Ele. How? good, good.
Queen-M. By this hand.
Ele. When? good, good; when?
Queen-M. This night, if Eleazar give consent.
Ele. Why, then, this night Philip shall not live
To see you kill him! Is he not your son?
A mother be the murd'rer of a brat
That liv'd within her! ha!
Queen-M. 'Tis for thy sake.
Ele. Pish! What excuses cannot damn'd sin make
To save itself! I know you love him well;
But that he has an eye, an eye, an eye.
To others, our two hearts seem to be lock'd
Up in a case of steel; upon our love others
Dare not look; or, if they dare, they cast
Squint, purblind glances. Who care, though all see all,
So long as none dare speak? But Philip
Knows that iron ribs of our villains
Are thin: he laughs to see them, like this hand,
With chinks and crevices; how [with] a villanous,
A stabbing, [a] desperate tongue the boy dare speak:
A mouth, a villanous mouth! let's muzzle him.
Queen-M. How?
Ele. Thus:
Go you, and with a face well-set do
In good sad colours, such as paint out
The cheek of that foul penitence, and with a tongue
Made clean and glib, cull from their lazy swarm
Some honest friars whom that damnation, gold,
Can tempt to lay their souls to the stake;
Seek such—they are rank and thick.
Queen-M. What then? I know such—what's the use?