And I but send thee as her executioner.
Carlo. I flie to obey you, Sir.
Sax. Stay, Carlo, stay;
Why all this haste to murder so much innocence?
Yet, thou must go. And since thy tongue must kill
The brightest form th' enamoured stars can e'er
Receive, or the impoverisht world can lose.
Go, Carlo, go; but prithee wound her soul
As gently as thou canst; and when thou seest
A flowing shower from her twin-orbs of light