Alb. Slime of all filth!
Mar. Thou most detested toad!
Bal. Thou most retort and obtuse rascal!
Ant. Thus charge we death at thee; remember hell,
And let the howling murmurs of black spirits, 101
The horrid torments of the damnèd ghosts,
Affright thy soul as it descendeth down
Into the entrails of the ugly deep.
Pan. Sa, sa; no, let him die, and die, and still be dying.
[They offer to run all at Piero, and on a sudden stop.
And yet not die till he hath died and died
Ten thousand deaths in agony of heart.
Ant. Now pellmell: thus the hand of Heaven chokes
The throat of murder. This for my father’s blood!
[He stabs Piero.
Pan. This for my son! 110