SHA. Then she was unwise to hold her tongue, being a woman. CHIP. What is her crime, that she must lose her head? SHA. Because she lived honest, contrary to the statute. CHIP. There is a great number of my neighbours will never suffer for that fault. SHA. No, nor thou neither, if the truth were known; for my part I shun that danger. CHIP. I think we are all out of danger of the law for that crime. SHA. I know I am free, for I am a knave, if I have not forgot what wench had my maidenhead. _Enter_ FLORIO. FLO. Make room there: his majesty is coming to the execution. CHIP. Come, now all things are ready, let's away. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ EPIRE _and_ ALPHONSO. EPIRE. Mercy is banish'd courts; the king, like flint, Hardens his royal temper 'gainst our 'plaints, And makes our woes most unavoidable. What inauspicious star reign'd at her birth, That heaven thus frowns upon her misery? And, my good lord, now innocence must die, As white as untrod snow or culver down.[182] Kings' words are laws, and cannot be withstood; Yet 'tis false greatness, which delights in blood. ALPH. Patience, my lord; I do not think this ill Is yet so big, as [to be] unrecoverable. The king doth hold you in most choice respect, And whom kings love, they study to oblige; Then call your reason home, make not this civil war, To suffer makes woes lesser than they are. EPIRE. How well the sound can salve[183] the sick man's grief! But O, how ill he can digest his pills![184] O my good lord, you shall not lose a sister, That is the joy and comfort of your breath; Tis not your blood shall issue from her wound; But mine that runs in rivers from her tears, And drown my face in her calamity. Well, let her perish, since her soul is clear, And for her death I'll make a massacre. _Enter_ CYPRUS, QUEEN, PHILOCLES, MARIANA _bound, a guard of halberts, and an executioner_. CYP. Your suits are bootless: for my vows have glued And clos'd mine ears, that they retain no sound Of your entreaties; and even now the time Doth run upon his latest minutes, and Save but by speech, there's no recovery. QUEEN. Have mercy, good my lord: O, let my tears intrude Betwixt your vows and her calamity: In her you take from me my best of life, My joy, my comfort, and my playfellow. CYP. Content you, madam, for my vow is past, And is like fate still unrevocable: Ascend, poor model of calamity.