_Duke._ With some few honourable gentlemen, you may say-- You may name those that are away from court. _Gen._ Your will and pleasure shall be done, my lord. [_Exeunt_ Gentlemen. _Ven._ "Privately rid forth!" He strives to make sure work on't. Your good grace! [_Advances._ _Duke._ Piato, well done, hast brought her! what lady is't? _Ven._ Faith, my lord, a country lady, a little bashful at first, as most of them are; but after the first kiss, my lord, the worst is past with them. Your grace knows now what you have to do; she has somewhat a grave look with her--but-- _Duke._ I love that best; conduct her. _Ven._ Have at all. [_Aside._ _Duke._ In gravest looks the greatest faults seem less. Give me that sin that's robed in holiness. _Ven._ Back with the torch! brother, raise the perfumes. [_Aside._ _Duke._ How sweet can a duke breathe! Age has no fault. Pleasure should meet in a perfumèd mist. Lady, sweetly encountered: I came from court, I must be bold with you. O, what's this? O! _Ven._ Royal villain! white devil! _Duke._ O! _Ven._ Brother, place the torch here, that his affrighted eyeballs May start into those hollows. Duke, dost know Yon dreadful vizard? View it well; 'tis the skull Of Gloriana, whom thou poisonedst last. _Duke._ O! 't has poisoned me. _Ven._ Didst not know that till now? _Duke._ What are you two? _Ven._ Villains all three! the very ragged bone Has been sufficiently revenged. _Duke._ O, Hippolito, call treason! [_He sinks down._ _Hip._ Yes, my lord; treason! treason! treason! [_Stamping on him._ _Duke._ Then I'm betrayed. _Ven._ Alas! poor lecher: in the hands of knaves, A slavish duke is baser than his slaves. _Duke._ My teeth are eaten out. _Ven._ Hadst any left? _Hip._ I think but few. _Ven._ Then those that did eat are eaten. _Duke._ O my tongue! _Ven._ Your tongue? 'twill teach you to kiss closer, Not like a slobbering Dutchman. You have eyes still: Look, monster, what a lady hast thou made me [_Discovers himself._ My once betrothèd wife. _Duke._ Is it thou, villain? nay, then-- _Ven._ 'Tis I, 'tis Vendice, 'tis I. _Hip._ And let this comfort thee: our lord and father Fell sick upon the infection of thy frowns, And died in sadness: be that thy hope of life. _Duke._ O! _Ven._ He had his tongue, yet grief made him die speechless. Pooh! 'tis but early yet; now I'll begin To stick thy soul with ulcers. I will make Thy spirit grievous sore; it shall not rest, But like some pestilent man toss in thy breast. Mark me, duke: Thou art a renownèd, high and mighty cuckold. _Duke._ O! _Ven._ Thy bastard, thy bastard rides a-hunting in thy brow. _Duke._ Millions of deaths! _Ven._ Nay, to afflict thee more, Here in this lodge they meet for damnèd clips.[220] Those eyes shall see the incest of their lips. _Duke._ Is there a hell besides this, villains?