BOSOLA. O, she 's gone again! there the cords of life broke. O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience Is a black register wherein is writ All our good deeds and bad, a perspective That shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer'd To do good when we have a mind to it! This is manly sorrow; These tears, I am very certain, never grew In my mother's milk. My estate is sunk Below the degree of fear: where were These penitent fountains while she was living? O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight As direful to my soul as is the sword Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, I 'll bear thee hence, And execute thy last will; that 's deliver Thy body to the reverend dispose Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant Shall not deny me. Then I 'll post to Milan, Where somewhat I will speedily enact Worth my dejection. Exit [with the body]. Act V Scene I[120] [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO ANTONIO. What think you of my hope of reconcilement To the Arragonian brethren? DELIO. I misdoubt it; For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct For your repair to Milan, they appear But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara, Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,[121] Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been mov'd To seize those lands; and some of his dependants Are at this instant making it their suit To be invested in your revenues. I cannot think they mean well to your life That do deprive you of your means of life, Your living. ANTONIO. You are still an heretic[122] To any safety I can shape myself. DELIO. Here comes the marquis: I will make myself Petitioner for some part of your land, To know whither it is flying. ANTONIO. I pray, do. [Withdraws.] [Enter PESCARA] DELIO. Sir, I have a suit to you. PESCARA. To me? DELIO. An easy one: There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet, With some demesnes, of late in the possession Of Antonio Bologna,--please you bestow them on me. PESCARA. You are my friend; but this is such a suit, Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take. DELIO. No, sir? PESCARA. I will give you ample reason for 't Soon in private:--here 's the cardinal's mistress. [Enter JULIA] JULIA. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner, And should be an ill beggar, had I not A great man's letter here, the cardinal's, To court you in my favour. [Gives a letter.] PESCARA. He entreats for you The Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong'd To the banish'd Bologna. JULIA. Yes. PESCARA. I could not have thought of a friend I could rather Pleasure with it: 'tis yours.