CORNELIA

My fears are fallen upon me, o my heart! My son the pandar: now I find our house Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind, Where they have tyrannised, iron, or led, or stone, But woe to ruin violent lust leaves none Woe to light hearts they still forerun our fallen. What make you hear my Lord this dead of night? Never dropped meldew on a flower here, tell now. Oh that this fair garden, Had all poisoned herbs of Thessaly, At first be planted, made a nursery For witchcraft; rather a burial plot, For both your Honours. Oh thou dost make my brow bend to the earth, Sooner then nature, see the curse of children In life they keep us freqeuently in tears, And in the cold graven leaves us in pale fears. Where is thy Duchess now adulterous Duke? Thou little dreamd'st this night she is come to Room. The lives of Princes should Like dials move, Whose regular example is so strong, They make the times by them go right or wrong. Unfortunate Camillo. I will join with thee, To the most woeful end ere mother kneeled, If thou dishonour thus thy husbands bed, Be thy life short as are the funeral tears In great men's. Be thy act Judas-like betray in kissing, Mayest thou be envied during his short breath, And pitied Like a wretch after this death. What? because we are poor, Shall we be vicious? Oh that I never had born thee, Misery of Misery's. Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to'th stews. I hear a whispering all about the Court, Your are to fight, who is your opposite? What is the quarrel? 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. Yes. Yes: but it's mended. Would, Oh my horror! Help, o he's murdered. Oh my perpetual sorrow! Alas he is not dead: he's in a trance. Why here's no body shall get any thing by his death. Let me call him again for Gods sake. Oh 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. 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? Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me ith' ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him. He lies, he lies, he did not kill him: these have killed him, that would not let him be better look't to. Oh you screechowl. Let me go, let me go. 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; Idem not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well Half of thy self lies there: and mayest thou live To fill and hourglass with his mouldered ashes, To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come In blessed repentance. 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. I pray thee peace. One arrow's grazed already; it were vain Lose this: for that will never be found again. This rosemary is withered, pray get fresh; I would have these herbs grow up in his graven When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays, I'll tie a garland here about his head: It'll keep my boy from lightning. This sheet I have kept this twenty year, and every day Hallowed it with my prayers, I did not think He should have wore it. Oh reach me the flowers. You're very welcome. There's Rosemary for you, and Rue for you, Hearts-ease for you. I pray make much of it. I have left more for my self. You are, I take it, the gravemaker. Will you make me such a fool? here's a white hand: Can blood so soon be washed out? Let me see, When scritch-howls croak upon the chimney tops, And the strange Cricketith oven sings and hops, When yellow spots do on your hands appear, Be certain then you of a Course shall hear. Out vpon't, how it's speckled! has handled a toad sure. Couslep-water is good for the memory: pray buy me 3. own ces of't. Do you here, I'll give you a saying which my grandmother (sir? Was wont, when she herd the bell tolle, to sing over unto her lute Call for the Robin-Red-brest and the wren, Since over shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral Dole The Ante, the fieldmouse, 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 hee'ldig them up again. They would not bury him' cause he died in a quarrel But I have and 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,