_Enter the Masque of intended murderers:_ AMBITIOSO, SUPERVACUO, SPURIO, _and a_ Lord, _coming in dancing._ LUSSURIOSO _recovers a little in voice, groans, and calls_, "A guard! treason!" _at which the_ Dancers _start out of their measure, and, turning towards the table, find them all to be murdered._ _Spu._ Whose groan was that? _Lus._ Treason! a guard! _Amb._ How now? all murdered! _Sup._ Murdered! _3rd. Lord._ And those his nobles? _Amb._ Here's a labour saved; I thought to have sped him. 'Sblood, how came this? _Spu._ Then I proclaim myself; now I am duke. _Amb._ Thou duke! brother, thou liest. _Spu._ Slave! so dost thou. [_Kills_ AMBITIOSO. _3rd Lord._ Base villain! hast thou slain my lord and master? [_Stabs_ SPURIO. _Re-enter_ VENDICE _and_ HIPPOLITO _and the two_ Lords. _Ven._ Pistols! treason! murder! Help! guard my lord the duke! _Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ Guard. _Hip._ Lay hold upon this traitor. _Lus._ O! _Ven._ Alas! the duke is murdered. _Hip._ And the nobles. _Ven._ Surgeons! surgeons! Heart! does he breathe so long? [_Aside._ _Ant._ A piteous tragedy! able to make An old man's eyes bloodshot. _Lus._ O! _Ven._ Look to my lord the duke. A vengeance throttle him! [_Aside._ Confess, thou murderous and unhallowed man, Didst thou kill all these? _3rd Lord._ None but the bastard, I. _Ven._ How came the duke slain, then? _3rd Lord._ We found him so. _Lus._ O villain! _Ven._ Hark! _Lus._ Those in the masque did murder us. _Ven._ La you now, sir-- O marble impudence! will you confess now? _3rd Lord._ 'Sblood, 'tis all false. _Ant._ Away with that foul monster, Dipped in a prince's blood. _3rd Lord._ Heart! 'tis a lie. _Ant._ Let him have bitter execution. _Ven._ New marrow! no, I cannot be expressed. How fares my lord the duke? _Lus._ Farewell to all; He that climbs highest has the greatest fall. My tongue is out of office. _Ven._ Air, gentlemen, air. Now thou'lt not prate on't, 'twas Vendice murdered thee. [_Whispers in his ear._ _Lus._ O! _Ven._ Murdered thy father. [_Whispers._ _Lus._ O! [_Dies._ _Ven._ And I am he--tell nobody: [_Whispers_] So, so, the duke's departed. _Ant._ It was a deadly hand that wounded him. The rest, ambitious who should rule and sway After his death, were so made all away. _Ven._ My lord was unlikely-- _Hip._ Now the hope Of Italy lies in your reverend years. _Ven._ Your hair will make the silver age again, When there were fewer, but more honest men. _Ant._ The burthen's weighty, and will press age down; May I so rule, that Heaven may keep the crown! _Ven._ The rape of your good lady has been quitted With death on death. _Ant._ Just is the law above. But of all things it put me most to wonder How the old duke came murdered! _Ven._ O my lord! _Ant._ It was the strangeliest carried: I've not heard of the like.