_Off._ The duke's son, my lord, had his release before you came. _Amb._ Whose head's that, then? _Off._ His whom you left command for, your own brother's. _Amb._ Our brother's? O furies. _Sup._ Plagues! _Amb._ Confusions! _Sup._ Darkness! _Amb._ Devils! _Sup._ Fell it out so accursedly? _Amb._ So damnedly? _Sup._ Villain, I'll brain thee with it. _Off._ O my good lord! _Sup._ The devil overtake thee! _Amb._ O fatal! _Sup._ O prodigious to our bloods! _Amb._ Did we dissemble? _Sup._ Did we make our tears women for thee? _Amb._ Laugh and rejoice for thee? _Sup._ Bring warrant for thy death? _Amb._ Mock off thy head? _Sup._ You had a trick: you had a wile, forsooth. _Amb._ A murrain meet 'em; there's none of these wiles that ever come to good: I see now, there's nothing sure in mortality, but mortality. Well, no more words: shalt be revenged, i' faith. Come, throw off clouds; now, brother, think of vengeance, And deeper-settled hate; sirrah, sit fast, We'll pull down all, but thou shalt down at last. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.--_The precincts of the Palace._ _Enter_ LUSSURIOSO _with_ HIPPOLITO. _Lus._ Hippolito! _Hip._ My lord, Has your good lordship aught to command me in? _Lus._ I prythee, leave us! _Hip._ How's this? come and leave us! _Lus._ Hippolito! _Hip._ Your honour, I stand ready for any duteous employment. _Lus._ Heart! what mak'st thou here? _Hip._ A pretty lordly humour! He bids me be present to depart; something Has stung his honour. _Lus._ Be nearer; draw nearer: Ye're not so good, methinks; I'm angry with you. _Hip._ With me, my lord? I'm angry with myself for't. _Lus._ You did prefer a goodly fellow to me: 'Twas wittily elected; 'twas. I thought He had been a villain, and he proves a knave-- To me a knave. _Hip._ I chose him for the best, my lord: 'Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him Breed discontent in you. _Lus._ Neglect! 'twas will. Judge of it. Firmly to tell of an incredible act, Not to be thought, less to be spoken of, 'Twixt my step-mother and the bastard; oh! Incestuous sweets between 'em. _Hip._ Fie, my lord! _Lus._ I, in kind loyalty to my father's forehead, Made this a desperate arm; and in that fury Committed treason on the lawful bed, And with my sword e'en rased my father's bosom, For which I was within a stroke of death. _Hip._ Alack! I'm sorry. 'Sfoot, just upon the stroke, Jars in my brother; 'twill be villainous music. [_Aside._ _Enter_ VENDICE, _disguised._ _Ven._ My honoured lord. _Lus._ Away! prythee, forsake us: hereafter we'll not know thee. _Ven._ Not know me, my lord! your lordship cannot choose. _Lus._ Begone, I say: thou art a false knave. _Ven._ Why, the easier to be known, my lord.