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She is kept waking with noises of Madmen; and, at last, is strangled by common Executioners.
Duch. What hideous noise was that?
Car. "Tis the wild consort
Of madmen, Lady, which your tyrant brother
Duch. Indeed, I thank him; nothing but noise and folly
Car. Oh, 'twill increase your melancholy!
To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.
Car. Yes: but thou shalt live
To shake this durance off.
Duch. Thou art a fool.
The robin red-breast and the nightingale
Car. Pray, dry your eyes.
What think you of, Madam?
Duch. Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleep.
Car. Like a madman, with your eyes open?
In the other world?
Car. Yes, out of question.
Duch. Oh, that it were possible we might
But hold some two days' conference with the dead!
From them I should learn somewhat I am sure
I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle:
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow.
Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,
The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad:
I am acquainted with sad misery,
As the tanned galley-slave is with his oar;
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now?
Car. Like to your picture in the gallery;
A deal of life in show, but none in practice :
Or rather, like some reverend monument
Duch. Very proper:
And Fortune seems only to have her eyesight,
What noise is that?
A Servant enters.
Serv. I am come to tell
With several sorts of madmen, which wild object
Duch. Let them come in.
Here follows a dance of madmen, with music answerable thereto; after which BosoLa (like an old man) enters. Duch. Is he mad too?
Bos. I am come to make thy tomb.
Duch. Ha! my tomb?
Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed,
Duch. Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me?
Duch. Let me know fully, therefore, the effect
Of this thy dismal preparation. ...
Bos. Now I shall. [A coffin, cords, and a bell, produced.
Here is a present from your princely brothers;
Duch. Let me see it;
I have so much obedience in my blood,
I wish it in their veins to do them good.
Duch. Peace!-it affrights not me.
Duch. Even now thou saidst,
Thou wast a tomb-maker.
Bos. "Twas to bring you
Hark! now every thing is still;
This screech-owl, and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud.—
Their death, a hideous storm of terror!
A crucifix let bless your neck.
Car. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas!
What will you do with my lady? Call for help! Duch. To whom? to our next neighbours? They are mad folks.
Farewell, Cariola !
I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy
Some sirup for his cold; and let the girl
Say her prayers ere she sleep.—Now what you please :
Bos. Strangling. Here are your executioners.
The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs,
Bos. Doth not death fright you?
Bos. Yet, methinks,
The manner of your death should much afflict you;
Duch. Not a whit.
What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut
With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls ?
I know, death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits; and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometrical hinges,
You may open them both ways, any way (for Heaven's sake)
So I were out of your whispering.
Tell my brothers,
I would fain put off my last woman's fault;
I'd not be tedious to you.
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength
Yet stay heaven gates are not so highly arched
Must go upon their knees.—Come, violent death,
Go tell my brothers; when I am laid out,
They then may feed in quiet. [They strangle her, kneeling.
Ferd. Is she dead?
Bos. She is what you would have her.
Fix your eye here.
Bos. Do you not weep?
Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out!