CAS. How should I doom him?
MAR. How else, but to death?
CAS. As if his life or death lay in my hands?
MAR. He is thy patient, is he not?
CAS. He is.
MAR. Then in thy hands lie both his life and death.
Sweet love, let Marian beg it at thy hand:
Why should the grey-beard live to cross us all?
Nay, now I see thee frown: thou wilt not do it.
CAS. Fie, fie, dame! you are too suspicious.
Here is my hand, that thou may'st know I love thee;
I'll poison him this night before I sleep.
MAR. Thou dost but flatter me!
CAS. Tush! I have sworn it.
MAR. And wilt thou do it?