Lus. Stay, yonder's the slave.
Ven. Mass, there's the slave indeed, my lord.
'Tis a good child: he calls his father slave! [Aside.
Lus. Ay, that's the villain, the damn'd villain.
Softly. Tread easy.
Ven. Puh! I warrant you, my lord, we'll stifle-in our breaths.
Lus. That will do well:
Base rogue, thou sleepest thy last; 'tis policy
To have him kill'd in's sleep; for, if he wak'd,
He would betray all to them.
Ven. But, my lord——
Lus. Ha, what say'st?
Ven. Shall we kill him now he's drunk?
Lus. Ay, best of all.
Ven. Why, then he will ne'er live to be sober.