Pier. As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then I
Catch straight the cord’s end; and, as much incens’d
With thy damn’d mischiefs, offer a rude hand 200
As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath;
But on the sudden straight I’ll stand amaz’d,
And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.
Str. Applaud my agonies and penitence.
Pier. Thy honest stomach, that could not disgest[259]
The crudities of murder, but surcharged,
Vomited’st them up in Christian piety.
Str. Then clip me in your arms.
Pier. And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,
Make thee of council: tut, tut, what not? what not? 210
Think on’t, be confident, pursue the plot.
Str. Look, here’s a trope: a true rogue’s lips are mute,
I do not use to speak, but execute.
[He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.—Exit.
Pier. So, so; run headlong to confusion:
Thou slight-brain’d mischief, thou art made as dirt,
To plaster up the bracks[260] of my defects.
I’ll wring what may be squeezed from out his use,
And good night, Strotzo. Swell plump, bold heart;
For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:
O now Tragœdia Cothurnata[261] mounts, 220
Piero’s thoughts are fix’d on dire exploits.
Pell mell—confusion and black murder guides
The organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart!
Capienda[262] rebus in malis præceps via est.