t must murther; tis thine owne deare twinne.
No man can adde height to a womans sinne. 100
Vice never doth her just hate so provoke,
As when she rageth under vertues cloake.
Write! for it must be--by this ruthlesse steele,
By this impartiall torture, and the death
Thy tyrannies have invented in my entrails, 105
To quicken life in dying, and hold up
The spirits in fainting, teaching to preserve
Torments in ashes that will ever last.
Speak: will you write?

_Tam._ Sweet lord, enjoyne my sinne
Some other penance than what makes it worse: 110
Hide in some gloomie dungeon my loth'd face,
And let condemned murtherers let me downe
(Stopping their noses) my abhorred food:
Hang me in chaines, and let me eat these armes
That have offended: binde me face to face 115
To some dead woman, taken from the cart
Of execution?--till death and time
In graines of dust dissolve me, Ile endure;
Or any torture that your wraths invention
Can fright all pitie from the world withall. 120
But to betray a friend with shew of friendship,
That is too common for the rare revenge
Your rage affecteth; here then are my breasts,
Last night your pillowes; here my wretched armes,
As late the wished confines of your life: 125
Now break them, as you please, and all the bounds
Of manhood, noblesse, and religion.

_Mont._ Where all these have bin broken, they are kept
In doing their justice there with any shew
Of the like cruell cruelty: thine armes have lost 130
Their priviledge in lust, and in their torture
Thus they must pay it. _Stabs her._

_Tam._ O lord--

_Mont._ Till thou writ'st,
Ile write in wounds (my wrongs fit characters)
Thy right of sufferance. Write!

_Tam._ O kill me, kill me!
Deare husband, be not crueller than death! 135
You have beheld some Gorgon: feele, O feele
How you are turn'd to stone. With my heart blood
Dissolve your selfe againe, or you will grow
Into the image of all tyrannie.

_Mont._ As thou art of adultry; I will ever 140
Prove thee my parallel, being most a monster.
Thus I expresse thee yet.