_Rug._ I do believe, and give him sleep for ever. What impudence is this, and what base malice, To make us instruments of thy abuses? Are we set here to poison him? _Sor._ Mistake not, yet I must needs say, 'tis a noble care, And worthy vertuous servants; if you will see A flourishing estate again in _Naples_, And great _Alphonso_ reign that's truly good, And like himself able to make all excellent; Give him this drink, and this good health unto him. [_Drinks._ I am not so desperate yet to kill my self, Never look on me as a guilty man, Nor on the water as a speedy poison: I am not mad, nor laid out all my treasure, My conscience and my credit to abuse ye; How nimbly and how chearfully it works now Upon my heart and head! sure I am a new man, There is no sadness that I feel within me, But as it meets it, like a lazie vapour How it flyes off. Here, give it him with speed, You are more guilty than I ever was, And worthier of the name of evil subjects, If but an hour you hold this from his health. _Rug._ 'Tis some rare vertuous thing sure, he is a good man, It must be so, come, let's apply it presently, And may it sweetly work. _Sor._ Pray let me hear on't, and carry it close my Lords. _Mar._ Yes, good _Sorano_. [_Ex._ Rugio, Marco. _Sor._ Do my good fools, my honest pious coxcombs, My wary fools too: have I caught your wisedoms? You never dream't I knew an Antidote, Nor how to take it to secure mine own life; I am an Asse, go, give him the fine cordial, And when you have done go dig his grave, good Frier, Some two hours hence we shall have such a bawling, And roaring up and down for _Aqua vitæ_, Such rubbing, and such nointing, and such cooling, I have sent him that will make a bonfire in's belly, If he recover it, there is no heat in Hell sure. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Frederick, _and_ Podrano. _Fred. Podrano_? _Pod._ Sir. _Fred._ Call hither Lord _Valerio_, and let none trouble us. _Pod._ It shall be done Sir. [_Exit._ _Fred._ I know he wants no additions to his tortures, He has enough for humane blood to carry, Yet I must vex him further; So many that I wonder his hot youth And high-bred spirit breaks not into fury; I must yet torture him a little further, And make my self sport with his miseries, My anger is too poor else. Here he comes, _Enter_ Val. Now my young married Lord, how do you feel your self? You have the happiness you ever aim'd at, The joy and pleasure. _Val._ Would you had the like Sir. _Fred._ You tumble in delights with your sweet Lady, And draw the minutes out in dear embraces, You live a right Lords life.