The Tragedy of
Card.
Where are you?
Serv.
Here.
Card.
Let none upon your lives
Have conference with the Prince Ferdinand,
Unlesse I know it: In this distraction
He may reveale the murther:
Yond's my lingring consumption:
I am weary of her; and by any meanes
Would be quit off.
Jul.
How now, my Lord?
What ailes you?
Card.
Nothing.
Jul.
Oh, you are much alterd:
Come, I must be your Secretary, and remove
This lead from off your bosome, what's the matter?
Card.
I may not tell you.
Jul.
Are you so farre in love with sorrow,
You cannot part, with part of it? or thinke you
I cannot love your grace, when you are sad,
As well as merry? or do you suspect
I, that have bin a secret to your heart,
These many winters, cannot be the same
Unto your tongue?
Card.
Satisfie thy longing,
The onely way to make thee keepe my councell,
Is not to tell thee.
Jul.
Tell your eccho this,
Or flatterers, that (like ecchoes) still report
What they heare (though most imperfect) and not me:
For, if that you be true unto your selfe,
I'll know.
Card.
Will you racke me?
Jul.
No, judgement shall
Draw it from you: It is an equall fault,
To tell ones secrets, unto all, or none.
Card.
The first argues folly.
Jul.
But the last tyranny.
Card.
Very well, why imagine I have committed
Some secret deed, which I desire the world
May never heare of?
Jul.
Therefore may not I know it?
You have conceal'd for me, as great a sinne
As
