Long. I care not what you thought me.
Ami. By —— If thou attempt
His life, thy own is forfeit.
Mont. Foolish frantick man, the murder will be of us, not him.
Lady. Oh [God]!
Mont. We could have kill'd him, but we would not take
The justice out of fates.—
Sindge but a hair of him, thou diest.
Long. No matter, shoot.
Ami. Villain.
Dub. My Lord, your Sister is slain.
Ami. Biancha?
Mont. Oh hapless, and most wretched chance.