Artem. Are these they
You bragg'd could convert others!
Sap. That want strength
To stand themselves!
Harp. Your honour is engaged,
The credit of your cause depends upon it;
Something you must do suddenly.
Theoph. And I will.
Harp. They merit death; but, falling by your hand,
'Twill be recorded for a just revenge,
And holy fury in you.
Theoph. Do not blow
The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already;
Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here,
Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power!
Which from my infancy I have adored,
Look down with favourable beams upon
The sacrifice, though not allow'd thy priest,
Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased,
My fiery zeal inciting me to act,
To call that justice others may style murder.
Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you
Before this holy altar; thus look on you,
Less pitiful than tigers to their prey:
And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life
Which I gave to you. [Kills them.
Dor. O most cruel butcher!
Theoph. My anger ends not here: hell's dreadful porter,
Receive into thy ever-open gates
Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips
On them alone be wasted; and, when death
Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me
To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto,
Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls
Of that accursed sect; nor let me fall,
Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.
[Exit, with Harpax.
Artem. 'Tis a brave zeal.
Enter Angelo, smiling.