] Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee.
This unctions 's sent from the great Duke of Florence.
Fran. Sir, be of comfort.
Brach. O thou soft natural death, that art joint-twin
To sweetest slumber! no rough-bearded comet
Stares on thy mild departure; the dull owl
Bears not against thy casement; the hoarse wolf
Scents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse,
Whilst horror waits on princes'.
Vit. I am lost for ever.
Brach. How miserable a thing it is to die
'Mongst women howling! [Enter Lodovico and Gasparo, as Capuchins.
What are those?
Flam. Franciscans:
They have brought the extreme unction.
Brach. On pain of death, let no man name death to me:
It is a word infinitely terrible.
Withdraw into our cabinet.
[Exeunt all but Francisco and Flamineo.
Flam. To see what solitariness is about dying princes! as heretofore
they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses
unhospitable, so now, O justice! where are their flatterers now?
flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies; the least thick
cloud makes them invisible.
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