SCENE II.--_An Apartment in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion.

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE, CHARLEMONT, _and_ BORACHIO.

_D'Am._ Your sadness and the sickness of my son Have made our company and conference Less free and pleasing than I purposed it.

_Charl._ Sir, for the present I am much unfit For conversation or society. With pardon I will rudely take my leave.

_D'Am._ Good night, dear nephew. [_Exit_ CHARLEMONT. Seest thou that same man?

_Bor._ Your meaning, sir?

_D'Am._ That fellow's life, Borachio, Like a superfluous letter in the law, Endangers our assurance.[169]

_Bor._ Scrape him out.

_D'Am._ Wilt do't?

_Bor._ Give me your purpose--I will do't.

_D'Am._ Sad melancholy has drawn Charlemont With meditation on his father's death Into the solitary walk behind the church.

_Bor._ The churchyard? 'Tis the fittest place for death. Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to die. We'll send him charitably to his grave.

_D'Am._ No matter how thou tak'st him. First take this-- [_Gives him a pistol._ Thou knowest the place. Observe his passages, And with the most advantage make a stand, That, favoured by the darkness of the night, His breast may fall upon thee at so near A distance that he sha' not shun the blow. The deed once done, thou may'st retire with safety. The place is unfrequented, and his death Will be imputed to the attempt of thieves.

_Bor._ Be careless. Let your mind be free and clear. This pistol shall discharge you of your fear. [_Exit._

_D'Am._ But let me call my projects to account For what effect and end have I engaged Myself in all this blood? To leave a state To the succession of my proper blood. But how shall that succession be continued? Not in my elder son, I fear. Disease And weakness have disabled him for issue. For the other,--his loose humour will endure No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life, His spirit is so boldly dangerous. O pity that the profitable end Of such a prosperous murder should be lost! Nature forbid! I hope I have a body That will not suffer me to lose my labour For want of issue yet. But then't must be A bastard.--Tush! they only father bastards That father other men's begettings. Daughter! Be it mine own. Let it come whence it will, I am resolved. Daughter!

_Enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ My lord.

_D'Am._ I prithee call my daughter.

_Enter_ CASTABELLA.

_Cast._ Your pleasure, sir.

_D'Am._ Is thy husband i' bed?

_Cast._ Yes, my lord.

_D'Am._ The evening's fair. I prithee walk a turn or two.

_Cast._ Come, Jaspar.

_D'Am._ No. We'll walk but to the corner o' the church; And I have something to speak privately.

_Cast._ No matter; stay. [_Exit_ Servant.

_D'Am._ This falls out happily. [_Exeunt._