Nurse. I hope you will not kill your Lady, Sir!

Anto. Not kill her!  But I must.

Nurse. What have I done?  Oh, oh.
    [Cryes out oh, oh.

Anto. Hold, stop your mouth, I’le stop it for you else;
They’l hear her, and escape! 
Come, Jasper, are you ready?

Jasp. Yes, my Lord, I follow.

    [Exeunt.

Nurse. What have I done, one Murder on another? 
I see ’twas he that kill’d Eugenia now,
By’s naming Don Francisco; oh, that Jasper—­
Oh, the Ghost again—­what shall I do?
    [Exit.

  Caelia in Bed, and Flora all Bloody.

Cael. I’m sorry that I sent thee, since she’s mad, But would ’twas day, that I might get her lookt to.

Flor. I’m sure she has scratch’t my face sufficiently.

Cael. ’Tis well it was no worse.

    [Pedro knocks.

Flor. Alas! she’l come again!

Ped. Flora, Flora.

    [He knocks.

Flor. Who’s that, Pedro!  What’s the matter with you?

Ped. Nurse call’d, and said my Lady would speak with me.

Cael. Bid him come in.

Flor. My Lady bids you enter.

    [Enter Pedro.

Cael. Pedro, the Nurse is mad, I did not call you,
You see how she has scratcht poor Flora’s Face,
She came just now shreeking and staring hither;
If you could lock her up into some Room,
It would do well.

    [A noise, Exiturus, he fights, and Enters with Antonio,
    whom when he sees, he lets fall his point, and is kill’d.
    Jasper runs Flora through.

Ped. I hear her coming up. 
Thieves, Madam, Thieves! 
Oh Heav’ns, it is my Lord!

Anto. Damn’d Letcher, so it is! 
What, does your Courage fail you—­
There, take that—­
    [Runs him through. 
And boast in Hell that Don Antonio’s Sword
Did thee the Honour to send thee thither.

Flor. O Heav’ns!  My fears were true, the Rogue has kill’d me.
    [Falls & dyes.

Anto. Now Monster of thy Sex, see this, and tell me What are the effects you do expect from it?

Cael. Death, that’s less terrible then is your Anger, Which I perceive by it’s effects already, Upon that Innocent Man cannot stay there.

Anto. Are your concerns for him, when they should be
Employ’d to Heav’n for mercy to your Soul? 
Nay, then Hell take it’s Quarry; this for Don Lewis,
This for Don Francisco; and take this last
For thy insatiate Lust with that damn’d Hind.

Cael. This killing me, my Lord, is very cruel;
Since I ne’re sinn’d in thought against your Honour. 
This, as I do expect Eternal Rest,
Is such a Truth, that I can dye in it.