University of Virginia Library

SCENE changes to the Tilt-yard.
Charges and Shouts.
Enter hastily Brachiano, Flamineo, and others.
Bra.
An Armourer, Blood, Fire, an Armourer.

Fla.
The Armourer, fly, call the Armourer.

Bra.
Tear off my Beaver.

[Enter Armourer.
Fla.
Are you hurt, my Lord?

Bra.
O my Brain's on Fire.

Arm.
Upon my Life, my Lord—

Bra.
Away with him to Torture.
There are some great ones have a hand in this,
And near about me.

[Enter Vittoria.
Vitt.
O my lov'd Lord!

Fla.
Remove the Barr: Here are unfortunate Revels.
Call the Physicians.
[Enter Physicians.
Your own Art confound you,
We have too much of your Cunning here already.

Bra.
O I am gone past help; the curst Infection
Flies to the Brain and Heart. O thou strong Heart,
There's such a strong League 'twixt the World and thee,
You're loath to part.

[Enter Giovanni.
Giov.
How fares my noble Father?

Bra.
Remove the Boy away.
Where's this good Woman? Had I a thousand World's,
They were too little for thee: Must I leave thee?
What say you Screech Owls, is the Venom mortal?

Phy.
Most deadly.

Bra.
Most corrupted politick Hangmen,
You kill without Book, but your Art to save
Fails you as sure as great Men needy Friends.
I that have given Life to offending Slaves,
To wretched Murderers, have I not Power
To lengthen my own out for one Twelve-month? Off,
Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee:
This Unction's sent from the great Duke of Florence.

Vitt.
Sir, be of Comfort.

Bra.
O thou soft natural Death that art Joint-twin
To softest Slumber; no rough bearded Comet
Shares in thy mild Departure; the dull Raven
Beats not against thy Casement; the hoarse Wolf
Scents not thy Carrion; Pity windes thy Course,
Whilst Horror waits on Princes.

Vitt.
I'm lost for ever.

[Conspirators enter.
Bra.
How miserable a thing it is to die
'Mongst Women howling. What are these?

Fla.
Franciscans;
Come to perform you their last Office.

Bra.
On Pain of Death, let no Man name Death to me;
It is a Word infinitely terrible.
Withdraw into our Cabinet.

[They carry him off.
Ant.
We have struck mortally this royal Stag.

Gasp.
Let's follow to his Bay.

Ant.
And see him worry'd by his own Quack Dogs.

Gasp.
And wash our Hands in's Gore.

Lud.
O 'twill compleat the Sport.

[Exeunt.