Farewell, Zanche!
Zan. How, madam! do you think that I 'll outlive you;
Especially when my best self, Flamineo,
Goes the same voyage?
Flam. O most loved Moor!
Zan. Only, by all my love, let me entreat you,
Since it is most necessary one of us
Do violence on ourselves, let you or I
Be her sad taster, teach her how to die.
Flam. Thou dost instruct me nobly; take these pistols,
Because my hand is stain'd with blood already:
Two of these you shall level at my breast,
The other 'gainst your own, and so we 'll die
Most equally contented: but first swear
Not to outlive me.
Vit. and Zan. Most religiously.
Flam. Then here 's an end of me; farewell, daylight.
And, O contemptible physic! that dost take
So long a study, only to preserve
So short a life, I take my leave of thee. [Showing the pistols.
These are two cupping-glasses, that shall draw
All my infected blood out. Are you ready?
Both. Ready.
Flam. Whither shall I go now? O Lucian, thy ridiculous purgatory! to
find Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, and
Julius Caesar making hair-buttons, Hannibal selling blacking, and
Augustus crying garlic, Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and
King Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!
Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,
Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,
Nor greatly care.
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