of my soul;
Although unkindly horror would gainsay,
Yet in obedience to your highness' will,
By whom I hold the tenor of this life,
This hand and blade will be the instruments
To make pale death to grapple with my heart.

TANCRED. Well, to be short, for I am griev'd too long
By wrath without revenge, I think you know
Whilom there was a palace builded strong
For war within our court, where dreadless peace
Hath planted now a weaker entrance.
But of that palace yet one vault remains
Within our court, the secret way whereof
Is to our daughter Gismund's chamber laid:
There is also another mouth hereof
Without our wall, which now is overgrown;
But you may find it out, for yet it lies
Directly south a furlong from our palace!
It may be known--hard-by an ancient stoop,[71]
Where grew an oak in elder days decay'd;
There will we that you watch; there shall you see
A villain traitor mount out of a vault.
Bring him to us; it is th'Earl Palurin.
What is his fault, neither shall you inquire,
Nor list we to disclose. These cursed eyes
Have seen the flame, this heart hath felt the fire
That cannot else be quench'd but with his blood.
This must be done: this will we have you do.

JULIO. Both this, and else whatever you think good.

[JULIO _departeth into the palace_.

ACT IV., SCENE 3.

RENUCHIO _bringeth_ GISMUND _out of her chamber, to
whom_ TANCRED _saith_.

TANCRED. Renuchio, depart: leave us alone. [_Exit_ RENUCHIO.
Gismund, if either I could cast aside
All care of thee! or if thou wouldst have had
Some care of me, it would not now betide,
That either thorough thy fault my joy should fade,
Or by thy folly I should bear the pain
Thou hast procur'd: but now 'tis neither I
Can shun the grief, whom thou hast more than slain:
Nor may'st thou heal or ease the grievous wound
Which thou hast given me. That unstained life,
Wherein I joy'd, and thought it thy delight,
Why hast thou lost it? Can it be restor'd?
Where is thy widowhood, there is thy shame.
Gismund, it is no man's nor men's report,
That have by likely proofs inform'd me thus.
Thou know'st how hardly I could be induc'd
To vex myself, and be displeas'd with thee,
With flying tales of flattering sycophants.
No, no, there was in us such settled trust
Of thy chaste life and uncorrupted mind
That if these eyes had not beheld thy shame.
In vain ten thousand censures could have told
That thou didst once unprincelike make agree
With that vile