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Claud. Rightly reason’d, and in his own division, and by my troth there’s one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be understood. What’s your offense?

Bora. Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceiv’d even your very eyes. What your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light, who in the night overheard me confessing to this man how Don John your brother incens’d me to slander the Lady Hero, how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero’s garments, how you disgrac’d her when you should marry her. My villainy they have upon record, which I had rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master’s false accusation; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

D. Pedro.

Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?