King. Well;—so be it, then.—
Guards! lead them forth.
Julia. And might he—oh, dread sir!
Might he but live, I then should be at peace.
King. Conduct them to their fate.
Julia. [Rises.] Then, ere we go, a word at parting;—
For here your spleen o'erleaps the bound of prudence.
The blood you now would spill, is pure and noble;
Nor will the shedding of it lack avengers.
Shame on disguise! off with't, my lord! [To Ribaumont.]—Behold