Lord. Is it your pleasure, then, they shall proceed?
Vor. Ay; e’en to it straight.
Nay, stop! why should all these be doom’d to death?
Mine is the crime, not theirs.
Enter Aurelius.
Aur. Villain and traitor! at thy word I take thee.
Vor. Ah! thy face the semblance of thy father’s bears.
Thine eyes do pierce, more than thy steel-clad arm.
Were fifty souls within that body cas’d,
Proudly I’d scorn them all: but, ah! thy looks—