Y. ART. O, here the woful'st husband comes alive, No husband now; the wight, that did uphold That name of husband, is now quite o'erthrown, And I am left a hapless widower. O. ART. Fain would I speak, if grief would suffer me. O. LUS. As Master Arthur says, so say I; If grief would let me, I would weeping die. To be thus hapless in my aged years! O, I would speak; but my words melt to tears. Y. ART. Go in, go in, and view the sweetest corpse That e'er was laid upon a mournful room; You cannot speak for weeping sorrow's doom: Bad news are rife, good tidings seldom come. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV., SCENE I. _A Street_. _Enter_ ANSELM. ANS. What frantic humour doth thus haunt my sense, Striving to breed destruction in my spirit? When I would sleep, the ghost of my sweet love Appears unto me in an angel's shape: When I'm awake, my fantasy presents, As in a glass, the shadow of my love: When I would speak, her name intrudes itself Into the perfect echoes of my speech: And though my thought beget some other word, Yet will my tongue speak nothing but her name. If I do meditate, it is on her; If dream of her, or if discourse of her, I think her ghost doth haunt me, as in times Of former darkness old wives' tales report. _Enter_ FULLER. Here comes my better genius, whose advice Directs me still in all my actions. How now, from whence come you? FUL. Faith, from the street, in which, as I pass'd by, I met the modest Mistress Arthur's corpse, And after her as mourners, first her husband, Next Justice Reason, then old Master Arthur, Old Master Lusam, and young Lusam too, With many other kinsfolks, neighbours, friends, And others, that lament her funeral: Her body is by this laid in the vault. ANS. And in that vault my body I will lay! I prythee, leave me: thither is my way. FUL. I am sure you jest, you mean not as you say. ANS. No, no, I'll but go to the church, and pray. FUL. Nay, then we shall be troubled with your humour. ANS. As ever thou didst love me, or as ever Thou didst delight in my society, By all the rights of friendship and of love, Let me entreat thy absence but one hour, And at the hour's end I will come to thee. FUL. Nay, if you will be foolish, and past reason, I'll wash my hands, like Pilate, from thy folly, And suffer thee in these extremities. [_Exit_.