_Fer._ 'Twas wisely order'd, Go fetch them in, and let my executioners [_Exit_ Ronvere. Appear in horror with the rack. _Vil._ I take it Signior, this is no time for you to flatter, Or me to fool in. _Cast._ Thou art wise in this, let's off, it is unsafe to be near _Jove_. When he begins to thunder. _Vil._ Good morality. [_Exit._ _Fer._ I that have pierc'd into the hearts of men; Forc'd them to lay open with my looks, Secrets, whose least discovery was death, Will rend for what concerns my life, the fortress, Of a weak womans faith. _Enter_ Ronvere, _Guard, Executioners, with a Rack,_ Camillo, Brissonet, Pandulfo, Juliana. _Ca._ What e're we suffer, The weight that loads a Traitors Heart [sit] ever, heavy on thine. _Briss._ As we are caught by thee, Fall thou by others. _Ron._ Pish poor fools, your curses will Never reach me. _Jul._ Now by my _Virolets_ life; Father, this is a glorious stage of murther. Here are fine properties too, and such spectators, As will expect good action, to the life; Let us perform our parts, and we shall live, When these are rotten, would we might begin once; Are you the Master of the company? Troth you are tedious now. _Fer._ She does deride me. _Jul._ Thee and thy power, if one poor syllable Could win me an assurance of thy favor, I would not speak it, I desire to be The great example of thy cruelty, To whet which on, know _Ferrand_, I alone Can make discovery, where my _Virolet_ is, Whose life, I know thou aim'st at, but if tortures Compel me to't, may hope of heaven forsake me; I dare thy worst. _Fer._ Are we contemn'd? _Jul._ Thou art, Thou and thy Ministers, my life is thine; But in the death[, the] victory shall be mine. _Pand._ We have such a Mistriss here to teach us courage, That cowards might learn from her. _Fer._ You are slow; [_Put on the rack._ Begin the Scene thou miserable fool, For so I'll make thee. _Jul._ 'Tis not in thy reach; I am happy in my sufferings, thou most wretched. _Fer._ So brave! I'll tame you yet, pluck hard villains; Is she insensible? no sigh nor groan? or is she dead? _Jul._ No tyrant, though I suffer More than a woman, beyond flesh and blood; 'Tis in a cause so honourable, that I scorn With any sign that may express a sorrow To shew I do repent. _Fer._ Confess yet, And thou shalt be safe. _Jul._ 'Tis wrapt up in my soul, From whence thou canst not force it. _Fer._ I will be Ten daies a killing thee. _Jul._ Be twenty thousand, My glory lives the longer. _Ron._ 'Tis a miracle, She tires th' executioners, And me.