Mass. I never wrong’d thee, Spaniard—did I? speak:
[Tell[295] him all the plot.
I’ll make thee satisfaction like a soldier,
A true Italian, and a gentleman.
Thy rage is treachery without a cause.
Sago. My rage is just, and thy heart blood shall know,
He that wrongs beauty, must be honour’s foe.
Isabel’s quarrel arms the Spaniard’s spirit!
Mass. Murder should keep with baseness, not with merit. 50
I’ll answer thee to-morrow, by my soul,
And clear thy doubts, or satisfy thy will.
Sago. He’s war’s best scholar can with safety kill.
Take this to-night; now meet with me to-morrow.
[Shoots. Massino falls dead.
I come, Isabella; half thy hate is dead;
Valour makes murder light, which fear makes lead.[296]
Enter Captain with a band of Soldiers.
Capt. The pistol was shot here; seize him!
Bring lights. What, Don Sago, colonel of the horse?
Ring the alarum-bell, raise the whole city;
His troops are in the town; I fear treachery. 60
Who’s this lies murder’d? Speak, bloodthirsty Spaniard!