Zar. What would you have me do?
Isa. To kill this Moor.
Zar. I'll cast an eye of death upon my face;
I'll be no more his slave. Swear to advance me,
And, by yon setting sun, this hand and this
Shall rid you of a tyrant.
Isa. By my birth,
No Spaniard's honour'd place shall equal thine.
Zar. I'll kill him then.
Isa. And Balthazar?
Zar. And he.
Isa. I pray thee, first fetch Philip and Hortenzo
Out of that hell; they two will be most glad
To aid thee in this execution.
Zar. My Lord Philippo and Hortenzo, rise.
Your hands; so, talk to her: at my return
This sword shall reek with blood of Balthazar.
[Exit.