_Long._ In men that are the matter of all lewdness, Bawds, Thieves, and Cheaters, it were monstrous. _Dub._ But in a man of bloud, how more conspicuous! _Ami._ Can this be? _Lady._ They do slander him. _Orl._ Hang them, a pair of railing hangbies. _Long._ How? stand _Orleance_; stay, give me my Pistols boy, Hinder me not, by---- I will kill him. _Lady._ Oh, stay his fury. _Ami. Longueville_, my friend. _Long._ Not for my self, my Lord, but for mankind, And all that have an interest to virtue, Or title unto innocence. _Ami._ Why hear me. _Long._ For justice sake. _Ami._ That cannot be. _Long._ To punish his wives, your honor, and my Lords wrongs here, whom I must ever call so; for your loves I'll swear I'll sacrifice-- _Ami. Longueville_, I did not think you a murtherer before. _Long._ I care not what you thought me. _Ami._ By ---- If thou attempt His life, thy own is forfeit. _Mont._ Foolish frantick man, the murder will be of us, not him. _Lady._ Oh [God]! _Mont._ We could have kill'd him, but we would not take The justice out of fates.-- Sindge but a hair of him, thou diest. _Long._ No matter, shoot. _Ami._ Villain. _Dub._ My Lord, your Sister is slain. _Ami. Biancha?_ _Mont._ Oh hapless, and most wretched chance. _Lam._ Standst thou looking upon the mischief thou hast made? Thou godless man, feeding thy blood-shot eyes With the red spectacle, and art not turn'd to stone With horror? Hence, and take the wings of thy black Infamy, to carry thee beyond the shoot of looks, Or sound of curses, which will pursue thee still: Thou hast out-fled all but thy guilt. _Orl._ Oh wish it off again, for I am crack'd Under the burden, and my heart will break. How heavy guilt is, when men come to feel If you could know the mountain I sustain With horror, you would each take off your part, And more, to ease me: I cannot stand, Forgive where I have wrong'd, I pray. _Ami._ Look to him _Montague_. _Long._ My Lords and Gentlemen, the Lady is well, but for fear, Unless that have shot her; I have the worst on't, that needs would venture Upon a trick had like to ha' cost my guts: Look to her, she'll be well, it was but Powder I charg'd with, thinking that a guilty man Would have been frighted sooner; but I'm glad He's come at last. _La[m]._ How is _Byancha_? well? _Ami._ Lives she? see Sister, doth she breathe? _Lady._ Oh Gentlemen, think you I can breathe, That am restored to the hateful sense Of feeling in me my dear husbands death? Oh no, I live not; life was that I left; And what you have call'd me to, is death indeed: I cannot weep so fast as he doth bleed. _Dub._ Pardon me, Madam, he is well. _Lady._ Ha my Husband.