Post.
Or yeild thee, Roman, or thou dy'st.

Iach.
Peasant, behold my breast.

Post.
No, take thy life, and mend it. [Exit. Post.

Iach.
The heaviness and sin within my bosom,
Takes off my manhood. I've bely'd a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me, or could this carle,
A very drudge of nature, have subdu'd me,
In my profession; knighthoods and honours borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn;

With heav'n against me, what is sword or shield?
My guilt, my guilt, o'erpowers me, and I yield. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section