AUR. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio! Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul---- ANT. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful: Men are apt to censure, and will condemn Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet, For every one must die: it was thy love For to deceive the law, and give me life: But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die; Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven: I slew the governor; for which rash deed Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed. [_Dies._ MACH. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill: Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill: But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum, Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind: World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast; Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death. Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown, Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down. [_Dies._ KING. So falls an exhalation from the sky, And's never miss'd because unnatural; A birth begotten by incorporate ill; Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder. _Enter_ PETRUCHIO. Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here, Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd, Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow, And rob our majesty of this elixir. [_Points to his crown._ Is't not my right? Was I not heir to Spain? PET. You are our prince, and may you live Long to enjoy your right! KING. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand Harder than joy; it presses out such tears. Nay, rise. PET. I do beseech your grace not to think me Contriver of Antonio's 'scape from death; 'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty. KING. That's long since pardon'd. PET. You're still merciful. KING. Antonio was thy son; I sent for thee For to confirm it, but he is dead: Be merciful, and do not curse the hand That gave it him, though it deserve it. AUR. O my griefs, are you not strong enough To break my heart? Pray, tell me--tell me true Can it be thought a sin? or is it so By my own hand to ease my breast of woe? KING. Alas! poor lady, rise; thy father's here. PET. Look up, Aurelia; ha! why do you kneel? [_To_ GIOVANNO. GIO. For a blessing. PET. Why she is not Aurelia----do not mock me. KING. But he is Sebastiano, and your son; Late by our hand made happy by enjoying The fair Evadne, dead Antonio's sister: [Her,] for whose sake he became a tailor, And so long lived in that mean disguise.