Tyr. O, she lives again!
She'll presently speak to me, keep her up!
I'll have her swoon no more, there's treachery in't;
Does she not feel warmer to thee?
Gov. Very little, sir.
Tyr. The heat wants cherishing then: our arms and lips
Shall labour life into her. Wake, sweet mistress!
'Tis I that call thee at the door of life. [Kisses the body.] Ha!
I talk so long to death, I'm sick myself:
Methinks an evil scent still follows me.
Gov. Maybe, 'tis nothing but the colour, sir,
That I laid on.
Tyr. Is that so strong?
Gov. Yes, faith, sir,
'Twas the best poison I could get for money.
[Throws off his disguise.
Tyr. Govianus!
Gov. O thou sacrilegious villain!
Thou thief of rest, robber of monuments!
Cannot the body, after funeral,
Sleep in the grave for thee? must it be rais'd
Only to please the wickedness of thine eye?
Do all things end with death, and not thy lust?
Hast thou devis'd a new way to damnation,
More dreadful than the soul of any sin
Did ever pass yet between earth and hell?
Dost strive to be particularly plagu'd
Above all ghosts beside?
Thou scorn'st a partner in thy torments too!
Tyr. What fury gave thee boldness to attempt
This deed, for which I'll doom thee with a death
Beyond the extremest tortures?