Rootless in the ground. (Cries heard.) What noise is this?
Some wretched Christian, that in blind revenge
The maddened people sacrifice.
Enter the mob carrying off Clitus—Epicharis following.
MOB.
Burn him! To the Vatican! to the Vatican! Burn him!
EPICHARIS.
Pity, pity, pity, sirs! He is guiltless, indeed he is guiltless. He is my brother.
Thr. Stay, ye mad fools! To what detestable,
Forbidden crime of hellish witchcraft haste ye!