I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit Pis. Hence, vile instrument! Thou shalt not damn my hand. And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 360 No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine, That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart; 370 Something's afore't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defence; Obedient as the scabbard. -What is here? The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor And thou, Posthumus, that diddest set up 280 A strain |