Rouse up your spirits to a just revenge,
Like lightning wasteful, and like thunder loud.
Rivers of blood shall run about the town,
For which you were so lavish of your own.
Garcia shall die, and by his death remove
The cause of jealousy, and injured love;
The king himself, the ungrateful king, shall fall;
Of all our ills the curst original.
Alph. Beseech you, sir, no more.
Ram. Your reason, son?