Sess. What solemn funeral's this?
Pand. There rest a while,
And if't be possible there can be added
Wings to your swift desire of just revenge,
Hear, (if my tears will give way to my words)
In brief a most sad story.
Sess. Speak, what are they?
I know thee well Pandulfe.
Pand. My best Lord?
As far as sorrow will give leave, most welcome;
This Virolet was, and but a Son of mine,
I might say, the most hopeful of our Gentry;
And though unfortunate, never ignoble:
But I'll speak him no farther. Look on this,
This face, that in a savage would move pitty,
The wonder of her Sex, and having said
'Tis Juliana, Eloquence will want words
To set out her deservings; this blest Lady
That did indure the Rack, to save her Husband,
That Husband, who, in being forc'd to leave her,
Indur'd a thousand tortures; by what practise,
I know not, (but 'twas sure a cunning one)
Are made, the last I hope, but sad examples
Of Ferrands tyranny. Convey the bodies hence.
Sess. Express your sorrow
In your revenge, not teares, my worthy Soldiers:
That fertile earth that teem'd so many children,
To feed his cruelty, in her wounded wombe,
Can hardly now receive 'em.
Boats. We are cold,
Cold walls shall not keep him from us.
Gun. Were he cover'd with mountains, and room only for a
Bullet to be sent level at him, I would speed him.
M[r]. Let's scale this petty Tower; at Sea we are Falcons,
And fly unto the main top in a moment.
What then can stop us here?
1 Cit. We'll tear him piece-meal.
2 Cit. Or eat a passage to him.