Bid him imbrue his bloody hands in guiltless blood of me:
I virgin die, he lecher lives; he was my end, you see.
No more delays—lo, kiss me first, then stretch your strongest arm:
Do rid my woe, increase my joy, do ease your child of harm.
Virginius. O weary wits of woe or wealth, O feeble aged man,
How can thy arm give such a blow! thy death I wish thee then!
But sith that shame with endless trump will sound, if case thy joy
By[213] means of false Judge Appius be, myself will thee destroy.
Forgive me, babe, this bloody deed, and meekly take thy end.
[Here let him proffer a blow.