_Flam._ He did; and 'twas a deadly jealousy, Lest any should enjoy thee after him, That urged him vow me to it. For my death, I did propound it voluntarily, knowing, If he could not be safe in his own court, Being a great duke, what hope, then, for us? _Vit. Cor._ This is your melancholy and despair. _Flam._ Away! Fool thou art to think that politicians Do use to kill the effects of injuries And let the cause live. Shall we groan in irons, Or be a shameful and a weighty burden To a public scaffold? This is my resolve; I would not live at any man's entreaty, Nor die at any's bidding. _Vit. Cor._ Will you hear me? _Flam._ My life hath done service to other men; My death shall serve mine own turn. Make you ready. _Vit. Cor._ Do you mean to die indeed? _Flam._ With as much pleasure As e'er my father gat me. _Vit. Cor._ Are the doors locked? _Zanche._ Yes, madam. _Vit. Cor._ Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body, Which is the goodly palace of the soul, To the soul's slaughter-house? O, the cursèd devil, Which doth present us with all other sins Thrice-candied o'er; despair with gall and stibium; Yet we carouse it off;--Cry out for help!-- [_Aside to_ ZANCHE. Makes us forsake that which was made for man, The world, to sink to that was made for devils, Eternal darkness! _Zanche._ Help, help! _Flam._ I'll stop your throat With winter-plums. _Vit. Cor._ I prithee, yet remember, Millions are now in graves, which at last day Like mandrakes, shall rise shrieking.[94] _Flam._ Leave your prating, For these are but grammatical laments, Feminine arguments: and they move me, As some in pulpits move their auditory, More with their exclamation than sense Of reason or sound doctrine. _Zanche_ [_Aside to_ VIT.]. Gentle madam, Seem to consent, only persuade him teach The way to death; let him die first. _Vit. Cor._ 'Tis good. I apprehend it, To kill one's self is meat that we must take Like pills, not chew't, but quickly swallow it; The smart o' the wound, or weakness of the hand, May else bring treble torments. _Flam._ I have held it A wretched and most miserable life Which is not able to die. _Vit. Cor._ O, but frailty! Yet I am now resolved: farewell, affliction! Behold, Brachiano, I that while you lived Did make a flaming altar of my heart To sacrifice unto you, now am ready To sacrifice heart and all.--Farewell, Zanche! _Zanche._ How, madam! do you think that I'll outlive you; Especially when my best self, Flamineo, Goes the same voyage? _Flam._ O, most lovèd Moor! _Zanche._ Only by all my love let me entreat you,-- Since it is most necessary one of us Do violence on ourselves,--let you or I Be her sad taster, teach her how to die.