I am to complain to you, sir;
I 'll tell you how they have us'd her now she 's dead:
They wrapp'd her in a cruel fold of lead,
And would not let me kiss her.
Fran. Thou didst love her?
Giov. I have often heard her say she gave me suck,
And it should seem by that she dearly lov'd me,
Since princes seldom do it.
Fran. Oh, all of my poor sister that remains!
Take him away for God's sake! [Exit Giovanni.
Mont. How now, my lord?
Fran. Believe me, I am nothing but her grave;
And I shall keep her blessed memory
Longer than thousand epitaphs.
SCENE III
Enter Flamineo as distracted, Marcello, and Lodovico
Flam. We endure the strokes like anvils or hard steel,
Till pain itself make us no pain to feel.
Who shall do me right now? is this the end of service? I'd rather go
weed garlic; travel through France, and be mine own ostler; wear
sheep-skin linings, or shoes that stink of blacking; be entered into
the list of the forty thousand pedlars in Poland. [Enter Savoy
Ambassador.] Would I had rotted in some surgeon's house at Venice,
built upon the pox as well as one pines, ere I had served Brachiano!
Savoy Ambass.
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