Mis. Ladies, Gentlewomen, sweet Atlanta, all,
Heare me but speake.
Lor. No, not a syllable.
You haue spoke to match alreadie, you damn’d Rogue.
But weele reward you for’t. Skrew his iawes.
Mis. Oh, oh, oh.
Aur. Now, thou inhumane wretch, what punishment
Shall we inuent sufficient to inflict,
According to the height of our reuenge?
Omnes. Let’s teare his limmes in pieces, ioynt from ioynt.