_D'Am._ Cease that harsh music. We are not pleased with it. [_He handles the gold._ Here sounds a music whose melodious touch Like angels' voices ravishes the sense. Behold, thou ignorant astronomer Whose wandering speculation seeks among The planets for men's fortunes, with amazement Behold thine error and be planet-struck. These are the stars whose operations make The fortunes and the destinies of men. Yon lesser eyes of Heaven (like subjects raised Into their lofty houses, when their prince Rides underneath the ambition of their loves) Are mounted only to behold the face Of your more rich imperious eminence With unprevented sight. Unmask, fair queen. [_Unpurses the gold._ Vouchsafe their expectations may enjoy The gracious favour[174] they admire to see. These are the stars, the ministers of Fate, And man's high wisdom the superior power To which their forces are subordinate. [_Sleeps._ _Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS. _Mont._ D'Amville! With all thy wisdom th'art a fool. Not like those fools that we term innocents, But a most wretched miserable fool Which instantly, to the confusion of Thy projects, with despair thou shalt behold. [_Exit_ Ghost. _D'Am._ [_Starting up._] What foolish dream dares interrupt my rest To my confusion? How can that be, since My purposes have hitherto been borne With prosperous judgment to secure success, Which nothing lives to dispossess me of But apprehended[175] Charlemont. And him This brain has made the happy instrument To free suspicion, to annihilate All interest and title of his own To seal up my assurance, and confirm My absolute possession by the law. Thus while the simple, honest worshipper Of a fantastic providence, groans under The burthen of neglected misery, My real wisdom has raised up a state That shall eternise my posterity. _Enter_ Servant _with the body of_ SEBASTIAN. What's that? _Ser._ The body of your younger son, Slain by the Lord Belforest. _D'Am._ Slain! You lie! Sebastian! Speak, Sebastian! He's lost His hearing. A physician presently. Go, call a surgeon. _Rous._ O--oh! [_Within._ _D'Am._ What groan was that? How does my elder son? The sound came from His chamber. _Ser._ He went sick to bed, my lord. _Rous._ O--oh! [_Within._ _D'Am._ The cries of mandrakes never touched the ear With more sad horror than that voice does mine. _Enter_ a Servant _running._ _Ser._ Never you will see your son alive-- _D'Am._ Nature forbid I e'er should see him dead. [_A bed drawn forth with_ ROUSARD _on it._ Withdraw the curtains. O how does my son? _Ser._ Methinks he's ready to give up the ghost. _D'Am._ Destruction take thee and thy fatal tongue. Dead! where's the doctor?--Art not thou the face Of that prodigious apparition stared upon Me in my dream? _Ser._ The doctor's come, my lord. _Enter_ Doctor.