Bal. Thou art half-damn'd for it;[75]
I'll to my lord.
Zar. I'll stop you on your way;
Lie there, thy tongue shall tell no tales to-day.
[Stabs him.
Phil. Nor thine to-morrow: this revenge was well.
[Stabs him.
By this time both the slaves shake hands in hell.
Isa. Philippo and Hortenzo, stand you still?
What, doat you both? Cannot you see your play?
Well fare a woman then to lead the way.
Once rob the dead; put the Moors' habits on,
And paint your faces with the oil of hell:
So, waiting on the tyrant——
Phil. Come, no more,
'Tis here and here: room there below; stand wide,
Bury them well, since they so godly died.
Hor. Away then, fate: now let revenge be plac'd.
Phil. Here.