_Lord Av_. Howe the slave
Insults in his damnation! cease the wretch,
I can indure no lonnger.
_Fr. Jhon_. Such as ban
Proffred delights may, if they please, refuse;
What's borne with mee I will make bold to use.
_Lord Av_. And I what thou weart borne too, that's a halter.
Pull without feare or mercy, strangle him
With all his sinnes about him; t'were not else
A revendge worthe my fury.
[_Fry: strangled_.
_Dennis_. I dare nowe
Lodge him a whole night by my syster's syde,
Hee's nowe past strompetting.
_Lord Av_. Tis night with him,
A longe and lastinge night.
_Denis_. Hee lyes as quiet.
You did well, Fryare, to putt on your cleane linnen;
Twill serve you as a shrowde for a new grave.
Whither shall wee lyft his body?
_Lord Av_. I am on the suddeine
Growne full of thoughts; the horror of the fact
Breedes strange seditions in mee.
_Denis_. Hee perhapps
But counterfetts dead sleep. I'l hollowe to him
To see if I can wake him.
_Lord Av_. Trifle not;
The sinne will proove more serious. To a conscience
Startled with blood and murder, what a terror
Is in the deede, being doone, which bredd before
Boathe a delight and longing! This sadd spectacle
Howe itt affrights mee!
_Denis_.
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