Phil. Three curses (like three commendations
To their souls) I send: thy tortured brother;
Does curse the cardinal, the Moor, thy mother.
Isa. Curse not at all! dear souls, revenge is hot,
And boils in Zarack's brains; the plot is cast
Into the mould of hell: you freemen are:
Zarack will kill the Moor and Balthazar.
Hor. How can that relish?
Isa. I'll tell you how:
I did profess, ay, and protested too,
I lov'd him well; what will not sorrow do!
Then he profess'd, ay, and protested too,
To kill them both; what will not devils do!
Phil. Then I profess, ay, and protest it too,
That here's for him; what will not Philip do!
Hor. See where he comes.
Enter the two Moors.
Bal. Zarack, what do I see?
Hortenzo and Philippo? who did this?
Zar. I, Balthazar.