Flam. So, have you done?
Corn. Unfortunate Camillo!
Vit. I do protest, if any chaste denial,
If anything but blood could have allay'd
His long suit to me----
Corn. I will join with thee,
To the most woeful end e'er mother kneel'd:
If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed,
Be thy life short as are the funeral tears
In great men's----
Brach. Fie, fie, the woman's mad.
Corn. Be thy act Judas-like; betray in kissing:
May'st thou be envied during his short breath,
And pitied like a wretch after his death!
Vit. O me accurs'd! [Exit.
Flam. Are you out of your wits? my lord,
I 'll fetch her back again.
Brach. No, I 'll to bed:
Send Doctor Julio to me presently.
Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue
Hath rais'd a fearful and prodigious storm:
Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [Exit.
Flam. Now, you that stand so much upon your honour,
Is this a fitting time a' night, think you,
To send a duke home without e'er a man?
I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth
Which you have hoarded for my maintenance,
That I may bear my bear out of the level
Of my lord's stirrup.
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