Max. Pray do, 'tis done:
And friendship, since thou canst not hold in dangers,
Give me a certain ruin, I must through it. [Exit.
[Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.]
Enter Emperour, Licinius, Chilax, and Balbus.
Emper. Dead?
Chil. So 'tis thought, Sir.
Emper. How?
Lici. Grief, and disgrace,
As people say.
Empe. No more, I have too much on't,
Too much by you, you whetters of my follies,
Ye Angel formers of my sins, but Devils;
Where is your cunning now? you would work wonders,
There was no chastity above your practice,
You would undertake to make her love her wrongs,
And doate upon her rape: mark what I tell ye,
If she be dead—
Chil. Alas Sir.