VEN. That's a good lay, for I must kill myself. Brother, that's I, that sits for me: do you mark it? And I must stand ready here to make away myself yonder. I must sit to be killed, and stand to kill myself. I could vary it not so little as thrice over again; 't has some eight returns, like Michaelmas term.[108] HIP. That's enou', o' conscience. VEN. But, sirrah, does the duke's son come single? HIP. No; there's the hell on't: his faith's too feeble to go alone. He brings flesh-flies after him, that will buzz against supper-time, and hum for his coming out. VEN. Ah, the fly-flap of vengeance beat 'em to pieces! Here was the sweetest occasion, the fittest hour, to have made my revenge familiar with him; show him the body of the duke his father, and how quaintly he died, like a politician, in hugger-mugger,[109] made no man acquainted with it; and in catastrophe slain him over his father's breast. O, I'm mad to lose such a sweet opportunity! HIP. Nay, pish! prythee, be content! there's no remedy present; may not hereafter times open in as fair faces as this? VEN. They may, if they can paint so well. HIP. Come now: to avoid all suspicion, let's forsake this room, and be going to meet the duke's son. VEN. Content: I'm for any weather. Heart! step close: here he comes. _Enter_ LUSURIOSO. HIP. My honour'd lord! LUS. O me! you both present? VEN. E'en newly, my lord, just as your lordship entered now: about this place we had notice given he should be, but in some loathsome plight or other. HIP. Came your honour private? LUS. Private enough for this; only a few Attend my coming out. HIP. Death rot those few! [_Aside._ LUS. Stay, yonder's the slave. VEN. Mass, there's the slave indeed, my lord. 'Tis a good child: he calls his father slave! [_Aside._ LUS. Ay, that's the villain, the damn'd villain. Softly. Tread easy. VEN. Puh! I warrant you, my lord, we'll stifle-in our breaths. LUS. That will do well: Base rogue, thou sleepest thy last; 'tis policy To have him kill'd in's sleep; for, if he wak'd, He would betray all to them. VEN. But, my lord---- LUS. Ha, what say'st? VEN. Shall we kill him now he's drunk? LUS. Ay, best of all. VEN. Why, then he will ne'er live to be sober. LUS. No matter, let him reel to hell. VEN. But being so full of liquor, I fear he will put out all the fire. LUS. Thou art a mad beast.[110] VEN. And leave none to warm your lordship's golls[111] withal; for he that dies drunk falls into hell-fire like a bucket of water--qush, qush! LUS. Come, be ready: nake your swords:[112] think of your wrongs; this slave has injured you. VEN. Troth, so he has, and he has paid well for't.