Lam. Standst thou looking upon the mischief thou hast made?
Thou godless man, feeding thy blood-shot eyes
With the red spectacle, and art not turn'd to stone
With horror? Hence, and take the wings of thy black
Infamy, to carry thee beyond the shoot of looks,
Or sound of curses, which will pursue thee still:
Thou hast out-fled all but thy guilt.
Orl. Oh wish it off again, for I am crack'd
Under the burden, and my heart will break.
How heavy guilt is, when men come to feel
If you could know the mountain I sustain
With horror, you would each take off your part,
And more, to ease me: I cannot stand,
Forgive where I have wrong'd, I pray.
Ami. Look to him Montague.
Long. My Lords and Gentlemen, the Lady is well, but for fear,
Unless that have shot her;
I have the worst on't, that needs would venture
Upon a trick had like to ha' cost my guts:
Look to her, she'll be well, it was but Powder
I charg'd with, thinking that a guilty man
Would have been frighted sooner; but I'm glad
He's come at last.
La[m]. How is Byancha? well?
Ami. Lives she? see Sister, doth she breathe?
Lady. Oh Gentlemen, think you I can breathe,
That am restored to the hateful sense
Of feeling in me my dear husbands death?
Oh no, I live not; life was that I left;
And what you have call'd me to, is death indeed:
I cannot weep so fast as he doth bleed.
Dub. Pardon me, Madam, he is well.
Lady. Ha my Husband.
Orl. I cannot speak whether my joy or shame
Be greater, but I thank the Heavens for both.
Oh look not black upon me, all my friends,
To whom I will be reconcil'd, or grow unto
This earth, till I have wept a trench
That shall be great enough to be my grave,
And I will think them too most manly tears,
If they do move your pities: it is true,
Man should do nothing that he should repent;
But if he have, and say that he is sorry,
It is a worse fault, if he be not truly.