Armourer. My lord, upon my soul----
Brach. Away with him to torture.
There are some great ones that have hand in this,
And near about me.
Enter Vittoria Corombona
Vit. Oh, my lov'd lord! poison'd!
Flam. Remove the bar. Here 's unfortunate revels!
Call the physicians. [Enter two Physicians.
A plague upon you!
We have too much of your cunning here already:
I fear the ambassadors are likewise poison'd.
Brach. Oh, I am gone already! the infection
Flies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart!
There 's such a covenant 'tween the world and it,
They 're loath to break.
Giov. Oh, my most loved father!
Brach. Remove the boy away.
Where 's this good woman? Had I infinite worlds,
They were too little for thee: must I leave thee?
What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal?
Physicians. Most deadly.
Brach. Most corrupted politic hangman,
You kill without book; but your art to save
Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends.
I that have given life to offending slaves,
And wretched murderers, have I not power
To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth?
[To Vittoria.
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