LUCIUS Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? 125
AARON Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the day--and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse,--
Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
As kill a man, or else devise his death, 130
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,
Set deadly enmity between two friends,
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, 135
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 140
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed 145
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
LUCIUS Bring down the devil; for he must not die
So sweet a death as hanging presently.
AARON If there be devils, would I were a devil,
To live and burn in everlasting fire, 150
So I might have your company in hell,
But to torment you with my bitter tongue!