oul:
For why this carcase must in my behalf
Go feast the ravens that serve our augurs' turn.
Methinks I see already, how they wish
To bait their beaks in such a jolly dish.

CARBO. Sylla, thy threats and scoffs amate me not.
I prythee, let thy murderers hale me hence;
For Carbo rather likes to die by sword,
Than live to be a mocking-stock to thee.

SYLLA. The man hath haste; good soldiers, take him hence:
It would be good to alter his pretence.
But be advis'd that, when the fool is slain,
You part the head and body both in twain.
I know that Carbo longs to know the cause,
And shall: thy body for the ravens[154], thy head for daws.

CARBO. O matchless ruler of our capitol,
Behold poor Rome with grave and piteous eye
Fulfilled with wrong and wretched tyranny!
[_Exit_ CARBO _cum militibus.

Enter_ SCIPIO, NORBANUS, _and_ CARINNA.[155]

SYLLA. Tut, the proud man's prayer will never pierce the sky.
But whither press these mincing senators?

NORBANUS. We press with prayers, we come with mournful tears,
Entreating Sylla by those holy bands,
That link fair Juno with her thundering Jove,
Even by the bonds of hospitality,
To pity Rome afflicted through thy wrath.
Thy soldiers (Sylla) murder innocents:
O, whither will thy lawless fury stretch,
If little ruth ensue thy country's harms?

SYLLA. Gay words, Norbanus, full of eloquence,
Accompanied with action and conceit:
But I must teach thee judgment therewithal
Dar'st thou approach my presence, that hast borne
Thine arms in spite of Sylla and his friends?
I tell thee, foolish man, thy judgment wanted
In this presumptuous purpose that is pass'd:
And, loitering scholar, since you fail in art,
I'll learn you judgment shortly to your smart.
Despatch him, soldiers; I must see him die.
And you, Carinna, Carbo's ancient friend,
Shall follow straight your headless[156] general.
And, Scipio, were it not I lov'd thee well,
Thou should'st accompany these slaves to hell:
But get you gone, and if you love yourself.

[_Exit_ SCIPIO.

CARINNA. Pardon me, Sylla! pardon, gentle Sylla!

SYLLA. Sirrah, this gentle name was coin'd too late,
And shadow'd in the shrouds of biting hate.
Despatch! [_Kill him_.] why so; good fortune to my friends--
As for my foes, even such shall be their ends.
Convey them hence. Metellus, gentle Metellus,
Fetch me Sertorius from Iberia:
In doing so thou standest me in stead,
For so