_Alb._ Indeed, he's hoarse; the poor boy's voice is crack'd. 90 _Pan._ Why, coz! why should it not be hoarse and crack'd, When all the strings of nature's symphony Are crack'd and jar? Why should his voice keep tune, When there's no music in the breast of man? I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have: Help me, good sorrow-mates, to give him grave. [_They all help to carry_ FELICHE _to his grave_. Death, exile, plaints, and woe, Are but man's lackeys, not his foe. No mortal 'scapes from fortune's war Without a wound, at least a scar. 100 Many have led thee[313] to the grave; But all shall follow, none shall save. Blood of my youth, rot and consume; Virtue in dirt doth life assume. With this old saw close up this dust:-- Thrice blessèd man that dieth just. _Ant._ The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch His lazy pinion o'er the air. We must be stiff and steady in resolve; Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve. 110 [_They wreath their arms._ _Pan._ Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love, By the fresh-turned up mould that wraps my son, By the d[r]ead brow of triple Hecate, Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars, We'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart, As Ætna doth on groaning Pelorus. _Ant._ Thanks, good old man; we'll cast at royal chance. Let's think a plot--then pell-mell, vengeance! [_Exeunt, their arms wreathed._ [308] Quite alone.--See note on Middleton, i. 46. [309] See note 1, p. 107. [310] Old eds. "sir." [311] In old eds. ll. 29-30 are transposed, and the passage is rendered unintelligible. "The domineering monarch" is of course fortune. [312] Seneca moralises in the same strain:--"Rerum natura illum tibi non mancipio dedit sed commodavit: cum visum est deinde, repetiit nec tuam in eo satietatem secuta est, sed suam legem. Si quis pecuniam creditam solvisse se moleste ferat, eam præsertim cujus usum gratuitum acceperit, nonne injustus vir habeatur?" (_Ad Polybium de Consolatione._) [313] Old ed. "these." ACT V. SCENE I. _The cornets sound for the Act._ _The dumb show._