VEN. He had his tongue, yet grief made him die speechless. Puh! 'tis but early yet; now I'll begin To stick thy soul with ulcers. I will make Thy spirit grievous sore; it shall not rest, But like some pestilent man toss in thy breast. Mark me, duke: Thou'rt a renowned, high and mighty cuckold. DUKE. O! VEN. Thy bastard--thy bastard rides a-hunting in thy brow. DUKE. Millions of deaths! VEN. Nay, to afflict thee more, Here in this lodge they meet for damned clips.[77] Those eyes shall see the incest of their lips. DUKE. Is there a hell besides this, villains? VEN. Villain! Nay, heaven is just; scorns are the hires of scorns: I ne'er knew yet adulterer without horns. HIP. Once, ere they die, 'tis quitted. VEN. Hark! the music: Their banquet is prepar'd, they're coming-- DUKE. O, kill me not with that sight! VEN. Thou shalt not lose that sight for all thy dukedom. DUKE. Traitors! murderers! VEN. What! is not thy tongue eaten out yet? Then we'll invent a silence. Brother, stifle the torch. DUKE. Treason! murder! VEN. Nay, faith, we'll have you hush'd. Now with thy dagger Nail down his tongue, and mine shall keep possession About his heart; if he but gasp, he dies; We dread not death to quittance injuries. Brother, if he but wink, not brooking the foul object, Let our two other hands tear up his lids, And make his eyes like comets shine through blood When the bad bleeds, then is the tragedy good. HIP. Whist, brother! music's at our ear; they come. _Enter the_ BASTARD, _meeting the_ DUCHESS. SPU. Had not that kiss a taste of sin, 'twere sweet. DUCH. Why, there's no pleasure sweet, but it is sinful. SPU. True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given; Best side to us is the worst side to heaven. DUCH. Pish! come: 'tis the old duke, thy doubtful father: The thought of him rubs heaven in thy way. But I protest by yonder waxen fire, Forget him, or I'll poison him. SPU. Madam, you urge a thought which ne'er had life. So deadly do I loathe him for my birth, That if he took me hasp'd within his bed, I would add murder to adultery, And with my sword give up his years to death. DUCH. Why, now thou'rt sociable; let's in and feast: Loud'st music sound; pleasure is banquet's guest. [_Exeunt._ DUKE. I cannot brook-- VEN. The brook is turn'd to blood. HIP. Thanks to loud music. VEN. 'Twas our friend, indeed. 'Tis state in music for a duke to bleed. The dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown; As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em down. [_Exeunt._ _Enter the Duchess's two sons_, AMBITIOSO _and_ SUPERVACUO. AMB. Was not his execution rarely plotted? We are the duke's sons now. SUP. Ay, you may thank my policy for that. AMB. Your policy for what?