_Cor._ "Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, [CORNELIA _doth this in several forms of distraction._ Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm: But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again."[90] They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel; But I have an answer for them: "Let holy church receive him duly, Since he paid the church-tithes truly." His wealth is summed, and this is all his store, This poor men get, and great men get no more. Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop. Bless you all, good people. [_Exeunt_ CORNELIA, ZANCHE, _and_ Ladies. _Flam._ I have a strange thing in me, to the which I cannot give a name, without it be Compassion. I pray, leave me. [_Exit_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS. This night I'll know the utmost of my fate; I'll be resolved[91] what my rich sister means To assign me for my service. I have lived Riotously ill, like some that live in court, And sometimes when my face was full of smiles, Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast. Oft gay and honoured robes those tortures try: We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry. _Enter_ BRACHIANO'S _ghost, in his leather cassock and breeches, boots and cowl; in his hand a pot of lily-flowers, with a skull in it._ Ha! I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet. What a mockery hath death made thee! thou look'st sad. In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery? Or in the cursèd dungeon?--No? not speak? Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion's best For a man to die in? or is it in your knowledge To answer me how long I have to live? That's the most necessary question: Not answer? are you still like some great men That only walk like shadows up and down, And to no purpose? say:-- [_The_ Ghost _throws earth upon him, and shows him the skull._ What's that? O, fatal! he throws earth upon me! A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!-- I pray, speak, sir: our Italian churchmen Make us believe dead men hold conference With their familiars, and many times Will come to bed to them, and eat with them. [_Exit_ Ghost. He's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanished. This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fate To do its worst. Now to my sister's lodging, And sum up all these horrors: the disgrace The prince threw on me; next the piteous sight Of my dead brother; and my mother's dotage; And last this terrible vision: all these Shall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good. Or I will drown this weapon in her blood. [_Exit._ SCENE V.--_A Street in Padua._ _Enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, LODOVICO, _and_ HORTENSIO.