_Ven._ Villain! Nay, Heaven is just; scorns are the hire of scorns: I ne'er knew yet adulterer without horns. _Hip._ Once, ere they die, 'tis quitted. _Ven._ Hark! the music: Their banquet is prepared, they're coming-- _Duke._ O, kill me not with that sight! _Ven._ Thou shalt not lose that sight for all thy dukedom. _Duke._ Traitors! murderers! _Ven._ What! is not thy tongue eaten out yet? Then we'll invent a silence. Brother, stifle the torch. _Duke._ Treason! murder! _Ven._ Nay, faith, we'll have you hushed. Now with thy dagger Nail down his tongue, and mine shall keep possession About his heart; if he but gasp, he dies; We dread not death to quittance injuries. Brother, if he but wink, not brooking the foul object, Let our two other hands tear up his lids, And make his eyes like comets shine through blood. When the bad bleeds, then is the tragedy good. _Hip._ Whist, brother! the music's at our ear; they come. _Enter_ SPURIO, _meeting the_ DUCHESS. _Spu._ Had not that kiss a taste of sin, 'twere sweet. _Duch._ Why, there's no pleasure sweet, but it is sinful. _Spu._ True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given; Best side to us is the worst side to Heaven. _Duch._ Pish! come: 'tis the old duke, thy doubtful father: The thought of him rubs Heaven in thy way. But I protest by yonder waxen fire, Forget him, or I'll poison him. _Spu._ Madam, you urge a thought which ne'er had life. So deadly do I loathe him for my birth, That if he took me hasped within his bed, I would add murder to adultery, And with my sword give up his years to death. _Duch._ Why, now thou'rt sociable; let's in and feast: Loud'st music sound; pleasure is banquet's guest. [_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ SPURIO. _Duke._ I cannot brook--[_Dies._ _Ven._ The brook is turned to blood. _Hip._ Thanks to loud music. _Ven._ 'Twas our friend, indeed. 'Tis state in music for a duke to bleed. The dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown; As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em down. [_Exeunt._ SCENE V.--_A Room in the Palace._ _Enter_ AMBITIOSO _and_ SUPERVACUO. _Amb._ Was not his execution rarely plotted? We are the duke's sons now. _Sup._ Ay, you may thank my policy for that. _Amb._ Your policy for what? _Sup._ Why, was't not my invention, brother, To slip the judges? and in lesser compass Did I not draw the model of his death; Advising you to sudden officers And e'en extemporal execution? _Amb._ Heart! 'twas a thing I thought on too. _Sup._ You thought on't too! 'sfoot, slander not your thoughts With glorious untruth; I know 'twas from you. _Amb._ Sir, I say, 'twas in my head. _Sup._ Ay, like your brains then, Ne'er to come out as long as you lived. _Amb._ You'd have the honour on't, forsooth, that your wit Led him to the scaffold. _Sup._ Since it is my due, I'll publish't, but I'll ha't in spite of you.