Bal. Judgment, false Tyrant.
Rol. You'll make no Oration then?
Bal. Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt,
Which I will so enforce, I'll make thee wreak it
(With hate of what thou win'st by't) on thy self,
With such another justly merited murther.
Rol. I'll answer you anon.
Enter Latorch.
Lat. The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full resolved,
By my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons.
Rol. Honest Latorch.
Enter Hamond.
Ham. See, Sir, here's Gisberts head.
Rol. Good speed; was't with a Sword?