_Lav._ But one short hour to cure me. [_Knock within._ Oh be not cruell: Oh! oh. _Mar._ Heark, they knock. Make hast for Heavens sake, Mistris. _Gab._ This for _Casta_. _Lav._ Oh, O, O, O! [_He dies._ _Mar._ He's dead: come quickly, let's away with him, 'T will be too late else. _Gab._ Help, help up to th' chamber! [_Exeunt with Lavalls body._ _Enter Duke, Hellena, Gentile, Casta, and attendants,_ _with lights._ _Duke._ What frights are these? _Gent._ I [a]m sure here 's one past frighting. Bring the lights neerer: I have enough alreadie. Out, out, mine eyes. Look, _Casta_. _Lord._ 'T is young _Perolot_. _Duke._ When came he over? Hold the Gentlewoman, she sinks; and bear her off. _Cast._ O my dear brother! [_Exit._ _Gent._ There is a time for all; for me, I hope, too, And very shortly. Murdred? [_Gabriella, Maria, with Lavalls body, above._ _Duke._ Who's above there? _Gab._ Look up, and see. _Duke._ What may this mean? _Gab._ Behold it; Behold the drunken murderer Of that young Gentleman; behold the rankest, The vilest, basest slave that ever flourish'd. _Duke._ Who kill'd him? _Gab._ I; and there 's the cause I did it: Read, if your eyes will give you leave. _Hell._ Oh! monstrous. _Gab._ Nay, out it shall: there, take this false heart to ye; The base dishonor of a thousand women: Keep it in gold, Duke, 'tis a precious jewel. Now to my self; for I have liv'd a fair age, Longer by some moneths then I had a mind to. _Duke._ Hold. _Gab._ Here, young _Perolot_; my first contracted True love shall never go alone. _Duke._ Hold, _Gabriella_. I do forgive all. _Gab._ I shall die the better, Thus let me seek my grave, and my shames with me. _Mar._ Nor shalt thou go alone my noble Mistris: Why should I live, and thou dead? _Lord._ Save the wench there. _Mar._ She is, I hope; and all my sins here written. _Duke._ This was a fatal night. _Gent._ Heaven has his working, Which we cannot contend against. _Duke._ Alas! _Gent._ Your Grace has your alas too. _Duke._ Would 't were equal; For thou hast lost an honest noble childe. _Gent._ 'T is heir enough has lost a good remembrance. _Duke._ See all their bodies buried decently, Though some deserv'd it not. How do you, Lady? _Hell._ Even with your Graces leave, ripe for a Monasterie; There will I wed my life to tears and prayers, And never know what man is more. _Duke._ Your pleasure; How does the maid within? _Lord._ She is gone before, Sir, The same course that my Lady takes.