Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou seest him, A little witness my obedience. Look! Pi. Hence, vile instrument' Thou shalt not damn my hand. Imo. Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's: against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine, That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart; Something's afore 't:-soft, soft; we 'll no defence; All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Makes covardly. |