Ele. No, I'll speed[71] her myself.
Arm in arm? so, so; look upon this ring;
Whoever brings this token to your hands,
Regard not for what purpose, seize on them,
And chain them to the rest: they come—away!
Murder, be proud; and, tragedy, laugh on,
I'll seek a stage for thee to jet[72] upon.
Enter Isabella and Hortenzo; seeing the Moor, they turn back.
Ele. My lord, my Lord Hortenzo.
Hor. Ah, is't you?
Trust me, I saw you not.
Ele. What makes your grace so sad?
Hor. She grieves for the imprison'd queen her mother
And for Philippo; in the sandy heap
That wait upon an hour, there are not found
So many little bodies, as those sighs
And tears which she hath every minute spent,
Since her lov'd brother felt imprisonment.
Ele. Pity, great pity; would it lay in me
To give him liberty.
Isa. It does.
Ele. In me!
Free him, your mother-queen and cardinal too.
In me? alas! not me; no, no, in you!
Yet, for I'll have my conscience white and pure,
Here, madam, take this ring; and if my name
Can break down castle-walls and open gates,
Take it, and do't; fetch them all forth,—and yet
'Tis unfit you should go.
Hor. That happy office I'll execute myself.