Is he? speak.
GORDON.
He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven
Refuses your arm. See—'tis wounded!—
BUTLER.
There is no need of my arm.
GORDON.
The most guilty
Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER advances from the Gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding silence.]
GORDON.
He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!