style="margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; margin-top: 2em">Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo. So, now you are safe. Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own work like a silkworm. [Enter Brachiano.] Come, sister, darkness hides your blush. Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or most mischief. My lord, my lord!

Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
  Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.

Brach. Give credit: I could wish time would stand still,
  And never end this interview, this hour;
  But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
  Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
  Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
  Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me,
  I am lost eternally.

Vit. Sir, in the way of pity,
  I wish you heart-whole.

Brach. You are a sweet physician.

Vit. Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies
  Is as to doctors many funerals:
  It takes away their credit.

Brach. Excellent creature!
  We call the cruel fair; what name for you
  That are so merciful?

Zan. See now they close.

Flam. Most happy union.

Corn. [Aside.] My fears are fall'n upon me: oh, my heart!
  My son the pander! now I find our house
  Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind,
  Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone;
  But woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none.

Brach. What value is this jewel?

Vit. 'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune.

Brach. In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change
  My jewel for your jewel.

Flam. Excellent;
  His jewel for her jewel: well put in, duke.

Brach. Nay, let me see you wear it.

Vit. Here, sir?

Brach. Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower.

Flam. That 's better: she must wear his jewel lower.

Vit. To pass away the time, I 'll tell your grace
  A dream I had last night.

Brach. Most wishedly.

Vit. A foolish idle dream:
  Methought I walked about the mid of night
  Into a churchyard, where a goodly yew-tree
  Spread her large root in ground: under that yew,
  As I sat sadly leaning on a grave,
  Chequer'd with cross-sticks, there came stealing in
  Your duchess and my husband; one of them
  A pickaxe bore, th' other a rusty spade,
  And in rough terms they 'gan to challenge me
  About this yew.

Brach. That tree?

Vit. This harmless yew;
  They told me my intent was to root up
  That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it
  A wither'd blackthorn; and for that they vow'd
  To bury me alive. My husband straight
  With pickaxe 'gan to dig, and your fell duchess
  With shovel, like a fury, voided out
  The earth and scatter'd bones: Lord, how methought
  I trembled, and yet for all this terror
  I could not pray.

Flam. No; the devil was in your dream.

Vit. When to my rescue there arose, methought,
  A whirlwind, which let fall a massy arm
  From that strong plant;
  And both were struck dead by that sacred yew,
  In that base shallow grave that was their due.

Flam. Excellent devil!
  She hath taught him in a dream
  To make away his duchess and her husband.

Brach. Sweetly shall I interpret this your dream.
  You are lodg'd within his arms who shall protect you
  From all the fevers of a jealous husband,
  From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess.
  I 'll seat you above law, and above scandal;
  Give to your thoughts the invention of delight,
  And the fruition; nor shall government
  Divide me from you longer, than a care
  To keep you great: you shall to me at once
  Be dukedom, health, wife, children, friends, and all.

Corn. [Advancing.] Woe to light hearts, they still forerun our fall!

Flam. What fury raised thee up? away, away. [Exit Zanche.

Corn. What make you here, my lord, this dead of night?
  Never dropp'd mildew on a flower here till now.

Flam. I pray, will you go to bed then,
  Lest you be blasted?

Corn. O that this fair garden
  Had with all poison'd herbs of Thessaly
  At first been planted; made a nursery
  For witchcraft, rather than a burial plot
  For both your honours!

Vit. Dearest mother, hear me.

Corn. O, thou dost make my brow bend to the earth.
  Sooner than nature! See the curse of children!
  In life they keep us frequently in tears;
  And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.

Brach. Come, come, I will not hear you.

Vit. Dear my lord.

Corn. Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke?
  Thou little dream'st this night she 's come to Rome.

Flam. How! come to Rome!

Vit. The duchess!

Brach. She had been better——

Corn. The lives of princes should like dials move,
  Whose regular example is so strong,
  They make the times by them go right, or wrong.

Flam. So, have you done?

Corn. Unfortunate Camillo!

Vit. I do protest, if any chaste denial,
  If anything but blood could have allay'd
  His long suit to me——

Corn. I will join with thee,
  To the most woeful end e'er mother kneel'd:
  If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed,
  Be thy life short as are the funeral tears
  In great men's——

Brach. Fie, fie, the woman's mad.

Corn. Be thy act Judas-like; betray in kissing:
  May'st thou be envied during his short breath,
  And pitied like a wretch after his death!

Vit. O me accurs'd!