RAY. Come hither, Frenchman, make a dying man Bound to thy love; go to Philippa, Sickly as she is, bring her unto me; Or my flying soul will not depart in peace else: Prythee, make haste: yet stay, I have not breath To pay thy labour. Shrink ye, you twin-born Atlases, that bear This my near-ruin'd world; have you not strength To bear a curse, whose breath may taint the air, That this globe may feel an universal plague? No; yet bear up, till with a vengeful eye I outstare day, and from the dogged sky Pluck my impartial star. O, my blood Is frozen in my veins--farewell, revenge--me-- [_Dies._ ALER. They need no law. FUL. Nor hangman. PAN. They condemn and execute without a jury. _Enter_ PHILIPPA _mad_. PHIL. I come, I come; nay, fly not, for by hell I'll pluck thee by the beard, and drag thee thus Out of thy fiery cave. Ha! on yonder hill Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul: But I'll deceive 'em, and, instead of mine, Send this same spotted tiger's. [_Stabs_ AURISTELLA. AUR. O! PHIL. So, whilst they to hell Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to heaven: Wolf, dost thou grin? ha! is my Raymond dead? So ho, so ho! come back You sooty fiends, that have my Raymond's soul, Or[46] lay it down, or I will force you do't: No, won't you stir? by Styx, I'll bait you for't: Where is my crown? Philippa was a queen, Was she not, ha? Why so, where is my crown? O, you have hid it--ha, was't thou [_Overthrows the table._ That robb'd Philippa of her Raymond's life? Nay, I will nip your wings, you shall not fly; I'll pluck you by the guarded front, and thus Sink you to hell before me. [_Stabs the_ BRAVO. BRAVO. O, O! PHIL. What, down, ho, ho, ho! Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames; Ha, whence this chilness--must I die? Nay, then I come, I come; nay, weep not, for I come: Sleep, injur'd shadow; O, death strikes [me] dumb! [_Dies._ AUR. Machi'vel, thy hand, I can't repent, farewell: My burthened conscience sinks me down to hell. [_Dies._ MACH. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet, Where we shall never part: if here be any My life has injur'd, let your charity Forgive declining Machi'vel: I'm sorry. ANT. His penitence works strongly on my temper. Off, disguise; see, falling count, Antonio forgives thee. MACH. Antonio? O my shame! Can you, whom I have injur'd most, pardon my guilt? Give me thy hand yet nearer: this embrace Betrays thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha! [_Stabs him._ So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills, Wash'd in a flood of tears; couldst ever think Machi'vel's repentance could come from his heart? No, down, Colossus, author of my sin, And bear the burthen mingled with thine own, To finish thy damnation. _Enter the_ KING, AURELIA, EVADNE, OLD TAILOR. KING. Accursed villain! thou hast murther'd him, That holds not one small drop of royal blood, But what is worth thy life. EVAD. O my brother! GIO. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.