Wo. Great Sir, mercy.
Fer. I am deaf, why stare you? is what we command
To be disputed, who's this? bring you the dead
T' upbraid me to my face?
Cast. Hold Emperor;
Hold mightiest of Kings, I am thy vassal,
Thy footstool that durst not presume to look
On thy offended face.
Fer. Castruchio rise.
Cast. Let not the lightning of thy eie consume me,
Nor hear that musical tongue, in dreadful thunder,
That speaks all mercy.
Vil. Here's no flattering rogue.
Cast. Ferrand, that is the Father of his people,
The glory of mankind.
Fer. No more, no word more;
And while [I] tell my troubles to my self,
Be Statues without motion [or] voice,
Though to be flatter'd is an itch to greatness,
It now offends me.
Vil. Here's the happy man;
But speak who dares.
Fer. When I was innocent;
I yet remember I could eat and sleep,
Walk unaffrighted, but now terrible to others:
My guards cannot keep fear from me
It still pursues me; Oh! my wounded conscience,
The Bed I would rest in, is stuft with thorns;
The grounds strew'd o'r with adders, and with aspicks
Where e'r I set my foot, but I am in,
And what was got with cruelty, with blood,
Must be defended, though this life's a hell,
I fear a worse hereafter. Ha!