Lor. Nay, you shall hear all out first.
Moc. I confess it,
What would you have more of me?
Bravo. Then fierce Enyo holds a torch, Megæra
Another; I'll down and play my part amongst them,
For I can do't to th' life.
Lor. Rather to the death.
Bravo. I'll trace th' infernal theatre, and view
Those squalid actors, and the tragic pomp
Of hell and night.
Moc. How ghastly his words sound! pray, keep him off from me.
Lor. The guilt of conscience makes you fearful, Signor!
Bravo. When I come there, I'll chain up Cerberus,
Nay, I'll muzzle him; I'll pull down Æacus
And Minos by the beard; then with my foot
I'll tumble Rhadamanthus from his chair,
And for the Furies I'll not suffer them;
I'll be myself a Fury.
Moc. To vex me, I warrant you.
Bravo. Next will I post unto the Destinies,
Shiver their wheel and distaff 'gainst the wall,
And spoil their housewif'ry; I'll take their spindle,
Where hang the threads of human life like beams
Drawn from the sun, and mix them altogether—
Kings with beggars.