[Exit.
Enter Brachiano
Brach. Now you and I are friends, sir, we'll shake hands In a friend's grave together; a fit place, Being th' emblem of soft peace, t' atone our hatred.
Fran. Sir, what 's the matter?
Brach. I will not chase more blood from that lov'd cheek; You have lost too much already; fare you well. [Exit.
Fran. How strange these words sound! what 's the interpretation?
Flam. [Aside.] Good; this is a preface to the discovery of the duchess' death: he carries it well. Because now I cannot counterfeit a whining passion for the death of my lady, I will feign a mad humour for the disgrace of my sister; and that will keep off idle questions. Treason's tongue hath a villainous palsy in 't; I will talk to any man, hear no man, and for a time appear a politic madman.
Enter Giovanni, and Count Lodovico
Fran. How now, my noble cousin? what, in black!
Giov. Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate you In virtue, and you must imitate me In colours of your garments. My sweet mother Is----
Fran. How? where?
Giov. Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I 'll not tell you, For I shall make you weep.
Fran. Is dead?
Giov. Do not blame me now, I did not tell you so.
Lodo. She 's dead, my lord.
Fran. Dead!
Mont. Bless'd lady, thou art now above thy woes! Will 't please your lordships to withdraw a little?
Giov. What do the dead do, uncle? do they eat, Hear music, go a-hunting, and be merry, As we that live?
Fran. No, coz; they sleep.
Giov. Lord, Lord, that I were dead! I have not slept these six nights. When do they wake?
Fran. When God shall please.
Giov. Good God, let her sleep ever! For I have known her wake an hundred nights, When all the pillow where she laid her head Was brine-wet with her tears. I am to complain to you, sir; I 'll tell you how they have us'd her now she 's dead: They wrapp'd her in a cruel fold of lead, And would not let me kiss her.
Fran. Thou didst love her?
Giov. I have often heard her say she gave me suck, And it should seem by that she dearly lov'd me, Since princes seldom do it.
Fran. Oh, all of my poor sister that remains! Take him away for God's sake! [Exit Giovanni.
Mont. How now, my lord?
Fran. Believe me, I am nothing but her grave; And I shall keep her blessed memory Longer than thousand epitaphs.
SCENE III
Enter Flamineo as distracted, Marcello, and Lodovico
Flam. We endure the strokes like anvils or hard steel, Till pain itself make us no pain to feel. Who shall do me right now? is this the end of service? I'd rather go weed garlic; travel through Frahce, and be mine own ostler; wear sheep-skin linings, or shoes that stink of blacking; be entered into the list of the forty thousand pedlars in Poland. [Enter Savoy Ambassador.] Would I had rotted in some surgeon's house at Venice, built upon the pox as well as one pines, ere I had served Brachiano!
Savoy Ambass. You must have comfort.
Flam. Your comfortable words are like honey: they relish well in your mouth that 's whole, but in mine that 's wounded, they go down as if the sting of the bee were in them. Oh, they have wrought their purpose cunningly, as if they would not seem to do it of malice! In this a politician imitates the devil, as the devil imitates a canon; wheresoever he comes to do mischief, he comes with his backside towards you.
Enter French Ambassador
Fr. Ambass. The proofs are evident.
Flam. Proof! 'twas corruption. O gold, what a god art thou! and O man, what a devil art thou to be tempted by that cursed mineral! Your diversivolent lawyer, mark him! knaves turn informers, as maggots turn to flies, you may catch gudgeons with either. A cardinal! I would he would hear me: there 's nothing so holy but money will corrupt and putrity it, like victual under the line.