And no kind of wight shall talk with her, until the truth be tried.
This do I charge, this I command: in pain of death, let see,
Without any let that she be brought as prisoner unto me.
[Exit.
[Here let Virginius go about the scaffold.
Ah fickle fall, unhappy doom, O most uncertain fate,[205]
That ever chance so churlishly, that never stay’d in state.
What judge is this? what cruel wretch? what faith doth Claudius find?
The gods do recompense with shame his false and faithless mind!
Well, home I must, no remedy; where shall my soaking tears.