SCEN. 13.
Gvstvs with a voiding knife in his hand, Somnvs, Lingva, Visvs.
Gvst.
Who cries out murder! What a woman slaine?
My Ladie Lingua dead? oh Heauens iniust
Can you behold this fact, this bloudie fact!
And shower not fire vpon the murderer?
Ah peerelesse Lingua mistresse of heauenly words,
Sweete tongue of eloquence, the life of fame,
Heart's deare enchauntresse what disaster fates
Haue rest this Iewell from our common-wealth.
Gustus the rubie that adornes thy ringe,
Loe heere defect, how shalt thou lead thy daies,
Wanting the sweete Companion of thy life.
But in darke sorrowe and dull melancholie,
But staie? whose this? inhumane wretch:
Bloud-thirstie miscreant, is this thy handie worke?
To kill a woman, a harmelesse Ladie?
Villaine prepare thy selfe drawe, or ile sheath my faucheon in thy sides.
There take the guerdon fit for murderers.
Gustus offers to runne at Somnus but beeing suddainly charmed fall's a sleepe.
Som.
Heer's such a stirre I neuer knewe the Senses in such
disorder.
Ling.
Ha, ha, ha; Mendacio, Mendacio? See how Visus
hath broke his fore-head against the oake yonder, ha, ha, ha,
ha.
Som.
Howe now? Is not Lingua bound sufficientlie? I haue
more trouble to make one woman sleepe, then all the world besides
they be so full of tattle.
