Vir. Know then this day, stand heaven propitious to us,
Our liberty begins.
Jul. In Ferrands death?
Vir. 'Tis plotted love, and strongly, and believe it,
For nothing else could do it, 'twas the thought,
How to proceed in this design and end it,
That made strange my embraces.
Jul. Curs'd be she,
That's so indulgent to her own delights,
That for their satisfaction, would give
A stop to such a glorious enterprize:
For me, I would not for the world, I had been
Guilty of such a crime; go on and prosper.
Go on my dearest Lord, I love your Honor
Above my life; nay, yours; my prayers go with you;
Which I will strengthen with my tears: the wrongs
Of this poor Countrey, edge your sword; Oh may it
Pierce deep into this Tyrants heart, and then
When you return bath'd in his guilty blood;
I'll wash you clean with fountains of true joy.
But who are your assistants? though I am
So covetous of your glory, that I could wish
You had no sharer in it. [Knock.
Vir. Be not curious.
They come, however you command my bosom,
To them I would not have you seen.
Jul. I am gone Sir,
Be confident; and may my resolution
Be present with you. [Exit.
Vir. Such a Masculine spirit,
With more than Womans virtues, were a Dower
To weigh down a Kings fortune.
Enter Brissonet, Camillo, Ronvere.
Briss. Good day to you.
Cam. You are an early stirrer.