_Phy_. You shall heare anon; The question first must be discided on In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. Who were most cruell, those that did obay Or he who gaue commandment for the fact? _Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act, Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath. _Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become. _Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! What may the meaning of these speeches be? _Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile, My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought And stammers at the message we haue brought. _Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest! _Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest: Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest. _Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest? _Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye: By you I framde my tragicke history. The Duke my maister is the man I meant, His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate As for no reason may remoue his thought Your death the Duke determines by vs two, To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood. _Eu_. Respect my teares. _Orest_. We must regard our oath. _Eu_. My tender yeares. _Or_. They are but trifles both. _Eu_. Mine innocency. _Or_. That would our promise breake; Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake. _Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue, Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue. _Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day. _Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long Till I haue tane my farewell with a song Of him whom I shall neuer see againe. _Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine. _Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind, Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, I may not start but suffer patiently. _Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, If this may do it. _Eu_. Oh, I would it might, But shadowes want the power to do that right. _Shee sings_. Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, Forge of desires, working loue, Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, Vpon a Mayde in miserie. My sacrifice is louers blood, And from eyes salt teares a flood; All which I spend, all which I spend, For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend: And though this houre I must feele The bitter power of pricking steele, Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell.