Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/61

 Be a good Mother to your litle ones, And save them from the Tiger: fare you well.

Duch. Let me looke upon you once more: for that speech Came from a dying father: your kisse is colder Then that I have seene an holy Anchorite Give to a dead mans skull.

Ant. My heart is turnde to a heavy lumpe of lead, With which I sound my danger: fare you well.

Duch. My Laurell is all withered.

Car. Looke (Madam) what a troope of armed men Make toward us.

Duch. O, they are very welcome: When Fortunes wheele, is over-charg'd with Princes, The waight makes it move swift. I wonldwould [sic] have my ruine Be sudden: I am your adventure, am I not.

Bos. You are, you must see your husband no more,

Duch. What Divell art thou, that counterfeits heavens thunder?

Bos. Is that terrible? I would have you tell me Whether is that note worse, that frights the silly birds Out of the corne or that which doth allure them To the nets? you have hearkned to the last too much.

Duch. O misery: like to a rusty ore-char'd Cannon, Shall I never flye in peeces? come: to what Prison?

Bos. To none:

Duch. Whether then?

Bos. To your Pallace.

Duch. I have heard that Charons boate, serves to convay All ore the dismall Lake, but brings none backe againe.

Bos. Your brothers meane you, safety, and pitie.

Dutch. Pitie? with such a pitie men preserve alive Pheasants, and Quailes, when they are not fat enough To be eaten.

Bos. These are your children?

Dutch Yes:

Bos. Can they pratle?

Dutch. No: But I intend, since they were borne accurs'd;