Cassilanes: 

      Impudent Traitor!

Philander: 

      Her?  O spare Antinous;
      The world reputes thee valiant, do not soyle
      All thy past nobleness with such a cowardize. 
      As murthering innocent Ladies will stamp on thee.

Antinous: 

      Brave Prince, with what unwillingness I force
      Her follies, and in those her sin, be witness,
      All these about me:  she is bloudy minded,
      And turns the justice of the Law to rigor: 
      It is her cruelites, not I accuse her: 
      Shall I have Audience?

Erota: 

      Let him speak my Lords.

Decius: 

      Your memory will rot.

Antinous: 

      Cast all your eyes
      On this, what shall I call her? truthless woman,
      When often in my discontents, the sway
      Of her unruly bloud, her untam’d passion,
      (Or name it as you list) had hour by hour
      Solicited my love, she vow’d at last
      She could not, would not live unless I granted
      What she long sued for:  I in tender pity,
      To save a Lady of her birth from ruine,
      Gave her her life, and promis’d to be hers: 
      Nor urg’d I ought from her, but secresie,
      And then enjoyn’d her to supply such wants
      As I perceiv’d my Fathers late engagements
      Had made him subject to; what shall I heap up
      Long repetitions? she to quit my pity,
      Not only hath discover’d to my Father
      What she had promis’d to conceal, but also
      Hath drawn my life into this fatal forfeit;
      For which since I must dye, I crave a like
      Equality of justice against her;
      Not that I covet bloud, but that she may not
      Practise this art of falsehood on some other,
      Perhaps more worthy of her love hereafter.

Porphycio: 

      If this be true—­

Erota: 

      My Lords, be as the Law is,
      Indifferent, upright, I do plead guilty: 
      Now Sir, what glory have you got by this?
293] ’Las man, I meant not to outlive thy doom,
      Shall we be friends in death?

Cassilanes: 

      Hear me, the villain
      Scandals her, honour’d Lords.

Erota: 

      Leave off to doat,
      And dye a wise man.

Antinous: 

      I am over-reach’d,
      And master’d in my own resolution.

Philander: 

      Will ye be wilfull Madam? here’s the curse
      Of loves disdain.

Cassilanes: 

      Why sit you like dumb Statues? 
      Demur no longer.

Possenne: 

      Cassilane, Erota,
      Antinous, death ye ask; and ’tis your dooms,
      You in your follies liv’d, dye in your follies.