AMB. If she were bent lasciviously (the fault Of mighty women, that sleep soft)--O death! Must she needs choose such an unequal sinner, To make all worse?-- SUP. A bastard! the duke's bastard! shame heap'd on shame! AMB. O our disgrace! Most women have small waists the world throughout; But their desires are thousand miles about. SUP. Come, stay not here, let's after, and prevent, Or else they'll sin faster than we'll repent. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ VENDICE _and_ HIPPOLITO, _bringing out their_ _mother, one by one shoulder, and the other by_ _the other, with daggers in their hands._ VEN. O thou, for whom no name is bad enough! GRA. What mean my sons? what, will you murder me? VEN. Wicked, unnatural parent! HIP. Fiend of women! GRA. O! are sons turn'd monsters? help! VEN. In vain. GRA. Are you so barbarous to set iron nipples Upon the breast that gave you suck? VEN. That breast Is turn'd to quarled poison.[93] GRA. Cut not your days for't! am not I your mother?[94] VEN. Thou dost usurp that title now by fraud, For in that shell of mother breeds a bawd. GRA. A bawd! O name far loathsomer than hell! HIP. It should be so, knew'st thou thy office well. GRA. I hate it. VEN. Ah! is't possible, you powers on high, That women should dissemble when they die? GRA. Dissemble! VEN. Did not the duke's son direct A fellow of the worst[95] condition hither, That did corrupt all that was good in thee? Made thee uncivilly forget thyself, And work our sister to his lust? GRA. Who, I? That had been monstrous. I defy that man For any such intent! none lives so pure, But shall be soil'd with slander. Good son, believe it not. VEN. O, I'm in doubt, Whether I am myself, or no---- [_Aside._ Stay, let me look again upon this face. Who shall be sav'd, when mothers have no grace? HIP. 'Twould make one half despair. VEN. I was the man. Defy me now; let's see, do't modestly. GRA. O hell unto my soul! VEN. In that disguise, I, sent from the duke's son, Tried you, and found you base metal, As any villain might have done. GRA. O, no, No tongue but yours could have bewitch'd me so. VEN. O nimble in damnation, quick in ru'n![96] There is no devil could strike fire so soon: I am confuted in a word. GRA. O sons, forgive me! to myself I'll prove more true; You that should honour me, I kneel to you. [_Kneels and weeps._ VEN. A mother to give aim to her own daughter![97] HIP. True, brother; how far beyond nature 'tis, Though many mothers do't! VEN. Nay, and you draw tears once, go you to bed; Wet will make iron blush and change to red. Brother, it rains. 'Twill spoil your dagger: house it. HIP. 'Tis done.