_Gis._ I fashion an Oration to acquit you? Sir, know you then, that 'tis a thing less easie To excuse a parricide than to commit it. _Rol._ I do not wish you, Sir, to excuse me, But to accuse my Brother, as the cause Of his own slaughter by attempting mine. _Gis._ Not for the World, I should pour blood on blood; It were another murther to accuse Him that fell innocent. _Rol._ Away with him, hence, hail him straight to execution. _Aub._ Far flye such rigour, your amendful hand. _Rol._ He perishes with him that speaks for him; Guard do your office on him, on your lives pain. _Gis._ Tyrant, 'twill haste thy own death. _Rol._ Let it wing it, He threatens me, Villains tear him piece-meal hence. _Guard._ Avant Sir. _Ham._ Force him hence. _Rol._ Dispatch him, Captain, And bring me instant word he is dispatched, And how his Rhetorick takes it. _Ham._ I'll not fail, Sir. _Rol._ Captain, besides remember this in chief; That being executed, you deny To all his friends the Rites of Funeral, And cast his Carkass out to Dogs and Fowls. _Ham._ 'Tis done, my Lord. _Rol._ Upon your life not fail. _Bal._ What impious daring is there here of Heaven! _Rol._ Sir, now prepare your self, against the people Make here their entry, to discharge the Oration, He hath denied my will. _Bal._ For fear of death? ha, ha, ha. _Rol._ Is death ridiculous with you? Works misery of Age this, or thy judgment? _Bal._ Judgment, false Tyrant. _Rol._ You'll make no Oration then? _Bal._ Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt, Which I will so enforce, I'll make thee wreak it (With hate of what thou win'st by't) on thy self, With such another justly merited murther. _Rol._ I'll answer you anon. _Enter_ Latorch. _Lat._ The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full resolved, By my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons. _Rol._ Honest _Latorch_. _Enter_ Hamond. _Ham._ See, Sir, here's _Gisberts_ head. _Rol._ Good speed; was't with a Sword? _Ham._ An Axe, Sir. _Rol._ An Axe? 'twas vilely done, I would have had My own fine Headsman done it with a Sword; Go, take this Dotard here, and take his head Off with a Sword. _Ham._ Your Schoolmaster? _Rol._ Even he. _Bal._ For teaching thee no better; 'tis the best Of all thy damned justices; away, Captain, I'll follow. _Ed._ Oh stay there, Duke, and in the midst of all thy blood and fury, Hear a poor Maids Petitions, hear a Daughter, The only Daughter of a wretched Father; Oh stay your haste as you shall need this mercy. _Rol._ Away with this fond woman.