Treason's tongue hath a villainous palsy in 't; I will talk to any man,
hear no man, and for a time appear a politic madman.
Enter Giovanni, and Count Lodovico
Fran. How now, my noble cousin? what, in black!
Giov. Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate you
In virtue, and you must imitate me
In colours of your garments. My sweet mother
Is----
Fran. How? where?
Giov. Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I 'll not tell you,
For I shall make you weep.
Fran. Is dead?
Giov. Do not blame me now,
I did not tell you so.
Lodo. She 's dead, my lord.
Fran. Dead!
Mont. Bless'd lady, thou art now above thy woes!
Will 't please your lordships to withdraw a little?
Giov. What do the dead do, uncle? do they eat,
Hear music, go a-hunting, and be merry,
As we that live?
Fran. No, coz; they sleep.
Giov. Lord, Lord, that I were dead!
I have not slept these six nights. When do they wake?
Fran. When God shall please.
Giov. Good God, let her sleep ever!
For I have known her wake an hundred nights,
When all the pillow where she laid her head
Was brine-wet with her tears.
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