will performe it.
Your happy soule his shall haue libertie.
Is there ought else?
Doro.
For proofe that I forgiue
My persecutor, who in scornd desir'd
To tast of that most sacred I go to
After my death as sent from me, be pleasd
To giue him of it.
Ange.
Willingly deere Mistresse.
Mac.
I am amaz'd
Anton.
I feele a holy sire
That yeelds a comfortable heate within me.
I am quite alterd from the thing I was.
See I can stand, and goe alone, thus kneele
To heauenly Dorothea, touch her hand
With a religious kisse.
Enter Sapritius and Theophilus.
Sapr.
He is well now,
But will not be drawne backe,
Theoph.
It matters not;
We can discharge this worke without his helpe:
But see your sonne
Sapr.
Villaine
Anton.
Sir I beseech you,
Being so neere your ends diuorce vs not.
Theo.
Ile quickly make a separation of 'em.
Hast thou ought else to say?
Dorothea.
Nothing but blame
Thy tardinesse in sending me to rest,
My peace is made with heauen, to which my soule
Begins to take her flight, strike, O strike quickly,
And though you are vnmou'd to see my death
Hereafter when my story shall be read,
As they were present now, the hearers shall
Say this of Dorothea with wet eyes
She liu'd a virgin, and a virgin dies.
her head strucke off
Anton.
O take my soule along to waite on mine.
Macr.
Your sonne sinks to.
Antoninus sinkes
Sap.
Already dead.
The.
Die all.
That are or fauour this accursed Sect,
A hill of their dead Karkasses, to ore looke
The Pyrenean Hils, but ile roote out
These superstitious fooles, and leaue the World
No name of Christian.
Loud Musicke, exit Angelo hauing first laid his hand vp on their mouthes.
Sap.
Ha, heauenly Musicke.
Mac.
Tis in the ayre.
The.
Illusions of the Diuell
Wrought by some one of her Religion,
That faine would make her death a miracle,
It frights not me: because he is your sonne
Let him haue buriall, but let her body
Be cast forth with contempt in some high way,
And be to Vultures and to Dogs a prey.
exeunt.
The end of the fourth Act.
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