The Tragedy of
I'll whisper one thing in thy dying eare,
Shall make thy heart breake quickly: Thy faire Dutchesse
And two sweet Children.
Ant.
Their very names
Kindle a little life in me.
Bos.
Are murderd.
Ant.
Some men have wish'd to die.
At the hearing of sad tydings; I am glad
That I shall do't in sadnes: I would not now
Wish my wounds balm'de, nor heal'd: for I have no use
To put my life to: In all our Quest of Greatnes;
(Like wanton Boyes, whose pastime is their care)
We follow after bubbles, blowne in th'ayre.
Pleasure of life, what is't? onely the good houres
Of an Ague: meerely a preparative to rest,
To endure vexation: I doe not aske
The processe of my death: onely commend me
To Delio.
Bos.
Breake heart:
Ant.
And let my Sonne, flie the Courts of Princes.
Bos.
Thou seem'st to have lov'd Antonio?
Serv.
I brought him hether,
To have reconcil'd him to the Cardinall.
Bos.
I doe not aske thee that:
Take him up, if thou tender thy own life,
And beare him, where the Lady Julia
Was wont to lodge: Oh, my fate moves swift.
I have this Cardinall, in the forge already,
Now I'll bring him to th'hammer: (O direful misprision:)
I will not Imitate things glorious,
No more than base: I'll be mine owne example.
On, on: and looke thou represent, for silence,
The thing thou bear'st. Exeunt.
SCEN.
