DUCHESS. For me, sir? BOSOLA. Apricocks, madam. DUCHESS. O, sir, where are they? I have heard of none to-year[42] BOSOLA. [Aside.] Good; her colour rises. DUCHESS. Indeed, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones. What an unskilful fellow is our gardener! We shall have none this month. BOSOLA. Will not your grace pare them? DUCHESS. No: they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do. BOSOLA. I know not: yet I wish your grace had par'd 'em. DUCHESS. Why? BOSOLA. I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener, Only to raise his profit by them the sooner, Did ripen them in horse-dung. DUCHESS. O, you jest.-- You shall judge: pray, taste one. ANTONIO. Indeed, madam, I do not love the fruit. DUCHESS. Sir, you are loth To rob us of our dainties. 'Tis a delicate fruit; They say they are restorative. BOSOLA. 'Tis a pretty art, This grafting. DUCHESS. 'Tis so; a bettering of nature. BOSOLA. To make a pippin grow upon a crab, A damson on a black-thorn.--[Aside.] How greedily she eats them! A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales! For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown, I should have discover'd apparently[43] The young springal[44] cutting a caper in her belly. DUCHESS. I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones, If they do not make me sick. ANTONIO. How now, madam! DUCHESS. This green fruit and my stomach are not friends: How they swell me! BOSOLA. [Aside.] Nay, you are too much swell'd already. DUCHESS. O, I am in an extreme cold sweat! BOSOLA. I am very sorry. [Exit.] DUCHESS. Lights to my chamber!--O good Antonio, I fear I am undone! DELIO. Lights there, lights! Exeunt DUCHESS [and Ladies.] ANTONIO. O my most trusty Delio, we are lost! I fear she 's fall'n in labour; and there 's left No time for her remove. DELIO. Have you prepar'd Those ladies to attend her; and procur'd That politic safe conveyance for the midwife Your duchess plotted? ANTONIO. I have. DELIO. Make use, then, of this forc'd occasion. Give out that Bosola hath poison'd her With these apricocks; that will give some colour For her keeping close. ANTONIO. Fie, fie, the physicians Will then flock to her. DELIO. For that you may pretend She'll use some prepar'd antidote of her own, Lest the physicians should re-poison her. ANTONIO. I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on 't. Exeunt. Scene II[45] [Enter] BOSOLA and Old Lady BOSOLA. So, so, there 's no question but her techiness[46] and most vulturous eating of the apricocks are apparent signs of breeding, now?