truth, That kindred commonly do worse agree Than remote strangers. FERDINAND. Let me see her face Again. Why didst thou not pity her? What An excellent honest man mightst thou have been, If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary! Or, bold in a good cause, oppos'd thyself, With thy advanced sword above thy head, Between her innocence and my revenge! I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits, Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done 't. For let me but examine well the cause: What was the meanness of her match to me? Only I must confess I had a hope, Had she continu'd widow, to have gain'd An infinite mass of treasure by her death: And that was the main cause,—her marriage, That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. For thee, as we observe in tragedies That a good actor many times is curs'd For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for 't, And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well. BOSOLA. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge The reward due to my service. FERDINAND. I 'll tell thee What I 'll give thee. BOSOLA. Do. FERDINAND. I 'll give thee a pardon For this murder. BOSOLA. Ha! FERDINAND. Yes, and 'tis The largest bounty I can study to do thee. By what authority didst thou execute This bloody sentence? BOSOLA. By yours. FERDINAND. Mine! was I her judge? Did any ceremonial form of law Doom her to not-being? Did a complete jury Deliver her conviction up i' the court? Where shalt thou find this judgment register'd, Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool, Thou 'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for 't. BOSOLA. The office of justice is perverted quite When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare To reveal this? FERDINAND. O, I 'll tell thee; The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up, Not to devour the corpse, but to discover The horrid murder. BOSOLA. You, not I, shall quake for 't. FERDINAND. Leave me. BOSOLA. I will first receive my pension. FERDINAND. You are a villain. BOSOLA. When your ingratitude Is judge, I am so. FERDINAND. O horror, That not the fear of him which binds the devils Can prescribe man obedience!— Never look upon me more. BOSOLA. Why, fare thee well. Your brother and yourself are worthy men! You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves, Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance, Like two chain'd-bullets, still goes arm in arm: You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague, Doth take much in a
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