_Vir._ Thy grave reproof: If what thou dost desire, were possible To be effected, might well argue it, As wise as loving; but if you consider, With what strong guards this Tyrant is defended: Ruffins, and male-contents drawn from all quarters; That only know, to serve his impious Will; The Cittadels built by him in the neck Of this poor City; the invincible strength, Nature by Art assisted, gave this Castle; And above all his fear; admitting no man To see him, but unarm'd; it being death For any to approach him with a weapon. You must confess, unless our hands were Cannons, To batter down these walls; our weak breath Mines, To blow his Forts up; or our curses lightning, To force a passage to him; and then blast him; Our power is like to yours, and we, like you, Weep our misfortunes.
_Jul._ Walls of Brass resist not A noble undertaking; nor can vice, Raise any Bulwark, to make good the place, Where virtue seeks to enter; then to fall In such a brave attempt, were such an honor That _Brutus_, did he live again, would envy. Were my dead Father in you, and my Brothers; Nay, all the Ancestors I am deriv'd from; As you, in being what you are, are all these. I had rather wear a mourning Garment for you, And should be more proud of my widdowhood; You dying for the freedom of this Countrey; Than if I were assur'd, I should enjoy A perpetuity of life and pleasure With you, the Tyrant living.
_Vir._ Till this minute, I never heard thee speak; O more than woman! And more to be belov'd; can I find out A Cabinet, to lock a secret in, Of equal trust to thee? all doubts, and fears, That scandalize your Sex, be far from me; Thou shalt partake my near and dearest councils, And further them with thine.
_Vir._ Know then this day, stand heaven propitious to us, Our liberty begins.
_Vir._ 'Tis plotted love, and strongly, and believe it, For nothing else could do it, 'twas the thought, How to proceed in this design and end it, That made strange my embraces.
_Jul._ Curs'd be she, That's so indulgent to her own delights, That for their satisfaction, would give A stop to such a glorious enterprize: For me, I would not for the world, I had been Guilty of such a crime; go on and prosper. Go on my dearest Lord, I love your Honor Above my life; nay, yours; my prayers go with you; Which I will strengthen with my tears: the wrongs Of this poor Countrey, edge your sword; Oh may it Pierce deep into this Tyrants heart, and then When you return bath'd in his guilty blood; I'll wash you clean with fountains of true joy. But who are your assistants? though I am So covetous of your glory, that I could wish You had no sharer in it. [_Knock._