SCENE II.--_Another Apartment in the Same.

_Enter_ MARCELLO _and_ CORNELIA.

_Cor._ I hear a whispering all about the court You are to fight: who is your opposite? What is the quarrel?

_Mar._ 'Tis an idle rumour.

_Cor._ Will you dissemble? sure, you do not well To fright me thus: you never look thus pale, But when you are most angry. I do charge you Upon my blessing,--nay, I'll call the duke, And he shall school you.

_Mar._ Publish not a fear Which would convert to laughter: 'tis not so. Was not this crucifix my father's?

_Cor._ Yes.

_Mar._ I have heard you say, giving my brother suck, He took the crucifix between his hands, And broke a limb off.

_Cor._ Yes; but 'tis mended.

_Enter_ FLAMINEO.

_Flam._ I have brought your weapon back. [_Runs_ MARCELLO _through._

_Cor._ Ha! O my horror!

_Mar._ You have brought it home, indeed.

_Cor._ Help! O, he's murdered!

_Flam._ Do you turn your gall up? I'll to sanctuary, And send a surgeon to you. [_Exit._

_Enter_ CARLO, HORTENSIO, _and_ PEDRO.

_Hort._ How! o' the ground!

_Mar._ O mother, now remember what I told Of breaking of the crucifix! Farewell. There are some sins which Heaven doth duly punish In a whole family. This it is to rise By all dishonest means! Let all men know, That tree shall long time keep a steady foot Whose branches spread no wider than the root. [_Dies._

_Cor._ O my perpetual sorrow!

_Hort._ Virtuous Marcello! He's dead.--Pray, leave him, lady: come, you shall.

_Cor._ Alas, he is not dead; he's in a trance. Why, here's nobody shall get any thing by his death. Let me call him again, for God's sake!

_Car._ I would you were deceived.

_Cor._ O, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! How many have gone away thus, for lack of tendance! Rear up's head, rear up's head: his bleeding inward will kill him.

_Hort._ You see he is departed.

_Cor._ Let me come to him; give me him as he is: if he be turned to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin. Fetch a looking glass; see if his breath will not stain it: or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little pains-taking?

_Hort._ Your kindest office is to pray for him.

_Cor._ Alas, I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i' the ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him.

_Enter_ BRACHIANO _all armed save the beaver, with_ FLAMINEO, FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, LODOVICO, _and_ Page.

_Brach._ Was this your handiwork?

_Flam._ It was my misfortune.

_Cor._ He lies, he lies; he did not kill him: these have killed him that would not let him be better looked to.

_Brach._ Have comfort, my grieved mother.

_Cor._ O you screech-owl!

_Hort._ Forbear, good madam.

_Cor._ Let me go, let me go. [_She runs to_ FLAMINEO _with her knife drawn, and, coming to him, lets it fall._ The God of Heaven forgive thee! Dost not wonder I pray for thee? I'll tell thee what's the reason: I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes; I'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well: Half of thyself lies there; and mayst thou live To fill an hour-glass with his mouldered ashes, To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come In blest repentance!

_Brach._ Mother, pray tell me How came he by his death? what was the quarrel?

_Cor._ Indeed, my younger boy presumed too much Upon his manhood, gave him bitter words, Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how, For I was out of my wits, he fell with's head Just in my bosom.

_Page._ This is not true, madam.

_Cor._ I pray thee, peace. One arrow's grazed already: it were vain To lose this for that will ne'er be found again.

_Brach._ Go, bear, the body to Cornelia's lodging: And we command that none acquaint our duchess With this sad accident. For you, Flamineo, Hark you, I will not grant your pardon.

_Flam._ No?

_Brach._ Only a lease of your life; and that shall last But for one day: thou shalt be forced each evening To renew it, or be hanged.

_Flam._ At your pleasure. [LODOVICO _sprinkles_ BRACHIANO'S _beaver with a poison._ Your will is law now, I'll not meddle with it.

_Brach._ You once did brave me in your sister's lodging; I'll now keep you in awe for't.--Where's our beaver?

_Fran de Med._ [_Aside_]. He calls for his destruction. Noble youth, I pity thy sad fate! Now to the barriers. This shall his passage to the black lake further; The last good deed he did, he pardoned murther. [_Exeunt._