Enter Bellamino the favourite
Bel. Where is Francelia?
Clar. My lord,
She is not well, and craves your lordship's pardon.
Bel. What, sick upon40
A masque-night, and when the king sends for her?
Come, come, that must not be: which way is she?[Clarimont steps to him, and whispers. He starts
By heaven!
Clar. By heaven!
Nor will she ever see you more, if he—45
Bel. I understand you—I am Bellamino—
If e'er he see the morning. I had decreed it;
Nor should he have surviv'd three days, had he
Been ne'er so silent. This night's his last, Petruchio:
This arm shall make it so; I will not trust50
My brother with the act.
Clar. Nobly resolv'd!
But how or where, my lord?
Bel. No matter where.
Rather than fail, I'll make the presence chamber
Be the place of execution.
Clar. Still nobly!
But, my lord55
Bel. 'But' again, Petruchio?
Clar. And again, my lord.
No, no, my lady loves you well, but loves
Her honour too; and there are ways (I hope)
To keep the one, and yet not lose the other.
Do not I know my lady lies alone,60
And will feign herself sick this night, and all
On purpose too? am not I to let you
Into her chamber,
And to give out, the fact once done, that he
Killed himself?65
[The play ends here imperfectly.]
