Mount. Help Rocca, now,
Or I am lost for ever; how comes this?
Are villany and weakness twyns?
Roc. I am gone too.
Gom. You shall not scape me, wretches.
Ab. I must do it,
All will go wrong else. [Shoots him.
[G]om. Treacherous bloody woman,
What hast thou done?
Ab. Done a poor womans part,
And in an instant, what these men so long
Stood fooling for.
Mount. This ayd was unexpected,
I kiss thee for't.
Roc. His right arms only shot,
And that compell'd him to forsake his sword,
He's else unwounded.
Mount. Cut his throat.
Ab. Forbear.
Yet do not hope 'tis with intent to save thee.
But that thou mayst live to thy farther torment,
To see who triumphs over thee: come Mountferrat,
Here join thy foot to mine, and let our hearts
Meet with our hands, the contract that is made
And cemented with blood, as this of ours is,
Is a more holy sanction, and much surer,
Than all the superstitious ceremonies
You Christians use.