_Roch._ Heauen take mercy Vpon your soule then: it must leaue your body. 120 Now free mine eyes, I dare vnmou’d looke on her, And fortifie my sentence, with strong reasons. Since that the politique law prouides that seruants, To whose care we commit our goods shall die, If they abuse our trust: what can you looke for, 125 To whose charge this most hopefull Lord gaue vp All he receiu’d from his braue Ancestors, Or he could leaue to his posterity? His Honour, wicked woman, in whose safety All his lifes ioyes, and comforts were locked vp, 130 With thy lust, a theefe hath now stolne from him, And therefore-- _Cha._ Stay, iust Iudge, may not what’s lost By her owne fault, (for I am charitable, And charge her not with many) be forgotten In her faire life hereafter? _Roch._ Neuer, Sir. 135 The wrong that’s done to the chaste married bed, Repentant teares can neuer expiate, And be assured, to pardon such a sinne, Is an offence as great as to commit it. _Cha._ I may not then forgiue her. _Roch._ Nor she hope it. 140 Nor can she wish to liue no sunne shall rise, But ere it set, shall shew her vgly lust In a new shape, and euery on more horrid: Nay, euen those prayers, which with such humble feruor She seemes to send vp yonder, are beate backe, 145 And all suites, which her penitance can proffer, As soone as made, are with contempt throwne Off all the courts of mercy. _He kills her._ _Cha._ Let her die then. Better prepar’d I am. Sure I could not take her, Nor she accuse her father, as a Iudge 150 Partiall against her. _Beau._ I approue his sentence, And kisse the executioner; my lust Is now run from me in that blood; in which It was begot and nourished. _Roch._ Is she dead then? _Cha._ Yes, sir, this is her heart blood, is it not? 155 I thinke it be. _Roch._ And you haue kild here? _Cha._ True, And did it by your doome _Roch._ But I pronounc’d it As a Iudge onely, and friend to iustice, And zealous in defence of your wrong’d honour, Broke all the tyes of nature: and cast off 160 The loue and soft affection of a father. I in your cause, put on a Scarlet robe Of red died cruelty, but in returne, You haue aduanc’d for me no flag of mercy: I look’d on you, as a wrong’d husband, but 165 You clos’d your eyes against me, as a father. O _Beaumelle_, my daughter. _Cha._ This is madnesse.