The Tragedy of
Rod.
Yes, yes, 'tis he:
But I'll see him hang'd, ere I'll goe downe to him.
Card.
Here's a plot upon me, I am assaulted: I am lost,
Unlesse some rescew.
Gris.
He doth this pretty well:
But it will not serve; to laugh me out of mine honour.
Card.
The sword's at my throat:
Rod.
You would not bawle so lowd then.
Mal.
Come, come: lets's goe to bed: he told us thus much aforehand.
Pesc.
He wish'd you should not come at him: but beleev't,
The accent of the voyce sounds not in jest.
I'll downe to him, howsoever, and with engines,
Force ope the doores.
Rod.
Let's follow him aloofe,
And note how the Cardinall will laugh at him.
Bos.
There's for you first: 'cause you shall not unbarracade the doore
To let in rescew. He kills the Servant.
Card.
What cause hast thou to pursue my life?
Bos.
Looke there:
Card.
Antonio?
Bos.
Slaine by my hand unwittingly:
Pray, and be sudden: when thou kill'dst thy sister,
Thou tookst from Justice her most equall ballance,
And left her naught but her sword.
Card.
O mercy.
Bos.
Now it seemes thy Greatnes was onely outward:
For thou fall'st faster of thy selfe, then calamitie
Can drive thee: I'll not wast longer time: There.
Card.
Thou hast hurt me:
Bos.
Againe:
Card.
Shall I die like a Levoret
Without any resistance? helpe, helpe, helpe:
I am slaine.
Ferd.
Th'allarum? give me a fresh horse:
Rally the vaunt-guard: or the day is lost:
Yeeld, yeeld: I give you the honour of Armes,
Shake
