With my own blood.
Mendo. Ho there!
Cover Don Lope’s face, and carry him
To prison after me. (Aside.) Hark, in your ear,
Conduct him swiftly, and with all secrecy,
To my own house—in by the private door,
Without his knowing whither,
And bid my people watch and wait on him.
I’ll to the King—Alas, what agony,
I know not what, grows on me more and more!