Beam. Barbarous villains! now you show yourselves
Har. Boy, take that candle thence, and bring it hither;
I am exalted, and would light my pipe
Just where the wick is fed with English fat.
Van Her. So would I; oh, the tobacco tastes divinely after it.
Tow. We have friends in England, who would weep to see
This acted on a theatre, which here
You make your pastime.
Beam. Oh, that this flesh were turned a cake of ice,
That I might in an instant melt away,
And become nothing, to escape this torment!
There is not cold enough in all the north
To quench my burning blood.[Fiscal whispers Harman.
Har. Do with Beamont as you please, so Towerson die.
Fisc. You'll not confess yet, captain?
Tow. Hangman, no;
I would have don't before, if e'er I would:
To do it when my friend has suffered this,
Were to be less than he.
Fisc. Free him.[They free Beamont.
Beamont, I have not sworn you should not suffer.
But that you should not die; thank Julia for it.
But on your life do not delay this hour
To post from hence! so to your next plantation;
I cannot suffer a loved rival near me.
Beam. I almost question if I will receive
My life from thee: 'Tis like a cure from witches;
'Twill leave a sin behind it.