To these fierce men, they will afford ye pitty.
Bond. Pitty? thou fearful girl; 'tis for those wretches
That misery makes tame. Wouldst thou live less?
Wast not thou born a Princess? Can my blood,
And thy brave fathers spirit, suffer in thee
So base a separation from thy self,
As mercy from these Tyrants? Thou lov'st lust sure,
And long'st to prostitute thy youth and beauty
To common slaves for bread. Say they had mercy;
The divel a relenting conscience:
The lives of Kings rest in their Diadems,
Which to their bodies lively souls do give,
And ceasing to be Kings, they cease to live.
Show such another fear, and ——
I'll fling thee to their fury.
Swet. He is dead then?
Petill. I think so certainly; yet all my means, Sir,
Even to the hazzard of my life—
Swet. No more:
We must not seem to mourn here.
Enter Decius.
Dec. There's a breach made,
Is it your will we charge, Sir?
Swet. Once more mercy,
Mercy to all that yield.
Bond. I scorn to answer:
Speak to him girl; and hear thy Sister.
1. Dau. General,
Hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me
Directly in my face, my womans face.
Whose only beauty is the hate it bears ye;
See with thy narrowest eyes, thy sharpest wishes,
Into my soul, and see what there inhabits;
See if one fear, one shadow of a terror,
One paleness dare appear but from my anger,
To lay hold on your mercies. No, ye fools,
Poor fortunes fools, we were not born for triumphs,
To follow your gay sports, and fill your slaves
With hoots and acclamations.