Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo. So, now you are safe. Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own work like a silkworm. [Enter Brachiano.] Come, sister, darkness hides your blush. Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or most mischief. My lord, my lord! Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions. Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived. Brach. Give credit: I could wish time would stand still, And never end this interview, this hour; But all delight doth itself soon'st devour. Let me into your bosom, happy lady, Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows. Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me, I am lost eternally. Vit. Sir, in the way of pity, I wish you heart-whole. Brach. You are a sweet physician. Vit. Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies Is as to doctors many funerals: It takes away their credit. Brach. Excellent creature! We call the cruel fair; what name for you That are so merciful? Zan. See now they close. Flam. Most happy union. Corn. [Aside.] My fears are fall'n upon me: oh, my heart! My son the pander! now I find our house Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind, Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone; But woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none. Brach. What value is this jewel? Vit. 'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune. Brach. In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change My jewel for your jewel. Flam. Excellent; His jewel for her jewel: well put in, duke. Brach. Nay, let me see you wear it. Vit. Here, sir? Brach. Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower. Flam. That 's better: she must wear his jewel lower. Vit. To pass away the time, I 'll tell your grace A dream I had last night. Brach. Most wishedly. Vit. A foolish idle dream: Methought I walked about the mid of night Into a churchyard, where a goodly yew-tree Spread her large root in ground: under that yew, As I sat sadly leaning on a grave, Chequer'd with cross-sticks, there came stealing in Your duchess and my husband; one of them A pickaxe bore, th' other a rusty spade, And in rough terms they 'gan to challenge me About this yew. Brach. That tree? Vit. This harmless yew; They told me my intent was to root up That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it A wither'd blackthorn; and for that they vow'd To bury me alive. My husband straight With pickaxe 'gan to dig, and your fell duchess With shovel, like a fury, voided out The earth and scatter'd bones: Lord, how methought I trembled, and yet for all this terror I could not pray. Flam. No; the devil was in your dream.