Des. The vilest wretch alive, who throws himself
At your feet in tears of blood, and so much
Horrid guilt as calls for all the wrath of
This and the other world: not daring to
Lift my hopes to any pardon. O sir!
'Twas he (back'd by that bad Prince and other giddy
Hopes) that would have seduc'd my brother to
That act against your sacred life.
King. Would it went no further? Duke de Bereo,
Can now your brow change colour?
Duke. 'Tis all imposture.
King. Fie, fie; don't glory against heaven, that hath
Left thy sin to subterfuge.
Duke. You would not fright me from myself?
King. Well; our guard!
Doct. May it please— [Kneels.
King. Rise, What would you say, sir?
Doct. Under your gracious licence this. We found our princely lady and the lady Cleara cold in their clodded gore: this Colonel so spent in expense of blood, as we could not say alive; for that half spark of heat left in his veins was then e'en going out. Our care having preserved and kindled it to life again, after his shattered faculties could pant and breathe, he called for pen and ink, and caused us to write what is there contained.
[Gives a paper.