Enter the Duke OF Epire and Alphonso.
Epire. Grief, which controls the motions of our thoughts,
Reigns in my blood, and makes me passion's slave.
My sister's misery torments my soul,
And breaks my gall, when I but think of her:
She was bewitch'd with spells to her misfortune,
Or else born hapless under a low'ring star,
And 'tis her fate to be thus miserable.
O Philocles, hadst thou no other scale
To mount thy heaven but by our miseries?
Must all the noble fame of our great house
Waste down her royal pillars, to make steps
For thee to climb to glory? Well, I see
Thou plott'st our shames in thy great dignity.
Alph. Patience, great lord; methinks these ill-rais'd
storms Have not more violence than may be borne:
Come, we will both go sue unto the king,
We there will kneel and pray eternally,
And never rise till he remit his doom.
It shall be so, I will unto the king,
To beg great favour for a small offence:
But if she die for this, then, king, take heed:
Thou[180] and thy fortunes by this hand shall bleed. [Exeunt.
Enter Chip, Shaving, and others with a scaffold.
Chip. Come, my hearts, let's make all things ready for the execution; here's a maidenhead must be cut off without a feather-bed.
Sha. It's a sign she deals with sharp tools and a cruel headsman.
Chip. If I had been her judge, she should have been tossed to death in a blanket.
Sha. No, I would have had her smothered in a feather-bed.
Chip. They say she would not plead at her trial.
Sha. No, that's true, for she had a great desire to be pressed.[181]