_Clar._ Hence, repenting Milk-sop. [_Exit_ Leon. Now 'tis too late. _Lisanders_ sword, I that, That is the Base I'le build on. So, I'le raise The house. Help, murther, a most horrid Murther. Monsieur _Beronte_, noble _Dorilaus_, All buried in sleep? Aye me a murther, A most unheard-of murther. _Enter_ Dorilaus _as from bed._ _Dor._ More lights Knaves; _Beronte_, _Alcidon_; more lights. _Enter_ Beronte, Alcidon, _and Servants with lights._ _Clar._ By this I see too much. _Dor._ My Son _Cleander_ bathing In his own gore. The Devil, to tell truth, i'th' shape of An Host! _Ber._ My Brother? _Malf._ I have been I'th' other world, in Hell I think, these Devils With fire-brands in their paws sent to torment me, Though I never did the deed, for my lewd purpose To be a Whore-master. _Dor._ Who's that? _Alci._ 'Tis one in Armour. A bloudy sword in his hand. _Dor. Sans_ question the murtherer. _Malf._ Who I? you do me wrong, I never had the heart to kill a Chicken; Nor do I know this sword. _Alc._ I do, too well. _Ber._ I have seen _Lisander_ wear it. _Clar._ This confirms What yester-night I whisper'd: let it work, The circumstance may make it good. _Malf._ My Lord? and I his murtherer? _Ber._ Drag the villain hence, The Rack shall force a free confession from him. _Malf._ I am struck dumb; You need not stop my mouth. _Ber._ Away with him. [_Exit with_ Malfort. _Enter_ Calista, _and_ Olinda. _Cal._ Where is my Lord? _Dor._ All that Remains of him lies there: look on this object, And then turn marble. _Cal._ I am so already, Made fit to be his Monument: but wherefore Do you, that have both life and motion left you, Stand sad spectators of his death. And not bring forth his murtherer? _Ber._ That lies in you: you must, and shall produce him. _Dor._ She, _Beronte_? _Ber._ None else. _Dor._ Thou ly'st, I'le prove it on thy head, Or write it on thy heart. _Alc._ Forbear, there is Too much blood shed already. _Ber._ Let not choler Stifle your judgment; many an honest Father Hath got a wicked Daughter. If I prove not With evident proofs her hand was in the bloud Of my dear Brother, (too good a Husband for her) Give your revenge the reins, and spur it forward. _Dor._ In any circumstance but shew her guilty, I'le strike the first stroak at her. _Ber._ Let me ask A question calmly: do you know this Sword? Have you not seen _Lisander_ often wear it? _Dor._ The same with which he rescued me. _Cal._ I do, what inference from this to make me guilty? _Ber._ Was he not with you in the house to-night? _Cal._ No on my soul.