The Tragedy of
Ant.
I heard some noyse: whose there? what art thou? speake.
Bos.
Antonio? Put not your face; nor body
To such a forc'd expression of feare,
I am Bosola; your friend.
Ant.
Bosola?
(This Moale do's undermine me) heard you not
A noyce even now?
Bos.
From whence?
Ant.
From the Duchesse lodging.
Bos.
Not I: did you?
Ant.
I did: or else I dream'd.
Bos.
Let's walke towards it.
Ant.
No: It may be, 'twas
But the rising of the winde:
Bos.
Very likely:
Me thinkes 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat.
You looke wildly.
Ant.
I have bin setting a figure
For the Dutchesse Jewells;
Bos.
Ah: and how falls your question?
Doe you find it radicall?
Ant.
What's that to you?
'Tis rather to be question'd what designe
(When all men were commanded to their lodgings)
Makes you a night-walker.
Bos.
In sooth I'll tell you:
Now all the Court's asleepe, I thought the Divell
Had least to doe here; I came to say my prayers,
And if it doe offend you, I doe so,
You are a fine Courtier.
Ant.
This fellow will undoe me;
You gave the Dutchesse Apricocks to day,
Pray heaven they were not poysond?
Bos.
Poysond? a spanish figge
For the imputation.
Ant.
Traitors are ever confident,
Till they are discover'd: There were Jewels stolne too,
In
