Cæs. (to Arnold). Come, Count, to business.
Arn.True. I'll weep hereafter.
[Arnold covers Bourbon's body with a mantle, mounts the ladder, crying
The Bourbon! Bourbon! On, boys! Rome is ours!
Cæs. Good night, Lord Constable! thou wert a Man.
[Cæsar follows Arnold; they reach the battlement; Arnold and Cæsar are struck down.
Cæs. A precious somerset! Is your countship injured?
Arn. No.[Remounts the ladder.
Cæs.A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated!
And 'tis no boy's play. Now he strikes them down!160