(Wherein the phœnix scarce could 'scape your throats)
Laugh at your misery, as fore-deeming you
An idle meteor, which drawn forth, the earth
Would be soon lost i' the air.


Ant. Jest upon you,
And say you were begotten in an earthquake,
You have ruin'd such fair lordships.


Lodo. Very good.
This well goes with two buckets: I must tend
The pouring out of either.


Gas. Worse than these.
You have acted certain murders here in Rome,
Bloody and full of horror.


Lodo. 'Las, they were flea-bitings:
Why took they not my head then?


Gas. O, my lord!
The law doth sometimes mediate, thinks it good
Not ever to steep violent sins in blood:
This gentle penance may both end your crimes,
And in the example better these bad times.