I'll fill your consort. Here Piero sits; Come on, unmask, let's fall to. [_The conspirators bind_ PIERO, _pluck out his tongue, and triumph over him_. _Ant._ Murder and torture! no prayers, no entreats! _Pan._ We'll spoil your oratory. Out with his tongue. _Ant._ I have 't, Pandulpho; the veins panting bleed, Trickling fresh gore about my fist. Bind fast--so, so! _Ghost of And._ Bless'd be thy hand! I taste the joys of heaven, Viewing my son triumph in his black blood. _Bal._ Down to the dungeon with him! I'll dungeon with him! I'll fool you; Sir Jeffrey will be Sir Jeffrey; I'll tickle you. 71 _Ant._ Behold, black dog! _Pan._ Grinn'st thou, thou snurling[320] cur? _Alb._ Eat thy black liver. _Ant._ To thine anguish see A fool triumphant in thy misery. Vex him, Balurdo. _Pan._ He weeps; now do I glorify my hands; I had no vengeance, if I had no tears. _Ant._ Fall to, good Duke. O these are worthless cates, You have no stomach to them; look, look here: Here lies a dish to feast thy father's gorge. 80 [_Uncovering the dish that contains_ LUCIO'S _limbs_. Here's flesh and blood, which I am sure thou lov'st. [PIERO _seems to condole his son_. _Pan._ Was he thy flesh, thy son, thy dearest son? _Ant._ So was Andrugio, my dearest father. _Pan._ So was Feliche, my dearest son. _Enter_ MARIA. _Mar._ So was Andrugio my dearest husband. _Ant._ My father found no pity in thy blood. _Pan._ Remorse was banish'd, when thou slew'st my son. _Mar._ When thou empoisoned'st my loving lord, Exiled was piety. _Ant._ Now therefore pity, piety, remorse, 90 Be aliens to our thoughts; grim fire-ey'd rage Possess us wholly. _Pan._ Thy son? true; and which is my most joy, I hope no bastard, but thy very blood, Thy true-begotten, most legitimate And lovèd issue--there's the comfort on't. _Ant._ Scum of the mud of hell! _Alb._ Slime of all filth! _Mar._ Thou most detested toad! _Bal._ Thou most retort and obtuse rascal! _Ant._ Thus charge we death at thee; remember hell, And let the howling murmurs of black spirits, 101 The horrid torments of the damnèd ghosts, Affright thy soul as it descendeth down Into the entrails of the ugly deep. _Pan._ Sa, sa; no, let him die, and die, and still be dying. [_They offer to run all at_ PIERO, _and on a sudden stop_. And yet not die till he hath died and died Ten thousand deaths in agony of heart. Ant. Now pellmell: thus the hand of Heaven chokes The throat of murder. This for my father's blood! [_He stabs_ PIERO. _Pan._ This for my son! 110