And in[217] just proof whereof
Behold Virginia’s head:
She sought her fame, thou sought her shame:
This arm hath smit her dead.
Appius. O curst and cruel cankered churl, O carl unnatural;
Which hast the seed of thine own loin[218] thrust forth to funeral!
Ye gods, bend down your ire, do plague him for his deed,
You sprites below, you hellish hounds, do give him gall for meed.
Myself will see his latter end; I judge him to the death.
Like death that fair Virginia took, the like shall stop his breath;