_Rod._ Dispatch him presently. _Ped._ I wait your worst, Sir. _Jaq._ Will the boy do it? is the rogue so confident? So young, so deep in blood? _Lop._ He shakes, and trembles. _Ped._ Dost thou seek more coals still to sear thy conscience, Work sacred innocence, to be a Devil? Do't thy self for shame, thou best becom'st it. _Rod._ Sirrah, I scorn my finger should be 'fil'd with thee; And yet I'le have it done: this child shall strangle thee, A crying Girle, if she were here, should master thee. _Alin._ How should I save him? how my self from violence? _Ped._ Leave your tongue-valour, and dispatch your hate, Sir; The patience of my death, shall more torment thee, (Thou painted honour, thou base man made backward) Than all my life has fear'd thee. _Rod._ Gag him, Sirrah. _Jaq._ The Boy looks cheerfully now: sure he will do it. _Lop._ He will mall him else. _Alin._ Are ye prepar'd to die, Sir? _Ped._ Yes boy, and ready; prethee to thy business. _Alin._ Why are ye then so angry? so perplext, Sir? Patience wins Heaven, and not the heat of passion. Why do you rayle? _Lop._ The boy's a pretty Priest. _Ped._ I thank ye gentle child, you teach me truely. _Alin._ You seem to fear too. _Ped._ Thou seest more, than I feel, boy. _Alin._ You tremble sure. _Ped._ No sure boy, 'tis thy tenderness: Prethee make haste, and let that gulph be satisfied. _Alin._ Are ye so willing to go to it? _Ped._ Most willing: I would not borrow from his courtesie One hour of life, to gain an age of glory. _Alin._ And is your reckoning straight Sir? _Ped._ As straight as truth, boy: I cannot go more joyfully to a wedding. _Alin._ Then to your prayers: I'le dispatch ye presently. Now guide my tongue, thou blessedness. _Rod._ A good boy. _Alin._ But hark ye Sir, one word; and pray ye resolve me. Let me speak privately. _Rod._ What wouldst thou have child? _Alin._ Shall this man die? _Rod._ Why dost thou make that question? _Alin._ Pray ye be not angry: if he must, I'le do it. But must he now? _Rod._ What else? who dare reprieve him? _Alin._ Pray ye think again; and as your injuries Are great, and full, you suffer from this fellow, Do not ye purpose so to suit your vengeance? _Rod._ I do, and must. _Alin._ You cannot if he die now. _Rod._ Cannot? _Alin._ No, cannot: be not vext, you'l find it: I have considered, and I know it certain, Ye suffer below him: lose all your angers. _Rod._ Why, my best boy? _Alin._ I love, and tender ye, I would not tell ye else. Is that revenge, To slight your cause, and Saint your enemy, Clap the Doves wings of downy peace unto him, And let him soar to Heaven, whilst you are sighing? Is this revenge? _Rod._ I would have him die.