Brach. Only a lease of your life; and that shall last But for one day: thou shalt be forc'd each evening To renew it, or be hang'd. Flam. At your pleasure. [Lodovico sprinkles Brachiano's beaver with a poison. Enter Francisco Your will is law now, I 'll not meddle with it. Brach. You once did brave me in your sister's lodging: I 'll now keep you in awe for 't. Where 's our beaver? Fran. [Aside.] He calls for his destruction. Noble youth, I pity thy sad fate! Now to the barriers. This shall his passage to the black lake further; The last good deed he did, he pardon'd murder. [Exeunt. SCENE III Charges and shouts. They fight at barriers; first single pairs, then three to three Enter Brachiano and Flamineo, with others Brach. An armourer! ud's death, an armourer! Flam. Armourer! where 's the armourer? Brach. Tear off my beaver. Flam. Are you hurt, my lord? Brach. Oh, my brain 's on fire! [Enter Armourer. The helmet is poison'd. Armourer. My lord, upon my soul---- Brach. Away with him to torture. There are some great ones that have hand in this, And near about me. Enter Vittoria Corombona Vit. Oh, my lov'd lord! poison'd! Flam. Remove the bar. Here 's unfortunate revels! Call the physicians. [Enter two Physicians. A plague upon you! We have too much of your cunning here already: I fear the ambassadors are likewise poison'd. Brach. Oh, I am gone already! the infection Flies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart! There 's such a covenant 'tween the world and it, They 're loath to break. Giov. Oh, my most loved father! Brach. Remove the boy away. Where 's this good woman? Had I infinite worlds, They were too little for thee: must I leave thee? What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal? Physicians. Most deadly. Brach. Most corrupted politic hangman, You kill without book; but your art to save Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends. I that have given life to offending slaves, And wretched murderers, have I not power To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth? [To Vittoria.] Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee. This unctions 's sent from the great Duke of Florence. Fran. Sir, be of comfort. Brach. O thou soft natural death, that art joint-twin To sweetest slumber! no rough-bearded comet Stares on thy mild departure; the dull owl Bears not against thy casement; the hoarse wolf Scents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse, Whilst horror waits on princes'. Vit. I am lost for ever. Brach. How miserable a thing it is to die 'Mongst women howling! [Enter Lodovico and Gasparo, as Capuchins. What are those? Flam. Franciscans: They have brought the extreme unction.