Dor. There is a full point.
Isme. I will interpret for him; she shall have burial according to her own deserts, with dogs.
Dor. I would your Majesty would haste for setling of the people.
Isme. I am ready.
Age. Goe, and let the Trumpets sound
Some mournful thing, whilst we convey the body
Of this unhappy Prince unto the Court,
And of that virtuous Virgin to a Grave:
But drag her to a ditch, where let her lie,
Accurst, whilst one man has a memory. [Exeunt.
Cupid's Speech.
The time now of my Revenge draws near.
Nor shall it lessen as I am a god,
With all the cries and prayers that have been;
And those that be to come, though they be infinite,
In need and number.