RAY. I must be gone, and post a messenger: France must supply what wants to make thee great-- An army, my Philippa, which these people, Snoring in pride of their last victory, Do not so much as dream on: Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices At our election; which will be ere long. PHIL. O, 'tis an age, I'd rather have it said, Philippa than a prisoner were dead. [_Exit._ _Enter a Criminal Judge and Officers, with_ ANTONIO; PETRUCHIO _and_ AURELIA _meet him, with Servants_. JUD. Captain Petruchio, take this condemn'd man Into your charge; it is Antonio, once A Spanish count, till his rash folly with His life made forfeit of his honour; he Was found travelling to your castle; 'Twas Heaven's will that his own feet should with A willing pace conduct him to his ruin: For the murther he must be ground to death In Filford Mill, of which you are the governor: Here my commission in its end gives strength To yours. He is your charge: farewell. His death must be with speed. [_Exit with his._[29] ANT. Deceive me not, good glasses, [for] your lights In my esteem never till now was precious, It is the same, it is the very same I sleeping saw. AUR. Is this the man fame speaks so nobly of? O love, Aurelia never until now Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it. [_Aside._ PET. Come, sir, to my castle. AUR. Fie on you, sir; to kill a governor, it is a fact death cannot appear too horrible to punish. ANT. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man, To credit air! believe there can be substance in A cloud of thick'ned smoke, as truth Hid in a dream; yes, there is truth that, like A scroll fetch'd from an oracle, Betrays the double-dealing of the gods; Dreams, that speak all of joy, do turn to grief, And such bad fate deludes my light belief. PET. Away with him. [_Exeunt._ AURELIA _sola_. AUR. Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue Proud of the office, praise this lovely lord; And my trapp'd soul did with as eager haste Draw in the breath; and now, O Aurelia! Buried with him must all the joy thou hast For ever sleep; and with a pale consumption, Pitying him wilt thou thyself be ruin'd? He must not die; if there be any way Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it. Assist a poor lost virgin, some good power, And lead her to a path, whose secret tract May guide both him and me unto our safety. Be kind, good wits, I never until now Put you to any trouble; 'tis your office To help at need this little world you live by: Not yet! O dulness! do not make me mad-- I have't, bless'd brains! now shall a woman's wit Wrestle with fate, and if my plot but hit, Come off with wreaths: my duty, nay, my all, I must forsake, lest my Antonio fall. [_Exit._ ACT IV., SCENE 1. _Enter_ GIOVANNO _mad, solus_.