The Tragedy of
Slain by this hand: for lustfull Julia,
Poyson'd by this man: and lastly, for my selfe,
(That was an Actor in the maine of all,
Much 'gainst mine owne good nature, yet i'th'end
Neglected.)
Pes.
How now (my Lord?)
Card.
Looke to my brother:
He gave us these large wounds, as we were strugling
Here i'th' rushes: And now, I pray, let me
Be layd by, and never thought of.
Pes.
How fatally (it seemes) he did withstand,
His owne rescew?
Mal.
Thou wretched thing of blood,
How came Antonio by his death?
Bos.
In a mist: I know not how,
Such a mistake, as I have often seene
In a play: Oh, I am gone,
We are onely like dead wals, or vaulted graves,
That ruin'd, yeildes no eccho: Fare you well,
It may be paine: but no harme to me to die,
In so good a quarrell. Oh this gloomy world,
In what a shadow, or deepe pit of darknesse,
Doth (womanish, and fearefull mankind live?
Let worthy mindes, nere stagger in distrust
To suffer death, or shame for what is just,
Mine is an other voyage.
Pes.
The noble Delio, as I came to th' Pallace,
Told me of Antonio's being here, and shew'd me
A pritty gentleman his sonne and heire.
Mal.
Oh Sir, you come to late.
Del.
I heard so, and
Was arm'd for't, ere I came: Let us make noble use
Of this great ruine; and joyne all our force
To establish this yong hopefull Gentleman
In's mother's right. These wretched eminent things
Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one
Fall
