Phy. My lord!
Lys. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you my intents, not to be disputed, but obeyed. I know you walk not frequently in these rough ways; but 'tis not want of knowledge, but your will, makes you decline them.
Phy. My lord, I have observ'd you long, and see you
Wear your life like something you would fain
Put off. I will not undertake to counsel you, in
That your nearest friends have oft attempted
Without success: yet, if my life should issue
With the words I now will utter, I'll boldly tell
Your grace, I will not be a means to cut your
Days off, to make mine happy ever.
Lys. I did expect this from you; and to inform you
Briefly know, though I do loathe my life, I will
Not part with't willingly, till it does serve
Me to revenge my wrongs: and to assure you more,
I will not use your art against myself. Let
Your composition procure the greatest torture
Poison can force, for I must use it upon one
Our laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance
That makes him guilty, cannot be produc'd, but with
Expense of time; and my revenge will not
Admit it. By my honour, this is the cause.
Phy. If I
Were sure your enemies should only try
Th' effects of what I can do in your service,
The horrid'st tortures treason ever justified,
Should not exceed the sufferings of those
Should take the poison I can bring you.
Lys. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of hell
Can be felt here, let your ingredients
Call them up. If his life were only
My aim and end, whilst I do wear this,
I'd not implore your aid;
But I must set him on the rack, that there
He may confess my inquisition justice.
Phy. An hour returns me with your commands
Perform'd. Yet I'll observe you farther. [Aside.
Lys. So, this is the first degree to my revenge,
Which I will prosecute, till I have made
All that were guilty of my loss of peace,
Wash their impiety in their guilty blood.
All places where I meet them shall be altars,
On which I'll sacrifice the murderers,
To appease the spirit of my injur'd mistress:
And (the last victim) I will fall myself
Upon her sacred tomb, to expiate
The crimes I have committed in deferring
Justice thus long. This curs'd magician
Shall be the first—she did reveal our loves;
Milesia said she did; and if it were
Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't.
If it were a phantom rais'd by her foul spells;
She pays the fault of her abusing me,
Insidiating with my Milesia's form,
To search, and then betray my resolution
Of serving my best friend. How now!
Enter Servant.