Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/287

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—Where is it? (Seizes on the torch, puts it out, stamping on it with his feet, then laying himself on the floor.) I am gone—I am dead; tell them so, for God's sake!

Page. I shall tell but half a lie when I do.

Enter Baron and, with Soldier's Cloaks thrown over them, and in the same Disguise with a military Cap drawn over her Eyes, a Servant preceding them with Torches.

Liv. (shrinking back as she enters.) Is he dead? (Page nods, and winks to her significantly.)

Bar. (in a rough voice.) Has the caitiff escaped my sword? Have I thirsted for his blood in vain?

Walt. (in a rough voice also.) Is he really dead? I'll lay my hand on his breast, and feel if his heart beats.

Page. O don't do that, gracious, merciful Sir! You'll but defile your worshipful fingers in touching of a dead corse, which brings bad luck with it.

Walt. Well then, Boy, I will not; but there are a couple of brawny knaves without, who are burying the dead for us; they shall come forth with, and cast him into the pit with the rest.

Page. O lud, no. Sir! don't do that, please your worshipful goodness! What if he should come alive again?

Walt. Never fear that: I'll draw this rapier cross his laced cravat, and make it secure.

Vald. (starting up upon his knees.) Mercy,