The Tragedy of
You have heard it rumor'd for these many yeares,
None of our family dies, but there is seene
The shape of an old woman, which is given
By tradition, to us, to have bin murther'd
By her Nephewes, for her riches: Such a figure
One night (as the Prince sat up late at's booke)
Appear'd to him, when crying out for helpe,
The gentlemen of 's chamber, found his grace
All on a cold sweate, alter'd much in face
And language: Since which apparition,
He hath growne worse, and worse, and I much feare
He cannot live.
Bos.
Sir, I would speake with you.
Pes.
We'll leave your grace,
Wishing to the sicke Prince, our noble Lord,
All health of minde, and body.
Card.
You are most welcome:
Are you come? so: this fellow must not know
By any meanes I had intelligence
In our Duchesse death: For (though I counsell'd it,)
The full of all th'ingagement seem'd to grow
From Ferdinand: Now sir, how fares our sister?
I do not thinke but sorrow makes her looke
Like to an oft-di'd garment: She shall now
Tast comfort from me: why do you looke so wildely?
Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince
Dejects you, but be you of happy comfort:
If you'll do on thing for me, I'll entreate
Though he had a cold tombe-stone ore his bones,
I'll'd make you what you would be.
Bos.
Any thing,
Give it me in a breath, and let me flie to't:
They that thinke long, small expedition win,
For musing much o'th'end, cannot begin.
Jul.
Sir, will you come in to Supper?
Card.
I am busie, leave me.
Jul.
What an excellent shape hath that fellow? Exit.
Card.
