Zan. Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may mistake my wealth. For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate princes, there 's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person, nor words, yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.
Fran. I 'll think on the motion.
Zan. Do; I 'll now detain you no longer. At your better leisure, I 'll tell you things shall startle your blood: Nor blame me that this passion I reveal; Lovers die inward that their flames conceal.
Fran. Of all intelligence this may prove the best: Sure I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest. [Exeunt.
SCENE II
Enter Marcello and Cornelia
Corn. I hear a whispering all about the court, You are to fight: who is your opposite? What is the quarrel?
Marc. 'Tis an idle rumour.
Corn. Will you dissemble? sure you do not well To fright me thus: you never look thus pale, But when you are most angry. I do charge you, Upon my blessing--nay, I 'll call the duke, And he shall school you.
Marc. Publish not a fear, Which would convert to laughter: 'tis not so. Was not this crucifix my father's?
Corn. Yes.
Marc. I have heard you say, giving my brother suck He took the crucifix between his hands, [Enter Flamineo. And broke a limb off.
Corn. Yes, but 'tis mended.
Flam. I have brought your weapon back. [Flamineo runs Marcello through.
Corn. Ha! Oh, my horror!
Marc. You have brought it home, indeed.
Corn. Help! Oh, he 's murder'd!
Flam. Do you turn your gall up? I 'll to sanctuary, And send a surgeon to you. [Exit.
Enter Lodovico, Hortensio, and Gasparo
Hort. How! o' th' ground!
Marc. Oh, mother, now remember what I told Of breaking of the crucifix! Farewell. There are some sins, which heaven doth duly punish In a whole family. This it is to rise By all dishonest means! Let all men know, That tree shall long time keep a steady foot, Whose branches spread no wider than the root. [Dies.
Corn. Oh, my perpetual sorrow!
Hort. Virtuous Marcello! He 's dead. Pray leave him, lady: come, you shall.
Corn. Alas! he is not dead; he 's in a trance. Why, here 's nobody shall get anything by his death. Let me call him again, for God's sake!
Lodo. I would you were deceived.
Corn. Oh, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! how many have gone away thus, for lack of 'tendance! rear up 's head, rear up 's head! his bleeding inward will kill him.
Hort. You see he is departed.
Corn. Let me come to him; give me him as he is, if he be turn'd to earth; let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both in one coffin. Fetch a looking-glass: see if his breath will not stain it; or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little painstaking?
Hort. Your kindest office is to pray for him.
Corn. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i' th' ground, and pray for me, if you 'll let me come to him.
Enter Brachiano, all armed, save the beaver, with Flamineo and others
Brach. Was this your handiwork?
Flam. It was my misfortune.
Corn. He lies, he lies! he did not kill him: these have killed him, that would not let him be better looked to.
Brach. Have comfort, my griev'd mother.
Corn. Oh, you screech-owl!
Hort. Forbear, good madam.
Corn. Let me go, let me go. [She runs to Flamineo with her knife drawn, and coming to him lets it fall. The God of heaven forgive thee! Dost not wonder I pray for thee? I 'll tell thee what 's the reason, I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes; I 'd not spend that in cursing.