Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/99

 Shake my Sword over you, will you yeilde?

Card. Helpe me, I am your brother.

Ferd. The divell? My brother fight upon the adverse party? There flies your ransome.

Card. Oh Justice: I suffer now, for what hath former bin: "Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

Ferd. Now you're brave fellowes: Cæsars Fortune was harder than Pompeys: Cæsar died in the armes of prosperity, Pompey at the feete of disgrace: you both died in the field, The paine's nothing: paine many times, is taken away, with The apprehension of greater, (as the tooth-ache with the sight Of a Barbor, that comes to pull it out) there's Philosophy for you.

Bos. Now my revenge is perfect: sinke (thou maine cause Of my undoing) the last part of my life, Hath done me best service.

Ferd. Give me some wet hay, I am broken winded. I do account this world but a dog-kennell: I will vault credit, and affect high pleasures, Beyond death.

Bos. He seemes to come to himselfe, now he's so neere the bottom.

Ferd. My sister, O my sister! there's the cause on't. Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust.

Card. Thou hast thy payment too.

Bos. Yes, I hold my weary soule, in my teeth, 'Tis ready to part from me: I do glory That thou, which stood'st like a huge Piramid Begun upon a large, and ample base, Shalt end in a little point a kind of nothing.

Pes. How now (my Lord?)

Mal. Oh sad disastre.

Rod. How comes this?

Bos. Revenge, for the Duchesse of Malfy, murdered By th' Aragonian brethren: for Antonio,