_Cast._ You sha' not. I will first expose myself To certain danger than for my defence Destroy the man that saved me from destruction. _Charl._ Thou canst not satisfy me better than To be the instrument of my release From misery. _Cast._ Then work it by escape. Leave me to this protection that still guards The innocent. Or I will be a partner In your destiny. _Charl._ My soul is heavy. Come, lie down to rest; These are the pillows whereon men sleep best. [_They lie down, each of them with a death's head for a pillow._ _Re-enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, _seeking_ SOQUETTE. _Lang._ Soquette, Soquette, Soquette! O art thou there? [_He mistakes the body of_ BORACHIO _for_ SOQUETTE. Verily thou liest in a fine premeditated readiness for the purpose. Come, kiss me, sweet Soquette.--Now purity defend me from the sin of Sodom!--This is a creature of the masculine gender.--Verily the man is blasted.--Yea, cold and stiff!--Murder, murder, murder! [_Exit._ _Re-enter_ D'AMVILLE _distractedly: he starts at the sight of a death's head._ _D'Am._ Why dost thou stare upon me? Thou art not The soul of him I murdered. What hast thou To do to vex my conscience? Sure thou wert The head of a most doggèd usurer, Th'art so uncharitable. And that bawd, The sky there: she could shut the windows and The doors of this great chamber of the world, And draw the curtains of the clouds between Those lights and me, above this bed of earth, When that same strumpet Murder and myself Committed sin together. Then she could Leave us i' the dark till the close deed was done. But now that I begin to feel the loathsome horror of my sin, and, like a lecher emptied of his lust, desire to bury face under my eye-brows, and would steal from my shame unseen, she meets me I' the face with all her light corrupted eyes To challenge payment o' me. O behold! Yonder's the ghost of old Montferrers, in A long white sheet climbing yon lofty mountain To complain to Heaven of me.-- Montferrers! pox o' fearfulness! 'Tis nothing But a fair white cloud. Why, was I born a coward? He lies that says so. Yet the countenance of A bloodless worm might ha' the courage now To turn my blood to water. The trembling motion of an aspen leaf Would make me, like the shadow of that leaf, Lie shaking under 't. I could now commit A murder were it but to drink the fresh Warm blood of him I murdered to supply The want and weakness o' mine own, 'Tis grown so cold and phlegmatic. _Lang._ Murder, murder, murder! [_Within._ _D'Am._ Mountains o'erwhelm me: the ghost of old Montferrers haunts me. _Lang._ Murder, murder, murder! _D'Am._ O were my body circumvolved Within that cloud, that when the thunder tears His passage open, it might scatter me To nothing in the air! _Re-enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _with the_ Watch. _Lang._ Here you shall find The murdered body.