Now, tyrant! now, I have thee in my power.
Vor. Dost think I’ll blanch my face, and be a coward?
A lily coward? No! strike, then!
Ne’er will I crave thy mercy.
Aur. Now, traitor! where’s my father?
Vor. Murdered!
Aur. And by whom?
Vor. Is not the crown thine own?
Aur. Ay; and is mine by right: then, speak, I say!
Vor. I will not, boy: hadst thou ten thousand voices,