Philip.
Make him caper.
[Striking him with a club, kicking, &c.
Honnyman.
O ye eternal Powers, that rule on high,
If in your Minds be Sense of human Woe,
Hear my Complaints, and pity my Distress!
Philip.
Ah, call upon your Gods, you faint-heart Coward!
Honnyman.
Oh, dreadful Racks! When will this Torment end?
Oh, for a Respite from all Sense of Pain!
'Tis come—I go—You can—no more torment.