Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers.
Med. Don Manuell Guzman ere you taste the tortures, Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse This murther of your father?
Man. Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.
All. [Alq.?] Take it.
Man. O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me:
Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree
Then thus be torne in pieces. Canst thou see mee
Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare Henrico,
For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.
All. [Alq.?] What sayes he?
Hen. Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour! In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me To speake to you.
Mac. Will you openly confesse?
Man. No, no, I cannot. Caytiffe, I spake not soe:
I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it
A guilt it knowes not. Ile not so dishonour
My father, nor my ancestours before me,
Nor my posterity with such an earthquake
To shake our noble house.
Mac. Give him the Law then.