Part 10 (1/2)

Flam. He dies this night, by such a politic strain, Men shall suppose him by 's own engine slain.

But for your d.u.c.h.ess' death----

Doctor. I 'll make her sure.

Brach. Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.

Flam. Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they rise as gallows in the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders.

[Exeunt. Monticelso, Camillo, and Francisco come forward.

Mont. Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it: 'Twas thrown in at your window.

Cam. At my window!

Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns, And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps: The word, Inopem me copia fecit.

Mont. That is, Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.

Cam. What should this mean?

Mont. I 'll tell you; 'tis given out You are a cuckold.

Cam. Is it given out so?

I had rather such reports as that, my lord, Should keep within doors.

Fran. Have you any children?

Cam. None, my lord.

Fran. You are the happier: I 'll tell you a tale.

Cam. Pray, my lord.

Fran. An old tale.

Upon a time Ph?bus, the G.o.d of light, Or him we call the sun, would need to be married: The G.o.ds gave their consent, and Mercury Was sent to voice it to the general world.