Vit. It shall not be a house of convertites; My mind shall make it honester to me Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal. Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spite, Through darkness diamonds spread their richest light. [Exit. Enter Brachiano Brach. Now you and I are friends, sir, we'll shake hands In a friend's grave together; a fit place, Being th' emblem of soft peace, t' atone our hatred. Fran. Sir, what 's the matter? Brach. I will not chase more blood from that lov'd cheek; You have lost too much already; fare you well. [Exit. Fran. How strange these words sound! what 's the interpretation? Flam. [Aside.] Good; this is a preface to the discovery of the duchess' death: he carries it well. Because now I cannot counterfeit a whining passion for the death of my lady, I will feign a mad humour for the disgrace of my sister; and that will keep off idle questions. Treason's tongue hath a villainous palsy in 't; I will talk to any man, hear no man, and for a time appear a politic madman. Enter Giovanni, and Count Lodovico Fran. How now, my noble cousin? what, in black! Giov. Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate you In virtue, and you must imitate me In colours of your garments. My sweet mother Is---- Fran. How? where? Giov. Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I 'll not tell you, For I shall make you weep. Fran. Is dead? Giov. Do not blame me now, I did not tell you so. Lodo. She 's dead, my lord. Fran. Dead! Mont. Bless'd lady, thou art now above thy woes! Will 't please your lordships to withdraw a little? Giov. What do the dead do, uncle? do they eat, Hear music, go a-hunting, and be merry, As we that live? Fran. No, coz; they sleep. Giov. Lord, Lord, that I were dead! I have not slept these six nights. When do they wake? Fran. When God shall please. Giov. Good God, let her sleep ever! For I have known her wake an hundred nights, When all the pillow where she laid her head Was brine-wet with her tears. I am to complain to you, sir; I 'll tell you how they have us'd her now she 's dead: They wrapp'd her in a cruel fold of lead, And would not let me kiss her. Fran. Thou didst love her? Giov. I have often heard her say she gave me suck, And it should seem by that she dearly lov'd me, Since princes seldom do it. Fran. Oh, all of my poor sister that remains! Take him away for God's sake! [Exit Giovanni. Mont. How now, my lord? Fran. Believe me, I am nothing but her grave; And I shall keep her blessed memory Longer than thousand epitaphs. SCENE III Enter Flamineo as distracted, Marcello, and Lodovico