Malf. My Lord? and I his murtherer?
Ber. Drag the villain hence,
The Rack shall force a free confession from him.
Malf. I am struck dumb;
You need not stop my mouth.
Ber. Away with him. [Exit with Malfort.
Enter Calista, and Olinda.
Cal. Where is my Lord?
Dor. All that
Remains of him lies there: look on this object,
And then turn marble.
Cal. I am so already,
Made fit to be his Monument: but wherefore
Do you, that have both life and motion left you,
Stand sad spectators of his death.
And not bring forth his murtherer?
Ber. That lies in you: you must, and shall produce him.
Dor. She, Beronte?