Away with palliatives and compliments;—

   Speak plainly.

 Fab. Plainly, then, my lord, I have heard

   What, for the little breath, I have to draw,

   I would not, to the black extent of rumour,

   Give credit to.—But you command me speak—

 Count. Thy pauses torture me.—Can I hear worse

   Than this black scroll contains? this challenge here,

   From Isabella's father, haughty Godfrey?

   In broad, and unambiguous words, he tells me,

   My father was a murderer, and forg'd

   Alphonso's testament.

 Fab. From Palestine,

   That tale crept hither; where, foul slander says,

   The good Alphonso, not, as we believe,

   Died of a fever, but a venom'd draught,

[pg 10]

[pg 10]

   Your father, his companion of the cross,

   Did with his own hand mingle; his hand too,

 Prev. P 8/106 next