Revenge. Nay, you shall not; therefore pass;
Secrets in hell are lock’d with doors of brass:
Use action if you will, but not in voice,
Your friend conceives in signs how you rejoice.
Hor. See, see, he points to have us[314] forward on:
I pr’ythee, rest; it shall be done, sweet Don.
O, now he’s vanished.
[Sound Trumpets, and a peal of Ordnance.
And. I am a happy ghost;
Revenge, my passage now cannot be cross’d.