_Sup._ Learn of our mother; let's dissemble too: I am glad he's vanished; so, I hope, are you. _Amb._ Ay, you may take my word for't. _Spu._ Old dad dead! I, one of his cast sins, will send the Fates Most hearty commendations by his own son; I'll tug in the new stream, till strength be done. _Lus._ Where be those two that did affirm to us, My lord the duke was privately rid forth? _1st Gent._ O, pardon us, my lords; he gave that charge-- Upon our lives, if he were missed at court, To answer so; he rode not anywhere; We left him private with that fellow here. _Ven._ Confirmed. [_Aside._ _Lus._ O Heavens! that false charge was his death. Impudent beggars! durst you to our face Maintain such a false answer? Bear him straight To execution. _1st Gent._ My lord! _Lus._ Urge me no more in this! The excuse may be called half the murder. _Ven._ You've sentenced well. [_Aside._ _Lus._ Away; see it be done. _Ven._ Could you not stick? See what confession doth! Who would not lie, when men are hanged for truth? [_Aside._ _Hip._ Brother, how happy is our vengeance! [_Aside._ _Ven._ Why, it hits past the apprehension of Indifferent wits. [_Aside._ _Lus._ My lord, let post-horses be sent Into all places to entrap the villain. _Ven._ Post-horses, ha, ha! [_Aside._ _1st Noble._ My lord, we're something bold to know our duty. Your father's accidentally departed; The titles that were due to him meet you. _Lus._ Meet me! I'm not at leisure, my good lord. I've many griefs to despatch out o' the way. Welcome, sweet titles!--[_Aside._ Talk to me, my lords, Of sepulchres and mighty emperors' bones; That's thought for me. _Ven._ So one may see by this How foreign markets go; Courtiers have feet o' the nines, and tongues o' the twelves; They flatter dukes, and dukes flatter themselves. [_Aside._ _2nd Noble._ My lord, it is your shine must comfort us. _Lus._ Alas! I shine in tears, like the sun in April. _1st Noble._ You're now my lord's grace. _Lus._ My lord's grace! I perceive you'll have it so. _2nd Noble._ 'Tis but your own. _Lus._ Then, Heavens, give me grace to be so! _Ven._ He prays well for himself. [_Aside_. _1st Noble._ Madam, all sorrows Must run their circles into joys. No doubt but time Will make the murderer bring forth himself. _Ven._ He were an ass then, i' faith. [_Aside_. _1st Noble._ In the mean season, Let us bethink the latest funeral honours Due to the duke's cold body. And withal, Calling to memory our new happiness Speed in his royal son: lords, gentlemen, Prepare for revels. _Ven._ Revels! [_Aside._ _1st Noble._ Time hath several falls. Griefs lift up joys: feasts put down funerals. _Lus._ Come then, my lords, my favour's to you all. The duchess is suspected foully bent; I'll begin dukedom with her banishment. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt_ LUSSURIOSO, DUCHESS, _and_ Nobles.