the Dutchesse of Malfy.
Unto the worst of torture, paine, and feare;
Del.
Speake to her all happy comfort.
Ant.
How I do play the foole with mine own danger?
You are this night (deere friend) to poast to Rome,
My life lies in your service.
Del.
Doe not doubt me,
Ant.
Oh, 'Tis farre from me: and yet feare presents me
Somewhat that looke like danger.
Del.
Beleeve it,
'Tis but the shadow of your feare, no more:
How superstitiously we mind our evils?
The throwing downe salt, or crossing of a Hare;
Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse:
Or singing of a Criket, are of powre
To daunt whole man in vs: Sir, fare you well:
I wish you all the joyes of a bless'd Father;
And (for my faith) lay this unto your brest,
Old friends (like old swords) still are trusted best.
Cariola.
Sir, you are the happy father of a sonne,
Your wife commends him to you.
Aut.
Blessed comfort:
For heaven-sake tend her well: I'll presently
Goe set a figure for's Nativitie. Exeunt.
SCENA. III.
Bosola, Antonio.
Bos.
Sure I did heare a woman shreike: list, hah?
And the sound came (if I receiv'd it right)
From the Dutchesse lodgings: ther's some stratagem,
In the confyning all our Courtiers
To their severall wards: I must have part of it,
My Intelligence will freize else: List againe,
It may be 'twas the mellencholly bird,
(Best friend of silence, and of solitarines)
The Oowle, that schream'd so: hah? Antonio?
Ant.
