How the rogue cuts capers! It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there; what 's she?
Flam. Vittoria, my lord.
Brach. Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkl'd with orris powder, That makes her look as if she had sinn'd in the pastry. What 's he?
Flam. A divine, my lord. [Brachiano seems here near his end; Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit of Capuchins, present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed candle.
Brach. He will be drunk; avoid him: th' argument Is fearful, when churchmen stagger in 't. Look you, six grey rats that have lost their tails Crawl upon the pillow; send for a rat-catcher: I 'll do a miracle, I 'll free the court From all foul vermin. Where 's Flamineo?
Flam. I do not like that he names me so often, Especially on 's death-bed; 'tis a sign I shall not live long. See, he 's near his end.
Lodo. Pray, give us leave. Attende, domine Brachiane.
Flam. See how firmly he doth fix his eye Upon the crucifix.
Vit. Oh, hold it constant! It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyes Melt into tears.
Lodo. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali. [By the crucifix.
Gas. Olim hastâ valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis contra hostem animarum. [By the hallowed taper.
Lodo. Attende, Domine Brachiane, si nunc quoque probes ea, quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in dextrum.
Gas. Esto securus, Domine Brachiane; cogita, quantum habeas meritorum; denique memineris mean animam pro tuâ oppignoratum si quid esset periculi.
Lodo. Si nunc quoque probas ea, quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in lœvum. He is departing: pray stand all apart, And let us only whisper in his ears Some private meditations, which our order Permits you not to hear. [Here, the rest being departed, Lodovico and Gasparo discover themselves.
Gas. Brachiano.
Lodo. Devil Brachiano, thou art damn'd.
Gas. Perpetually.
Lodo. A slave condemn'd and given up to the gallows, Is thy great lord and master.
Gas. True; for thou Art given up to the devil.
Lodo. Oh, you slave! You that were held the famous politician, Whose art was poison.
Gas. And whose conscience, murder.
Lodo. That would have broke your wife's neck down the stairs, Ere she was poison'd.
Gas. That had your villainous sallets.
Lodo. And fine embroider'd bottles, and perfumes, Equally mortal with a winter plague.
Gas. Now there 's mercury----
Lodo. And copperas----
Gas. And quicksilver----
Lodo. With other devilish 'pothecary stuff, A-melting in your politic brains: dost hear?
Gas. This is Count Lodovico.
Lodo. This, Gasparo: And thou shalt die like a poor rogue.
Gas. And stink Like a dead fly-blown dog.
Lodo. And be forgotten Before the funeral sermon.
Brach. Vittoria! Vittoria!
Lodo. Oh, the cursed devil Comes to himself a gain! we are undone.
Gas. Strangle him in private. [Enter Vittoria and the Attendants.
Lodo. You would prate, sir? This is a true-love knot Sent from the Duke of Florence. [Brachiano is strangled.
Gas. What, is it done?
Lodo. The snuff is out. No woman-keeper i' th' world, Though she had practis'd seven year at the pest-house, Could have done 't quaintlier. My lords, he 's dead.
Vittoria and the others come forward
Omnes. Rest to his soul!
Vit. Oh me! this place is hell.
Fran. How heavily she takes it!
Flam. Oh, yes, yes; Had women navigable rivers in their eyes, They would dispend them all. Surely, I wonder Why we should wish more rivers to the city, When they sell water so good cheap. I 'll tell theen These are but Moorish shades of griefs or fears; There 's nothing sooner dry than women's tears. Why, here 's an end of all my harvest; he has given me nothing. Court promises! let wise men count them curs'd; For while you live, he that scores best, pays worst.